#and soap x reader x ghost 😎

[thesesoldierboysarebi]

TF141 Types of Men they like Most (all of them are bi)

Ghost: looks-wise, he likes two types: a man who can keep up with him athletically— in other words, a fellow soldier— or a twink. He can’t resist a skinny academic type. I hc that this is because his first boy crush in secondary school was this adorable nerdy kid with big oversized glasses who tutored him in English and history. You never forget your first crush. As for personality, Ghost likes a man who’s gonna be a bit of a shit to him. Annoy him. Call him on his bluff! It’s good for him. But he also likes a sweet man, sweet and nerdy like his first crush. Maybe he’s just a nerd lover, who knows.

Soap: Johnny, like the rest of his squad, is never ever going to beat the allegations of blue collar/soldier men being attracted to alt/punk/goth types. So he tends to fiend over quiet, sultry type of men. He’s fine with them being bigger or smaller, but Emo and goth guys can Get It. Tragically, however, Soap’s only so far been able to successfully take home fellow gym rats. But he has hope! As for personality, well. He likes the more quiet and introverted type of guys to contrast with his loud, boisterous personality. But he won’t say no to a fellow sunshine boy.

Price: he realized quite late in his life that he was bisexual, so he’s had quite an exploratory period to try and determine what kind of men he likes. Generally speaking, he tends to veer towards fellow bears and older gentlemen, because he’s a little concerned about just how many twenty-something twinks and femboys he attracts, like a fucking porch light attracting moths. It’s ridiculous to watch when he steps into the gay bars. He’s flattered, boys! But he doesn’t want to date anyone more than eight years under his age. However, he has dated a young artist and goth or two. Physically wise, he likes someone shorter than him because he likes being the Strong One in a relationship. Personality? Same as with women, someone emotionally mature and kind who knows what he wants. And maybe mouths off to him to he can do some brat taming.

Gaz: oh, Gaz loves a himbo. He watched the Disney Hercules at a tender age and that Wonder Boy has lived in his brain rent-free ever since. He also likes nerdy types, like Ghost, and their taste in men often aligns without realizing it. He just likes a sweet, kinda dumb guy. In fact, for a while, I hc that Gaz harbored a small crush on Soap for similar reasons— before it became clear that Johnny MacTavish was just a little too rambunctious for him to handle. But yes, Gaz likes a well-built guy, likes fellow soldiers, likes another guy he can geek out about favorite movies and shows together. For Gaz, it’s a little more comfortable for him to develop a friendship with a man before pursuing a relationship. However, on occasion, Gaz can and will fiend for a dilf the way he fiends for milfs.

[nocturnesmoon]

I had a dream about this and thought you'd like it 😭 It basically boils down into your current vampire!reader fics but instead of a vampire, reader was like. this spider hybrid thing?? I was v confused 🫡

-😎

Eight legged dreams

Monster AU Masterlist: TF141 x Spider-Hybrid!GN!Reader A/N: I really wanna know what kinda weird dreams you be having 😭 I don't know what the spider hybrid looked like in your dream, but I think I'd be terrified, anyways this is a bit short but enjoy.

-The 141 gets a new, unexpected addition to the team-

Nobody is really surprised to find that people would end up experimenting with the concept of monsters. Ever since they recruited a few in the military, leash on tight, it was only a matter of time before some twisted minds picked up on the idea of creating monsters on their own.

The existence of mythical creatures has long been proven, though a lot are concealed and extinct, what if it would be possible to resurrect them, or create entirely new ones? The thought was quickly experimented with, the study of how monsters formed, made way for the ideas of monster hybrids that didn't exist naturally.

When the 141 was first assigned such a hybrid, they were sceptical. Promptly they thought they didn't need one, they did excellent work without the external help, but it quickly became a matter of not having a choice.

It didn't matter to the higher ups whether they used this hybrid on missions or not, the 141 was to record the movements of this hybrid, and at the end of the experiment they would each give an individual report of the experience.

If the hybrid became violent or disobedient, each one of them had full authority to eliminate them.

Simple right?

That's what they had all thought before they found out what a menace it could be. They had expected something simple, a wolf hybrid, or a reptile hybrid like they had heard about, but no what they got was arguably worse.

From the moment you stepped off the truck that brought you to them, they knew something was off. Sure, they hadn't been told what kind of hybrid you were, but this was unexpected even with that in mind.

Your entire physique didn't carry the same as a human would, fat, skin and muscle distribution was completely wrong compared to that of a normal human. You were adorned by another set of eyes right under your natural ones, just as well you had 2 extra sets of arms. It looked wrong on you, like you came from some eldritch abomination. They even wondered if it might hurt to have a form like that, but you seemed relaxed as can be.

Your form started to make a lot more sense when Price finally got his hands on your files, and care instructions. He wanted to chew your handlers out for not giving him the instructions sooner, but they left in a hurry like state, all too eager to get rid of you.

Apparently, you were a type of spider hybrid. It wasn't totally certain what your abilities were, there wasn't a whole lot of guidance from your previous handlers, and it only left Price all the more nervous.

Despite their apprehension about you, you were nice and accommodative. You listened to their orders and request and at first glance you seemed normal, not taking into account of how different you looked.

It didn't take long before they started finding out about your various quirks, showing more and more of yourself very quickly. You seemed to get attached to them a lot faster than they got warmed up to you.

Gaz was the first one to figure out that you had the ability to climb any surface and stick to it. It didn't really come as a surprise once he really thought about it, but the jump scare he got from it is one he isn't likely to forget.

He was just about to go to bed, changed into pyjamas and everything, lights turned off. Just as he was about to get under the covers he sees a glint in the corner of his bedroom ceiling, he slowly goes closer, finding it hard to see when his eyes aren't adjusted to the darkness. The second you get into view, his eyes widen a fraction, the real jump scare coming when you with a very menacing voice say, "Hello Kyle," he screams for you to get out, which you do with a pout. Days later he still doesn't know how you learned his real name, seemingly no one told you, you just found out.

Another thing they figured out quickly was your eating habits, they found you to be very picky about what you ingested. Most of the time you only ate meat in small quantities, and you always seemed to hoard it in your room, wrapped up in tiny cocoons for safe keeping. Seemingly you refused to eat anything other than meat, but despite being picky you were open to try a lot of things, normally ending up hating it, but you tried it.

It started to result in you biting everything, no matter what it would be. Sometimes it seemed like you didn't fully understand what was edible and what was not. Their biggest shock came from you starting to nibble on them. It became a fixation of yours, and despite them always swatting you away, you kept going at it. Price has too many bite marks shaped perfectly from your teeth.

Soap was sceptic about your appearance first, intrigued but sceptic. He quickly warmed up to it, however, when he realized how useful it could be to have 6 arms, or useful to him that you had them. He started using you as a sort of coat rack, getting you to hold things for him while he's working. If he was practising his skills at disarming a bomb, he'd get you to hold his tools, if he was writing reports, he'd get you to hold the next ones ready, so it all went smoother. He even got you to hold his art supplies for him whenever he wanted to draw in his downtime.

You didn't really mind it, wanting to follow him around anyway, and this way you would be useful to him. You even learnt a few things watching him work, and watching him paint was oddly relaxing. He didn't even mind when you asked him to explain what he was doing, he could get very passionate once you got him started.

Price and Ghost were more interested in your abilities in the field. You were fast, agile, and dexterous, with a patience that's unmatched. You even beat Ghost when it came to sitting still, he held the record to be the best sniper on the team, having the patience of a mountain, yet when it was put to the test, you managed to beat his time by a lot.

Price always keeps a close eye on you, not wanting to admit that he's slightly afraid of you. Even though over time they've got it documented what your abilities included, you keep surprising them. He once saw you playing with a cat, seemingly having a lot of fun, until the cat got annoyed and bit you. The cat managed to draw blood...it died from poison 10 minutes later. He's always been extra wary of you after that, making sure not to touch your wounds directly if you got injured in battle.

Once you start integrating yourself into their group, their acceptance of you becoming easier and easier to get, you also start some gift giving adventures. It was mostly Ghost at first, but occasionally you'd bring the rest things as well. The problem was that the things you brought him were...dead insects...dead animals...things that in your mind were excellent gifts because you were helping with keeping him fed, right?

He did really not view it like that, and when he found a dead rabbit, wrapped up nice and tight in a cocoon, placed neatly on his desk, he snapped at you. In the middle of his yelling you ran, to where they never found out, you became like a ghost, though the subtle hints that you were still around were there.

You kept out of sight for a few days, despite how much they tried to call you forth. Ghost always had this eerie feeling that when he turns you would be sitting creepily on the ceiling in the corner, but you're never in view. He even started feeling a little guilty for snapping at you, but he really did not like to dispose of dead animals every other day.

When you finally came back, it wasn't without a peace offering, and when you stood in front of him, holding out a little cocoon for him, he could only sigh. He accepted it reluctantly but found that there were no dead animals inside it, instead there were little trinkets that you had found. Mostly things he couldn't use, but there was one thing that stood out to him, a mask of his that he could've sworn he lost, yet you had somehow found it.

When he seemed a lot happier with this kind of gift, then you did too, your mood drastically improved, and you kept bringing him more. Though he still could find it to be an annoyance when it was a bunch of junk, it was better than dead insects, and when you looked so happy afterwards, who was he to complain.

Even if you were different, nearing the end of the experiment, none of them could deny that they had come to love your little quirks. Your presence had come to be expected around base, your helpful manner, your mischievous behaviour, adding something to their work life that they've come to quite enjoy.

And when you came running, half in tears, begging them to not send you back to your old handlers...well...it only took one glance between each other to have the quiet collective agreement, that they were going to do anything, to keep you right here with them.

[ivymarquis]

Since beryl nuked my plans and I dont have work tomorrow yall should send me smutty ideas for sin sunday pieces 👀👀👀

[ageless-aislynn]

Nobody asked me any of these but, honestly, I wanted to know the answers to some of them myself, so... I'm answering what I want anyway! 🤷‍♀️😉

ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

How many words have you written this year?

I'm counting this as how many words in something that I posted, which is 14,819. A lot more than I expected, honestly, but most of it came from me doing several chapters of "15 Minutes" early in the year. 😉

How many works did you publish this year?

9 chapters in all, but only 4 individual works.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

"Sentence Starters Short Fic Collection" (Soap and Ghost, Call of Duty, Kaidan x Shepard, Mass Effect and Kai and Vannak, Halo the series) Yeah, they're all suuuuuper short but I'm always proud of myself whenever I write anything at all for fandoms/characters I've never attempted before. 😎👍

What work of yours has the most hits?

Definitely "15 Minutes" (John x female Reader, Halo the series). I'll never have anything else that will get this sort of response and I'm going to miss it when it's over. But I AM finishing it. Someway. Some how.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

"15 Minutes," yet again. It was meant to be a one-shot and then people liked it and asked for more.

Favorite title you used

"It's All Coming Along" (Master Chief, Halo/Halo the series) Never post things you wrote while in the middle of a bad insomnia bout, kids. You'll think something is funny and everybody else will probably not. I've debated removing this one but finally thought, eh, so it's dumb, that doesn't mean that one day, somebody might get a laugh from my puns. If not, then welp, I'm woman enough to have a total dud in my collection.🤷‍♀️😂

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Didn't use song lyrics this year but I have in the past. I honestly just use whatever artist or song fits the story or theme. I have a really eclectic bunch of artists that I like, so you never know what'll pop up.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

John x female Reader, since "15 Minutes" had so many chapters and "It's All Coming Along" is technically a John x Reader as well. "Recreation" is Kai x male Reader and the Sentence Starters I've already mentioned above. 😉

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

It's actually the female OC/Frank West from my Dead Rising AU titled "Turn Back." They're the only ones I can consistently sit down and just bang out blocks of hundreds of words. I dunno why. 🤷‍♀️

What work was the quickest to write?

"It's All Coming Along" took literally two hours from "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if...?" to me hitting post. Don't do that, kids. Have a nap first if you haven't slept in, like 40 hours. Don't commit fiction, lol. 😆😴

What work took you the longest to write?

"15 Minutes" which was started 2 years ago along with "Recreation" probably deserves that "honor" for more than one reason, lol.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

In addition to finishing "15 Minutes" and "Recreation," I have 6 others: "Untitled Fluffy Vannak fic" (Halo the series), "Choices" (Noble Team choose your own Spartan adventure, Halo: Reach), "The Price" (Caitlin Frost/Hunter Zolomon, The Flash), "Guardian Angel" (Time Wraith!Caitlin Snow/Eobard Thawne, The Flash), "Split" (Caitlin Snow/Eobard Thawne, The Flash) and "Try" (TomCav!Eobard Thawne/Caitlin Snow/Mattobard!Eobard Thawne, The Flash).

What’s your longest work of the year?

"15 Minutes" chapters 7 - 11 totaled 12,064 words on their own.

What’s your shortest work of the year?

"It's All Coming Along" at 106 words

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I'm dragging all 8 of them with me, lol.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

I'm terrible at tagging so most of my tags are just pairings or the occasional warning I feel might be needed.

Your favorite character to write this year?

I'll always love writing for Master Chief John-117, my beloved. I also really love writing Cortana.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

All of them. Writer's block suuuuuucks. 😭

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Honestly, once I finish my WIPs I feel like I'm done. I'll probably keep writing things like my Dead Rising AU and my handful of Mass Effect: Andromeda fics but they're all totally just for me, not to be posted. If something pops to mind, I'll write it but, for the most part, I don't think fandom in general needs me anymore, lol.

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

"15 Minutes" because I'm trying to make sure I keep things consistent and wrap up any loose ends.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

I can't really tell because there's no way to sort out the kudos that "15 Minutes" and "Recreation" already had on them. Excluding them, though, 21.

Which work has the most comments?

"15 Minutes."

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

No, I could barely work with myself this year, lol. I'm lousy at collabs, unfortunately.

Did you write any gifts this year?

No.

Did you receive any gifts this year?

No.

What’s your most common category?

I guess I technically write (hopefully) humorous romance?

What do you listen to while writing?

My inner editor screaming NO1CURRS and that I'm wasting my time even trying to finish my WIPs. I try to drown her out with various playlists. Here's one.

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Again, it's probably the "Turn Back" Dead Rising AU or "The Best Mistake" (Gil x OC, Mass Effect: Andromeda AU). Of my posted stuff, though, "15 Minutes."

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

"Look, it's not my fault that that penguin documentary was kinda lame and—"

"IT WAS NOT!" Vannak bellowed back and took a swing at her that would've definitely put a marine in the infirmary for a month, if not in the ground, permanently. For Kai, it would've at the very least mussed her hair. "Those penguins are adorable and—"

"Lame. Laaaaaame," she singsonged, ducking a flurry of punches, then doing a very impressive parkour run up the wall into a backflip that sent her soaring over the enraged Spartan's head.

"THEY'RE NOT LAME, YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

"Sentence Starters Short Fic Collection" Chapter 3, Kai and Vannak, Halo the series. For some reason, I absolutely LOVE the idea they're arguing over whether penguins are adorable or not, lol!

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That I haven't totally given up. It's been verrrrrry close, friends. But every time I've thought, "Eh, why keep trying?" a comment will pop up, thanking me for writing something that gave them a laugh or the like and that'll give me the strength to keep in the fight. If there's even one person left who wants to read how these end or who'll check out the ones I haven't started posting yet, then I want to finish them.

Here's the original post if you'd like to reblog it for yourself or hey, if you'd like to just go ahead and answer it, no asks require, lol!

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

Aaaa hello!! I absolutely love your works! I've been fighting my demons to send an ask for awhile now :')

But anyways, can i request for TF 141, Alejandro, and Rodolfo reacting to reader's chaotic and outgoing personality cracking? Like they're talking like usual but once they look away they see reader's expression go from happy to neutral for a second? Yeah this was way better in my head. I'm so sorry if this doesn't make sense, english isn't my first language

Btw, don't forget to take breaks every now and then! I hope you have an amazing day/night! :D

[A/n:This is me, like seriously I do this sometimes. Gotta keep the act up ya know? Thank you for requesting]

Summary:They see your personality mask break for a second

Type:Hcs:Gaz X M!Reader: Alejandro X M!Reader: Rodolfo X M!Reader: Soap X M!Reader

Version:Mw2

Gaz

When he seen it he stopped talking and just stared at you shocked

Like did he do something wrong?

And you just went back to normal in less than a second

He'd probably stutter abit when he started talking again

Cause that, that's was scary

Rodolfo

He would freak out abit in the inside, might mess up his sentence abit

He might ask you about it, depending on when you mask broke

If it broke when you to were talking, he's not gonna ask

He'd be more worried if your mad or not

And if you two weren't talking he'd ask

Alejandro

He'd smirk, because he found it kinda hot

Like seriously, he would probably ask you to do it again, randomly

And he wouldn't get it out of his head

Then the wave of panic debating whether or not you were mad at him

He'd come to the conclusion you weren't

Soap

He would think it's hot, him and Alejandro would

He'd tell Ghost about it, which is the reason why he would end up thinking your mad at him

Ghost told him you were

So he would ask, and when you said you weren't he'd go yell at Ghost

But he definitely pays more attention

[A/n:Ya know guys I'm on a role with all these requests 😎. I hope you enjoyed]

[jackactuallywrites]

Thirst for Life

Warning: At the top again! This fic starts with you literally trying to kill yourself! It’s fairly graphic about the how and why too. Also vampires and some non consensual blood drinking and strangely consensual stabbing (also soap is dead).

Pairing: Vampire Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Rating: Mature (no sex but there’s blood and suicide)

Summary: You’ve slit your wrists and you’re planning on jumping off a bridge, Ghost smells your blood from miles away and investigates

Notes: If you’re gonna if OP is okay the answer is yes. Just horny. 😎

Word count: 1,974

ao3 link

So this was it.

The black waters of the river raged underneath you, a siren song calling your name, beckoning you into their black waves, serenading you with sweet songs of promised peace. The serrated knife in your hands was painted with your blood, your arms still singing with burning pain, the cool air blowing across the bridge doing little to soothe the shallow cuts across your forearms, only serving to make you feel unsteady on your feet, your toes scrunching up inside your trainers as though it would help you grip to the metal fencing any better. Your fingers tightened around the cold metal pole you were holding onto, and you could feel your stomach churn as you looked at the roiling waters of the river. One step. That was all it would take. One step, and everything would be over. All that pain, all the struggle, it would all be left behind on the bridge. You just had to take the leap.

Ghost could smell blood.

Even after all his training and years of denying himself the purest form of the sustenance he needed to survive, he could not deny his instincts. Someone out there was bleeding. Fresh blood, warm, leaking from innocent human veins, and it smelt so fucking good. He could taste it on his tongue already, feel the warm ichor flowing over his fangs and down his throat. Already, his feet were carrying him faster than naturally possible through darkened alleyways, flying towards the source of that delectable temptation, luring him from the path of virtue and back down to hell.

Johnny had been his saviour, his sponsor; every time Ghost strayed from the path of righteousness, Johnny would pull him back from the edge, set him back of the straight and narrow, or point him in the right direction where someone needed to be hurt, let him get his bloodlust out ‘safely’. But Johnny was dead. Shot, at point-blank range. The memory was still strong in Ghost’s brain, replaying every night before he went to bed and every morning before he woke up. He could still remember the look on Soap’s face, the glazed look in his eyes. It hurt. And he knew what could take the hurt away.

Blood.

“I’m not going to hurt you.��

Even though you had already planned on your death, you still flinched at the idea of unexpected danger, holding the knife firmly in your hand as you turned around. There was a man, a large man, dressed all in black, from his combat boots to his black balaclava. Even under the thick material of his clothes, you could tell that he was well-built, a tank of a man, but what struck you most was his eyes. They were red.

He approached you, standing less than a metre away, and repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was no way in hell you were going to trust the man; he looked desperate, a man struggling with demons, looking at you as though you were everything he needed. He came closer again, reaching out for your arms, his red eyes focusing on the blood that had begun to dry on your arms, and you panicked, trying to take a step back, but there was nothing behind you but open air. Your arms windmilled to try and keep you upright, but you were falling, falling back into everything you supposedly wanted, back into the abyss.

Then you were caught.

The man’s hand had reached out and grabbed the middle of your jacket, preventing you from falling backwards, yet you were precariously dangling from the precipice, only saved from certain death by his fingers on your coat. Your free hand reached out to grab his, your fingers wrapping around his thick wrist, both terrified of him yet desperate for him not to let go. With a single jerking movement, he brought you back into safety and danger, pulling you close and forcing your hands to rest on his broad chest. His eyes were still focused on your arms, his pupils growing large enough to almost swallow the red of his irises entirely. Something inside you seemed to feel his danger, outside of the usual fear you got when you saw a shady character, something primal, instinctual, and you flinched away from him, but his hand clenched harder on your jacket, keeping you close.

The knife in your hand had been a method of self-destruction, yet now it was a weapon, and you struggled away from the man, “Get away from me. Please.” He didn’t move, still fixated on your arm, and you tried to pull away from him, but he let out an honest-to-God snarl, inhuman, nothing like you’d ever heard before. Your hands moved swiftly, bringing the knife down into his chest, burying it into his flesh.

When was the last time someone got close enough to stab him?

Ghost couldn’t remember. Usually, he had dispatched his enemies far before they ever got the chance to do so much as land a single blow, yet you had sunk your knife into his chest, piercing his lung. And it felt good. He was so dead, inside and out, but now he was feeling something. Pain. Beautiful, pure pain, a trouble only for the living man. He could already feel the wounds beginning to close around the knife, that slight sinking feeling in his chest already dissipating. And there you were, with that beautiful beating heart, rosy cheeks, and the blood leaking from your arms, delicious and fresh. How long had it been since he’d taken directly from the source? You looked so terrified, your eyes widening, the whites of your eyes pearly and clear, and he could hear how frantically your heart was beating against your chest, a little hummingbird trying to escape your ribcage.

“I am so sorry.”

You were apologising. You’d stabbed him in the chest, and now you were apologising. Everything about you was perfectly saccharine, a delightfully sweet dessert, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into you and drink you dry.

How. You had stabbed the man in the chest, and when you yanked your hand back, the knife came out black. Black. The liquid was viscous, sticking to the metal, and you looked back at the man. He didn’t look in pain; in fact, he seemed happy. You stabbed him, and he was happy. His free hand had shifted up to your arm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and placing the tip of the knife back against his chest. His eyes seemed to go almost entirely black. “Do it again.” Your stomach tensed, and your hand loosened on the knife handle. Again? Your words came out in a breathless whisper, “What the fuck.” The man’s voice was a murmur, “Please.” “What is wrong with you?” “I can’t die. You can’t hurt me. Please.”

Regardless of the insanity of your situation, you knew that this man was not one to be disobeyed. You pulled the knife back, then sunk it into his chest, right in the centre, burying it up to the hilt. The man let out a grunt, and his head fell forward, resting on your shoulder. Though you were the proprietor of his destruction, you still panicked, placing your hands on either side of his head and gently lifting it up, “Are you okay?”

Your arms were too close to his teeth. You’d forgotten about the cuts on your wrists, but Ghost hadn’t. The blood was beginning to dry, but it was still so tempting. All he wanted was to turn his head and lap it up like a dog. He could smell it so intensely now, tickling the back of his throat as though he was already tasting it. His thirst was burning him from the inside out, and it had been so long since he’d had a drink. He was a starving dog, and you were a beautifully succulent steak, just begging to be torn into. All that was between you and his teeth was a painfully thick knit fabric. He couldn’t resist. But he had to.

Something in the air had shifted. There was an odd feeling of calm washing over you, hypnotic, luring you into a sense of security that you knew was fake, but you couldn’t resist. The man was turning his head to gently nuzzle against your bloodied arm, the knit fabric harsh against your broken skin. He was pulling up the fabric of his balaclava, revealing his dry skin and the blond stubble that was beginning to turn into a shaggy beard. His cheeks looked sunken, as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks, but he had retained his good looks, a strong jawline and a large, straight nose, though it was marred by a slight bump, a record of where it had been broken some time ago. The whites of his eyes were completely red, and where it was supposed to be coloured, it was black. He was resting his cheek against your arm, pressing his nose against where you’d slit your wrists, his shaggy blond hair falling over his face.

You knew you should have feared him, but you couldn’t. Your fear was being suppressed by something beyond your knowledge, something unnatural. You could hear a quiet snarl as he began to move his head a millimetre at a time, his lips brushing against the dried blood on your arm, his tongue darting out to taste it.

That, it seems, was the nail in the coffin.

The second the dried flakes of blood touched his tongue, he latched on to the cuts in your wrist, the blood flowing once again as he sucked at your wounds. You should have screamed, hit him, run away, but you couldn’t seem to move, held in place by your own freeze response. All you could do was watch in horror as he greedily drank your life force, his dry skin smoothing, his sunken cheeks plumping up, becoming less sallow by the second.

“Please don’t kill me.”

The irony of the sentence wasn’t lost on you; you’d come here planning to throw yourself into the icy waters, and yet here you were, begging for life. You couldn’t help it. No matter how dire things were, there was just some stubborn, human part of you that clung to life with both hands, desperate to survive. Those problems that had seemed insurmountable before now felt so pointless.

He had to stop. He had to, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. Every pulse of your heart sent fresh blood coursing into his waiting mouth, and there was no Johnny here to stop him, to bring him back from the edge. Yet, the thought of Johnny couldn’t be ignored. He could hear the man’s voice in his head, loud as a bell, saying just a single word. Enough. Ghost pulled back, his fangs dripping with gore, looking at the bloodied arm and the blood leaking freely from it. His saliva worked well, too well, and now you were at risk of bleeding out, with nothing to clot your blood. All he had to do was let you go; you were suicidal; you’d come here to slit your wrists and leap to your death; he was just letting things take their course.

Then you spoke. Your voice was barely a croak, your mind clinging to consciousness with only enough strength to pray for mercy. A mercy he could provide. He didn’t need to kill; you were innocent, you posed no danger to anyone but yourself. His mind was made up, even if he hadn’t decided whether the idea was good or not, scooping your limp body into his arms and darting off into the night, back to his lair, where he could keep you safe.