#vampire!soap

[gomzdrawfr]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Happy Halloween⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[docdudo]

Vampire 141 - Fledgling!Reader

This was hell.

Actually, you truly believed hell must be kinder than whatever the hell was happening to your body these past few days.

Should you call the support line after all?

And to think it was all your boss’s fault. If that jerk hadn’t made you work overtime and close the stupid convenience store without any warning, maybe you could have found a way to get home safely.

But nooooo...

Now thanks to that, you were attacked on your way home after work.

Attacked in the middle of the night, on a week day, too far from any houses for anyone to hear the commotion.

And it had been a vampire.

You didn’t know much about vampires. Their species was way too mysterious and reserved with outsiders. That’s not to say they didn’t interact with humans—because they did, especially with the wealthy—but it was one of those situations where someone like you would never get the chance to speak with one.

They were high society. Big families that controlled entire cities and states. Like the Mafia or some shit, living in the rich part of town that you had never even set foot in before.

Although, you had heard of vampires appearing here and there sometimes, walking around through the city quietly and discreetly when problems needed to be solved.

Problems like feral vampires.

Loners cast aside from their Covens for one reason or another, now crazed and out of control, following their bloodlust blindly. They killed as easily as any vampire did, even if their only focus was to drink their victims' blood.

Dangerous creatures...

They were rare—incredibly so—since it was the responsibility of the high covens to protect the normal folk from ferals. They rarely appeared in other vampires' territory, fearing the powerful presence of their own kind.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, a new one would appear from far away, starved and crazed like most of them were by that point. And usually they managed to kill one victim before the covens hunted them down to kill them for good.

So it was very important to call the right number to report feral vampires in the area.

Should you have done that? Yes, you should have. You really should have. But you were so. freaking. tired.

You were a college student working part-time at a convenience store. After waking up from your near-death experience, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. In fact, for a good while after waking up, you even thought you had hallucinated everything. You went home like it was just another night, your mind drifting, more absent than present.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out.

But, when you looked at yourself in the mirror the next morning...

You were supposed to be dead. Someone would find your body—drained and wounded—and call the feral hotline. Vampires would show up, deal with the feral with minimal effort, and make sure the area was secured again. That’s just how it goes.

EXCEPT!

You are fucking alive!!

You didn’t even know that was possible—a feral giving up on its prey after pinning it down instead of just killing it for the blood.

It was talking, too—mumbling nonsense by your ear, like it was actually trying to communicate with you.

It bit you, injecting its venom.

Your skin was horribly marked now. The wounds that had once been there had all turned into thin layers of scar tissue. Not the usual kind, but one formed by the venom injected into your bloodstream. The red and black layers against your otherwise normal skin tone made it look like the weirdest tattoo you’d ever seen—like you were a broken porcelain doll with satan himself trying to break free from inside out.

It started at your neck, on your left shoulder, blooming into an ugly, messy bite that was definitely the most obvious problem there.

It went down your left arm and chest, streaks that looked like veins, or cracks.

The artwork was completed by ending on the wounds you’d gotten on your lower body while fighting off the vampire on top of you—scrapes around your hips and legs.

At least you actually searched a bit about vampires after that, panicking hard over the weird markings on your skin. The only and most important thing you needed to know was whether ferals could transform humans or not.

Which, unsurprisingly, they could.

At least, in theory.

They still have their venom, but when they go feral, they usually just want to drink blood from their victims blindly, and the venom is mostly forgotten. There was never a case of a feral actually turning someone into a vampire!

Maybe that feral wasn’t as far gone as the others...

But now, this was somehow your problem! You barely knew anything about vampires', or how they worked in the first place!

What do they even do after transforming someone?

Are you really a vampire now??

Why did you have the ugliest markings all over your body after being bitten, when you’d never heard of vampires leaving markings like this???

And why the hell was your boss still making you go to work after you told him you were attacked late at night last week, the asshole?!?!

Maybe you should’ve specified it was a vampire who attacked you, but you were scared to face what had happened. What had been done to you, and what you might now become. Do you need to speak to vampires now? Are you actually one? You don't even have any fangs or anything different besides the markings...

You had so much to do—so many projects left unfinished for school. You never missed class, not even when you were sick. But now that you’ve become a completely different species…

"Dearie, what happened to you??"

You were startled by the worried voice of an old lady close to you, making you look up from the chip bags you had been staring at for a solid five minutes in the middle of the aisle.

You glanced back at her for a few seconds before turning your gaze to your own body, looking down at your neck and collarbone where the giant marking started, barely hidden by the collar of your work shirt.

"Oh, it's... dunno, a birthmark." You mumble, tired, not really caring much for a better excuse.

You were so tired lately... what the hell even happened? You always had that healthy college student tiredness from working and studying, but it never made your body feel this heavy.

If you were any more weak-minded, you might have just stayed in bed forever.

But then again, college student.

"It doesn't look like one…." The woman squinted, analyzing your neck like it was her fucking business.

Okay, maybe you were also a bit more irritaded than normal.

"Ma'am, it's nothing. Can I help you with something?" You force a smile, though it’s more cynical than polite, as you weren’t really in the mood to be that polite to people who couldn’t mind their own business.

She stared at you for a few more long seconds in complete silence, her eyes squinting as she made that slow, long hum that old people make when they're being casually judgmental.

"That's a vampire thing, isn't it?" A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, his eyes also drifting to your neck as he tilted his head to the side. "It looks like a vampire bite on your neck..."

This guy you actually know—Thomas, from the real estate office nearby—who always comes to buy a snack around this time of day.

"How did you even get to that conclusion...?" You mumble, frowning slightly in annoyance.

"For one, I can see two teeth marks on your neck, clearly. Second, have you not seen the news? There's a feral mosquito zooming around our area. He was spotted last week and still hasn't been caught."

The old lady gasped in shock, eyes wide as she turned back to you.

"Have you been attacked, dear?!"

Well, fuck. So much for ignoring the problem until it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

"I guess..." You shrug, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up your left shoulder from the action.

"You guess?? You should’ve called the hotline if you were attacked!" Thomas frowned, just as confused as he was indignant.

"You don’t get it, I have so much going on right now..." You groan tiredly, already slipping into a depressive mood as you remember all the work you still had to do for your classes.

"What does that even have to do wit—?!"

"Hey, what's with the commotion?!"

You sighed heavily at your boss’s loud voice booming through the store, the balding man approaching with a huffy expression, slightly controlled thanks to the two clients standing with you in the aisle.

"Didn't know you were at the store today, mr. Miller...." You mumble softly, trying to dodge the last subject.

"I wasn’t supposed to be! But we all received a notification—there’s a Coven coming here to deal with the fucking feral!" He grunts, clearly annoyed. "I came to close the store; apparently, those snobby suckers want all businesses closed to make their work easier."

"Oh no, don’t tell me that…" Thomas sighs, suffering, pulling his phone from his pocket immediately to start a call with what you can only assume is his manager, turning away from the group.

"Does that mean I can go?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you point hesitantly at the glass door.

"Oh, you have to let her go, she needs to go to the hospital...!" The old lady quickly agrees, nodding with the most pitiful look on her face.

"Hey, hey, wait a sec, who said anything about a hospital—?"

"You still haven’t checked the fucking mark consuming your neck? Are you trying to kill yourself, girly??" Mr. Miller interrupts, glaring at you like this situation isn’t part of his fault.

"What the hell? You didn’t give me any days off??" You sputter, indignant.

"I have only you and that stoned kid right now, I can't afford to give any days off! You should go when you have time, like everyone else who works!"

You’re ready to probably yell back at his face when Thomas quickly runs back to the group, a bit desperate as he fumbles with his bags and cellphone.

"They're already here...! I have to go back too!"

"Yeah, I should be going too! Hit me up when you're uptaded, Mr. Miller! Thanks so much, bye-bye!" You say quickly, running out the door after Thomas, your backpack already over your shoulder.

You couldn't even focus on your boss' loud ass voice as you hurried down the street, your head pounding relentlessly. Ever since you got bitten, this had been your reality—splitting headaches, aching muscles, no appetite, itchy gums, and, above all, a bone-deep exhaustion.

To be fair, some of the symptoms were still pretty mild. But deep down, a gnawing fear told you something was off. You could barely wrap your head around the fact that you were actually turning (had already turned?) into a vampire. But feeling like absolute crap made you wonder… what if something was going wrong?

You should call the hotline. You should go to the hospital. Just get it over with—at least get some help. But wouldn’t that change everything? Wouldn’t it make things even more complicated? And what would the all-powerful vampires do with you then?

God, you can’t graduate if you miss too many assignments in a row!

Don’t you have that group project due in two weeks—the one no one in your group has even said a peep about?

A small noise from the other side of the otherwise silent street caught your attention, your head snapping up in alert. The street was empty—of both cars and people, as usual—except for the two men standing by the closed pet store.

And goddamn, these were NOT normal men.

They were dressed strangely, a mix of military style and high-end fashion. Clearly rich. Heavy black clothes with small pops of color, loaded with pockets and belts. Their boots—thick, heavy, the kind that could break your bones with a single kick.

But that wasn’t the weird part...

No, the weird part was how much of their faces they were covering. One of the men wore a heavy jacket, with a hood and beanie pulled up to hide his jet-black hair. A black surgical mask—like the kind you'd see in a hospital—covered his face, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

The other… good lord, he had to be around three meters tall. Sure, vampires were naturally bigger than humans, but still… what the hell? This guy was wearing a full veil over his head, black, with suspicious red streaks running down it, and his heavy clothes hid the rest of his body just as much.

They... they had to be vampires, right...?

You flinched when the man wearing sunglasses suddenly snapped his head in your direction. His face was completely hidden, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze. The other man too turned in your direction slowly, now both of them facing you, completely still.

It truly seemed as if time had stopped for a few moments. No one moved or made a sound. You weren’t sure what to do. The ugly markings on your skin—too high on your neck to be hidden by your snug polo work shirt—seemed to burn under their stares.

You can't take this anymore.

Without thinking, you immediately turned around and tried to make your way back to the convenience store, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But you didn’t even manage to take a single step forward.

"What is this?" the man wearing sunglasses asked, his voice rough and quiet.

You jumped in place, a small hiccup escaping your lips in surprise as you felt heavy hands settle on your shoulders, keeping you still.

How did they get to you so fast?? You were on the other side of the street!

"Fledgling." The other man spoke even more gruffly, tilting his head down to see you properly. His veil was falling forward just enough for you to almost see his face beneath it.

You could distinctly see a red glow beneath it.

"W-Wha—"

Your stuttered words were interrupted by the veiled man's big, heavy hand tilting your head up gently, while his partner unbuttoned your polo shirt, pulling the cloth aside to reveal more of the damaged area.

"Abused by their Sire." The veiled man growled lowly in anger, his voice still mostly quiet as he analyzed the markings. You could clearly hear a distinctive German accent in his words. "Who? It's just our Coven here."

"There were visiting Covens not that long ago." The other one also spoke with an accent—something Asian, it seemed—but you couldn't quite place it.

"Too fresh. This is a just-turned."

"E-Excuse me—"

"This is a grievous sin against nature itself." The Asian man growled, making every hair on your body stand on end. The sound of his growl sent a shiver through you, paralyzing you slightly. "She didn't even complete the transformation."

"Fledgling, who is your Sire?" the German muttered slowly, forcing your head slightly higher so you had to look up at him.

Now they quieted down, letting you speak. Though you didn't really want to right now—not when you didn't understand what the hell they were saying.

"M-My... my what...?" You mumble anxiously, looking up in between both of their covered faces.

...

"Scheißdreck!" The veiled man cursed gruffly, his hands immediately going under your armpits to lift you up as if you weighed nothing, making you yelp in surprise.

"I did think the tribunal was too quiet recently," the Asian guy grunted, his arms crossed firmly as he watched you squirm slightly in panic in the bigger man's arms. "They're gonna love to hear about this."

"And the feral?" the German asked quietly, gently immobilizing you against him, tapping your back in small motions to calm you down.

"The others are here. No matter how smart a feral, they are easy targets. We have more important matters to attend to now. Isn't that right, Fledgling?"

You whimpered slightly in fear and confusion, your head pressed against the taller vampire's shoulder.

"How are we going to deal with this...?" The German sounded slightly calmer now, less aggressive with you in his arms. "This is serious, Horangi, a crime of this caliber..."

"I know, König. The tribunal will deal with that. For now, we keep her close. How about her teeth?"

You felt your body being slightly adjusted to lay more against the big guy's body, his giant hand coming up to your mouth to push his fingers inside it.

"No way!" you hissed defensively, trying to turn your head from side to side to avoid him.

"Shh, Fledgling. You're okay, stay calm. Open up." You let out a grunt in surprise and indignation as Horangi stepped forward, forcing his fingers into your mouth while König held your head in place. "Ha, it's what we thought. A fresh fledgling. Her teeth haven't even fallen out yet." He laughed without humor, shaking his head slightly as he let go.

"F-Fall out?? W-Wait, t-this is...! O-Oh, God..."

You whimpered, getting overwhelmed. This was precisely why you didn’t want to deal with the attack and transformation matter. And a tribunal?? You were so busy, living alone, and you couldn’t miss work—much less miss your classes.

"You are tired, Liebchen. Your body is taking a toll after the bad transformation. Settle, we'll take care of things." He patted your back gently a few times.

"She has a ton of venom in her bloodstream, and she's still awake. Rock her a bit, and she should fall back asleep quickly. I'm calling Laswell."

God Fucking Dammit!!

[starsofang]

Vampire!Johnny x Reader <3

tw: blood

You were Johnny’s favorite little volunteer. You were so willing for him when he worked up the courage to ask if he could take a bite, one measly little prick of your neck so be could get a quick fix with the sharp tips of his fangs.

You never minded when he’d call, even in the late hours of the night, always a hint of a plea on the edge of his tone as he practically salivated at the thought of getting a taste of you once more. You always said yes, something he became rather greedy of, seeing as his visits became more and more frequent.

He couldn’t help himself. He was addicted.

Your taste was the sweetest he’d ever come across, like warm honey down his throat. The metallic sweetness burst along his tastebuds and had his body begging for more. He never went too far, but he knew you’d let him if he asked.

Instead of draining you like he very easily could, he let his other senses take over. Humping your leg like a bitch in heat with his mouth still latched to your neck, your delectable blood heightening how truly sensitive he was.

He was a desperate, whining mess, a complete shift of the man you knew. Where on normal days, he was a charming, cocky shit, your blood had him falling into putty in your hands, submissive and under your spell.

You’d never refuse him, of course. You felt pity for him every time you felt the stiffness of his cock poking you through his pants, begging to be released, to be worshipped.

You always gave him what he wanted. You were happy to help, to give yourself up for him so he could feel relief. You couldn’t imagine the turmoil lack of blood had on a poor vampire like Johnny, and it hurt your heart to see him become a pathetic mess.

Johnny adored you when you’d use one hand to pull his cock out while the other remained on the back of his head, fingers curling into his mop of hair to keep him against your neck. Encouraging, begging him to take all that you can give, to lose himself in his feast.

He wouldn’t last long. The moment your hand wrapped around his cock and stroked it to a soft rhythm with praises leaving your lips, it was over. He’d let out a loud whine into your neck, burying himself in you while his hips jerked into your closed fist to match your pace, ropes of cum painting the fabric of your pants.

Johnny was a greedy vampire with an unhealthy addiction to you, but he wasn’t a mean one like most.

He always made sure you got your fix as well with his tongue devouring the lovely flesh between your legs, the tips of his fangs grazing just slightly to have you a crying mess, your thighs framing his head and holding him hostage until you came down from your high.

Johnny has had many partners in his extended lifetime, but you were definitely his favorite one he wouldn’t let go of. Even if it meant slipping a bit of poison in your veins on his next visit to ensure you stuck with him forever.

[living--on--coffee]

The Hunt

Part 1/2

Hunter becomes the hunted.

vampire hunter!reader x vampire!john mactavish x vampire!simon riley

Tags: vampire!john mactavish, vampire! simon riley, vampire hunter!reader, pretty much the hunter becomes the hunted trope tbh, vampire bites, reader is a hunter but also kind of like a detective, gore, blackmailing, predator/prey, vampire bites are aphrodisiac

"Teenage girl, seventeen years old. She was found dead in her room by her family. Nobody saw anyone, nor heard anything. At first they didn't think it was a vampire, the scene was so gory that it was hard to believe a vampire would waste so much blood like that." Blonde woman paused to take a sip from her tea. You watched her slender fingers fiddle with the edge of her mug, waiting for her words to settle. You took a deep breath, Laswell's office always smelled so nice, oak tree and tea with a hint of cigeratte smoke.

"What do you think?" she shifted back in her chair.

"Well, so much to unpack here. Those are not usual vampire behaviours. Vampires only care about blood, not where it comes from."

They don't follow a girl to her house and wait for the right time to break into her house, you think.

When a vampire fails to suppress their feeding urge, they usually go after easy preys. People they can easily snatch away from an empty alleyway, bar bathrooms, places where very few people can see them. They don't become mindless creatures the moment they haven't sunken their fangs into something squishy in days.

"The girl is different. Why else would one of them fuck her first and kill her in the worst way possible? She clearly had something going on with them."

Laswell is nonchalant, cold-blooded all the time which makes her perfect for her job. She's a fast thinker, always good at bringing the pieces together. You've barely seen her take on a case and not know what to do, sit empty handed with a puzzled expression.

This time was an exception.

Fourth murder of the year, and you still haven't even gotten a fucking name.

Laswell's patience was wearing thin. And at this rate, you didn’t have it in you to blame her.

"They all did. That's why we're looking for the suspects that had connections with the victims, not some random vampires that happened to be passing by."

You wanted to defend yourself saying you had already checked their contacts, went through their electronic devices countless of times, searched for the smallest piece of evidence in the crime scene-

"What about the crime scene, anything new?"

Oh, the crime scene.

Blood scent was thick in the air. That was your first impression. The room was filled with sickening smell of rotten flesh and something else that got you bringing your arm collar to your nose.

There was blood, too much of it. That was the second. It adorned the room, not leaving a corner uncovered. It splattered across the walls, some of it onto the band posters on the walls to make deformed patches on the squeky paper. A big amount of it dripped down the bedframe so much that it managed to make a puddle thick enough to make vibrant red stand out on the dark parquet floor.

It was everywhere except for where it belonged, the cold body that rested on the soft bed sheets.

You approached the body with slow steps. The closer you got the worse it got. Once blurry sight turned into a gory mess of broken bones and ripped flesh. Brittle bones jutted out of a carved open chest. If you looked closer you could see the organ that once pumped the essence of life through her body for years, only to be drained off of all it's purpose along with it's owner.

You wanted to graze your fingers on where flesh was torn the most, the rugged edges that had been too weak to withstand the cruel swipes of fangs and claws. Maybe that way you would be able to feel all that glorious force yourself, see what exactly a determined vampire could do, see what you're getting yourself into. You cling dearly to bring together what little remains of the vampire's presence, desperate for the tiniest sign that could help you piece the puzzle together.

Finger-shaped blood stains made a trail leading to her navel. Scrapes and bruises littered her soft thighs. Deep nasty groves making a stark contrast on silky skin. Between her legs was an even bigger mess. Dried blood and semen clung to the curls between her legs.

Blood and grime caked under her fingernails, a futile attempt to harm her attacker. You could form an image, though the barely there certainity held your imagination back it wasn't hard at all to get goosebumps at the slightest thought of the savagery. Being invaded both body and soul and against all your best attempts all your defenses which you trust the most failing you, they're just not enough-

She had fought nail and teeth, literally. She tried to use her blunts nails against them. With no assuration she'd still fought for this was all she could do.

What a horrible fate she must've went through,tou thought. She deserved to be alive, fine with a hopeful mind that was fortunate enough to not experience any of these. You wanted to mourn over her life, her youth, everything that had been taken away she never got to enjoy. Maybe with a want that stemmed from wanting to find a companion to your emotionally state you turn your head up, to where her face sits over a battered neck.

Your eyes rake over her bloody neck, mouth. Dead, sunken eyes with deep purple marks around them. It was sad really, at such a young age-

Something was off.

It was some kind of a thought coming from the basest part of you. Like you just noticed something you hadn't before. When you did, you knew it was uncanny, something wrong.

Her face, as a whole, had a serene expression. You wondered if it was your imagination or an optical illuson from how little you slept. You looked closer, to the subtle curve of her lips, to the keen light that still managed to stay behind there. It was trying to tell you something, someth-

"Her face..." words leave your mouth before you could stop them. "She...looked serene."

Shock and judgement contorts her face. She looks like she can't decide whether to scowl at you or simply seek therapy for you. Before she can say something cutting you step in.

"We can't keep doing this."

Laswell gives you a faltered expression. You continue. "We just wait for a new murder to happen and do the same things we did in the previous cases. We need something different."

"What should we do then? Enlighten me."

You take a deep breath.

"Let me do my job. Send me to that club."

"We don't have enough evidance to have a permission to organize such mission."

"That's right but what about I go there alone, as a civilian? You won't need to sneak in any teams, I will just gather information and-"

"Send you inside alone? No, absolutely not." she interrupts.

"I was trained for this. I will be fine." you try to convince her.

"The moment they find out who you really are they will tear you to shreds."

You close your mouth at that. You both know that there's truth to her words. You pause.

"I can't just wait here doing nothing."

It sounds like pleading. You could feel yourself work up the courage to ask for that permission again. Somewhere inside you where your sense of duty and fear clashes.

"I will think about it"

You don't know if you're content or terrified by the possibility that lays behind that sentence.

You're sitting on your bed, facing the wall.

If a vampire was to come into your room and decide to kill you, could you put up a fight?

You have a gun in your nightstand's drawer, loaded with silver bullets. A knife under your pillow. A silver dagger in your pocket at all times.

If they were to come into your room, would you be able to pull out your knife and stab it into their heart? Watch them bleed and writhe in agony before they can get to you?

Probably not.

You're only human, after all. A bait in best case scenarios. Even when you've spent years training to fight vampires, that only makes you harder to kill for them. Your training only delays the inevitable. Never the hunter, but a stronger prey. It eats your mind.

All your work, your hopes, your ambitions. Do they even matter? You feel like you're a child and everyone around you is trying to keep you occupied with less important things to avert your attention away from the real problems. It's like they know what having your job means, like they are trying to protect you. You find their efforts insulting.

That doesn't mean you don't find some truth about their concerns. You wish you could.

The club is loud. Walls are painted red and black, they turn into navy blue and purple when exposed to blue lights. Your form blends in with the crowd, blue lightning highlights your form, your skin. In your mind It seeps right through you, showing how transparent you're, just like you intended.

You put effort to look this way, to look casual. Opposite of eye-catching. Your hair is resting on your shoulders, your pants hugging your legs nicely but still comfortable enough to let you use your legs freely. Your leather jacket hiding the silver dagger strapped to your side.

You slice through the crowd, smell of stale alcohol and sweat fills your senses. You watch people come and go, each one of them telling a different story. You check them out if they're vampire or not mentally as a result of working for years in your field. Even though differentiating vampires from humans is almost impossible just from the looks, your eyes linger on a few who don't bother with hiding themselves.

Bright, platinium blonde hair of the vampire curtains her ivory fangs flashing behind red, luscious lips. You watch, hypnotized as they arrive at their destination, to the frail neck of some brunette girl. Sharp tips brushed against vulnerable flesh, leaving red trace in their wake. Manicured nails clinging to her hair only encouraged them more.

You feel a shudder shoot up your spine. Junkees, you think.

A familiar face shows up in the crowd. Graves, who is your partner for the night.

You never liked graves. You'd tried to get along with him as your coworker, have a respectable relationship together, you really did, but it never worked out. Not when the guy is acting like a literal creep.

When you were at the funeral of a fallen comrade he dared to make a senseless comment about how glad he was it hadn't been you because it'd be a shame for someone as pretty as you to die so early. Still he's experienced in his field and better than nothing.

You flinch when Graves' hand snakes down to pet your ass softly.

You glare at him in a way only he can see and dance out of his reach with slow steps.

Two steps back, turn around, stare at people, read the room. Answers are hidden in the plain sight. They can be in the aphrodisiac that drips from the vampire's fangs 2 metres away from you or in the eyes that never ceased their stare since the you stepped into the club, always on your back, always watching.

Some man comes into your view, blocking your vision. His eyes fixated on you as you swing to sides. It takes about 2 minutes until his focus shifts, clearly displeased at your lack of interest. When it does you look for Graves wanting to keep on dragging the two of you to the spots in the club that you've yet to see. That's when your stomach sinks, he is nowhere to be found.

You feel cold all of a sudden. All the sweat that gathered on your skin from the humid air turned ice cold, leaving you shivery and faint. You check the crowd, turn your head to your left and right, draw a big circle around the room. But he's just gone.

You round a sharp corner that leads you to a dark corridor, only lightened dimly by a light source coming from somewhere your vision can't quite reach.

Here you are, standing in an eerie corridor in a building surrounded by vampires all by yourself. Your hand itches near your pockets, you tell yourself it's to grab your weapons if necessary, not to reach your phone and call Laswell and beg her for backup.

You don't know where you're going, and certainly not what's waiting for you on the other end of this corridor. But you have a gut feeling that you're about to find out soon.

Your ears perk up at the sound of squeking boots coming behind you. Your hand readily finds the silver handle in a swiftness born from years of experience and training. Though you react a little too late because strong arms come out of nowhere and slam your back against the wall. You let out a stifled groan.

The man gets closer, his facial features highlightens and it's hard to not notice two longer fangs jutting out behind his lips.

Panic rises in your body, your blood vessels tightens, forcing the liquid in your veins to run faster. Your hands are useless, unmobilized by vampire's hand.

It's over, you think. You're completely at the man's mercy, if he decides that he wants have a little more blood than usual he can suck you dry right here and now.

To your unfortune, by the looks of him, it seems about the right time you start begging for mercy. You have never been bitten before, and with the experience you got over the years from your job, you know what happens once you do. You swallow your pride

His fangs elongate, a strange glow blends into his irises. A characteristhic feature about the nature of vampires that have had the lab workers in the base fussing their head over to figure out what the hell it is. It's known to manifest visions, snake the vampire into vulnerable human brain. You close your eyes and wait for what's to come. His breath ghosts near your ear.

"You should've never came here dumb, little human." his cracked voice murmured into your ear.

There's a grunt, a rush of air hits your face. When you open your eyes you're greeted by the brawl of two men on the ground and a not so stranger face.

Mactavish.

He's a vampire, one of the stronger ones that shows with how quickly he knocked the man to the ground. In a blur of motion he has the man by the scruff of his neck. Before the man can make a move to defend himself, he punches the man's teeth in with such force that you hear bones crunching.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You must be more shaken than you thought and it must show to your face because when you don't answer he closes the distance between you and gently holds your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

You're hesitant at answering him. Your eyes feel heated and there's a bump in your throat. Making you feel like you'll start bawling like a child if you were to say a word.

So you just nod shakily, averting your gaze away from him as you try to force your racing pulse to slow down. Your breath events out, the presence of another vampire in the room is hard to dismiss in your shaken state, but you kind of manage. What the fuck were you doing here, really? This place is the last place a lone human should be, instead you-

Graves. You were looking for Graves.

How long time had you lost standing here? With a newfound panic, you look up to him with wide eyes.

"Graves, he was with me in the club but then he just disappeared. I need to find hi-"

A blood curling scream interrupts you. Instictively you both turn your head to the end of the corridor, to the direction the sound came from.

You thoughtlessly start to run. A thousand possibilities fill your mind as you sprint through the corridor.

It ends in a dark alleyway. The kind of alleyway people makes sure to avoid walking.

There are blood drops on the ground and Graves is nowhere to be found.

He took him.

First you hear sirens, then screams coming from inside of the club and shuffling of footsteps. You turn around to check on Mactavish. You find him gone.

Your name echoes in Laswell's office, snapping your attention back to her. You feel so big, vast, hard to miss in the small room. Like a whale put in a small pond, nowhere to run from the piercing glares and stinging words.

You want to shrink into yourself, curl up on the floor and die. But you don't because you're in no position to be embaressed. That'd be too merciful for you. Not what you deserve for your actions.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Laswell condemns. Her voice is loud by her standarts, if you were a civilian you would've jolted in your seat.

You don't jolt, you don't flinch. Your irresponsibility caused this. You don't open you mouth for even once to correct her or to defend yourself, instead you take her words, suck them up.

It all turns into a blur. Far away you're wandering in different places, present in the room and not at the same time. You understand every word yet you're content with just throwing them away. So rooted in yourself that you're convinced you're already aware of what she has to say to you.

"You're taken from this case."

One sentence is enough for your self-controlled dazed state to shatter into pieces. The pieces burst through your ears making a hoeling sound, they flow through your blood vessels with their icy edges, making your skin go cold.

"I arrested people for less."

Raindrops pitter patter against the windshield of your car. Autumn air is set heavy, trying to get into the warmness of your car yet failing. All it can do is to manifest itself as foggy remains on the car windows.

You've been sitting in your car and drinking. After two beers and some wine that got into your system you're still thirsty, your need for a calm mind is more evident than ever.

You're not drunk yet, maybe a tad tipsy. You waryly eye the bag of groceries in the backseat. The vodka bottle peeks out from the bag, looking very inviting at the moment.

A man walks past the parking lot. Even when drunk, your senses are alert. Corner of your vision catches his imposing figure, wide shoulders.

His eyes give him away.

Even after figuring him out his eyes spare you from actually observing him. They just grasp your attention like a thread and make themselves known even from such distance. They're so captivating that you feel exposed even though you're the watcher here. The safety of your car doesn't stop your imagination from creating phantom sensations of someone watching you.

You don't think much about it. You're out of the car following him in an instant.

You put a considerable distance between. When he enters some pub you wait for fifteen minutes before stepping inside.

The pub is mundane, a place nice to be around. People's chitter-chattering fills the room, laughter flows freely. You take a seat near a bar counter and casually order a beer.

You rake over the tables while sipping your beer. When your eyes land on your target you smile.

He's sitting there, chatting with someone you can't see past your blocked view.

You can't help but once again be charmed by him. His energy is enchanting, It's radiating off him. You nearly gasp when he flashes his perfect smile to whoever lucky person is sitting across him. His presence almost offends you, almost.

You go back to sulking in your chair. "Just get on with it." you think. You turn around to give him an inviting smile, a flirty one, maybe. You have a short-lived panic when you can't find him where you left.

"Are you following me?" a deep voice says from the chair next to you. You nearly crawl out of your skin. You missed he's as skilled as you. Still you force yourself to reciprociate. Snap back with the same fever.

"That's my line."you protest.

He gives you a blank stare, weighing your words. His eyes lit up when he finally gets it. His previous cockines slowly vanishes into understanding. He's taken back, you see the oppurtunity and attack.

"What were you doing in that club?"

You can feel it, his uneasiness. His grimace is a defence shield, a useless attempt at appearing cool but failing. Or so you hope.

"Sometimes I think you forget that I'm an officer too, lass." he mocks. You want to punch him in the face.

"Graves died and you were there."

"Laswell was worried you were up to something stupid."he explains calmly while ordering a new drink. This sentence is enough to shut you up. Laswell trusted another person to complete the holes in your case.

You shift back into your seat in defeat, though you're not about to reveal this to him soon.

To your dismay, he seems to pick on your mood. "Laswell was thinking about involving me in this case for a long while."

You open your mouth to protest but you look up to see that smirk.

"Don't be so judgeful yet, you haven't even tried me."

...

You've been well acquainted to the rumors, gossips about Mactavish.

At first everyone had taken him with caution, with the disbelief that he was even allowed to exist here. Your superiors had convinced you that having a vampire by their side had been the best decision ever.

He's like a machine, more durable than any vampire hunter they've had.

After all, only a vampire can withstand the force of one of their kind.

Their words had been stinging, but they had some truth to them. As much as having him was the same as having a fox in a coop full of chickens, he'd proved himself with killing tens of his kind. After this point whatever critism one had for him would beg the questions to their performance as a hunter.

His position as a vampire hunter is a contrast to everything you had to learn.

Vampires cannot be trusted. They could be anyone, anything and you wouldn't even notice until it's too late.

After all, humans have very valid reasons not to trust vampires. Vampires literally evolved to hunt humans.

They adapted to being a parasite species, they used evolution to their advantage, letting it shape them into being what they're in the present day.

They come from the deepest pits of hell. Their power is serpentine, it unravels through their eye sockets, wriggles it's way through feeble human mind. Carves a nest in the brain, seeping into every little crevice and curve, rotting the brain from inside to the point of no return. When they finallyTheir eyes lurk

In most scenarios the victim becomes dependent on them. Obsessed, being left with no chance but having their mind high on their venom. The victim obliviously becomes addicted to them, letting them feed on their blood, body, mind for the smallest amount of venom. The life is slowly being sucked dry off them, yet they still beg for more.

A dangerous obsession that in most scenarios ends in death.

It's a cloudy tuesday. The exhaustion from the past month slowly wears off like autumn leaves falling off the trees in your yard.

You have some phone calls from Graves' family, rightfully worried about his case and how will you handle it. At first you got rude comments and blamings for not being enough. The time seemed to soothe their hate a bit.

You arrive at your home and step through the doorstep. You're prepared to slip out of your shoes when you notice something odd about your house. It smells like... roses? Rose scent is not your pick for the room sprays. It doesn't take you long to notice a bouquet of roses sitting on the floor a few steps away.

There'd been someone in your home.

There's a trail of rose petals. You pull out your gun follow the rose petals like it's a path of blood trail. You walk past your kitchen, climb the stairs. All the while you check out the other rooms.

Rose petals end in your bedroom. They lead to a big box laying on your bed. The packaging looks expensive, decorated with a tasteful manner.

You go to the bathroom to grab some plastic gloves. You slip your fingers through the powdery rubber. You wield the box, keep it near your ear, shake it and try to figure out what's inside. Whatever is inside it sounds soft, like ruffling of fabric.

You decide it's not a bomb or something dangerous and start to work on the packaging. The thick ribbon unfurls like water under your hands. After other materials of packaging are gone you peek at the things that greet you from the box.

At the top is another package from a luxirous clothing brand. You twist your face in disgust when you unfold the fabric and see it's a red pair of lingerie. You try to ignore it. Under it is a small fancy jewellery box with a golden necklace in it. You test it's weight in your palm and gawk at the size of the stone at the end of it. You're not sure if it's real or not, but the workmanship alone must've costed hundreds.

There are smaller items stashed in the box: A red lipstick, a bottle of wine and a smaller box.

The small box is different from the others, it doesn't have a brand name written on it. In fact, it looks more like the handiwork of a middle school kid. The packaging is neatly done, but minor flaws succeed to show themselves. You imagine slightly shaking hands from excitement wrapping it.

Surprised to find such personal touch after all the expensive brands in the box, you open it with the caution, unsure what to expect.

You touch over the velvet fabric draped on the thing. It has sturdy, hard ridges that give away when pressed on them. Covered in some squishy, fleshy material.

Your blood goes cold when you understand what it is. To test your assumption you smooth your hand over the fabric, feeling the perfect shape of a human hand underneath.

Your hands shake as you lift the fabric and peek to the hand that was cut from the wrist. You almost throw the box to the across the room while you hyperventilate and once again be face to face with the reality of your job.

You notice a note at the bottom of the box. Crooked letters littered around the thick paper that says:

-I want to see you in those.

They took the hand, gave the rest of the box back to you after investigation. Probably didn't know what to do with the lingerie, you thought.

Crime scene investigators had stormed in when you explained what you had found. They inspected every corner of your house that they probably know more about your house than you at this point.

You leaned back in your office chair as you fiddled with your pen. You hear a knock on your door.

"It's me, Johnny, can I come in?" Johnny asks. You tell him to come in. He brings a file with him.

"I found something. Some residants reported a man wearing a skull mask. It's worth to take a look into." he says as he makes himself home with dragging a chair in front of your desk.

A skull mask. You remember the night Graves was taken. You nod slowly. "He might be our guy." you approve.

Johnny hands you over the files. He eyes you as you rake over the files. He looks like he has something to say and he would burst if he couldn't say it.

"What?" you try to urge him on.

He looks somewhat confused. "Did you find some kind of note in the box? Or a letter? He obviously wanted your attention, at that point why not leave an explanation?" he asks innocently.

You feel like you've been caught red-handed. How could he know? You didn’t tell anyone about the note.

"No, there was nothing."

Johnny nods understandingly.

"So, are you going to stay in your house? It must be uncomfortable knowing a killer just got into your house. If you need a place I can help." he offers.

"Thank you but I'm staying over at my friend's. You're right It would be very uncomfortable." you half lie. You told your friend you'd stay for a week, but you know after three days you'd find a hotel to stay, reluctant to overstay your welcome.

"The box, I heard our killer has a good taste in presents. The girls are still talking about the lipstick." Johnny makes an attempt to soften the conversation.

"Oh yeah, I was shocked when I first saw it. I don't understand why would he go through this. Not to mention the pric-"

"Well, after spending all that money he better has chosen some pieces that suit your taste." he interrupts. Then he frowns like he tries to remember something.

"Uh, like the lingerie."

Your eyes widen.

"What?"

He looks at you like he doesn't understand why you're surprised at such casual question.

"The lingerie, as example. Did you like it?"

The drive to the motel is silent.

You have to admit, it's better than you expected. The dust makes itself known as soon as you pull the curtains to sides to let some light in, but still that's better than staying back home.

You change into your sleep clothes, do your skincare, comb your hair. You do anything to make it feel like home, to feel the blissful ignorance.

You pull the sheets over your head and you realize that you forgot something.

Your pillow feels too soft, as if lacking something hard, something with a weight under it. Your hand itches to grab the cold metal, desperate to feel the security that comes from it's sharp edges, the glint of silver that dance over it.

You end up putting a silver knife under your pillow, another on the nightstand.

At least now you don't feel as vulnerable.

There are hands roaming your body. Large palms pawing at your hips, a warm breath ghosting over your neck. A deep voice whispers words into your ear you can't quite decipher.

Your mattress shifts under the weight of a second person. You feel the cold all over your body now. Whoever, whatever it is, the thing is huge. It blankets your body with it's massive frame. Your body twitches, desperately tries to jolt you awake so you can face the danger, or run away from it.

You hear footsteps that are not of the person above you. There's a third person in the room with you. You open your eyes.

You try to push the bulk off your body, try to squirm free but fail. You turn your head to the side to see who's the second man, but your head is roughly yanked to the side. Your eyes meet with cold, soulless eyes, dark like the pits of hell. You slip back into your sleepy haze, but still fully awake.

Fangs glint like knifes in the dark, you try to scream loud enough to rattle the motel, but instead only pathetic whimpers get out. Someone hushes you, pets your hair when tears stream down your cheeks.

A wet tongue laves over your pulse, your breath is shortened to hiccups now. A maw attaches itself onto your neck, and finally it bites into your neck, drawing your blood from your veins.

Your mouth opens on a silent scream, the mouth that's not biting you closes on yours.

You wake drenched in sweat and dread still clinging to your bones. There's coldness in your chest, as if your heart is pumping ice and not blood.

Pain ghosts over your neck. You shoot you hand up to feel it, your hand comes back clean.

You wriggle out of your sheets, trying to let your sleep sweat dry off first to warm yourself. Your hands are numb as you check the time from your phone.

It's seven in the morning. There's a notification you need to squint your eyes to read. Your heartbeat almost stops when you see it's from Laswell.

-See me when you're here.

You stare blankly for one minute, trying to understand if you're in trouble or not. You weigh the possibilities and let your dream slowly dissolve into thin air. When you try to remember what it was about darkness and carnage are the only things that paint your mind.

"They caught someone, a vampire. His DNA matches with the samples we've gotten from all three murders. However, we suspect that he doesn't work alone, you might want to interrogate him." She ends with an exasperated sigh.

With a nod you make a move to get out.

"Wait." Laswell says. When she has your attention back she continues.

"He wanted to talk to you. He said your name. " She says slowly, tentatively. As if she can't even trust her own words. It's your turn to be surprised.

"What?"

"We tried interrogating him while you gave your statement for the night. He said he won't talk unless it's you who's interrogating him."

There are a lot of things you want to say. Instead you just give her a shaky nod and close the door behind you.

The room they keep vampires is not like your usual interrogation room. It is sound-proof. There are two doors next to each other to deal with the lackness of human eye that can't catch up with super vampire speed. Handcuffs are thicker, made of a stronger element than iron, so is the mirrored glass in front of you.

You approach the mirrored glass. The vampire is tied to a metal chair. Even with his hunching posture he looks imposing, threatening. The fact that he's restrained by heavy chains doesn't silence the small part of you that shys away. There's blood all over his hands and up to his arms, corners of his mouth. The chains look a little too tight around his bulging muscles. He's muscular everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his neck-

"Are you going to just stare or do something here?" The man says without turning his gaze at you. His voice was dark, just like what you had expected from this monster of a man. It was unexpected, he wasn't supposed to see you. It makes you jolt in where you stand. Maybe he felt the vibrations of your footsteps, you think. You decide not to move until he thinks you're gone.

"I can smell you, you're still there." he chuckles darkly. It's merely a chuckle, too dry and raspy to be considered one. Actually there are hints of mocking in his tone.

You sigh and decide there's no meaning in hiding. You open the first door with scanning your card, and then the second one. When you're inside the door clicks shut behind you.

The man stirs, he tilts his head to your direction, though you know it's more of a show.

You loudly drag the metal chair and situation yourself in front of him with putting a considerable distance between you and him.

"How do you know my name?"You ask.

He doesn't answer, just like you thought.

"Unbind me."he demands.

His useless attempt almost makes you laugh.

"Why would I do that

"If you cooperate we might consider making you some favors." you try again.

He tilts his head.

"What do you want?" his voice is gruff, low in pitch, yet it still manages to seep into your brain.

"A location. Tell me where is Phillips Graves."

He huffs amusedly at your demand.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise, love. Figured you'd want to find whatever is left of him all by yourself."

His words make you sick to your stomach. The implication hidden behind them is enough to make you worry about your position in the eyes of your coworkers. You try to regain your authority over him.

"You're sentenced for-"

"Did you like your present?" he interrupts.

"I picked out the contents very mindfully. I even asked your friend for help, it was kind of him to lend a helping hand in." he ends his sentence with a dry chuckle. You don't find his joke funny.

"Where is he?" you say sternly.

"What am I getting out of this?"

Nothing, you want to say.

"The court will grant your cooperation positively, I can say." you explain.

He shakes his head.

"Will you wear the lingerie I bought you? Spread your legs, and bare your neck for me?"

His lewd comments makes your cheeks warm. You're glad he can't see the shocked expression on your face.

"That won't happen."

"Or should I do it myself? One of those nights I can just come through your window and prove you wrong."

After witnessing how easily he broke into your house you know very well that he can. That's why his words send chills up your spine.

But now is different. He's chained, restrained, you're safe.

It's your turn to chuckle.

"You're chained to a chair in a high security room, you will rot for the rest of your life in a prison cell. You're not going anywhere."

The man in front of you shifts in his seat. You hear the creaking metal, clinking of chains. It's okay, you think. That seat was made to withstand hundreds of pounds of force.

The metal bends, something in the air snaps.

He's on you in an instant.

Broken chains dangle from his limbs as he lounges at you. You shout at him to get away. You don't make it to the door when he lays all his body weight on you, caging you between the ground and his bulk.

He huffs like a beast above you. His breath hits the back of your head. When you try to shout for help he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and shakes. You whimper when he buries his face in your neck, right above your pulse point. He inhales deeply.

"You smell different, not like you do when you're sleeping." you thrash harder at his words. You can feel his smile against your neck, his fangs scratching the skin there.

"My big, scary hunter, are you afraid?" he says mockingly.

It doesn't take long after that and armed guards storm in the room, haul him off your body. They half-drag you shocked form out the room.

In your stumble you manage to get a glimpse of him behind you, calm as ever, showing no signs of struggle as guards restrict him once again. Like he got what he wanted.

There's a content smile on his lips. A wry, awful thing. Like he just accomplished his plan.

You park your car near the warehouse.

Birds chirp in the background, the sun gleams bright over the rusty planes of the warehouse. The warehouse is sturdy, still thriving in a way but looks like It hasn't had a touch up for years.

You idle around the building for a while. You check its surroundings, the houses around that looks like nobody lived in them in the past five years.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. A message pops up in your screen. It's from Johnny.

-Sorry, just had a change in plans.

You roll your eyes at the message. You're about to march back to your car when you suddenly have a strong urge to go on. Something deep in your senses tells you to move on, keep going until you find your target.

You're not the one to ignore your sixth sense, not when it hasn't failed you yet.

The door creaks when you push it open. The room is not very dark, just light enough to make out your surroundings.

The first room is mostly empty. There are supplies scattered on the floor, they have a thick layer of dust gathered on them from years of disuse.

You pass through the corridor and center a new room. It's smaller and smells like chemicals. The room has no windows, It's very dark. You turn on your flashlight.

It's shocking to see so many pictures on the table, on to the walls and everywhere. You squint your eyes to get a better look. When you realize the face in the pictures is actually yours your blood turns ice cold.

Pictures taken of you at work, out in a Cafe, in your house. Pictures of you talking, laughing, crying. Your breath hitches when you notice they're not only photographs but also classified informations none outside of work should know. Personal information of the victims, your coworkers, you.

You almost jump out of your skin when your phone rings. It's Laswell. You answer it with shaky hands.

"I-"

"Now listen carefully. There's been a situation." Her voice is anxious.

"What situation?"

"He broke out. We're still searching how he did it but wherever you are, you're not safe. Find-"

A thump sounded from outside. Your hand holding the phone freezes, you stay quiet as Laswell keeps speaking on the other end. You end the call, turn off your flashlight.

You grasp your knife so tight your knuckles turn white.

Someone is forcing open the door, you can't just wait there in the open. You can't outrun a vampire, but you can hide until the help arrives. So you dive into pitch darkness.

From what little you remember you try to navigate through the room. If only you could get to the back door-

You come to a halt in your steps. The sudden coldness envelopes you. Your eyes are too weak to see in the dark, but your senses paint an enough picture of what could be towering over you right now. The coldness radiates off him and settles deep in your bones. His gaze could drill a hole right through your forehead. You tilt your head up to where you think his face is.

You can't see him, but he can see you.

"Here you are, darling. Did you miss me?" his voice sends chills down your spine.

You make a move to gut him, that only earns you a harsh push into a room near you. You stumble and try to find your footing. You blindly slash your knife through the air, a useless attempt to keep him away. You scream at him to stay away.

For a blissful second, you could almost believe that worked. You're getting cornered deeper into the room, but from what little you could tell he's not around you anymore.

You try to subdue your breathing to normal, taking small steps back.

You scream when you bump into someone, your hand catching on some clothing, a lean chest. After this point, you act on instinct.

You knife lodges into where a heart should lay, in front of his chest, slightly on the left side of his sternum. A painful whimper finds your ears. That's not enough for you.

There's still resistance in his muscles, you take out the knife and stab him again, again and again until his body no longer convulses, until he's nothing but a lifeless body on the ground.

You fall onto your knees next to him. When the adrenaline fades away you break down, a small hiccup escapes your mouth before you can stop it, tears of joy and relief stream down your cheeks.

It's over, it's finally over, you think.

"Very good, good girl." a deep voice says from the entrance of the room.

The lights turn on and you are finally able to see. Your eyes find the blond man by the doorfence first, then they find the man laying motionless on the floor. His face is barely distinguishable from all the blood covering it, but that doesn't stop you from recognizing your coworker you had shared years working with.

Graves, you just killed Graves.

Your eyes flit between the man and Graves as if you can't believe what's happening now is real. You shake your head side to side, put your hands on your head.

"No, no, no." your voice is a hoarse whisper, your voice sound got knotted in your throat.

"I-I didn't, I-"

He doesn't wait for you to explain yourself. He advances on you, pushing you against the wall. When your back meets the wall, he gently grabs your cheek. Your cries are shortened to little hiccups. You weakly push at his chest, try to punch him in the face. He's unfazed at your attempts to hurt him.

"Shh now. Be good for me." he soothes.

He tilts your head up, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. When you understand what he's about to do you struggle with a renewed strength, all to no avail.

He drinks in your smell, his breath tickling the fine hairs on your neck. His fangs graze at your pulse point. You let out a blood curdling scream when they sink into you.

For a moment you think you're being devoured alive.

Your vision is blurry, your legs gave out beneath you, your head cradled by a large hand. You can only whine confusedly when he takes you in his arms and starts walking.

There's one last thing you hear before the world goes black.

"I'm taking you home."

Your neck throbs like a screwdriver is being twisted in it, jolting you awake from your peaceful sleep.

You're cocooned in soft sheets that smell like detergent. The moonlight seeps inside through an open window, just barely illuminating the room.

You sit up in bed and immediately regret it because of the rush of pain from stretching the wound on your neck. You whimper.

Your head feels fuzzy, you can't focus. You don't remember anything. You're chilled, suddenly the room is too cold for you. You look down. You're wearing a black, satin dress. The delicate fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cold. You feel under the straps, there's another clothing underneath. Lacy, dainty-

A lingerie.

You scramble out the bed, scattering the bed sheets to the ground. Standing up so quickly in your weakened state makes your head spin, you stumble forward and someone catches you.

"Easy." Johnny balances you in his arms.

"Simon took too much this time, you'll be fine."he assures. You don't understand.

"What do you mean?" you ask. He doesn't answer.

"Can you walk?"

Like a newborn fawn you try to balance yourself on your shaking legs. He decides you can't and he swoops you up in his arms.

Your head sags as Johnny carries you downstairs. You go into a big room with warmness spreading from a fireplace in the corner. There are two chairs near the fireplace. A man is sitting in one of them, his keen eyes fixated on your form.

You recognize him. It all dawns on you. The memories flood at once into your mind. The terror settling deep in your bones. You trash in Johnny's arms as you approach the vampire. You call him insults, call him a traitor. When he transfers you into Simon's waiting arms you fall silent.

You sit in his lap as he cards his fingers through you hair in a soothing gesture. His breath fans over your head, smelling of blood. Your blood.

"You killed them." your voice waves a little, you tell yourself that's because of your weak state, not because you're scared.

His attention shifts to your words. He only lets out an approving "mhm" sound.

"I got you, you were- how did you even get out?"

His eyes avert to the man behind you.

The hard texture of plastic bumps to the side of your face. Your personal card is being held at the tip of your card holder. It all makes sense.

"I- They will come for me. I'm very important for them." your voice stutters.

"None is coming to save you. If anything, they'd rather have you dead after everything you've done." Johnny calmly explains from behind you. You falter.

"I will just explain everything to them, it was an acciden-"

"It doesn't seem like an accident to me, what do you think Johnny?" Simon asks. What is he talking about?

"No, Simon. It definitely looks like she had been helping us all along."

You understand what they mean very well now. You knew your plan was flawed from the beginning, but you never thought you would fuck up that badly.

You have nowhere to run.

"No, no. I will run away, you will see." you try. It is hard to speak past the knot that has newly formed in your throat.

"You're not going anywhere unless you want to be shot dead. You name is all over the news. Besides," he ducks his head to talk directly into your ear.

"Now that you have my bite, my mark, you can never hide from me. Wherever you're, I will find you."

This sentence makes you feel like your fate just got sealed.

[loves-alibi]

Ik you JUST posted it but will you please continue on the vampire soap whenever you can😞🙏I loved it

ugh you’ve twisted my arm

original drabble

how you meet vampire!soap

***

He can’t keep his eyes off of you, and he isn’t good at hiding it. Stuffed in the corner of the pub at a table with three other men, his eyes are on you. You’d tell him to fuck off if he wasn’t cute. And if he hadn’t been sending you drinks all night.

Through the haze of your third (fourth?) espresso martini, you don’t try to hide your ogling. There’s a glow to him, light bouncing off of his skin and drawing you in. Despite his ridiculous haircut, he’s remarkably handsome— strikingly so. If he looks this good in a dark pub, you dare to wonder how he looks in the sun… if that skin becomes sunkissed when summer finally comes.

You’re too busy memorizing the way that his cheeks plump up when he smiles

Your friends get bored of the stolen glances. They tell the bartender to send him a drink on your tab. Send him a pint, guys like that! The bartender tries to convince you to not send over a drink. Dumbly, you trust your friends.

The pint lands on his table and you see his mates chuckle and tease him. You watch with fearful eyes until he slides the pint to one of his mates— a hairy fellow with unusual facial hair. A pit might as well have opened up and swallowed you whole.

Your friends go silent and start apologizing to you. You’re too busy waving them off to notice the figure approaching you. At least, until a throat clears behind you.

It’s him. His eyes are so blue up close.

“Thank ye for the pint,” he says. He’s scottish. Nice. “But I think I’ve had my fill for tonight.” He waves at the bartender behind you, a friendly smile on his face. He has a set of impressive pearly whites, accentuated by extended canines. You lean in to get a closer look. You’ve never seen canines like his before.

“Johnny.”

A friend taps your shoulder. “Night, hon,” she says with a smile. You throw her a goodbye and catch a look at your other friends. They’re positively geeked, giggling and giving you thumbs ups. Johnny seems to notice, but doesn’t mind. He’s smirking, though it’s more to conceal his amusement than cockiness.

You tell Johnny your name. He repeats it, the sound of each vowel rolling off his tongue like a melody. His lips are so red. You want to run a thumb over them. They’re stained, the alabaster skin around his lips smudged to a just-kissed pink. Funny, you think. Not a lot of men like him spend their nights drinking wine in pubs.

“You have plans tonight?” You ask. His face falls, and in an instant you feel stupid for even asking. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be forward—“

“No, no,” he croons. “I have plans in the morning. I’d have to leave you before sunrise.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to—“

He doesn’t let you finish, pulling you in for a kiss. He tastes heavy, like petrichor bottled up into a man. You groan into his mouth, he takes the chance and slips his tongue deeper.

A few people clear their throats around you. You should feel insecure, you want to, but you can’t find it in you to pay attention to anything that dares to not be him. Johnny nips your lips before pulling away.

“Trust me, bonnie,” Johnny says. “I want to. But I want to do it right.”

“Do it right,” you nod dumbly. Your lips still sting where he had dug in. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Johnny chuckles. The sound of it is deep and smooth and goes straight to your core. “Be here tomorrow at five, yeah?”

A girlish smile pulls at your lips. “I’ll see you then.”

[ghcstao3]

Obsessing over the last two vampire Soap and humon ghost posts u made so I am humbling asking for any more hcs/ideas u may have for it :> (if u want to ofc)

there’ll probably be one more part after this just to have a conclusion :)

-

(part 2)

It happens… about as dramatically as Price had expected.

Which is to say, hardly at all.

He’d almost feel frustrated if he didn’t pity both Ghost and Soap as much as he does.

Ghost had come to not long after Soap’s rescue, once Med-evac had arrived and he’d been hooked up to an IV. He’s groggy for a while, sure, but Price can tell he remembers what happened—he doesn’t need a hint, when he can see the longing looks Ghost gives Soap, who had to be chained up like a prisoner in order to keep things civil.

It takes Soap two days to snap out of the hunger-induced stupor. And within them, he does nothing but hiss and attempt to bite, nothing at all like the sergeant Price knows.

And when the vampire does return to Soap, an immense guilt etches into his face once informed of what had led them to this moment. Of what led them to keeping Soap bound and under close observation until he could finally be trusted again. It pains Price to see.

But what pains him more is the clear avoidance of both parties in the days following the incident. Ghost just about takes to his namesake, and Soap uses his superhuman senses to make sure there isn’t a chance they’re ever in the same room to begin with. Price has never seen Soap so quiet.

And he’s unfortunately all too aware the two would keep it this way forever if it came down to it.

Thankfully, Price knows better than to let that happen when Soap appears in his office asking to transfer units.

“I’m a danger to the team,” Soap says, head hung. He wrings his fingers tight enough for his knuckles to go white. “I cannae be trusted. I cannae—“

Price clears his throat to see an end to this spiral before it has the chance to begin. Soap’s mouth snaps shut. He squeezes his fingers tighter.

“Tell me, John,” Price says slowly, calmly. He feels only a little better about everything, seeing Soap visibly relax at the use of his name. “Has this ever happened before?”

Soap swallows. He finally looks up at Price, a sort of hollowness sitting beneath his eyes that the captain doesn’t think looks quite right. Price almost misses the minute shake of his head.

“And do you think, given the circumstances, this was your fault?”

The sergeant hesitates, this time. It’s only to be expected he blames himself, Price thinks, as much as evidence points to it not being his own mistake.

Price sighs. “Have you at least talked to Simon?”

Soap’s eyes widen. Price could’ve already guessed the answer to be no.

“I—he hates me,” Soap mutters. “I—“

“Did he tell you that himself?”

Silence rings through the office. Only the distant buzz of activity outside can be heard as the question cuts through Soap.

Soap’s arms fall limply to his sides. “No, he didn’t.”

Price folds his hands over his desk and its mess of paperwork, leaning back in his chair with the sense of a small victory.

“Then go speak to him before trying to jump ship,” Price advises. “I’m sure you know where to find him.”

Soap offers a stilted nod before turning on his heel and moving toward the door. He lingers a moment with his hand frozen on the doorknob like he means to add something, but ultimately decides against it, pushing out into the hall.

Once the door is closed again, Price deflates in his seat.

Sometimes he has to wonder if he’s really working with the best men the SAS has to offer.

(part 4)

[bokehmonn]

VAMPIRE AU PROGRESS LETSGOOO

[hornedmagpieart]

Soap, on the phone: "I'm finally going to be a demolitions expert! "

Nikolai: ... ...

Soap: "did you hear-"

Nik: "I heard you... I just don't... you did listen when I told you about us vampires and fire, right?"

Soap: "Yup! It'll kill me for real! That's why I'm going to be an expert! The best!"

Nik: *deep sigh*

[dhampiravidi]

Part 1/5 of @yeenybeanies amazing Vamp!Soap saga (completed!)

urban fantasy, pining, slight angst balanced by fluff, I LOVE THIS--

@cod-dump @ghcstao3 @lt-ghxst

[antivigilante]

Punk!Vamp!Soap (BITW) for @gogh-with-the-flow

Face Model is Neil Ellice for COD: MWII

DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, OR REPRODUCE MY ART

Please ask for permission to use my art

(under the cut for the SFW Ver.)

Punk!Johnny

[docdudo]

So I absolutely love your fledgling vampire! Reader and wanted to ask, how the vampire’s in your universe diets kind change? In most vampire fics, fledglings tend to feed off their sires til a certain point then start hunting or drinking blood from a different source. Do you vampires still eat human food or is their diet just blood? Do they have to feed often or can they get away with breaks in between feedings?

Sincerely Eld~ 🦋

The feeding process works similarly to that. Fledglings rely on their Sire’s blood to survive—think of it like breast milk for newborns, who can only consume that in their first months. Likewise, fledglings can only digest their Sire’s blood for a significant period and won’t be able to process anything else. Even if they try to drink human or animal blood, it will likely make them vomit it out.

On the other hand, mature vampires can eat regular food without issue, but they still require blood as part of a balanced diet. To ensure a steady supply, they establish blood banks in the cities they live in, paying generously to maintain a reliable flow of donors in their clinics.

[pretty-o-little-o-rose]

Cue me going to search for vampire Ghoap fics like a starved woman

Vamp!Soap who's always been invited into Ghost's room/home without ever having to be told past the "you're always welcome where I'm welcome." (It's practical. That's what Ghost tells himself. Soap is his sergeant, and more importantly his friend. So it's practical)

Except one day they get in a huge fight and Ghost subconsciously uninvites Soap into his space. And soap tries to follow Ghost into his room, or house, or whatever and instead he slams face first into that barrier. It's not a wall, not some tangible thing. But in capability to go. Soap stops. He can't tell if the look on Ghost's masked face is shocked or indifferent. It hurts. In both ways. It always burns, but the inside hurt, they way his "heart" clenches... that's new. but if Ghost doesn't want him, then he'll go. And he leaves.

The next day they've both calmed down, were able to talk out the argument, and soon it was like it had never happened. Except. Except when they walk back to Ghost's room to grab something that soap had left behind, and soap halts himself just before the threshold, just before that barrier, doesn't want

Ghost pauses when he realizes that soap hadn't followed him in, and he looks back at soap, who only gives him a sheepish smile. It looks he's going to take a step forward, but he hesitates, and brings his foot back down.

"Uh.. if you just wanna toss it to me..."

Ghost turns around fully after that. Gives soap a look at says he's being stupid. He takes it like a horse takes a prod to the side, and he walks in. No burning. No hold back. Nothing. He's in Ghost's room. And he brushes off his reaction like it never happened.

But it did happen. And he still pauses in the doorway every time. Not like that first rejection. Just long enough that Ghost peeks at him. And he knows it's stupid. He knows that he has an open invitation. But he can't help it. Because... because..... oh- JUST BECAUSE! ALRIGHT!? It's just because.

[ceilidho]

vampire Simon finding half dead reader and turning her because he’s been lonely and wanting a companion (even though she yowls and tries to scratch his eyes off when she wakes up because she did NOT want to be a vampire)

[loves-alibi]

say it

mdni

or: how you find out about vampire!soap (or x2: why you kick Johnny out)

tw: blood (duh, he's a vampire), dry-heaving, references to sex

vampire!soap masterlist

***** Johnny never breaks a sweat. It drives you crazy. You'll give the performance of your life, teasing him, sucking him, riding him, getting absolutely pounded by him, and Johnny doesn't have the decency to even pretend to be winded.

You're laying in bed, sweating like a pig after being stuffed like one for what felt like hours (because it was). Johnny's there too, covering your face in kisses and neck and shoulders with love bites.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

"I'm sorry, lass."

"It's alright," you hum.

It's really not, but there's nothing you can do about it. Johnny made it clear from the start that he was SAS and that his job meant he kept a very particular schedule. He has to be on his way to base in the wee hours of the morning, and can’t make his way to your flat until past sunset. And that's not considering missions, when you can't see him for days or weeks at a time.

You make it work, though. So it means you have to go out together only at night and miss mornings in bed with him. For Johnny, it's worth it.

"I have holiday soon," he says, "No more leaving you." Johnny presses a kiss to your lips before settling himself on your chest.

"Promise?"

"I pr–"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Fuck," you groan, rolling out of bed. You begin to dress yourself as Johnny watches with sad eyes.

"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!" Comes a muffled scream. "OPEN UP!"

"Who's that?"

"The guy across the hall."

Somehow by moving into your flat, you throughly pissed off your neighbor– a sour fellow who drives a e-bike like it's a motorcycle. Every other day, he's knocking on your door with a complaint– turn that music down (you weren't listening to music), your cooking is stinking up the hallway (it was the lady down the hall– and it smelled delicious), tell your cat to stop meowing so damn loud (you don't own a cat, but that kinda was your fault. That complaint came after a night spent teasing Johnny, and you fear that the meowing might have been Johnny's crooning).

You throw on Johnny's shirt, but he stops you before you can pull on your sweatpants. He's pulling on his boxers, a sheepish grin on his face, "Let me take care of it, Bonnie. You need to rest up." Johnny sends you to bed with a kiss on the cheek and a tap on your ass.

You lean against the pillows, "I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh I didn't think you were," and with that, Johnny leaves you with a wink.

You hear the door open on the other end of your flat, followed by some choice words from your neighbor. You grab your phone to check the time– 8:39 PM –and roll your eyes.

You scroll through your phone as minutes tick by. 8:40. 8:41. 8:42. 8:43... By 8:50, you're pulling on your sweatpants and heading to the front door. It's closed.

"Johnny?" You whisper, creeping closer to the door. There's no response. You try again, louder, "Johnny."

Something big thuds on the other side of your door. You lurch for it, pressing your eye against the peep hole. There's... nothing. You're staring at the open door of the flat across the hall. No Johnny. No neighbor.

Your fingers brush against the cool metal of the doorknob. The door creaks as you open it. The hallway is empty.

"Johnny," you try one last time, trying to peer inside the dark flat. You creep closer, but a slurping and a groan cuts through the air. Not just any groan. Johnny's groan. Your feet just carry you into the flat without thought.

It's pitch black. You stick your hands out as you blindly move about. There's another groan to your right. The source of the noise is behind a couch. You move quickly, too quickly, and slip, landing on your ass with a fuck.

There’s a small puddle of something wet and sticky underneath you. It must be what you slipped on. You collect come with your pointer finger. It’s dark, thick, and red.

Three things happen at once. The first is the smell of iron assaulting your nose— nauseating you. This first realization is what leads to the second thing— that puddle is made up of blood. These first two events quickly become inconsequential at the third: Johnny, your Johnny, is huddled over your neighbor’s body, blood dripping down his mouth.

Before you can scream, a hand fixes itself over your mouth. Much like everything else in the dark flat, the hand is covered in blood. You press your mouth shut in a desperate attempt to stop it from entering your mouth.

“Bonnie, bonnie, bonnie,” says Johnny, panicked. “Please don’t scream. If I take my hand away will you scream?” You shake your head. “Will you run away?” You hesitate, and Johnny sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” You nod this time, and Johnny smiles. Had his canines always been that long? Sure, they were always a bit longer than average, but now they look freakish, monstrous.

Johnny takes his hand away and you scramble back. He lurches forward and grabs your ankle. His grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s strong and enough to keep you rooted. Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re sure Johnny feels it by the way his pupils dilate.

“You— you killed him—“

“Listen to me—“

“You ate him—“

“I fed from him,” Johnny whispers harshly, and you freeze.

“Fed?”

What the hell are you dating?

“I’m going to let go of you so I can clean this up, and you’re not going to run, are you?” Johnny’s voice is so calm. You nod your head. Something tells you that even if you tried to run, it wouldn’t get you very far. “Good.”

Johnny navigates cleanup more comfortably than you’d like. Your neighbor looks almost entirely untouched, with the exception of the two mosquito bite-esque marks on his neck. Johnny lays him gently on the couch, draping a blanket over his body. Johnny offers for you to feel your neighbor’s pulse, you decline. He nods and turns to fix the coffee table, which had been overturned at some point.

“He’ll wake up fine,” Johnny explains, “With a headache maybe, but…”

He leaves the puddle for last. His eyes flicker between you and the blood, a sheepish expression coming over him, “I don’t know where the paper towels are…” He’s asking for permission to… oh God.

“Just do it.”

You turn away, shutting your eyes to avoid seeing the depravities Johnny’s going to indulge in. It’s not enough. The sound of slurping fills your ears. You’re going to be sick. A dry-heave makes its way up from your stomach.

“Please don’t throw up,” Johnny says, “I wasn’t lying about the paper towels.”

You start crying at that, sobbing uncontrollably. Images of Johnny over that unconscious body blind you. What the fuck have you been doing for all these months? How haven’t you noticed whatever the fuck this is? What’s stopping him from doing it to you?

Two strong arms wrap around you, hoisting you up and into Johnny’s hold. “I’m going to bring you back yo your flat. Is that alright?” You nod, unable to get a word out through your sobbing.

In your flat, you’re set down on the couch. Johnny sits on the far end, observing as you curl in on yourself. He hasn’t got blood on his face anymore. There’s still some clumped on the hair of his bare chest, but at least you can look him in the eyes without seeing the evidence of his massacre.

“I’m sure you have questions,” he says, eerily calm, like he hadn’t just drank the blood of a human. “And I’ll answer them, but I want you to know that I love you, and I wasn’t planning on keeping this from you forever. This is just…” He trails off, waiting for the words to come to him. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

You gasp, “Find out what? That you’re a fucking psycho? That you’ve been lying to me for months?”

“I haven’t lied to you, bonnie. Not once.”

You scoff, “Then what the fuck is that?”

“What do you think it is?”

You pause. Part of you wants to slap Johnny just for asking you that, but it doesn’t stop you for actually reflecting on his question. What do you think it is? As much as you’re scared shitless, you’d like to believe that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why your boyfriend is drinking human blood.

Except there’s not. Because despite how unusual Johnny is, you’d never thought that he was that usual. He’s practically nocturnal, but that’s for work. And has long canines, but that’s genetic— plenty of people do. And he doesn’t like Italian food, but really it can be a lot sometimes, and with his garlic allergy? It’s—

Come to think of it, you’ve never heard of a garlic allergy before dating Johnny. And he’s awfully pale. And you’ve never seen him in daylight. And—

Holy shit.

For the first time in the last half an hour, a sense of calm washes over you. You smile at Johnny, and he mimics it, albeit confused.

“Johnny, dear, I need you to leave.”

Johnny stiffens, “What? I haven’t explained—“

“You’re a vampire,” you say, and Johnny gulps. You pause, allowing a moment for him to deny it. He doesn’t. “You’re a vampire, and retroactively, it’s quite obvious, I suppose. Though, that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get the fuck out of my flat.”

“Oh—“

“Please get out.”

Johnny stands and slowly makes his way to the door. You see him out, smiling at him each time he turns back and gives you a questioning look. Eventually, he stands in the hallway of your flat, staring at you with those puppy eyes.

“I need time to think. Maybe when I’m done you can come back in, okay?”

Johnny nods, finally out of things to say. “Okay.”

With that, you slam the door in his face.

[ghcstao3]

vampire!soap conclusion :) 👍

-

(part 3)

Soap hates that Price is right. Hates that he almost always is, about these kinds of things.

He hates that Price won’t just accept his request to transfer and let him move on from this, and never have to think about what he did ever again.

(Though, who is Soap kidding? He’ll feel guilt for the remainder of his immortal existence for what he’d done.)

But unfortunately, as it stands, he has no choice but to confront the elephant in the room.

For Soap, it’s easy to find Ghost. He knows of the lieutenant’s favourite haunts, knows where he goes to be alone.

And it had never been thanks to the vampirism that he knew of them.

This time, Ghost has chosen to have himself a cigarette in a hidden area on the roof, a place completely out of sight unless one knew where to look for the thin wisp of smoke unfurling into the air. Soap moves silently toward him, slow and hesitant and almost entirely unwilling until they’re standing side by side, suffocating in the thick weight of everything to be said. To be discussed.

Ghost never startles, whenever Soap appears beside him. Hardly ever acknowledges him first, either. It’s the vague sense of a familiar routine that lends Soap just enough confidence to speak.

“I…” Soap takes a deep breath, steeling himself in place. He spares Ghost a bare enough glance to see the way his eyes are blank, distant, glazed over. “I wanted to… apologize.”

Ghost takes a slow, considerate drag, breathing out as he flicks what remains of the cigarette on the ground, stamping it beneath his boot. He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Soap shifts anxiously between his feet.

“Don’t,” Ghost finally says, voice flat. “An apology isn’t getting anyone anywhere.”

Soap wants to huff. Wants to tell Ghost to not make this any more difficult than it already has been, wants to tell him not to make Soap feel any more shame than he can bear.

Instead, he rakes a nervous hand over his scalp.

“Then what—“ Soap wets his lips, exhaling shakily. He makes the mistake of looking at Ghost again, only to spot the violent marks left behind in his neck from fangs that couldn’t tell enemy from ally. “Then what will fix this? I… I want to fix this. Fix… us.”

Ghost’s gaze shifts to his, then. His eyes, darker than ever, burn with an intensity that Soap has never seen anyone else able to muster.

“There’s nothing to fix, Soap,” Ghost says through grit teeth. “You weren’t—I know you never meant to.”

“But I still did.”

Ghost stares at him. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and some distant voice in Soap’s head wonders if he’s forgotten his balaclava is rolled up past his nose.

“Doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t, Johnny.” His eyes are piercing, penetrating even the deepest parts of Soap’s soul. His voice is low, gravelly—borderline broken. “Still here, ain’t I?”

Soap looks to the ground, suddenly finding more interest in scuffing his boot against the concrete. “I’m putting in for a transfer,” he confesses quietly.

Ghost doesn’t need to know that he’s already tried.

Soap can sense his frown, his disbelief, even before hearing it in his pained, breathless, “What?”

Soap curls his hands into tight fists, digging crescents into the flesh of his palms. He glares intently at the ground like it could offer him up some kind of answers.

“Well, obviously, I—“ Soap pauses, shakes his head, and wills himself to start again. “I dinnae want to force you to have to work with someone you cannae even trust not to kill you.”

In his periphery, Soap sees Ghost’s frown deepen. “What are you on about, Soap?”

Soap feels pathetic. Incapable. He feels like a horrible person. “If Price and Gaz weren’t there—“

“Well, they were,” Ghost argues. “There’s no time for ifs in our line of work, Johnny. You were hung out to dry, and I never thought for a second to be more careful when I finally found you because I was too caught up in the fact that you were still alive.”

The admission hangs heavy between them. Everything unsaid but still there makes it all the more terrifying.

“You could have died, Simon,” Soap whispers. He doesn’t trust his voice not to waver, speaking any louder.

Ghost’s hands are suddenly on Soap’s face, human warmth bleeding into the cold of the undead. Soap’s are are wide with shock. Ghost’s are glassy with the threat of frustrated tears.

“But I didn’t,” he murmurs. Soap can’t help but lean into the roughness of calloused fingers pressing into his skin. “I didn’t. And I’d have found a way to forgive you even if I had.”

Ghost’s chin quivers. Soap isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so… so—

“I’ll admit, I—“ Ghost’s voice has grown raspier, exhausted by emotion, “I was afraid of you, for a long while. Of what you are.”

Soap does his best to offer a smile, however watery. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Ghost says nothing, only massaging careful circles into the high points of Soap’s cheeks.

Soap sighs, finally tearing his gaze away from Ghost.

“Price wasn’t going to let me transfer, anyway,” Soap admits. “Not without talking to you, first.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward, his grin endearingly crooked.

“Someone has to be your impulse control.”

“Yeah, well.” Soap rolls his eyes. “Old man’s gonna be all smug, now.”

Ghost laughs quietly, a huff of air through his nose more than anything. “Better than losing you,” he says. “Gaz would miss you.”

Soap tilts his head, his own smile growing wider. “No one else?”

Ghost shakes his head mock-solemnly, playfully patting Soap’s face for good measure. “No one else, Johnny.”

The weight on Soap’s shoulders finally feels lighter, after days of berating himself and bending to the whim of a gnawing shame. There’s still guilt, nestled in his mind, and he knows it’ll stick around for a while yet—but now again on good terms with Ghost, Soap thinks it should be easy to overcome, in time.

Soap’s hands find Ghost’s wrists, gently prying him away from his face to intertwine their fingers. He’s more than glad to finally have this.

Finally have Ghost.

His smile becomes something shyer, just for a moment, as he declares with a profound decisiveness, “I guess I’ll stick around then.”

And how he means it.

[baskipps]

Pooltoy that bites!