This is a vampire Au, set in Old londen. OPEN RP))
warning: sexism,
The air felt heavier then normals, more humid. The heavy layer of her skirt dragged on the dirty stones of the path as she marched her way through the alley. She was tired, dead tired. The medical lecture had gone later than expected. Much later, and now the dusk gave way to a bright moon. Its had the same milky white look as the skull on display at the university. The though made her fingertips dig into her palm.
Lorraine was no stranger to the Londen streets; she had grown up on them.
Running with her brother and hiding away with the other girls when the neighbors started yelling about the ruckus their playing caused. But now, she was older, a medical assistant to one of Londen’s best doctors, who would travel around to lecture the next best finest. Maybe in another life, she could have been one of the next best. The thought felt heavy in her stomach like an impossible weight. She would never reach that; she should be grateful just to be in the field as a woman. Grateful she managed to stay in the field.
The sounds of foot steps drew her out of her thoughts.
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Word Count: 2K
Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and killing
Author's Note: This piece consists of three of the branch offs in the AU. 1: Simon's reincarnated brother, Spencer Riley, 2: Price's reincarnated daughter Caelia who is born every century and finds her way to him, and 3: Price's twin brother Marius who took the life of Price's son Marcius (in this branch, Price's name is Marcus--to make the twin names flow better Marius and Marcus). -Thorne
Stomach acid still burns Spencer’s throat as he stops at the metal door in the dark hallway, muscle jumping in his jaw as he lifts his hand and raps fast and low. The lock turns and a single darkened eye peers between the crack, until the door opens wider.
“Spence,” the voice starts, the scent of memory rolling off the first lieutenant’s body in waves.
“Let me see my big brother’s face,” Spencer says, looking up.
For a moment, the fluorescent lights buzzing from the hallway is the only noise. The mask has always been security. Safety. Anonymity. Simon reaches up, lifts it away, unhurried and calm, letting it hang in his fingers at his thigh.
Something in Spencer’s chest loosens, like a dam finally giving way from a flood.
He lifts a hesitant hand, fingers inches from the cool skin, steadies, and places his hand against the vampire’s face.
“Hey, Si,” he whispers, a hundred years of memories collapsing into now.
Simon closes his eyes against the warmth. For a moment, he’s back in a factory in Manchester, a small boy following him, covered in soot, clutching a thread-bare rabbit, Captain Bun, like it could fix everything.
“You remember,” Simon mutters.
“Yeah,” Spencer breathes. “I remember it all.”
Simon opens his eyes. He hasn’t cried in over a hundred years, but the grief remains. “’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For everythin’.”
“I know,” Spencer answers, just as soft. “But it wasn’t your fault. And I know you tried.”
Simon’s hand lifts, clamping down on Spencer’s wrist, his grip iron-clad, but not to take away, to keep, to hold, to preserve. Spencer moves with it, his free arm wrapping around Simon’s waist, tucking his head under his brother’s chin. Simon takes him in like he always has, everything distilling to this very second.
To an older brother holding his little brother again.
***
Price and Caelia:
Price’s door is never fully closed at night. Too many ghosts wander the halls in search of absolution. The door opens wider, and he looks from his desk, taking in the way Caelia stands there in her nightdress and soft cardigan, sandy brown hair slipping from its braid. Her face tells the rest of what she can’t say. Blotchy and grief stricken, blue eyes wide and filled with tears that didn’t seem to stop flowing.
She takes a step in, then another, her vision blurring Price from focus.
“Papa,” she whispers, voice taut and breaking. “Papa,” she repeats, reaching for him, and Price is around the desk in seconds, taking her into his arms as she collapses against him in sobs.
He doesn’t hush her. He’s felt it coming. Like he always does the days before she remembers in every century. How the little things repeat themselves, how she clings to him as her soul circles back through the centuries.
“’m here, my flower,” he murmurs, caressing her back as she clings to him like he is the only safe harbor in the storm.
“They took me, papa,” she sobs. “They took me and you weren’t there to protect me.”
It isn’t an accusation, but it still lands like a dagger in his heart.
“I know,” he says. “I know, my flower. And I am so sorry.”
Caelia’s fingers clench in his shirt, tears dampening the spot at his collarbone. “They hurt me, papa. They…they did horrible things to me.” She feels the ache as if it were happening again a thousand years later. “And then they threw me into that alley like I was garbage.” She lifts her head, staring at him with those same eyes. “I was all alone, papa. I was broken. I kept calling for you, but you never came. You…weren’t there.” Her lashes flutter with more tears. “I died there.”
Price nods. His first failure as a father. The sin he can never outrun.
“I know,” he whispers, brushing her tears. “I failed you. I should’ve been there. I was too late.” He feels the shame prickling the back of his neck. “I searched every brothel. I tore them all apart until I found you.” he cups her cheek. “I carried you home. I tended you. And I scattered your ashes in the flower field above our home, so you’d always rest in beauty.”
Price feels his throat close, but he breathes through it. “But I failed you. I should’ve protected you, and I didn’t. I thought you’d be safe. I thought…I thought my name and status would protect you.” he looks her in the eyes. “Forgive me, Caelia, for what I failed to do.”
Caelia tucks closer like a small bird, her temple brushing his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, papa,” she whispers, tucking her knees to her chest as his arm winds around her to keep her close. “It wasn’t.”
Absolution should taste like freedom. Like water in a drought. It feels like ash in his mouth.
He holds her tight, remembers every life she’s come back into his with that same shy smile and bashfulness. How she naturally drifts to him like a bird looking for shelter. How she always remembers and still loves him enough to forgive him even when he knows there is no forgiveness that could absolve him.
His chin rests atop her head, calloused hand smoothing a gentle rhythm down her back as her sobs subside to quiet hiccups.
“I love you, my flower,” he whispers. “And I’m so sorry.”
“Non, papa, ne porte pas leurs péchés,” she replies softly. “You did everything you could.”
Price closes his eyes, and rocks her, humming an ancient lullaby.
***
Price and Marius:
Price steps in without a knock, but Marius doesn’t mind. It reminds him of a simpler time when they were just Marcus and Marius, two boys born minutes apart under the same moon.
He watches as Price takes in the small quarters, the personal touches of a man who’d learned to live light and carry even less. Marius waits until Price sits beside him on the bed, the closest they’d been to one another in over a thousand years.
“Tell me,” Price begins, his voice gravelly and full of an ancient ache. “Tell me of what Marcius truly was.”
Marius exhales, the sound heavy and resigned in a way that he cannot heal.
“If I tell you,” he replies gently, “There is no going back, Marcus.”
“I know.” Price’s jaw sets. “But I’ve spent long enough hating you. I need to know if my hatred was wrong.”
“It wasn’t,” Marius admits. “I killed my nephew. Even in pursuit of justice, that act alone is worth your hatred.”
He steadies himself, looking at the closed door across the room, gaze shifting back centuries.
“It wasn’t noticeable, not at first. I figured a boy becoming a man was allowed his privacy, as we all are. But strange things followed Marcius. The servants of the house falling quieter, the dogs in the kennels would shrink away, the odd sums disappearing from the ledgers.”
Marius voice grows distant. “We are born innocent, but somewhere along the way, we can fall. I thought Marcius was trying to find his way in a time when cruelty was second nature. But then it became worrying.”
“We told ourselves stories to make sense of it. Of the servant boy who used to flinch when Marcius cut bread near him. We called him shy. The wet nurse whose daughter went missing. We sent her away with coin and a promise we’d look. The bitch in the kennel who tucked tail when Marcius was near. We called her fickle. We did not know. Because we did not see. Because we refused to.”
Price reaches into his pocket, pulling the dulled bulla from inside. He holds it in his hands, feeling the cool metal in his palm.
“Tell me when you knew for sure, Marius,” he murmurs, voice low. “When you knew my son…was beyond help.”
“I caught him once sneaking inside. He’d done well to change his clothes, but his sandals left blood where he stepped. I started following him after that. At first, it was just animals. That, I could stomach. Barely. I told myself it was cruelty born of a boy sheltered from the life of soldiers we lived as. But the look in his eyes. There was joy. Joy in the kill. In the suffering.”
Marius reaches slowly, brushing a thumb over the dent in the bulla.
“Then it was people.” The dent was worn smooth over time, a constant thumb rubbing the same path. “The first was a beggar. Sickly. With eyes that could no longer see.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I watched Marcius take his life with a smile. And then he walked away into the night like a man proud of a task well done.”
Price doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. “And it kept happening?”
“More times than I will confess. But I had to be sure.” Marius pulls his hand away, letting it fall back into his lap. “The last was a girl no older than he was. When I stepped into the light, he looked at me not with fear, but with irritation. Like I’d spoiled a night of revelry. When I asked him why, he said no one would miss them. That they were a sickness. That no one would care if they were gone.”
He nods softly but there is resoluteness within it. “I knew then what I had to do. Not because I wanted to. But because I knew if I didn’t, someone else would. And they would not have been merciful as I was.”
“How did it happen?” Price’s voice barely carries above.
“I took him home. Bathed him. Fed him. Tucked him into bed like I’d done years before when he was simply a boy. I told him I loved him more than anything.” Marius blinks away the sting in his eyes. “And I set my hands around his throat and held until he stopped fighting and lied still.” He looks at his hands. “I folded the blanket back up, took the bulla from the alter, and left. Because that is all I could do.”
The silence between them stretches, heavy like a blanket of lead.
“Why didn’t you come to me first?” Price finally asks, his voice rough.
“Because I knew you would’ve protected him.” Marius’s voice is quiet but it is certain. “You would have buried it so deep until you had convinced yourself it never happened.” He doesn’t look at Price. “Not for honor’s sake. Not to protect our name and your position as Legate. But for love.”
Price’s gaze drops to the floor. “I would’ve,” he admits quietly “I’d have called it anything but my son.” His throat works. “It should’ve been me to—”
“No.” Marius’s voice cuts through his words. “It was my duty. I am the eldest. The sin was mine to bear.”
“He was my son,” Price growls, grief breaking through the restraint he’d forged for centuries.
“And no father should have to kill his own child, no matter the sickness within.” Marius finally looks into his brother’s eyes. “I loved Marcius. Gods, Marcus, I loved Marcius like he was my own. I held him the day he was born. I braided laurel into his hair when he wanted to be an emperor for a day. I taught him to fish and to hunt alongside you.”
“But you are my brother. We shared the womb, the same breath, the same soul.” His eyes glisten with crimson tears, his voice a whisper of grief and devotion. “And I loved you more than anything. I took that burden so you could remember Marcius as the boy with hands sticky with honey and laughter like bells, not as the monster he became.”
Price takes it with a lump in his throat, of hatred built on a thousand years of false reality. It crumbles in his chest like waves over a ship that crash harder than the last. Slowly, he leans against Marius, resting his temple to his brother’s, the way they used when they were boys, when the night was long and the stars bright enough to make them believe they could change Rome for the better.
“Forgive me,” Price murmurs. “For making you bear that burden.”
Marius shakes his head with a broken smile. “Eldest twin privilege.” It makes Price laugh in a way that aches both their chests; Marius sobers. “I am the eldest. I will always carry what is too heavy for you, even if you hate me for it.”
A/N: Thank you all for your love, patience, and encouragement. Life has its ups and downs, but one thing remains certain- I fucking love vampires
Word count: 4k
Warnings: Mean Soap! No smut in this chapter, just general spookiness and some suggestive language.
Song: Strangelove by Depeche Mode
MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6
---
Two pairs of eyes were fixated on you through the crack in the door. Gaz’s lips parted, as if he were about to say something, but Price waved his hand and the door slammed shut just inches from your face. You stood panting in the doorway. You couldn’t hear them say anything through the door anymore.
Did you really just see what you saw? If the wetness in your underwear was anything to judge by, then the answer was yes. Your pulse was racing in your ears like a river. It was so loud, in fact, that you couldn’t even hear Soap walk up behind you until his hand was wrapped around your upper arm and he yanked you backwards away from the door. You stumbled backwards, barely managing to keep your feet under you. You shouted in surprise, finally snapping out of your stupor.
“You’re fucking shameless, aren’t you? Just can’t fucking get enough?” he shoved you away from him roughly, and you had to catch yourself on the wood paneling walls. His voice was growling and vicious. You looked up at him and your breath caught in your throat.
Dark, jagged gashes cut through his face; a particularly deep-looking one ran down over his left eye. The scabs were black, and they pulled at the soft skin of his cheeks as he spoke.
“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”
“What? You didn’t mean to do what? Didn’t mean to sneak a peek at Price’s cock down Gaz’s throat?”
“No!” You took a step back as he took one toward you.
“Or you didn’t mean to let Ghost tear up my face like this?”
“No!” He kept advancing on you down the hall. Your back hit the wall.
"Then what? Huh? Look at me!" He said standing over you. "Look what you did to my face."
"I didn't do anything!" You pleaded. You could feel your throat closing up around the lump you tried to come down, and your vision blurred with salty tears.
"You did! All because you couldn't follow the damn rules. You should be grateful I threw myself in his way." His voice was lower now, colder. "Because if I hadn't, if Ghost had gotten his hands on you," he shrugged, "we'd be out looking for a new familiar."
You blinked up at him, hot tears dropping from your cheeks onto your collar, and his eyes followed the movement.
"Could take a bite out of you right now, couldn't I? Then I'd be right as rain again. Heal up nice and quick…" He leaned closer. Your breath hitched as you felt the heat of his blow over your pulse point.
“You’ve already had your turn with her, Soap,” said an admonishing voice just a meter away. Price stepped closer with an unspoken air of authority, and Soap stepped back in submission, throwing you one last resentful glare. “You’re dismissed, Soap,” he said with a touch more force. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead where you stood, and Soap would have been the culprit. His icy eyes chilled you to the core, but he finally turned his back to you and swiftly disappeared around the corner again.
You sniffled quietly to yourself. You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Not the incident of the past night, not Soap’s injuries, and certainly, you never meant to catch a peek of Gaz and Price’s… intimate moment. You never mean to be a less-than-willing ward of this manor, but that was old news by now. There was nothing more you could do. You’d agreed to the pact, and somewhere inside you, you felt that your actions with Gaz last night only cemented your place here. Your role to play had been decided.
A touch to your face shocked you out of your head and you flinched.
“Easy, love,” Price cooed to you, standing so close now. His thumb brushed your cheek, interrupting the wet path your tears had made. “Goddamn MacTavish keeps making you cry. I’ll have to have a proper conversation with him, eh?” He held your face so gently that it was hard to believe the man was capable of such cruelty you had witnessed the night before. His tenderness almost made you forget his utter hypocrisy.
You leaned away but his strong hands followed you, keeping you close to him. He studied your face. He always seemed to be looking at you with a strange curiosity. His eyes followed the freshest tear down your face with the sharpness of a cat watching a mouse. You did your best to compose yourself, but being in such close proximity made catching your breath quite difficult. Price wasn’t the same soft comfort that Gaz was. Instead, he was a sturdy wall, and you found yourself leaning into the stability of him all on your own.
He pulled you closer to himself and kissed the tear away. His lips were soft between the bushiness of his mustache and beard, which tickled and poked you ever so slightly. He licked his lips as he stood back with a satisfied smile.
“Now, no more tears, darling,” he said as you stared up in shock. “Come, follow me. I’ve got something to show you.” He didn’t wait for you to follow; instead he took your wrist in your hand and pulled you along, leaving you no choice but to follow. His grip was one of iron, yet wasn’t hard enough to bruise. Soft, but unyielding. He led you down the main staircase. The cobwebs were still hanging heavy on the grand chandelier as you passed underneath.
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, following him through the quiet halls, falling into step with him.
“What for?” he asked. You were too ashamed to look him in the eye, but you could’ve sworn you heard that damn smirk in his voice. He was going to make you admit it, wasn’t he? You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t! But as you lied to yourself, you could feel your composure crumbling. There was something about Price that made you want to obey… to submit.
“For… eavesdropping,” you relented, bowing your head lower.
“Eavesdropping? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he joked. You knew you were caught, and so did he. “And did you enjoy the conversation?” he teased. He squeezed your hand. When had your hand slipped so easily into his? “You should know now to knock before entering a room. There are things far more sinister than that to be found in this manor.”
“Maybe you should lock your doors, then,” you bit back, but there was hardly any venom in your words. You could feel your face positively burning at the way Price tiptoed around the fact that you saw him cum down Gaz’s throat, that he did so while staring you down.
“Maybe I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he said as the two of you stopped outside the double doors of the library. “Maybe I wanted you to see.” Your eyes stayed fixated on the old oak doors. You felt heat prickling at your brow and his beard sweeping over your ear. He pushed the doors open. The hinges creaked from years, maybe decades of unuse.
You coughed as a surge of dust filled your lungs, but when it cleared, you stepped into a beautiful and spacious room, walls all lined with rows and rows of books, many of them looking utterly ancient. A rolling ladder was pushed into the farthest corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows lit up the entirety of the room with glowing golden sunbeams, making the speckles of dust more resemble fairy dust. You stepped into the room and trailed your hand along the carved wood of the back of an old velvet armchair. It was probably a vibrant purple once. Small round end tables were scattered about next to the various sitting areas, most covered with linens, but you were drawn to the reading nook at the foot of the wall of windows. The earthy, grounding smell of aged paper saturated your senses. A thin layer of dust covered every surface, and you imagined what the room must have looked like at its pinnacle.
Price watched you with a sincere smile as you explored the open space of the library. He enjoyed the wonder and elation in your eyes. As you scanned the shelves, fingers tracing old spine after old spine, he picked three small, unassuming books from a shelf and waited patiently for your attention to return to him.
Once you made a thorough round of the library, you wandered back to Price.
“This is incredible,” you said with a wistful smile. “When you said you had a library, I wasn’t expecting this. Some of these books look like they’re centuries old!”
“They are,” he says proudly. “I curated this collection myself throughout my first life, and continue to do so in this one. Whenever I’m able to, that is.” He lifted the books in his hands and nodded to them. “But this is what I really wanted to show you.” You looked down and read the old, simple cover, the canvas yellowed and the ink faded, but the title was clear as day.
“Frankenstein.”
“Gaz mentioned you liked the classics.” He let you take the three volumes from his hands. You held the delicate books with reverence. You were worried they would fall apart if you breathed too hard, so you held your breath in your chest.
“These are… how old are they?” you whispered.
“First editions.” Your eyes snapped up to his in bewilderment. “Got them at a little bookshop one snowy January afternoon. It was a fascinating read, so I kept them, found a spot in here for them. Bloody good thing I did, eh?”
You were too stunned to speak, completely transfixed by the aged canvas and the soft, yellow pages. Price circled around you as you started to wonder if you should be handling these with gloves. You barely noticed the heavy presence of his chest so close to your back.
"Big brute that everyone's afraid of… but he's really just scared himself. Can't control his own strength," he said, placing his hands on your hips. "Reminds me of someone I know," he muttered, and your body tensed at the feeling of his breath on your neck. You gasped at the feeling of his coarse hair teasing your skin, and subconsciously tilted your head to allow him room. You felt his chest swell with a deep breath, strong, firm pectorals pressing against your shoulder blades as he inhaled your scent. You closed your eyes to prepare for the inevitable bite you were sure was to come, although you didn’t know how much you could physically offer him after the events of the previous night. But the bite never came.
“I had a very interesting conversation with Kyle this morning. He pleaded your case,” Price spoke into your neck, prickly lips tickling you with each word. “Said you were all worn out from last night, all shaken up from your little excursion outside… among other things.” You felt your face heat up as he once again alluded to your time with Gaz. “He asked me to give you the day to recover,” his palm moved up your back and brushed over the still-sensitive scratches through the fabric, “to let your back heal all the way before we start opening up new wounds.” He pressed his lips and face further into your neck and inhaled deeply, smelling the blood that pumped rhythmically just beneath the surface.
“He was very persuasive. He’s quite good with his mouth, wouldn’t you agree?” he teased, and you could hear the soft laugh resting in the chamber of his chest. You shuddered at the memory of Gaz’s tongue licking through you, his eyes looking up at you from between your legs, his soft, plush lips kissing and sucking your clit. Price hummed at the way your breath hitched just from the memories he dug up with his own suggestion. With a final deep breath of your scent, he stated, “Take the day. I’m a patient man. I’ve been around a long time, dear. I can wait one more day to taste you again.” He pressed a final kiss to your tender skin, and you had to hold your breath to stop the quiet whimper that lodged itself in your throat.
He stepped back, although reluctantly, and you listened to his footsteps distance himself from you, stopping at the door.
“Enjoy the books,” he said, and then left you alone in the library, locking the door behind him. Your heart was racing, and your underwear was notably wetter than it was before.
—
It took you a good while of deep breathing while standing in the same place that Price left you in order to completely calm yourself down. Once your heart was beating at an acceptable pace, you settled yourself onto the reading nook at the windows after wiping the dust from the aged leather seats. You tried your best to forget the sensation of Price’s lips at your neck, the tenderness of his kiss and the roughness of his facial hair. You brought your knees close to your chest and focused instead, on the first volume, and on not opening it too wide, lest you crack the spine. Before long, you had lost yourself in the world that the yellowed pages laid out for you.
“Common misconception,” a familiar voice called out to you, making you jump. “But Frankenstein is actually the doctor, not the monster,” Gaz finished with a sheepish smile.
“You seem to be making a habit of interrupting my reading with useless trivia,” you said, closing the book slowly and setting it on the windowsill beside you. You glanced outside and noticed the sun was higher in the sky. You’d been reading for hours.
“Sorry, just figured you might be hungry. Made you lunch.” He sat beside you and placed a tray in your lap: coffee made the way you like, and a salad with grilled chicken.
“Thank you.” You gave him a soft smile.
“I used to like to cook,” he began, his gaze distant, “back before, well, you know. It’s nice to be able to do it again, even if I can't eat it.” He shrugged his shoulders, and the two of you sat quietly together for a moment. You sipped your coffee.
“Thank you, again. For talking with Price. And I'm sorry for…” Gaz cut you off with a laugh.
“It’s alright, don’t mention it.” he fixed his eyes on yours, more playful than embarrassed. “Seriously, don’t mention it.” Both of you laughed, the tension relieved. He placed a hand on your knee. “How are you feeling? Not too sore, I hope. Your back- I mean! The, er, scratches on your back.”
“They’re a little tender,” you answered, breaking eye contact with a small chuckle. “I should be all better by tomorrow, thanks to you and your magic tongue.” you nudge him with your foot and he elbows you back.
“Yeah, you like my tongue, don’t you?”
“Yeah, so does Price, apparently,” you say, matching his smirk. He winces and rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back against the window. “So, what? You’re all together in some kind of… quadrouple?” you asked. He shrugs again.
“I guess so. All we really have is each other. Or at least,” he rolled his head to the side to look at you, “until you came along.”
“Yeah, well… I didn’t have a whole lot of say in that,” you murmured, and his smile faltered. He sat up, then, looking down at his shoes. He patted your knee and then stood up.
“Eat your food.”
“Gaz…”
“I’ll be back in a few hours with dinner. I’ll give you your space.” You called after him again, but he was already out the door, locking it again behind himself.
By the time he had returned, you had finished your lunch and the first volume of Frankenstein. You’d placed the book back onto its empty space on the bookshelf. The sun was hanging just over the trees, and the sky had taken on an orangy tint at the edges. Gaz had dropped off a single-serve premade lasagna with only a few words exchanged as he collected your dirty dishes, giving you a tight smile and a squeeze on your shoulder, and locked you in again.
The third time he visited the library, the sun was behind the trees, casting long shadows across the expansive lawn. You found it more difficult to focus on reading. The darker it got, the deeper the feeling of being watched ate at you. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you thought you caught movement in the woods; large, dark masses shifting and pacing, weaving through the thick trunks of old trees. You didn’t make it very far through the second volume.
The click of the lock caught your attention. Gaz entered with a stiff back and squared shoulders. You stood to meet him, and he drew the thick curtains over the wide windows. You left the remaining two books on the cushions. The two of you stood together in the dark library, and he stayed at arm’s length. You wanted him closer. When Gaz turned to you, his eyes glinted red and green in the low light. Your breath caught in your throat.
“You ready to go upstairs?” he asked. You nodded your head and let him guide you back out into the house. “Stay close,” he said with a hand on your back. The lights were on all through the house, but the warm yellow light seemed not to reach the corners. The cobwebs muted the glowing bulbs, making every shadow stretch out to you, like claws on an outstretched hand. The two of you walked briskly through the main hall, and when you hurried past the conservatory, you saw something large lingering outside the window, but the reflections of the lamps inside obstructed the view.
“Keep moving, Gaz told you. “They can’t hurt you if you’re inside.”
“What are they?” you asked in an anxious whisper.
“Just keep going,” he repeated, his face pinched into almost a sneer as his red eyes glanced out the windows, once again glinting in the light like a cat on the prowl. He ushered you up the back stairs, and once you were safely inside your bedroom, he bolted the door.
“What are those things?” you asked once again. Then, your head whipped to the barred window as a howl pierced the quiet of the dusk. Your blood ran cold and your breath stuttered. It wasn’t like the hoots and screams of coyotes back home. It wasn’t even a familiar call of a lonely dog. There was something deeper, something dark and primal in that sound. It spoke to a fear deep within you, something ancestral that made your skin sting with pinpricks.
“Get ready for bed,” Gaz said sternly. His eyes, too, were fixated on the growing darkness seeping through the window.
“Gaz,” you pleaded, needing answers.
“They’re just trying to scare you, they can’t hurt you in here.” When you made no move, he looked at you with a softer face. “You’re safe, I promise.” He nudged you closer to the bathroom. “I’ll watch the door,” he offers with a reassuring smile. You let him push you into the other room, your bare feet padding on the tile, but you left the door cracked slightly. You needed to hear him there, to know he was still there with you.
The water from the shower was loud enough to drown out the howling outside, and it gave you the smallest drop of peace of mind. You played Gaz’s words back in your head. They couldn’t hurt you in here. You took your time, and Gaz waited patiently for you to emerge wrapped in a fluffy towel. He smiled to himself and turned around to give you your privacy to dress yourself.
You settled yourself into bed and waited for him to join you, but he reached for the door instead.
“Where are you going?” you asked, sitting back up. He turned back around to face you, looking confused and concerned.
“I just thought… you’d want to be alone.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well… what you said earlier. About not having a choice? I just thought that, maybe, you’d just want to be alone.” He looked down at his feet. It was quiet between you two, the kind of quiet that only came after midnight. The kind of quiet when the whole earth stood still and even the crickets slept.
“It’s true,” you started, and Gaz’s arms tensed. “I didn’t have a choice. You didn’t give me one.” His hands curled into themselves, balling into fists; not in anger toward you, but toward himself, toward the hunger he’d let turn him into more monster than man. “But I’m choosing you, now. Gaz-” another howl interrupted the silence in your room and both of you glanced at the window. You reminded yourself that it was barred with iron, and for the first time you were thankful for it.
“Stay with me,” you whispered to him across the room with a quiver in your breathy voice. “Please.”
Gaz didn’t need to hear another word from you. He crossed the room to your bed in three long strides. In that moment, he knew that he’d do just about anything for you if you only asked him. In seconds, he had his arms around you, wrapping you in the duvet.
“Yeah,” he said soothingly. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” He was paradoxically warm. A cadaver heated not by his own blood, but by yours. A scarlet silk thread tying you two together. “I’ll stay.” He reached to turn out your bedside lamp and covered you two in a blanket of darkness. The howling continued, but Gaz was there. They couldn’t hurt you in here.
As time passed, you watched the shadows of moonlight glide over your walls from where your head laid on Gaz’s chest, and eventually, the clouds covered the beaming white moon, and the howling stopped. You focused on Gaz’s breathing. You didn’t know if he could sleep. You thought he was still awake, though. You sure couldn’t sleep. A question on your mind nagged at you, nudging you awake whenever the waves of sleep got close enough to wash over you.
"Gaz?" You asked into the darkness, your voice the only sound in the nighttime. "Were you ever really my friend?" Your head rose on his chest as he took a breath. "Or was it all just a ruse to get me here?”
Gaz didn’t answer right away, and for a moment you started to wonder if creatures of the night really did sleep like you did, and if your words fell on deaf ears after all. But then he spoke, his voice low and uncertain of himself.
"Talking to you late at night on the phone was the first time I felt a connection since I became… what I am. The way you laughed, the way you told your stories to me, like I was actually there with you. I wanted to be beside you, I wanted to spend time with you. I think maybe it was the phone calls, because for the first time, I was talking to a human without hunger, without thirst. Just listening and being listened to. The days that we talked, just talked… I almost remembered how it felt to be alive again.” Gaz’s hand held yours over his stomach, his thumb tracing over your knuckles tenderly.
“I don't know if I'm capable of love,” he said, his voice heavier than you’d heard it before. “After being dead so long, the heart atrophies… in a way that’s more than just physical.” He sighed, and it sounded like he had a weight much heavier than your head on his chest. “I'm sorry I can't spare you from what I am, what we all are. I’m sorry that we’ve taken so much from you already, and we’ll just keep taking. I'm sorry that I’m not what you thought I was." You absorbed his words. His answers finally gave you some closure, though it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. His voice allowed the waves of sleep to draw you in deeper.
"The house seems brighter since you've been here,” he told you, his voice carrying you like a raft in the sea. “The floors creak when you walk. I didn't realize how much I'd missed that sound."
A/N: hi guys!!! So, this is the first thing I've written in literal years so please forgive me if it's a little rusty, I'm still trying to get my writing chops back into shape. Anyways, thank you all so much for the support, you all have really reignited a fire within me that I'd long thought had gone out. It's nice to get that passion back. I can't thank you all enough for your encouragement. Now, without further ado...
Reader x Vampire!141
Summary: After moving to London all by yourself, you're struggling to make any meaningful connections. so, when a handsome stranger invites you out, you jump at the offer. However, you soon find yourself in way over your head when he reveals himself to be much more than what you expected.
Word count: 4k
Warnings: blood, alcohol consumption, no smut yet, but suggestive material, vampirism (obviously), blasphemy, grinding, some dubcon elements (vampires using compulsion as a form of mind control) but no actual SA, eventual reverse harem.
Ps. The song I listened to the most while writing this was In The Glass by OK GO if you want to listen to that while you read xoxo
MASTERLIST, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7
---
You had first met Kyle in a café in London. You had just recently moved there, leaving your friends and family back in the States in search of a fresh start: a small flat within walking distance of the pub you'd managed to get a job at. You'd done your best to get settled in by yourself, gotten all unpacked and ready to explore the city you'd be calling home. Now all that was missing was making friends.
So far you only met a handful of new people, one of which was your boss Jerrie; a portly man in his early 50's who, despite being nice enough, really only cared about you enough to make sure you were on time for your shifts. He had a strict no-tardiness policy, but as long as you were on time, he'd mind his business and let you tend the bar.
The other person you'd made acquaintance with was your coworker Camille, a redhead only a couple years older than you. She was a delight to work with, but outside of work she was absurdly preoccupied with her relationship and the near-constant drama she had going with her on-again-off-again boyfriend. In the three weeks since you had started working together they'd already broken up and gotten back together four times. She'd inadvertently made it clear that she had no time for friendship.
So you were alone. Alone in your flat. Alone walking to work. Alone behind the bar slinging pints and shots for strangers who only cared about you for the few minutes it took to pour the perfect Guinness. It was no wonder that when you were approached one afternoon by a handsome stranger in the café down the street from your flat, you didn't turn away- even though he had interrupted your reading.
"I don't want to spoil the ending but… Dracula is a vampire," came a velvety voice from behind your right. You strained to hold back the eye roll that was clawing behind your eyelids, and turned toward the voice. You were met with shining white teeth peeking out from tan lips, a dusting of dark hair above it. He's lucky he's cute.
"Well, now the whole book is ruined," you joked.
"Mind if I join you?" He asked, gesturing to the armchair across from you. You considered him. On one hand, you had just started getting immersed in your book, and normally a stranger ripping your attention from it would've pissed you off. On the other hand, you were growing weary of being so alone, and here was a warm body with a sparkling smile presenting an opportunity for the connection you so deeply craved. And who were you to deny fate?
"Be my guest," you relented with a smile, one that he reciprocated immediately as he pulled out the chair and settled in. "I'm Gaz, by the way"
"Gaz?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kyle, but my friends call me Gaz."
"Oh, we're friends now?"
"We could be," he offered, once again flashing you those pearly whites. You smiled, doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your face. You gave him your name and he repeated it, rolling it on his tongue like a fine aged whiskey. You tried to suppress the chill that went down your spine.
"You're American," he said. It was more of a statement than a question.
"What gave it away," you joked. He laughed with you.
"Reckon I must be psychic, huh?"
"Must be."
"So," he continued, "What are you doing all the way over here? On holiday?"
"I just moved here, actually. Just trying to get settled in, I suppose. Getting acquainted with the area and all that.”
“You like it here?
“From what I’ve seen so far, yeah. It’s kind of hard to get a good feel for the area though, I have no idea where anything is.”
He took a drink from the mug in his hands. A deep red color. Hibiscus tea, maybe? “Maybe I could show you around, then. I know a few good spots.”
Damn, this guy is good.
“Well, since we’re friends and all, how could I say no?” you said, a small laugh tumbling out of your mouth. He laughed with you.
“Does that mean I can get your number, then?" He said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. God, those lips.
"I suppose so," you answered, pulling out your phone. "Here," you said, pressing the button for a new contact and sliding it over the small coffee table between the two of you. He entered his information before typing out a message to send to himself.
"There we go," he said, satisfied. "So, fancy a drink then? There's a few good clubs around here you might like."
"I'd like that, yeah."
"You free this weekend?"
"Saturday, yeah"
"It's a date." His smile grew into a grin as he looked into your eyes with an expression you couldn't quite place. Anticipation, maybe. Your stomach flipped with butterflies. He really was handsome, wasn't he? He'd opened his mouth to say something else when his phone buzzed on the table. "Shit, sorry I've got to take this. I'll text you, yeah?"
"Yeah, sounds good." You were suddenly breathless as he stood, raising the phone to his ear.
"I'll let you get back to your book, see you around."
"Book?" You questioned. He gestured to the hardcover in your lap, stifling a chuckle. "Oh right, my book," you giggled at your own forgetfulness.
He waved goodbye, carrying his empty mug to the dish bin by the door, and walked out. And just like that, he was gone, just as suddenly as he had arrived.
You tried to get back into reading your book, but your mind was now far too preoccupied with thoughts of the man you'd met. You'd always been an extrovert, making conversations and acquaintances easily wherever you went. However, this felt different. Gaz felt different.
You didn't believe in love at first sight. Love as a concept was something you had to work for; something to nurture and grow in your heart's garden. Infatuation, well, that was something else entirely. And this tall, dark, and handsome stranger had you hooked already. What could you say? You were a whore as much as a romantic: which is to say, a little bit of both.
And as your eyes scanned over the same paragraph for the third time, a vibration on the table finally snapped you out of your redundant stupor. A text from Gaz, already.
"It was nice talking to you, hope to do it again soon x"
—
In the days that followed your encounter, you found yourself texting with Gaz more and more. You'd even called and spoken on the phone a few times, getting to know each other better. You told him about growing up in America, your family, and why you chose to leave.
"I've lived in the same town my whole life. I just wanted to go somewhere new, where nobody knows me, you know? Nobody knows what I looked like in middle school, or- or that time I spilled spaghetti all over my prom dress-”
"Spaghetti?" He interrupted.
"Yeah- and it wasn't even mine!" You laughed. And hearing his laugh come through from the other line made your heart flutter. It was nice just talking to him.
You counted down the days, hours, minutes until your date- was it a date? Sure, yeah, it was a date. Your hands shook in anticipation, desperately trying to keep them steady as you drew eyeliner on. You spent damn near half an hour trying to find the perfect outfit. Something not too slutty but something you could dance in. God, you were nervous. So nervous, in fact, that you just about jumped out of your skin when the alarm on your phone went off, alerting you that it was time to catch the underground.
You rushed to grab your jacket, throwing your wallet and lipstick in the pocket, not wanting to be bogged down with a bag, and hurried out onto the street to catch your train. When you arrived at your stop, you shot Gaz a text telling him you'd be there soon. He told you he'd meet you at the entrance and sure enough, as you hurried up the stairs onto the street, there he was.
He was even more handsome than the day at the café, dark skin positively glowing under the street lights in a loose-fitting shirt that was unbuttoned just far enough to be tempting.
"There she is," he said, looking you up and down. "I thought you were beautiful before, but I was wrong. You're stunning."
You muttered out a retort, something like "not too bad, yourself," but you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. He clearly took note of his effect on you, a sly look passing through his eyes. Smug bastard. He held out his arm for you to take.
"Such a gentleman," you mused.
"Just wait," he said, leaning closer to your ear as he started down the sidewalk, "you'll see there's nothing gentle about me." Oh. You cleared your throat as your heart rate picked up. You could see his smirk out of the corner of your eye. He knows exactly what he's doing.
"So where is this place, anyway?" You asked, changing the subject lest you get carried away and jump his bones there on the street.
"It's sort of underground, usually you'd have to wait in line for hours." Oh, great… "Lucky for you, though: I know the owner." Oh, Great! You rounded the corner and approached the booming bass of a club. Gaz led you right past the considerably long line and right up to the bouncer, who gave you two a once over, then let you pass after Gaz whispered something to him. You couldn't make it out over the rhythmic thumping that rattled your eardrums even from outside the club, but whatever it was, the bouncer seemed satisfied enough to open the velvet rope for the two of you.
The inside of the club was beautiful, like a modernized Gothic chapel with a DJ spinning at the pulpit and a dance floor where the pews should've been. Technicolor flashing lights mimicked stained-glass windows, and a bar full of spirits replaced the cistern of holy water. Incredible. No wonder this place was so exclusive.
"What do you think?" Gaz yelled into your ear above the music, his lips brushing against the shell of it.
"It's gorgeous, oh my god," you replied, awestruck.
"I know you are, I was asking what you thought about the club," he teased. You rolled your eyes with a smile and nudged your elbow into him, meeting a hard, muscular abdomen. He smiled back at you as he led you to the bar. "What's your drink?"
"Gin and soda, please." He nodded, waving the bartender over.
"Usual?" Asked the man.
"Yeah, and a gin and soda for the lady, please," Kyle replied. The bartender nodded and went off to make the drinks.
"You come here that often?" You mused.
"What can I say, I like the atmosphere."
"So, do you bring all the girls here then?
"Nah, just the ones I really like," he said, and you suddenly noticed just how close the two of you had gotten. His hand rested on the small of your back, and his face was so near you could count his lashes if you tried.
Just then the bartender arrived again with drinks in hand. Gaz pulled back from you and slid some cash across the bar. "Thanks, mate." He handed you your drink, raising his in between you. "Cheers!" You clinked your glasses together, the dark liquid in his gleaming in the bright red lights of the club.
You briefly wondered what it was that he was drinking, but the thought left your mind as you took a drink, the botanical liquor warming you and cooling you all at once. You relished in the feeling for a moment. Vice as it might be, this was your communion. Your eyes fluttered shut while you focused on the mild burn in your stomach. You could feel Gaz's eyes on you, watching you enjoy the feeling.
You opened your eyes and were met with the deep darkness of his. Just like his drink, they gleamed and glimmered in the flashing red lights. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. You savored him like you savored your drink, the burn of his gaze doing as much to ignite you as the liquor. You could feel him doing the same to you; the both of you bring glasses to lips, but drinking in so much more than just liquor. He had you hooked as much as you had him.
Words were exchanged, none of them meaningful, and before you knew it you were onto your second round as Gaz pulled you onto the dance floor. You balanced your drink in one hand, the other sliding up Gaz's front to rest on his shoulder, while his hands knit themselves together behind you, pulling you close. You swayed together, draining your cup and filling yourself with tipsy motivation.
He twirled you around, pulling you back into him, front pressed hard into your backside. Your swaying turned into something more sinful, following the devilish bass, and- Oh, there he is. You could feel the weight of him growing, grinding against you. Back and forth you danced, and he pulled your hair away from your neck before diving in lips-first.
A thousand bodies writhed around you, but the action couldn't have felt more intimate. Your hand found its way up to the back of his head, nails digging into his curly hair, egging him on. You felt a sharp nip just below your hairline and you jolted in his arms. His grip on you only tightened- but you didn't fight against it.
You couldn't lie to yourself. You loved this. The tenacity, the risk, the strong arms around you, the pain. You felt alive, electric, on fire. Gaz continued to nip and suck at your neck, hips never missing a beat of the music. This was worship. Bastardized fellowship in an unholy sanctuary.
This was Gospel rewritten.
His lips were suddenly too much, but still not enough. You turned your head to meet his lips. And when you finally came together you caught a glimpse of heaven. His tongue was hot and warm, and tasted of something so familiar, and yet you couldn't place it. Bitter. You swore you could be sober the rest of your life if you could just keep drinking him in like this.
He devoured you like sacramental wine, turning you fully around to face him once again. His hand wrapped around your neck in place of a rosary. His leg slotted between yours, and you almost fell to your knees to worship him. He pressed deeper into you; deeper, and deeper still, until you thought he'd press your very molecules together. Your heart beat in time with the rhythms surrounding you, thrumming around your skull like an echo chamber. You were suffocating and it was delicious, divine.
He pulled away and you found yourself loathing the oxygen, much more preferring to breathe in Gaz's breath as your own. That is, until he spoke into your ear a deafening whisper. "Let's get out of here."
It was as if the world had stopped, all the other dancers froze, a spotlight cast upon you two. All you could say was…
"Yes.”
And then you were outside again, the music faded away. Hand in hand, bound together, Gaz led you through the streets of London back to his flat. You could hardly contain yourself as you walked, stumbled, and ran through winding path after winding path until you finally reached the building. His building.
He fumbled with the key a bit, hands slightly trembling with anticipation; but you were in no place to judge, nor would you want to- your hands were doing much of the same. The two of you stumbled through the door, his hands back on your body instantaneously.
He pushed you deeper into the loft, peeling off his jacket, his lips devouring yours, and then peeling off yours the same way. His hands were on your waist, squeezing, and it was all you could do to remain upright as he backed you up deeper into his home.
The lights were already on.
"Easy there, Gaz, don't want to eat her up in one bite," came a deep scottish voice from behind you.
You jumped, twisting around to find two other men in the dimly-lit room with you. The air was hazy with smoke from the cigar hanging out of one's mouth. A single lamp struggled to illuminate the space.
"Oh my god! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You laughed nervously, resisting Gaz's arms that kept winding around you from behind. "Gaz, you didn't tell me you had roommates," you half-whispered.
"Flatmates, love. And it's alright, they don't mind. Do you, boys?"
"Not at all," answered the same Scottish voice, the one with the Mohawk sitting closest to you. He had an amused smile on, but there was something more to it than that. Something hungry.
Gaz's lips reattached themselves to your neck as he held you against him. You tried to pull away from him. You felt nervous and lightheaded. You shouldn't have felt this dizzy, you'd only had two drinks.
"Gaz, stop, I'm not comfortable-"
"Shh baby, it's alright. Just relax, you'll be alright." His grip on you was like a vice.
"Gaz, please." Something was wrong. The way these men were looking at you…
"Just look at me, love. You're panicking, just look at me."
You were beginning to hyperventilate. Oh no. Oh God no. What were you thinking, following a stranger home? Gaz was stronger. Stronger than he should've been, even with the body he had. It was like pushing against stone. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to turn your head towards him.
"Look at me, darling." Your wide eyes met his calm, uncanny gaze.
"Kyle let go-"
"Calm down."
You were underwater. The sounds around you met your ears, but they were muddy, like listening in on a dream. You shivered, all adrenaline purging itself from your bloodstream, and you felt the tension leave your body. The wrinkle between your eyebrows smoothed itself out. Your fingers, which had been digging into Gaz's forearms, melted down to your sides. Your head lulled back against his chest. You felt like a ragdoll.
"There we are," he cooed. "I'm sorry I had to do that, love, but I need you to cooperate, yeah?" You couldn't answer, only managing to push out a pathetic strangled sound out of your throat.
"Is this the one you told us about?" Asked the gruff voice of the man smoking the cigar. He had a full beard, and was lounging against the back of the couch, legs spread, shoulders broad.
"The American, yeah. Just moved here. No family in the country. The pub she works at is a shithole, her boss won't miss her. And as far as I can tell, she's only got one good friend," Gaz answered, smiling in your face like the cat who caught the canary.
"And who's that?"
"Me." He dragged his finger down your cheek. A gentle, almost loving gesture.
"Good. She won't be missed. Let's eat," said the Scott, standing and approaching you. Eat?
"Wait, wait." Gaz's head snapped up at him, his arms moving around you to shield you from him. "What if…" he trailed off, looking back down at you.
"Spit it out Gaz," the large man on the couch commanded.
"What if we didn't kill her?" The other two men were silent for a moment. The mohawked man spoke first.
"And do what with her? We can't let her go. Chrissakes, you've already compelled her. She's seen our faces. Let's just get on with it."
"No, wait. What if we kept her? Like a pet. I've grown kind of fond of this one."
"You're goin' soft, Gaz."
"Maybe. But she's also the sweetest damn thing I've ever tasted, and it'd be a shame to waste it all in one night."
"Is that so?"
"Try for yourself." Gaz loosened his hold on your body, presenting you to his colleague, who stepped forward and leaned into your neck.
"Easy, Soap. The neck's mine," called the other man.
He- Soap- breathed deeply against your neck before pulling away, a disappointed look in his eye as he met your wavering gaze. His eyes were so blue. Maybe they were the water you were floating in. You could've drowned in those eyes. His hand dragged down your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist and bringing it up to his face, never breaking eye contact until he did the unthinkable.
His mouth opened, revealing his teeth. Sharp teeth. Fangs. Fangs that he sunk into the supple flesh of your wrist. You felt every millimeter of his teeth penetrate your skin. You gasped out a strangled, rattling sound, quickly overshadowed by the loud moan rumbling from Soap's throat as he tasted you. You watched in horror as the man drank from you- drank from you! This man- this stranger- was drinking your blood. You wanted to struggle, to push him off of you, to sprint out of the place and never look back. But you were still breathing underwater. Your body had betrayed you. You felt dizzy again. Dizzy like you had felt in the club, dancing with Gaz.
Then it hit you. Gaz had drunk from you, too. Your eyes rolled back.
"Easy, easy!" Shouted a voice behind you. Gaz. He pulled Soap off of your wrist by the hair. You could only watch as your blood dribbled out of the two little holes in your arm. Soap moaned again at the tugging on his hair.
"Steamin' Jesus, Gaz, you were right," gasped Soap, satiated but still starving for more. His lips were tinged red as he smiled with an open mouth. "I wouldn't mind keeping her around."
"Of course you wouldn't," rumbled another voice. A third voice echoing from the darkness of the apartment like an earthquake. It was dark and gravelly, like a rough pumice stone scraping against your raw nerves.
"Oh shut it, Ghost. She tastes like fucking heaven." He turned to you, tongue dragging against your wound. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you noted that the bleeding stopped after he licked you clean. "What do you think, darlin'? Wanna be our little pet, huh?" He stepped even closer, nose nudging yours. He gripped your chin in his fingers and moved your limp head up and down. "There, she said yes," he called out to the men behind him, grinning. You heard Gaz chuckle behind you. "We'll take such good care of you, hen." You could feel Gaz's arms stroking your waist up and down… up and down… lulling you into further complicity. "What do you think, Price?" He asked, backing away and turning to the man on the couch.
The man had been sitting there, watching, observing, puffing away at the thick cigar in his thick fingers, thick thighs spread wide. He considered you for a long while. Gaz and Soap waited with bated breath as the man in front of you decided your fate. He must be the leader. Finally, he spoke, pale eyes burning into yours.
"She really as good as Gaz said, Soap?"
“Even better."
He took a long drag from the cigar, staring unblinkingly at you with an easy air to him. He was in no rush. He seemed to quite enjoy taking his time looking you over. If Gaz's gaze had been fire burning you alive, and Soap's had been an ocean current dragging you down, this man's- Price's, was like arctic waters rushing over you, chilling you to the bone, making you shiver. And even then he breathed smoke like a dragon, fogging up the air as much as your mind. He leaned over the coffee table in front of him, stubbing out the dragon's breath on an ashtray.
"Right then," he drawled, leaning back again. "Let's have a taste."
A/N: It's finally here! Thank yall, for being patient, I appreciate all the support of the last two chapters. Shoutout to @asterionex for being a baller. As always, ask box is open xoxo
Reader x Vampire!141
Word count: 2.9k (a little shorter, sorry)
Warnings: blood, biting, suggestive elements, vampirism, mild dubcon but nothing explicit. Soap being a jackass.
Songs for this chapter: West Coast Smoker by Fall Out Boy, actually pretty much the whole Folie a Deux album. Feel free to send song recs or let me know if yall'd want a playlist.
MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7
---
You flinched as Soap strutted towards you, closing your eyes and mentally preparing for the sensation of his teeth sinking into you. But then… his footsteps kept going. He walked right past you and you opened your eyes to see him sitting down at the end of your bed.
"C'mere," he said, patting the spot next to him. "Let me take a look at your bites, see how you're healing up." You hesitated, still wary of a trap. "Listen, bonnie, I'm no' gonna bite you 'til I have your permission. Now come here and let me see." He seemed genuine enough. But then again, so had Kyle. You were skeptical, but you figured you didn't have much else to lose. So you walked over and sat next to him rigidly. He held a hand out. "Give me your arm." You reached across, slowly, cautiously to present your arm to him.
He took it ever so gently into his hands, fingers barely grazing over the marks that had faded even more since you'd woken up. He studied it with raised eyebrows.
"Wow, you're healing faster than most. Fucking miracle, that is." He lifted the arm up to his mouth and you jerked away, but he caught your wrist in a vice-like grip. "I already said I'm not gonna bite. Just gonna work some magic," he said with a wink and leaned down to close the gap. You watched as he lapped at your healing wound, slow and sensual, and pulled away with a kiss. "There, that's better."
You couldn't believe your eyes. The bite had healed completely. Maybe he really was magic. He leaned closer while you looked at your arm, baffled. He swept your hair away from your neck and looked at you, silently waiting for approval. You looked into his eyes- those beautiful ocean eyes- and nodded almost imperceptibly.
He grinned as he licked and kissed your neck, painting healing wet strokes across your skin. You were breathing heavily now. You couldn't deny the way his mouth felt against your skin.
"Heartrate's pickin' up," he whispered against your skin. He chuckled under his breath, the sound of it rippling down your spine. "Turn around, let me see your shoulder." His hands made their way to your waist to guide you to face him fully, and you molded to his movements like putty. He pulled the sleeve of your shirt up to see the mark Ghost had left on you, a shocked expression replacing the one of relaxation that had been there a moment before.
"Jesus Christ, Ghost really did a number on ya, eh? Look at that!" He was laughing. His hands brushed over the bruise in an almost fascinated way. You were rudely awakened to the fact that you were in the arms of a man who had tried to kill you only a few days before. You shot off the bed and out of his grasp, hands moving to cover yourself. You felt naked under his eyes even though you were fully clothed.
"Ah come on, lass, I was only joking. Sit back down." You didn't budge. "You wanna keep that big purple spot on your shoulder or not?" You hesitated. "Please, just sit back down. I don't want to have to make you, but I will if I have to," he threatened with a regretful look in his eye. The last thing you needed was to be lost in the fog of compulsion. You couldn't stand to lose control like that again. So, step by wobbly step, you sat down with Soap once more, presenting your discolored shoulder to him.
"There's my girl," he said grinning, once again wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you close to him.
"I'm not your girl," you protested. He scoffed.
"Then what, exactly, do you think you agreed to tonight? Hmm?" He stared deep into your eyes, and you swear you could feel them piercing into your soul. "You think we're just 'roommates' or something?" He kissed your cheek. "Friends who get to chow down on you from time to time?" He kissed your neck. "No, dearie." He kissed your collarbone. "You're ours." He lapped at your sore shoulder, all open-mouthed kisses and lithe tongue smoothing over your soft, abused flesh.
You choked back a moan at the feeling. It was so wrong to be enjoying this- the feeling of your captor's mouth on your body. But it was oh so soothing. You could already feel the soreness dissipating. He pulled back, admiring his handiwork with a grin of satisfaction. "It's not perfect, but then again, Ghost did getcha pretty good. It'll take time to heal properly." He surveyed the other bites. "The rest of you is perfect, though, I must say," he said with a wink, letting his eyes wander...
"Where was he tonight, anyway?" You asked. You still had yet to meet, or even catch a glimpse of the man who had basically mauled you.
"You didn't see him?" Soap responded. Your blood ran cold.
"What do you mean…?"
"He was there tonight, standin' in the corner like a bleedin' creep," he laughed at his own joke. You didn't laugh. "He's a spooky lad, ain't he?" He noticed how tense you were and wrapped a massive arm around you. "Ah, don't worry too much about it, you'll meet him eventually."
"That's what I'm afraid of…" you muttered. He paused, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
"Tell you what," he started. "You tell me whatever you want fer your room, and tomorrow I'll go out and get it. I'll go back to your flat and get whatever you need. I'll even get paint fer the walls if you like." His hand wandered, gently stroking your arm and coaxing you closer into him. "Just let me have a wee taste of that pretty little neck and we'll call it a night, aye?" He was so close now, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, hot breath sending goosebumps across your body in waves. Wait.
"You went in my apartment?" You asked. He tensed up next to you but didn't move.
"Maybe."
"You went through my underwear drawer," you mentioned lightly. You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. You turned to look at his face, so close you were sharing oxygen. The ghost of a smile crept up on you when you saw his guilty expression. Like a deer in headlights. His eyes were wide, a sheepish smile making its way across his lips.
You laughed. For the first time in days you laughed. Soap looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he laughed with you. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you felt at ease.
"You pervert!" You joked.
"Oi, I was just trying ta get you something to wear! Figured you didn't want to be wearing the same clothes forever." His arm tightened around you and he shook you gently. You slapped a hand against his chest and he caught it with his own.
The laughter between you two tampered out and you sat comfortably in his arms, his hand holding yours against his muscular chest. You stared up into his eyes and once again you felt like you could drown in them. A part of you wanted to. He looked at you like you were art in a museum. It was different from the way he looked at you the other night. The hunger was still there, yes, but there was an admiration in them now that wasn't there before.
"Christ, you are a beauty, aren't you," he murmured. He brought up his hand to stroke against your cheek. Your hand remained pressed to his chest. "Like a bloody angel sent from heaven just for us…" His lips were so close to yours now. "Please…" His nose nudged yours. You were taken back to that night. It seemed so familiar and yet so different. There was no malice. Soap was tender with you. You found yourself nodding your head on your own this time.
The arm he'd had wrapped around you pulled onto his lap, your calves on either side of his enormous thighs. His mouth was now pressing feathery kisses along your neck. You sighed at the feeling and relaxed into his hold. There was something about his mouth that just made your head spin. His mouth reached your collarbone and he stopped. What was he waiting for?
"Gonna bite you now, alright?" He asked. You answered by sliding your fingers into the strip of hair that lined the center of his head. You felt him shudder beneath you, and then his teeth sunk into the hollow point right behind your clavicle. Your eyes rolled back on instinct.
God, it felt so different when you had a clear mind. Your body felt hot, tingling rushing down to your toes, your fingers twitching in his hair and tightening into a fist. He grunted at the feeling. His breathing picked up as the taste of you overwhelmed his senses. You were at his will and mercy in this moment, but if his words tonight were true- and you had no reason so far to believe otherwise- then you knew you could trust him. After all, Soap wasn't the one who had lied to you.
The hand that held your face so gingerly moved downward, fingers pressing into your pulse point. You gathered that he was monitoring your heart rate, making sure he didn't take too much from you.
Just as you were beginning to feel that telltale dizziness, he pulled himself off of you with a wet smack of his lips, closely followed by that magnificent tongue of his. He pulled back to catch his breath, muttering astonished curses under his breath. You could feel his eyes on you.
"You alright hen?" He asked. You didn't respond right away, head a little fuzzy from the feeling he'd given you. "Hey," he shook you. "Are you alright?" He sounded a bit more worried this time. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his staring up at you. You both stared at one another for a moment, both heavy-lidded and comfortable. He brought his forehead to rest on yours.
"Don't know what the hell you're made of, but you sure are somethin' else," he remarked. You were floating on cloud nine. You felt your world shift as his strong arms lowered you onto your back on the bed. You looked up at him with tired eyes. You weren't about to pass out, not like last time, but you were feeling significantly more lethargic.
Soap laid on his side next to you. He brushed your hair away from your face and threaded his fingers in your hair, just as you had done moments before. His fingers expertly massaged your scalp, lulling you even further towards sleep.
"Now," he started, "why don't you tell me what you need?" Your eyes widened at that. "Oh, no no! Not like that!" He corrected himself quickly. "I meant what we talked about earlier. For your room.
"This is your home now, for better or worse, so it should feel like it. At least a little bit. So tell me whatever you want, we'll get it for you. Television, new sofa, a damned diamond necklace- name it, it's yours."
You pondered his question for a moment. You weren't sure what they could do for you at this point. In this moment you felt safe lying in Soaps protective arms, but you knew as soon as he left you, that creeping feeling would come back again. This wasn't your home. You didn't know how it ever could be.
Soap could sense you retreating into yourself. He jostled your head ever so slightly.
"Hey, you still with me?" he checked.
"Yeah, yeah just… thinking…" you trailed off again. You thought back through the day. What did you need…? Then you thought of something. "A shower head," you offered. "Baths are nice and all, but I'd like to be able to take a shower, too. Just to have the option to." He nodded.
"Done. Anything else?"
"The rest of my clothes would be nice, too. And yeah, maybe a T.V.," you responded, "something with Netflix or something." He made a mental note of your requests.
"I can get you the T.V., but I can't guarantee internet."
"Why not?" You wondered.
"Same reason we can't give your phone back." Oh.
Because you'd call for help.
You were suddenly reminded of the grave situation you were in. You were being held captive here. They weren't just going to let you go that easily. These men were smart, you weren't going to catch them slipping up over something like internet access. If you wanted out you'd have to plan very carefully. But how… Soap's voice pulled you from your thoughts once again.
"If you want, we can get DVDs of whatever movies you want. Twilight, Nosferatu…" he trailed off with a laugh again. You couldn't help but join him. As your laughter settled down again, Soap sighed.
"You should get some sleep, bonnie. You'll need it," he spoke as he withdrew his arms from your body. He stood and tugged the comforter from under the weight of your body with ease and placed it over your body. You passively wondered if it was Soap that had tucked you into this bed the first time around.
"You'll have tomorrow to recover and get your strength back. When you wake up, I'll give you a proper tour of the house, and we'll get you something to eat then." Then he paused for a moment. "Wait, when was the last time you ate…?" He wondered out loud. Then his face went blank in a moment of realization. "Oh, shit! I'll be back!"
And before you could say another word, he was out the door. You heard the sound of the lock turning. How had you only just now realized how hungry you were? You supposed it must've been the anxiety of the day's events that had kept your stomach in knots. You'd been so concerned about becoming a meal that you hadn't even thought of having one for yourself!
But as you waited for Soap to return, presumably with food, you felt your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. And then they were closed. And then you were asleep. And then a gentle hand at your shoulder was waking you up. You opened your eyes to see Soap standing over you, holding a dinner tray in his hands.
“Sit up,” he said. You did as he said, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, this was all I could find, we’re not used to having human… guests over.” He stumbled over the last part. Both of you knew you weren’t a guest here. Guests had the freedom to leave. He set the tray on your lap for you. On the tray sat a lump of aged cheese and a handful of crackers. You didn't want to know how old they were, but you could tell just from looking that they were stale as rocks.
You brought one of the crackers to your mouth and nearly chipped a tooth. Both of you winced. You dropped it back down on the plate with a clatter and moved to the cheese. Thankfully it was edible. You choked it down and handed the tray back to Soap.
"I'm sorry, it's all we had-"
"It's fine," you snapped. It seemed that eating had only made the pit in your stomach deeper. You were hungry. You were tired. You were scared. And Soap was honestly just pissing you off.
"Well, someone's hangry…" he muttered to himself.
"Just get out," you commanded. Honestly you don't know what had gotten into you earlier. Why were you being so friendly with him? Maybe your head hadn't been as clear as you had thought.
"Excuse me?" Soap interjected. He dropped the tray on the nightstand beside you rather roughly and loomed over you. You were in awe of the size of him, acutely aware of the fact that he could snap you in half without breaking a sweat. He'd been so gentle tonight, you had all but forgotten how terrifying he'd been the night you'd met.
"You should remember who you're talking to, sweetheart," he growled, voice close to animalistic. "I go through the trouble to find human food for you and you just-" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He opened his eyes to see yours watering.
"No, no, don't do that, pretty girl," he cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, reaching to dry your tears, but you jerked away. Your wide, teary eyes watched as he didn't back down, instead holding your face with an impossibly strong hand. "Don't cry." You felt the knot in your chest dissipate. His thumbs wiped away your years. "There we go, bonnie. That's it. Smile for me." And so you smiled. "There's a good pet." He chuckled, and you felt your own laughter bubble up again. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his. "Now lie back down," You did. "And go to sleep." And you slept.
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A/N: thanks so much for being patient with me getting this chapter written. Happy Valentine's Day! xoxo
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: blood mention, bruises, mild self harm (hot water), nudity mention, victim blaming (kinda), mild dubcon (compulsion) nothing too major in this chapter
Songs to listen to: Absinthe by iDKHOW and Social Climb by iDKHOW
MASTERLIST, CH1, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7
---
You were drowning. Gaz's hands were simultaneously your only lifeline and the things dragging you down deeper. Price's eyes bore into you. You shivered, whether from his cold gaze, the loss of blood, or just the plain waves terror you felt ebbing deep below, you weren't sure.
"Come on love," Gaz muttered in your ear. He began shuffling you forward, and you felt your feet stepping closer and closer to the couch, as if they were obeying Gaz rather than you. Maybe they were.
Gaz placed you into Price's lap and you fell limply against his chest as he cradled you. You distantly thought of La Pietá. The savior of the world lying dead in his mother's arms. How small he was in comparison. What an unholy twist of Michelangelo's vision you were in.
Price held you against him, pulling your legs closer, his hand behind your back sliding up to the base of your skull. His eyes, those pale, icy eyes drank you in, much like how you anticipated his teeth would be doing shortly.
"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" He asked, mostly to himself. "You taste half as good as you look, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, yeah?" He smiled at you, crow's feet crinkling in a comforting sort of way. You felt at ease here in his arms. You shouldn't have. "Just relax, sweetheart, this won't hurt a bit, promise."
He pulled you ever closer, resting your head on his shoulder as his mouth approached the soft curve of your neck. You felt his breath puff out against your skin, beard scratching the sensitive flesh, before you felt that all-too familiar double pinprick. He let out a soft grunt when the flavor of you hit his tongue, followed by a sharp intake of breath through his nose. His hand nestled at your skull snaked itself into your hair to pull you impossibly closer.
Your eyes rolled back in your head, the dizziness taking over again. Muffled sounds. Your heart pounding away in your head like the bass drums at the club. The club felt half a world away now: a lifetime ago when you still believed in the goodness of man. You heard someone whimpering. Christ, was that you? You couldn't tell anymore, so focused on that same pleasure-pain in your neck as Price sucked away your inhibitions.
He finally pried himself away, licking a hot, wide stripe up from your clavicle to your ear. "Like fucking candy," he breathed into you. You shivered again for the umpteenth time that night. He looked past you at the other two men who had fed off of you. "You weren't lying." The other two men chuckled. Then he turned to the dark corner behind you. You didn't have the strength to turn around to see what he was looking at. You weren't sure you wanted to know.
"Your turn." Oh God please, no more. You didn't think you could take another one. You were so tired. Then you felt the couch dip behind you. You felt like you were in a dream, barely registering the broad chest that pressed up against your back. Price unwound himself from you, and another hand replaced his in your hair, much rougher than the last. It grabbed a fistful of your locks and jerked your head back. A startled sound jumped from your throat. Not quite a scream- almost a moan.
"Shut up," growled the dark voice behind you. The disembodied voice from before, the one that had chastised Soap. Calloused hands gripped the neck of your shirt, tearing it wider. Your eyes found Gaz, silently pleading for help. He looked sympathetic, but made no move to help. He just watched. They all just watched.
Then there were fangs in you again, digging into the meat of your shoulder opposite the side Price had drank from only moments ago. These teeth lacked any sort of gentleness or care the others had. He bit down hard and sucked harshly. You felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper underwater, the lights above you dimming as the fist in your hair dragged you under. You're dying.
"Ghost, enough!" Someone shouted. The mouth was pulled off of you and you fell forward again into strong arms. You felt warmth trickling down your arm. The body holding you leant down to seal the wound with his tongue. Price, you remembered. You couldn't see him, and you barely registered that your eyes were closed. You couldn't seem to open them.
You heard more shouting. The sharp edges of the cold voice raking down your spine. An argument you couldn't make out rumbled out from the chest beneath you. You felt yourself settle on the seafloor, sand and silt puffing up around you. It was so dark and so muddy, tendrils of seaweed tangling around your limbs, tying you down like a whalefall; a corpse to be fed on, giving life to creatures undeserving. Bottom feeders with monstrous appearances feeding on your past life.
Hands shook you, a voice pleading to you to open your eyes. You struggled, but finally met those rich brown eyes you'd met a week prior. Kind eyes you had trusted so easily. Eyes so deep brown they looked red in the right lighting. Maybe they were red all along. Maybe you ignored that. Maybe you felt him bite a little too hard at the club, and maybe you still chose to follow him home. Maybe you could've fought harder. Maybe you knew these men were sharks, and maybe you didn't swim away. Maybe you knew they smelled your blood in the water, and maybe you didn't care. Maybe you liked it.
But none of that mattered when you closed your eyes again and let the waves pass over you.
—
Your whole body ached as you washed ashore. Your head was pounding. How much had you drank? It couldn't have been that much… You heard paper rustling behind you. You weren't alone. Who…? You weren't in your bed. At least you didn't think so. You don't remember buying silk sheets. The mattress was too soft.
The world came back to you in throbbing beats hammering straight into your skull. Pounding the bone over and over. Pages flipping. Your arm was sore. A musty smell. An old house settling. Your neck was sore. Pages flipping. Your shoulder burned. Pages flipping. You weren't alone.
You sat bolt upright. Everything from last night came back to you like a punch in the gut. Another page flipped and you looked over to your right to find Kyle lounging in an armchair across the room. He looked up from the book in his hands and met your eyes with an easy smile.
"Good morning sunshine."
"Fuck you" you spat at him, pure venom dripping from your mouth. He quirked an eyebrow, amused.
"How are you feeling?"
"Violated."
"Fair enough. Did you sleep well?"
"Go fuck yourself, Kyle." He was no longer amused.
"You know, you should be grateful, I saved your fucking life." You seethed.
"From who? Your fucking friends? The friends you let feed on me?"
"Don't be stupid, love," he condescended. "You think we're the only 'creatures of the night' in all of London? A city this big, this old? Use that pretty little head for something, please." Your head was spinning with a mix of rage and confusion.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I'm saying you're lucky it was me who found you. Others of my kind aren't so compassionate toward a pretty face. We've got a sense for vulnerability, and sweetheart, you had a target on your back the minute you stepped off the plane. Sooner or later you would've ended up dead in a gutter bled like a fucking pig. The least you could do is say thank you."
His words had turned venomous toward you. So far was he now from the warm man you had met a week ago. Yet even through the caustic words he spat, you could see something more in his eyes. A facsimile of heartbreak. Like he had any right to be upset.
"Right. Thank you so fucking much for kidnapping me and drinking my fucking blood!" You were downright incredulous. How dare he?
The two of you stared seething at one another for what felt like an eternity, neither willing to yield. His red-brown eyes burned into yours, and yours burned right back. Finally, he broke the tense silence with a humorless huff.
"You can sit here and pretend like you didn't want this, but we both know deep down you did. I know you-"
"You don't know shit about me."
"I know you well enough to know you aren't fucking stupid. You saw the signs, yeah? And you still followed me home. I mean come on! You were reading fucking Dracula when we met. You expect me to believe you didn't know what I am? That you didn't even suspect it?" You shook your head desperately.
"I didn't ask for this!"
"Maybe not, but you got it anyway. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me, love."
"Don't call me that."
"Fine."
Once again the two of you sat in uncomfortable, charged silence. Neither of you was willing to break, to look away. Kyle studied you with furrowed brows trying to figure out his next move. He seemed to reach a conclusion and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. He reached down beside him and stood with a duffel bag.
"Clean yourself up," he commanded, throwing the duffel at the foot of the bed you layed in. "Price wants to talk." And with that he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door a little too roughly.
Finally alone, you fought off the tears pricking your eyes, choosing to take in your surroundings instead. This was definitely not the apartment you had been in before. You had slept in a four poster bed, which would've been cozy under different circumstances. The walls were plastered with a garish wallpaper, repeating paisley patterns assaulting your eyes and worsening your headache the more you looked at it; so instead you averted your eyes to the window. Yellow-orange light shone in through the curtains. The sun was setting. How long had you been unconscious? Finally your eyes came to another door left ajar: the restroom. Clean yourself up.
You reached for the duffel, tearing the zipper open to see your own clothing and toiletries thrown haphazardly inside. They'd broken into your apartment? You never even told Gaz… Kyle where you lived. You sat in awe as realization struck that Kyle had been watching you, stalking you. Staking you out like prey; which,evidently, you were.
You looked down at yourself. You were still dressed in the outfit from the night before, although the collar of your shirt had been torn to immodest shreds. Other than the quickly-fading bruises left from the bites, you could find no evidence that those cruel men had done any further harm to you.
You looked closer at the bite on your wrist, fingers delicately brushing over it to find the skin slightly numbed and the holes closed, now more closely resembling bug bites than an open wound. The bites on your neck felt much the same; however the bite on your shoulder- the one left by Ghost, as the others had called him- must have gone much deeper. The pain went all the way into your muscle, and it hurt to move your arm. You could see through your shirt's tattered neckline that the bruise was much darker than the rest. A shiver ran down your spine. He would've killed you.
You shook off the dread that was beginning to overtake you and hurried to the bathroom with the duffel before you could start hyperventilating. You locked the door behind you, convincing yourself that it would somehow stop the unnaturally strong creatures from breaking in. You rested your forehead against the door for a moment to catch your breath before turning around.
There was a clawfoot tub in the middle of the room and towels lain out on the countertop next to the sink. You began drawing a bath, glancing at the door behind you every so often. The rational side of you knew that they'd already had every opportunity to hurt you any way they wanted, and they hadn't. You knew in your mind you were safe there in the bathroom, that they wouldn't touch you, at least not like that. But you couldn't shake the deep unease that had settled in your gut. You couldn't help hesitating before you undressed, silently expecting the door to burst open and a monster to spring forth fangs-first.
But it didn't. As you stood naked before the full tub, the only sound that echoed in the tiled room was the steady drip-drip-drip of the leaky faucet. You were safe- for now.
You sank into the burning hot water. You'd turned the temperature as high as it could go. You needed it hot to ground you. You felt like your whole world was collapsing around you and the only safe place you had was this tub. You needed to feel your skin burn to cleanse it of the mouths of those men. The heat would sanitize your wounds. You scrubbed at the bites, scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. And then you scrubbed more.
You stayed in the tub until the water was freezing. You shivered with chattering teeth, not wanting to leave the security of the tub. You stayed until you could no longer bear the cold. Finally, you pulled the plug in the drain and stepped out, wrapping yourself in one of the dark towels and dug through the duffel for your clothes. You pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a fair amount of holes in each. You could tell they hadn't put any thought into what they'd grabbed, everything was shoved in unfolded, a pile of your underwear stuffed in at the very bottom.
Now dressed, you took your appearance in as you gazed into the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, your shoulders hunched, one of them blotched with shades of purple and green. You could barely recognize yourself. Sure, you had the same dyed hair, the piercings, and of course those were your clothes hanging off your frame. But there was something in your eyes that was different. There was an understanding of some new forbidden knowledge. You had seen the underbelly of this world, and it had looked right back at you, grinning with sharp teeth.
Part of you was still holding out hope that maybe this was all a dream. Maybe you would wake up in a cold sweat, but ultimately unharmed. The bruises would be gone, you'd still have that light in your eyes. You couldn't stand to look at yourself anymore. You turned away from the mirror.
You stood at the door for five whole minutes, hand hovering on the lock but reluctant to turn it. Once you did, you'd have to step back out into this fantastical nightmare of hellishly handsome men who wished to feed on you.
You opened the door.
The room was empty. You could see through the curtains that night had fallen in the duration of your bath. The only light in the room came from a small bedside lamp. You didn't remember turning it on. You looked to the bed next, seeing that the sheets had been made. They were in your room and you hadn't even heard them. Your stomach tightened at the revelation, but before you could dwell on it any further, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
You debated not answering it. Didn't vampires need to be welcomed in? Another knock, this one more insistent. Then another beat of silence.
"If you don't open the door, I'm coming in," came Kyle's voice from the other side. And so you found yourself turning the handle. As long as you were the one opening the door, maybe you could keep up the illusion of having some sort of control on this situation.
Kyle was waiting, leaning against the opposite wall. He gave you a once-over as you peeked through the crack. You suddenly felt self-conscious. All wet hair and sunken eyes, wearing that old baggy ska band tee you'd thrifted years back; you were a far cry from the woman he'd seen before, all done up pretty just for him. You shook the thought from your mind. Why should you care what Kyle thinks of you? He's a monster.
"Took you long enough," he muttered under his breath, unamused. You frowned, about to mouth off a rebuttal, but he pushed off the wall and started down the hallway. "Come on, Price is waiting." Clearly he expected you to follow. You didn't want to think about the consequences of staying put, so, ever so hesitantly, you followed behind, leaving a good distance between the two of you.
He led you through the house, all wood paneling and crown molding, to a large oak door. You could hear the Scottish voice of Soap ringing out like a church bell, and below it crackled a fire. Gaz opened the door and motioned with a nod of his head for you to enter. You glanced at him, searching for any hint of pity in his eyes, but they wouldn't meet yours. Instead he stared at the wall behind you. Whether he was avoiding your gaze due to guilt or pure disinterest, you couldn't tell. You walked through the door.
Immediately upon entering, Soap stopped his blabbering, turning his energy toward you instead.
"There's our girl!" He shouted, arms extended as he barreled toward you. On instinct, you shuffled back quickly, only to feel Kyle's hand at your back, keeping you from retreating back into the hallway. Thankfully, Soap stopped short of wrapping his trunk-like arms around you, his smile faltering. "Not much of a hugger, eh? That's alright, we'll get there." He backed away, allowing you to fully enter the room.
It was a lounge or study of some sort. Plush, dark velour couches and chairs were arranged in a semicircle, end tables dispersed between them, all facing the fireplace in the wall. And there next to it, sitting in a high-backed armchair and smoking a cigar, was Price.
"Have a seat," he commanded. You stood where you were, too uneasy to move, and still holding onto your stubbornness. "Now," he insisted. You obeyed, sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. Soap sat next to you, but still left a cushion between you. Kyle stayed standing at the door. "How are you feeling?" Price asked. You heard Kyle scoff behind you.
"Like someone drank my blood," you spat. You were already so done with this.
"Right…" he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I believe we owe you an apology." You stayed silent. "Ghost took it a bit too far the other night, and I do sincerely apologize on his behalf." The other night?
"He almost killed me."
"Yes."
"You were planning on killing me."
"Yes."
"So what the hell am I still doing here?"
"Yes, about that. We need to discuss the conditions of your stay with us-"
"You can't keep me here!"
"We can and we will. Do not interrupt me again, little girl." His words stung. "Now listen. You will stay here, living as our familiar. We will take care of you, and in exchange you will allow us to feed on you." This couldn't be happening. "Any accommodations you'd like will be met within reason. You may roam freely throughout the house during daylight hours. Come nightfall, you will return to your bedroom. You will not leave your bedroom until sunrise. Understand?" You stared blankly at him. No, you didn't understand. How could this be happening?
"As for the feeding arrangement: one full feeding can usually sustain us for about three to four weeks. However, we are aiming not to drain you," he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a friendly smile. "So, we'll be feeding on a weekly basis. We'll each take turns, give you time to recover. Ghost's time with you will be supervised to avoid another… incident."
He kept talking about the four of them draining your blood so nonchalantly, as if you were businessmen in a boardroom discussing finances, and not a pack of monsters and their kidnapped victim. Price opened his mouth to continue, but you cut him off before he could speak.
"People will look for me! You can't just keep me prisoner!" You were grasping at straws, trying to keep your hold on reality as your world came crashing down. A flash of irritation crossed over Price's face, and he shifted in his seat to dig something out of his pocket. You'd interrupted again and he was not pleased.
"Do you know how long you were unconscious, dear?" You froze.
"What… what do you mean?"
"Sweetheart, you've been asleep for three days." What? You felt your stomach drop. "And do you know how many people have been looking for you in those three days? Let's check." He held up what he'd retrieved from his pocket: your phone. "Two text messages and three missed calls. One call from Jerrie. Then a text from Camille that reads: 'where the hell are you? Jerrie is about to flip his shit.' Missed call from Camille. Text from Camille: you better get here soon, I'm supposed to have a date with David tonight, I can't cover for you.' Then finally a missed call from Jerrie. Left a voicemail. You're fired. Sorry about that."
He didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, it seemed like he got some sick sadistic satisfaction from watching your hope crumble with every message he read out to you.
"No… No, you broke into my apartment, the police will-"
"We used your key, darling. As far as anyone's concerned, your boyfriend was just stopping by to get some things for you. That is- if anybody even cared enough to notice."
"No… my… my family-"
"According to your call logs, you haven't spoken to your mother in… six weeks? Yeah just about." That stung. That burned. You hadn't been on great terms with your family, especially your mother, for quite some time- even before you left the country. And for this stranger, this beast to throw that in your face? Your eyes were watering, bitter tears falling from your cheeks as reality finally, finally set in. Price set your phone down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared into your eyes. You felt frozen to your core.
"No one is coming to save you. You're alone, sweetheart. We're all you have left. Now, if you want to fight and sulk and act like a prisoner, by all means, try your best- you're not getting out. So you might as well make the most of it." You should be panicking, hyperventilating, screaming and tearing out your hair. But you just sat there numb, staring off into space as your worst fears were realized. You had been alone all along. You weren't getting out. Yet there was still a part of you that wanted to fight.
"What if I say no?" You said in a voice too small. Price chuckled.
"We both know that's not an option, love. So are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" You weren't going to fight your way out of this. Maybe if you bided your time, you could figure something out. You steeled your nerves and felt yourself nodding your head. Price leaned back with a satisfied smile.
"Attagirl!" Cheered Soap next to you. You jumped. You had forgotten he was there.
"The deal is struck," Price proudly announced. "I promise you, as our familiar, no harm will come to you, apart from the necessary bites. You have my word, my men won't lay a finger on you… unless you'd like them to," he added with a cheeky smirk. Your stomach tightened. "We'll talk more about accommodations tomorrow, you ought to be going to bed." He turned to the man sitting next to you. "Soap, would you kindly escort our lady back to her room?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, standing up and holding a hand out to you. He had a kind, lopsided grin on his face. He was clearly excited about his new pet. "Come on, lass, it's bedtime." You took his hand, and he led you back out of the lounge. You passed by Kyle at the doorway. He still wouldn't look at you.
Soap kept your hand in his the whole way back to your room, blabbering all the way.
"You don' have to be afraid, lass. Price keeps his word; you're safe inside these walls. The bond between familiar and master is sacred." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You barely felt it through the fog in your mind. "Christ, I've been wanting a familiar for so long, never thought Price would let us keep one. But here you are, and a right pretty one a' that! We'll have so much fun together, once you warm up to us. It'll be alright." You had barely processed his ramblings when you finally reached the door to your bedroom.
"Well, here we are." He opened the door for you, and you walked in, still feeling numb. You heard the door latch behind you and when you turned around to look, you realized Soap had followed you in. He grinned at you.
A/N: so, uh... it's been a while, huh? yeah... I'm sorry about that. but I'm two months sober, now. I just want to thank everyone who has been checking in and has been offering me support and kindness. I can't tell you all how much i appreciate it. Well, I hope this was all worth the wait! I feel like this chapter felt a little rushed, but let me know what y'all think. Love you! xoxo
Reader x Vampire!141
Warnings: Blood, injury, yelling, SMUT (I know y'all have been waiting for this) oral sex (f receiving), fingering, fem!reader, blood kink
(yeah I had to use the sexy Sleep Token song okay sue me)
MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH6, CH7
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Your feet seemed to move on their own accord, boots sticking in the mud. You tripped over yourself as you scrambled off the forest floor. And then you were running. You heard the haggard breath of the monster behind you, felt the hot puffs from its mouth on the back of your neck, but you didn't dare look behind you. You felt sharp claws graze across your back, tearing through your shirt and knocking you facedown on the ground. Before the monster behind you could completely overtake you, another body rushed past you. Sounds like animals fighting roared out behind you. Once again, your boots squelched in the mud and you got back on your feet. You kept your eyes forward as you sprinted through the forest.
You should've been lost in a maze of trees and underbrush, but something in the pit of your gut told you where to go. The dirt pounding under your feet guided you, the trees whispered to you their secrets, and you followed the road of their roots systems until you broke out into the clearing once again.
You squinted as the moonlight flashed in your eyes, so bright compared to the pitch blackness of the forest, and ran straight into something firm, but soft. Something familiar. You felt arms wrap around you, and your brain tried to tell your arms to fight back, but you froze all over again as a voice called out loudly next to your ear.
"I've got her!" The voice was familiar.
"Get her inside, now!" Someone else called from the other side of the clearing. Before you could register who was speaking, you were moving- or rather, you were being moved. The arms around you lifted your weight easily, and the world around you seemed to flash by in a slideshow of blurry snapshots. Your surroundings morphed into one another until your feet were planted onto the floor of Price’s study. Vertigo threatened to overtake you, but someone strong held you steady.
“Gaz?” you asked. Your whole body was shaking from adrenaline and your head was still spinning, but you recognized the voice. It was him. He shushed you gently.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. You’re alright.” He seemed to be convincing himself as much as you. His hand stroked the back of your head, and the other held you securely against him. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you were willing to bet he was listening to it, too.
“Gaz, what the hell was that thing?” you asked into his neck where your face was still buried.
“Don’t-” then the study door burst open. You flinched, and maybe you screamed, expecting that Dead face to be the one to greet you, but instead it was one equally chilling. Price slammed the door closed behind him with a look of unrestrained fury trained on you.
“What the FUCK were you thinking?” he roars, taking long, calculated strides at you. “You stupid, stupid girl. I give you one rule to follow, ONE RULE, for your own safety, and you can't even listen to that?!” Gaz, to his credit, does his best to physically shield you from Price’s rage, pushing you behind him; but he can only do so much. Your mouth opened, and you tried to find the words to defend yourself, but they got stuck in your throat, blocked by the terror you couldn’t get ahold of.
“John, please, just-” Gaz starts to try and diffuse the situation, but Price shoves him away with a snarl, leaving you bare and exposed to his wrath.
“Do you understand you could’ve been killed? Do you not understand how dangerous the night is here? He would have ripped you apart, had you stayed out there a second longer.”
“Wh… who?”
“You’re lucky he had enough self-control not to tear into you then and there in the woods. No, instead he sunk his teeth into the next moving thing he saw, which just so happened to be Soap.”
“What? Is he okay?” Gaz interjected, concerned for his- boyfriend? What were they to each other? Now wasn’t the time to think about it.
“He’ll be fine… he’ll heal,” Price answers, scrubbing at his beard and screwing his eyes closed. “You…” he started, pointing a finger and taking a dangerous step closer. His eyes were dilated and he licked his lips. There was no doubt he could smell the blood seeping out of your back. “Now, what are we going to do with you? Hm? I trusted you, gave you freedom to wander. I thought you’d be smart enough to heed my warnings, but clearly you’re not.” He raised a hand, seemingly to grab at you, but stopped himself short when you flinched away, clenching the hand into a fist and forcing it back down to his side. He shook his head.
“Should I put a collar on you like Soap? Hm? Or should I chain you up in the cellar? Maybe a bedroom is too good for you.” He was leaning into your face at that point.
“John, stop.”
“I tried doing this the easy way- Tried giving you a choice. But if you want to act like a prisoner, maybe I should-”
“John, that’s enough!” Gaz interrupted once again, putting a firm hand on the older vampire’s chest and pushing him back. Price looked at him, stunned. You assumed Gaz standing up to him wasn’t a common occurrence. “Look at her, she’s scared out of her mind already. You’re making it worse.”
“She deserves to be scared.”
“She deserves an explanation. She deserves answers.” Price considered him, chest still heaving in anger.
“Fine. You want to give her answers? Go ahead.” he motioned between Gaz and you. “But for fuck’s sake, don’t let her out of your sight.” he looked at you once more, swallowed hard, and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him again.
A moment passed in silence. Gaz stared at the door with a look of disbelief. But then his eyes snapped back at you when a terrified sob clawed its way out of your chest. Your eyes were unfocused and your arms trembled as you hugged them close to your body in an attempt to shelter yourself. Gaz took a tentative step closer, holding his hands out in front of him.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay," he cooed, speaking to you as if you were a wounded pet. Your body flinched away at first, but with more gentle words, you relaxed enough to allow him to place an arm around your shoulders and guide you to sit on the couch in the center of the room. "Hey, look at me."
Your eyes snapped shut and you turned away from him at those horribly familiar words. Look at me. How could you ever look at him again? He sighed and placed a hand on your cheek.
"I'm not going to compel you again. I promise." You choked through a couple more sobs. You couldn't trust his word. He'd betrayed your trust irreparably. Even still, his voice sounded so sincere. But didn't it always? You opened your eyes.
"There she is," he said, smiling softly. "Just breathe for me, okay? In and out. With me." He did his best to guide your breath, and tried to calm you as much as himself. He kept swallowing, his mouth watering at the smell of your freshly-spilled blood. "Nobody's going to hurt you in here," he told you, but you still felt like prey.
"I c- I can't!" You gasped.
"Yes, darling, you can. Please, your heart's racing like mad." You knew. You could hear ot pounding in your ears. It would have drowned out Gaz's voice if he weren't so close. And goodness, he was close.
"Price is gonna kill me!"
"No, he's not."
"Yes he is!"
"He can't hurt you! He can't!" You shook your head, but he continued. "He literally cannot hurt you, love. Listen to me." You quieted yourself the best you could, the rush of blood in your ears quieting minutely. "Once we entered the pact with you to keep you as our familiar, a bond was made. Your pain became our pain. Everything you feel, we feel, too. Price can't hurt you without hurting himself and the rest of us."
"But Ghost hurt me out in the woods."
"And he felt it. We all did. Trust me. He was blinded by his bloodlust, he didn't have the mind to stop and think. He held back as much as he could."
"How are you holding back, then?" you wondered out loud. Would he pounce on you at any second? Was your time running out? You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the same tension you held in yours with every stinging throb of the shredded skin on your back.
"With great difficulty,' he answered through gritted teeth. He met your eyes, his pupils blown. He swallowed. "Can you please turn around so I can close the wounds?"
"Close the… you're gonna feed on me like this? Now?" you asked. Your legs tensed up, getting ready to run for your life again.
"No! No. Not really. I mean, technically, I'll still be- well- consuming your blood, yes. But just what's leaking out already. I won't bite you, I swear. Just- please, you're dripping all over the couch, love.” He tentatively pushed on your shoulder. “And the smell, it's driving me mad. Please just turn around." The desperation in his voice was clear, close to begging. And the stinging behind you was getting harder to ignore with every passing moment.
You turned around, exposing you bloody back to him. You reached behind you to tug the tattered fabric up your back, but Gaz was quicker than you.
Rrriiip!
You gasped at the obnoxious tearing sound, suddenly feeling much too hot and much too cold all at once. The remaining fabric of your shirt fell down your shoulders and you crossed your arms over your chest to prevent it from falling off altogether.
"Gaz!" You scolded, but your admoniment fell on deaf ears, and you gasped once more at the sudden feeling of his soft tongue gliding up your back.
He licked up the dripping rivulets of scarlet blood that wound down the canvas of your exposed back, before fixing his mouth on the five slashes. The sharp pain subsided to a tingling as one by one, with each swipe of Gaz's tongue, the wounds sealed themselves. His tongue and lips felt so soft and plush.
You'd never thought to consider the space between your shoulder blades to be an erogenous zone, but as Gaz kissed and licked his way all over you, taking his time to clean every drop of your blood, you found yourself panting with want. His breath was so hot against you, heightened by the wetness of his spit left behind.
It must be their venom. It has to be some kind of aphrodisiac.
Gaz kissed his way up your spine and into the scoop of your neck. His lips lingered there. He promised not to bite.
"I swear, you're the best thing I've ever tasted in both lives," he whispers into your skin. Your body flushed with another wave of heat.
"What does it taste like?" You asked, voice equally hushed in anticipation- for what, you didn't yet know. His fingertips brushed up your arms.
"It's hard to describe… it still tastes like blood, that hasn't changed. It's more like our perception of it changes. Imagine going your whole life hating chocolate, and then one day you wake up, and suddenly it's all you crave. And everyone around you smells like chocolate.
"Some of them smell like cheap candy melt chocolate," he says, pressing another kiss to your bare shoulder, "others smell like Godiva." He kisses you again, working his way up your neck. "And you, my love…" His lips touch that sweet spot under your ear. "You taste like the whole damn sweet shop," he whispers directly into your ear. His hand grips your arm, guiding you to turn back to face him. His mouth and chin were ruddy, stained with the remnants of your wounds.
"Like the finest artisanal chocolate this world has ever seen." His eyes are fixated on your lips. Those dark, crimson eyes that you'd pretended were brown because you couldn't help but want to get closer to him. You were closer, now, that much was certain.
His chest was pressed against your back, the fabric of his shirt a little too rough against the raw, sensitive skin. He really was close. Your breaths, panting in synchronicity, mixed together to form a tiny hurricane in the centimeters between your lips.
"Bitter and sweet, rich and full." He licked his lips and your eyes darted down to the movement of it; slow, swiping along his bottom lip, collecting your lingering taste. "Addictive. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you." He smiled. "You'll rot my teeth right out of my head, you're so sweet."
And then he kissed you. And God, you let him. His hand found itself cradling the back of your head, and you turned to fully face him. You tasted your own blood on his lips again and it was dizzying.
This paradox of a man. Feeding off of you, draining you, but you'd never felt so alive before. Here in his arms, you were electrified. The terror of hardly an hour before was now long forgotten- a lifetime away. You found life again in the lips of a man who'd lured you to your near-death.
Your ruined, bloody shirt slipped off your arms onto the floor. His palms rubbed up your sides as he devoured your mouth, though less literally as he did your blood. His tongue had made its way into your mouth at some point, and yours into his. You fell into a rhythm together, somewhere between tender and desperate. God, your heart was racing, and he could feel it. Every thumping beat rattled his ribcage as if it was his own; as if his dead lump of muscle had come alive again, fed by your crimson drippings.
Your hands, trembling, fisted themselves in his shirt for a moment, then they fluttered like birds to his neck, pulling him closer against your chest. His shirt was still there. You wanted it gone.
As if he read your mind, Gaz disconnected your mouths to discard his shirt, also wet with your blood, and tossed it on the floor with yours. He stopped to take you in, his eyes gliding over the ink in your skin, and then froze at your breasts: pierced.
Gaz moaned. He glanced up at you, waiting for your permission. You answered by grabbing hold of his wrists and guiding them up your sides, to the front and finally onto your tits. He looked as if you'd given him the best gift he'd ever received.
He squeezed your malleable flesh in his hands, rolling them, massaging them. He lit a spark in your cunt, and when his mouth attached itself to your nipple and sucked, the spark caught fire. You grabbed desperately at the short curls of his hair and whimpered. Gaz took this as encouragement, and nibbled lightly on the bud. You jumped, feeling his sharp canines graze your tit, but it never broke the skin. His tongue twisted around your nipple, and then he moved to the other breast.
The cool air against your spit-wet tit made goosebumps erupt under your skin while Gaz gave the same treatment to your second nipple. There was no hiding it: you were wet. His maroon eyes looked up at you while he sucked and you knew that he knew.
He abandoned your tits to chase after your mouth again. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight to his chest. The kiss was sloppy: wet with spit and tinged with blood.
Gaz guided you onto your back. The leather couch was cool and soothing to your feverish skin.
"Let me taste you," Gaz pleaded. His hands left their positions on your tits and glided down your body. You arched your back into them, until they landed on your hips, the tips of his fingers just barely hooking into the waistband of your jeans. "Please- fuck- please I need to taste you."
"I thought you already did," you said, unable to resist a little teasing. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at you.
"I want. To taste. Your fucking. Pussy." He looked you dead in the eye as he said those words, making sure you understood each syllable. Something misfired in your mind, and you suddenly were unable to speak. This wasn't compulsion, though. This was pure arousal that weighed down your tongue. All you were able to do was hold his gaze and nod. He tisked his tongue at you.
"Say it, love," he commanded. He kissed your lips again. "Go on, tell me what you want.
"Taste me," you relented. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"I thought I already did," he threw your words back at you. Two can play at this game, apparently. But you could play it better. You spread your legs for him and arched your hips against his hands. You leaned up and whispered into his ear.
"Eat my pussy, Gaz." His body shuddered above you. His hands found your button and fly, and he pushed your jeans down your legs until they were stuck around your ankles above your boots. His brows scrunched together in irritation as he struggled with the laces. His eyes glanced up at yours at the sound of a soft giggle escaping your lips. He rolled his eye at you and in a flash, your boots were off and scattered across the floor. He smirked up at you.
“How did you…?” you began to ask, and his smile grew wider as he rolled your jeans down and off our legs. He kissed his way up from your calves and nipped at the soft fat of your inner thighs.
“Don’t worry about that right now, love. I’ll answer your questions after I make you cum on my tongue.” You shuddered at the low tone of his words. His eyes scanned over your body, moving down from your eyes to your chest, and finally to your dripping cunt. He lapped at the wet spot on your underwear with closed eyes and moaned into the fabric. He breathed in deeply through his nose, inhaling your musk. He cursed under his breath, already intoxicated on you.
His hands rubbed up and down your thighs as he licked and lapped at your cunt, teasing you until you whined his name, begging for him to hurry up, to give you more. Finally, he took pity on you and hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them off your body, throwing them into the growing pile of scrapy, ruined fabric on the floor.
“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down at your glistening pussy. He was mesmerized at the way it glimmered in the flickering firelight. He teased two fingers through your folds and spread them open. He touched you like the pages of a holy book: with reverence and awe. He took his sweet time studying the way your pussy moved under his touch until once again, you had to snap him out of his stupor. He glanced up at you for the briefest second, and then dived in.
He licked into your lips and moaned aloud, finally getting a taste of your wetness. You whimpered when the tip of his tongue prodded at your clit, and he took notice right away. He licked it again, once, twice, and then latched onto it, determined to pull more of those perfect sounds out of you. He gazed up at you through his eyelashes, and you couldn’t look away. The fire in his eyes sent a fresh wave of pleasure down your spine. And then you felt it: how easily he slipped a finger inside, and you threw your head back in pleasure.
He curled it into you slowly, pressing up inside you at a spot that made your thighs shake. You couldn’t be bothered to keep quiet, and Gaz couldn’t get enough. He added another finger and shuddered at the way your pussy practically sucked his digits inside. He started to build a steady rhythm, gaining speed and intensity with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue, every suck of his mouth on your clit.
You could hardly get enough oxygen in your lungs. Your chest almost burned with need, the tips of your fingers started to tingle. Your moans got louder and louder, until your shouts were reverberating off the walls of the study. Your fingers scrambled for something to hold onto, something to steady yourself, and locked onto the curls atop Gaz’s head. His name tumbled from your lips. A prayer, a warning, a plea. You were close, and he knew it. He could tell by the way your walls fluttered and gripped his fingers; by the way your hips bucked against his mouth; by the way your back arched and your thighs twitched. He watched you, studying the way you writhed from him. His cock twitched in his trousers. It was him that had you moaning and coming undone on this couch.
Your orgasm knocked the wind out of you. A sound that was halfway between a moan and a scream left you as your legs locked around Gaz’s head. You threw your head back, your pussy clamping down on his fingers, and gushing over his forearm; your cum added to the puddle of blood and slick beneath you. He groaned, lapping wildly at you, licking up as much of your taste as he could manage, drinking you up like communion wine. Sparks lit you up inside from your belly up your spine. You writhed against his mouth and hands, grinding your hips against his tongue until it was too much, until you felt like you’d burst.
He lifted his head and let you catch your breath. He watched you twitch from the aftershocks and sucked his fingers clean of your sticky cum. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw him already looking down at you. He took his cue and crawled up your body, kissing your stomach and chest and finally your mouth. He slipped his tongue past your lips with ease and you moaned at the taste of your own cum. His hand cradled your head and the other wandered up and down your body. He settled himself between your legs and grinded his bulge onto your cunt.
“Please,” he begged into your mouth. “Please, let me fuck you.” You dragged your nails down his abdomen, scratching the sparse coils of chest hair and the hard muscles on his stomach, past his happy trail and down over his pants to grab his hard cock through the fabric. He moaned lowly.
Hi sorry to bother but I was wondering if you still plan on writing the vampire task 141 au series?
Yes darling, I promise it's coming. I've just been working so much lately, I only had one day off this week 😵😬 the place I work at has a really small staff, so whenever people call off I end up having to cover. But since you've all been so patient with me, here's a sneak peek xoxo
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You hurried back to your room and went straight to the window and wrenched back the curtains to find- bars. The windows were barred with intricate cast iron. Of course they were. You cursed loudly to yourself. You'd have to find another way. You'd just have to wait a little longer.
You went to try the door next, and found it unlocked. You stepped over the threshold slowly, glancing back and forth and listening, trying to determine if any of them were near. You heard two distant voices talking down the hall somewhere. Two voices you recognize: Gaz and Soap. You heard them laughing, and the sound of it made your blood boil.
You followed their voices, bare feet padding ever so softly as you crept up on them, picking up bits of their conversation.
"... bet you had fun…"
"...tasted so good…"
"...good as me?..."
"Even better."
"Don't be a fucking tease…"
You heard a clatter and a groan, and you rounded the corner into the kitchen, where Gaz had Soap pinned against the counter. Gaz's hand was hooked on a leather choker around Soap's neck, pulling their faces close as Gaz pushed his body flush against the other man. Soap was shorter than Gaz by a few inches, but Soap had Gaz beat in muscle; the taller man was more of a lean build in comparison to Soap's bulk.
Gaz was smiling wolfishly down at Soap when he noticed your figure hovering in the doorway and his smile faltered. He stepped back from Soap, releasing his hold on the collar.
"Your girlfriend's awake," he muttered. Soap turned to you with a wide grin, approaching you with arms wide open.
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If you thought I wasn't gonna make these men bisexual then you're a fool. All vampires are bisexual. Enjoy my lovelies xoxo
