vampire simon riley feeding from you while you sit on his cock, without even squirming, calm with his sharp canines sunken deep in the thin skin of your neck, the beady, crimson liquid of your blood flooding his mouth, smudging along his pale lips, cock throbbing rapidly at the taste, making you whimper, gummy walls of your gooey cunt squeezing tight, rippling in response, chasing the feeling.
you card your fingers through the short, buzz cut hairs at his nape, tugging when he readjusts his mouth, opening wide, fangs moving in the deep, rounded notches he indented deep in your flesh, fresh, aching and swelling the more simon feeds, tongue darting out and lapping over the marks, suckling in between his almost aching teeth greedily, drunk on your taste to the point his eyes, deep ebony that gleam ruby under the right angle, flutter shut heavily.
simon tries to be as gentle as possible with you, heavy, calloused hand looped around the slope of your waist, supporting your back, knowing that if he won't, you can accidentally fall, with your body, boneless and weakened, leaning on the sinewy hardness of his chest, eyes blinking slowly, your forehead knocking against the side of his head, sliding aside until you nudge in his temple, while you let him eat, your hole warm and viscous, your blood sweet and nourishing.
he fucks you slowly then, with short, rutting bucks of his hips, breaching his engorged, pulsing cock deeper inside your taut, fluttering hole, folds messy with glistening strings of slick, spread wide around his length, as you keen and babble simon's name almost feverishly, nosing in the wrist of his hand that brushes, covers delicately at the throbbing wounds on your neck, and it's enough to make him cum, biting down a throaty growl.
A primeval, original, or fundamental thing; a beginning or origin; a first principle.
Anthology that follows TF-141 and their new lives as vampires.
+18mdni ⋘ Series Loaded ⋙ +18mdni
➺ Drip ➺ (J Price pov)
➺ Grotesque ➺ (K Garrick pov)
➺ 40days and 40nights ➺ (S Riley pov)
➺ Paradise ➺ (J Price pov) coming soon
➺ Artistic Eyes ➺ (J MacTavish pov) coming soon
➺ Birthday ➺ ( from the diary of Aayana) coming soon
Mood board
C.W: Primordial contains graphic depictions of violence and gore. Contains characters that have been a part of chattel slavery in the Antebellum period of the US. There is the use of slurs (none of it is glorified). This is a Southern Gothic genre piece. If you would like to know more about this genre, start here. If you would like something easy to dip into with this genre, I suggest starting with Flannery O'Connor 'A Good man is hard to find.' You can read it here for free.
vampire hunter!reader x vampire!john mactavish x vampire!simon riley
Tags: vampire!john mactavish, vampire! simon riley, vampire hunter!reader, pretty much the hunter becomes the hunted trope tbh, vampire bites, reader is a hunter but also kind of like a detective, gore, blackmailing, predator/prey, vampire bites are aphrodisiac
"Teenage girl, seventeen years old. She was found dead in her room by her family. Nobody saw anyone, nor heard anything. At first they didn't think it was a vampire, the scene was so gory that it was hard to believe a vampire would waste so much blood like that." Blonde woman paused to take a sip from her tea. You watched her slender fingers fiddle with the edge of her mug, waiting for her words to settle. You took a deep breath, Laswell's office always smelled so nice, oak tree and tea with a hint of cigeratte smoke.
"What do you think?" she shifted back in her chair.
"Well, so much to unpack here. Those are not usual vampire behaviours. Vampires only care about blood, not where it comes from."
They don't follow a girl to her house and wait for the right time to break into her house, you think.
When a vampire fails to suppress their feeding urge, they usually go after easy preys. People they can easily snatch away from an empty alleyway, bar bathrooms, places where very few people can see them. They don't become mindless creatures the moment they haven't sunken their fangs into something squishy in days.
"The girl is different. Why else would one of them fuck her first and kill her in the worst way possible? She clearly had something going on with them."
Laswell is nonchalant, cold-blooded all the time which makes her perfect for her job. She's a fast thinker, always good at bringing the pieces together. You've barely seen her take on a case and not know what to do, sit empty handed with a puzzled expression.
This time was an exception.
Fourth murder of the year, and you still haven't even gotten a fucking name.
Laswell's patience was wearing thin. And at this rate, you didn’t have it in you to blame her.
"They all did. That's why we're looking for the suspects that had connections with the victims, not some random vampires that happened to be passing by."
You wanted to defend yourself saying you had already checked their contacts, went through their electronic devices countless of times, searched for the smallest piece of evidence in the crime scene-
"What about the crime scene, anything new?"
Oh, the crime scene.
Blood scent was thick in the air. That was your first impression. The room was filled with sickening smell of rotten flesh and something else that got you bringing your arm collar to your nose.
There was blood, too much of it. That was the second. It adorned the room, not leaving a corner uncovered. It splattered across the walls, some of it onto the band posters on the walls to make deformed patches on the squeky paper. A big amount of it dripped down the bedframe so much that it managed to make a puddle thick enough to make vibrant red stand out on the dark parquet floor.
It was everywhere except for where it belonged, the cold body that rested on the soft bed sheets.
You approached the body with slow steps. The closer you got the worse it got. Once blurry sight turned into a gory mess of broken bones and ripped flesh. Brittle bones jutted out of a carved open chest. If you looked closer you could see the organ that once pumped the essence of life through her body for years, only to be drained off of all it's purpose along with it's owner.
You wanted to graze your fingers on where flesh was torn the most, the rugged edges that had been too weak to withstand the cruel swipes of fangs and claws. Maybe that way you would be able to feel all that glorious force yourself, see what exactly a determined vampire could do, see what you're getting yourself into. You cling dearly to bring together what little remains of the vampire's presence, desperate for the tiniest sign that could help you piece the puzzle together.
Finger-shaped blood stains made a trail leading to her navel. Scrapes and bruises littered her soft thighs. Deep nasty groves making a stark contrast on silky skin. Between her legs was an even bigger mess. Dried blood and semen clung to the curls between her legs.
Blood and grime caked under her fingernails, a futile attempt to harm her attacker. You could form an image, though the barely there certainity held your imagination back it wasn't hard at all to get goosebumps at the slightest thought of the savagery. Being invaded both body and soul and against all your best attempts all your defenses which you trust the most failing you, they're just not enough-
She had fought nail and teeth, literally. She tried to use her blunts nails against them. With no assuration she'd still fought for this was all she could do.
What a horrible fate she must've went through,tou thought. She deserved to be alive, fine with a hopeful mind that was fortunate enough to not experience any of these. You wanted to mourn over her life, her youth, everything that had been taken away she never got to enjoy. Maybe with a want that stemmed from wanting to find a companion to your emotionally state you turn your head up, to where her face sits over a battered neck.
Your eyes rake over her bloody neck, mouth. Dead, sunken eyes with deep purple marks around them. It was sad really, at such a young age-
Something was off.
It was some kind of a thought coming from the basest part of you. Like you just noticed something you hadn't before. When you did, you knew it was uncanny, something wrong.
Her face, as a whole, had a serene expression. You wondered if it was your imagination or an optical illuson from how little you slept. You looked closer, to the subtle curve of her lips, to the keen light that still managed to stay behind there. It was trying to tell you something, someth-
"Her face..." words leave your mouth before you could stop them. "She...looked serene."
Shock and judgement contorts her face. She looks like she can't decide whether to scowl at you or simply seek therapy for you. Before she can say something cutting you step in.
"We can't keep doing this."
Laswell gives you a faltered expression. You continue. "We just wait for a new murder to happen and do the same things we did in the previous cases. We need something different."
"What should we do then? Enlighten me."
You take a deep breath.
"Let me do my job. Send me to that club."
"We don't have enough evidance to have a permission to organize such mission."
"That's right but what about I go there alone, as a civilian? You won't need to sneak in any teams, I will just gather information and-"
"Send you inside alone? No, absolutely not." she interrupts.
"I was trained for this. I will be fine." you try to convince her.
"The moment they find out who you really are they will tear you to shreds."
You close your mouth at that. You both know that there's truth to her words. You pause.
"I can't just wait here doing nothing."
It sounds like pleading. You could feel yourself work up the courage to ask for that permission again. Somewhere inside you where your sense of duty and fear clashes.
"I will think about it"
You don't know if you're content or terrified by the possibility that lays behind that sentence.
You're sitting on your bed, facing the wall.
If a vampire was to come into your room and decide to kill you, could you put up a fight?
You have a gun in your nightstand's drawer, loaded with silver bullets. A knife under your pillow. A silver dagger in your pocket at all times.
If they were to come into your room, would you be able to pull out your knife and stab it into their heart? Watch them bleed and writhe in agony before they can get to you?
Probably not.
You're only human, after all. A bait in best case scenarios. Even when you've spent years training to fight vampires, that only makes you harder to kill for them. Your training only delays the inevitable. Never the hunter, but a stronger prey. It eats your mind.
All your work, your hopes, your ambitions. Do they even matter? You feel like you're a child and everyone around you is trying to keep you occupied with less important things to avert your attention away from the real problems. It's like they know what having your job means, like they are trying to protect you. You find their efforts insulting.
That doesn't mean you don't find some truth about their concerns. You wish you could.
The club is loud. Walls are painted red and black, they turn into navy blue and purple when exposed to blue lights. Your form blends in with the crowd, blue lightning highlights your form, your skin. In your mind It seeps right through you, showing how transparent you're, just like you intended.
You put effort to look this way, to look casual. Opposite of eye-catching. Your hair is resting on your shoulders, your pants hugging your legs nicely but still comfortable enough to let you use your legs freely. Your leather jacket hiding the silver dagger strapped to your side.
You slice through the crowd, smell of stale alcohol and sweat fills your senses. You watch people come and go, each one of them telling a different story. You check them out if they're vampire or not mentally as a result of working for years in your field. Even though differentiating vampires from humans is almost impossible just from the looks, your eyes linger on a few who don't bother with hiding themselves.
Bright, platinium blonde hair of the vampire curtains her ivory fangs flashing behind red, luscious lips. You watch, hypnotized as they arrive at their destination, to the frail neck of some brunette girl. Sharp tips brushed against vulnerable flesh, leaving red trace in their wake. Manicured nails clinging to her hair only encouraged them more.
You feel a shudder shoot up your spine. Junkees, you think.
A familiar face shows up in the crowd. Graves, who is your partner for the night.
You never liked graves. You'd tried to get along with him as your coworker, have a respectable relationship together, you really did, but it never worked out. Not when the guy is acting like a literal creep.
When you were at the funeral of a fallen comrade he dared to make a senseless comment about how glad he was it hadn't been you because it'd be a shame for someone as pretty as you to die so early. Still he's experienced in his field and better than nothing.
You flinch when Graves' hand snakes down to pet your ass softly.
You glare at him in a way only he can see and dance out of his reach with slow steps.
Two steps back, turn around, stare at people, read the room. Answers are hidden in the plain sight. They can be in the aphrodisiac that drips from the vampire's fangs 2 metres away from you or in the eyes that never ceased their stare since the you stepped into the club, always on your back, always watching.
Some man comes into your view, blocking your vision. His eyes fixated on you as you swing to sides. It takes about 2 minutes until his focus shifts, clearly displeased at your lack of interest. When it does you look for Graves wanting to keep on dragging the two of you to the spots in the club that you've yet to see. That's when your stomach sinks, he is nowhere to be found.
You feel cold all of a sudden. All the sweat that gathered on your skin from the humid air turned ice cold, leaving you shivery and faint. You check the crowd, turn your head to your left and right, draw a big circle around the room. But he's just gone.
You round a sharp corner that leads you to a dark corridor, only lightened dimly by a light source coming from somewhere your vision can't quite reach.
Here you are, standing in an eerie corridor in a building surrounded by vampires all by yourself. Your hand itches near your pockets, you tell yourself it's to grab your weapons if necessary, not to reach your phone and call Laswell and beg her for backup.
You don't know where you're going, and certainly not what's waiting for you on the other end of this corridor. But you have a gut feeling that you're about to find out soon.
Your ears perk up at the sound of squeking boots coming behind you. Your hand readily finds the silver handle in a swiftness born from years of experience and training. Though you react a little too late because strong arms come out of nowhere and slam your back against the wall. You let out a stifled groan.
The man gets closer, his facial features highlightens and it's hard to not notice two longer fangs jutting out behind his lips.
Panic rises in your body, your blood vessels tightens, forcing the liquid in your veins to run faster. Your hands are useless, unmobilized by vampire's hand.
It's over, you think. You're completely at the man's mercy, if he decides that he wants have a little more blood than usual he can suck you dry right here and now.
To your unfortune, by the looks of him, it seems about the right time you start begging for mercy. You have never been bitten before, and with the experience you got over the years from your job, you know what happens once you do. You swallow your pride
His fangs elongate, a strange glow blends into his irises. A characteristhic feature about the nature of vampires that have had the lab workers in the base fussing their head over to figure out what the hell it is. It's known to manifest visions, snake the vampire into vulnerable human brain. You close your eyes and wait for what's to come. His breath ghosts near your ear.
"You should've never came here dumb, little human." his cracked voice murmured into your ear.
There's a grunt, a rush of air hits your face. When you open your eyes you're greeted by the brawl of two men on the ground and a not so stranger face.
Mactavish.
He's a vampire, one of the stronger ones that shows with how quickly he knocked the man to the ground. In a blur of motion he has the man by the scruff of his neck. Before the man can make a move to defend himself, he punches the man's teeth in with such force that you hear bones crunching.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
You must be more shaken than you thought and it must show to your face because when you don't answer he closes the distance between you and gently holds your shoulders. "Are you okay?"
You're hesitant at answering him. Your eyes feel heated and there's a bump in your throat. Making you feel like you'll start bawling like a child if you were to say a word.
So you just nod shakily, averting your gaze away from him as you try to force your racing pulse to slow down. Your breath events out, the presence of another vampire in the room is hard to dismiss in your shaken state, but you kind of manage. What the fuck were you doing here, really? This place is the last place a lone human should be, instead you-
Graves. You were looking for Graves.
How long time had you lost standing here? With a newfound panic, you look up to him with wide eyes.
"Graves, he was with me in the club but then he just disappeared. I need to find hi-"
A blood curling scream interrupts you. Instictively you both turn your head to the end of the corridor, to the direction the sound came from.
You thoughtlessly start to run. A thousand possibilities fill your mind as you sprint through the corridor.
It ends in a dark alleyway. The kind of alleyway people makes sure to avoid walking.
There are blood drops on the ground and Graves is nowhere to be found.
He took him.
First you hear sirens, then screams coming from inside of the club and shuffling of footsteps. You turn around to check on Mactavish. You find him gone.
Your name echoes in Laswell's office, snapping your attention back to her. You feel so big, vast, hard to miss in the small room. Like a whale put in a small pond, nowhere to run from the piercing glares and stinging words.
You want to shrink into yourself, curl up on the floor and die. But you don't because you're in no position to be embaressed. That'd be too merciful for you. Not what you deserve for your actions.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Laswell condemns. Her voice is loud by her standarts, if you were a civilian you would've jolted in your seat.
You don't jolt, you don't flinch. Your irresponsibility caused this. You don't open you mouth for even once to correct her or to defend yourself, instead you take her words, suck them up.
It all turns into a blur. Far away you're wandering in different places, present in the room and not at the same time. You understand every word yet you're content with just throwing them away. So rooted in yourself that you're convinced you're already aware of what she has to say to you.
"You're taken from this case."
One sentence is enough for your self-controlled dazed state to shatter into pieces. The pieces burst through your ears making a hoeling sound, they flow through your blood vessels with their icy edges, making your skin go cold.
"I arrested people for less."
Raindrops pitter patter against the windshield of your car. Autumn air is set heavy, trying to get into the warmness of your car yet failing. All it can do is to manifest itself as foggy remains on the car windows.
You've been sitting in your car and drinking. After two beers and some wine that got into your system you're still thirsty, your need for a calm mind is more evident than ever.
You're not drunk yet, maybe a tad tipsy. You waryly eye the bag of groceries in the backseat. The vodka bottle peeks out from the bag, looking very inviting at the moment.
A man walks past the parking lot. Even when drunk, your senses are alert. Corner of your vision catches his imposing figure, wide shoulders.
His eyes give him away.
Even after figuring him out his eyes spare you from actually observing him. They just grasp your attention like a thread and make themselves known even from such distance. They're so captivating that you feel exposed even though you're the watcher here. The safety of your car doesn't stop your imagination from creating phantom sensations of someone watching you.
You don't think much about it. You're out of the car following him in an instant.
You put a considerable distance between. When he enters some pub you wait for fifteen minutes before stepping inside.
The pub is mundane, a place nice to be around. People's chitter-chattering fills the room, laughter flows freely. You take a seat near a bar counter and casually order a beer.
You rake over the tables while sipping your beer. When your eyes land on your target you smile.
He's sitting there, chatting with someone you can't see past your blocked view.
You can't help but once again be charmed by him. His energy is enchanting, It's radiating off him. You nearly gasp when he flashes his perfect smile to whoever lucky person is sitting across him. His presence almost offends you, almost.
You go back to sulking in your chair. "Just get on with it." you think. You turn around to give him an inviting smile, a flirty one, maybe. You have a short-lived panic when you can't find him where you left.
"Are you following me?" a deep voice says from the chair next to you. You nearly crawl out of your skin. You missed he's as skilled as you. Still you force yourself to reciprociate. Snap back with the same fever.
"That's my line."you protest.
He gives you a blank stare, weighing your words. His eyes lit up when he finally gets it. His previous cockines slowly vanishes into understanding. He's taken back, you see the oppurtunity and attack.
"What were you doing in that club?"
You can feel it, his uneasiness. His grimace is a defence shield, a useless attempt at appearing cool but failing. Or so you hope.
"Sometimes I think you forget that I'm an officer too, lass." he mocks. You want to punch him in the face.
"Graves died and you were there."
"Laswell was worried you were up to something stupid."he explains calmly while ordering a new drink. This sentence is enough to shut you up. Laswell trusted another person to complete the holes in your case.
You shift back into your seat in defeat, though you're not about to reveal this to him soon.
To your dismay, he seems to pick on your mood. "Laswell was thinking about involving me in this case for a long while."
You open your mouth to protest but you look up to see that smirk.
"Don't be so judgeful yet, you haven't even tried me."
...
You've been well acquainted to the rumors, gossips about Mactavish.
At first everyone had taken him with caution, with the disbelief that he was even allowed to exist here. Your superiors had convinced you that having a vampire by their side had been the best decision ever.
He's like a machine, more durable than any vampire hunter they've had.
After all, only a vampire can withstand the force of one of their kind.
Their words had been stinging, but they had some truth to them. As much as having him was the same as having a fox in a coop full of chickens, he'd proved himself with killing tens of his kind. After this point whatever critism one had for him would beg the questions to their performance as a hunter.
His position as a vampire hunter is a contrast to everything you had to learn.
Vampires cannot be trusted. They could be anyone, anything and you wouldn't even notice until it's too late.
After all, humans have very valid reasons not to trust vampires. Vampires literally evolved to hunt humans.
They adapted to being a parasite species, they used evolution to their advantage, letting it shape them into being what they're in the present day.
They come from the deepest pits of hell. Their power is serpentine, it unravels through their eye sockets, wriggles it's way through feeble human mind. Carves a nest in the brain, seeping into every little crevice and curve, rotting the brain from inside to the point of no return. When they finallyTheir eyes lurk
In most scenarios the victim becomes dependent on them. Obsessed, being left with no chance but having their mind high on their venom. The victim obliviously becomes addicted to them, letting them feed on their blood, body, mind for the smallest amount of venom. The life is slowly being sucked dry off them, yet they still beg for more.
A dangerous obsession that in most scenarios ends in death.
It's a cloudy tuesday. The exhaustion from the past month slowly wears off like autumn leaves falling off the trees in your yard.
You have some phone calls from Graves' family, rightfully worried about his case and how will you handle it. At first you got rude comments and blamings for not being enough. The time seemed to soothe their hate a bit.
You arrive at your home and step through the doorstep. You're prepared to slip out of your shoes when you notice something odd about your house. It smells like... roses? Rose scent is not your pick for the room sprays. It doesn't take you long to notice a bouquet of roses sitting on the floor a few steps away.
There'd been someone in your home.
There's a trail of rose petals. You pull out your gun follow the rose petals like it's a path of blood trail. You walk past your kitchen, climb the stairs. All the while you check out the other rooms.
Rose petals end in your bedroom. They lead to a big box laying on your bed. The packaging looks expensive, decorated with a tasteful manner.
You go to the bathroom to grab some plastic gloves. You slip your fingers through the powdery rubber. You wield the box, keep it near your ear, shake it and try to figure out what's inside. Whatever is inside it sounds soft, like ruffling of fabric.
You decide it's not a bomb or something dangerous and start to work on the packaging. The thick ribbon unfurls like water under your hands. After other materials of packaging are gone you peek at the things that greet you from the box.
At the top is another package from a luxirous clothing brand. You twist your face in disgust when you unfold the fabric and see it's a red pair of lingerie. You try to ignore it. Under it is a small fancy jewellery box with a golden necklace in it. You test it's weight in your palm and gawk at the size of the stone at the end of it. You're not sure if it's real or not, but the workmanship alone must've costed hundreds.
There are smaller items stashed in the box: A red lipstick, a bottle of wine and a smaller box.
The small box is different from the others, it doesn't have a brand name written on it. In fact, it looks more like the handiwork of a middle school kid. The packaging is neatly done, but minor flaws succeed to show themselves. You imagine slightly shaking hands from excitement wrapping it.
Surprised to find such personal touch after all the expensive brands in the box, you open it with the caution, unsure what to expect.
You touch over the velvet fabric draped on the thing. It has sturdy, hard ridges that give away when pressed on them. Covered in some squishy, fleshy material.
Your blood goes cold when you understand what it is. To test your assumption you smooth your hand over the fabric, feeling the perfect shape of a human hand underneath.
Your hands shake as you lift the fabric and peek to the hand that was cut from the wrist. You almost throw the box to the across the room while you hyperventilate and once again be face to face with the reality of your job.
You notice a note at the bottom of the box. Crooked letters littered around the thick paper that says:
-I want to see you in those.
They took the hand, gave the rest of the box back to you after investigation. Probably didn't know what to do with the lingerie, you thought.
Crime scene investigators had stormed in when you explained what you had found. They inspected every corner of your house that they probably know more about your house than you at this point.
You leaned back in your office chair as you fiddled with your pen. You hear a knock on your door.
"It's me, Johnny, can I come in?" Johnny asks. You tell him to come in. He brings a file with him.
"I found something. Some residants reported a man wearing a skull mask. It's worth to take a look into." he says as he makes himself home with dragging a chair in front of your desk.
A skull mask. You remember the night Graves was taken. You nod slowly. "He might be our guy." you approve.
Johnny hands you over the files. He eyes you as you rake over the files. He looks like he has something to say and he would burst if he couldn't say it.
"What?" you try to urge him on.
He looks somewhat confused. "Did you find some kind of note in the box? Or a letter? He obviously wanted your attention, at that point why not leave an explanation?" he asks innocently.
You feel like you've been caught red-handed. How could he know? You didn’t tell anyone about the note.
"No, there was nothing."
Johnny nods understandingly.
"So, are you going to stay in your house? It must be uncomfortable knowing a killer just got into your house. If you need a place I can help." he offers.
"Thank you but I'm staying over at my friend's. You're right It would be very uncomfortable." you half lie. You told your friend you'd stay for a week, but you know after three days you'd find a hotel to stay, reluctant to overstay your welcome.
"The box, I heard our killer has a good taste in presents. The girls are still talking about the lipstick." Johnny makes an attempt to soften the conversation.
"Oh yeah, I was shocked when I first saw it. I don't understand why would he go through this. Not to mention the pric-"
"Well, after spending all that money he better has chosen some pieces that suit your taste." he interrupts. Then he frowns like he tries to remember something.
"Uh, like the lingerie."
Your eyes widen.
"What?"
He looks at you like he doesn't understand why you're surprised at such casual question.
"The lingerie, as example. Did you like it?"
The drive to the motel is silent.
You have to admit, it's better than you expected. The dust makes itself known as soon as you pull the curtains to sides to let some light in, but still that's better than staying back home.
You change into your sleep clothes, do your skincare, comb your hair. You do anything to make it feel like home, to feel the blissful ignorance.
You pull the sheets over your head and you realize that you forgot something.
Your pillow feels too soft, as if lacking something hard, something with a weight under it. Your hand itches to grab the cold metal, desperate to feel the security that comes from it's sharp edges, the glint of silver that dance over it.
You end up putting a silver knife under your pillow, another on the nightstand.
At least now you don't feel as vulnerable.
There are hands roaming your body. Large palms pawing at your hips, a warm breath ghosting over your neck. A deep voice whispers words into your ear you can't quite decipher.
Your mattress shifts under the weight of a second person. You feel the cold all over your body now. Whoever, whatever it is, the thing is huge. It blankets your body with it's massive frame. Your body twitches, desperately tries to jolt you awake so you can face the danger, or run away from it.
You hear footsteps that are not of the person above you. There's a third person in the room with you. You open your eyes.
You try to push the bulk off your body, try to squirm free but fail. You turn your head to the side to see who's the second man, but your head is roughly yanked to the side. Your eyes meet with cold, soulless eyes, dark like the pits of hell. You slip back into your sleepy haze, but still fully awake.
Fangs glint like knifes in the dark, you try to scream loud enough to rattle the motel, but instead only pathetic whimpers get out. Someone hushes you, pets your hair when tears stream down your cheeks.
A wet tongue laves over your pulse, your breath is shortened to hiccups now. A maw attaches itself onto your neck, and finally it bites into your neck, drawing your blood from your veins.
Your mouth opens on a silent scream, the mouth that's not biting you closes on yours.
You wake drenched in sweat and dread still clinging to your bones. There's coldness in your chest, as if your heart is pumping ice and not blood.
Pain ghosts over your neck. You shoot you hand up to feel it, your hand comes back clean.
You wriggle out of your sheets, trying to let your sleep sweat dry off first to warm yourself. Your hands are numb as you check the time from your phone.
It's seven in the morning. There's a notification you need to squint your eyes to read. Your heartbeat almost stops when you see it's from Laswell.
-See me when you're here.
You stare blankly for one minute, trying to understand if you're in trouble or not. You weigh the possibilities and let your dream slowly dissolve into thin air. When you try to remember what it was about darkness and carnage are the only things that paint your mind.
"They caught someone, a vampire. His DNA matches with the samples we've gotten from all three murders. However, we suspect that he doesn't work alone, you might want to interrogate him." She ends with an exasperated sigh.
With a nod you make a move to get out.
"Wait." Laswell says. When she has your attention back she continues.
"He wanted to talk to you. He said your name. " She says slowly, tentatively. As if she can't even trust her own words. It's your turn to be surprised.
"What?"
"We tried interrogating him while you gave your statement for the night. He said he won't talk unless it's you who's interrogating him."
There are a lot of things you want to say. Instead you just give her a shaky nod and close the door behind you.
The room they keep vampires is not like your usual interrogation room. It is sound-proof. There are two doors next to each other to deal with the lackness of human eye that can't catch up with super vampire speed. Handcuffs are thicker, made of a stronger element than iron, so is the mirrored glass in front of you.
You approach the mirrored glass. The vampire is tied to a metal chair. Even with his hunching posture he looks imposing, threatening. The fact that he's restrained by heavy chains doesn't silence the small part of you that shys away. There's blood all over his hands and up to his arms, corners of his mouth. The chains look a little too tight around his bulging muscles. He's muscular everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his neck-
"Are you going to just stare or do something here?" The man says without turning his gaze at you. His voice was dark, just like what you had expected from this monster of a man. It was unexpected, he wasn't supposed to see you. It makes you jolt in where you stand. Maybe he felt the vibrations of your footsteps, you think. You decide not to move until he thinks you're gone.
"I can smell you, you're still there." he chuckles darkly. It's merely a chuckle, too dry and raspy to be considered one. Actually there are hints of mocking in his tone.
You sigh and decide there's no meaning in hiding. You open the first door with scanning your card, and then the second one. When you're inside the door clicks shut behind you.
The man stirs, he tilts his head to your direction, though you know it's more of a show.
You loudly drag the metal chair and situation yourself in front of him with putting a considerable distance between you and him.
"How do you know my name?"You ask.
He doesn't answer, just like you thought.
"Unbind me."he demands.
His useless attempt almost makes you laugh.
"Why would I do that
"If you cooperate we might consider making you some favors." you try again.
He tilts his head.
"What do you want?" his voice is gruff, low in pitch, yet it still manages to seep into your brain.
"A location. Tell me where is Phillips Graves."
He huffs amusedly at your demand.
"I don't want to spoil the surprise, love. Figured you'd want to find whatever is left of him all by yourself."
His words make you sick to your stomach. The implication hidden behind them is enough to make you worry about your position in the eyes of your coworkers. You try to regain your authority over him.
"You're sentenced for-"
"Did you like your present?" he interrupts.
"I picked out the contents very mindfully. I even asked your friend for help, it was kind of him to lend a helping hand in." he ends his sentence with a dry chuckle. You don't find his joke funny.
"Where is he?" you say sternly.
"What am I getting out of this?"
Nothing, you want to say.
"The court will grant your cooperation positively, I can say." you explain.
He shakes his head.
"Will you wear the lingerie I bought you? Spread your legs, and bare your neck for me?"
His lewd comments makes your cheeks warm. You're glad he can't see the shocked expression on your face.
"That won't happen."
"Or should I do it myself? One of those nights I can just come through your window and prove you wrong."
After witnessing how easily he broke into your house you know very well that he can. That's why his words send chills up your spine.
But now is different. He's chained, restrained, you're safe.
It's your turn to chuckle.
"You're chained to a chair in a high security room, you will rot for the rest of your life in a prison cell. You're not going anywhere."
The man in front of you shifts in his seat. You hear the creaking metal, clinking of chains. It's okay, you think. That seat was made to withstand hundreds of pounds of force.
The metal bends, something in the air snaps.
He's on you in an instant.
Broken chains dangle from his limbs as he lounges at you. You shout at him to get away. You don't make it to the door when he lays all his body weight on you, caging you between the ground and his bulk.
He huffs like a beast above you. His breath hits the back of your head. When you try to shout for help he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and shakes. You whimper when he buries his face in your neck, right above your pulse point. He inhales deeply.
"You smell different, not like you do when you're sleeping." you thrash harder at his words. You can feel his smile against your neck, his fangs scratching the skin there.
"My big, scary hunter, are you afraid?" he says mockingly.
It doesn't take long after that and armed guards storm in the room, haul him off your body. They half-drag you shocked form out the room.
In your stumble you manage to get a glimpse of him behind you, calm as ever, showing no signs of struggle as guards restrict him once again. Like he got what he wanted.
There's a content smile on his lips. A wry, awful thing. Like he just accomplished his plan.
You park your car near the warehouse.
Birds chirp in the background, the sun gleams bright over the rusty planes of the warehouse. The warehouse is sturdy, still thriving in a way but looks like It hasn't had a touch up for years.
You idle around the building for a while. You check its surroundings, the houses around that looks like nobody lived in them in the past five years.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. A message pops up in your screen. It's from Johnny.
-Sorry, just had a change in plans.
You roll your eyes at the message. You're about to march back to your car when you suddenly have a strong urge to go on. Something deep in your senses tells you to move on, keep going until you find your target.
You're not the one to ignore your sixth sense, not when it hasn't failed you yet.
The door creaks when you push it open. The room is not very dark, just light enough to make out your surroundings.
The first room is mostly empty. There are supplies scattered on the floor, they have a thick layer of dust gathered on them from years of disuse.
You pass through the corridor and center a new room. It's smaller and smells like chemicals. The room has no windows, It's very dark. You turn on your flashlight.
It's shocking to see so many pictures on the table, on to the walls and everywhere. You squint your eyes to get a better look. When you realize the face in the pictures is actually yours your blood turns ice cold.
Pictures taken of you at work, out in a Cafe, in your house. Pictures of you talking, laughing, crying. Your breath hitches when you notice they're not only photographs but also classified informations none outside of work should know. Personal information of the victims, your coworkers, you.
You almost jump out of your skin when your phone rings. It's Laswell. You answer it with shaky hands.
"I-"
"Now listen carefully. There's been a situation." Her voice is anxious.
"What situation?"
"He broke out. We're still searching how he did it but wherever you are, you're not safe. Find-"
A thump sounded from outside. Your hand holding the phone freezes, you stay quiet as Laswell keeps speaking on the other end. You end the call, turn off your flashlight.
You grasp your knife so tight your knuckles turn white.
Someone is forcing open the door, you can't just wait there in the open. You can't outrun a vampire, but you can hide until the help arrives. So you dive into pitch darkness.
From what little you remember you try to navigate through the room. If only you could get to the back door-
You come to a halt in your steps. The sudden coldness envelopes you. Your eyes are too weak to see in the dark, but your senses paint an enough picture of what could be towering over you right now. The coldness radiates off him and settles deep in your bones. His gaze could drill a hole right through your forehead. You tilt your head up to where you think his face is.
You can't see him, but he can see you.
"Here you are, darling. Did you miss me?" his voice sends chills down your spine.
You make a move to gut him, that only earns you a harsh push into a room near you. You stumble and try to find your footing. You blindly slash your knife through the air, a useless attempt to keep him away. You scream at him to stay away.
For a blissful second, you could almost believe that worked. You're getting cornered deeper into the room, but from what little you could tell he's not around you anymore.
You try to subdue your breathing to normal, taking small steps back.
You scream when you bump into someone, your hand catching on some clothing, a lean chest. After this point, you act on instinct.
You knife lodges into where a heart should lay, in front of his chest, slightly on the left side of his sternum. A painful whimper finds your ears. That's not enough for you.
There's still resistance in his muscles, you take out the knife and stab him again, again and again until his body no longer convulses, until he's nothing but a lifeless body on the ground.
You fall onto your knees next to him. When the adrenaline fades away you break down, a small hiccup escapes your mouth before you can stop it, tears of joy and relief stream down your cheeks.
It's over, it's finally over, you think.
"Very good, good girl." a deep voice says from the entrance of the room.
The lights turn on and you are finally able to see. Your eyes find the blond man by the doorfence first, then they find the man laying motionless on the floor. His face is barely distinguishable from all the blood covering it, but that doesn't stop you from recognizing your coworker you had shared years working with.
Graves, you just killed Graves.
Your eyes flit between the man and Graves as if you can't believe what's happening now is real. You shake your head side to side, put your hands on your head.
"No, no, no." your voice is a hoarse whisper, your voice sound got knotted in your throat.
"I-I didn't, I-"
He doesn't wait for you to explain yourself. He advances on you, pushing you against the wall. When your back meets the wall, he gently grabs your cheek. Your cries are shortened to little hiccups. You weakly push at his chest, try to punch him in the face. He's unfazed at your attempts to hurt him.
"Shh now. Be good for me." he soothes.
He tilts your head up, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. When you understand what he's about to do you struggle with a renewed strength, all to no avail.
He drinks in your smell, his breath tickling the fine hairs on your neck. His fangs graze at your pulse point. You let out a blood curdling scream when they sink into you.
For a moment you think you're being devoured alive.
Your vision is blurry, your legs gave out beneath you, your head cradled by a large hand. You can only whine confusedly when he takes you in his arms and starts walking.
There's one last thing you hear before the world goes black.
"I'm taking you home."
Your neck throbs like a screwdriver is being twisted in it, jolting you awake from your peaceful sleep.
You're cocooned in soft sheets that smell like detergent. The moonlight seeps inside through an open window, just barely illuminating the room.
You sit up in bed and immediately regret it because of the rush of pain from stretching the wound on your neck. You whimper.
Your head feels fuzzy, you can't focus. You don't remember anything. You're chilled, suddenly the room is too cold for you. You look down. You're wearing a black, satin dress. The delicate fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cold. You feel under the straps, there's another clothing underneath. Lacy, dainty-
A lingerie.
You scramble out the bed, scattering the bed sheets to the ground. Standing up so quickly in your weakened state makes your head spin, you stumble forward and someone catches you.
"Easy." Johnny balances you in his arms.
"Simon took too much this time, you'll be fine."he assures. You don't understand.
"What do you mean?" you ask. He doesn't answer.
"Can you walk?"
Like a newborn fawn you try to balance yourself on your shaking legs. He decides you can't and he swoops you up in his arms.
Your head sags as Johnny carries you downstairs. You go into a big room with warmness spreading from a fireplace in the corner. There are two chairs near the fireplace. A man is sitting in one of them, his keen eyes fixated on your form.
You recognize him. It all dawns on you. The memories flood at once into your mind. The terror settling deep in your bones. You trash in Johnny's arms as you approach the vampire. You call him insults, call him a traitor. When he transfers you into Simon's waiting arms you fall silent.
You sit in his lap as he cards his fingers through you hair in a soothing gesture. His breath fans over your head, smelling of blood. Your blood.
"You killed them." your voice waves a little, you tell yourself that's because of your weak state, not because you're scared.
His attention shifts to your words. He only lets out an approving "mhm" sound.
"I got you, you were- how did you even get out?"
His eyes avert to the man behind you.
The hard texture of plastic bumps to the side of your face. Your personal card is being held at the tip of your card holder. It all makes sense.
"I- They will come for me. I'm very important for them." your voice stutters.
"None is coming to save you. If anything, they'd rather have you dead after everything you've done." Johnny calmly explains from behind you. You falter.
"I will just explain everything to them, it was an acciden-"
"It doesn't seem like an accident to me, what do you think Johnny?" Simon asks. What is he talking about?
"No, Simon. It definitely looks like she had been helping us all along."
You understand what they mean very well now. You knew your plan was flawed from the beginning, but you never thought you would fuck up that badly.
You have nowhere to run.
"No, no. I will run away, you will see." you try. It is hard to speak past the knot that has newly formed in your throat.
"You're not going anywhere unless you want to be shot dead. You name is all over the news. Besides," he ducks his head to talk directly into your ear.
"Now that you have my bite, my mark, you can never hide from me. Wherever you're, I will find you."
This sentence makes you feel like your fate just got sealed.
Vampire!Simon "Ghost" Riley who gets really unsettled by the insatiable thirst and hunger.
Simon who drank from the members of the cartel when he killed and rampaged after his escape from the coffin. But the hunger didn't stop, it just kept clawing at him.
He doesn't want to drink from the people he trusts, the very few people. He'll hurt them, he'll watch the light fade from their eyes when he takes too much. He always takes too much.
The idea of harming himself doesn't exactly come to him. Not eating shouldn't hurt, right? He's not.. alive. He thinks the blurring vision, shaking and incoherent thoughts are normal. How's he supposed to know? It's been a constant since he woke up and pulled himself out of the ground.
Unable to control himself, Simon brings Wille's thumb to his mouth and slowly tastes the blood.
cw: vampirism (as seen here, here and here), blood
I cheated a little by adding some sentences before the sentence, I hope you don't mind 💜
Simon already knows it's a terrible idea before he even reaches for Wille's hand. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, even internally tells himself as much, when he takes hold of Wille's palm, while his eyes are never leaving the small but angry crimson slash on the pad of Wille's finger. He shouldn't have let his friend take the sharpest knife, he shouldn't have made him laugh while cutting carrots, he shouldn't even have invited him over in the first place.
Because now it's too late, he thinks, while the sudden wave of thirst rises up in his throat and dries out his mouth. It's too late.
"I don't think the cut is that deep, it's okay," Wille says, his words barely reaching Simon's ears, drowned out by everything inside of him screaming to have Wille and have him now, screaming for him differently than Simon is used to, so much worse now.
His last shred of misguided hope, his naive wish to get out of this, is shattered when Wille - and why won't he just... - doesn't pull away his hand. Lets it rest there, in Simon's grip.
Unable to control himself, Simon brings Wille's thumb to his mouth and slowly tastes the blood. Coppery, salty, just a hint sweeter than Simon has been imagining it. He runs his tongue over the cut again, then again, gets another taste, lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in.
Wille tastes good, so fucking good. So good that the most selfish part of Simon wonders why he didn't give in earlier, why he denied himself this. So good that he regrets that he can't ever see him again after this.
Simon startles when he feels Wille's hand on his waist suddenly, brazes himself for the shove, the push, the punch, whatever is coming. He's not prepared for the way Wille grabs him, though.
Wille pulls Simon into him, loops one arm around his waist, and keeps the other there, right there, where Simon is still holding it, where Simon has just licked the blood off his finger. Out of all the ways this could've gone, Simon did not see that coming. Did not expect the way Wille's fingertips are digging into his back through his thin t-shirt, or the way Wille's quickened breath is fanning over his face when he raises his eyes to finally look at him.
"I-," he wants to say something, explain this somehow, but Wille, eyes dark and big and looking at Simon like he's never quite seen him before, interrupts him.
"Can I please kiss you?"
Thank you, thank you, thank you for the lovely prompt you sent me! I'm really sorry that it took me so long to get back to it! I hope you enjoyed it though :) 💜💜💜
Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you 5(+) more!
with spooky season upon us this friday's fan fiction recommendation is a vampire one. I have to add that it is not as serious as it sounds, more like a crack fic that is oozing love and care. I don't think one has to be a vampire fan to love this one, it is more... the love for wilmon. Simon is kind of a little teasing shit, I love it.
Bad Blood by @mymessedupthoughts
Rating: mature Words: 10,293
Summary:
The guy huffs a laugh–if Wilhelm is not on the brink of death he will find it adorable–and lick his lips. “I don’t need your money..” He tilts his head predatorily. Face sneers, bare his teeth, showing the cute little fangs.
Wilhelm feels his breath getting erratic, and in his mortification, it’s not only from fear. He really shouldn't be aroused at the time like that, stupid horny brain. He definitely needs to get laid.
“Sorry, this will hurt a little, just take a deep breath..” the guy mutters, the sneering face slowly approaching Wilhelm’s neck.
Or
Wilhelm encounters a vampire one night–with a twist.
