#vampire ghost

[cybervoid-art]

FINALLY drew something for the vampwolf ghoap idea ive had for months

[readbads]

You see him across the club - an unmoving figure in the sea of writhing bodies. Standing still, you could swear his eyes flash red. Special thanks to @thewandererabovetheseaoffog for the audio and also helping to splice the loops together! Check out her very cool music here.

[konigs-lover]

do you ever see someone so attractive or do something so incredibly hot that your heart and chest actually physically ache? maybe it’s the heart skipping a beat idk

anyway, vampire simon who you have the fattest crush on, and when he has to feed himself? his eyes turn an amazing red shade, bright even in the dark, and he moves a hand to lift the bottom of his balaclava, sharp jaw free for your eyes to feast on (and you do)

the only problem? when you see the muscles in his jaw tick and twitch from drinking blood your heart skips a beat and your breath hitches in your throat

obviously ghost hears it, superhuman hearing and all, and his strikingly beautiful red eyes jump to you, gaze focused on your chest and then your throat with a lifted eyebrow, and you don’t know what to do with yourself so you just clear your throat and move away from the room

[sorrownotsexy]

Not a singular thought inside of my brain but Vampire!Simon who makes his living playing Dracula at Universal Studios.

He's spent centuries alive so of course he has a different answer for every tourist that asks him his favorite scary movie.

"You think I'd answer my own movie, luv? No no, Guillermo has caught my eye this century."

It was all said in that sultry accent, his lips very carefully brushing the soft skin of wrists. The smile as he spoke revealed beautiful teeth, the sharp ones only grading pulses, they felt so different than plastic. There is no keeping a straight face, every lady he meets folds into a stream of laughter at the "pretend" vampire.

He's a small niche on social media, people recognize him as one of the best Dracula actors. His "makeup" was so good and he act felt personal.

His fangs were only a little sharper than the rest. And so what if he takes a lady every few weeks around pay day?

[toxicgutz69]

TW. TYPICAL VAMPIRE STUFF, SO BLOOD DRINKING W CONSENT. LOTS OF BLOOD. AND VAMPIRES.

Vamp!Simon takes a little rest stop to take a drink. Gn!Reader, can be interpreted as any

Trying to get my motivation back. Really need some ideas. Yall know I write for more than just demon slayer right? 😭 anyways this is unfinished but I figured posting this now wouldn't hurt to get some feedback or sonething.

"Everything will be okay." He tells you with a hand clamped over your mouth, ensuring you dont scream.

"Just 'ere for a quick taste, lamb..You dont mind, do you?"

And oh, who are you to deny him? Certainly not when he was batting those pretty hazel eyes up at you. You just simply couldn't say no...

So when Simon sinks his sharp teeth down into the nape of your neck, breaking skin with unnatural ease, you struggle to keep still. I mean, if you move around who knows what will happen? Maybe he'll accidentally knick an artery while hes gum deep in your neck, drinking up the sweet liquid just pouring out. Of course, the pain makes you whimper a tad, which is only met with the reassuring hum of Simon, who greedily drinks you for all he can.

Simon was always a careful man, he knew his limits quiet well, but he knew your's better. So when he feels you start to go dead weight on him, of course from blood loss, he can only sigh and pull back reluctantly, knowing you probably could have given him at least a quarter of a pint of blood before things got dangerous.

When he finally pries himself off your neck with a loud, wet pop, you swear you can feel his eyes roam over your face, as your body is gently set back down on the comfy sheets of your shared bed.

Credits to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers!!

[zero2cara]

midnight snack 🩸

( my other socials: https://linktr.ee/zero2cara )

[lovemebutleavemewild]

You'd always known you'd come to him.

The man who'd lured you here may have thought himself responsible but you knew better.

When that voice, that voice, had called for your captor, he'd left you at once to run up the stairs towards it and you'd been alone in a hallway with a door at your back and enough adrenaline in your heart to take you far away if that was what you wanted.

Only it's not what you want, though a second ago, it had been. Because you know that voice and you also feel a stirring need pulling you towards it.

That voice has whispered to you in your dreams.

Though your captor must have long reached the top of the stairs, the voice calls again. For you.

And you go to him, as you'd always known you would.

The door at the top of the stairs is made from cheap wood that swings inwards silently at your touch.

Your captor is crouched on his knees but you barely look at him and he doesn't look at you at all. His head is tilted back, held in place by the gloved hand in the longest part of his hair.

You know you're to look where he's looking, know what's expected of you and want to meet those expectations, but all the same, it takes a long time to lift your eyes. He waits in silence, knowing you'll acquiesce eventually. Finally, you do.

His eyes are the only part of him you can see. You tell yourself the rest of his face is covered by a mask, but in the dim light of the room, you could almost believe the bottom half of his face has been stripped of flesh, that the darkness around his eyes and nose is actually the soft insides of a face rotted black.

He looms, nearly as tall as the ceiling and dressed almost entirely in black, apart from the glimpses of white that are his knuckles. His fingers move absent mindedly through the mohawk of the man knelt at his feet and though it looks gentle, you know those fingers are hard, capable of holding too tight and not tightly enough, all at once.

He is terrible. He is beautiful. He's haunted your dreams for years and been the only source of pleasure that has ever rung true.

Every night since you've known him you've woken, soaked in sweat, sheets twisted around the lower half of your body and panting like you've run a mile, his face scarred into your eyelids, his name on your lips.

"Ghost," you breathe and the word is nothing and it's everything. Ghost shifts, his hand tightens and your captor lets a high whine out of his throat.

The lower man's thighs stretch as he moves from his haunches to his knees proper. Quick as a snake, Ghost releases his hold and shoves him on the side of the head so he falls on his side, hard.

At a flick of Ghost's wrist, he's up and moving, and in a second, you realize he's stripping. When he's down to his underwear, he retakes his position on his knees, still gazing upward, with a look of adoration on his face, but something else too. There's hunger in his eyes, in the set of his slightly open jaw and his chest heaves as low, heavy pants escape him. His fists rest on his thighs but every few seconds he raises them and reaches out as if desperate to touch. He never does and you know in your bones that he won't. Not until he's given permission.

Heat paints the side of your face and you meet Ghost's eyes again, though you never look right into them. Instead your gaze falls on the edge of the hard white of the jaw bone on his mask. You can pretend it's fear, if you don't want to admit to yourself what it really is. Deference.

But there's no pretending with Ghost. There never has been. He's seen into your dreams, into your heart. He knows your deepest, most depraved desires, has always known them, has been there in the background as they've grown and twisted under his careful tutelage.

He raises the hand not touching your captor and with one twitch of a finger, he beckons you forward. You go at once and stand before him, hands twitching, wanting, and not daring to want simultaneously.

And then his hand moves again, in a way you've seen countless times in your dreams and just once in person, just seconds ago.

You move instinctually, hands shaking over buttons, trembling over zips. All the time, he watches and waits, still as a mountain. Then his head tilts by the barest inch and the thought thrills through you at once.

He's seen your soul bared and still wants you.

When you too are down to the barest items of clothing, you wait with bated breath. Your eyes roam his face hungrily and you roll forward on the balls of your feet, wanting so badly to draw closer, waiting, hoping, needing.

In your peripheral vision, of which you are acutely aware, you see his hand move again and euphoria crashes through your veins, filling your chest and possessing you entirely as you drop immediately to your knees. You gaze upwards and breathe out, letting your eyes flutter shut just as his hand reaches out and settles in place around your throat.

[em0goose]

Vampire!141 transformations

(implied Soap death, he's not actually dead)

Price is the oldest vampire on their team, born into the undead life. He'd seen his fair share of death. In a way, he envied their final moments.

Gaz's transformation is the second least traumatic of them all, guided gently by Price as he begged to turn him on the field after a fatal wound. And Price listened.

Ghost is the second oldest, turned vampire as his body forced itself to work with the bite Roba had given. A weak bite to turn him, but would take days to work. He couldn't last days in the coffin. So his body, with the slightest bit of supernatural blood in his veins, forced it to mutate. His transformation was agony, pure agony. Unlike the rest of the 141, however, his powers are one of the weakest. They come and go, like pulses. When he's angry, he seemes to subconsciously hiss and sizzle with the feeling. That was used and abused by Shepherd until he was transferred to Price. He was used as a sort of 'familiar' by Shepherd. Only with the 141 did he have any freedom.

Soap's transformation was a last minute hope. Ghost's teeth, oversharpened and sore from no use, sunk into his neck to find a barely usable pulse. Turn him, damnit. But it didn't *work*. Not until Price's fangs dipped into the holes Simon's left, and *he* took care of it. (Ghost couldn't figure out if it was more or less traumatic than his.) It just barely worked, but Soap was dangerously ill for weeks. Resulting in delicate feeding and very cautious contact.