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punk-in-docs · 2 months ago

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‼️ LUST AT FIRST BITE‼️

The Lost Boys AU, feat; Vamp!Frances x Human!Birdie

3.9k words

Summary: He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

(The awesome blood drip banner is not mine! I found on @riottsrph ‘s page. Thank you!)

Santa Carla, 1987

The boardwalk was always packed with people. Heaving in summer. Air full of noise and screams from the denizens on the giant dipper. The snaking notched backbone that arches, governs, over this place. Gulls shriek. Flickering glare of neon and flashing bulbs filling your sight everywhere. Greedy eyes don’t know where to rest first.

People flock to this place in their hundreds. This colourful edifice that exudes joy and junk food fuelled adrenaline. Teenage euphoria, arcade games and fast thrills, right next to walls plastered with flapping scales of forever-mounting missing posters. Twitching in the sea air as people sagged with worry, gather and weep and pin up even more. Hollow smiles, dead black and white eyes, all unseeing, plead from flyers.

Too many flyers.

You had to bob and weave to get anywhere in this dense bubbling crowd.

His hand is firmly tucked in yours. Smell of sugary popcorn and hot dogs is ripe, carried with sea foam on hot summer air. Gusting over your heads as you move along.

You met Nick in the pizzeria just off the boardwalk. You’d gone for a night out with friends. You both bonded damn near instantly over pineapple on pizza. Avid fans, addicts even. You ate pizza. He flirted. You flirted back.

He comped your meal when you went to pay. “On the house babe.” With a grin that should be snapped in vogue. Stunning,

Way too stunning, even in his company issue yellow and red polo tee with the pizzeria name embroidered on the breast.

He asked you to wait by the Wave Jammer for him after his shift finished. You did. The girls send you off freshly glossed and hair fluffed, sniggering.

He walked you to your bus stop when the boardwalk lights began to dim. Clicking off one by one. Sodium streetlights the only things leaving their dozy glow. The sound of the sea lashing sand in the distance. He gave you a sweet mind melting kiss. Backed by the harmony of waves and denizens screams. Passed you a glossy pizza flyer with his number scrawled right on it in thick marker.

He’d called. He’d swung by and taken you out. Your second date had been in a cheap mom and pop trattoria uptown. Candlelight, cheap Chianti, and happy conversation which quickly ended with you screwing each others brains out, up against the brick wall in the filthy back alley with your panties dangling off your ankle.

And now here you were- on your fourth date. Quickly becoming drunk on touch. You wandered the arcade dodging sugar buzzed kids, cheeks sticky with cotton candy, and abrasive punks with neon spiked hair. You were chatting easy, and flirting over arcade games.

Tasting sea salt and red slushy off his tongue. You tugged each other along and pulled too and fro like the inky tide wrapped up in the night just beyond the border of sand and the fierce orange lick of oil can bonfires on the beach. Life was fit to burst with fun. You were young and had lovesick heart eyes for each other.

He kept on ushering you close and kissing you again. Hand across your waist. Balmy hot. Even through your dress. It’s a strappy dress, bright purple like amethyst or lilac petals. You let your hair loose. Kinky and big in the humid sea air. Lou Gramm is playing clunky rock music over the speakers.

Nick is just next level gorgeous. You have to admit. Literally panty dropping. Lips rose pink. Caramel skin. Long lashes which kiss his cheeks like he’s Bambi. Smile like a damn Calvin Klein model. And the dark sweep of coiffed curls to match. One cross earring glimmers against the backdrop of his hair.

You keep sneaking your hand in the back pocket of his trousers. Disgustingly crushing on this man. The way he loops his arm to your waist though, says he returns very that sentiment.

He looks totally casual here next to you in bleach blue jeans, sneakers, and a blood wine shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Arm slung around your waist as you lean at the balustrade looking down onto the beach opposite a tacky tourist gift shop selling keychains and chalk painted rocks. Snow globes swirl with chunky glitter from glass shelves in the window.

His arm suddenly squeezes you in closer when a gaggle of dirt bikes shriek their way up the board walk toward you, pedestrians scattered like ripples on waves to avoid being mowed flat. Four bikes. You can hear seedy rock blasting from a boom box that one of them has strapped to their bikes. WASP, you think. All shriek and shred.

They weave and race through the thinning crowds. Whooping and hollering like a pack of feral hyenas. Tongues out. Grinning sneers at people like Jack O’Lanterns. One with a backcombed blonde mullet that’s stiff with product, and made you think of a lions mane, makes a crazed face at you both. Tongue pointing out his mouth as he leers at you both especially. Tight white pants on and a swallow tail pointed coat like a dam circus ringleader flying behind him. He’s looking you up a down with a flick of his eyes. Hungrily.

As soon as they came, all noise, filth and fury, they go. Racing fast off into the night in a stinking cloud of engine exhaust and harrowing, whooping cackles.

“Jerks.” You scoff derisively. Glaring after the deafening bikes. Had Nick not pulled you in they’d have knocked you flat. He nuzzled your jawbone. Kisses you there too.

“It’s alright baby. I got you.” He smiles. You put your hand on his. Thankful. You kiss him again. His hand comes up and cups the back of your head.

It’s then you first feel it.

Something stings on your skin. Sudden and sharp. Mean. Like a bite, or a pinch. A little drop of sulphuric acid. Right at the nape of your neck. Feeling of your hair standing up on end. Skin turns to poison pinpricks.

Someone’s eyes were on you.

You pull back, Nick’s hand slips back on your neck, you’re glancing around trying to see through the thronging clouds, to catch whoever was looking at you. Your hair whips around your face from the sea air. The breeze that wraps your skin.

It brings the smell of you right on across to him. Past the stench of hot dogs, salty sandy air, and sea froth. Sweat and cheap perfume, plus the scent of some recently used pink bar soap caught in the crease of your elbow.

Drifting across. Calling to him the same way that throb of your carotid does. A full lively artery housed under sweat stroked skin. He bets you taste simply delicious. Syrupy like hot honey. He’s salivating already.

He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

He’s up there. Keeping shadows company. Wind carving around him on the roof. Wrapped up in a big bomber leather jacket, the words ‘GO TO HELL’ scrawled across his back in white letters, emblazoned with rhinestones. An assortment of buckles and zips hanging off him, where he perched like a bat - a bat fresh off the brooding Bauhaus nightclub scene. Not even the Santa Carla heat could penetrate his skin and warm his old, dead bones.

Bones, under lean muscles and skin glittering in so much jewellery. Studs and chains hang off his shoulders. and biker boots. Many chains, necklaces, one strand of pearls and a rosary, dripping with crosses linked across his neck - darkly ironic nature of that made him smile. A gothic dipped punk bearing holy crosses. Eyes lined in kohl. Scratchy tattoos on his arms. Fingers layered in goth rings. Daggers in hearts. Crosses and bejewelled skulls. Billy Idol eat your fucking heart out.

Don’t tempt him actually. He’s too hungry. He’d swallow a heart tonight in one clean bite.

Hair slicked back on his head, coming to a kinked curl where it brushes his collar. Eyes dipped into cinnamon brown. But in all these neons they seemed to drop acidly into nasty black. Wide and dark like a cats. Something that definitely prowls and lopes around with grave grace. Danger simmers to a boil constantly around him and every gang on this boardwalk has learned the hard way not to mess. He’s made ugly reminders when those moron gangs get too big for their knock off DM boots.

He will serve grisly reminders of why he’s the top of the food chain here - with great feral pleasure. He’s been here since before the boardwalk itself even existed. Way back when it was a victorian bathhouse for fucks sake.

He takes a deep pull. Plucks the fiery cig from his smirking mouth. Fingernails blunt and chipped painted black underneath his fingerless leather gloves. Teeth too white and sharp as he smiles. Marlboro smoke curling around carnivore teeth.

He flicks the cigarette away. Sparks spray across the roof where it lands. Done with it. He’s found his next source of satisfaction. His hunger is awake and roaming. Baying for a feed.

He watches your date take your hand. Twirl you in his arms so your hair and your pretty skirts fly. He leads you towards the cotton candy stand. You can hear the old timey jangle of fun fair music. He likes the thought of pure spun sugar - blue as cornflowers - being ready for him on the bed of your tongue.

A smirk writ across his lips as he steps, then drops fully into the shadows behind the building. His sturdy boots crunch on fast food trash as he lands. Greasy puddles capturing neon signs make up this back alley. Now his blood is pumping hot. He licks his lips.

You’re on the carousel when you feel it come back again. Stronger. Nearer. You feel a gaze burn the back of your head like someone’s stubbing out a cigarette on you.

So sudden it makes you pull back from his kiss - like you’d been suddenly jabbed with a huge hypodermic needle. Felt the chilling flush of cold poison slide into your blood.

Cause baby, that’s him all over.

Every inch caustic, acidic poison.

The worst of the very worst, of hell’s lowest dredgings.

A flush of unease grabs you. Gasping, you twist from where you’re sat on the horse. Holding the twisted pole. Bracelet sliding down your arm. That sensation- it scared you.

Music whirls in your ears. Sea air laced with the scent of kettle corn pulses around you with the red and yellow lights. You peer around to try and see in-between the poles and crowds.

You can’t see anything noticeable. No one stands out. They’re all blurs and distortion whizzing by you to a chirpy carnival tune. You watch for eyes to meet yours as you dip and bob on the horse, and none come.

“Babe?” Nick asks you. His dark brows creasing in the middle from your sudden flinching away.

Hand comes warm and comforting on your arm. Trying to bring you back. You turn. But your stomach is squirming with unease. You mask it with a smile. Sweet as the huge cotton candy he just bought you.

“It’s nothing...” You chirp. A Lie. Your hand back on his again. Letting his comforting smile buoy you. You settle your attention back to him. Not to the graze on your skin that’s coiling your spine like a fucking venom spitting serpent.

“Why don’t I go and get us something to drink huh? Maybe a lemonade?” He suggests. Swinging around the horse and lifting the back of your hand to his mouth to kiss it. The other is rubbing the back of your neck. Soothing way your clammy panic.

It makes you smile. His doting on you. Made you feel like you hung the stars. With your head spinning and your nerves nudged into the wrong side of uneasy, you could use some sugar and a welcome distraction.

“That would be great, actually...” You smile. It feels hollow even to your mind. Your head is spinning like a top on this carousel and you want something sweet to wash everything sour thats nipping at your mind, away.

He kisses you sweetly on the lips. Taste of sea salt and cherry slushie again. Savouring him before he goes. Ralph Lauren cologne. His soft curls through your fingers before he steps away. And then with a flash of that stunning smile, he hops off the carousel, and within a minute he’s gone. Swallowed into the heaving crowds.

So you bob and dip on the carousel horse all on your own. Watching the room fly by in a twirl of chilli red and golden yellow.

You’re not without company for very long.

Distracted, you scan the entrance to the carousel for Nick on what must be your final whirl around.

So distracted are you, head turned, back to him. It allows him to sneak in.

Your spine once again turns to scraping prodding needles when a drift of something comes over your shoulder. Something insidious slides to your conscious; something acrid yet smooth you take notice of. You liken it to whiskey. Smooth yet rough all at once. You hate whiskey.

Smoky cigarettes bittered with engine exhaust. A sweet tinge of cotton candy. Copper metal, warm pennies. The heavy presence of someone lingering behind you. The brush of a clammy leather jacket. The sound of a leather glove squeezing and twisting on the pole of the horse opposite you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing riding all on her own?” Comes a dulcet purr from beside you.

You look at the source of this voice; seeing nothing but a trouble wrapped punk suddenly stood next to you. As if materialised from the same acrid engine smoke that clings to his leathers.

Brown eyes deep enough to dive in. In this light, they are black as a cats. A smirk on his face that makes you shiver. Lips so plump and beautiful it made you think of kisses - plump lips slick with too much spit and wet tongues. He had lips that looked like paradise - the likes you’ve seen only in seedy pornos. However. Trouble virtually hummed through him like a live wire. Get too close risk getting your fingers singed, girl. Burnt ozone.

“Looking like a lost little baby bird. All alone out your nest.” He comments as you frown at him.

“I’m not on my own. I’m with someone.”You tell him. Steely ire woven to your words like chain mail. Back off creep.

“Lucky someone.” He shoots back. All panther smooth. Packed with flirt. Eyes roaming down to your legs and back up again. He can smell that pretty boys cologne and sweat he’d rubbed all over you. The stink of some prissy designer cologne. That won’t do at all.

“Can’t convince you to ditch them can I? Baby.” He smirks. Prowling around you.

“I got a bike. We could take a little drive up the beach a ways down west. Past the bluff. I know a cosy little spot. Get a campfire going.” He charms.

You feel the imperative need to keep your eyes on him. Untrusting.

He moves with such liquid fluidity not even the whirl of the carousel affects his gait. Walks with a cocksure pace like he owns the place. He’s done this before. Doubtless.

“No thanks.” You reply archly. You know trouble when it comes loping up to your side in eyeliner and jangling jewellery. Plain as the nose on your face.

Of course it doesn’t put him off one bit. It makes him dig his teeth in deeper. With glee. The challenge was the tastiest part of the chase.

He chuckles. “Only, I’m awful curious. Never seen you round here before. Now, I’d sure as shit remember a pretty face like yours.”

“I’m not a tourist. I live here.” You reply snippily. You live but two miles from here. With your dying houseplant for company and dead end job. Your only relative being your old blind great aunt, Rositsa.

“And I don’t remember wanting an annoying prick to come crashing my date, trying his luck and barking up the wrong tree entirely.” You snap back. A pretty little nasty smile on your lips. Sweet like cherries and cream.

“Breaking my heart over here, sugar.” He smiles. Undeterred.

You doubt he had one to break.

He was all smarm and swagger. Definitely sans heart.Probably had tried it on with any easy party girl who got drunk and made moony love eyes in his direction. He seems like he has some void inside. Something he tried to fill with stranger sex and drugs and trouble. And blood.

And it’s something he’ll never be able to satiate. Not with all the infinite time he’s literally got viced in his leather gloved hands.

So he daggers his way through these crowds. Chows down cheap boardwalk takeout from the golden dragon right out the cartoon. Sneaks into rides without paying. Pick pockets sunburnt tourists. Snorts lines of angel dust off filthy bathroom counters. Throws molly down his neck every night and washes it down with tequila shots. Endlessly abrasive to all authority and flirting with anything bearing a pulse. Dynamite pace predator life. Undisputed King of this neon arcade kingdom.

“Maybe I could bark up the right tree.” He seeks.

“My date will be back soon.” You say. In the hopes it shakes him off. Makes him get a clue.

“He seems to be taking his sweet ass time. Doesn’t he…. Maybe he got lost.” He decides. Voice all sing song and light.

Swaying in closer like you aren’t giving him ‘fuck off’ vibes. Eyeing daggers. How he so likes sharp things. Lust that feels like it could prick skin it’s so sharp. Theres smoke and something mysteriously copper on his breath.

“Maybe there’s a line.” You concede. Boredly done with this conversation. The carousel has to be coming to a stop soon. You want to get off this ride. It’s not fun anymore.

“Maybe he’s gotten distracted by something leggy and pretty…” He remarks with a raise of his brows. “No shortage of skirt round here.” He grins.

It feels like swallowing a boulder to admit to that. Nick was a flirt, sure. You guys weren’t exclusive. But that nasty shred of doubt made a home in your stomach. Birthed anxiety in your veins.

“Listen jerk, go play around with someone else, alright.” You snap. Eyes narrowed You pull your purse strap on your shoulder. You slip off your horse and come to stand. Ready to get off. Rides no fun anymore.

“Names Frances.” He supplies. “And uh, I’m good baby bird. Don’t have anywhere else I gotta be.”

“Lucky me.” You bite out. Tone all sharp poison.

Oh, he wanted to take you home right now and turn your goddamn bed into a crime scene - or the aftermath of a porno shoot. Maybe both if he’s feeling generous.

“Now, If you wouldn’t mind y’know….fucking off…” You make a move to pass him. You’re gonna go find Nick.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

You stand firm. Chest to chest. His arms make brackets against the poles. Closing you in. He tilts his head. The kink in his hair brushes against his collar. A ruinous little curl comes loping over his forehead.

“Come find me if you want a real date. Little bird. I’ll make good and sure that you won’t be able to walk afterwards.” He smirks.

Before reaching one half leather clad finger over to brush a curl of hair back over your bare shoulder. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. Serpent slither down your spine that claws at your heels. Flushed arsenic in your blood.

“I’ll make it hard for you to walk right now if you don’t get out my way.” You threaten.

He seemed mildly turned on by the idea. “Promise or a threat?” He checks.

“Move.” Comes bitten out your mouth. All low and venomous. He likes the shape of your lips when you’re angry. Lush. Angry. He likes your lipstick too. Love to taste that.

“I hang out by the arcade. Join me when you doubtlessly get bored of that sad sack boy.” He smiles as if it’s certain. As if he already has your agreement on the subject. Loitering in the nearest arcade shadow near you, ready.

“I’ll be waiting, Birdie.” He whispers filthily into your ear. Too close for comfort.

A zip of danger as you feel hot cigarette breath ghost over the tip of your ear. His chest front brushing yours. Zips and buckles and necklaces. Cold. Makes heart race like hypoxia. You feel drunk and stunned. Scary drunk. And stunned in a nasty stinging way - like you’ve been electrified and can’t move.

You actually feel your heart internally jolt when he puts his mouth to your cheek. Presses a kiss to your cheekbone that you feel sink into your bones like acid.

You jolt. The ride slows to a stop.

You blink back into reckoning, peering around. In amongst the bubbling crowds of teens getting off. Parting around your prone form like water around a rock as you lean on the horse for mercy. You can’t see him. He’s gone. In a snap of leather and seemingly, the blink of an eye. A puff of smoke. Like those old magicians in black and white movies - masking exit in a cloud of silvery sulphur.

You get off the ride and fight your way through the throngs to come out to the boardwalk. The endless ocean before you. Black as spades as the waves lash the shore. Music follows you as you walk along to the food stands.

You kept scanning the crowds. Hoping one face would resemble his. That he’d be walking back to you with that million dollar white smile, and a couple cups of lemonade in his hands. You keep searching.

Nothing.

You get to the food stalls. Spend a lot of time weaving around people, darting tourists and sugar high kids, and hoping to catch sight of him.

Your once buoyant heart begins to sink low in your chest. Clunking down each and every one of your ribs like a bowling ball. Crushing your lungs.

You hang around by the stands, leaning against the railing, feeling the balmy wind and sea air whip your hair around. You keep scanning. Hoping this nasty little voice in your head was wrong. That he’s just lost in the crowds, and he’ll catch up to you eventually.

It’s when the crowds begin to thin out, that the last remainders of your hope does too. Strangled to a silent suffocating death.

You check your watch. They’d be closing the boardwalk gates soon. The neon lights would dim. The only sound left soon will be the papery rattle of those missing flyers where they are pinned.

You walk briskly for your bus stop in heels that are starting to pinch. Your heart the same state as your feet - ragged and sore. You brush away tears with the back of your hand as they fall. You tell yourself it’s the salt in the sea air you can taste. That’s all.

You’d let hope make a home. More fool you.

Eyes, black as a cats, watch your back all the way from the building roof where he hides. Half cloaked in shadow. Lighting up again. Wiping drips of blood from the corner of his mouth.

He smeared his mouth on his leather jacket sleeve before putting the cigarette between his teeth. Chuckling as he pulled smoke in with crimson smeared teeth. Blood rush - singing with bliss and euphoria.

His poor lost baby bird. All on her own.

❤️ Tagging the JQ babes; lmk if you want removing or adding pls ❤️

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @sugarcoated-lame @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift t

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