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e1dritchjackal0pe · 2 months ago

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𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥

Summary: Tired of being trapped in the suffocation and monotony of your life, you make the hair triggered decision to abandon it all and escape to an eccentric town in California.

You never expected to get spirited away by a charming man one night on the boardwalk. But you should have known from the look in his eyes that he was nothing but bad luck.

Warnings: Fem bodied reader, fem pronouns. 18+ MDI. Oral (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, sex outdoors, mild gore (blood drinking). Reader is dodging red flags like it's a profession. Not proofread.

Notes: 14k words. I rewatched The Lost Boys a few nights ago and couldn't resist writing for one of my favorites.

Santa Carla is almost jarring to witness. Even in the day, when the mid sun is bright and blunt on the shifting scape of graffiti and grimy corners and sidewalks marred with old gum, it's unabashed in its abnormality. It's entirely unlike the hushed, quaint little streets of your hometown, with its lush lawns and the little elderly ladies in their Sunday best, speaking amongst each other in gossip that's quiet and passive aggressive. A complete one-eighty of the punks that skulk down these avenues with black smeared around their eyes and worn cigarettes dangling between their pierced lips while they lug old boom boxes over their shoulders, spitting out metal and rock and roll.

Just the sight of them would have been enough to send the old committee in your town into a conniption, banding together to drive the demonic filth from the city limits. But here, no one bats an eye to this sort of thing. It isn't shocking to the locals to see a man who's old enough to be your grandfather gliding down the pavement in hot pink booty shorts that are tight enough to show what he's packing.

Your own mother had nearly been sent into a spiral when she had heard about you wearing a crop top - she hadn't even seen you herself. Someone had snitched to her apparently. Your best bet is Audrey. She's always bored on her shifts at the market, sitting at her register with a glazed overlook in her eyes until she manages to find something worth blabbering about. You're sure she had all but flown over to the phone on her lunchbreak to snitch and warn your mother that she had spied you perusing over the ice cream freezers with your stomach shamelessly bared for the entire world to see.

It's pretty embarrassing to have your mother barrel her way into your kitchenette at the middle of 10 p.m. to scold you for "acting like a harlot."

But here it's normal. People are dressed in so many different styles. Sporting hair dyed from fried bleach blonde to bright neon green; decked out in leather, ripped jeans; women and men alike strolling around in tight swimwear that leaves little to the imagination with diamond bellybutton jewelry that glints in the sun. Tattoos on tanned skin and manicured nails with leopard print.

Your mind still hasn't caught up with it all yet. It's like you've stepped into a music video, or another world entirely. It's like the air is permanently charged. Electric and humming, pulsing like something alive. Fluttering in your stomach like a flock of nervous butterflies. But that's probably just the anxiety. You've dangled between pure excitement and tension for the past few days that you've been here. Forcefully fixed there by the stubborn ball of apprehension that's tucked itself behind your sternum like a heavy rock. It's almost makes you nauseous. So caught up in your nerves to truly let go and enjoy the moment. To revel in the reality that you've finally escaped. That you've finally managed to wrangle yourself free of shitty little town in the middle of nowhere and have run off to a place where no one will notice you. Where you can blend into the masses and disappear without the worry of judgement.

It's just not that easy though. It never is. There's guilt behind your panic. The dread that you've just abandoned her. Left her without little more than a letter tapped to her front door before you shoved most of your belongings into a couple of suitcases, took up all of the money you've saved up over the past three summers and vanished in the early morning without a trace.

It was dumb maybe. But you prefer desperate. You had to get out. You had to do it while you still had a chance, while you're still young and hopeful. Before Gallatan could eat you up of all your worth and turn you into one of those judgmental ladies perched out in front of one of its buildings with a mean scowl on your face. You had to do something before you lost sight of yourself or became the woman your mother wanted you to be. All barefoot and pregnant with another baby on your hip while your husband - probably Oliver Palmer if she could have a say so - was busy at work.

The idea to run had snuck into your head, all forbidden and frenzied. You had shunned it for as long as you could, ignoring it while you droned away at your job, pouring the same grouchy bastards' hot coffees and running the same sunny side up eggs and suspiciously damp pancakes in trade for measly tips. And then one day, for no particular reason at all, it had all just become too much. Too stagnant. Too gray. You had to go before you'd suffocate, and that's how you found yourself cruising down the highway with the window rolled down to let the crisp air in, still damp and fresh with morning dew.

You couldn't look back now. You wouldn't. Still, that wouldn't keep the guilt from biting at you. From nipping at your heart, a little bit at a time. It stung. It twisted in your chest like a knife, your selfishness. But you'd been selfless your entire life. Dating the man she had wanted you to date, taking the ballet classes that she had wanted you to take, wearing your hair up the way she wanted. For once you were going to put yourself first, even if it was a tad foolish.

Your newfound liberation didn't banish the anxiety away completely though. The first night here once the high had finally worn off, you had been forced to face reality. And the unfamiliar walls of the dingy hotel didn't help, with its shabby wallpaper and linens that smelt faintly of generic detergent and cigarette smoke. It was alien. Unnatural almost, the chirp of crickets traded in for the rhythmic thumping of music pouring out from the bar across the street. You had stayed inside, hidden away by the locked door, trying desperately to tune out the noise of your own scattered thoughts with the audio of the TV. Using the soft, watery light that spilled out from the screen as a nightlight to try and ward off the confusion and unease in the pit of your gut.

Your sleep had been difficult. Spent tossing and turning on the mattress, its springs creaking lightly with each shift as you tried in vain to ignore your own guilt. Helplessly fighting off the images of your mother pacing about her living room, wearing a pathway into the blush-colored carpet, nipping at the edges of her polished nails with tears in her eyes. The urge to reach over for the landline on the nightstand had nudged at you so insistently that you had to unplug it to keep from dialing her number. You knew that if she answered, if you heard the sound of her voice drifting out in that worried, angry stream that you'd be unable to keep yourself from packing yourself into your car and driving all those miles back to Gallatan.

The morning after you had been unable to resist the allure of the call from outside. Like a slave to your impulses, you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the magnetism of it all. It's as though the scent of the sea had coiled around your throat, salt and wind taking ahold of you to usher you into the wonder of it all. You had spent the entire day exploring all of the shops that Santa Carla had to offer. Everything from quaint little outlets full of sage sticks and minerals that claimed feats such as granting fortune or banishing negativity, to music shops, and boutiques with lingerie and toys that you'd only ever seen in Playgirl magazines and cheesy sex tapes hidden in the back of your town's video store.

It was a wonder in every corner. Everything in the imagination placed to draw your attention. To lure you in. And it had succeeded, stringing you along. Like a moth drawn to dazzling lights you had let it take you. Santa Carla is always a spectacle, but at night is when it truly comes alive, and the boardwalk is the pentacle. It's as though the entire town is lit up in a thousand individual pyres, burning and flickering, a kaleidoscope of neon and thrills.

It sounds dramatic, but your first night on the boardwalk had nearly left you breathless. It was a place that's likeness you've witnessed in movies, or maybe the pathetic little county fair Gallatan throws each year. But the tiny kiosk of buttered corn-on-the-cobs and the pony rides are nothing in comparison.

You had felt like a kid in a candy store despite your initial apprehension. Once you had seen it in all of its glory, wooden pathways swarming with chaotic masses, and carnival games and seedy stores adorned along the streets; sugar and salt and the musk of weed tainting the air in a distinct brand all cultivate to create a unique kind of charm, you had been unable resist.

Like thousands before you, you had fallen for Santa Carla, like a mouse falling into a vat of honey.

And it doesn't take you long for you to give in a splurge a little, ignoring your limited funds in favor of spoiling yourself. It's only something small, like finally trading out the pair of corduroy pants that you'd worn for years in favor of a couple skirts. Your favorite is lightyears away from anything you would have been able to wear before. Tight, dark, buttery leather that molds smoothly to your hips. Just low enough that you don't feel exposed but still skimming up past your knees. It's beyond any of the clothes that you had allowed yourself to purchase, but it feels nice to wear. Even though you still find yourself subconsciously tugging the hem down every once in a while, there's something undeniable freeing about wearing it. Like some kind of middle finger to all of the people who had kept you stunted and trapped. And as a final fuck you, you had immediately tossed your old pants in one of the trashcans settled outside the shop.

You've been out here every night since, basking in the energy and the buzz that prickles over the boardwalk. A sort of treat for yourself after spending all of the hours in the day job searching, walking into all of the vintage themed diners and hole-in-the-wall thrift shops to turn in your applications. You don't have a long-term plan as of now. If you're planning on staying here. If that's even a possibility for you. But it'd be nice to have some extra cash while you try and figure that out. Something to keep you afloat while you try to course your future.

Tonight is just as charged as last night. Shifting and alive with the bodies of tourists and locals alike, all looking for entertainment. You wander aimlessly, people-watching as you go, admiring the different kinds of groups as they all meander around in search of excitement. Children clutching onto the stuffies that their parents have won at carnival games; a gaggle of girls laughing happily as they cling onto each other as they navigate through the crowd; a couple walked by you in a rush earlier, the boyfriend spilling out what sounded like desperate apologies that were going completely unheard.

Despite the speed of everything else around you, you're content to take your time, strolling around while you idlily drink your soda from the cherry-colored straw. You aren't in any particular rush to get anywhere. The dusk is still visible, occasionally peeking past the buildings and the horizon above the sea, all thin and dusty in a rich blue. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, at least for now. You have no desire to go and hold yourself up in your dingy hotel room, clicking through basic cable to try and find something worth watching while you hopelessly chew through another cheap delivery pizza.

The excitement is contagious out here, and you're in the mood to indulge. You let your feet carry into a record shop, a quick glance at the magenta neon sign above declaring it as one of the many music shops displayed along the boardwalk. The cashier posted behind the front desk shoots you a lazy nod before quickly returning to the porn mag boldly held in his hands. You grimace when you see it, but it doesn't keep you from drifting further into the dimly lit depths of the store, glancing over the many aisles of records as you go.

You've burnt yourself through most of your music, playing them ceaselessly in favor to listening to spotty radio stations that turned to static whenever you drove through mountains. If you hear another song off of Like a Virgin you might actually lose your mind.

It takes you a moment of searching the place before you find the cassette tapes, most of them organized in the back of the shop in shelves secured to the walls. The variety is a little overwhelming and the flimsy laminated signs taped above the racks did little to help. Either people have just been shoving tapes back wherever they fit, or the employees have been doing a lousy job of organizing the shelves, because despite claiming to be arranged by genre, you've found Metallica mixed in with Duran Duran, and Def Leopard and Anthrax placed with Prince.

It doesn't bother you much though, and you keep searching over the massive collection of music, stepping around other customers and squinting through the dim golden lighting to read the album names properly. You barely notice it at first. A light brush along the back of your neck. A pressure that prickles and skips down your spine. It's so soft that you almost mistaken it for the press of your shirt nudging at your back, but it feels different.

Like the weight of a stare. Warm and insistent. It has buried animal instincts welling up to the surface. It's kneejerk when you sweep a searching glance over the few people dotted around the shop, skipping over faces that don't meet your stare. They're all caught up in their own personal bubbles to notice your discomfort.

Somehow, it only makes you feel more on edge. Viewed by a potential danger that you can't see. You don't know why it makes your breath snag, but it does. Someone is watching you. But no matter where you look, you can't find them. It has your mouth running dry, even while you assure yourself that it's nothing, nervously tapping at the straw in your soda to distract yourself. Something electric is trembling down your spine, magnetic and alien. It grips ahold of your neck, looping around your throat like static fingers, catching you on a string to tug you around on your feet. Your focus shifts somewhat frantically, with the hope to reassure yourself that no one might be sneaking glances at you, and then, your stare is suddenly moving all on its own. When you notice him and you have to wonder how you missed him in the first place.

He's standing off on the other side of the store, separated by rows of music. You notice his fingers calmly flipping through vinyl's, the silver rings banding his fingers winking softly in the red neon spilling out from behind him. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they continue in their sweep up to admire more of him. He looks like a rockstar. Like he had leapt out from an album cover, with fluffy long blond hair. It's messy, spilled out like a lion's mane, wild tips glinting in shades of gold and the cherry red that's projected from the neon.

The first thought you have is dumbstruck and a little captivated: He's gorgeous. He looks like the type of guy that would be spotted making out with models at some exclusive Hollywood club, not here in some dingy shop with a blow-up doll and random movie posters taped to the ceiling.

His eyes shift up then, sudden and unwavering as they land directly on you. It's shocking as they pin you down, prompting a tight gasp from your lungs. His stare is firm but playful, shooting through your body like an electric current. You turn back around like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, latching you attention back onto the cassette tapes like they're some sort of lifeline all while your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

You didn't miss the amused smirk that had nudged at his lips before you looked away. Almost as though he was expecting you to have been admiring him, all cocky. Self-assured. The hazy air seems too thick now, the ting of cigarette smoke stinging at your lungs is all acrid and heavy. You could choke on it, but you're determined to remain in place. You keep still, secure in your spot as you search the disorganized tapes. Seeing but not really noticing them anymore, the letters and titles all melting into nonsense as you tap at the sweating paper cup clutched in your palm with your fingertips.

You don't know why you feel so nervous. You haven't been like this since your first crush on Christian Bakely. It's bashful. Almost timid like a juvenile, fickle attraction that you have when you're young. It makes you want to scold yourself for developing some sort of superficial, puppy love for the first hot guy you've seen since you've left home.

You will yourself to move down the aisle a little more, going slowly to at least try to appear unbothered while you've become horrendously aware of yourself. A part of you entertains the idea of leaving. There are a million other stores just like this posted along the edges of the boardwalk, but you're quick to squash down your unease. You aren't going to run out over something so stupid. He's probably already forgotten your blatant staring anyway, traded in his amusement in favor of flipping through records and forgot that you even exist.

You try to do the same.

Your attention perks up when you notice a tape that gets your focus and you're quick to pluck it free from its place wedged between the rest. You listen to the song pumping softly from the overhead speakers, falling back into the gentle lull of it all. The delicate hum of the crowd shifting just outside, the chill of the hard plastic casing in your palm, the sweet syrup of the soda on your tongue as you take another sip. It's gentle. Calm in a way that isn't curated.

"Nice choice."

The voice drifts from over your shoulder, but before you fully register it, you're already jumping. You think your heart skips when you do, fluttering briefly as you jolt on your feet.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss through your teeth. You can't hide the glare on your face when you turn to look at the figure standing beside you, but your mind just about falls silent when you realize that it's the pretty blonde that you had been gawking at.

"Shit. Sorry, that was my fault." He holds one of his hands up in a placating gesture, like you're some cornered animal that might startle otherwise. Except he doesn't look all the apologetic. He's smirking, almost like he's pleased. Eyes all bright with mirth like you've done something funny. "Didn't mean to make you jump."

You don't believe him.

"It's fine." You offer a weak smile, torn from your nerves which are frayed between adrenaline and the warm flutter in your chest. Somehow, he's even prettier up close. His features are sharp with a strong, a straight nose that connects to high, pronounced cheekbones like you've seen on old statues. His lips are plump. Rosy and pink. But it's his eyes that really get you, glittering faintly under the light in a blue that's too soft for the mischief lurking around the edges. It takes you a moment to remember what he had initially said, and you have to all but wrangle the delicate thank you out from your throat. All while you know that there's no way in hell that someone like him is listening to Cindi Lauper in his free time.

He doesn't look like any of the men from your hometown. Most of them were just as clean cut and blue-collar as the rest, with worn steel toed boots and baseball caps smeared with grime and sweat. They were handsome in the well-mannered, country kind of way. Hats off at the dinner table sort of guys, even though more than half of them have wound up drunk and lost in someone else's field more than once. But this guy was the type that you've been a victim to fantasizing about more than once. Helpless daydreams about unobtainable rockers.

You can smell his cologne with how close he's placed himself next you, rich and masculine and heavy with something that smells earthy. Damp like dark soil. It has your mouth going dry. It you want to lean in towards him to draw more of it into your lungs, but thankfully you snap out of it before you could actually act on the urge. It makes you horrendously aware of the face that you're staring at him again.

You snap out of your daze, casting your attention back over the shelves to keep yourself from shamelessly ogling him any more than you already have. God, you're like some lovestruck middle schooler all of a sudden.

"You're not from around here, are you?" He remains at your side, nearly brushing his arm with yours while he briefly pulls a tape from its shelf before poking it back in. Something tells you that he's pretending to inspect them just as much as you are now.

"What gave it away?" You dare to shoot him a glance. The tension that had turned your muscles taught finally beginning to thaw.

"Nothing," he shrugs. Then he's shooting you another lopsided grin. " I'd just figure that I'd remember seeing a babe like you walking around."

It's undeniably corny, but there's something in the way that he delivers it, the way that he carries himself that sells its charm. You find a weak laugh bubbling from your chest, still nervous but also reluctantly content. You shift down the aisle a few feet and like a brand-new shadow he follows.

"I bet you say that to all the tourists that come through here." You draw another sip from your drink, and you're a little disgruntled to find that it's almost empty.

"I may have used it once or twice," he admits. There's no hesitation when he says it, still displaying as much ease and bravado as he has been.

"And has it ever actually worked for you?"

"I'd like to say that I'll be successful for a second time, but I guess we'll see how tonight goes."

The look you give him is playfully unimpressed, openly toying with him in a way that seems oddly natural. All of that pervious uncertainty shifting and melting down into something new but fluid. His eyebrows perk up in mock disbelief, an arm raising to flatten a palm to his chest as though he's shocked by your answer.

"Damn, shot down already."

"Afraid so." You mirror his shrug from earlier before slipping around the corner made by the edge of a rack, continuing in your search. It feels a little like a chase as he trails after you, all lazy in his pace but no less motivated to keep you in his sight.

"So what brought you to Santa Carla?" he asks from behind.

"Kind of just passing through, I guess. Needed a break, you know."

He nods like he might understand. "Well you lucked out coming here. There's always something going on; parties, drugs." He pauses for a minute. When his voice dips out its right up against your ear, coiling low and dark to tremble down your spine. "Murder."

You spin around to face him then, a gasp snagging in your throat. But when you see him, he isn't close behind you at all but a few feet off. He almost seems delighted to have your focus back on him. Confusion nestles in the back of your mind. You could have sworn that he was directly behind you. That you had felt the subtle weight of his chest on your back, the brush of his breath on the nape of your neck, but he would have had to have leapt back to be standing as far away from you as he is now.

Odd.

You clear your throat, trying to collect yourself as you latch back onto the memory of his voice. "Wai- Murder?"

"Oh yeah, people die here all the time." It's almost bored how he says it, like his discussing some monotonous fact and not tragedies. "It's like a nightly thing."

You wait for some kind of a punchline. Or some reassurances that he's only joking but it doesn't come. He must pick up that you're expecting some kind of explanation, but he must find it funny because that smile is back, just hinting at the corners of his mouth.

"Murder capital." His eyes get a little big when he speaks, somehow entirely serious and teasing all at once. "There's been talk for years about anything from a reclusive serial killer hiding away in the hills to a black market, or maybe devil worshippers."

Figures that in an attempt to escape from your old life that you'd manage to flee to a place where killings are apparently "a nightly thing." An extreme exaggeration you hope. You can practically imagine your mother laughing at you, all snark as she revels in your less than stellar luck. Like some kind of joke from the universe. But now that you think of it, this town would be a prime place for a black market or a cult or whatever. With the massive influx of visitors that rush through here in the summer, it must be easy to snatch people up off the streets without too many noticing.

He laughs at your troubled expression. The silver-plated belt that he fashioned to the shoulder of his coat chimes softly as he shifts himself into your space with a grin, flashing teeth that look sharp. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

You still haven't entirely adjusted to his blatant flirting. Sure, you've encountered your fair share of horn dogs at your past job. Men who would leave their phone numbers on their checks or shamelessly stare at your tits and ass while ordering. Still, you never had someone approach you out in the open like this, apart from maybe at the bar when egos are high and liquored up.

But he's clearly confident. Dripping with a roguish charm that's magnetic. You could almost call it intoxicating, the energy around him is palpable. The way he moves is rushed and light, like a puppy that's too hyper.

"I think I'll manage on my own." But there's no snark in it. It's friendly. A warmth that he shares as you both exchange smiles. You pluck another cassette from its shelving, one you'd been eyeing during the conversation, but you can't manage to pry your attention entirely from him. "I mean, I don't even know your name. You could be a murderer or some cultist creeping around for his next sacrifice."

"You found me out," he teases. Eyes shimmering and blue, all mischief. "There go my plans for the night."

"Sorry about your luck."

He shakes his head. "Nah, it's good. Besides, I think you might be too cute to cut up."

"Oh, well thank you so much," you gush in a mimic of appreciation.

"Of course," he jokes easily. He's holding a hand out then, his voice just a little bit more authentic as he waits for you to take it. "The name's Paul."

You have to tuck your empty cup in the crook of your other arm to accept it. When you do it nearly shocks you how chilled his skin is. His fingers are cold, palm smooth and almost icy against the warmth of your own, but you don't pay it too much mind. Instead you give him your name, speaking it softly through a light smile. He repeats it under his breath, and you try to ignore the pleasant ripple of heat that runs through your body at the sound of it. How he cradles it on the tip of his tongue like he's testing it out and found that it tastes sweet.

"So, are you still looking for some excitement?"

You fall silent, eyeing him a little suspiciously. "It depends. What did you have in mind?"

The grin that spreads across his face is much more puckish. Much more so than the ones before it. There's almost something dangerous there. A darker edge to his stare like you've lit a fire in him somehow. He nods down to the tapes clutched in your hand, and before you can realize it, he's taking them in his own.

"These are the only ones you want?" he asks, backing away from you. It leaves you confused, watching him with your words lost in your throat.

"Uh, yeah?"

He hops back on his feet like an excited kid, jerking his chin like he wants you to follow him as he continues to walk backwards in the direction of the register. He doesn't pause for you to catch up, suddenly twisting on the heels of his boots. He acknowledges the cashier as he draws closer to the direction of the counter, but his lips have drawn up tight like he's repressing a laugh. Like he's in on a joke that you aren't.

You feel like you're being guided by an invisible string as you urge yourself into a hesitant walk, squinting at him through a bewildered stare as you quicken your pace to keep up. But he doesn't switch gears to approach the register at all, instead he's making straight for the front door of the shop. The employee must come to the same conclusion as you do, because suddenly he's dropping his magazine to stand up from his chair with a jerk. A loud shout already raising up high to demand Paul to stop.

Paul only tosses you a look over his shoulder, glancing back at you like he's confirming that you're still trailing after him, and when he sees you, he flashes an impish thousand-watt smile.

"C'mon! We gotta make a run for it."

And then he's bolting. Lurching towards the door with quickness of a high-strung dog let off its chain. A part of your brain stalls, and for a moment your body follows suit, freezing still for less than a split second but it feels like an hour as your mind splits down the middle between two decisions. The clerk is screaming, clammy skin flushed red with anger as he attempts to climb over the front counter like he means to body slam Paul in a tackle. But he's already shoving the glass door open, the bell above sounding his quick leave in a metallic cry.

You should stay back. Keep far away from the random stranger that picked you out in the middle of a random store and is attempting to shop lift your cassette tapes, but before you can properly decide, your body is already in motion. You can hear your feet thumping across the carpet as you rush over to the door that's beginning to slip closed.

"Oh, you fuckers!" The clerk yells so loudly that you're sure he's probably spitting. There's a violent clatter as the tray of lighters that were beside the register make contact with the ground in a messy thump. It has all the impact of a gunshot, and it's all it takes for your system to flood with a burst of adrenaline. You slip through the door before it can close in on you, escaping out into the chaos of the night like a bullet.

Paul grips your arm once you're out, using it as leverage to guide and pull you through the oblivious crowd. He's cackling and howling into the air like a madman, practically skipping as he tugs you forward. You think that you might be laughing too, but it's hard to tell through the blur of it all. The world around you is a rush of colors, lights and sounds. Someone thumps against your shoulder as Paul ushers you through the sea of bodies, but his grip is firm, fixed tightly around your wrist like a cuff.

The voice of reason chants in your head for you to jerk yourself from his hold. To vanish into the cover of the crowd and pretend that tonight never happened. But you don't do that. Against all common sense you allow yourself to be spirited away by some giggling maniac with a pretty face.

His eyes are wild as he looks back over at you, the reflection from the lights of the nearby amusement park rides glinting bright in them. Everything about him might be a red flag, but like a fool you find yourself chasing after him. Running towards the rush; the excitement sparking under your skin and turning your blood white hot. He lifts the cassette's up, still secure in his hand as he waves them in the air like trophies.

You aren't sure how long you two keep running for, but eventually you both slow to walk. The even pace allowing you to catch your breath as he guides you to a set of motorcycles that have been parked along the edge of the boardwalk, the back wheels nearly pressed up against the wooden railing. He releases your arm only so he's able to circle around the one at the end of the line with red rims.

He holds your stare as he swings a leg over to mount the seat, making himself comfortable on the bike. Only then does he hand you the cassette tapes back, and you take them with shaky fingers. A product of the adrenaline that still thrums through your limbs like an electric current. You make sure to tuck the tapes safely in your jacket pocket. It seems dangerous to accept them. It feels good too.

"You know, if you were trying to impress me, you didn't have to all that."

"No?" his eyebrows perk up. "I wish you would have told me sooner then, babe."

"Oh, so it's my fault then."

"Nah. I steal shit all the time."

You can't help but to scoff. Still, there's a bit of a genuine laugh in there too. He hums lowly, leaning forward to hang his wrists over the support of the bike's handlebars, spreading his thighs to get comfortable. You almost hate how pretty he is. It isn't normal. There are bonfires burning on the beach down below. The pyres reaching high enough that the light casted by the fire spills over his hair like sunlight, gold and amber and red. He almost seems otherworldly. Like a spirit that's been raised to tempt you. To lead you astray. God, you think you could let him.

"The question still stands." He tilts his head, watching you expectantly. "Still lookin' for a thrill?"

Time pauses again, churning down into a placid stream. This is another moment when you should say no. And it's right there, held just at the base of your throat. A small puff of air and the word slip out, materialize out on the warm summer air with a punch of finality. That's all it would take to cut this night short. To put a cap on all of it, bottling it all up so you could let it collect dust and become a distant memory.

The voice of reason, bearing a striking resemblance to the sound of your mother's, echos in your head. Chanting from the sidelines for you to back away from him before he drags you down into a pit of trouble that you can't crawl out of. But when has doing anything she's wanted you to do gotten you anywhere?

"Yeah, I think I am." That's your answer.

"What are you waiting for?"

He scoots himself forward, straightening his posture a little and slipping his hands around the handlebars. It's a clear enough invite, and you don't let the air around you both stagnate. You grimace a little when you drop your empty soda cup on the ground, leaving it to drop while you move to lift an arm up to grip onto his shoulder. Using it for stability as you swing your leg over the seat of the motorcycle. He doesn't waste any time starting it, kickstarting it before you've even sat down on the seat.

You try to be mindful of your skirt as you lower yourself down onto the leather cushion. Tugging it down as low as it'll sit while scrunched up around your spread thighs.

The bike is loud. It's engine purring in a great roar, metallic and sharp in your ears. It thrums under your legs, almost like a living, breathing thing. Pulsing as the engine hums and spits. You're quick to slip your arms around his waist, ignoring the stubborn layer of hesitation lurking underneath the exhilaration of it all. You cling on to him, shamelessly tucking your chin over his shoulder as you drape yourself over his back. He doesn't seem to mind, passing you a joyful glance, turning his head just enough that his nose almost brushes over yours.

"Don't be shy now. Better hold on tight."

That's the warning you get before he revs the engine, sending the bike into a jarring lurch. You yelp when the bike blazes off like a rocket, squeezing your hold around his middle tighter to keep yourself from blowing off the seat as he swerves it down another strip of the boardwalk.

He's laughing again. Sounding like a madman as he suddenly directs the motorcycle to the left, smoothly jerking the front wheel to dip it into a turn. Your heart falls down to your ass when a descending staircase drops down in front of the bike. It seems as sudden and daunting as a cliff, but you don't have time to shout. Your cry stays lodged in your lungs, and you only have enough time to tuck your head into the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his hair just as the bike speeds down the steps in a quick glide. The bumps are just barely felt by the speed that he's gunned the motorcycle into, but it doesn't stop your stomach from flipping.

He might be laughing, but it's difficult to tell if the vibrations rattling his ribcage are from the engine or not. But based off of what little you know of him; you wouldn't put it past him in finding your panic funny.

The tires meet the loose sand with a brief drag, spinning for a fleeting second as the bike darts off like a bat out of hell. Once you can feel the solid ground rushing beneath you, you're able to get yourself to lift your head up from the safety of his neck, peeling your eyes open to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings.

You see the bonfires first. Burning and twisting in the night like glowing spires, flickering in molten amber towers that reach at the sky. People are scattered around them, some holding beer bottles while they dance. You can't hear it over the howl of the wind in your ears but you're sure that they're all laughing. All barely holding in their mirth as they cavort around the fires. And you can smell the smoke in the air, spicy and pungent, melding with the salt of the beach.

It all passes by in a blur, the ocean little more than a pale, twisting smear. Foam tumbling over sand. But the rest of the water - what lies beyond the waves, is a vast black. Stretching out farther than your eyes can perceive. You only get hints of it in the traces of moonlight crossing over the water like silver lace.

The nervousness coiling in your gut finally begins to unwind, and the tight grip of your arms around his ribs follows, slackening just enough for you to slip your hands up to his chest instead, letting you sit up just a little straighter. It makes you extremely aware of how scant the tight fishnet shirt he's wearing truly is. You can feel his skin from between the mesh netting, trepid and soft on your palms. Your fingers flex, the urge to remove your hands bolting up as though you've touched something hot, but somehow you find yourself hesitating. You don't remove them. And he doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. Weaving the bike through the bonfires scattered around the beach and coasting it just a little too close to the people walking and dancing around on the sand.

He just narrowly misses running over a few of them. Calling out an unworried, "Get out of the way!" when he nearly clips a guy in the shoulder and sends him diving on the ground to avoid being struck. The man's angry shouting trails after you both, a dim, warbling sound that's quick to die over the wind and heavy rumble of the motorcycle. But Paul's laughter almost sounds louder than all of it. Pitching high over the balmy night air like the cackle of a coyote out on a hunt.

You feel a little guilty, but you can't keep yourself from answering with a similar laugh, all light and airy. Welling up from your chest with an ease that makes you feel alive. It's like you've shed a skin, almost. It's easy to pretend that you're flying. It feels like you are, with the wind pulling at your clothes, nudging at the shape of your face like the sweep of prodding fingers. You can't really remember a time when you've felt so far above the world, miles from your worries and insecurities, soaring past the anxieties that keep you awake at night.

You twist back a little to look over your shoulder, emboldened by the rush in your veins to watch as the man clumsily scrambles up from the ground, kicking up a spray of dirt as he lifts an arm in the air to flip you both off.

"Sorry!" you yell after him, but it doesn't keep you from smiling.

Eventually Paul veers off of the beach, cutting through a parking lot that he uses to merge onto a vacant street. The boardwalk grows smaller and smaller behind you, the lights of the rollercoaster and rotating Ferris wheel growing dim until it's hardly more than a few faint dots in the distance, just barely peeking out over the roofs of buildings. He shoots through downtown, blowing past a redlight without any care. He doesn't slow a single time, ignoring the speed limit like it's merely a suggestion. The way he drives is insane, and it makes you wonder if he has a license at all. Probably not.

Uncertainty unfurls when the houses making up the edges of town grow sparse, thinning out until you only pass a few odd little homes bordering the edges of the backroad he's taken you on. You ignore it when he turns his bike, veering off the worn asphalt and onto a dirt path. It looks well-traveled enough, thankfully. The headlight on his motorcycle spilling over the beaten dirt, highlighting the prints left by a vehicle's tread that seems fairly recent.

Apprehension prickles at the nape of your neck, that old instinctual feeling again. It weighs a little in your gut like a physical thing. Your brush it off, telling yourself that you're only being paranoid. But a pair of animal eyes peek out from the field growing on the side of the road, glimmering in the passing headlight like a couple of coins; it seems like a bad omen.

You keep your voice trapped in your mouth, letting your concerns fall silent as he guides the bike up an incline, driving it up a path where tree branches stretch out like reaching fingers. It's like you've been holding your breath, keeping yourself suffocated as the motorcycle eats up the ground, powering up the hill until it levels out into something flat. You see immediately why he brought you here.

From this high up, you can see it all. The entirety of Santa Carla is laid like stars glimmering in the night. Streetlamps, porchlights, and the entire boardwalk flickering in the distance in shimmers of gold and silver. It looks so small from this perspective. Like the little model towns that your grandfather used to make in his basement. Like you could walk right up to it and place a building in your palm. It's a stunning view. One that makes you wish you were able to take a picture of for safe keeping.

You've hardly noticed that he's parked the bike, stopped it close to the edge of the hill and killed the engine. But once you realize the silence it becomes heavy. But not necessarily in a way that's uncomfortable. It's a blanket draped over your shoulders, soft and inviting. You have to remind yourself to move, unmounting the bike to stand up on legs that have become weak from the heavy thrumming of the engine.

Paul's quick to follow, shifting up with an ease that you're a little jealous of. Your muscles feel like Jello. It makes you quick to walk over to the picnic table positioned out in the center of the barren lot, settling yourself up on the weathered wood to shake some feeling back into your legs. Paul is fast to follow, practically skipping over, jewelry jangling as he jumps himself up on the tabletop. He begins absentmindedly picking at the chipping old paint, tearing it from the notches that have been carved into the wood, defaced to immortalize the initials of lovers.

"What did you bring me all the way out here for?" you ask.

"This is one of the nicer spots in Santa Carla. Figured I'd show you."

"Oh, yeah?" you tilt your head, rotating a little in your perch on the bench. "What's the best?"

A smile pushes at the corners of his mouth. It's another one of those amused, secretive little looks. Like he's in on something. "Maybe I'll show ya some time."

"I'd like that," you agree. There's a small bout of silence then. You've gained the feeling back in your legs and it inspires you to sit up from the table, stretching out your limbs as you approach the rounded edge of the hill. A delicate breeze rolls up the slop, shuffling the leaves with a delicate hiss, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the hint of the ocean. It such a simple thing but it abates some that paranoia, loosening its talons, even if just a little bit.

The weight of the cassette tapes in your pocket press against your stomach. Nudging there like a reminder. It has you glancing back over your shoulder, and you see that he's already watching you. The way he holds himself is relaxed, but there's something intense reflecting in his gaze, burning and hot. It makes your heart skip a beat, body flushing with warmth. It could be the shadows, but you think his smile grows.

There's a flash of his teeth. "You'd have to stick around for that."

He doesn't wait for your response as he shoves off of the table, bounding from it with a jump that rattles the silver on his chest. It's like you're both magnetized to each other, unable to stray far now that you've crossed paths. A part of it is almost frightening. You've had crushes of course. A couple random fling before, and a relationship - as complicated and fleeting as it had been, but you can honestly say that you've never been so swept away by a guy. Never enough to that'd be willing to become an accomplice in theft; never enough that you'd get on the bike of stranger and let them carry you off to spot in the middle of nowhere. It's as though all of your common sense has been picked up and dumped out on the ocean tide. Even worse is that you really don't care.

Maybe you're just caught in the whirlwind of it all. Spun up by the excitement of finally being able to do things on your own terms without the worry of hundreds of people watching. Or maybe you're just addicted to the discovery; when you look at him, all of those concerns seem to melt away. Thinning and evaporating like snow in the summer sun. It's terrifying. It's thrilling.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

It's almost as though he takes it as a challenge, stepping into your space like it's where he belongs. His cologne sweeps back over you again, bold and muddled with the spice of tobacco. Combined with his proximity it makes you a little dizzy, fingertips prickling with warmth as he fixes you with a stare that seems the seize you, burrowing down like he's cradling some delicate, wild piece of your soul.

You just barely notice when his hand slips into your coat pocket to grasp the tapes tucked inside, like he's confirming that you still have them. He seems pleased when his fingertips slide over the hard plastic covers, as though it means something to him. His face hovers just a little above yours, noses nearly brushing. With the glow of the moon emitting from above, it makes it easy to see how his gaze flickers down to your lips. Like he's considering if he should try kissing you or not. You don't think you'd mind if he did.

"At least you'll have something to me remember me by," he muses softy.

"I haven't known you for very long but believe me when I say that there's a very slim chance of me forgetting you."

Emboldened by your response, he cocks his head, daring to lean forward just enough that you can feel the faint press of his lips on yours. Not kissing, but just enough to tease the possibility. It's a little pathetic how something so simple has heat licking through your veins. The line you're treading on feels dangerous. Like you're dangling on the edge of some unknown territory. And you are. But what makes it so particularly daunting is the uncertainty of where this might go.

Something about Paul is already addictive. Like a shot of liquor after a long week. You've always been the type to keep yourself from getting too attached, but he's like an adrenaline rush. It'd be so easy to get hung up on a guy like him, and the last thing you want to be is one of those women lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling while they fantasize about the one that could have been. Spending the remainder of their years living back in the memory of that one night in the past.

He's a temptation that you've never had to face before. Bursting into your life with all the subtly of a firecracker, abrupt, explosive and invigorating. You want to hold onto that. Grip it tight with greedy fingers and enjoy this - whatever this is - for all it's worth.

He speaks then, his voice has dipped into something low and hushed. Almost like a secret being exchanged, a promise being made. "I'm happy to hear it, but I like to be thorough."

You think he's the one who kisses you first, but you really can't be sure. It a little daunting, how it completely sweeps you up. There isn't any of that dramatic stuff, like explosions, or fireworks, but something about it just feels right. It already makes you breathless. Time stretching out and yawning, heat draping over your body like you've been dipped in warm honey.

The way he kisses you is starved. Passionate and fast like he's trying to have all of you at once. His teeth nip at your lips, a sting that he soothes with the tip of his tongue when you gasp. There's hardly any build up. He approaches it like he seemingly does everything else; just pure intensity as he reaches for you with eager hands that seem to be everywhere all at once. Squeezing at your hips, pressing down at the base of your spine to mold you close to him, and then he's cradling your jaw with chilled fingers.

You can't help moaning into his mouth, a quiet noise that's still definitely heard if the way he smiles into the kiss is any indication. You aren't bothered by his smugness though, only encouraged by it. You slip a hand over his stomach, feeling the lithe muscle under cool skin. It's cute when his abdomen twitches under your palm. He reprimands you by biting at your lip again, only enough for a slight sting, but you really think that it was only an excuse for him to dip his tongue into your mouth, letting you fully taste each other.

There's the subtle sugar of something sweet on his lips. Probably some kind of treat from back on the boardwalk. It mixes with the distinct rich pepper of tobacco, all warmth and cream on his tongue, but there's the edge of something almost metallic lurking beneath it all, almost as though he's been sucking on pennies. It isn't enough to be distracting, and you can't be bothered to pay it any mind as he turns you around without breaking the kiss to blindly back you up until your lower back nudges into the rough lip of the picnic table.

He practically mauls you once he has you pinned, consuming you with a hunger that's infectious. It has you tugging at his hair, clawing your nails through the thick of his soft waves, dragging them along his scalp and it rewards you with a throaty groan that has sparks shooting up your spine. He must enjoy it because he's breaking his mouth away from your and immediately latches it onto your throat. The scratch of his stubble as you arching into his body, your head lolling back to bare more of your throat which he quickly takes advantage of. His tongue laps out at your skin like he's drinking up the subtle salt there, sucking softly like he wants to brand you with the shape of his mouth.

The gasp that leaves you is wrangled when he wedges a thigh between your legs, bending his knee to press it flush against your cunt. Your grip on his hair squeezes tight. Holding on like it might help keep you grounded. Like it might keep you from float up to the heavens. The weight of his leg on you makes you cruelly aware of the wet patch that's dampened the center of your underwear. It's a little embarrassing, already being this worked up by a little making out, but he lights you on fire with a frustrating ease. It's unfair how he's already taking you apart piece by molten piece.

He licks up the base of your throat, sucking at the edge of your jaw before he speaks against your skin like he doesn't want to pull away. "Can I eat you out?"

You swear the question could have knocked you out. He says it casually, but his words are slurred. Almost like he's drunk. It's all moving so fast. Your head is spinning, and your heart is racing, chugging blood through the same artery that he traces with his tongue. It's hard to remember how you've gotten here, curled up in a stranger's arms while he grinds his thigh between your legs. This night has gone completely off the rails. Hurtled far past a simple night out to a haze of chaos and heat. It doesn't really make any sense to be here right now.

But when Paul manages to tear himself away from your neck to meet your stare something seems to fall into place. You don't think you'd want this night to have gone any other way.

There's a desperation glimmering in the blue of his eyes, bright and hungry. It has you contained in place. Swallowed up by the fervor in his expression, the gluttony in how he holds onto you.

At this point you don't think it needs to be said, but you find yourself nodding anyway. "Yeah - yes. Fuck, please."

He flashes you a grin before he's dropping down onto his knees without any fanfare. You decide to help him out a little, planting your hands onto the tabletop to heave yourself up on the surface, spreading your legs open to make room for him. It's brazen, the short length of your skirt scrunching and riding up high on your thighs, flashing the pale fabric of your underwear. His attention zeros in there immediately, stuck between your legs with an intensity that's almost concerning. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat. All splayed out. It's a compromising that almost has embarrassment creeping beneath it all, but there's a perverted brand of delight on his face, and it's mixed with a strange kind of sincerity that has that shame fizzling out.

He slips a hand up to cup the back of your knee, lifting it up to hook it over his shoulder so he can trail kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It's much slower than the starved bites and licks that he had given you earlier, the ones that you can still feel on your neck, aching dully from where he had sucked. It's like he's teasing you now. Too caught up in his own desire to indulge you yet and it feels like torture. Just the weight of his head parting your legs open, the brush of his wild hair against your skin has you flushing with heat.

Your hips rock on their own, rolling in an effort to seek out friction that isn't there. The press of your underwear on your cunt is like a taunt, applying a barely there pressure that has your lungs skipping with a silent gasp.

You don't expect the smack that he cracks down on the outside of your leg. It's more surprising than painful, but you jerk anyway, subconsciously trying to escape the smarting that fizzles across your nerves. The look that you shoot him is one of shock, but he doesn't look the least bit apologetic. Expression all smug as he presses his lips down on the crook where your leg joins your pelvis. Slipping his tongue out to lick at the tender skin there, running it along the seam of your underwear.

"Feelin' greedy?" he smirks up at you, looking so smug that it nearly irritates you. "There's no need to flip out babe, I'll give you what you want." He kisses you over your underwear, gripping both of your knees to spread you open wider, giving him the room to nose at your cunt from over the damp fabric. There's something so vulgar about the way that he mouths at you while you're still wearing panties, circling your clit with the point of his tongue before flattening it to suck through your underwear.

It makes your spine bow, fire and smoke blazing up your back and smoldering beneath your skin. There's a plea right there, just at the base of your throat but thankfully you don't have to voice it. He slips both of his hands under your underwear and tugs it down roughly, giving away his own impatience as he moves back just enough to be able to rip them down past the heels of your shoes.

You're pretty sure that he pockets them, bunching them up and stuffing them inside his coat. But you don't get a chance to scold him - not that you would if you were able - because he's dropping his mouth open to lick a stripe up your bare cunt, splitting you open on his tongue. It has your fingers flexing, dragging your nails over the edge of the wood in a wild claw to have something to keep you anchored. It doesn't do much though. Not the chipped, textured paint under your palms, not the faint chill of Paul's hands clamping down on your skin, it fades out into a meaningless blur. Distorted to the sidelines as your brain blocks everything out, banishing it all into a muted background noise as the sensation of his mouth commands all of your focus.

It's mindless how your body chases after its pleasure, your hips attempting to thrust under the unforgiving hold of Paul's hands to build the pressure coiling hotly in the base your abdomen. His grip is practically steel bands, vices around your skin to hold you open and immobilized while he torments you with the ceaseless drag and curl of his tongue.

"Paul, come on, please," you beg. Panting out into the sultry summer air. It's stupid how easily he's pulling noises from you. Tense, breathless moans that drift over the hilltop in a shameless stream. It almost makes you a little thankful that he drove you both out here in the private little lookout, far away from potential witnesses. Based on the joined initials etched and written into the wood, presumably with pocketknives and permanent markers, you'd wager that this is a popular date spot. A cute little place for couples to admire the town lights and take advantage of the privacy while they hookup. You definitely aren't the first person to be splayed out here on this table. A part of you wonders if you aren't the first person that he's brought out here.

You try to ignore the flickering of something stinging and unwelcome that lashes its way through your chest. It's obscure and startling, blinking in and out like a ghost, and you're quick to snuff it out. To turn it over and ignore it entirely. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that it felt suspiciously close to jealousy, but that's a route that you aren't going to dare to go down - a load of baggage that you have no desire to unpack. Not for a stranger, no less.

Your hand pries itself from the edge of the table to grip onto his hair, fingers slipping down through his roots to thread through in the way you think he likes. You're almost instantly gifted with a pleased groan and his tongue dips inside of you, lapping up your taste like he's starved for it.

You nearly sob when he pulls himself back from you, parting his lips from your cunt just enough to mumble out something; his voice slurs, thrumming against your clit as he speaks. "Don't worry about being rough, pull harder if you want." And then he's smothering himself back between your thighs. You do as he says, mostly out of reflex as he traces over you in tight circles that has your nerves running hot, your muscles burning as though you've been submerged in steaming water.

A finger prods at your cunt, running up just along his mouth to get it slick enough and then he's thrusting it inside without little warning, filling you up with a smooth stroke. You moan out raggedly when he suckles at your clit just as he crooks his finger, brushing it in deft swipes. Your grip locks on tight in his hair, digging in through long, golden strands while he practically turns you inside out. Your grasp has to be painful, but he doesn't seem affected by it in the slightest. His effort actually seems to double each time your fingers tug and claw, like he might like the sting.

You don't know why you enjoy the thought of that, but you do. Your hips jerk sharply at the idea of it. Of how he might react from your nails slashing down his back, leaving red cuts behind. Reminders of you on his body. How he'd sound while you bite bruises on his neck and shoulders; the bursts of red and plum placed where they would peek out from the worn collar of his shirt.

"Oh, my god - Paul."

You can already feel your orgasm rising up, winding up your body in an almost violent twist. It's eating at you rapidly. Climbing up at a rate that you can hardly track. You can feel yourself tensing; each individual muscle drawing up. Your lungs squeeze in your ribcage, rendering you breathless. You turn into a broken record, a stream of words and his name spilling out of your like a chant. It hits you like a freight train. Searing and rippling up your body in a splashing of stars that leaves you keening into the open air.

He doesn't part from you, coasting you through the remnants of your orgasm with the stroke of his fingers and tongue, sucking steadily at your clit until your thighs shake. You have to tug him away by the grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply to give yourself relief before the pleasure could become too much. He yields to you reluctantly, nipping pointed bites up the tender flesh of your legs as you drag him to stand.

You feel almost outside of yourself as you grip onto his shoulders, clutching onto his coat while he crawls himself over you, notching his hips against your own like he belongs there. You're still floaty from your orgasm, pleasure thrumming and hopping along your nerves in a pleasant buzz but somehow you still want more. It burns and burrows deep in the pit of your stomach, lighting a fire in your veins that you haven't felt in a long time. Not like this, at least.

His lips crash against yours in a meeting of teeth and tongue. It's almost animalistic, how you both reach for each other. His hands are all over you again, grabbing at everything he can like he's trying to commit the shape of your body to memory, like he wants to brand the warmth of your skin on his palms. And you're just as desperate. Your own slip down as a pair, reaching with trembling, frantic fingers for the buckle of his belt. You struggle blindly with it for a minute, fingertips slipping uselessly over the smooth metal from the way they tremble. You'd swear if your mouth wasn't occupied.

You can taste yourself on him, just subtly sweet and smearing on your own lips. It's dirty. Filthy, but it only makes it hotter; the very idea of breaking the kiss seems like torture, so when he huffs a laugh in your mouth and tries to pull away to help you with his belt, your other hand moves on its own to cradle the back of his skull. Keeping him pressed to your lips with an annoyed groan.

"Don't." You demand into the kiss, nipping lightly at his pout to draw him back in. He complies easily, but that doesn't stop him from laughing a little.

Finally, you manage to slip the leather free from buckle, tugging it loose from over the prong to pull it open. And then you're fumbling with the zipper, tracing over the metal teeth to find it, tugging it down like it's molten on your fingertips once you do. You're almost delirious with a single goal, slipping your hand down inside to feel him, and you don't hesitate to take him within your palm. He hisses lowly when you grip him, thrusting up in an uneven grind to chase after his own pleasure.

He pants into your mouth when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, smearing a drop of precum to aid in your glide and it makes the clutch of his fingers around your hips squeeze. Bordering close to almost painful, but the ache of it ebbs into an afterthought. He's thick in your hand, so hard that it has to be uncomfortable. You take pity on him, unable to string either of you out any longer than you already have and take him out of his pants.

He moves like a man possessed now, slipping of his hands down lower to hitch your thighs high around the trim length of his waist, and then he's reaching down between the thin gap of your bodies to bat you hand out of the way, taking ahold of himself. Gripping the base of his cock to slide it between your legs, grinding the head against your clit in teasing strokes. It makes you whine, the sensitivity from your orgasm lights over you like small bolts of electricity and yet you find yourself raising your hips to chase after the feeling.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" He scatters kisses along the corner of your mouth and the edge of your jaw, much too tender and saccharine for what this is. Cradling you like a lover would despite the ardor and desire saturating the air like the perfume of whisky. It makes a pathetic little piece of you melt, turning syrupy and pliant like a strip of wax held over an open flame.

You find yourself nodding, swallowing thickly as you try to find your worn voice again. "Yes - just stop teasing." You lock your legs tighter around him, drawing him in closer, aiding his cock in grinding over your pussy like it'd help urge him along, and luckily for you it seems to snap through the rest of his restraint. There's no warning as he guides himself down to your entrance and drives himself inside in a single stroke.

He punches the air free from your lungs as he buries himself to the hilt, the both of you groaning in relief through the stretch. He's so deep, holding you open around his girth, and you know that you're going to feel him for a few days after this. You hope that you do. You want this night to be vivid in your memory for as long as possible. You want it tattooed into your skin, stained behind your eyes like watercolors, sunk bone deep.

You can't remember the last time you've been able to exist beyond the pressures and judgement of the world. A thousand miles above prying eyes, confiscated within the hushed intimacy of your own bubble - except for the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone in it. It's a shard space, gone from quiet and lonely to fiery and scorching. Howling in the dark. You think it's too late. You really are going to be one of those women staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about that one perfect night from a decade ago. But right now, you really don't give a damn about that.

All of the thoughts rattling around in your brain are turning into mush, liquifying like hot sugar on stove. It's like you've been engulfed. Ate up by the wet bite of his mouth on your throat, the persistent weight of his hands clumsily tugging up at your shirt and bra to ruck it them over your breasts. He doesn't take his lips off of your neck once; it's like he's been captivated by the smooth stretch of skin, lapping the flat of his tongue over the column of it like he wants to stain the taste of you on his mouth. But it doesn't keep his hands from taking greedy handfuls of your breasts.

You gasp when his chilled fingertips squeeze around the shape of them, the frigid rings around his fingers force you to gasp and arch into his palms. He plucks at your nipples, circling around them in tight circles that has your voice pitching as he drives his cock into you. The way he fucks you is unrestrained but no less practiced, burying himself into you with calculated strokes that have you tearing at the seams.

You don't know if you've ever felt so full, so spread out in your entire life. Granted you aren't the most experienced person. A lot of your practice coming from an ex that frequently left you high and dry and a couple of flings you met from the bar. One of which wasn't the most satisfying affair considering that his roommate had burst in before things could really get good. But Paul has to be the first guy that's ever really taken your pleasure into any real regard. All the others were quick to get you off with a sense of obligation, as though your pleasure was transactional so they wouldn't feel too much guilt for using you to get themselves off afterwards.

He fucks you like he wants to. Like he's hellbent on making you cum as quickly as possible. Like he needs your pleasure to satisfy his own.

"You're so hot," he groans. His teeth clamp down on the muscle in your neck like he might tear flesh, inspiring a muted ache up your neck but he lets go before it becomes too violent. His voice is all gutted, like he's growing drunk on the bliss cutting though his body. "Fucking squeezing me."

He sounds just as wrecked, and it you can't help how your cunt clenches down tight around his cock, strangling another rough groan from the base of his chest. The small silver plates of the ornamental belt he has fixed to his coat dig into your exposed skin, pinching at your abdomen from how closely he pins your bodies together. It's like he's trying to join the two of you together, pressing into you until you live in the same body.

You tear uselessly at his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick material of his jacket so wildly that you think you'd probably be able to rip it. You pant into his hair as he laps at your jugular, breathing in the fresh, chemical fragrance of the hairspray that styles the soft gold in selfish gulps. All of it cumulates, tiny little elements stacking on top of the other until the ecstasy starts to raise again. Maybe it's just riding off the afterglow of the first orgasm, but somehow, this feels like it's going to be stronger. More devastating than the one that still hums under your skin.

You almost mourn that you're so close already, and a part of you tries to shun off the thick rapture building between your thighs entirely. You don't want this night to end yet. You aren't prepared for the awkward silence that will inevitably come next. You don't want to live through the silent ride back into town, where he'll drop you off at your ramshackle hotel room and presumably drive out of your life forever, leaving you to stand outside on the balcony outside your door while you listen to engine of his bike fade out and grow silent like a dying pulse.

But he seems bound and determined to have you reach your high. One of his hands strays down from your chest, sweeping low until his knuckles are dragging over your clit in firm figure eights. A moan shudders through you, your ribcage wracking from what almost sounds like a sob. He doesn't let up though, driving you directly towards a yawning precipice that promises to swallow you up whole, and you can't do much else but cling onto him like he's a buoy in a storm.

"Paul - I - "

"Let me feel it. You're so close, baby, just let go." He bites at the shape of your ear; voice low and rich as he fucks himself into you like he wants to watch you black out. "I want to feel you cum all over me. You can take it."

Like a slave to his voice your body draws up tight, muscles bunching up to strip you down of all you're worth. You kind of hate him for hurtling you towards the edge already, but you can't keep yourself from chasing after it. It's dirty, the cum between your thighs squelching lewdly each time he plunges into you, his skin meeting yours in damp smacks. And yet he cradles your cheek like you're something delicate, running the print of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone in a gentle brush. It's all a juxtaposition of the other, and it has you crumbling.

"You'll taste so good, just let go for me." The fires burn a little higher, white-hot and lashing, turned into an inferno that uses your bones as kindling. His teeth drag over your skin, sharp points gliding over flesh. You don't remember them feeling so lethal, like they could rip you open with a single touch, but it's hard to focus through the haze of it all. He bites deep and you swear that skin gives under the pressure, nerves lighting up light they've been doused in fire, parting like butter under a serrated knife, and the world erupts in a flurry of embers.

This must be what it's like to be struck by lightning, static curling your toes and fingers, cosmos bursting in your eyes. You think you might scream. A chorus of his name that sounds like a prayer and a plea for help all at once as rapture's injected directly into your veins. It's almost brutal as pleasure rolls its way through you, seizing you up and stripping you to piece like a burst of dynamite. Just like before he fucks you all the way through it, pumping himself deep inside until he shudders, cock twitching inside of your cunt as he spills over into his own orgasm.

It's almost abrupt how he drops you both back down onto the support of the table, leaning his body over yours like he's gone boneless. Crowding you in with his weight while he continues to grind himself against you without pulling out, drawing his pelvis on your overstimulated clit. You moan at the static searing through you, writhing under his body as he guides out your pleasure until it stings.

But you can't find the strength to stop him, staring past his shoulder and up at the sky while your thoughts spin and flatline. You feel like you're floating, admiring the way the stars above twinkle and shift in an iridescent sheen with a drunken kind of fascination. You've felt good after sex before, but you've never been reduced to a state like this. It's like you're no longer in your body, tethered to it only by a thin, pulsing string, almost giddy from the pleasure.

It's like you've been cocooned in warmth, something alcoholic tingling at your fingertips as he sucks and laps at your throat. Groaning softly while he cradles your skull, just barely thrusting himself into you like he doesn't want to stop. And despite how sensitive you've become; you don't think you want him too either. You're sense of time has gone all fuzzy, turned sluggish and pleasantly warm as you drift on your high, all loose limbed and heavy.

It could be seconds or hours before he finally parts his mouth from you, a hollow sting digging into your neck as canines slip free. It's strange. Far from the bites that he had scattered over your throat before. It feels deep. Like he'd broken skin and pierced deep. He still hasn't pulled his face from the crook of your neck, licking up your throat like it's layered in sugar. Your skin is warm. A starling sensation against the weird chill of his tongue. Damp and hot. For a moment you think that it might be his spit, but it's not cold enough for that, trickling lazily down your throat like a slow leak.

You're face pinches in confusion and will yourself to remove your arm from around his shoulder. An almost herculean task considering that your limbs have turned to lead from the dopey effects of your orgasm, but you force yourself to move. Years have passed by the time your fingers curl around your neck, dragging over your damp flesh to collect the liquid that's smearing over it.

You blink sluggishly when you raise your hand up over your face, trying to focus past the blur that smudges around the edges of your vision. For a moment you think that you're hallucinating it. That the dark liquid staining your fingertips, glittering in the dark, tinged red and running hot from your body heat isn't real. You're trapped as you stare at it dumbly, horribly transfixed by the thick of it dripping down the crook of a finger in a single rivulet.

You think your heart stops, a wild panic setting in as you scramble beneath him to try and slip free. But suddenly the comforting weight of him is now as unyielding as a snare. A cry locks in your throat, snagged behind the catch of your quivering lungs.

A hand catches your wrist as you struggle, silver jewelry winking in the dark like a warning, horrible talons sprouting from its fingertips. It paralyzes you in place, the ice pumping through your frantic heart, turning your lethargic limbs into heavy stone.

It's then that he chooses to lift his head from the vulnerable stretch of the throat that you had offered so foolishly, placing a kiss to the ache that you now know is bitten flesh. Your thoughts run into scattered cries, a litany of voices rattling around in your skull like taunts and yells. Shrieks that chant, told you so, over and over again in a bitter, acidic stream. And then you hear the echo of his voice.

It's like a nightly thing.

God, he had been toying with you this entire time.

You can't escape. Too weak to move. Too overcome with fear - drained and so wrung dry that the adrenaline singing throughout your system falls useless. Your bones tremble with a broken cry, tears tainting your waterline, but even that isn't enough to keep you from seeing him as he is now. The logical part of your brain scrambles to find reason, but there is none as flashes of burning amber pin you down - the eyes of an animal's, peering from a face that's gone bestial. Inhuman. A demon's face stretched over a human skull; jaw smeared with a rich red like a feral dog that's been feeding on a fresh corpse. The smile that you had once loved is now tainted. Ruined by the blood that soaks his mouth; lips peeled back into a grin. But that charm is ruined, stretching into something sadistic and sharp, violent teeth baring in the dark.

It's cruel when he guides the hand that he has caught within his own up to his mouth, easily bending your limb, overpowering you as though you aren't resisting him; made instead out of weakened clay and not muscle and bone. He snickers when you try to jerk your arm from his hold, like you're a mean kitten that he's picked up by the scruff.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart."

You don't believe him. And suddenly the conversation you had back in the record store seems like a twisted joke. You think back on all the smiles he had passed you then. Like he was in on a joke that you weren't. But now you are and it's like the universe is laughing at you too for being so dumb, digging the knife in deeper for being so naive. The cassette tapes in your pocket are now as weighted and crushing as stones.

His tongue slips out past his mouth, lips parting as he takes your fingers into his mouth, licking up the blood there like it's something precious. A drug in short supply. Despite the amusement glinting in his eyes, there's an unmistakable fringe of something intense and determined peeking through it all, as though you've made a bargain that you didn't know you were signing. Etched out your name in blood and written over your soul for the taking.

"I think you're too sweet to part with, babe. " He places nauseatingly tender kiss to the palm of your hand - a mockery, and dead in the center, where you'd maybe slice your hand for a blood pact, and you know now that you aren't going to escape. At least not with your life intact. His eyes gleam like gold. Like two roaring fire pits. Hellmouths opening wide to consume you, bones, blood and all.

"I think I might keep you."

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arenpath · 4 months ago

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#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #david tlb #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #michael emerson #x y/n #my memes #memes

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rapturously · 1 year ago

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reflections.

➾ pairing ; david x fem!reader.

in which david decides to have his way — in front of a mirror. of course, the main attraction is you.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.8K.

WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), mirror sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mild bloodplay (he’s a vampire), biting, hair-pulling, groping, teasing, dirty talk, pet names (use of kitten and sweetheart), rough sex, bruising/marking, choking, david is an asshole (but he’s hot), naked female, clothed male, fingering (f!receiving), finger-sucking, breastplay, begging, multiple positions, mind reading, making out, possessive & obsessive behavior from david

AUTHOR’S NOTE: so this was a request but I deleted it by accident (mega sorry !!) whoever sent this in, thank you for your service because this was ridiculously hot and so fun to write! thank you all for your love and support, i promise that I will try to post more often! still working on requests! ❤️

A soft, simpering moan reverberated throughout your cavernous alcove, hands balled up into tight, clenched fists as you tugged at your sheets. Even as you slept, someone toyed with your mind — David had quite the habit for making you see whatever he wanted in your dreams. They were never terrifying or intended to frighten you, but oh, were they cruel.

When you ripped yourself out of your blissful slumber, your flesh was crawling with a misty perspiration, from the intensity and the subject matter. It was something salacious — David fucking you into oblivion, your mind consumed whole by those golden-orange eyes.

You felt dirty for dreaming of such a thing, but in the presence of mind-reading vampires, especially ones that could manipulate your thoughts, it was bound to happen. David enjoyed using that sway on you in the name of playfulness, but he used it to torment you, too.

Tangled within a snare of sheets, you sat up, adjusting your nightshirt. David had a penchant for making you wear things that belonged to him, covering you in his scent. It was a tattered black t-shirt that hadn’t seen daylight in many years, you suspected.

The cavern was unnaturally silent, lacking the rancor and energy that the boys brought to it. It was just you, alone within your nest, distraught by your dreams.

David’s hold upon you was nothing short of supernatural, and the bond that you shared only strengthened his unorthodox abilities. His voice rang throughout your mind, crisp and clear as if he were merely standing a few feet away. You pictured his sardonic laughter and his charismatic sneer.

Glistening rays of moonlight pooled through the gap in the top of the cave, indicating that it was dusk. You assumed that they all must’ve been at the boardwalk, indulging in their vices and feeding frenzy.

With your humanity still intact, your circadian rhythm was quite different from that of your vampiric compatriots, but you were still learning to be on their time — David, in particular. You began to fix your bed, untangling yourself from the snare of sheets. Faint noises echoed throughout the cavern, the only ambiance you had.

A brief clatter caused you to jump, goosebumps coalescing along your spine. You were more tense than usual, still feeling very disoriented and dazed from your onslaught of dreams. Sometimes, you hated them — hated that David tormented you in such a way.

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, resulting in a warm wave of arousal that pooled between your thighs. You pinched at the bridge of your nose, half-tempted to lay down and let your hand do all of the work in an attempt to chase some sort of release.

Before you could even consider it fully, a bout of alluring laughter resonated from the darkness above, an expanse of cavernous abyss untouched by light. The shadows were alive, stirring with a familiar presence as sanguine-orange hues observed you with a cruelty to them; a cruelty you knew.

“Poor thing,” David crooned, haughtily perched in the rocks above your nest, watching you with a visceral interest. You looked so pretty — all pent-up and disheveled, bearing his scent upon your supple flesh. It was how he liked you. “Bad dreams?”

You scoffed, attempting to feign disdain, but the veil was thin — you were flustered and hot, arms loosely folding within your lap. “How long have you been up there?” You asked, throat becoming thick. You knew that David must’ve gotten his fill of watching you thrash about, your mind swarming with him.

David’s dark, enticing chuckle resonated throughout the alcove. You could envision his smug, arrogant expression — a face you’d grown to love, unfortunately for you. “Long enough,” He mused, clicking his tongue. “Long enough to smell you.” His teasing tone only made you embarrassed.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You grumbled, but realization struck you — he was here with you, alone. He’d let the boys go out without their leader, unchaperoned and off the leash. That was extremely unusual for David, and it made you wonder.

“Is that why you keep coming back, kitten?” David mused, leaning forward until he broke through the shadows, glowering down at you with an incendiary expression. That playful mockery still remained, but the wave of desire festering inside of him began to overpower anything else.

You held your tongue, gazing up at him with a wistful sense of longing. Despite David’s crueler proclivities and cocksure attitude, you did love him — he was yours, after all. Those piercing, icy eyes of his raked over you, jaw tensing and unclenching.

“Please come down,” Desperation crept into your voice, shameless and unadulterated as you pressed your thighs together, attempting to fight away your arousal. Your fingers idly toyed with the hem of your shirt, hoping that he would comply with your request. “I—I need you.”

David smirked, a fire swirling within his eyes as he cocked his head to one side. “Is that so, sweetheart?” He hummed, slinking down from his perch as he stood in front of you, reaching out to grab your jaw with his gloved digits. He traced his thumb over your lower lip.

“Yes,” You squeaked, keening into his embrace. He looked so intimidating and imposing like this — dressed in dark colors, eclipsing all flickers of candlelight as his shadow fell over you. It enveloped you, kept you anchored. “David, please. I want you.”

“I know you do,” He uttered. “You belong to me.” His voice — it was enchanting, like a siren’s song, tempting you into deeper waters. David began to lean forward, inhaling your scent as he brazenly nipped at your jaw. “Wet from the thought of me, aren’t you?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over in a fervent nod, feeling him come closer, mouth hovering above yours. Saliva coalesced within your mouth, lips practically clamoring for him, and he let you. You kissed him with a clear desperation, but his hunger was unmatched.

His hand grabbed at the nape of your neck, hard enough to bruise as he pulled you forward, all teeth and tongue, domineering as ever. David’s throat burst with a snarl, chest rumbling as he bit at your lower lip. The whimpering sound that emerged from you only poured fuel onto the fire, igniting lust and desire.

In a frenzy, you grabbed at his coat, hands pushing themselves against his chest. You were itching for a release, for some sliver of friction or attention. David started this mess — you wanted him to finish it.

The sound of his sneering laughter as he grinned into your mouth made you tense up, watching as he drew away just enough to see you. “My mess?” He clicked his tongue, teeth catching around his glove as he pried it off, hand immediately snaking toward the juncture between your legs, underneath your underwear.

As soon as those thick digits slid against your slick cunt, you knew that you were in for it. Your heart began to beat erratically, wrought with excitement as you let out a hapless moan. “David, I— Please!” Those simpering pleas of yours were met with an enticing grin as he dragged his teeth along your neck.

“This is your mess,” David corrected, shamelessly bullying his way into your thoughts. There was plenty for him to peruse through — your sheepish fantasies, memories, and embarrassment. He savored it all, licking his lips like a cat who’d caught the canary. “Why should I clean up after you?”

Humanity was a blessing — yours, at least.

David could’ve licked your sweet skin and tasted your excitement, delighted by the little hitch in your throat and the way you squirmed. There was something intoxicating about you, about your fragility and ability to be molded, to be manipulated — to become his.

Your lips parted, eyes wide and doe-like as you ground your hips into his fingers. He couldn’t help but laugh, pushing you down onto the mattress as he loomed above, thumb flicking your clit with a feather-light sensation. It was just enough to keep you wanting more of it, chasing after it.

“Please!” You didn’t care if it seemed pathetic — you only wanted him. “Please, David! I—I’ll do anything, I just need you!” His countenance was characteristically smug and bemused, cerulean hues dancing with a fervor that made you shudder with delight.

“You’ll do anything,” David parroted, gaze flickering toward the large, tarnished mirror that sat across from your bed. The only image present was you, splayed out for him — his mind began to churn with an idea. “I think you’ll like this.”

With inhuman strength, David plucked you up as if you weighed nothing, turning you around to face the mirror, keeping your back pinned against his chest. It was just your reflection — disheveled, pupils dilated with lust, shirt rucked up around your hips.

He squeezed your throat with one hand, the other languidly dancing across your cunt, digits toying with your clit. “David,” You whined, feeling him recoil, only to remove your panties altogether with a simple snap of his wrist, tearing the fabric asunder. “W—What are you doing?” You slurred, shivering when his teeth snagged your earlobe.

“Making sure that you see yourself, kitten.” David purred, biting down on the sensitive flesh of your ear, breath ghosting along the cartilage. “You look perfect like this,” His murmured, voice dropping to a husky octave as he finally began to sink his fingers into you. “I want you to watch.”

A wave of pressure assaulted your lower jaw as David turned your face towards the mirror, and you wanted to shy away from it all. It was awkward and unusual, but there was something wildly attractive about it at the same time. You could feel his thumb circle your clit, fingers seeking your entrance.

His stubbled jaw scraped across your silky flesh, causing you to shudder in excitement. Your stomach churned with a violent delight as he began to sink his digits into your cunt, savoring the way you clenched around him. The mirror was glaring, a few feet across from you — even with him touching you, you were in ecstasy.

“David,” You sighed, throat bobbing underneath his palm as he applied a barrage of pressure, fingers beginning to find a rather brutal rhythm. He pistoned them in and out of your tight cunt, thumb occasionally flicking over your clit for added pleasure. You rocked against him, his physique cold beneath his clothing, akin to a marble statue — hard and unyielding. “Feels so good.”

The soft lull of his dark laughter made you shiver, hips jolting and keening into the sensation of his fingers. He showered you in vigorous kisses, mouth roaming across the expanse of your neck and shoulder. David began to bite at your flesh, soothing it over with the chill of his tongue.

Your hand grasped at his forearm, using it as a crutch as he continued to finger-fuck you, pace having increased to something vigorous. The white-hot intensity only served to make your legs buckle, liquid heat oozing between your legs. A glistening sheen of your arousal coated your inner thighs, and it almost embarrassed you.

“Good girl,” David murmured, visage buried against the side of your neck, face nearly pressing into yours. You whimpered, cunt tight and hot around his fingers. You were a mess — his little human, his thrall. “Such a desperate little thing.”

He squeezed at your jaw, harshly angling your mouth toward his, lips colliding in a blaze of teeth and tongue. Those sharp fangs momentarily caught your lower lip, withdrawing a pearl of crimson. David eagerly lapped at your cruor with a lustful expression, eyes unnaturally bright.

Between the sensation of his digits pistoning in and out of your cunt and his tongue invading your maw, you very nearly collapsed. That familiar ringing of his laughter reverberated throughout your mind, causing you to moan into another heated kiss.

David’s hand wandered from your throat to your chest, pinching at one of your nipples. It was cruel, with enough force to make you writhe as he groped at the swell of your breast. He contorted you, bent you however and wherever he pleased. Your reflection in the mirror was one of complete and utter submission.

He began to curl his fingers, forcing his way inside of your cunt once more. Molten heat oozed around his digits, which he seemed eager to taste, once he’d had his fun with you. David playfully nipped at your jaw, palm kneading into your chest as he kept you pinned to his chest; nowhere to go.

A hapless, wanton moan escaped you, causing you to careen backward, snug against him. David growled, erection digging into the swell of your ass, itching to be inside of you. Fortunately, he had patience — you, on the other hand, not so much.

“You want the others to hear you?” David inquired, voice sharp and commanding, making you tremble beneath his grasp. Those glistening fangs of his tauntingly scraped across your flesh again, cerulean hues replaced with orange-red irises.

You immediately shook your head, wondering if the boys were back — you were too absorbed within your own satisfaction to notice. A pang of embarrassment washed through you, causing your flesh to become blistering hot.

David chuckled, pinching at your nipple again, which only served to make you yelp. “I think you do, kitten.” He purred, his tone alluring and husky, ghosting above the shell of your ear. “Should I ask Dwayne if he’d like to join?” You knew that he was somewhat serious.

“N—No! I just want you, David,” You mewled, gasping when his thumb rolled over your clit, having abandoned it for so long. “Please!” Admittedly, the thought of having one of them partake alongside David was tantalizing, but you felt too flustered to go through with it.

“You’re not a very good liar.” David chided, moving inwards for another kiss before he twisted you back in the direction of the mirror. He was hellbent on making you watch, grin akin to that of a ravenous wolf as he withdrew his digits from your cunt. “Open.”

His command was met with an instantaneous response as your lips parted, breath hitching within your throat as David moved to place his fingers upon your tongue. He made sure that you were watching, gaze hawkish and calculating as you sucked on his digits.

You could taste yourself, thighs quivering from your denied orgasm. David always built you up, only to rip it away at the very end, but he had other intentions. He pressed his digits toward the back of your throat, nearly laughing when you sputtered and gagged.

“Good,” He hummed, slipping one hand toward his pants to free his cock, grinding himself against you a time or two, allowing you to feel. “Keep watching, kitten. We’re almost there.” David growled, biting at your neck again with a blatant roughness.

The position remained the same, your back caged in against his chest as he guided himself toward your entrance, replacing his fingers with his cock. David was rarely gentle with you, preferring to unleash his desire and aggression — and you were beyond satisfied with that.

There was love and possessiveness interlaced in his ministrations, even if he didn’t fully realize it. David bullied his way in between your thighs, cock slipping into your tight cunt with a sudden amount of force. His hand returned to your throat as the other palm began grabbing at your thigh as he hitched it up.

Candlelight flickered throughout the alcove, dancing across your physique, basking you in an orange glow. The mirror glared back at you, allowing you to see what David had intended for the entirety of your time together.

His cock slipped in and out of your cunt with ease, rutting into you with a force that was nothing short of brutal and unyielding. David’s breath fanned across the crook of your neck, fangs continuing to linger there as he intermingled rough kisses and bites across your flesh. If blood emerged, he lapped it up like a starving animal.

“David,” You whined, locked within his vice-like grip. His leather-clad arms bracketed you against him, not allowing for much space whatsoever. Molten heat oozed freely from between your legs as you coated his cock in your arousal. “P—Please don’t stop!”

With a low, rumbling grunt, he shoved his hips forward once again, pushing his way into you. His cock was buried deep within your cunt, and David developed a rhythm of almost pulling out before fucking his way back into you. His fingertips prodded and kneaded all around your body, leaving bruises in tender places.

The glassy glare of the mirror only revealed your reflection — disheveled, reduced to a quivering, moaning mess as David had his way with you. Your eyes flickered toward the slate of glass, and the sight of you was messy, at best. David didn’t think so, but you did.

Your thoughts were practically screaming, aching for him in every way imaginable. David had difficulty keeping himself out, lips parting as he sucked another messy hickey into your neck. Your cunt clenched around his cock when he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a chuckle from him.

A canvas — that’s what you’d become. Your flesh served as a supple expanse for David to mark and toy with, savoring the way you submitted to him so very easily. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, coupled with the sting of sex and arousal.

“I want to kiss you,” You moaned, hoping that he would comply with your request. The way in which he fucked you now, all contorted and unable to see him, made you incredibly frustrated. David knew this, able to smell your mounting agitation. “Please.”

Under certain circumstances, David would’ve denied you and simply put you on all fours to prove a point, but some sliver of him wanted to see your face when he fucked you. Wordlessly, he pulled himself out, seconds apart as he pushed you down onto the bed, making sure you were on your back this time.

“I suppose you’ve earned it,” David hummed, his stare igniting with a newfound wave of lust as he surveyed your naked frame. He pushed his way in between your legs, crawling on top of you like a dark shadow. His cock prodded at your slick cunt, forcing its way back inside as he resumed his rough pace. “Go on, kitten.”

His voice was intoxicating — always spoken through the alluring roll of his tongue, emerging from between pearlescent teeth. David snickered when you clamored forward, hands tugging him down, mouth desperately latching onto his as you kissed him.

David snarled into your mouth, chest bubbling with a series of grunts as he fucked into you, rutting away at your tight cunt. He felt your knees squeeze at his clothed hips, fingers reaching for his platinum-blonde tresses. As soon as you pulled, his lips twitched into a smirk.

It was all teeth and tongue and unrequited want, with David pounding himself into you until he couldn’t go any further. His cock throbbed inside of you, eased by your slick as he bit at your lower lip.

One hand gripped at your thigh, hard enough to leave behind imprints as the other tangled around your throat yet again. The mirror showed a rather lascivious scene, of you being ravaged and fucked by some unforeseen force. To the untrained eye, it would’ve looked unnatural or downright terrifying.

“Getting close?” David uttered, watching as you nodded several times over. The pleasure from his fingers before had collided into the sensations you felt presently. His laughter was wolfish, accompanied by the faint curl of his lips as he pushed his hips forward.

“David!” You moaned, watching as he bent his head toward your chest, ravaging your collarbone in a series of rough kisses. Fangs nicked your supple flesh, visage buried beside your heart, beating just above your breast. With a brusque tug of his hair, you rolled your body into him, yearning for the friction.

Your vampiric paramour never relented, mouth tangling around one of your breasts as he bit at your nipple. A shrill whimper escaped you, hands clawing at his spiked tresses, clamoring for the nape of his neck. With another snap of his hips, your body became awash with pleasure.

An idle, satisfied hum escaped his lips, which continued to nibble and suck at your breasts. “That’s it,” David purred, a growl ripping through his throat as he fucked into you again. “Cum for me, kitten.” It wasn’t a statement — it was a command, one that you obeyed without effort.

It was supernatural, the power he exuded over you — and you were powerless to resist, slipping underneath the thrall of his spell. Your back arched into him, cunt clenching around his cock as you faded away into the white-hot abyss of your orgasm.

Carnal delight swirled through you, molten heat coalescing between your thighs as David rut into you, fucking you through it before he came inside of you. He didn’t need to breathe or compose himself — not like you did, trembling in the aftermath of your release.

David withdrew from you, watching as you sheepishly reached for your shirt. He stepped forward, cupping your jaw within his palm, able to feel the scorching heat of your flesh against his icy fingertips.

“Will you stay this time?” You murmured, keening into his embrace as his thumb traced across your lower lip. David often disappeared afterwards, whether it was to feed or do something else entirely. He occasionally sat in a velvet chair to placate you, but he was having a change of heart.

“Is that what you want?” David inquired, and once you nodded, he didn’t say anything else, wordlessly sitting on the edge of the mattress as you laid down. He wasn’t exactly the pillow-talk sort, but this would do — it was the closest he’d ever been.

You moved until he was within arm’s reach, feeling his leather-clad digits trace the curve of your jaw. Even if David’s callousness and cruelty was always predominant, you were fortunate to see him like this — somewhat docile and protective.

When David glanced toward the mirror, the only thing he saw was you — and that was how he wanted it to be. Just you and him, for all eternity.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #tlb david x you #tlb david x reader #david tlb x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #the lost boys #the lost boys fanfiction #kiefer sutherland

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reedles05 · 5 months ago

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The Responsible One

Michael had been odd ever since arriving in Santa Carla. Not a day went by where he acted like he did before the move. Being the oldest sibling meant a lot of things, one of which was taking care of the others when Mom couldn’t. During the entire divorce, you had been there to watch the other two, to make sure they were provided for while Lucy mourned her life moving on.

And here you were witnessing the downfall of one of your brothers while the other was thriving. Sam had gone and even made friends that were as weird as he was, they had come by and gotten him to hang out while you were home. They were lovely boys, kind and respectful when meeting you. You had waved them off, telling them to be safe and have fun, the streets were dangerous after all. Normally, you would have advised against going out, but Sam needed time away from you. So, you had let him go, but not without something to have on hand in case something were to go awry. You had handed him a pocket knife, not something super dangerous, but something to fend off anyone with ill intent. He had shot you a look, the one where he was insinuating you were being overdramatic, but had taken it when you glared. You were relieved when his friends had awed at you giving him such a weapon, telling him how lucky he was for having you on his side.

And that had put them in your good books. Sweet kids, Sam was lucky to have them.

But Michael has been leaving in the night, not returning into early morning. You were worried, admittedly so. You were worried he was hanging around the wrong kinds of people, the kinds that had drugs on hand at any time. Even trying to confront him didn’t do anything, he only grew frustrated at being cornered by both you and Lucy. So, you did what any sane and concerned older sibling would do.

Follow his ass.

He wouldn’t get out of this so easily, making Lucy cry was on the list of ‘NO.’

And he knew that, so why was he going and doing things that were doing exactly that.

Dressing yourself to avoid catching his eye, you listened to the tell tale signs of Michael leaving the house. The cracking of the window and the silence that followed.

So you raced down the stairs and watched as he departed. He was quick, you’d give him that. You chased him all the way down to the Boardwalk. And watched as he met up with four men leaning on their bikes. He conversed with them, laughed and smiled until one of them wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A grimace crossed his face, and so you moved.

Stepping with purpose, you strutted up to the men and pulled the blonde away from your lovely brother.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your nasty hands all over my darling brother, Micahel.”

Michael had tensed, eye widening once he recognized who had saved him from David.

He stuttered, trying to push you away before the others had really gotten a chance to take a look at you. But it was too late, and the men leered. Taking in your appearance, the vampires watched as you scowled at them, especially David. He had been the one to put his hands on Michael, and you had watched it as it happened.

“I’m sorry, doll, but who might you be? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

David leered. And the rest watched as you remained as you were. Hand still in place on Michael’s shoulder, you scoffed.

“I just told you, I’m Michael’s older sibling. And he was clearly unwanting of your hands being all over him. Fuck. Off.”

And David laughed.

Paul leaned in, eyes tracking every minute detail of you that he could.

“Older sibling, huh? Mikey boy never mentioned you, babe.”

You looked over at Michael, trying to discern the look he was wearing at the moment.

You nudged him, prompting him to speak.

“Any reason for that? I thought I was worth mentioning to your dearest friends. You do spend more time with them than you do us anymore.”

Michael opened his mouth, but was cut off by another one of the unintroduced men.

David interrupted him, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him.

“He was brushing off someone so hot just to hang with us? How cruel of you, Mikey.”

Marko had been the one to speak, pushing off his bike and approaching you.

He had gone to reach for you, but Michael’s hand intercepted it.

God, this was going to be an experience.

–

David opened his arms, gesturing to his band of boys. Motioning to each one as he introduced.

“This is Paul, Dwayne, and Marko.”

You nodded, noting their names and pulling along Michael.

“Great, we’ll be leaving now.”

The one said to be Dwayne had stopped you, stepping in front of you and ceasing your escape. You looked up through eyelashes at him, a scowl overcoming your face once more.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave without knowing your name, lovely.”

Paul sauntered over, grabbing your arm and pulling you into him.

“So..?”

“No.”

Michael went to speak but you glared, pointer finger held up to cease his talking.

“I refuse to give you a name until you explain what’s going on with my brother and you all.”

David smirked, eyes sharpening.

“Alright then, we’ll explain everything. Let’s take a ride, boys.”

And that was all they seemed to want to hear, as their laughs started to sound out across the clearing.

Marko threw out his hands.

“Who do you choose to ride with?”

“Preferably, none.”

But you had to admit, the boys were handsome, and roguishly charming. It was just the fact that they were somehow blackmailing Michael into staying near them. If not, you would gladly spend the night with any of them…or all of them.

David laughed under his breath, but you saw the gesture. Sucking your teeth, you pointed to Marko.

“I choose the wild curly blonde then.”

Marko looked shocked, pointing to himself before smiling wide. Cheering, he raced to your side before hauling you up bridal style. Screeching, you held onto his shoulders before slapping his back. He laughed the whole way to his bike, and once you made it, he dropped you on the back. Dropping in front of you, he looked back and smiled.

“Hold on tight, gorgeous, we’re gonna be going fast.”

And that was all the warning you got before he took off faster than you’ve ever gone before.

It was…

Thrilling.

#the lost boys #tlb x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x y/n #poly lost boys x reader #morally gray #Marko #Paul #Dwayne #David #the lost boys 1987

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queenlakiefer · 6 months ago

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If The Lost Boys were in high school:

Paul and Marko having a competition to see who can get detention the fastest…

Teacher: Paul! Detention!

Y/N: Paul…we’ve only been in school for 10 seconds.

Paul: YES, new record! *turns to face Marko* Try and beat that bud 😏

#imagine #funny #the lost boys #david tlb #david the lost boys #paul tlb #paul the lost boys #marko tlb #marko the lost boys #dwayne tlb #dwayne the lost boys #vampire #vampires #tlb #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x y/n #the lost boys x reader

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justsomerandomfanfic · 27 days ago

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Cold Hands - David Powers X GN Reader

Title: Cold Hands

David Powers X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Marko, Paul, and Dwanye (Mentioned)

WC: 3,294

Warnings: Mentions of smoking/cigarettes (Not by Reader), love at first sight?, italics, banter, flirting, teasing, one curse word, kind of soft David, suggestive, blood-drinking mentioned, suggestive blood-drinking mentioned, and fluff

Leaning up against the wooden rails of the boardwalk, you wrapped your arms around yourself; a breeze flying past you, sending a chill down your spine. Beside you, David stood. Cigarette loosely sitting between his lips, his ice-blue eyes wandered from person to person. The boardwalk was not as crowded as it usually was - a few groups of people here and there - but you didn't really care. You just wanted to be alone with David for a while. No offense to Marko, Paul, and Dwanye, but they could be quite the handful after a while, and it was nice to just be able to have some alone time with David; even for a little bit.

You met David - and Marko, Paul, and Dwayne - on the very same boardwalk. You were supposed to meet up with friends and go to some party that was going on, but you weren't really in the partying mood that night. Instead, you found yourself on the boardwalk, taking in the sights and smells of the boardwalk amusement park. You had already had yourself a bit of fun, going on the carousel twice, and trying your luck at a rigged game, but it was nearing the time when you'd head home for the night. But, that night, you decided to stay out just a little bit later than usual.

That was when you met David.

You could hear motorcycles roaring over the sound of children's laughter and the people's screams on the roller coaster. You followed the sound, spotting the four bikes racing down the boardwalk, weaving past other pedestrians who were too busy laughing or talking to pay attention. Thankfully, no one got hit or run over, and the first thought that came into your mind was just how dangerous they were all being.

You moved back a bit when you noticed that the four of them were coming your way, and as the first bike sped past, your eyes locked onto its rider. The bleach-blonde's head turned, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours, and for that split second, the world seemed to go by in slow-motion. His gaze was so intense, you felt your breath catch in your throat as he passed by.

But then the moment ended and you blinked, your mind racing - as was your heart. You had heard about the punk bike riders, but even though you had lived in Santa Carla for years at this point, you had never seen them up close before; even for just a split second.

It wasn't until later in that week that you saw him again. You found yourself back on the boardwalk, with some pink cotton candy in your hand. Was it crazy that you came back multiple times and stayed up later than you usually did to try and catch a glimpse of him again? Maybe, but you just couldn't get him out of your head. Not because you were interested in him - you definitely were. Not because he fascinated you - you were absolutely fascinated. But because you wanted to know more about him. He was definitely just some bad boy, wanna-be gangster. But who was he? Did he always wear that leather jacket? What was his name? How did he get his hair like that? And for the life of you, you couldn't figure out from that one split-second encounter why you had such an interest in him.

Walking down the boardwalk, you occasionally pulled at the candy floss, the sweet fake strawberry taste coated your tongue; you liked the way it melted. Your mind was elsewhere, debating on whether or not you'd get funnel cake the next time you visited the food booth. Sidestepping around another group of people, you made your way out of the amusement park. The boardwalk was crowded, as it usually was, so it was only a matter of time until either you bumped into someone, or someone bumped into you.

And you must have jinxed yourself because a few moments later, a small group of children ran past you, laughing and giggling as they made their way into the park. The last child, stumbling behind, ran right into your side, making you lose your balance and stagger to the side and right into someone's chest. Two hands wrapped around your waist, stabilizing you.

Finding your footing, you felt warmth rise up in your cheeks and ears from embarrassment, "I am so sorry-" You looked up, your eyes meeting those of the person who saved your ass. You paused, staring at his face, at his eyes, and you realized that it wasn't just any random stranger standing in front of you. It was him. "It's you..." You spoke softly, and the bleach-blonde in front of you smirked, letting out a small 'humph.'

"Me?" He asked, seemingly amused as the two of the three young men behind him echoed that chuckle - also seemingly amused by the situation.

At their laughter, and the realization that his hands were still on your waist, you cleared your throat and took a step back - his hands fell to his side. "I- Nevermind, thanks for catching me." You spoke nervously, but you couldn't look away from him, no matter how embarrassed you were. There was this odd tension in the air, and you had to admit you weren't sure what to make of it. Yes, you found him incredibly attractive. That bleached-blonde hair, light stubble across his chin, and those blue eyes of his, but somehow... He- He just felt different. He was different in a way you couldn't explain. A sense of familiarity mixed with uncertainty, and something else you couldn't even begin to describe.

The bleach-blonde - the leader of the small group, you had assumed - didn't say anything for a moment, and his smirk never faded, his eyes scanning over your form with those eyes of his, a shiver ran down your spine. "What's your name?"

"Y/N. What's yours?" You responded, and you were glad you remembered to respond.

"David." He answered, before gesturing to the three behind him, "And this is Marko, Paul, and Dwayne."

'David.' You thought, 'So that's his name...'

From behind David, the blonde - Paul - smiled and waved at you, "Hello!"

"Are you new?" Marko then asked, leaning around Paul to ask, "I don't think we've seen you before."

You shook your head, "No, uh, I just don't come to the boardwalk that often." You answered, and David let out another soft 'humph.'

"Well, that explains it then," He spoke, and once more, your attention was brought right back to him. That grin was still present on his lips. You swallowed hard and averted your gaze briefly, the moon was high in the sky; you should be heading home. David continued to watch you, intrigued. He watched as you shifted your weight slightly, as the lights from the amusement park sign danced across your features, and reflected off your hair. He remembered you, for a few nights prior. He had rode past you. He let out one last amused 'humph', your eyes leaving the moon and once more meeting his. He then began to walk around you; like a wild animal stalking around its prey. "Come on, boys." He spoke as his gloved hand raised to take a few strands of your hair, letting it slide through his leather-gloved fingers. With one last look, he left, his friends following behind him, but not before Marko grabbed a piece from your cotton candy.

Your eyes followed after him, watching as he disappeared in the crowd, and once he was finally out of your sight you let out the breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Your feet then led you back to your house in a daze. You - again - couldn't stop thinking about him. Your mind would wander, yes, but then it would go straight back into thinking about him. You replayed your first conversation with him over and over again in your head, and for some reason, you knew that this was not going to be your last encounter with him.

~~~

Another breeze ruffled your hair, tickling your cheeks as you let out a small sigh. You did not expect the night to get so chilly, and you began to regret not wearing a thicker jacket. But, your thoughts on how cold the night was quickly left your mind as you felt David's arm wrap around your shoulders; tugging you into his side. You looked up, and the first thing you saw was his bright, icy blue eyes staring right back into yours.

"Cold?" He spoke as if he read your mind. The thought made you mentally laugh.

"Yeah... Cold." You replied, your voice barely louder than a whisper, but he heard it nevertheless. "But, I’m okay."

He looked back at the people walking past, "Hmm," He pulled the cigarette from his lips, breathing the smoke out into the air, before turning to look at you fully; leaning his side against the wood. His arm around your shoulders raised, cupping your cheek to caress it with the padded leather of his thumb gently. His stare was intense - as always - as his eyes searched yours, looking for what exactly, you could not tell, but you found yourself unable to look away either. After a few moments of silence, he leaned forward ever so slightly and pressed his lips against your forehead. Another breeze shot by, and you shuffled closer to him as goosebumps erupted all over your arms and neck. Slipping your arms around David's waist, your hands slipping under his leather jacket, you buried your face into his shoulder. "You're really cold." He spoke, and you hummed, shutting your eyes.

"Yeah," You nuzzled your cheek into the space between his neck and shoulder. "I'm fine, though."

"Liar." He muttered, feeling how cold your nose was as you nuzzled further into him. "We can wait for the boys back at the cave." His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him.

You knew that Paul, Marko, and Dwayne would be fine. But, deep down, you hoped that they got your usual order at the nearby Chinese restaurant right; your stomach rumbled. Sighing, you tightened your hold around him, reluctant to let go, but you did, "Okay."

~~~

Upon arriving at the cave hideout, you quickly made your way inside. Seeing your throw blanket that you brought from home on the back of the tattered couch, you quickly grabbed it; wrapping it around yourself the best you could before sitting down on the said couch. David eventually made his way over, plopping down beside you, and immediately pulling you into his lap; like he usually did.

With the corners of the soft throw blanket curled in your fists, you wrap your arms around his neck, covering both of you in a cocoon of warmth. Your head rested on his shoulder before letting out a sigh. Again, it was nice to have the chance to spend some alone time with him.

David - though usually arrogant and obviously dangerous around others - was actually soft and gentle when it came to you. When it came to you... Well, he'd probably do anything for you. Honestly, who knew that he was such a cuddly bear? A cuddly dangerous bear with razor-sharp teeth to anyone who gets on his bad side.

Shifting slightly, you slipped your hands into your lap, the blanket thankfully staying around the two of you as you pressed your cheek into the cool leather of his shoulder. "They're gonna forget about my sweet and sour pork, aren't they?" You asked quietly, not really wanting to disrupt the silence, but you felt the need to talk.

"Probably." He spoke, his words low and husky; you didn't have to look up at him to know that he was probably grinning. Slipping back into the comfortable silence, you sighed once more, your fingers subconsciously fidgeting with the leather fabric of his arm wrapped around your stomach in front of you. Lifting the arm from around your stomach, you began to play with the leather-gloved hand.

David watched as you did so, watching as you fiddled with his fingers, bending them, or tracing the stitches along the side of the glove. You did this often, and David had no idea why you were so... Obsessed with his hands. And he never asked you why, but curiosity was almost burning a hole through him. Not to mention, his ego grew knowing that you were so obsessed with his hands.

Silently, without a word, he took his hand from your curious ones. You were about to say something but in awe, you watched as he raised a hand to his mouth. Your lips fell agape, your eyes trained on him - on his hand, lips, eyes - as he bit down on the tip of his gloved pointer finger. David’s eyes never left you as he slid off the glove in one agonizingly slow pull. Was it mighty attractive? The way he stared at you, the way his somewhat pointed canines peeked out between his lips as he bit into his glove… Yes, and it almost distracted you from the fact that he took his glove off. Your eyes dropped from his lips and soon found themselves solely trained on his ungloved hand. His pale skin looked so smooth, his fingers long and slender.

And like a fly to a bright light, you were captivated. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, and the moment your skin touched his, you felt a warm sensation rush throughout your body. His skin was cold to the touch, but you didn't mind it. And as you did with his gloved hand, you began to trace lines along the inside of his palm with your fingertips.

David's eyes stayed focused on you; his brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent as you traced over the lines of his skin. And then, slowly, he lifted his hand from yours, his thumb coming up to cup your chin; gently lifting your head to look at him. Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his, once more the intensity of his stare sent shivers down your spine.

He didn't say anything, no, only brushing the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip, before leaning down to capture your lips with his. The kiss itself was soft, tender; which was rare. You were so used to him being rough around the edges, rough and addicting. Taking your lips into his, devouring you. You always liked it, the feel of his lips, his tongue, and even his leather-gloved hands on your skin. But tonight, it was different. It was slow, deliberate. It was as if he was trying to memorize the very taste and shape of your lips.

You loved the rough, mischievous sides of David, but you also loved the soft and loving side that he possessed.

As his lips fell from yours, you let out a breath, and opened your eyes; immediately you noticed the shift in David’s demeanor. His usually bright, mischievous gaze had darkened, his pupils blown wide, and the faint shimmer of his fangs peeked out from under his lips. His bare hand, which had been gently resting on the back of your neck, twitched almost involuntarily, the grip tightening ever so slightly as if he were holding back.

It only took a moment to understand. Once fixated on yours, his eyes slowly drifted lower, lingering at the curve of your throat, his gaze becoming more intense. You knew that look - dark and hungry.

His fingers brushed through your hair, slowly tucking the strands away from your neck, exposing the skin he so craved. You could feel his breath on your throat, hot and deliberate, sending shivers down your spine. You weren’t scared. He’d bitten you before; you had faint marks from the previous blood-sucking events. Though, you would never admit it, there was something about the way it felt - intimate, addicting - that you found yourself... Enjoying it.

You sighed softly, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes. “David… Are you hungry?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes gleaming with that dangerous edge you’d come to love. His voice dropped, low and seductive. “You know me all too well, love.” His thumb grazed your neck, teasing the skin as he continued, “I could never hide it from you, could I?” His words hung in the air, thick with desire and danger, that smirk only deepening as he leaned in, lips ghosting over your pulse. "The real question is… Are you going to stop me?" His tone was playful, but beneath it, there was that unmistakable hunger. And you knew you wouldn’t stop him. You never did.

His lips hovered just above your pulse, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as David’s hand slowly curled tighter at the back of your neck, holding you in place, though you weren’t planning on moving. His smirk lingered as he pressed a featherlight kiss to the side of your throat, the contrast between the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his intentions sending your heart racing.

"I haven't stopped you before..." You muttered, your eyes slipping shut as he continued trailing kisses.

“Such a sweet little thing,” He murmured against your skin, dripping with vampiric desire.

His fangs, now fully visible, glinted in the soft light of the cave as he pulled back just enough for you to see the hunger in his eyes. Their darkness had deepened, and his pupils were blown wide, swallowing the usual teasing glint that danced there. You felt your blood pounding in your chest and throbbing at your throat - exactly where he wanted it.

David’s hand slid from your neck to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his other hand threading into your hair. He tipped your head to the side, exposing the curve of your neck fully to him, his eyes following the path of your pulse like a predator watching its prey. His lips ghosted over your skin, and you could feel the sharp points of his fangs just grazing your flesh.

You swallowed hard, the mix of fear and excitement coursing through you like adrenaline. “I won't stop you,” You whispered, your voice breathy as your hands gripped the fabric of his leather jacket.

A dark chuckle escaped him, the sound vibrating against your throat. “I know you won’t,” He replied, his voice dangerously smooth; sinful. “You like this… Don’t you?” But, before you could answer, you heard Paul and Marko’s laughter.

David sighed heavily, as did you, his face digging into your neck, his eyes shutting. There goes your moment…

“Guess who brought dinner!?” Paul yelled out, dragging along some guy’s almost dead body along the cave floor. Behind him, Marko had a grin on his face, noticing how he and the other two boys had unintentionally ruined your private moment together.

David raised his head, his usual stoic expression appearing on his face, his hands gripping your waist in annoyance. “You did save some for the rest of us, right?” He asked, tilting his head, and Paul nodded his head.

“Yeah, there’s enough for all of us,” Paul huffed, nudging the unconscious body with his foot.

David hummed, before gently scooting you to sit on the couch as he stood. You let out a sigh, crossing your arms as Marko, Paul, and David began to dig in. Dwayne came over to you, silent and quiet as always, carrying a bag of Chinese takeout. With an appreciative smile, you thanked him, taking your food.

At least you got your sweet and sour pork…

~~~

Main Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist

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chubbyreaderchan · 2 years ago

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Crying in the Sand | Poly! Lost Boys x plus sized!Reader

Summary: The Lost Boy’s mate has some old “friends” come to town. She wants to spend time with them without her boys but they end up destroying her self-esteem instead. The boys will not let them get away with it.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos but no real sex scenes, cursing, blood, violence, fighting, body shaming, self-hatred, anxiety, shirtless men for some reason, nudity, strong language, bullying, adult bullying, reader is larger in clothes size than the boys but they don’t care, Marko being let loose. Everyone in the coven is dating everyone else. No Michael or Star or Laddie :(

David’s arm wrapped around her plush hip, pressing her into his side gently. The boys were acting rowdy as they walked the boardwalk, minus Dwayne who was loyally carrying her bags despite her protests. She had been holding off the entire night to tell them she wasn’t going to be hanging out with them the next night. They had a hard time allowing their mate to go anywhere without them, but she made them promise to allow her to have other friends. Which was hard to do as an adult who surrounds herself with scary biker boys with pretty hair.

But old friends were good. They didn’t know her boys, they had no idea they existed since they were coming to California for vacation from her hometown. They were only passing through the next night and then they were off to try to get to Hollywood and Disneyland for the rest of their trip. She was sure she was a fleeting thought in their minds. They hadn’t contacted her since graduation and she mostly forgot about them until they got her phone number from her family.

“You alright?” Dwayne said.

His voice was low, and had the depth of dark chocolate and the warmth of his leather jacket on a cold night like tonight. His knuckle brushed over her plush cheek, a forest fire against her cheek despite his deathly cold. David’s fingers dug into her side and the leader looked at Dwayne, mildly annoyed he noticed her thoughts before he did.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

She took a deep breath. Now or never.

“My friends from high school called me last night. I guess they are flying into Santa Carla because the tickets were cheap,” she said.

(Y/n) leaned into David a bit more, as if seeking physical support from him. He was the leader and protector, she thrived off of that. She liked feeling his protection and listening to his opinions.

“They want to hang out. Go to some beach. Something less popular than--”

She motions around them at the crowds and lights.

“They only have a day to stretch their legs and they want to hit up the beach before they go to Disney,”

“Are you wanting to introduce us?” David asked.

(Y/n) bit the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. That was something she hadn’t decided on yet. There were a few snakes in her old friend group and she did not want to share her boys with them. They had snatched so many crushes from her in the past, or even helped boys prank her with false dates.

“No,” she was firm. “They are from a small town. They wouldn’t get it… or us,”

David gave her a look, it was cold and distant. A tinge of jalousy seemed to sully the air. Dwayne’s hand joined David’s on her body. His hand pressed against the blonde leader it was intimate and comforting for both (Y/n) and David.

“She should be able to see her friends without us,” Dwayne said gently.

They could aways watch from a distance.

Leave it to Paul to ruin the comfortable gazes between the two boys. His lanky arms wrapped around their human mate in a near breath stealing grasp. He nipped at her neck and she giggled at the ticklish sensation.

“What? Don’t want your high school buddies to be jealous?” Paul purred.

Marko was in front of her in an instant, keeping a steady pace walking backwards to look at her features. Her soft stomach was his favorite and he often encouraged her to show it off, but it was hidden tonight. With a final leer he grinned his devilish smile that made (Y/n) melt and give into practically anything he wanted.

“Maybe she doesn’t want them to know how kinky our lady is,” Marko smile never wavered.

His fists pulled at the opening of his jacket, tongue lapping out at his lips.

“Not that they’d ever find out, amore,”

Never in her life had she had so many boys pinning and loving her like they did. She felt wanted and taken care of all at the same time with the four wild vampires.

“If we aren’t going to see you much tomorrow then we should go back to the cave,” David mused.

The vampire swiftly tugged the cigarette from behind his ear, pressing it between his lips before lighting it. The hot burn of cigarette smoke filled the air even with his efforts to puff the smoke away from the fragile human he was so annamoured with.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“We need to scent you,”

“Scent me?”

He hummed, his own devilish grin tugged at his lips. It wasn’t fair how handsome he was. It took everything in (Y/n)’s body to run her fingers through his course facial hair.

“Can’t have any others trying to touch what is ours,”

His face was close to her’s now. David’s scent of tobacco, mint, and metal washed over her face. He leans in close and almost purrs his next words.

“And kitten, you can touch my beard all you want…. But I think it might feel better against your thighs,”

Her face heated and her thighs rubbed together at the insinuation. The sharp ears of the others caught every word and like a pack of hyenas they howled with laughter.

“I would punch you if you weren’t so pretty,” she said,

She crossed her arms over her chest like a child. David couldn’t help but laugh, knowing very well her threats meant nothing. His soft lips pressed against her’s in a chaste kiss.

The day started with her friends arriving at her apartment. No, scratch that. One friend who was one of the snakes, and two girls who used to bully her relentlessly arrived on her front porch. She knew the snake friend was coming but apparently (Y/n) had assumed that she was still friends with the others she used to be around.

“You look…” the snake, known as Allison grimced visibly. “Like you!”

Ouch. That one hurt. She could feel herself folding in already and the day with them had hardly started. Ashley the blonde resident mean rich girl in the town hugged (Y/n) like she had a disease and only did so out of politeness. The third was a dark haired girl who always seemed to be a package deal with Ashley. Bridget… thought (Y/n) had often called her an “idiot” in her head.

“Hi, uh…” she smiled fakely and followed Ashley into the apartment.

“Once we get relaxed a smidge,” Ashley said. “We should go to lunch. Didn’t you mom say you work on a boardwalk?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hit the boardwalk?” (Y/n) asked.

“Oh, we don’t want to hit the boardwalk at night. Too crowded and… too dangerous,” she cringed.

The plump girl wanted to roll her eyes, but she was right. The boardwalk plus peak summer season plus night and minus her boys could be a one way ticket to robbery… or worse. Though the “or worse” were her boys. She’d always be safe on the boardwalk.

“Oh, sweetie, You aren’t going to wear that to lunch are you?” Allison asked. “It’s a bit tight don’t you think?”

(Y/n) looked at the shirt that hugged her body quite tight, a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt. Yes it was a bit small, fitting a bit like a crop top and she did snip part of the neckline to fit a bit better but it was Paul’s shirt. He gave it to her. From his own clothes.

“Here sugar,” the wild blonde grinned, tossing the t-shirt at her bare body.

The boys were out feeding that night and Paul had practically destroyed her mind with incredible sex and just his overall vibe. They never liked her to be alone in the cave if they could help it.

“Paul, how high are you?”

“No, babe, it’s hi how are you,” he grinned jumping into her nest and kissing her jaw.

“No, Paulie. Baby… I’m gonna stretch it out,”

“And?”

“Don’t you like this shirt?”

“It’s my favorite,” he grinned.

His lips continued to kiss her neck.

“I’ll ruin it. Stretch it,”

“Well, call it payback, sugar,” He sucked on her neck.

Her mind was getting fuzzy again. “For what?”

“For you letting me stretch your pussy out,”

The memory normally made her laugh but her fingers were now tangled at the hem of the shirt. Stress was filling her mind.

“Yeah, I can change,” she said softly. “Just make yourselves at home,”

It wasn’t long and she came out to the three girls giggling. It was like they never left high school. They looked up at her and Bridget laughs again.

“Are you done?” (Y/n) asked. “Would you like to see the boardwalk or not?”

“Of course, you look so cute. We’re gonna take my car. It’s bigger,” Ashley grinned. “A rental,”

It took a lot to not gag at the fakeness in her voice. (Y/n) threw her bag over her shoulder, tracing the patch Marko had stitched into it as she walked to the car.

��Bridgy,” Ashley smiled. “Let (Y/n) sit up front. She is hosting us after all,”

Bridget climbs into the back and (Y/n) sits in the front telling her in detail the best ways to get the pier. She couldn’t remember the last time she was her in the day time, it was still lively but it was just a different feeling.

It felt more family friendly and not one wrong move from being either a rave or a brawl. No David holding her hip or Marko pinching her sides. No Paul wanting to sneak her off into one of the changing booths or even a Dwayne making sure she actually eats something that was sugar dipped in more sugar. It was a familiar loneliness she had hanging over her she had most of her teenage year as the three women linked arms and (Y/n) fell behind them. She was never lonely or felt as if she wasn’t wanted with her boys.

Hell, if they didn’t want her around they would’ve eaten her by now… and not in the fun way.

“Where should we eat?” Allison called over her shoulder. “What’s good?”

“There’s a 24 hour diner near the Di--,”

“What, no,” Ashley said.

The preppy blonde was aghast at the mention of a diner. She rolled her eyes and reached into her beach bag. A pamphlet of the local attractions and restaurants she must’ve gotten at a rest stop at some point.

“Oh, we should go to the seafood place,” Ashley grinned.

(Y/n) cringed at the thought. The boys had told her many sketchy things about the owner and management. It was not a great choice but a water and a side salad would hold over until she could get a corn dog from her favorite booth. Maybe.

The best part of the restaurant was definitely the air conditioning. It felt nice against her skin, she even tugged her well loved jacket from her shoulders. Another gift she had an argument over when David gave it to her. It was older, but with Marko’s sewing skills and patches from all of them it was transformed into hers, though the arms were a bit tight and it didn’t zip properly but it fit the best out of all the boy’s clothes and she adored it. Marko promised to make it fit better but she wasn’t sure she wanted it. It was like a constant hug from David, it even smelled like him. But even a punk can get sweaty in a jacket on the beach.

---

“Why did you let us eat there?” Ashley whined as they walked down the boardwalk.

“You wouldn’t listen if I told you,” (Y/n) replied.

“Wait where are you going?” Bridget copied the whine of the other girl.

It made her want to jam a plastic fork into her ear. Somehow she managed to get in line at the good corndog place, as suggested by Marko.

“I thought you were dieting. You know cuz the jacket was so tight and the salad,” Bridget accused.

She shook her head and bit her lip. Her hand went into her pocket fidgeting with the coins inside. This was going to be a long day and it had barely started. She could’ve been in bed this whole time. Hell, she could’ve been in her nest the entire time, with her boys. Hell, she’d even hang out with Max at this point. At least he wasn’t an open asshole like these girls were.

(Y/n) bit into the fried treat and sighed in contentment.

---

“Are you sure this beach is private enough?” Allison called.

Then she giggled and whispered. The sun was starting to set and the girls wanted to abandon the boardwalk quickly. (Y/n)’s mind ached from being around the three girls and she was practically counting down the hours until she could go back to her boys. By the time they were on the beach she knew of, the sun was down and it was quite dark.

“Of course, I come here all the time,” she said. “Nothing for miles,”

Other than a cave.

“Oh good,” Allison giggled.

She tore off her top and began stripping in the dark. (Y/n) watched in shock. The darkness of the beach wasn’t enough to conciel the girls stripping down to their birthday suits.

“Come on, (Y/n). We did this all the time back home. It’s why we wanted to come here at night,” she giggled. “Join us,”

The grin on Allison’s lips would have mimicked Markos. This would have been a Marko or Paul idea but something felt off about this. The instinct to pull in and run as fast as she could was buzzing in her brain harder than the first time she saw a vampire feed. But just like then she pushed it away, the wild side that was primmed and built by the coven of vampires was screaming to just do it.

A sharp swallow felt like it cut down her entire body. She pulled her jacket off then her top and the rest of her clothes. The girls were huddled and giggling, bile made it’s way up her throat. Bitter and painful as the rest ran into the water. Even at her age, peer pressure seemed to be winning her over as she went into the dark waters. Her heard was racing as the cold touched her hot skin. It cooled over the places where the sun had touched, she sighed again in contentment. The fear was washed away from her body with each crash of the wave.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she enjoyed the sounds of the night. Quiet and still, with the occasional sound of wildlife that lived in the area. Quiet never happened with all the boys. Quiet could only be obtained with Dwayne or David. All four was shouting and calling and flirting and--.

Giggles.

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open. It was too dark to see anyone. She spun in a circle, hoping to see anyone. Anything. Gone. They left her. She swallowed hard, and fought back the tears of frustration and memories. This wasn’t the first time Allison played this prank. Leaving her in the middle of nowhere. But it was fine. She would just pull on her clothes and just go to the cave or the boardwalk and find her boys.

She stepped onto the sand, careful not to step on a scuttering crab before heading to her clothes which---

They weren’t there. Her jacket. Her shirt. Even her swimsuit and bag were gone, hot tears filled her eyes arms wrapping around her bare body as she fell into the sand with a thud. Her breathing was hard and ragged. The bullying through the day seemed to have built up to this moment. It was as if time hadn’t moved since she was 16 and trying to blend in only to stand out more. She coughed out a sob. She hardly registered the rumbling of motors coming down the beach.

---

“This is lame,” Marko said.

He chewed at the glove on his left hand anxiously. The group of boys seemed dull. David was simply browsing the night’s produce, deciding which bodies could fill their bellies and the boredom without their mate to complete their family.

No one peaked his curiosity. Hell, he wasn’t even that hungry, at least not that kind of hunger. David could practically still taste her on his tongue and her smell still lingered on the boardwalk. It was hours old but he knew her scent so well that it could’ve been just a few seconds ago.

He was growing irritated. Like a caged jaguar. He wanted to rip into something, but had no one good enough. Nothing caught his interest other than a back and fourth look over the crowd.

“Maybe (Y/n)’s friends left,” Paul said, hopeful.

“If that’s the case she’d come to us,” Dwayne said, leaning back a bit on his bike.

He stretched and grunted slight before leaning forward again on the handles. Dwayne didn’t need to stretch but it was an old human habit, like breathing. But he was disappointed when he remember that their little mate wasn’t their to ogle at his muscles beneath his skin.

“Let’s go,” David flicked his cigarette carelessly. “No one looks worth it tonight,”

They kicked off their bikes and onto the beach they drove. Taking the long sandy way home in the hopes of finding some form of entertainment. The pack were wooping and hollering but it didn’t feel as good as when it was filled with giggles. A piece of their coven was missing. David hated and loved how much she meant to the dynamic of their family.

David inhales, sand brushed against his nostrils but that wasn’t the scent that bothered his nose. Tears. Fear.

Her.

Something was wrong, and David tried not to allow his true face out. He slowed his bike and the boys followed. Marko was next to him sniffing the air, he liked the smell of tears but not like this. They could see her curled in on her self crying.

Naked. And crying.

Leather enveloped her shoulders and she looked up to see Dwayne. He smiled at her sadly, kneeling to her level.

He brushed a rough thumb under her eyes, wiping a tear off her cheek.

“What the fuck happened, amore,” Marko was in front of her, hands gripping into fists.

Pacing and cursing in Italian. David looked just as pissed and she didn’t see paul. Not until he threw the shirt he had on at her playfully.

“Paul,” She whimpered.

“Don’t even start, sugar. Just put it on,”

His voice lacked any warmth. No happy go lucky Paul, but a serious man with anger in his voice. A black Led Zepplin shirt that smelled of him and weed. It stretched over her body, but it wasn’t enough to cover her bottom half. She moved Dwayne’s jacket to covers up but she was still very bare. But she did feel a bit better with her boys surrounding her.

“What the hell happened,” David mimicked Marko’s question.

His movements were so quiet she jumped when she turned to see him crouched infront of her, leather hands on her knees.

“They convinced me to swim… without,” she sniffed. “Then took my clothes and left… I just want my jacket and bag back,”

David pulled his large over coat off and placed it on her as well.

“Don’t worry kitten, we’ll take care of it,” David said.

His gloved hand

“I’ll take her back to the cave,” Dwayne said.

He didn’t even hesitate. He lifted (Y/n) as if she weighed nothing, wrapping her tightly to keep her modest, not that anyone would see a thing or even look while in his arms.

“I don’t,”

“Don’t worry mama,” he soothed. “We’re flying. I’ll get my bike when you are in your nest,”

Paul, Marko, and David were off. Following the scent of fake cucumber and soon to be dead bitches. Marko was the first to spot them, his eyes were especially sharp when he was pissed off and hungry. They didn’t care about safety or stopping, they tailgated them until the women finally pulled off. Clearly, they weren’t very smart. David’s bike barely stopped when he hopped off. Rage was fueling him, and his eyes were yellow. His hunger had suddenly returned.

“What the hell--,” the blonde yelled.

“Where the fuck is her stuff,”

The woman in pink finally looked into David’s face. She stammered. Marko had already ripped the door of the passengerside causing the women to scream. Paul smashed the back window, seeing (Y/n)’s clothes and bag.

The brunette screamed again as Marko tugged her from her seat. He held her so tight her arm snapped under the force and she screamed again. Marko’s long tongue flicked out before he took a rough bite.

They would be another set of missing people.

“Good thing you leave so much here,” Dwayne teased, running his hands over her thigh. It was a pair of sweat pants she had forgotten ages ago but she was grateful for them. She didn’t want to steal another item of their clothes.

“Though I still think you’d be cuter in my boxers,”

They were laying in her next again, right under where the boys would sleep. It was safest to them and they liked having her there, since she would be joining them on the ceiling someday. Dwayne leaned forward, kissing another stray tear. He had already left and retrieved his bike, and now he could be comfortable with her. His jacket was still over her shoulders and she was hugging David’s like a security blanket.

Tears still crept from her eyes, but he could tell she was feeling better.

His fingers traced over the waist band of her hips and he kissed another stray tear away. He kissed down her cheek all the way to her lips. Dwayne smiled when she returned the kiss, moving so she could touch his body. The cave rumbled and the other vampires came in wildly. The curtains moved and the first boy rushed in, bag on his shoulder and a grin on his face.

“Sorry, Dwayne. There wasn’t enough bitch for all of us,” Paul said patting his shoulder.

Happy Paul was back but his face and hands were coated in blood. He placed her things beside her bed and he leaned in to kiss her but Dwayne put a hand against his other lover’s chest.

“Clean first, then kiss her.”

“Yeah yeah, human blood disease,” Paul hissed.

Marko rushed in next. Wild eyed and looking like he could go for another fight. But he was clean, or at least his skin was. His shirt was stained and ripped apart but his jacket was a beautiful as alway.

His eyes flickered around and landed on his girl. Puffy eyed, but smiling at him.

“Feeling better, Venus?” He teased.

She nodded.

He shrugged his jacket off, then shoes, then his shirt before climbing in behind her. His arms snaked around her middle, squeezing at the doughy flesh of her belly just right.

“Stop! That tickles,” She giggled trying to pull away from him.

“Amore, how can I stop when you are just so irresistible,”

Dwayne rolled his eyes at the antics. “Marko,” He was stern.

Marko paused his tickling and rolled his eyes before just hugging his hurting mate from behind. He kissed her neck and nipped at the skin softly.

“Don’t worry, my Venus,” he whispered. “Those girls wont ever hurt you again,”

His breath is cool against her skin and she can’t help but to hum. She leaned against Marko and he allowed her enjoying her against his chest.

The curtains pulled back again, David was now also shirtless his hair damp and gel-less. It was slightly messy without product and (Y/n) loved it very much. His lips curl into a smug smile.

“I’m glad you like my jacket, kitten but I think I’d be a better replacement,”

He crawled into the nest as well. He sat between Dwayne and (Y/n) taking the jacket from her hands before pulling her from Marko’s grip. She layed against his soft chest and he purred as her fingers danced over his soft belly before gently playing with his chest hair. Marko found himself back behind her, hugging for dear life. His fingers tapped against her middle.

They all seemed to be buzzing with energy.

“What the fuck? Why are you guys hogging the babe!”

Paul launched himself into the pile of lovers wedging himself between the tangled legs of (Y/n) and David. Dwayne rolled his eyes before scooting into David’s other side, placing a hand on the exposed midriff of his princess.

“I don’t think I want friends anymore,” she hummed. “You guys are like friends and boyfriends wrapped in one,”

“You should still have friends,” Dwayne said gently. “I bet you’d like Gloria,”

“No, I think i’m content,”

“Whatever you want kitten,” David said. “That’s what you’ll get,”

His fingers traced over any skin or into any hair that he could. They went down to her jaw and gently lifted her chin. He pressed a kiss against her lips.

“I want to kiss her,” Paul huffed, pushing up against David’s stomach to climb to her face.

David grunted in annoyance but held his tongue from shouting at the vamponeside golden retriever. He just watched as he sloppily devoured her lips.

She was never going to be alone like that again. He wouldn’t allow it.

#tlb #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys x reader #tlb x reader #tlb x y/n #tlb x you #marko x reader #david x reader #paul x reader #dwayne x reader #the lost boys headcanon #poly!lost boys x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #fat inclusive #tlb David x reader #tlb marko x reader #tlb dwayne x reader #tlb paul x reader

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i-heart-slashers · 10 months ago

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Michael, walking into his house: Hello, people who do not live here. Marko: Hey. Dwayne: Hi. David: Hello. Paul: Hey! Michael: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only! Y/N, pouting: We were out of Doritos.

#the lost boys #lost boys #tlb incorrect quotes #the lost boys incorrect quotes #lost boys incorrect #david lost boys #dwayne lost boys #paul lost boys #marko lost boys #y/n #tlb #tlb 1987 #horror #horror slashers #x reader #incorrect quotes

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thelostboyslove-ect · 5 months ago

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Tour Mates (The Lost Boys X Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

(Hello, Hi, How ya goin. So I have been lurking in the Lost Boys fandom for over a year now and have been feral for these boys for far too long to not have an insane amount of ideas about them. So as if this movie didn't have a strong enough chokehold on me already, it led me to write my first ever fic. I have no idea if it's any good, but I hope someone out there at least enjoys the vision. This will be multiple chapters cause I can't shut up. Behold! Whatever this is!

P.S. I know Dwayne and his actor aren’t actually 6’7. But ya girl is 5’10 and may have a small size kink and this is my fic😤So let a girl live.)

Pairing: The Lost Boys x Fem!Reader (Poly Lost Boys implied)

Work count: 1208

Warnings: Darker Fic, misogyny, sexism, allusions to sex, allusions to murder, the boys being whores. Smut in future chapters.

Summary: You had always wanted nothing more than to be in a band and share your music with the world, and you were finally on your way to doing so. If only your band was big enough to do it alone.

You had always wanted to be a musician. Always. Ever since you could remember. From a child when you would sit and listen to whatever music your dad loved, making you guess titles and quiz you on the bands. From when you were a preteen and had the freedom to branch out to whole new styles of music you had never heard, buying records with what little money you could save. From when you got a guitar on your thirteenth birthday and played every moment you could after school and every chance on the weekends. From when you were fifteen and your friends made the choice to form a band. And from when you made the promise that very day that you would be the most legendary band in history.

While you were yet to be the most legendary band in history, for now, you were finally making moves. You were nowhere near Motely Crue, but you were getting somewhere. After years of writing, months upon months of being in studios, and all the savings you could muster. You finally had the money, the managers, and the following to go on tour. Your dream was coming true. If only there wasn’t one slight, incredibly frustrating, and immensely infuriating problem.

While you had the monetary ability to tour and quite the following, you weren’t quite big enough to tour on your OWN. Enter stage left the current bain of your existence—The Lost Boys. A Californian glam rock heavy metal band just starting to find their feet os so luckily at the same time as you. The band consisted of David the lead singer, a dominant man who truly embodied the idea of a frontman. Marko the bassist - the secondhand man to David as they had said themselves which had been proven multiple times with the way Marko seemed to wait on David hand and foot, never seeming to be too far behind him. Paul the lead guitarist, a wild chaotic lady’s man who always smelt of weed where it may be his erratic behavior took him. And last but DEFINITELY not least Dwayne. The drummer, an imposing 6’7 man who seemed to be made of muscle, with an intense gaze that could make anyone feel immense fear or simply melt depending on his mood.

At first, it had seemed perfect. They were nice, if not slightly flirty (aka clawing to get into your pants from the get go) and your bandmates got along brilliantly with them. You loved their music and it matched your sound really well. It was the ideal situation. That was until maybe a month into the tour. You could understand the excitement for a while, the booze, the drugs, the women, the partying. You’d be a hypocrite if you had blamed them for enjoying those things seeing as you had partaken in them yourself. But you thought that maybe after a little while that they would maybe calm down a bit. But they seemed pretty dead set on sticking to their band's slogan of sleeping all day and partying all night. Which you would respect if it wasn’t for the fact that it was impacting your ability to sleep at all, and in turn, your ability to play.

Now it was already hard being a woman in the rock industry, but being the only woman on an otherwise all-male tour? That came with a whole nother set of problems. You had been called every misogynistic name under the sun. Constantly told you couldn’t play, which your predicament was only adding fuel to the fire. Even more, you had your fair share of being told that the only reason that any of the boys kept you around on the tour, is so that they can have someone around as a backup to fuck on the nights they can't pull any groupies. A sleazy stand-in kept in reserve for desperate nights.

This is where the resentment began. You obviously didn’t care about anyone on tour sleeping around or bringing people back to the hotels, it came with the territory, and your boys did it pretty regularly. But the lost boys were seemingly insatiable. Bringing groups of fawning girls back to their (weirdly) shared hotel room every single night. Of course, this word spread and they inevitably got nothing but praise for their man whore behavior. As where you had been branded a slut for so much as picking up a guitar and being in a band. You had even only made out with one man on the entirety of the tour! The opportunity to go any further being ruined by the band in question themselves when they stumbled across you and refused to leave, glowering at the man till he took his hands off of you and left. A strange situation but nonetheless frustrating. The resentment only grew as the situation began to affect you in other ways than just your image and reputation.

When the boys would bring these girls back to their room it would always go the same. At some ridiculous hour of the morning you would hear the drunken love-struck giggles of the group of girls they had chosen for the night, followed by the strong voice of David beckoning them into the room, insisting for them to make themselves at home, to even shed a few layers to get comfortable, which would inevitably be followed by whooping and hollering from the other boys and then the music would start blaring. But no matter how loud they would blast the music you could always still hear the giggling, which would turn to moaning, which would turn to shrieking. You had to admit the first few nights, hell even to this day, it sometimes frightens you. Sometimes the screams just don’t seem as pleasurable as they should. Sometimes they are…almost blood-curdling. Like someone losing a fight for their life. But you know that’s just your imagination running wild, because just inevitably as the girls being there every night, the moaning would return. Always just the boys though, but you always imagined they had just fucked the girls out so much that they didn’t have the energy to make much noise.

These nightly occurrences would not bother you if it weren’t for the fact that while they were up and causing chaos, you were up and unable to sleep. Which for the first few weeks, was fine, but now nearing a month and a half of borderline sleepless nights due to the proclivities of your tour mates, you were starting to come undone. You didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all day, so naps in your dressing room were having to suffice and that would inevitably have an effect on your performance. You can't remember the last time you got through a show and didn’t mess up at least a segment or two from a few songs.

But after all of that what had been your final straw, was the boys being AWARE of the effects their actions had on you. They HAD to be from the way they had taunted you, teased you. The acts had become more frequent as the days went on. And ton your aggravation, harder to forget about.

#the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys x reader #david the lost boys x reader #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys x reader #paul the lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x y/n #the lost boys x fem!reader

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spidercookie18 · 1 year ago

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𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒖�� 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒆

The Lost Boys 1987 AU set in modern time. None of the boys died, and all the Emersons/Star/Laddie/Frog brothers are vampires. This is explained later…

Tags: General violence, swearing, drinking, territorial marking, brown skinned reader, use of y/n, afab, use of she/her Word Count: 5.6k ish Next chapter here:

“No one should suffer what I suffered. I still dread those scenes when man killed man. I lost my parents, most of my family, by running away.” — Milkha Singh

Chapter One:

There was a familiar smell hanging off the air as the boys walked through the boardwalk. David had seemed to be the only one to notice it, as none of the other young vampire men pretended to know what he was talking about when he’d asked. He’d been smelling this particular scent in the shops, on the beach and around the streets these past few days, so he asked Max if he recognized what it was.

“Trouble,” is all his sire responded with.

David knew that was the one warning he’d get on the subject, but he was going crazy trying to figure out where it was coming from. The boys couldn’t smell the scent, but they noticed how irritable he was becoming; so, they rode down into town to harass the locals and cheer up their leader. The rowdy bunch parked their bikes down the boardwalk and were heading up towards the sound of music. David walked with his hands deep in his coat pockets, grinning at his brothers as they bounced around and punched each other’s shoulders. Maybe his attitude would change with a nice night out, his mind starting to leave his obsession.

“Hey watch it!” A man bumped hard into David.

He stared at the human from under his brows, his nostrils flaring in anger, “you bumped into me,” David spat at him.

The human puffed out his chest and the men behind him crowded around the lost boys. They towered over the vampires as they stood, and the smiles faded from the boys’ faces. The man walked up to David, and poked a finger at his chest as he spoke, “oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Blondie.” The man chuckled and turned to his friends who also laughed.

Tonight, was not the night for mercy, David thought.

David grinned, his toothy smile a foreshadow the men would not understand until later. The young vampire turned as to walk away, then quickly swung back around and punched the man; the connect made the man’s teeth clack, and he stumbled back to the ground. The group the man was with jumped in to hassle the vampires as they all started shoving and yelling at each other, but the boys kept them off of David as he wailed on the human.

David pulled an arm back to begin the assault on the man who’d been so unlucky to get on his bad side that night. He landed blow after blow on his jaw and eye socket till the man was unconscious. He’d all but slumped onto the ground, but David held him by the collar of his shirt; bent over him and kept wailing on his victim. The grunts that came from David were animalistic, and the CLACK of his fist connecting to the skull of the man were loud and frightening. The human men slowly stepped away as David harshly let go of their friend’s collar and threw him to the planks with a THUNK.

He stood up, took a deep breath, and ran his hands through his hair, inadvertently smearing blood in the tips of his mullet. The vampires stood over the bloody victim and the human men moved to quickly gather their friend and run away.

“Feel better?” Dwayne heartily laughed as he patted David on the back.

David licked the back of his leather gloves to taste the blood he was sure they would be having again later. He turned to his boys to give them a devilish grin, “that was fun.”

They chuckled. People continued to walk past them as the boys started in the direction the group of men had run off in. From the side of his eye David noticed a shadow walk swiftly passed him.

That scent.

He turned to find the figure in the crowd and saw a head bob through the sea of people as it walked off. He turned to follow the scent without giving warning to the boys, who’d stayed staring at their ‘to be’ victims. David swiftly moved through the crowd of people, trying to catch up with the source of his fixation; but the figure moved much faster than he had anticipated.

He had been held up by a group of tourists that were walking in a tight line. He pushed through them and their protests as he hustled towards the figure. “Fuck, where did it go?” He looked around and noticed how the crowd looked to thin out ahead of him, he saw the figure again. He sprinted to catch up with the shadow he was pursuing.

It's a chick? David was confused by what he saw; a short, simple human. He felt a pull that led him closer to his fixation.

MINE. The word permeated his thoughts the second he caught sight of what he was chasing.

She's MINE, he felt his boots hitting the ground below him, he was running now.

He was closing the space, but it was still not enough to catch his obsession. She’s so small how can I not reach her?

He watched the curly hair bounce as you walked briskly through the street now. He made a mental image of what you looked like on the off chance he lost sight of you. You were short, even with heels, dark brown hair, and honey skin. It was a simple outfit, white lacey top with jeans. You held a small tote off your shoulder, and you wore cowboy boots. He chuckled; they reminded him of his boots. You half turned your head to see behind you.

Crap. He ducked behind a group of people to hide. Did she notice me? His heart was racing, he clutched at his chest as he peeked out behind the group. No, there’s no way she did. He stepped out to notice you further than ever. “Oh, what the shit?” He sprinted to catch up, his coats flapping behind him; he was almost within arm’s length of you, but you had not made it easy. He reached an arm out to grab you…

“Hey there he is!” The boys came up behind him and he turned before he could touch you.

He quickly whipped his head back to watch you turn a corner and out of sight. He groaned loudly; he couldn’t believe how easily you lost him.

“What happened man? Why’d you take off like that?” Paul panted out.

“The girl,” David was bent over, his hands on his knees, he pointed to where he had seen you disappear, “she’s who I’ve been smelling all week.” He couldn’t believe he was actually panting, if he wasn’t so upset, he would have laughed in excitement at his new challenge.

The boys looked at each other in confusion, “um, there’s no one there-”,

“Okay, well I know that Marko, she ju- …she just took off.” David tried to explain.

“Sure man, your imaginary scent comes with an imaginary girl,” Paul laughed, and patted David on the back. David shot him a look of annoyance, and Paul took his hand off.

“Hey, are we still going after those guys?” Dwayne asked.

“Yeah man, sure.” David was angry again.

How could I let her get away.

He was going to hit something again soon.

The boys turned back towards where they had seen the group of men take off and found a feast before them. They’d headed off the group at the parking lot on the far side to wait, like flies to a web. Once the group had dragged their friend into the back of their truck, the boys struck, quickly, and quietly. They snatched them all into the sky, fed, and rummaged through their pockets to leave their bodies in the trash somewhere. The mangled corpses a clear indication of the rage that still coursed through David’s veins.

The boys had found a decent amount of money in the pockets of the men they threw in the dumpsters. “Well, we’re set for a night of fun!” Marko held the wad of money up in triumph. The boys cleaned up and walked back down to the other end of the boardwalk where they had parked their bikes, next to a bar they knew wouldn’t kick them out.

When they got in, Marko and Dwayne headed to the back of a bar where the pool tables were. They knocked the quarters off the edge of one of the pool tables indicating that they would in fact be next to play. The men standing around recognized the crew; they knew better than to retaliate, and swiftly picked up their things and left the bar. “Huh, looks like it’s open now,” Dwayne laughed. Paul and David walked over to the bar and ordered beers for the group.

David wanted something stronger first and ordered two doubles, “whatever’s cheap and strong”, he told the bartender. He waited for his order and leaned against the counter. The lights were dimmed, and the music was loud, almost painfully loud. He looked around the bar and noticed all the drunk bodies moving out of sync with the music.

Well, there’s take out if anyone is still hungry, he thought and chuckled to himself. The bartender dropped off the shots and the beer and David placed the money on the counter. He left a modest tip, fucking animals, he thought as he saw the other patrons stiff the bartender; he picked up the shot glasses and knocked back his head. Nice n’ hot. The clear liquid burning his throat as it went down. David grabbed the beer and leaned back against the counter, his senses were beginning to dull, and the rage in him subsided. He looked around the bar and noticed a few people walk in.

There she is.

He couldn’t see your face behind your hair, but that didn’t matter; he knew what you looked like, he knew your scent.

You walked up to a space beside him, and he casually turned his head to look at you. You ordered a drink and leaned forwards against the counter. You pulled your bag out in front of you to grab your money, but David interjected, “I got it,” he handed the bartender some money, “whatever she wants,” he said to them casually. You tucked your hair behind your ear and looked up at David, “oh, thank you.” You smiled up at him, and he felt his undead heart skip a beat. If he wasn’t so used to playing cool, he might have dropped the charade, but he just turned to lean against the counter the way you were. He looked over you, and your features.

“I’m David,” he stuck his hand out for you.

You grabbed the drink from the bartender, then moved to offer your hand to him. “I’m Y/N,” you smiled sweetly. He pulled your hand to his face and placed a kiss on it, his icy blue eyes moving from your gaze to his hold on you. Inhaling your smell.

Honey, roses, clove? No, it’s more complex than that. He held the kiss longer, it’s the scent of her skin, but there’s something…else.

Noticing your heartbeat quicken he released your hand from his.

“What a gentleman,” you chuckled nervously, your guard immediately going up.

“Sorry,” he tried to soothe your nerves, “are you here with someone?”

You took a sip from your drink and shook your head no. “Are you?” You didn’t smell like a normal human, but not entirely like something else.

“Yeah,” he gestured over his shoulder to the young vamps in the corner, “me and my boys are having a night on the town,” his voice was warm and inviting. You leaned back to see who he was talking about. You noticed three loudly dressed young men playing pool, they were eyeing anyone who got too close to their game. They seemed territorial, to say the least. “Would you like to join us?” David smiled, really laying on the charm.

“Sounds fun,” you batted your eyes and followed David to the back of the bar where his companions were.

“Hey boys,” they all looked up at him, “this is Y/N,” he gestured to you. They looked from him to you, and you watched their nostrils flare; they were smelling you, and not being subtle about it. David gave them a stern look, “she’ll be joining us tonight.” You held your drink against your body and gave them a quick wave. The boys changed their attitudes and greeted you kindly.

“Can I play winner?” You nod towards the table.

“Sure,” Marko lined up his shot, “that’ll be me.” He looked at Dwayne, “corner pocket,” he said arrogantly. The pool balls clack and he sunk the eight-ball, corner pocket like he said.

Dwayne groaned and handed the cue to you. He leaned down to you, trying to sneakily take a whiff, “he’s a cheater, that one,” he eyed Marko.

“No, I’m just better than you,” Marko started racking the balls back up. You slung the strap of your bag off around your head and sat it down gently on the table nearest, there’s a soft clunk when you set it down that the boys pay no mind to. “You think you can beat me princess?” Marko taunts.

“Oh, I barely remember the rules, I just thought it’d be fun,” you smile innocently. Paul leaned down to hand you the chalk and you could hear him sniff you as well. You forced yourself not to roll your eyes at how obvious they were being, and smile as you took the blue cube from him. You twisted a few turns on the tip of the cue with the chalk, then lined up your shot to break.

CLACK and the balls sailed across the table, THUNK one of the balls sunk. You smiled up at Marko, who was unimpressed, and you moved to line up your next shot. You stepped in front of David and looked back to make sure you wouldn’t hit him; he nodded at you, and you could feel him staring at your ass when you turned back around. CLACK, THUNK. Marko scoffed and you moved past him to line up your next shot. You could feel him breathing in your scent as you moved around him. CLACK, CLACK, THUNK, THUNK. You smiled up at him; he was visibly upset by now; he crossed his arms and looked over at David who was more than amused by the sight before him.

The boys looked at each other, they could smell your perfume, the scent of your shampoo and even the petroleum in your makeup, but they couldn’t smell you. The scent of your skin escaped them, and they looked back at David, waiting for his move. You sauntered in front of him again, and lined up your shot. CLACK, THUNK. You turned back to smile coyly at him, your eyes lidded, and you raised an eyebrow at him, amused in your own antics of teasing the young men.

“Oh, come on!” Marko bitched, “am I going to get a turn?”

You smiled up at him, “in a sec.” You let your tongue slide ever so slightly out of your lips in a focused look. CLACK, THUNK.

“Mother fu-” Marko scrunched up his face.

The others were laughing at him now. You moved back in front of Marko and lined up your shot, you could hear him growling as you slid the cue back and forth between your knuckles. “Oops,” you missed on ‘accident’ and the cue slid up. You stepped out of his way and let him take his shot.

“Finally, fuck,” he lined up, “I thought this would be a one-sided game.” He shoots and skims the edge of a ball. “FUCK,” he screamed. You could hear Dwayne and Paul snickering beside David.

The cue ball landed between yours and Marko’s ball, “let’s see ya hit that,” David called out to you, raising his eyebrow to taunt you.

You sat sidesaddle on the edge of the table and placed your fingertips on the felt. Leaning over the table, David noticed a pendant fall from your shirt. It was a small, thin vial, it looked almost black, or maybe a dark purple. You angled the cue high over your head, CLACK, the cue sailed over Marko's ball and hit yours. The ball slowly rolled over to a pocket and it looked like it would slow to a stop. You eyed the ball and waited for it to fall, THUNK. The boys were in an uproar; Marko was seething now.

He gripped the cue in his hand, and you could hear the wood start to crack over the music. I’m pushing my luck, you thought, the image of a deer in headlights popped into your head. You tucked the necklace back in your shirt safely where it should be, hopped off the table and moved in front of David and the other boys. You leaned down and arched your back as you slide the cue between your knuckles, trying to tease them; you heard David growl softly, the sound made you chuckle. “Corner pocket,” CLACK, the eight-ball sailed across the table, bounced off the edge and turned towards the corner pocket. From the edge of your eyes, you could see Marko gritting his teeth and staring intently at the ball. THUNK.

CRACK, Marko broke the cue over his knee. He was screaming obscenities in a language that wasn’t English, and Paul moved to his side to calm him down. You watched as the tantrum unfolded and David turned you around, to take your attention away from the melt down the short, curly haired biker was having.

“You’re pretty good,” he put his arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah, where’d you learn to do that, short stuff?” Dwayne was laughing at how pissed off Marko was getting.

“Oh, I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” you chuckled.

Marko stomped up to you, “that’s bullshit, you’re gonna play me again!” He shoved your shoulder.

“Woah, woah, calm down Marko,” David stepped in front of you, the silver in his tongue trying to soothe his brother.

David and Marko were eyeing each other, and Dwayne and Paul stood uneasily near them, waiting for one of them to make a move. The tension was palpable, and the hair on the back of your neck started to stand on end. You went to your bag and pulled out a small wad of cash, “I was actually about to buy y’all a round if that’s ok.” David was holding Marko by the scruff of his jacket when the boys looked back over at you, “if y’all want that?” You held it out to hand to Marko, and David let him go. The short blond walked over to grab the cash from you, but before he could take it you flicked your wrist to hold the money away from him, “are we square?” He eyed you, before looking over at David who raised an eyebrow, waiting for Marko’s response.

Marko turned back to you and smiled an unfriendly sneer, “yeah,” he took the money from you, “we’re square.” He turned to walk to the bar, with Paul, and Dwayne in tow.

As they walk past you and David, you heard Paul say something to Marko, “if you’re so mad about it, you should have cheated.”

“I was fucking trying to- Stupido figlio di puttana, pensi che non ci abbia provato?” Marko retorted.

David looked over at you and laughed from the pit of his stomach, it was almost a bellow. “You didn’t have to do that,” he put his arm around you.

You were sure if you didn’t then you’d have to deal with the consequences of a pissy biker. “It’s just a courtesy drink,” you smiled back at him, and the boys brought back a tray of shots.

They all brought the glass to their lips, and you followed suit. The boys took a few more shots as you nursed your drink. David took your hand and led you to the dance floor, he was surprisingly better than you’d have thought, but maybe that had more to do with how inebriated everyone around you was. You could smell the cigarette ash on his coat, and the leather and motor oil as well. The light from the bar contorted his face and casted shadows about his features. He had a dark look in his eyes that made your stomach hurt. The longer you looked at him, the less you noticed him moving.

Was he actually dancing? Was it a trick of the light? You turned so you didn’t have to see how frightening he looked at that moment.

You could feel his hands slide down your waist, and he pulled you close as he swayed against you. You felt yourself begin to sweat, all the bodies, and the man clad in wool and leather pressed against your back, was all too much. David could smell your scent now, over the fixation he could not place, much stronger now than what it had been. Whatever the smell was that he couldn’t recognize was almost completely faded against the fragrance of your skin. He pulled you closer to him and you prayed that was his wallet pressing into your ass.

Mine, mine, mine.

The word seeped through his thoughts again. She’s mine. He let the word run wildly through his mind as he listened to the blood flow through your veins.

His face was resting on your shoulder, his nose buried in your hair, and you could feel him inhaling you now. You turned to face him, he was certainly attractive, but that was no excuse for a stranger to be smelling you like that. You put your hands on his shoulders and tried to push away, his grip tightened, and he leaned down to press his mouth in the crook of your neck. You tried to think of a way out of his grasp, as he kissed and nuzzled against your exposed skin. You turned your gaze to the clock on the wall.

“Oh, fuck,” you sighed against David’s ear.

He hummed and didn’t move from his position.

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” you pulled back from his embrace, and he reached for you as you turned to go.

“Where are you going?” You could have sworn his eyes were blue a second ago.

“It’s late,” you tried to back away from him. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

No way you were stupid enough to spend the night with a…whatever he was. Not after him and his buddies were smelling you like damn ‘jeepers creepers’.

At least not until you knew if it was safe or not to be around him.

He held onto your arm, “it’s not even closing time,” he smiled, trying to charm you into staying with him. You pulled from his grasp, and he stopped smiling. He eyed you, waiting for your next move. You clutched your bag against your body, and he realized that his persuasion, for whatever reason, didn’t work on you. He internally raged against that fact, but quickly softened his gaze and began to apologize. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t cool…” he looked over your nervous figure, “can I at least walk you home?”

You tried to play it off, “that’s alright, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Max’s words echoed in David’s head.

Trouble.

What could he have meant? You’re so helpless, just a fragile little human.

“Nonsense, I insist.” You weren’t getting rid of him that easily, not after he had worked so hard to catch you.

He turned to let the boys know he would be walking you home, and that he would catch up with them soon. He held the door for you out of the bar and you both started down the boardwalk. He stopped by the bikes to give you a ride to your rental.

“Oh, I should have known those were yours,” you bounced on your toes, waiting for him to get back off the bike.

He chuckled, “am I that cool?” He smiled back at you, waiting for you to get on.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not very.”

You stared quietly at him with an impatient look on your face.

“You’re really not gonna let me give you a ride home?”

“I’d rather walk,” you smiled briskly and turned on your heels to begin to wander away from David.

“Oh, shit” he moved to get off the bike, catching his boot on the seat, and hobbled to get unstuck. “Hey, wait!” He sprinted to catch up to you, and you were already at the corner. How the fuck does she do that, he thought.

You turned and chuckle at him, “I don’t live too far.” You pointed off in the distance and he walked beside you. He began to pat at his coat pockets and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit one and stuck his hands back in his coat.

You tried to make small talk to make the walk go by quicker, but David was not one for polite conversation. “How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, a long time.”

“How long have you known your friends?”

“Oh, a long time.”

“How old are you?”

“Not very.”

“Uh-huh,” you stared at him from the corner of your eye, “you’re a real open book ain’t cha?”

He scoffed, “me? Oh yeah.” He pulled the cigarette from his lips and ashed it over the curb. He put it back in his mouth and took a long drag and blew smoke up into the night air.

You chuckled and looked up at him, “you know there’s blood in your hair, right?”

He shot a hand up to his hair to wipe it off, “oh, don’t worry about that…It’s not mine.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

He turned his head to look at you, the moonlight shining down on your body. His whole unlife, never before had he seen moonlight look so enticing. You caught him staring and he smiled a toothy grin. “So,” he starts, “what about you? Are you an open book?”

You chuckled, “why don’t you find out?”

“Where are you from?” David asked.

“South.”

“Of?”

“Here.”

“Los Angeles?”

“Further.”

“San Diego?”

You giggled, “no, the South.”

“Ah,” David responded, it’d been a long while since he had been down there, he wasn’t exactly ‘up to date’. He stared over at you again.

“What, David?” you looked up at him.

“So, like cowboys South, or hill people South?”

You busted out laughing.

He couldn’t help but smile watching you laugh; he loved the way you looked at this moment. You stopped in your tracks, doubled over, “oh man, that was the hardest I’ve laughed in a long, long time.” He stopped and stared at you, impatiently waiting for an answer, he bent down to be face to face with you and cocked an eyebrow. “Cowboy South,” you wiped a tear from your eye.

He let you finish collecting yourself and followed next to you when you started walking again. “So, what are you doing in Santa Carla?” He could hear your heartbeat pick up, then quickly slow again.

You tucked a curl behind your ear, “oh, I’m just traveling.”

Is she lying? Or is that not the whole truth?

David tried to look into your mind to see what you were hiding, but it was like there was a wall blocking him from you. He knew his brothers could close him off, and Max and Lucy could as well, but he had never had a human lock him out before. This bothered him.

David already knew his persuasion didn’t work on you, so he’d have to press you another way. “How long have you been traveling,” your heartbeat quickened, then slowed once more.

“Oh, a long time.” You both had your reasons for secrecy, and you would give him the same courtesy he showed you.

He snorted though his nose, annoyed, but he would get his way sooner or later. David flicked the dead butt from his mouth and kept himself from trying to pry. You turned the corner and walked up to a small house with a truck parked in the driveway. “Wow, ain’t seen one of those in a while,” David ran a hand across the tailgate of the old truck.

“Yeah, she’s my baby,” you pulled your keys out of your bag and stopped at the top of your porch. You turned to look down at David, he stood with his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet; he was clearly waiting to be let in. “Thank you again,” you said. David smiled up at you from the bottom of the stairs and began to walk up them. “Goodnight,” you turned to put the keys in the lock.

The blond stood, stunned that you had no intention of letting him in. “Wait,” he called to you, as you stepped through the threshold. He gestured to the doorway, “Can I co-?”

“Oh, no David, we just met.” You smiled innocently, “and I’m not that easy.”

He stood there, dumbfounded, he scoffed. “Seriously?” He stepped up to the doorframe, and you closed the screen door.

“Goodnight David,” you smiled one last time and closed the front door on him.

“No kiss?”

He stood in front of the closed door, gripping the frame; it cracked under his hands. David growled; he was not used to rejection; nor would he accept it. He walked around to the edge of your house where he found a window to your bedroom. He found it slightly ajar and reached a hand under. He was burned.

Ah what the shit!

He pressed his face against the window and peered inside, he saw a small water bubbling fountain by the edge of the windowsill next to your bed.

Who the fuck does that!

Note: Vampires cannot cross running water; this is mentioned in the novel but not in the movie.

He hissed at the small froggy fountain that was spitting water. He took off his glove and started licking at his hand when he noticed you walk into your room. He crouched so you wouldn’t notice him standing creepily at your window. You took off your boots and dropped your bag gently on a hook by the door. He snorted at how cutely you looked without your heels, tiny thing. You looked at yourself in the mirror and rubbed your neck. You stayed looking at where your neck met your shoulder and rubbed it a bit more. You sighed, threw back your head, then began to pull your shirt off, pulled it over your head and your hair fell over your undershirt and your bra.

Yeaaah, undress for me sweet thing, David thought as he hung off the windowsill. You unhooked your bra from under your camisole, your peaks showing through the thin fabric. David was gripping the windowsill hard now, and you moved your hands down to slip off your pants. David subconsciously growled, you looked to the window. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He slunk back against the wall. You peered out the window, like you knew someone was watching you.

Fuck me, David thought as he tried to stay perfectly still and out of sight. He didn’t dare make any more noise, you seemed to notice him every time he did anything that night. You shut the window, locked it, closed the blinds, and shut the curtains. Mother fucker! Poor creepy David was annoyed that you had ended his show early. He stood up, frustrated, he knew he wouldn’t have a chance at seeing any more of you that night. Drunkenly he stared at the blinds, “stupid girl.”

He scrunched up his face at your window, he heard you moving around inside, he was pissed that he couldn’t watch. He was pissed he was resorting to watching you through the window, like some loser human stalker. He should be inside while you willingly undress yourself for him.

You were his now anyways.

He gritted his teeth, he thought for a second and figured, ‘well, while I’m here’. He undid his belt and shoved his jeans down enough to free his cock, he was going to mark you, whether or not you’d let him. He pissed on the ground below your window and chuckled to himself.

“Let’s see if she notices this.” He chuckled and gave himself a quick shake. He put his member back in his pants, and pulled out his phone to let the boys know he was headed back to the bar. David gave one more look at the window as he put his glove back on and took off in the night.

The next morning, you definitely noticed. You stared at the spot on the ground outside your bedroom window. You knew the frame around your front door was cracked, and now your grass was trampled. Two very clear big boot prints, and what looked like a summersault, or like he was rolling around on the ground. You stood with your mug in your hand, still in your slippers and pajamas.

You sniffed at the air, “oh, that fucker!” You begrudgingly went back inside to fetch something to get the piss off your lawn. You returned with baking soda and vinegar, and sprinkled and poured the mixture on the dead spot till you were satisfied. You went back inside to fetch a pitcher of boiling water and angrily stared at the spot, “goddamned vampire asshole pissing on my fucking lawn!”

You were going to let David have it the next time you saw him.

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 1 month ago

Text

ℑ𝔰 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯?

Summary: You hate your new life. You hate him. You've been turned into a prisoner in your own body, haunted by urges that threaten to turn you into a violent mockery of yourself. You told yourself that you would never forgive him for what he's turned you into, but it seems that there are a lot of new things that you can't resist.

Warnings: 18+ content minors scram. Bite kink, blood consumption, blood-kink. Sex in public (don't do this in rl ya'll), spit as lube, handjob, fingering (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, dubious consent (they both get a little drunk from feeding). A little angst.

Notes: Wasn't expecting this to be this long and ended up cranking out 18.9k words for this bastard. Not proofread.

It's like running with a pack of feral dogs, the fear, the buzz, the noise. How they howl into the air; laughter scattered on the wind and cackling high as they all merge off of the parking lot and cut directly onto the boardwalk, forcing people to disperse out of the way to let them run wild, trying to avoid being struck. The strangers in the crowd turn their heads and observe in equal levels of fascination and bewilderment as they carelessly cruise their bikes through the masses, navigating the chaos with an expertise that shows how many times they've done it.

You still haven't entirely gotten used to it all. The repetitive roar of the motorcycle engines rumbling in a metallic growl, commanding that the bodies' part and allow them entry down the wooden street. It's difficult to resist the excitement in the dark air, all charged and sparking in your stomach like fireworks. Your laughter fizzes in your stomach, just as bright as the streetlamps and carnival lights glinting around you in a passing blur, and you're unable to stop most of it from trickling out.

It makes you want to snap your mouth shut, but you know that it's too late, he definitely heard you with how closely you've been forced to cling to his back, wrapping a hesitant arm around his waist to keep yourself from being shaken loose by the bike and tossed onto the ground. Sometimes you think that it would be worth it.

It's odd, looking out into the crowd now, seeing the way that they stare at you all as you pass. You hate that you can find yourself in most of them, the envy in some of their eyes as they take in glimmer of the bikes beneath the glow of the boardwalk; dazzled by all of the leather and roguish charm that almost permeates from the four of them like a glamour. You were dazzled too. And now you're here, strapped to the spine of the devil while he cheers into the night. His friends answer with equally demented hollers.

You long to finally get off of this damned bike. To lose the weight of his back pressed to your chest. To get the woody spice of his stolen cologne out of your nose and breathe in some fresh air. But unease pulls you down. Nausea rolls in your stomach like oil, slick and heavy. And it makes you almost prefer to stay here, clung to his shoulders, rather than stop now. It would keep this night from happening. Prolong the inevitable for a blissful second or two. There's an unspoken expectation looming thick over the group. A spilling of blood to finally seal an unwanted pact.

You try to ignore it, focusing on the sensation of the summer breeze instead, warm and soft as it drifts over your skin, tugging at your clothes. You count people in the crowd, a meaningless one, two, three and so on until you lose track and the spirited commotion around you fades out into a pleasant blur. Giving you a moment of peace before the bullet hits. For a small breath you can pretend that it's all just a dream.

But then the bike engines all die out, and it's like a door slamming shut while you're asleep. Instead of tearing you out of a nightmare, it shoves you headfirst into it. Abrupt and dragging you out of your daze without a single warning. You hadn't even noticed the group slowing down and backing their bikes up to the fence of the platform. It's all too loud now. The fun music pumping out from overhead speakers, the fluctuating murmur of passing conversations, the roar of the nearby waves crashing over the serf. It all rattles around your skull like thunder.

None of them wait to dismount their motorcycles, killing the engines and swinging themselves over the leather seats to stand. One of the firsts is Star. You catch her eye when she slips herself free from David's back, and she's quick to shift away from the group, waiting only for Laddie who runs to take ahold of her hand once Dwayne plucks the boy from his bike. The look she gives you is fleeting, but it says so much. It's understanding and hopeful, but the reflection of the lights makes her fear plain. You can see it clearly. An unspoken sorry passed to you before she ushers Laddie into the drifting crowd and disappears for the few hours of freedom she'll be afforded.

"You ready?" Marko voice severs your attention from Star, forcing you to glance at him and meet his eye as he peeks at you from over his shoulder. It's as though he's staring through you.

"Yeah, ya ready?" Paul echoes obnoxiously from beside his motorcycle, but you ignore him entirely.

You try to swallow down your nerves as you shift to raise yourself up from the bike, only sparing Marko a brief nod. And then his hand clasps around your wrist in support, firm but just light enough to let you move unencumbered; chilled leather on skin and it makes you jerk out of the hold keeping you steady. It's reflective when you tear your arm out from his palm, twisting quickly off the seat to create space between your bodies. You don't look at him as you pull your arm from his grip. You don't want to face the exhaustion or irritation that might show there.

It's like your joints are made of stone, sluggish and graceless as though you're running nowhere in a dream. When the soles of your shoes meet the boardwalk, you might as well as been doused with a bucket of cold water. Reality strikes in without any subtly, and you know that they can all hear the frantic pulse of your heart, pumping and thrashing in your chest like it means to escape.

Paul chuckles, casting you a glance that's full of mockery, like your apprehension is the most entertaining thing in the world. You have to ignore the urge to snap at him, sucking down the insult like something bitter. The sound of Marko standing up behind you, the shuffle of his boots on the worn wood, has your voice snuffing out anyway.

But really, it's David that makes you fall silent. He's the only one who hasn't gotten up from his bike, opting to sit lazily as though the world turns for him. Maybe it does.

The blue of his eyes is ice on your skin, and you try to ignore the weight of it. Staring so intently like he's trying to burn a hole into your head, like he's trying to read your thoughts. But you doubt he needs telepathy to be able to do that. He has a way of getting under people's skin. Of burying down deep like a parasite and latching onto the things that make them human, weeding through their ticks and habits as though they're maps to their souls, and you're no different. When he watches you, you think he's looking at your spirit, staring into your future and past and found that he's already disappointed.

Like a gnat buzzing around your ear, Marko's hand finds its way around your waist, tugging you close just enough that your shoulder brushes softly on his chest. Taunting you with your new reality. The awful truth that this going to be your life. Eternally damned to live amongst them.

David watches you both, seemingly evaluating you as you stand. You can't tell if he's pleased with what he sees.

"Be safe." His eyebrows perk a little when he speaks. An order, not a courtesy. He reaches for the cigarette he tucked behind his ear and balances it between his lips, his other hand already going for the zippo lighter in his coat pocket. Be safe. It's really just his way of saying don't do anything you'll regret. And he was making direct eye contact with you when he said it. The message is crystal clear.

Marko gives him a mock salute, already pulling you away from the group to usher you off into the thick of the crowd. Guiding you forward akin to a predator with its teeth locked around its prey's throat.

"Let's go get something to eat." He murmurs, tucking his face close to yours to be heard over the commotion. It's such a simple sentence. One that's kind out of context, but the knowledge behind it digs into you like lethal talons. And it feels too intimate, how closely he's tucked himself to you. It stirs up a ghost of emotions that you don't want to relive. Old echoes of a schoolgirl crush that bubbles in your stomach with the pain of something poisonous. You want to hide from it, snuff it out as you would old embers. You fantasize about slipping out from under his arm, shrugging him off and disappearing inside the masses. But you wouldn't get far. You don't think there's a single place on this planet that you could hide from them now.

To outsider who happens to glance at you two, you look like a pair of lovers. A girl and her boyfriend taking a night out on the town, but it couldn't be any farther from the truth.

It's difficult to look at anyone in the crowd now. Seeing them is like watching unknowing lambs trickle into a slaughter shoot. Darting about without a single concept of the danger among them. Ignorant to the wolves prowling about with snarling teeth. Blood is shed nightly in Santa Carla, people vanish. It's become a natural law to the locals, similar to how the sky appears blue and the earth orbits the sun. But the deaths and the disappearances have always been given speculation - runaways and serial killers mostly. You don't think they'd all be able to take the truth.

You hardly had. Not even when it stared you down with bloodied lips and molten eyes. Death walks with them every night, and they don't have a single clue.

"See anybody you like?" he asks suddenly.

He can't ever let you drift off. You can't escape, not even in your own head. The cruel reminder of his words digs at you with all the care of glass shards. You have to turn your head, pretending to scan the crowd even though you know that your glances are probably too frantic to be convincing. You know he can hear your pulse, too; he can smell the tart rush of your adrenaline in the air.

"Uh, no." You finally spit it out, all clunky on your tongue that now seems too thick. "I - I don't."

"We'll find you something, don't worry." It sounds like a taunt. It has to be. Subtly demeaning as though he's insulting you for being terrified.

God, you want to slap him. You want him to hurt just as much as you are. To make him taste just a fraction of the betrayal and anger that you do. But that would require him to care, and you doubt that he has the compacity for that. It's all impulse and bloodlust for him. The only loyalty he feels is towards his brothers. Everyone else is expendable. Dolls meant to be toyed around with for his entertainment.

All of the smiles he had given you in the past were fake, played up to win your trust. Just the same as a mouse lured in by the scent of sugar, you had stumbled directly into his trap, captivated by his charm. And the friendly banter and flirting that you'd exchange in the guise of insults were carefully constructed to trick you into a false sense of camaraderie. It's only been about a week or so since then - time doesn't make sense now - but it seems as though decades have passed. Stretched wide and distorted; broken as your mind struggles to come to terms with its the existence.

You still can't fully fathom how they all live these lives so easily. Cutting, maiming, and killing as though it's as simple as breathing. Ripping people open to gorge themselves. As though they aren't people at all, just piles of flesh and blood. Not individuals with jobs and loved ones and purpose, only piles of meat. Animals bred for slaughter.

They all strut around this boardwalk as though it's theirs, scouting out potential prey with all the casualty of someone checking their mailbox. Foxes sneaking into a henhouse. And the weight of Marko's arm secure and resolute around your waist burrows tonight's intentions down into your bones like a sickness. There's a line that they expect you to cross. A chasm that they command you to leap. You don't know if you'll make it across. And if you do, it might not be you who comes out on the other side. Not anymore.

He's expecting you to pick one out. To look out across the sea of hundreds and pluck one unfortunate soul out from the others. To smear the mark of the damned upon their forehead and take their life for your own. You can't do that. You won't. You don't even know how to. Which steps to take. And Marko seems content in letting you figure it out for yourself. Or maybe he's just finding enjoyment in your distress, in watching you panic and glance around the boardwalk with fear in your eyes.

You want to shout at him. To take him by the shoulders and rattle him until he either lets you go or gives you some answers, but you can't seem to get your body to yield to either of those desires. You remain tucked to his chest, allowing him to cling to you as you wander through the crowd. Scattering cursory glances over the strangers who pass you both. All of them just as oblivious as the last. Caught up in the night, the laughter and lights; the carnival games and tourist traps glazing them over the danger crossing their paths.

It strikes you, almost suddenly, why he has allowed you to amble around slowly without any sense of urgency. Like usual as of late, there's hardly any buildup. It doesn't settle in, or creep up. It's just there. You can feel it running beneath your skin, running hot and burning, carving out a hole in your stomach. Gnawing and pulsing until you nearly feel hollow.

It's so abrupt that it strangles a ragged gasp out of you. You almost turn into him, catching yourself just before your knees can go boneless and send you sprawling down onto the boardwalk. It strikes under your ribcage as though you've been stabbed, twisting and sharp.

You would think that you'd be used to it by now. Prepared for the abruptness of it, but you don't think that there's any way to truly ready for the magnitude of hunger that lashes throughout your body. It's almost crippling every time. The pain that seers across your chest alongside the ache in your gut. The first time you felt it; you'd thought that you were having a heart attack with how vicious the agony was, with how wildly your heart had convulsed inside of your chest.

But you know now what it really is: An inhuman hunger.

You've fought so hard to resist it. Stuffing yourself full of anything that you could get your hands on. Cramming you mouth full of junk, pillaging through the old, canned foods stored within the back of the cave. Anything to try and satisfy the hollow pit growing in your body, but it never worked. It only ever eased the mental part of the hunger, like chewing gum on an empty stomach, hoping that you could trick yourself into believing that you aren't hungry, but that vacant pit never closes.

You always knew that you wouldn't be able to coast off of the false sense of satisfaction for so long. Star had warned you as much. It gets harder each day. That's what she had told you. The more you try to outlast it - the more you resist, the more insistent it becomes. And unfortunately, she hadn't lied.

God, you can smell them all now. Warm and rich in the air, tinged with salt. It makes you mouth water, saliva pooling on your tongue. There has to be thousands of them. Heartbeats fluttering, some thumping and racing, others skipping a beat; the air alive with the musk of adrenaline. You can feel it all, pulsing in the atmosphere, turning the breeze into something living. It's overwhelming, all electric and humming. It skirts across your teeth, trembling over your fingertips and toes, bumping steadily in your ears in a raucous rhythm.

You can't help it when you turn to hide your face in the crook of Marko's neck, drawing in greedy lungful's of his scent to orient yourself. You hate that you have to rest your weight on him to keep yourself from sagging over. He doesn't shove you away. He remains firm against you, the arm on your waist squeezing just a little bit tighter. He's the only thing keeping you from completely doubling over in pain, the agony scattering up your stomach bites through you.

You want to collapse in a heap, but the scent of blood and life takes ahold of you like a physical thing. It seems to grip you by the throat. Lashing around you tightly and keeping you from falling onto your knees. You try to ignore the scent of iron in the air, the subtle sweet edge lacing through it. Instead you huff pathetically at his cologne to try and mask the fragrance of all the warm bodies wandering around you. Sucking in the perfume of amber and spice, the now familiar undertone of damp earth to keep yourself present.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Breathe in and out slowly." It's hushed between the both of you to be heard from around the excitement. Said softly. Perhaps in one of the gentlest tones he's ever used. And your body is unable to resist the command, complying as though its instinct. You want to lean into it. To let yourself drift back into the sweetness of it while agony continues to spiral through you. To indulge in the relief that settles over you from the low rumble of his voice. There's that urge to jerk away from him, rising up high, angry and pained, but you can't manage to actually act on it. The wild hunger eating away at your body keeps you almost lax against his body. All you can do is clench your teeth together as another rush of pain trembles through you, choking another gasp from your lungs.

You wish you could create some space between the two of you. You need a second. A moment, no matter how small to get yourself together. You can't think when he's around. He floods your senses for all the wrong reasons. Wiping your mind blank until all that's left are the muddled hues of endearment and betrayal. The hurt that comes with it. The regret wells up in an acrid pour. They're voices all clamoring up in painful reminders that they had all warned you to stay away from him - that he was nothing but trouble. But like an idiot you had ignored all of them, telling them that they were all just paranoid. Judgmental.

You loathe the night that the boys had all walked into your job, cackling amongst each other while they poured in through the front door. Acting like the diner was all theirs and you all just didn't know it yet. Leslie refused to serve them even though they sat in her section, climbing into a booth tucked into the far corner of the dining room, and yet they somehow seemed to pull all of the focus in the room. They remained unbothered by the blatant staring from the other customers, snickering and joking while the old man at the bar glared at them from over the edge of his western novel. Undisturbed by the family seated across from them and the scathing glare from the uptight looking mother, openly scowling without a lick of shame as she muttered heatedly to her husband.

You had elected to cover them for Leslie who eyed them from behind the counter as though they were a pack of wild animals. It was a slow enough night, and it didn't give you any extra trouble by taking them on. Their focus had zeroed in on you when you approached their table, introducing yourself despite the engraved name tag pinned onto your shirt. They were undeniably charming then, carrying around them a kind of mystery and magnetism that you couldn't have helped but to be a little captivated by.

But it had been one in particular that had truly entranced you. Looking back on it, you can't say what it was in particular that had done it. Maybe it was just everything about him. He was kaleidoscopic, a splash of color against the dull blue vinyl of the booth and pale fluorescents. It struck you how cherubic he was; rounded, high cheekbones and tightly spun curls that seemed to be fashioned from the sun itself. But what really got you was his eyes. Expressive and wide. It would have given him an innocent, doe eyed look if it wasn't for the impish kind of playfulness glinting in the stormy blue of them. Burning with a quick-witted intellect and something a little mean.

He was beautiful. The sort of face that would be depicted in Baroque paintings, and the patches sewn onto his jacket were just as dramatic and vivid as that art might be.

"Hopefully we don't scare you off like her," he said, undoubtedly referring to Leslie who'd taken to observing you from behind the bar almost as though she was disappointed in you, but it's not like you'd ever cared about what she thought. It was like he had wanted to sound apologetic, but the amused sneer pushing up the rosy shape of his mouth had shown otherwise.

"Don't worry," you had answered. "It takes a lot to scare me away."

Maybe that's what had damned you. A challenge that you hadn't known you'd raised. You should have known by the way that he smiled at you that he was dangerous.

Nearly every night after that he would show back up at the diner, as persistent as a stray wandering up to a familiar doorstep. Always seating himself in your section to watch you work, making quips at whenever you walked past him. And in turn you'd give him remarks of your own, accusing him of harassing you at your job with a lighthearted smile on your face.

Leslie had always hated to see him sitting in the dining room whenever she was scheduled, and she never made any attempts to hide the distain on her face whenever he'd look her way. The unaffected, cheeky smiles that he would give her in return never failed to drive her up a wall, and they were almost always a surefire way to prompt another unwanted rant from her. Always crowding you back in the kitchen to try and warn you away from him, scolding you with a disgusted kind of passion in her eyes. All judgement and petulance.

You hate that she'd been right.

In almost no time at all, he had gone from a fun regular to staying behind with you till closing - much to the chagrin of your coworkers and boss. Watching you as you flitted about the small dining room, performing mundane tasks like refilling the sugar dispensers and the salt and pepper shakers, or sweeping the floors. Always trying to get you to abandon your shift early in favor of joining him out in the night - that at least, you had the sense to reject.

At the time you had just told yourself that he was only there for the dead pastries that you'd give to him every once in a while. He even had a favorite, apple pie, smothered with whipped cream and the vanilla ice cream that you'd smuggle from the kitchen.

But then on his fifth time skulking up to your job to watch you work, he had extended an offer. Inviting you out on one of your nights off to join him out on the town. Though directly unsaid, it sounded suspiciously like a date. And that was enough to have a rush of butterflies spiraling and fluttering around in your stomach. It almost felt unbelievable to have someone as magnetic as him flirting with you. Taking time out of his life to see you almost nearly every night, a part of your shift that you had come to expect. And the disappointment you used to feel when he wouldn't show was pitiful. It made you eager, flushed with warmth and a ditzy kind of hope, and with an almost embarrassing quickness, you had excepted his proposition.

You just never could have foreseen what would happen next. The damning terms that you have so naively accepted. He'd been so easy to lean on then. You hadn't wanted to twist your way out of his touch, you had wanted to fall into it. When he had slung his arm around your shoulder, it had felt natural. Like it belonged there. The pressure of his weight against your back had been pleasant, lighting heat under your skin, but that sense of comfort has long since become corrupted.

Even now, as he continues to guide you down the boardwalk, it feels like a cruel mockery of that night. Even worse than all of that, is despite all of your hatred, some pathetic little part of you still delights under his touch. He's been horrific and selfish, tearing you from your life and the choice or mortality. But like a sickness those old feelings persists, lurking just beneath the surface of your anger like an unwanted house guest.

And it's here now, nudging at the corners of your mind. Almost begging you to settle further against him while he nudges you through the frenzied masses with a new sense of purpose. There's a sense of solace there. One you try to blame on the agony that draws at your bones and digs a cavern inside of your stomach. You tell yourself that you're just trying to find a sense of peace wherever you can, even if that means turning to him, but really you know better.

Your time together has been short, and yet, in the brief span he's managed to flip your sense completely on its axis. It has shame turning in your gut, prickling and acidic. It's a betrayal to yourself how you allow press into him, allowing him to be the protection from the pain that he's caused. But he makes it horrendously easy. His scent drawing around you like a cocoon, inviting and familiar.

It has time and agony smearing down into a haze; the only thing to keep you fully grounded is the press of his hand molding over your hip, his thumb slipping under the hem of your jacket and shirt to sweep mindless caresses over your skin.

You hardly notice the blaring of a guitar, the heavy thump of drums and instruments reverberating over the atmosphere behind the pitch of live vocals. Someone's sweat-dampened shoulder brushes along yours, jostling you out of your pain induced stupor, but it's really the sound of Marko's voice snapping out over the noise that truly draws your attention: "Got you hangover cure. Get ready to pick your poison."

You tilt your head enough just to peek out from the cradle of his throat, casting a nervous glance over the shifting bodies. Everywhere you look its waving limbs, bare flesh glinting with glitter and sweat; hands clutching glowsticks, waving blurs of neon colors. The mass all sways and dances as best as they all can within the tight confines the crowd spread out down on the beach. It's like looking at an ocean, the tides lifting in an animated, roaring current. There has to be at least a few hundred people all here to watch the band playing, captivated and completely lost within the excitement and music rushing through their systems.

You're just outside the fringes of the throng, overlooking them from the height of the steps descending from the boardwalk, but it's still overwhelming. A relentless stream of sound bombarding your ears. You can practically taste all of them on your tongue, the blood pumping in their veins, fierce and hot, laced with the buzz of adrenaline. The energy in the air almost seems to brush over you, seeping down through your muscles and marrow, somehow making your hunger worse.

In Marko's perspective, he's probably looking at a living buffet. Throats bared for the taking. You hate how you can hear the frantic pulse from what's probably close to three hundred hearts, all of them gathered around in front of you to admire the performance on the stage far ahead on the beach.

It sinks your reality in deeper, sinking in to tear a shudder down your spine. You turn to look at him then, gripping onto the edge of his coat like it might keep you from bolting. "What - how am I supposed to kil-" you draw in a deep breath to calm yourself. "How am I supposed to do anything here? This place is packed. There's like a million people here."

He smiles at you and it's so hard to tell if it's genuine or not. There's always something a little mean glinting in his eyes. Something almost spiteful. But the expression on his face gentle. Like he finds your naivety as endearing as it is amusing.

He leans in close so you can hear him, his nose brushing slightly over yours as he speaks. "Nobody here is gonna notice a thing. They're so caught up that you could kill ten of them right now and they wouldn't find the bodies till morning."

It's terrifying how he talks about it. It's worse with the realization that his ease comes from experience. You're sure that he's stood in this exact spot more times than you could count, scoping out some poor soul to lure away. Drank them dry in the shadows, dead center in the middle of the crowd while people danced and sang as the victim's heartbeat died out in their chest and the light faded from their eyes.

You know he's right, too. No one here would notice you singling someone out and drawing their blood out from their veins. It's horrific.

You used to hear it all the time flipping around on the news stations while you'd get ready in the mornings; declared from the radio as you skimmed through the channels while driving to work, the voices from news anchors and radio personalities while they informed Santa Carla of another body found under suspicious circumstances. Torn limbs washed onto shore, people gone missing without a single trace, bodies found miles outside of town with brutal bitemarks ravaging their bodies. People die all the time here, locals and tourists alike, and still everyone seems to wander around with an air of obliviousness. Fueled by some overblown confidence that they couldn't possibly be next.

The most humiliating thing though, is that you were once one of those people. Navigating through life as though you were untouchable. And look where that got you. The universe sent you a wakeup call that you couldn't ignore, packaged in a pretty face.

You've seen all of the missing posters stapled and taped to the buildings around town. They're impossible to ignore, hundreds of them depicting the people and children who would never be found again. Torn away from their lives without any warning, leaving their loved ones to mourn and latch onto the false hope that they'd return. You can't be the cause of that.

Marko shifts himself, settling his chest right against your back, and lifts his hands up to hold your shoulders. To comfort you or keep you still, you aren't entirely sure. He tucks his head next yours, peeking around you as though he's trying to see the world through your eyes. For a moment, his cologne breaks through the sweat, and blood, and stimulation. It's warm, masculine, but subtly sweet beneath the spice of it like the buttery flavor of vanilla, and you almost settle back into him.

"Pick any of them. It doesn't matter." You feel him shrug, and the earring dangling from his lobe presses at the skin of your jaw. It makes you hauntingly aware of how close he is. Body flush with yours. A distraction all on its own, slipping a glaze over your mind but the hunger comes back with a vengeance, eating away in your veins, as thick as honey. "They won't even know what hit them until it's too late."

You scan the crowd, vision darting over the strange faces peeking through the pandemonium. You try to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth. You can feel your gums aching, pressure pulsing behind your teeth with that strange urge to bite. The same one that almost had you latching your mouth onto your own arm last night, lapping your tongue on your skin, tasting the blood lurking beneath. It had been Marko then who had pulled you back before you could try and drink from yourself, and since then he had seemed determined to get you to hunt.

But while a large part of you is driven down, coasting under some twisted high induced by the pain and the sound of Marko's voice in your ear, a small piece can't help but to struggle with the acceptance that he chose this place to be your first time. It's overwhelming, the number of people scattered about, the music is so deafening that you can hardly think.

Already the thread around your control is fraying, turning thin within the shaky grip of your resolve. The guilt that's kept you steadfast has grown weaker with each passing day, fracturing like old bones. You've done your best to hide yourself away in the cave this past week, ever since you found out what you are, what your hunger truly means. But your time is up now, and despite your protesting, once the sun had slipped past the horizon, Marko had all but dragged you out of the remnants of the hotel. Ignoring the panicked rambling that had spilt from you as he guided you towards his bike with a firm grip around your arm.

The message had been clear: You're going to feed tonight, no matter what.

He's intentionally throwing you into the thick of it. He's not giving you an out. He wants your instincts to overwhelm you, for the hunger to cloud your judgement and tip you over the edge if that's what it takes for you to become one of them, but this seems dangerous.

You know his game, but you don't think you have the strength to fight anymore. You're becoming detached from yourself. It's always terrifying how the hunger sinks in around your mind, nestling deep until you feel like a second passenger in your own body. The only thing that might be keeping you tethered to yourself is Marko's weight on your back. The realization of it makes your skin crawl. You want to slip away from him, but there's a paranoia hanging over you. A dread that if you detach yourself from him that your control might break entirely. He reaches around and lightly cups your jaw, using it to turn your head and you allow him to despite the confusing blur of discomfort and contentment that trembles down your spine at the touch. Ever since that night that you met, it's like a piece of himself had torn off and wormed its way beneath your skin, digging down like a leech to join itself to your soul. It's an influence that you can't shake. He's wedged himself too deep. Fixed himself to you probably the single moment that his eyes had first locked with yours.

You let Marko move your head, and you attention tracks where he guides your vision, stopping only when he fixes your head still with his hand. Your breath snags when you notice a man tucked away in the shadows. Standing somewhat awkwardly below next to a burn barrel like the flames lashing out from the rusted metal might ward off the people screaming and chanting along with the band. He looks lonely. Huddled away in his own world while people hop around on their feet and cheer and shout with pitching voices.

"That's an easy one," Marko supplies. A hint - a nudge to get you in the right direction.

All of a sudden, a precipice is yawning out in front of you. The moment that you've been dreading, that's kept you away from sleep for days on end, is raising up and hurtling towards you. It almost feels like the floor beneath your feet is falling loose and vanishing, leaving you dangling and trapped within the blur of passing seconds.

It's terrible - otherworldly almost - the hollow lashing of pain that coils through your gut and burns hotly, begging for you to stumble forward and reach for the prey that's been settled on. You're outside yourself from the starvation that threatens to cripple you. Hunger crammed in where your soul should be. You can feel your muscles drawing up tight, preparing to lurch yourself forward in a desperate scramble, but this time it's Marko who holds you back. You can feel the shape of his smile brushing over your cheek, smug and satisfied as you struggle pitifully to regain control of your own body.

"Careful," he warns. "Don't wanna spook him too early." His lips glide over your skin, just bordering on a could be kiss, leaving sparks where they drag before he pulls away. "Now go get him. I'll be watching."

He pushes you forward. Hardly more than a nudge, but in your hyper focused state it's practically a shove. You almost slam directly into some of the people sprinkled along the stairs. Stumbling forward a little, nearly tripping over the edge of one of the steps as you descend; your mind screaming for you to stop and turn around. It's like you're trapped within your own bone and sinew, agony and hunger wrapping around your throat like a vice, demanding that you keep moving.

Your vision narrows down, vignetting around the edges your attention fastens onto the timid looking man in the dark. You can already hear his heart thumping above the rest, sounding like the persistent strikes of thunder cresting over the blaring instruments and the ruckus of the crowd. He doesn't even notice as you approach. Too caught within himself, standing with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his khaki's, entirely out of place amidst the rockers and punks making up the masses.

A tourist probably, your mind latches onto the possible detail with weak fingers, almost slipping from your focus entirely because of the daze threatening to cloud you over.

There's almost a sadness weighing down at his expression, highlighted by the fires flickering around in the burn barrels scattered along the grounds. Maybe it's the reason for how oblivious he is, fully unaware of how close you've drawn as he continues to stare ahead with a plain moroseness set into the dejected hunch of his shoulders. You can hear his breath draw through his lung when he sighs softly. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge lightly under his skin, shadowed dramatically from the fires when he breathes.

Your mouth floods with saliva, teeth itching to bite like an animal staring down something wounded. It's primal, so unrecognizable from yourself that you nearly stop in place, but a pang tears through your stomach, almost as though your body is rejecting the very notion of your denial. Your own flesh turning against you from the simple pitter patter of his pulse coursing across the air in a steady spike, only growing louder and more tempting as you approach. A siren's song that ripples through your soul.

"Not a fan of the music?" Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, slipping out over the balmy air before you even registered that your lips were moving.

His eyes dart over to you, wide and surprised as he takes you in. Glittering in the dark like a deer caught in headlights. It makes that new, hideous thing in you tremble in delight, perverse and horrible. You don't know if you can resist it anymore. But the laughter of the people around you - the final threads of your humanity, keep you from lunging forward.

"Ah, no, it's fine." He seems so out of his element. So confused by your presence that it makes the distant pieces of yourself a little self-conscious, but that new half of you still disturbingly pleased with the uncertainty weighing down at his posture. As though the possibility of his fear is something to be craved. He's taller than you by several inches, looking down his nose and through the wire frame of his glasses to watch you; all long limbed and towering. But you can still make out muscles flexing under his skin, peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt.

He looks awkward in his own body, but you know regardless that there's a clear difference in your strength. He could probably lift you up and wrangle your neck if you were still normal, and yet that concern doesn't truly reach you. Not while he's so close, the scent of his blood perfuming the air in salt and iron. A combination of smells that should have your nose curling in disgust, but it only has a starved growl threatening to rumble from your stomach.

"I mean, it's not my usual kind of sound, I guess. But it's fine - nothing wrong with it." It's almost an embarrassed ramble, how he stumbles over his words. He nods, head rocking about in an exaggerated, bobble headed fashion. Like the gesture might get you to agree with him.

You try not wince at another hunger cramp that claws its way through you, smiling instead and hoping that it looks natural instead of strained. Your skin is damp with perspiration, flushed hot with a warmth that covers you like a fever, and you're sure that your pupils have blown wide. Turned into dark abysses that eat the color from your eyes. You have to look crazed, but if he notices anything off about your expression, he doesn't mention it.

He is out of place here, wearing a snug Polo shirt and a fancy watch around his wrist. Sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the all the tattooed skin and the girls in scant bikini tops. You could be genuinely curious about him if it weren't for the circumstances. If the reasoning behind you seeking him out wasn't so gruesome, driven by starvation and ruthless impulse. You can feel it creeping in closer around you, like teeth digging into meat, parting flesh under serrated enamel.

You catch his throat flexing again. The subtle rhythmic rise and fall of his pulse throbbing under smooth skin. It nearly makes you sob. A broken, whinny sound that you have to choke down behind a clenched jaw to keep him from hearing.

"You look like more of a Toto kind of guy," you answer finally. Forcing it out behind a strained sigh.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asks, still oblivious to the danger he's in. Perking up just a little bit as though he's adjusting to you.

"No," you respond. Perhaps a little too quickly to sound normal.

Your mind drags, scrambling in a wild blur to figure out how to correct the small mistake, but it draws a blank. Instead of words, you're only silent, staring at him with a severity that must be uncomfortable. You know you must look like just about every pervert that's ever harassed you at work, all leering and oddly tense in their persistence. Logic demands that you pull back. That you cut your losses and take the blunder for what it is - a blessing in disguise. The universe giving you an out. An escape while you have it before the hunger completely turns off what little control you still have and sends you spiraling.

But like a body belonging to someone else you remain firm in place, standing in front of him with spit pooling in your mouth and the urge to bite pressing at your teeth. You should try to invite him off somewhere more private - no! God, what are you thinking? You can't be anywhere alone with him. You can't take the risk to be by yourself with only him. Or with anyone else for that matter. As determined as you are to keep your humanity intact; to cling onto your own morality, it's becoming less and less of a possibility.

If you draw blood, that will be it for you. There's no stepping off that path once you're on it. You'll never see the sun again. You won't be human. You'll be a monster. A thing that preys on others for the sake of its own continuation. The possibility of the universe spans out in front of you like something daunting and terrible, promising forever. Exchanging your death in the payment of others' lives. Replacing your blood with theirs in a cycle that will continue until the earth finally destroys itself and dies.

You don't know how old the boys all are. They're all tight lipped and secretive about themselves, as though you haven't truly earned their trust just yet. It's only Paul that you've managed to wrangle a sliver of information out of. But it was mostly just delirious rambling, spoken through heavy slurring when he came back to the cave intoxicated from the blood of drunkards.

And he was definitely out of it, staring straight up at the grooves in the cave ceiling, looking up at the shadows casted there as though they were as fascinating as stars. "Don't you know you're not supposed to ask a lady her age?" He'd giggled softly, and it was obvious that it was mostly to himself rather than you. He had to be a little high too; he had been down on the beach hunting that night. Preying on the skinny dippers and riffraff. There's no telling what kind of people he'd gotten his hands on, the substances that could have intoxicated their blood. His pupils were a little blown. Wide black pits glinting in the warm glow of the candles dotted about the space, reflecting fire in his eyes, all wild and drunk. "We're pretty old. . . He used to have a horse."

You aren't sure who he is. The comment was cryptic. The nonsense of someone who was miles away from their own mind and soaring on a heavy buzz, but as absurd as it sounded it did have some merit to it. You hear them all make off handed comments that give you clues into their age. Like when Marko had grumbled about how he kind of missed the disco rink - an old building that now sits abandoned and boarded up Piedmont Street. It was shut down in '73 due to repeated fire code violations.

But it had been Dwayne who had unintentionally dropped a bomb on you one night. All of the boys were scattered around the center of the cave, a Billy Idol song streaming from the stereo system in the corner while they all lazed about, made a little sluggish once their recent feeding had settled in and turned their limbs heavy.

You had hidden yourself away on a mattress that Marko had stolen for you (just where he had gotten it from, you try not to think about). You couldn't really see them from behind the beaded curtains and sheer sheets that you had strung up around it, taking inspiration from Star to block off your small corner of the cave to give yourself a shred of privacy. Not that you had really succeeded.

Their voices were still loud, echoing softly along the stone walls, keeping you from being able to slip into a defeated sleep. You wanted them to shut up. To give you a break and vanish off to their own part of the sunken hotel, but they'd been in their spots for nearly an hour, and they'd showed no signs of leaving.

And then Dwayne said it: "Remember when they tried to band this stuff?" You could just barely make out his silhouette through the rosy fabric separating you from them, but you could see him rattle his hand, shaking the bottle of whisky while he stared at it with a somewhat fond, distant look.

"Ugh, don't remind me, man." Paul had answered from somewhere, petulant and huffy.

"Right. Like it had stopped you at all." Marko joked, his voice projecting from somewhere close to your bed. Much closer than the others. He always sticks nearby, lurking around the fringes like a guard dog posted in front of its house.

It didn't take long for you to connect the dots, to dig through the information you have stored on basic history. The Prohibition. The 1920's. That's how old they are - if not older. And they've always been here. Prowling around Santa Carla, possibly walking around the boardwalk long before it even had a rollercoaster. Maybe that's why they parade around like the town belongs to them. In a way it does.

That's what lies ahead for you. Forever measured in the number of lives you take. Souls traded in so you can stay here, trapped inside the lights and excitement, all while guilt and horror eats away at what's left of your spirit. In a blink or a slow crawl, it would all be different, and you aren't sure which one is worse. You would wake one day and all that's left of your former life would be reduced to nothing, turned faded by time. It terrifies you that you might get to a point where you wouldn't be able to recognize yourself. That you could turn indifferent to the slaughter. That eventually you'll just see prey instead of people.

Suddenly the weight of the stranger's stare on you is prickling over your clammy skin. Uncomfortable and almost itching like a rash. It makes you obnoxiously self-aware. Hyper vigilant of your own body, the feeling in your fingertips and toes, the hunger echoing through your stomach in an angry shudder. The pulse of his heartbeat seems like it's become your own, thrumming through your limbs and urging you to finally satiate the emptiness that's been haunting you for days. Rattling through your body and forcing you to writhe and gasp through the ache. You almost double over as another wave of it crashes over you, breathing harshly to try and survive it.

You have to go. Now.

He must notice something is wrong with you because his face pinches, eyebrows furrowing close as he steps forward, hands raised like you're some injured animal that he's afraid to pick up. "Hey, are you alright?"

You jerk away from him, stumbling back like you've been electrocuted. Turning a little on your heels to keep yourself from rushing at him and finally giving yourself what you need.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." You try and give your most convincing smile, but he's still staring at you like you're something that he doesn't know how to approach. Like you're dangerous.

"Are you sur-"

"Yes." It comes out like a hiss. Strained out from the pain. He goes to move towards you and on reflex you shift back, desperate to keep some kind of space between you and him. Your eyes shift around, searching through the sea of bodies for some kind of exit. You look past the heads bobbing and nodding along the music, trying to focus past the perfume of unshed of blood and pulses thrumming through the air with a fear that's almost paralyzing.

It's like a jackal peering through the dark, familiar eyes reflecting the golden glint the fires as he watches you from past the shapes of shifting bodies. Marko is doing just as he had promised - observing you from above on the staircase with an expression that you can't read through the haze, but you feel swallowed by it. A cherubic face observing out of judgment or sympathy, you can't tell. It's almost more debilitating than the agony slicing its way through you, and all at once you're suffocating again. It's too much. Too loud, they're all too close, you can hear them all breathing, you can hear their blood rushing, you can feel their hearts beating as though it's all your own.

You want to scream, you want to rip out of your own skin, you just want the torture - the hunger to finally stop.

You don't think when you run, leaving the clueless stranger and his concerned questioning behind. Abandoning Marko above in the crowd as you shove yourself past people in a blind struggle to get away from it all. You're an animal in a trap. Dodging reaching arms and lunging bodies, full of life and blood. Your feet seem to slip in the sand, struggling in the loose, dry earth, pulled down by the weight of your own bones - the debilitating fire in your gut.

It hurts so much that you might actually sob when you gasp, but you're too disconnected from yourself to tell. The air slipping from your lungs is strangled. Tight as though there's a hand compressing your throat. You bump through the crowd without truly seeing, blinking through the blur in your vision. Trying in vain to cast off the burning glint that the pyres on the beach brand across your eyes.

It's dangerous to breathe. The scent of life in the air crippling, nestling deep in your lungs and locking in your mouth, spilling saliva across your tongue. You feel like a starved animal. Practically crawling across the beach with fear and dread trembling up your back, ravenousness snapping at your heels. Threatening to sink in. It yawns open in your stomach, carving you open brutally to split a chasm in the center of you. It demands to be fed. Those terrible, new instincts shrieking from somewhere in your marrow to finally be satiated, and your jaw aches with the urge to bite.

You hear the people around you. The rhythmic thump and flutters of their pulses crashing in your ears. Louder than the tempo of the drums, the scream of the guitar and the rush of the waves along the surf. But above it all some vile voice shrieks insistently for you to finally lunge out and take one of the swaying bodies in your hands, to find the relief in the breaking of their flesh beneath your teeth, to gorge yourself on the hot, rapturous flow of blood.

You could cry or scream, but that wouldn't be enough.

Your wrist is suddenly pressed to your lips, your mouth parted to lick over the skin, seeking out the thrum and heat of the blood pouring beneath. It's a daze when your teeth tense to sink in, your jaw locking around the width of your arm to dig deep and taste. The animalist impulse in your cries out in relief, anticipating the sweet flavor, the salvation that your blood will offer-

The relief doesn't come.

The world smears around you, hands grip your shoulders, the weight of a body pressing to your back and then you're being herded in a different direction. Guided almost frantically into shadows until you're being pinned against the wall the separates the raised platform of the boardwalk from the beach and anarchic crowd. All of the oxygen in your chest is knocked from you in a sharp rattle, air hissing around the wrist still clutched between your teeth. You have to blink to try and reorient yourself, feet slipping a little in the sand. If it wasn't for the grip on your shoulders, you probably would have collapsed on weak knees.

Your arm is all but ripped out from your mouth, torn away before you could finally alleviate the pain eating you alive and you nearly cry despite the way your face twists up in anger. A snarl curling at your lips as you twist beneath the person pinning you down.

"You know - " a familiar voice starts out, tense and patronizing in its frustration. The hand around your wrist tightens just a fraction, a snake coiling around its prey, smooth leather molding over your skin from its grip " - if you'd just eat, you wouldn't be trying to do this."

Your eyes flutter open then, widening to take in his face. Marko is leaned in close, holding himself over you to keep you tucked in against the wall. You can feel the subtle thumps of people walking around on the boardwalk above you; the masses gathered around the far-off stage is still thick, just as vibrant and spirited as before, and yet you've never felt more trapped. Not a single soul will notice you here, hidden away in the dark, so far back that the splash of amber light casted by a nearby burn barrel flickers over you both in pathetic scraps. You won't be seen here. And if you are, people are too drunk or adrenaline high to notice.

It almost paralyzes you - the hunger, the weight of him on you, the heady scent of sweat and blood. But still, your anger persists, spiking through the agony and fogginess like a beacon. He's disappointed. It's clear to see. Written visibly on his face. Highlighted in the flickers of gold that spills over his face from the fires, the dramatic shadows seem to pronounce the furrow set between his eyebrows.

He doesn't deserve to be upset about this. He isn't allowed to be. Most importantly, you shouldn't be hurt by his disappointment. You shouldn't care if he's mad or not, but for some ungodly reason you are. And that makes your blood boil more than anything.

"I wouldn't have to do this at all if it wasn't for you." It doesn't come out strong despite the raw anger you feel. There's a vulnerability that even you can hear, and it makes you slip back tighter against the wall, desperate to extend some kind of space between your bodies; room to be able to just breathe. "You did this."

You've tried so hard these past few days to try not to think of the night that your entire life had been stolen. Uprooted brutally and corrupted. The night that he had made you feel important. Special. A date spent settled down under the stars, overlooking the steady rise and fall of the waves as they had rolled along the surf in a sweep of foam and salt. It was beyond anything you had expected from him, as wild and brazen as he usually was. But instead of a whirlwind night out on the town, you had gotten something soft and private.

A small dinner settled on the picnic linen that had been laid out on the pale sand, comprised of takeout burgers and shakes from Big Boy's Drive-In - a detail that he held onto. An offhand, random remark about how you were craving one of their milkshakes once during a past closing shift. He had remembered. It was such a small, dumb thing maybe, but it had made you feel happy. Butterflies in your stomach while the two of you talked about anything and everything in between bites of your food.

You had kissed him for the first time then. The temptation had been there since the moment he had picked you up from your apartment on his bike, sizzling and magnetic between you. But it wasn't until then, with the ocean rumbling gently in your ears and his eyes mapping out your features as though he wanted to keep you ingrained in his memory, just as you were, that it had boiled over.

There was a relief when his lips had finally met yours, and you're sure that your mind had drawn a blank. It was unrushed, almost lazy. You had felt like you'd been lit on fire, but he had been determined to take his time. Indulging in the feel of you, the taste of you on his mouth as though it would be the first and last time. Cradling your face with a caress that revealed the raw want underneath, fingers almost trembling and grasping at your hair as though he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

When he broke away from you, it was to invite you somewhere special. Somewhere important to him. You couldn't have refused.

He'd done it in the cave. He didn't trick you with that ornate bottle they keep stashed and hidden away in plain sight amongst the old vials and liquor glasses. He didn't con you exactly like David did to Star, manipulating her into drinking out of a bottle that would alter her body and life forever. He had done it the "old fashioned way," as Paul had put it. Sank his teeth deep into your neck and drank until your veins had nearly gone dry, until your vision turned dark around the edges, and the panicked grip you had on his shoulders grew weak.

And then something tepid and warm was being fed into your mouth, iron and earthy and rich. It was like honey had been smeared across your tongue. You had felt outside yourself when your body made the first swallow, your teeth latching around the skin and tendons of a wrist to draw more of it out.

You haven't been the same since.

But you still don't know why. Why he chose you. Why that night. Why he had ripped you away from everything so cruelly. It made it all painful. Every memory you have of him is now blighted. Ruined by the realization that none of it had been genuine. All of it, when he would visit you at work, the flirting, the long conversations spent talking about your aspirations and hopes, were all just means to lull you into a false sense of security. And it had worked. Hook, line, and sinker, you had fallen for his facade.

"Why, Marko?" Your voice trembles a little. With heartbreak or anger, you can't tell anymore. It's all blending together. Distorting into a chaotic merge. "Why did you do it?"

It kills you that he doesn't look ashamed. But something real shows through his expression, an almost solemn kind of sincerity that the shadows cutting along his face accentuate. There's an emotion showing in his eyes that you've rarely ever witnessed, patient and intense. The hands on your shoulders slip up, drifting over you like he's cradling art, settling only to slip his fingers behind your skull, his thumbs brushing along the shape of your jaw. You want to flinch back from him, but you can't. Immobilized by the weight of his palms, suspended between the opposite desires to lean into him and pull away.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he says. Spoken out like a revelation. A promise. It stings. "I just wanted to share it with you. It could be so much better if you just-"

"Just what? Ate someone?"

"Yeah." It's matter of fact. Blunt. A little worn around the edges too as he's bored or tired. It keeps you constantly unbalanced, how casually he flip-flops between a gentle admiration and a sarcastic kind of exasperation. Now he's just mocking you. "It would be a lot easier if you just ate someone. "

Your anger is scorching. Burning in your chest. Twisting with the painful tremors running through your body like a symptom of hell. You don't think much when you shove him back from you, holding on enough scraps of will to keep from doing yourself a favor and attacking him. You move to slip away but you don't get far. He's on you in a split second before you could shift so much as an inch from the wall, tugging you back into place.

"Let me go, Marko," you snarl. Baring your teeth that are a far cry from the fangs hidden in his mouth.

Your shout goes unheard. The grip he has on you is like iron. Steel traps that have you caught. You're pinned down just as easily as you were before, held between the chill of the cement at your back and the weight of his body.

"You're only torturing yourself, you know." His eyes seem to blaze from the fires. Burning and fervent while he takes ahold of your face to make you look at him. "One of these days, you're gonna snap, and there's no telling how many people you're going to take out once you do."

You try to move your attention somewhere else, anything to muffle him out, but the hold he has on you, literally and figuratively is impossible to escape. But you need him to shut up. Get him to stop talking. You can't stand listening to him right now; the sound of his voice licking heat up your spine, settling over your skin like an obnoxious itch.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy-"

It's another thoughtless thing when you do it. Impulse dictated by rage and that ravenous animal instinct. It just happens. One minute you're glaring at him, hoping that he can see all of the hurt and disgust on your face and the next your mouth is on his throat, teeth parting skin in a violent bite. He draws tight against you, muscles coiling like he's preparing to wrangle you from him, but his fingers flex and grip instead.

When his blood flows into your mouth the world vanishes. Sound mutes, falling into an unnecessary background hum. All at once every fiber of your being comes alive, nerves lighting up, electricity sparking across your fingertips and toes. The hunger splitting you open dulls for one blissful moment and your body chases after the feeling, gulping down fresh rivulets of blood as your fangs drive deeper into his jugular.

It's a relief so great that you can't find a comparison. Peace flooding through you with every greedy mouthful you pull from his veins; so good that you nearly sob into the wound you've bitten into his flesh. You latch yourself around him tighter, winding your arms around his body in a blind effort to keep him constricted in your grasp, clutching tight like an animal wrapping itself around wounded prey.

The pain ebbs away the more that you drink. The ache dissipating the fuller you become, and the alleviation of it is almost crippling in its own right. Even while strength pours through your system, your knees almost buckle. You might have collapsed it wasn't the hold of Marko's arms securing you in place, cradling you close as though you were drawn in an embrace and not pulling the life from him.

You can't get yourself to stop. The taste of his blood is a repose that you haven't felt in what might be forever, pouring down your throat and settling through your veins as though it's your own. It goes straight to your head in a rush. Ecstasy clouding your mind, settling over your muscles like a soothing heat. You want to stay here forever. Curled into the press of his skin, breathing in the scent of him while his blood pools inside of your mouth, gliding over your tongue, rich and intoxicating.

You aren't sure how much longer he lets you remain that way, suspended in a rapture where time has blurred. You don't want to pull from him. You don't want to part from his blood. Like a glutton your hands wander, seeking to draw him closer somehow. Slipping your palms down over the bare skin of his stomach, delighting in the way it gets him to nudge closer to you, baring his throat like he wants to rip him open and consume him whole.

You think you could, but then he's gripping the back of your head firmly, using it as leverage to coax your teeth from his flesh. You don't go easily, stubbornly hanging onto to his neck, lapping at the blood that's smeared from the wound, desperately licking up what you can before he tugs you from him. It's disturbing, how you almost whine when he draws you from the crook of his neck, but you're too fuzzy to truly grasp it. Everything in you is like a livewire - alive and humming. A vigor that you've never felt seeming to pulse through your limbs.

When your attention is settled back on him, you nearly go breathless. He looks almost manic. His eyes are wide, glittering softly in the dim glow casted over the beach. Fervent and drunk as though he's the one who's just finished feeding. The fires burn behind him, scattering traces of gold across his curls like a halo, the wild beauty of it is a juxtaposition to the raw red that smudges his pale skin. Two errant drops have trickles past the ridge of his collar bone and reached his shirt, blossoming over the white material like blood staining snow.

His leans towards you, propping his forehead on yours and draws in a deep breath, panting like he actually needs the oxygen - probably a reflex that hasn't fully left after all this time. He's watching you like he wants to eat you alive. There's an intensity to his expression that makes you feel caught. A rabbit trapped between teeth even while fresh blood coats your lips.

He's got you cornered. Frozen in place by the stubborn, hypnotic pull that persists between the both of you. There's a divide in you that seems to be pulling closer by the second, straining until the lines seem blurred. Logic and reason tell you to deny everything and make a run for it all while want coats over your body as smoothly as a second skin, tight and natural, begging you to give in - those opposing thoughts are merging. Becoming contorted and blending.

You try to distract yourself, glancing anywhere but his eyes. Watching the crowd, the ocean, the night sky out of your peripheral vision like it might save you, and then finally - unfortunately - your focus drifts back down to him. Landing almost regretfully on his neck, and the gnarled wound you've left there. You feel guilt even though you probably shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," you apologize shakily. Mostly to fill the void, to distract yourself from the heat rushing through your bones. You run your tongue over your teeth, checking for the sharp cut of those abnormal fangs, but you feel nothing but blunt enamel now.

He doesn't respond. But you don't miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, tracing over their shape when you speak. He looks ravenous. Breathing heavily while he doesn't really need to; panting and drunk. You hate how beautiful he looks right now, bloody and tinged with warm light that brushes over him in shades of gold and amber. It makes him twistedly angelic. Covered in red gore - his own blood - like a disgraced cherubim.

It isn't fair, how he watches you. Staring with the intensity and admiration that is only befitting of lovers. It could easily trick you into feeling wanted, in being cherished, but you try to sink your claws in and reject the notion of it. He doesn't love you. You know that. You're pretty sure that he isn't even capable of caring for anyone else other than himself - with the exception of his brothers, of course.

You're just a plaything to him. Some kind of experiment brought on by the boredom that comes with eternity. It's tempting to believe it though, and your chest aches with the hope that you wished it was true.

But then he's shaking his head softly, a blink and you'll miss it kind of gesture as he shifts closer. Sweeping his eyes down your body as he nears, lifting his vision from your lips only to return his stare to yours. The world seems to fall away again. Losing its vibrancy and sound, muting down to pale watercolors as your attention zeros down onto him. The subtle warmth of his scent falls over you again, fusing with the sweet metallic edge of the blood marking his neck; glittering richly in the low lights dotted around the crowd, and it nearly makes you lightheaded.

He dares to angle his head, the point of his nose gliding over yours all while keeping your eyes locked in an unwavering hold as though he's gauging your reaction, silently asking for permission. You can't get yourself to speak, almost as though you're too scared to. A dread that sound of your voice might shatter whatever delicate, starved thing has fallen over the both of you keeps it quiet in your throat.

It's subconscious when you hold your breath, trapping air into your lungs as he lifts a hand up towards your face. Fire scatters across your nerves when he curls his fingers beneath the edge of your chin, keeping you in place when the bare pad of his thumb swipes over your lips. It's as though he's transfixed, watching his finger smooth over the shape of them in a slow drag. His skin is always a little cool. Chilled by the death that he harbors in his bones, and yet your body is burning beneath his touch, smoke and honey simmering inside you from such a simple gesture.

He raises his hand from you, but you don't have time to mourn the loss because he's raising his bare thumb to his lips, stained dark and maroon with his own blood, to take it into his mouth. You swear you nearly moan at the sight of it. A small, airy sound that snags in your lungs as he tastes himself, lapping his tongue softly around his thumb to suck off the red smearing the bit of pale skin peeking from the dark leather of his fingerless glove.

It has to only be a split second that you find yourself caught at another crossroad, the righteous anger in you demanding that you stick close to your resolve and deny yourself of the want ravaging your body like a sickness, all while pure hedonism rides on the back of that pathetic crush that hasn't entirely died out and demands that you finally give in to what you really want.

It'd be so simple too. You can see his own desire burning in his eyes. A fervid need that his body drawn up tight, like he's making a physical effort to resist the screaming of his own impulses.

It all culminates, iron snapping under skin, and like a slave to yourself you rush at him. Your hands reach for what they can, latching onto the material of his coat, fingers lacing through the colorful tassels hanging from the shoulder like an epaulette while your opposite grips the back of his neck, threading through the soft curls pouring down his back. You can feel his surprise take ahold of him for only a split second. His body goes taut like he isn't sure what to do with himself, and then he's meeting you with just as much enthusiasm.

You become a tangle of limbs, your bodies melding into each other as he crowds you in tight to the wall behind you, pinning you with the weight of his body. You can taste blood in both of your mouths, coating your tongues in an intoxicating glaze. There's an undeniable relief that melts through you at the feel of his teeth nipping at your lips, the press of his hands roving around your body in a greedy search, as though he doesn't know where to put them. Like he's overwhelmed with the options or too gluttonous to settle.

Despite all of the hunger and desperation goading you two on, you can't deny that there's a much more intimate element beneath it all. It's like coming home after keeping yourself away for too long. Like feeling warmth for the first time in forever after surviving the cold out on your own. It's soothing and exhilarating all at once, coasting in along the rush of the blood in your system and making you almost high. It has you moaning into his mouth, clawing at him to try and draw him closer even though he's already flush against your body. But it doesn't feel like enough.

You lift one of your legs up, the loose fabric of your skirt rucking up over your thigh as you curl it around the width of his waist, pushing him between your hips. And he doesn't hesitate at all, grinding himself against you, dragging the rough texture of his jeans directly over where you need him most, the press of his zipper catching on the material of your skirt and underwear. He's already growing hard, nudging firmly on your clit in a way that has you panting, toes curling a little in your shoes as you roll your hips to meet him.

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed, disgusted even, that you've crumbled so easily. That you've been reduced and desperate in some darkened corner on the beach, dry humping the guy who you thought you hated more than anything like some kind of pathetic teenager. But you can't be bothered to be angry or disappointed in yourself, not while it feels like you can breathe for the first time in a week. Maybe you can blame it on the rush of the blood in your system, the flavor of him in your mouth turning your mind into mush, but you don't want to stop.

The way he kisses you is almost feral, smearing the blood - his blood - on your mouth onto his. Painting both of your lips in red like he's trying to drink it from you. It's sloppy and hungry, spit smearing as he parts your jaw open and sucks at your tongue. Lapping up the flavor of himself and swallowing it down. It's animalistic, almost gross in its desperation but you need more of it.

Your fingers slip, navigating down and slipping between the tight squeeze of your bodies to drag your nails down the exposed sliver of his stomach, smoothing your palms down the skin to soothe the sting, but something tells you that he doesn't mind it based off of the groan it pulls from deep within his chest. You'd by lying if you didn't admit that you've always wanted to do that. Seeing him walk around all of the time in those crop tops, showing off a tantalizing portion of his toned stomach always makes you feel like some Victorian man catching the sliver of an ankle. Now that you have him under your hands you have to indulge a little, tracing over the smooth planes of lithe muscle rippling beneath his skin.

Not one to be outdone, he takes you by complete shock when one of his hands is suddenly working itself between your hips, gliding under the rumbled fabric of your skirt to press between your thighs. The moan that leaves you is airy and pitching in its surprise when he drags a knuckle over your clit, nudging the material of your underwear - now damp and sticking to your skin - over you in cruel, tight circles.

It's so unexpected that your head almost drops, nearly breaking the kiss but he's quick to nudge his nose with yours, quickly guiding your lips back onto his to lick his tongue back into your mouth. There's still a franticness to it, but the way he guides you is a little more languid now. Syrupy and slow like he wants to separate you into little malleable pieces and build you back up again. The steady stroke of his fingers makes your ribcage shudder, electricity skimming across your nerves as he works you up with a shocking kind of dexterity. Coasting you right on the precipice of something great and consuming, dangling you there without letting it grow into something more.

"Marko - need more." It's practically a whimper. Light and broken on his lips as he kisses you through your pleading. "C'mon, it's not enough. You know it isn't."

The way he smiles is confirmation enough of that, the shape of it pressed to you as he licks the taste of himself from your mouth. He's still unrushed though. Your begging falling on blissfully deaf ears while he sweeps you back under, chasing your lips with his until you fall pliant again. It's only when you're pulled under, caught in another daze that he pulls away from you, cruelly denying you all over again.

"Say please." It's spoken lowly, all smoky and tinged with a throaty rumble, but the mockery in it is clear. The smirk on his face is almost rude; a perverted, impish glint reflect in his eyes making him almost look sadistic. He grinds another circle around your clit, gliding almost too softly before he switches into firm figure eights that have your jaw dropping in a silent gasp. "Use your words."

A moan rips itself from your lungs, pitchy and a little ragged. If it wasn't for the ruckus of the live music and the melodic chanting of the crowd screaming over the beach you would have tried to contain it, but thankfully the whimper easily gets lost in the rest of the chaos. You know that he hears it though. Your proximity and his heightened senses giving you away.

A part of you wants to resist. To try and cling onto the scraps of pride that he's quickly destroying with the simple brush of his knuckles, but you can't manage to choke up any kind of insult or refusal. He looks far too pleased, as though he can tell that you're battling yourself. And like the bastard he is, he shifts his fingers from you just long enough to slip them past the band of your underwear, stroking them now bare and unencumbered against your clit. It makes you whisper his name, drawn out and breathless when he slips them down to the entrance of your cunt, gathering the slick of your cum on his fingers, teasing like he might finally plunge them into you. But of course he doesn't.

That's all it takes for you to break: "Please, touch me. I need you inside me. Your fingers, your tongue, your cock - I don't care. Just do something."

His grin is arrogant and wicked. Puckish in a way that makes you want to be angry at him, but it almost seems impossible with how he's scrambling the thoughts in your head.

"Need me that bad, huh?" For one awful moment you think that he might keep teasing you, circling his fingertips up and down your cunt, spreading you open to slip them over in repetitive sweeps that have your muscles going lax, and you almost sob. "Don't worry, I got you." And then he's slipping a single finger inside, parting you easily on the dull stretch of it. Your hips jerk, rolling up to guide him in deeper and a relieved groan leaves you when it slides inside of you until the back of his knuckles presses against your damp skin.

Your head thumps back on the cement wall but you hardly notice the sting that blossoms on your skull, too caught up in the pleasure blurring behind your eyelids. And then he's adding a second right in along the first, working you open, forcing you to cry out as small waves of bliss ripple over you.

Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, scratching down his body to leave marks behind, intent on branding your presence on his skin, even though you'll now that they'll have healed long before the night is over. You're almost frantic in your goal when you grip the smooth leather of his chaps, tugging harshly to rip the snap buttons open from their clasps with an audible pop, and you make do with the zipper of his jeans just as quickly.

He catches onto your objective, parting his hips from yours to give you more space to work with without daring to remove his fingers as they thrust inside of your cunt, rocking the heel of his palm directly on your clit in a way that nearly makes your eyes roll. It has you floundering in your movements for little more than a split second, but his free hand is suddenly gripping your wrist, impatiently urging your hand down past his pants and the hem of his boxers.

Your palm glides down his skin, soft and tepid, the light hair of the happy trail leading down from his bellybutton tickles against your palm, growing thicker as you reach the base of his cock. When you take him into your hand it surprises you completely from how thick he feels, the tips of your fingers just barely meeting. It has your head tilting, shock and instinct seeming to move you all on its own as you look down to peer at his cock from between the press of your bodies.

It strains your neck a little to try and see him from how tightly you're still standing together, but when you see it, your jaw drops for an entirely different reason now. It makes you remember all of those cliche jokes about how it's the skinny guys that have the big dicks, a claim that you hadn't personally run into all that much, but now that you're looking at him, it seems like it might have some merit to it. You wouldn't go as far as to call Marko gangly or scrawny. Yeah, his muscles aren't as defined as Dwayne's for instance, but you can still notice them rippling beneath his skin, lean and (no doubt intentionally) showcased by the crop tops he's partial to.

But it's not like it's a secret that he's the smallest amongst the group, the other three standing above him by a few inches, so it takes you off guard a little to see him fully hard and thick in your hand. He isn't big in that dramatic porn star kind of way, but you know that you're definitely going to be feeling him for a few days after this.

It makes you clench around the width of his fingers, your own shifting to squeeze around his cock making him swear under his breath, and he leans in again to catch your lips in another starved kiss. You didn't miss the arrogant glint in his eyes when he dipped closer to you. The way you were gawking at him probably blowing his ego up more than it already is. You'd be bothered by it in any other circumstance, but you can't manage any kind of frustration while he's steadily fucking his fingers into you.

You stroke your hand up his length, twisting your wrist up as best as you can in your current position, sweeping your thumb over the head of it when you do. It makes his hips twitch, seeking out more while you pump him in your palm in a firm rhythm. You smear the precum leaking from cock down his length, aiding the glide of your skin on his, but it isn't good enough to properly help your grip.

You almost regret pulling your hand from away him, even if it's only for a moment. You have to break your kiss, and you don't miss the way he tries to chase after you to draw you back in, but his focus shifts when he notices the hand you have raised between both of your chests. His eyes meet your own in a fervent stare, something that looks like recognition and hunger burning in them when you part your lips to spit out onto your own palm. An intensity burning there like he wants to eat you alive.

And then he takes ahold of your wrist again, the smooth glide of the leather glove around your arm in a firm grasp narrows your attention down onto him as he draws your hand closer towards his face. You're sure that your confusion shows plainly, and he definitely finds it amusing, the amber glow of the flames casting dimly over you both makes his smirk visible. Your mouth goes dry, body flushing with an almost debilitating heat when he pouts his lips, his gaze locking directly onto yours while he spits onto your palm.

It's something so simple. You don't know why it does something for you, but it does. Your hips rock, chasing after the drag and stroke of his fingers, smoke and heat eating its way up your spine. Now you're the one swearing lowly. "Fuck, Marko."

You don't waste any time getting your hand back on him once he lets your wrist free, wrapping your fingers around his length and starting right where you left off. It's much easier to smooth your grip down on him with the aid of both of your spit, jerking it down his cock with steady, firm strokes that have him groaning. His free arm lifts as he shifts forward, his elbow dropping on the wall beside your head as he drapes himself over you so he can look down between your bodies, watching while you both fuck each other on your hands. It makes it a little harder to work your fist over him, the tight angle straining the tendons in your wrist, but you can't find in yourself to ask him to move back.

You like having him close again, with his scent in your lungs and his blood on your teeth. As much as you might not like to admit it, it's nice being like this, having him against you, hearing the soft grunts slipping from him in a low, drunken stream. Completely uninhibited to finally indulge and stop fighting the desires that have been simmering in you since day one.

He strokes his fingers deep, curling them in a come-hither motion and it almost makes you cry out when they brush against that spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

"That's it right there?" he asks, all smug from how he already has you writhing on just his fingers.

"Uh-huh," you answer dumbly. Already too dazed over to properly answer. It's difficult to when your mind seems miles away from your body. Your thoughts abandoning to leave you overcome by the bliss scorching up your nerves. It's close already. You can feel the beginnings of your orgasm coiling up tight in your stomach, licking fire up your spine. "I need it. Need you to make me cum."

"Yeah? You need it?" But it's completely rhetorical. He's got that patronizing look in his eyes again that almost annoys you a little, and you fully expect him to tease you again. It seems like such a normal part of his nature for him to tip you close only to taunt you into begging more - and you would have if that's what he asked - but he doesn't. He keeps curling his fingers in that same motion, thrusting them deep and gliding his fingertips over that spot that has your voice falling flat and your breath rushing out in heavy pants.

You try to keep up and focus on the weight of his cock in your palm, stroking him through the building of your own pleasure but it makes it difficult to keep the pace you've set going. All of a sudden he's nudging his face with yours, drawing your attention onto him as he grinds the heel of his palm down on your clit, thrusting his fingers down, ripping a tight gasp from your lungs. And the mocking look on his face shifts into something a little softer, if not determined. "It's okay, you can have it. Go ahead and cum."

That combined with a few more practiced strokes of his fingers has you falling apart around him. The high twists through you, pulling everything in you tight as you squirm on his hand, your body desperate to ride out every ounce of pleasure that it can. A long moan of his name keens out into the loud night air, scattering and fading out amongst the music.

He guides you through the end of it, stopping only once the instinctual roll of your hips fall still. He presses another kiss to your lips as you come down, much slower and indulgent than the last, like he's trying to breathe you in with lungs that don't work anymore. It's another small thing, but it's enough to have that familiar ache already settling back between your thighs.

You whine when he removes his fingers from you, your own grip flexing around his cock, stroking it back into the firm grip in your fist. You can't help but to place a gentle, if not hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth in an apology for having stopped, the rush of your orgasm having you distracted you. But then he's stopping you, placing a hand around your arm to halt your movements. You don't really have time to be confused because he's reaching for your underwear and twisting. The fabric pinches your skin when it gives with a sharp rip, tearing from your body as easily as paper.

A complaint burns right on the tip of your tongue. You're in short supply of undergarments these days. Being forced to live in a cave without a job makes funds pretty limited, and you haven't built up the courage to try and shoplift, and you've outright refused to take the dirty money that Marko's stolen off his victims. But the grumble you had fizzles out when he tosses the scrap of fabric past his shoulder like it's somehow offended him.

Just as quickly he's pulling on your skirt, bunching the light fabric up high around your hips, and that's all it takes for your sluggish brain to have your arms moving to help. Your own hands are reaching down alongside his, assisting him in moving your skirt up and out of the way, rucking the leg you have slung around his waist a little higher.

He's scattering more kisses on your lips, nipping softly like he's trying to distract you and when you feel the head of his cock nudge over the entrance of your cunt it reminds you of why. You know that the stretch is going to sting even with the help of your previous orgasm, but right now you're too worked up to care if it's going to ache afterwards.

Your fingers move up to latch onto his shoulders, nails snagging like they might tear into his jacket as they reach past the stiff collar to grip at his neck. They slip on the blood smearing from the healing wound, once an open gash made by violent teeth now the beginnings of a tender scar. He hisses from the sting of it, and that hurt, angry part of you delights at the way his body shivers lightly from the subtle pain. But it catches you off guard when his hips jerk in response and it has the head of his cock pushing into you, forcing you open with hardly any warning. It punches the air out of your lungs when he pops in. It only has to be about an inch and already you feel the sting pulsing through you, making you clench and flutter around him tightly.

"Try and relax." He orders softly, but his hands grip tightly around your hips, squeezing the bare flesh enough to bruise. As though he's making an effort to restrain himself, holding himself back from the urge to just fuck himself into you in a single stroke. It's like you have to concentrate to pull in a breath, sucking in a soothing lungful and make an effort to ease your muscles.

It's only then that he begins to push, working inch after inch inside. There's a dull ache that pulses through your hips as he guides himself forward until he's flush against you, the front of his pelvis pressing firm against your clit. You feel so full. Carved open and stuffed. There's a shaky sigh quivering in the pit of your lungs, bubbling from your chest in a strangled whimper.

He doesn't seem like he's doing any better. His nails dig into the tender skin of your thighs, burrowing so harshly that they might leave scratches behind. You hate how a piece of you almost wants it. To have ten red slashes running up the sides of your legs, branding him on your skin. Even if they'll only last until the sunrise, you want to feel the sting until they heal.

"God - shit Marko, I can feel you in my fucking throat," you groan raggedly. It's a regret as soon as it slips out of your mouth. You can practically feel how smug he is, his smile pressing against you when he noses along the edge of your jaw; teeth scrapping along your flesh like he might take a bite out of you this time. The thought should disgust you, have your body tensing up in repulsion but it only has you clenching around him tighter. All of these new, animalistic instincts turning your urges into something violent, and you have to claw uselessly to grip at the nape of his neck, almost blindly searching for something to ground yourself.

"It's alright, baby, I got it. Just let me fuck you." The circles he sweeps over your waist is soothing. Tender brushes that seem too delicate for someone as brutal and selfish as he can be. It seems so sweet that you go a little pliant, tucking your face into the wild curls that pour down his back. Some of the golden strands have slipped over his shoulder, letting you breathe in the scent of the generic shampoo and stolen styling products that perfumes his hair.

He pulls out until only his tip inside of you and then he's pushing himself in, filling you up in one thrust. The pace he sets is almost desperate. Repeatedly burying his cock in you in heavy, deep strokes that has your spine bowing in an almost painful arch, bending back off of the wall as your hips pick up in an almost mindless roll. Instinctually seeking out the pleasure that's lashing up your body and scattering over your nerves.

He lifts up your other leg, securing it effortlessly around his waist, holding you up like you're made of air. It makes it easier for him to keep you pinned, moving you how he likes, repeatedly lifting and dropping you back down onto his cock. Your eyes almost roll when the head brushes over that spot on the front of your walls that has it feeling like molten honey is pouring through your veins, making your toes curl and your lips part open.

It's almost violent, how he fucks himself into you. Carving you open with the stretch of his cock, tearing frayed gasps from your lungs with every grind and thrust. There's another daze clouding over you, or maybe it never left. It's saturating your bones, stuffing your skull full, all packed in like cotton soaked in alcohol, twisting with the intoxicating thrum of his blood pulsing through your body.

You don't even have a real concept of how loud you might be anymore, but you can feel your voice puffing out from your throat. It seems to take all of your concentration to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings, skipping over the scattered throng of bodies that lurk nearby. Thankfully, no one seems to be looking in your general direction, still too caught up in the festivities on stage to notice the both of you in the dark.

Not that you would have been able to give a shit if someone was watching you. It seems dramatic and entirely unlike yourself, but you think you'd rather die than stop now.

You hate him. You know that you still do. Even now, you can feel it lurking beneath all of the lust, smoldering and hidden under all of the intensity and want. But it's also nice to just pretend for a moment. To finally give into to all of that repressed desire that's been haunting you and following you around like a phantom these past days. To indulge and allow yourself to exist as you are now, no matter if it's only for tonight.

And you'd be a liar if you couldn't admit that there's something so satisfying about having him this close to you. It's something that you shouldn't want, but you do. It's peaceful and electrifying all at once. Scorching through you as unforgiving as a wildfire; the salvation of a dying man stumbling across an oasis in the desert, the frenzied contentment of breathing after suffocating. For now, you can pretend. For now you can enjoy the temporary peace of having him in your arms.

He's already hurtling you towards the end, loving you with a passion that's almost debilitating, as though he's been just as repressed as you are. And you guess he is. He's tried in his own, ignorant way of apologizing and making amends. All of the boys are out of touch with reality, having been undead for longer than you've been alive, and their humanity has been stretched thin and exhausted by the years. You don't think that they remember how to be human anymore, and you're sure that their pasts have become distorted reflections of what they really were.

But Marko has tried his best to rectify his wrongs. Small things that almost felt like another charade in the beginning. Much to David's chagrin you had outright refused to do anything with the group, curling yourself up on your mattress and hiding yourself away. You'd lie there for hours, contemplating your escape while they'd leave to hunt. Star had become your glorified babysitter, and it was only her that kept you from fleeing in the night, always reminding you that you'd never get far. You'd have to leave Santa Carla if you meant to elude them forever, and if they didn't get you then the hunger eventually would.

You loathe all of them for it, and to try and find figments of solitude you'd keep yourself away in your own corner of the cave for hours until the boys would inevitably have to leave for their nightly hunts. Mark always comes back with a gift of some kind. It surprised you the first time you'd woken up from your nap and found a necklace carefully placed out on the floor beside your mattress, respectfully laid out behind the barrier of curtains draped around your bed.

And it hasn't stopped there. You have an entire collection hidden away beside your mattress. One that you try to ignore, but the size of it is quickly growing out of hand, composed of anything and everything, from clothes, cassette tapes, jewelry and random trinkets. All of which had been left on the side of your bed like a cat leaving carcasses on its owner's doorstep.

The most personally compelling though is the art he's left behind. Twelve pages. That's how many sheets of paper he's given you, all of them smudged and shaded with the fine gray lines from lead pencils and streaks of coal and the vibrancy of watercolors. All of them are of you. And all of them are as breathtaking as the last. There's an undeniable skill about them, and yet the way that the shape of your face and the light in your eyes is captured is done with a sense of care that you can practically see. Done with a fluid but considerate hand that captures you with an intimate familiarity. As though he's stared at you for a lifetime and could draw your features with blind eyes; the bridge of your nose, the shape of your lips, the color of your eyes branded across his mind.

The one you find yourself admiring the most though is the first one he's given you. It's based off of the night you met. The date written in the bottom corner in a loopy, cursive scrawl dates it on that exact night. He must have drawn it when they all came back home. You're looking off in the sketch, the center of your focus nonexistent and trained somewhere else, but the soul that he's managed to bring through your eyes always leaves you in awe. He caught the cold highlights that the fluorescents at work always reflected in your hair perfectly, the shadows and hues he brought to your skin revealing the practiced care that he had brought into bringing your likeness alive.

It's almost shameful how you've looked over it religiously, always noticing the brushes he had made with the strokes of a pencil as though they're scripture on a page. You hate that you haven't thrown them all away. You hate how they make you feel despite the sting of betrayal. Cherished and admired regardless of how selfishly he's taken you from everything you know.

Even now, as he fucks you almost brutally, he holds you close as though you're something sacred. He drives himself into you like an animal, but the grip of his hands on your waist is soft somehow, even while his fingers flex and ache on your skin. You're so close that you can practically taste it, scattered and sweet on your tongue, coiling and white hot under your flesh. It's already winding its way through you, zipping up your spine, promising to take you over and leave bones behind.

"I'm gonna cum," you moan, tearing your nails down his back.

"Do it," he answers. It's like a taunt, a command, and a plead all rolled into one. You find it hard to resist - you don't want to - but it's like something is missing. A critical piece that's keeping you from hurtling over the edge. It digs at you, tearing at some part of your soul in an itch. It makes you war with yourself, ignoring the impulse that latches onto your bones like sinew, curling in your lungs like air, but like many things tonight, you can't fight it.

"Marko. I need you to bite me," you gasp, forcing it out between breaths.

He jerks his face from where he has it tucked into you, removing a hand from its grip on your thigh to hold your chin, using it to guide you to look at him. He searches your eyes, the soft blue of his own glimmering with curiosity and bewilderment, but the feral kind of need showing in them is unmistakable. It only makes you want him to do it even more.

All it takes is for you to give him a shaky nod, and then he's tilting your head to the side to sink his teeth into your neck just as a soft yes spills past your lips. The reaction is almost immediate. The sensation of the sharp, painful snap of enamel cutting down through your skin seems to light every single nerve in your body on fire, giving you the push that you needed. The pleasure strangles its way through you, vicious and euphoric all at once. It has your limbs drawing up tight around him, desperate to keep him locked against you as he continues to thrust himself inside of your cunt, pulling you through a rapture that doesn't seem to end.

You can tell he's getting close. His own rhythm is growing sloppy, hips jerking as he grinds himself into you, rolling his pelvis against your clit until you're twitching. The hold that his teeth have on your throat clenches, the muscles throughout his body seizing tight just as his own end crests and floods over him. You both groan, your voices scattered over the dark satin air while your bodies work on their own, rocking against each other to drain out your shared pleasure completely.

You both go limp, the only thing really keeping you up is the unwavering support of the wall behind you and the weakened strength of Marko's legs. He almost seems hesitant when he removes his fangs from your neck; unable to pull his face from you as he laps at your wounded flesh. Greedily drinking up at the blood that's probably begun to pour from the gash made by his teeth, peppering gentle kisses in between licks to soothe the raw sting he made there.

He keeps you both like that for a while. Held safely in your own private bubble while the world screams and celebrates around you. For one serene moment it's just peace. You and he suspended in the calm and bliss from the aftermath of the violence and animalistic want that had clouded you over. It's almost like waking up from an erotic dream, but reality isn't as harsh as you expected it to be when it starts to slip in through the cracks of your daze.

"I'm gonna put you down now," he says.

He helps you unwind your legs from his waist, slipping out of you with a low hiss when you shift off of him and drop your feet onto the sand. The muscles in your thighs burn, protesting in a dull sting after having been locked in the same position for so long. It has your knees shaking, and if it weren't for him and the wall, you're pretty sure that you might have collapsed onto the ground.

He helps smooth down your skirt after tucking himself back into his pants. Once you're both done fixing yourselves, correcting your clothes and pulling some strength back into your limbs it leaves an uncertain silence hanging heavy over you. It makes you almost thankful for the commotion of the concert, giving you something else to focus on other than the weight of his stare.

There's the smear of blood on corner of his lips, and it reminds you of the metallic flavor coating the inside of your own mouth. Once delicious and a little intoxicating, it now has a flicker of fear scattering in your chest like a chill.

"Am I like you now?" you ask. You almost don't want to say it, dreading the answer, the possibility of a yes.

The relief you feel when he shakes his head could knock you off of your feet. "No," he says. His voice is muffled as he licks at his thumb and smears it at your lips, lifting his sleeve up to drag it over the same spot. The blood. He's trying to clean you. It makes your heart flutter, all warm and stupidly affectionate. "It has to be fresh - alive," he corrects himself.

It settles some of your nerves, but you can't ignore that there's still some uncertainty clinging to you. It's unignorable that things have been completely altered between you two. Flipped on its head. You aren't going to be the same after this. Not know that you know what he feels like, the way that he sounds when he's inside of you, the taste of his lips and flesh.

He somehow looks even more stunning than usual. A gruesome, wild piece of art. His hair is a mess, the creamy shade of his skin flushed in a lively hue, his cheeks gone a little rosy from the blood that he's swallowed from your veins - his own blood that he had given to feed you. The earring he wears glimmers in the light, the same amber hue spilling over his hair making him look like an angel on fire. You think you could stare at him forever.

"You know that you have to feed eventually."

Of course he'd ruin it.

It's hardly a question, and the severity reflected in his eyes doesn't allow you to shield yourself from the truth.

"Yeah," you answer. A little defeated, and yet you can't deny that for whatever reason, the thought of it doesn't make you want to cringe away in horror like it usually does. "I know."

He seems like he might want to say more, but thankfully he doesn't. The expression on his face shifts into something a little more tender, and he reaches to fiddle with the jacket hanging around your shoulders, fixing the collar higher around your shoulders to try and cover the mark he's left on your neck. He steps away only once he's satisfied with the result, giving you room to move forward as he watches you expectantly.

"I think that's enough for one night," he holds a hand out to you. "Let's go home."

It's a casual but intimate gesture that he's done a hundred times, and it's one that you've always refused without second thought. Still, he never stopped. If you excepted, it always felt like the confirmation of something you weren't ready to accept, a future that you wanted to deny. And maybe a part of you still does, but now it's never seemed so tempting.

But instead of shying away or ignoring him, you find yourself stepping forward, and when your hand slips into his it feels natural. It feels right. And when he leads you out through the crowd, holding you close to keep you from becoming lost, there's this dark, inviting voice curling around in your mind and you think that you might have to agree with it:

Eternity might not seem so bad after all.

#marko x reader #the lost boys x reader #marko tlb #the lost boys marko #the lost boys #the lost boys x y/n #paul tlb x reader #the lost boys david #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #slasher x reader #slasher x you #marko the lost boys #marko tlb x reader #marko tlb x you

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arenpath · 2 years ago

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#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #dwayne the lost boys #dwayne tlb #david tlb #paul tlb #marko tlb #dwayne the lost boys x reader #the lost boys dwayne #my memes #meme #y/n

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rapturously · 1 year ago

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You’ve got me absolutely melting for David!!

How about him and something with edging, because he’s an asshole who would def love your needy frustration🥴

flesh for fantasy.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | david (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 8.3K (not sorry!)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT! (mdni), vampire antics, gore/violence (people die), very mild seduction/hypnosis, edging, rough sex (david is not gentle at all), missionary and from behind, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), choking, hair-pulling, david is mean, blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, sweetheart), clothes ripping, fingering, teasing, david is extremely possessive, begging, crying, etc. this fic is nasty & david is an asshole

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | w h e w — here we are AGAIN. I promise that there will be a marko fic guys !!! I have so many lost boys projects going rn that the content is endless at this point! thank you so much for your support, requests, love, etc. I literally adore y’all so much you don’t understand :)) hope you guys enjoy!

David had become a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — your pale-headed, blue-eyed infatuation. Even in your moments spent alone, his voice rang within your head, echoing like the lull of a siren. His sly laughter, his smirk — they were embedded into your brain. It was almost like some fog had come over you, and he was the only thing on your mind, the only thing that you were permitted to think about.

After that night spent within the darkness of the boardwalk’s endless carnival, he wanted you to meet him at the beach, shrouded by the cover of dusk. It had become easier to fib to your mother about where you were going at night — it was always a rotation of excuses. Friends, a beach concert, or another group hangout.

Frilly, pastel-yellow fabric clung to your frame, a sundress that billowed in the cool, night breeze of Santa Carla. It was covered in a ditsy floral pattern, something sweet and a little innocuous. The boardwalk was always congested, crowded with waves of people that swarmed you wherever you went.

You hadn’t pinpointed exactly where you were supposed to meet David, so you joined the massive herd of people that were partying around the current concert. The noisy thrum of rock music floated through the air, and you blended in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd. He would find you eventually — he always did.

Even through the midst of music, you could still hear David, always buried somewhere within the recesses of your mind. You had no idea how you’d become so enamored with him and so quickly, but you didn’t want to go against the grain and fight your feelings. He was naturally charming and enticing — you assumed that you were just smitten and awestruck.

Someone bumped into you, prompting you to shift elsewhere, toward a wooden ledge that seemed less populated. You watched the concert with idle interest, flesh erupting with goosebumps as a gloved hand grabbed at your waist. You shivered, whirling around to find David’s smirking countenance.

He was close, wedged behind you with a devious grin, pressing a brief kiss against your neck. “Found you.” He chuckled, circling you like a predator would prey as he searched for your hand. “Were you hiding from me?” David inquired, wanting to tease you a little bit. You were always so flustered and smitten — it was difficult not to find enjoyment in it.

Your lips parted, skin crawling with heat as it licked across the column of your spine. As David took your hand, he began to lead you from the crowd and into the unoccupied, sandy shores. There was a spacious staircase that led back up from the boardwalk and a terrace above.

“Never,” You protested, and that was enough to earn you a laugh from David. It was ominous and enticing, like the encroaching darkness — your curiosity was insatiable. You followed him as if you were in a trance, spotting the pack of ragtag motorcycles and the boys you’d encountered before. “Where are we going?”

David stopped midway atop the steps, guiding you forward until you were pressed against him. Your scent invaded his senses, thick and saccharine as that familiar pang of thirst scratched within his throat. He towered over you, brushing his thumb along the curve of your jawline. “Somewhere special.”

A brief laugh escaped you — he was going to keep you in the dark until you arrived. “Okay,” You hummed, gaze glued to his features as he playfully squeezed at your hip. His touch was incendiary, and you wanted to feel him anywhere and everywhere. “No hints?” You asked, listening to his sly chuckling.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” David mused, briefly nipping at your lower lip before coaxing you up the stairs again. You followed, rounding the grated bannister as he released your hand. The pack of boys were all waiting on their bikes, and the one you’d spoken to before, Paul, winked and waved at you.

You hesitated, poised along the edge of the walkway as David sauntered toward his bike, a dust-laden Triumph, taking a seat atop the vehicle as he revved the engine to life. He then peered toward you, expectant and unusually patient. Those crystalline, pale eyes shamelessly roamed across your body, drinking in the look of you in that sundress.

“Are you coming?” David asked, gesturing toward the empty space behind him. Even from the few feet of distance between you both, he listened to the excited, erratic beating of your heart. His lips twitched into a smirk, knowing that you’d go with him anyway.

“Not yet, she’s not.” Paul guffawed, releasing a series of wolfish whistles and howls. The other curly-headed blonde laughed along with him as the two smacked at one another.

David’s gaze narrowed slightly, but this sort of crass behavior was to be expected. He’d keep you safe. Finally, he extended his hand towards you, head cocked to one side. He was silent, enticing you through eyes and expression alone. Part of him wanted to utilize persuasion, but he thoroughly enjoyed whenever you chose him of your own free will.

The desire to leave the boardwalk behind for a night to spend it with David was much too tantalizing to ignore. Your feet shuffled forward, and you finally reached him, taking a hold of his hand. “I’ve never ridden one of these before.” You were a little concerned — motorcycles weren’t exactly the safest option.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto the seat behind him, craning to look over his shoulder at you. “Just hold on tight, kitten. I won’t let you fall.” He sneered, and to add fuel to the fire, he tilted backward, mouth sloppily landing against your plush, sweet lips. That devilish grin appeared again, prompting you to wrap your arms around his midsection.

As the bikes roared to life, David made sure that you were clinging on before spinning around within the patch of sand, making it fly across the boardwalk. He revved the engine, signaling for the rest to follow as they flew down a set of stairs, making you gasp and rock forward. David sped out onto the stretch of open beach, laughing and howling.

You hadn’t seen him like this — wild and carefree, screaming into the dead of night. David was often calculating and methodical, but you enjoyed seeing this other side of him, this primal, unrestrained edge he now possessed. The more he drove, the more comfortable you became, leaning up to get a better look of your surroundings.

As he drove toward the pier, you gasped, fingers twisting into his coat as he went straight through the wooden rafters underneath. Dangerous and daunting — but that pang of fear inevitably dissipated into excitement and sheer exhilaration. You glanced over your shoulder, watching the other boys close in behind you.

Santa Carla’s shoreline inevitably stretched into cliffsides and a wilderness of cypress trees and dirt, which is where David veered off into. Paul playfully wove his bike a little closer to you, letting out a series of whistles before David inevitably got bored of his antics, applying a barrage of pressure on the gas.

The night sky was uninhibited by clouds — it was endlessly clear, marked by a smattering of millions of stars and the silvery glow of a full moon. Forest dwindled the closer you got toward Hudson’s Bluff, waves crashing against the rock. Along the small patch of shoreline near the old lighthouse, there was a group of people partying around a small bonfire.

“Hold on.” David cautioned, swinging his bike around as he drove down a steeper incline. The bluff had an old, rocky dirt path that climbed down to the mouth of a cavern at the very bottom. It was surrounded by a mess of ‘DO NOT ENTER’ signs, barricades, and old paneling, now rotted from the ocean’s encroaching tides.

You rocked forward, colliding with his back as he made it towards the very bottom. It was a relatively wide patch of dirt and rock, where the rest of the pack promptly parked their motorcycles, draping tarps over them. The group surrounding the bonfire didn’t seem to pay any of you much attention at all.

David helped you off of the bike, grasping ahold of your hand as he motioned toward the dark entrance of the cave. The rest of the boys began to whoop and laugh as they barreled down the path inside of the cavern, torchlight diminishing as it left you and David alone outside of the cave.

He was bathed in moonlight — flesh unnaturally pale, eyes vibrant, hair turned to tresses of silver. His musculature pressed into your side, gloved palm calmly cupping your cheek. “Come with me,” He murmured, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. “Be with me.” David’s voice had become sultry, and it almost held some sway and power over you.

A shudder rattled the length of your spine, goosebumps following suit as they coalesced across your body. David gingerly turned your face, forcing you to look up at him as he stroked his thumb against your chin. “Of course, David.” You were intrigued by what awaited you within that cave — you assumed that it was their hangout, a place to simply exist.

With a sly chuckle, he led you into the shadowed maw of the cavern, and you were launched into a place unlike any other. Dim torchlight illuminated your path as David coaxed you into their lair, where moonlight pooled onto a massive, stone fountain in the very center. It looked old — the architecture was dilapidated and crumbling, but it was all decorated with whatever they enjoyed.

Paul made himself at home, perched atop the edge of the fountain as Dwayne climbed up toward a nook carved into the rock, retrieving a case of what appeared to be alcohol. Marko came up to David, murmuring something in secrecy. Both pairs of eyes momentarily darted toward you, until David’s lips twitched into a smirk.

Marko gestured towards Paul, and the pair exited the cave, laughing and howling their way back out into the cool, oceanic dusk. You wondered what that was all about, but decided not to question it as David motioned to your newfound surroundings.

“This was the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty-five years ago,” David released your hand, idly sauntering around the central fountain as he prodded at the dangling fixtures of shells and bone. “They built it right along the faultline, and once the ground opened up?” He trailed off, rounding the stone until he made his way back to you. “Swallowed it whole. Now, it’s ours.”

You were intimately familiar with Santa Carla, but not enough to fully comprehend the immense amount of history lying around. You leaned over, sweeping your fingertips against the massive chandelier, rotting away within the basin of cave water. A wad of cobwebs stuck to your hand.

“It’s pretty. There’s so much to see here, too.” You chimed, peering toward the cavernous roof of the cave, where slats of moonlight pooled through, right into the center. “Where did the others go?” It was odd that they’d left so soon after just arriving.

David chuckled, knowing the gravity of the situation that you would soon find yourself caught within. If you weren’t exposed to them now, it would become increasingly difficult for him to suppress what he really was. “They went to get dinner.” He stated, which, in some twisted sense, was the truth.

With a brief laugh, you decided to pass off David’s statement as humorous, studying the intricate details of their home-away-from-home. You noticed the dangling sculptures made of animal bone, seashells, and various pieces of sea-glass. A massive banner of Jim Morrison hung on one of the rocky walls, another of Motley Crüe.

Vulnerability seeped from every pore, and David knew that he would have you — soon enough. He followed closely behind you, letting you explore as you pleased, wandering about the cave. You felt his hand press against the small of your back, gloved digits idly massaging into your curves, easy to feel beneath your sundress.

As you stepped toward a collection of chairs, you noticed one with a very high back, made of mahogany and velveteen cushions, layered in a fine sheen of dust. David moved around you, sitting down with a huff in that seat, head cocked to one side. “Don’t be shy.” He uttered, patting his thigh with a gloved palm.

Heat swept through you, crawling across your flesh as you hesitantly wandered toward David. You were a little nervous, considering that the boys were around, but he seemed entirely unbothered by this. He was smirking at you, patiently waiting until you lowered yourself into his lap, feeling him anchor an arm around your hips.

Your scent was intoxicating — heavy and warm, like the innocence of springtime. David absentmindedly licked his lower lip as he played a dangerous game, leaning in to press a kiss against your bare shoulder. Teeth momentarily grazed flesh, causing you to shudder as you made yourself comfortable.

Sounds of rancor and laughter reverberated throughout the cavern, prompting you to glance up at the rocky incline. Marko and Paul returned with two strangers — a younger couple who seemed intrigued by their surroundings.

Confusion flickered across your features, but you let it subside, assuming that they wanted to make it a party of-sorts. David held you close, practically pinning you against him as he idly caressed along your supple curves. He knew what was about to happen — your terror would come to a head.

“Wow! Look at this place, Con!” The girl echoed, hanging onto the arm of her boyfriend. They were your age, if not a little older, oblivious as to what was about to happen. Dwayne hopped down from the nook above, gaze bristling with a thinly-veiled hunger.

“Good choice.” David mused, grin becoming devilish and wrathful as he leaned forward within his chair. “I don’t think our guest will be very hungry. They’re all ours.” He assured, giving your hip a playful pat. He had no intention of turning you — not yet, anyway.

Paul and Marko began to snicker, with Marko cocking his head to one side before he gestured to you. “Off limits?” He’d ask, evoking a rather visceral response from David, whose eyes were akin to frozen pits full of ire and protectiveness.

“Yes.” David quipped, able to taste the bewilderment and confusion that dripped from you. It oozed from your pores — he could smell that surge of nervousness looming about you. It produced a peculiar pheromone that he could detect, something akin to uncertainty. You were something that he had no desire to share.

You belonged to him, now.

With a brief bout of laughter, your brows furrowed together. “Hungry?” You’d ask, unsure of why David was referring to food when there wasn’t a lick of it in-sight. The atmosphere began to shift — instinct and foresight told you to flee, but there you sat, glued to David’s lap like a good little human. He knew you’d stay.

Dwayne let out a thunderous growl, grabbing the man by the collar as he thrust him toward his knees as if he weighed nothing at all. His girlfriend yelped and squeaked, wriggling around as Paul and Marko sprang forward, keeping her restrained.

This felt wrong.

“David, wh — what’s going on?” With a strained tone of voice, it hopped up an octave, laced with fear. Anxiousness swirled within the pit of your stomach, and you shuffled within David’s lap, prompting him to press his digits into the swell of your hip.

You became uneasy, looking to David for something — protest, a command, anything. Instead, he was grinning like a cheshire cat, the apex predator, visage taking on some leer of amusement as he peered toward you. “I told you, sweetheart,” He began, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Dinner.”

It was as if everything happened all at once, your world beginning to spin so fast that you very nearly fainted, but David was keen on keeping you safe. Dwayne’s hands would rend and tear into the man, razor-sharp incisors suddenly sinking into his jugular.

You watched with shock and horror as Paul and Marko bit into the throat and shoulder of the woman, callously tearing at her flesh, crimson spurting into the open air as it pooled around her clothing. They were laughing, akin to a pack of slavering hyenas as the girl went down into the sand-laden dirt.

Their faces transformed, no longer the boyish visages from before — they were glistening with a sweat-like sheen and wolfish, with eyes like the sun, a liquid-gold adorned in a red ring, like a halo. Fangs protruded from their canines, and the air began to smell pungent, thick with the coppery haze of blood.

You yelped, immediately attempting to scramble off of David’s lap, but he kept you pinned, now fueled with inhuman strength in the presence of prey. That dark, sly laughter of his rang within your mind and throughout the cave, and again, you tried to throw yourself onto the ground. You feared that you would be next.

“Easy, easy,” David purred, grabbing your hips as he crushed your back against his chest. “I’ll keep you safe.” He uttered, and as convincing as it sounded, a sliver of you didn’t want to believe him anymore. Then again, it was solemn — it lacked that coy, cajoling tone from before.

A pair of fangs scraped across your neck, threatening to break the skin, and you realized that it was David. Your throat felt too thick, even if you wanted nothing more than to scream. Finally, he released you, watching as you immediately fled in the opposite direction, sundress snagging on a rock.

David chuckled, gracefully pushing himself out of the chair as he sauntered toward the now-mangled body of the woman. He knew that you wouldn’t be going anywhere — he had very little to worry about. Marko and Dwayne were having their fill of the man, whose body was as limp as a ragdoll, flesh an ashen pallor.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of David sinking his fangs into the collarbone of the woman, drinking straight from the source as he and Paul drained her life away. You felt lightheaded, on the verge of collapsing as you tried to climb away, only to fall right back down into the dirt.

“David?” You croaked, attempting to push yourself up from the dirt, knees wobbling. The world felt as if it’d been turned upside-down, and you were simply along for the ride, dizzy and delirious. The four were in the midst of feeding, stained with red, glowering at you through the dim light of the cave.

As you stood upright, you began to sway, but before you could collapse and hit the ground, David caught you, mouth drenched in crimson. His tongue lashed across his fangs as he ogled you, letting out another chuckle. With a bow of his head, he kissed you, and you gasped when you tasted that swarming sting of blood.

With a swift and eager tongue, he lapped at the traces of scarlet left behind from his feeding, greedily hauling you in for another lewd, passionate kiss. He was surprised to find that you weren’t recoiling, hapless within his embrace as you let out a shrewd, agonzied whine. Even if what they’d done was terrifying, you still couldn’t keep yourself away from David.

You poor thing — scared to death, trembling within his arms. Without pause, he picked you up, cradling your warm body as he carried you toward his wing of the cave. He could sense that you were on the verge of passing out, and as soon as he’d placed you onto his bed, you fainted.

Be with me.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips as your eyes shot open, swiftly surveying your surroundings. Your heart began to beat erratically, threatening to rip free from your collarbone. David’s voice was still reverberating within your mind — the screams had drowned out from the cave, leaving you with the distant lull of Billy Idol and the cavern’s ambiance.

You were swaddled in a thin shawl, made of white silk and embroidered with silver stitching. The mattress you were strewn across smelled like spiced cigarettes, cologne, and that familiar twang of copper. You traced your fingers across the ages-old, ruffled blanket. Clearly, this bed was barely used.

“You’re awake,” David murmured, perched by the foot of the bed within the blink of an eye. His vampiric features had dwindled, leaving the man you’d become infatuated with standing there, icy hues and all. “I wondered if it would be too much for you.” For a moment, he worried that they’d scared you into a comatose state. “Now you know what we are.”

Admittedly, part of you was enticed and intrigued by what he was. It was hard not to be. “You’re not going to do that to me, are you?” You pondered aloud, shuddering when his countenance contorted into a look of agitation and disdain.

“No,” His voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart. Though,” David’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I do enjoy your taste.” He’d tasted your blood on multiple occasions — it was sweeter than anything he’d savored before.

You were his forbidden fruit.

Heat crept through you, and you knew that you shouldn’t have been so calm about this, but it was still David — nothing changed about him. Your feelings certainly hadn’t diminished, either. You felt his gloved palm cup the curve of your jaw, thumb tracing over your cheek. “What — What are you?” You asked.

Your question lacked malice or anything accusatory. In fact, it was nearly a whisper, soft as could be as he pulled you up and against his chest. David chuckled when you shivered in his grasp, especially when he flicked a single digit over the strap of your sundress.

“A creature of the night,” He could smell the sudden pang of arousal that struck between your thighs, savoring that scintillating aroma. It made him want to tear you apart — make you scream for him. “Something that you should be terrified of.” David huffed, holding your chin in-place.

When he touched you, it only made that yearning grow tenfold, opening the way for desire to fester through you like a raging fire. You careened into his embrace, unable to pry yourself away from him. David was dangerous, but he wasn’t terrifying — he was still the same. “It won’t change how I feel.” You mumbled.

David’s eyes became bright, ignited with a sudden fire and glittering desire. “Is that so?” He purred, lips curling into a wolfish grin. “How do you feel, kitten?” His voice was a borderline snarl as he grabbed at your hips, hard enough to leave behind bruise-like imprints.

A soft, stuttering exhale escaped you as you leaned up upon your toes, pressing your lips to his. The gesture was unusually soft, but it swiftly turned into something salacious. David held you tightly, gloved digits beginning to curl into the fabric of your sundress. It was all tongue, teeth, and sheer want as he nipped at your lower lip.

He dragged you with him, using the rocky wall of the cave as his perch, mouth still fixed to yours. He tasted like the bitter bite of copper, something that you would inevitably grow accustomed to. His grip became unnaturally ironclad, clinging to you with a firm grip as he tugged at your dress. A noise skin to stitches being ripped filled the air.

“You don’t mind, do you?” David chuckled, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. With a forceful tug, he rucked your dress into a state of dishevel, ripping one of the thin, cloth straps in the process. A growl emanated from deep within his chest as he stepped back, sinking down into an old, velvet chair.

Goosebumps gathered along the nape of your neck, sending an excitable chill across your flesh as you stood in front of him, between his legs. “I want you,” You whined, desperate for him even after everything you’d witnessed. Did it make you depraved for still desiring him? Sick, perhaps? You weren’t sure. “David, please.”

Precocious, furtive laughter escaped David — he knew exactly what he wanted from you. “I’ve got something you can have, sweetheart.” He uttered, icy hues flickering over your body, shamelessly admiring your curves. That sundress flattered your frame — a shame that he was about to tear it to shreds.

Wordlessly, David coaxed you onto your knees, completely at his mercy as you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. He trailed a hand across your jaw, squeezing on either side as he splayed his legs apart, lounging in the chair with some domineering edge. His lips curled into a devious grin.

You knew what he wanted — it wasn’t hard to tell. With a shiver of anticipation, your hands moved toward his waist, slipping underneath the coat and hem of his sweater. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?” You’d ask, voice innocuous and sweet as you fumbled with his belt, attempting to quell your nerves.

“No,” David mused, watching you with hungry eyes. “You’ll have to use your imagination.” With a liquid-smooth, alluring tone, he let you go at your own pace — which was undeniably sluggish. Your mind was racing, a tangled web of lascivious thoughts that made him sneer.

A soft huff escaped you, but you continued, loosening up those leather pants of his with nimble digits. Nervousness swelled within the pit of your stomach, afraid of disappointing David with your inexperience. A hiccup rippled through your throat as his erection fell against his clothed thigh.

In an attempt to soothe your nerves, David trailed his gloved fingers throughout your tresses, caressing your scalp. “So pretty,” He purred, smirking when he could smell that pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “Go on, kitten.” He encouraged, thumb sweeping over your lower lip.

His hand cradled the base of your skull, strong enough to crush you in one fell swoop if he chose. Instead, those digits idly massaged into your hair, tensing into the formation of a grip as your palm closed around his cock. You stroked him off with a few slower pumps, absentmindedly wetting your lower lip.

David began to read your mind, raking through every thought that manifested. A low growl reverberated from the back of his throat as you opened your mouth, cock flat atop your tongue as you began to suck him off. You were sweet about it — with those doe-like eyes and uncertain hands.

As you bobbed your head back and forth, creating a little rhythm for yourself, David guided you with one hand, the other clutching at the mahogany arm of the chair. It was steadily splintering underneath his ironclad grasp. “Good girl.” He purred, a husky sound escaping him as he pushed his hips forward.

Watching you suck his cock was mesmerizing — in a rather crass way. He exuded control over you, crystalline eyes drinking you in as you hollowed your cheeks with certain strokes, tongue lapping at the swollen head. Pearls of precum oozed from his length and into your maw, and you tried your best to maintain your composure.

Heat burned right through you, consuming your body like the crash of a tidal wave as you pressed your thighs together. No amount of smothering the warmth would mask your smell. You brought your head back, sliding back and forth along his cock, tongue flicking along the underside of his length.

A grunt escaped him as you pressed forward, hands hesitantly perching atop his thighs, to which David tilted forward once again. Your lips felt incredible, but more importantly, you were enjoying yourself, too. That initial sting of anxiousness melted away, feeling David’s hand twist into your tresses.

You took more of his length into your mouth, becoming a little bolder as you sucked and licked wherever possible. David wasn’t loud — his volume was all restrained, manifesting in the forms of rumbling grunts or brief, husky sighs of pleasure. Your nails dug into his leather-clad legs, shuddering when he let out a snarl.

With another jolt of his hips, you nearly recoiled when the first rope of hot seed landed upon your tongue. You hastily swallowed, but David had different intentions, ripping you off of his cock as he painted your poor chest and clothes with his seed. It was deliberate, and you could see the pearlescent gleam of his wolfish grin as he came.

“Sorry for the mess,” His apology was sardonic, spoken through his sultry lull as he wiped away a tendril of drool from the corner of your mouth. “You look pretty like that.” David sighed, icy-blue hues flashing with a momentary spark of gold. You were sweet enough to buckle him back up, too.

With a chuckle, he watched with amusement as you sheepishly cleaned yourself up, flesh crawling with warmth as his hands locked around your hips again. “David,” You sighed with passion, feeling his face press into your stomach. He could smell you — it was overwhelming. “Need you.”

Another low, sharp growl escaped him as he clawed at your dress, causing the fabric to tear, stitches coming apart at the seams. “My turn.” He uttered, and in one swift movement, he had you pinned on the bed, crawling down until his scruffy visage was nestled between your legs. He sighed, fighting off the urge to tear into you.

A strangled gasp tore past your lips, stomach erupting with butterflies as your vampiric paramour knelt between your legs, pressing a string of greedy kisses along your thighs. The burn of his beard was beyond pleasant, keeping you grounded as his hand snatched at your sundress.

“You were made for me,” David hissed, tone raging with possessiveness and a borderline obsession. There was a fire within his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were now a witness to his strength as he tore your dress asunder. The fabric was ripped away entirely, leaving you in your frilly brassiere and panties. “Mine.”

Again, he continued on his warpath, letting out a delightful chuckle as he ripped your panties off, too. Your eyes flew open, watching as he tossed the now-destroyed remnants aside. David removed his gloves for this, allowing his icy flesh to melt against your warmth.

“David, I—“ You shivered when his teeth grazed along your inner thigh, able to spot those fangs of his. They were as sharp as razors, teasing your soft, fragile flesh. You wondered if he was going to turn you — if he truly wanted to, he would’ve done it at the boardwalk. “Are you going to …”

“Not yet,” David intercepted you, making it clear that your thoughts were no longer safe. He invaded your mind, and it was so very enjoyable. Your fantasies laid bare, stripped to the bone, all belonging to him. He leaned in, cold palm resting just above your breast, able to feel the erratic beating of your human heart. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He uttered, pressing a kiss along your knee. “To be mine — forever?”

There was something enthralling about the way he spoke to you — perhaps it was his voice or the piercing, calculating stare he gave you. You wanted nothing more than to become his, to feast in this supposed immortality, but you wanted to enjoy humanity for a little while longer. “Yes,” You whispered, reaching for his hand. “I’m yours.” It was an unspoken promise.

His fangs disappeared, but his grin did not, still present as he began to kiss along your leg once more. David kept quiet, gaze burning with lust as he nipped at your thigh, and then bit down. No fangs — just teeth. A little yelp escaped you, and he began to lap at the newly-formed bite mark, which would certainly leave a bruise.

He stooped lower, body nearly flat against the rickety mattress as he inhaled your scent. It only served to spur him on as another growl rippled through him. “Aren’t you going to use your manners?” David mused, tormenting you again with his teasing, but you weren’t above begging. He pinned your writhing hips down with one hand.

“Please,” You babbled, a strangled whine escaping you as David’s tongue briefly flicked across your slit. “Please David, please!” It was the worst form of torture, but you hoped he would continue, hands clamoring as you clutched onto the sheet in fistfuls.

“That’s better.” With another sharp nip against your soft flesh, he immediately went to work, dragging his tongue along your wet cunt. He was vigorous, passionate — you almost expected him to tease you, but you were pleasantly surprised. He gripped your thigh, keeping an arm hooked underneath for leverage.

Warmth pooled between your thighs, manifesting in the form of arousal. David was more than pleased to lap it all up, throat vibrating with an occasional grunt or growl as he flicked his tongue across your clit. One hand would snake down to assist, fingers working in-tandem to stroke at your cunt, intending on working you open.

Your back arched slightly, a myriad of moans leaving your parted lips as David touched you. His mouth was mesmerizing, dutifully lapping along the length of your cunt, taking a particular interest in your clit. When his lips pursed around that bundle of nerves, you nearly cried out, legs wobbling.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, causing you to tremble and quiver, hips attempting to jolt forward again. You could practically feel David’s smirk as he buried his face between your thighs, beard scratching something ragged against your silky flesh.

Another moan left you when he began to suck on your clit, adding that little graze of his teeth. Your flesh felt so sensitive, crawling with goosebumps as David began to curl his fingers just slightly, making you whimper and twitch, legs accidentally pushing against his head.

David found enjoyment in making your writhe and squirm, your saccharine scent swimming around him like a thick fog. He could tell that you hadn’t done this before, judging from your constant whimpering and canting your hips forward. Nails buried themselves into your thigh, leaving behind angry impressions as he sunk two digits into your cunt, listening to you gasp.

A thin layer of dewy perspiration broke out along your flesh, provided by the continuous wave of heat drifting between the both of you. David was cold, like the bitter sting of winter as he soothed your feverish heat. “David!” You whined, cunt clenching around his digits as he pistoned them in and out of you.

All tact had dissipated as he began to submit to feral urges, another snarl rippling within his throat. His body shook from the noise, poised and leaning into you as he raked his tongue over your cunt. David’s hands kept you locked into place as he suckled on your clit again, causing you to cling to the sheets.

“David, m’close,” You huffed, eyes fluttering shut as you reclined on the mattress, allowing yourself to sink inward, hips occasionally attempting to twitch and jolt forward. As your head lolled to one side, your half-lidded stare drifted toward David, whose eyes were unnaturally vibrant — two liquid pools of gold. “David.”

His mouth worked with an unrestrained ardor, interlaced with a sinful hunger. Of course, he longed for your body just as much as he desired those sanguine rivers that pumped through your veins. With another purse of his lips and flick of his tongue, you were trapped within the throes of bliss.

Pleasure unfurled from the pit of your stomach, bristling through your body as it devoured you whole. You swore that you saw stars as a white-hot wave struck you again and again. David’s muffled laughter reverberated from between your thighs, prompting him to trace his tongue over your cunt again.

“David!” You moaned, feeling as if you were set ablaze, hips bucking off the bed just a little bit. Your orgasm ripped through you, sending shivers down your spine as you recovered. You tasted divine, able to hear his cacophony of soft grunts as he lifted his head, tongue lashing across his lower lip.

At last, he withdrew, dragging those sharp fangs across the inside of your thigh. A singular pearl of blood blossomed across your flesh, prompting David to swipe at it with an inhuman haste. His hands languidly groped and caressed along your haunches, yanking you toward the edge of the bed.

David stood between your legs, dark and towering like a pale-headed shadow, eclipsing all light from your view. The sight of you, blissed-out with a wet mess between your legs and a heaving chest was enchanting. Even he felt that rush of arousal as it all came crashing in again. Silently, he gestured toward his belt, waiting for you to come down from your climax.

With a soft huff, you sat up on your elbows, hands fumbling with his belt and leather pants again. You nearly jumped out of your own flesh when he grabbed your neck, dragging you in for a heated, messy kiss. David had little desire to be rough with you — this time, at least. He allowed his tongue to momentarily clash with yours, freeing his cock as he pressed closer.

“You ready, sweetheart?” David uttered, sluggishly pushing the head of his cock against your slick cunt, beginning to test the waters. His lips twitched into a devious smirk, filled with a twinge of desperation as he grabbed at either of your thighs.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. A sloshing warmth filled the pit of your stomach as he pushed his cock inside of you, deliberately feeding you every inch of his length until he was buried at the base. You were tight, lips parting as a strangled moan escaped you.

A low growl ripped through David’s throat, feeling your sweet cunt clench pathetically around him. Sharp nails briefly dug into the pliant flesh of your hips as he thrust forward, causing you to gasp. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but his restraint was borderline, ready to crack and splinter at any moment.

His longing, whilst initially subdued, was now on full display. David’s eyes glistened like a feral animal, countenance contorted into an expression of need and desire, hips snapping forward as he began to bury his cock inside of you. You whimpered, legs threatening to slip around his waist.

“David,” You huffed, nearly squeaking when he stooped over, much closer to you. Any tact and sensuality dissipated as David began to rut into you, cock pistoning in and out of your tight cunt. His rhythm was swift and all-consuming as he held your hip with an iron grip, fingers leaving behind bruises. “Feels so good.” Your voice escaped you in a garbled slur.

Your hands fluttered from the sheets to him, gliding against his chest as they slipped upward, grabbing fistfuls of those platinum-blonde tresses. A grunt left him as heat blistered between the both of you, more from you than from him. Fire would meet ice as he pressed close, nipping at your lower lip as you urged him in for a kiss.

There was something primal and hungry about his kiss, as if he’d been completely starved of all contact. It was teeth and tongue colliding as he roughly gained entry into your mouth, teeth scraping across your lower lip, growling into your mouth. His pace seemed to match that sensation, brutal and unrelenting as he hammered away at your poor cunt with no sign of slowing down.

The contact was short-lived as David brusquely jerked backward, pulling his cock out of you. That emptiness made you whimper, desperate for him to continue — and he intended to, but in a different way. He turned you over, manhandling you onto your stomach as he grabbed your hips, shoving his cock back into you.

His cajoling laughter reverberated throughout the alcove, making your mind go fuzzy as he fucked you within an inch of your life. You felt David’s hand tangle into your hair, pulling at the roots with a firm grip. Another hapless whine left you, cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he filled you to the brim, thrusts becoming a little more animalistic.

“David!” You cried, no longer able to see your vampiric paramour, but you could feel him. Even with your eyes closed, his voice reverberated throughout your mind, burnished-gold hues emblazoned into your brain like a hot brand. He fucked you senseless, chest bursting with a cacophony of growls and snarls.

It was almost overwhelming — your poor cunt was being pounded away at by David, who was eager to release for a second time. Your climax would be secondary, if he was feeling generous. You clawed at the sheets, grabbing it in fistfuls, hips pushing backwards into him. His fingers were so forceful, leaving behind angry imprints on your flesh.

You were desperate, body convulsing with pleasant spasms, legs struggling to keep yourself propped up. It all felt as if you were turning to mush, crawling with heat as David bit at your shoulder. He didn’t want to keep holding himself back, using your hair to roughly tug you backward. The firm musculature of his chest pressed into your back.

“You belong to me,” David snarled, sharp teeth mere centimeters away from the shell of your ear. They danced along your neck, hovering above your pulse point. It would’ve only taken one bite — he didn’t want to lose you so quickly. A turbulent wildfire of possessiveness surged inside of him, violent as ever as one of his palms clasped at your neck. “Say it!” He sneered.

A shiver passed through your body, lips parting as a myriad of needy, noisy moans escaped you. David forcefully parted your legs with one knee, grunting into your ear. The sounds were delicious — terrifying when you realized what he was. You could barely form the words, clutching onto his forearm.

David’s abrasive behavior might’ve been off-putting to many — but not to you. Deep down, it aroused you to no end, producing another wave of molten liquid within the pit of your belly, oozing between your thighs. “Going silent on me, kitten?” He chuckled, nipping at the sensitive flesh just beside your jugular. “Where’s that pretty voice of yours?”

Another whine tore past your parted lips as you sucked in a sharp breath, nearly crying out when his cock slapped away at your cunt. Any semblance of compassion had been exchanged for roughness and pure lust, as if you were a plaything for David. “I—I belong to you,” You slurred, attempting to move your hips in-tandem. “David, please!”

There would be no divide between you and David, no more distance. He’d keep you here in the cave, his precious mate, and when he felt like you were deserving of it, he’d make you like him — immortal, eternally trapped within a state of youth. You surrendered yourself completely, feeling him drive his cock into you again until he could go no further.

You were chasing after every sensation, set ablaze in the fire of David’s insatiable desire, gasping when his hand squeezed around your throat. The pressure caused you to shudder, cunt clenching around his length as you sought your release. When you sneakily attempted to shove your hand between your legs, he stopped entirely.

“What do we have here?” David admonished you, clicking his tongue with a mocking hint of disdain. “Trying to speed things up?” You felt cold, almost a little delirious as he simply dropped you onto the mattress, pulling himself from you. “If you’re so desperate, you can finish yourself, kitten.” He sneered, eyes a burnished amber, nearly a golden-red.

“Wh—Wait!” Being denied so close to your climax made you feel clammy, as if every wisp of air had been ripped from your throat. “D—David, I’m sorry! Please keep going!” You didn’t think he was serious, watching him stand at the foot of the bed, towering over you with a rather sardonic expression, full of rebuke.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to beg.” David clicked his tongue, grabbing at your legs as he pulled you close again. “Why should I let you after that little stunt? Not good enough for you?” His voice surged with agitation, and you couldn’t discern if it was genuine or fabricated to fit his lust and appetite.

You nearly sobbed when he brushed his thumb over your clit, so feather-light that you wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for your constant squirming. “David, I — Please fuck me, please keep fucking me,” You babbled, tears stinging your eyes. The denial blistered through you, coupled with your own desperation to continue. He’d fucked you so good — it’d ruin you to stop now. “P—Please!”

David smirked, gazing down at you with a look of faux pity and want. Of course, he had no desire to simply abandon you here and now — but it was fun to play with you, poke and prod for a reaction. “You’re lucky, sweetheart.” He crooned, digits deliberately sliding across your clit again, causing you to let out a noisy whine.

“Please fuck me, please,” Your stammered, stumbling over your words as a coo of delight left you. “David, I need you.” With a trembling exhale, you continued to murmur something about wanting him. His laughter floated above your head, sinking into your very bones.

“Good girl.” David’s praise was spoken upon a silver tongue and dark eyes as he hastily shoved his cock back into your tight cunt, resuming the brutal pace he’d set before. You were on your back again, hapless beneath him as he railed you into a blissful oblivion.

He exuded dominance — he exuded a calculating control that you bent to, so very easily. David’s brow furrowed, countenance drawn into a look of rapture. He would never admit it, but he was thoroughly enamored with you, be it your sweet demeanor, your body, or your blood. Each thrust hit you hard, making you see stars.

One hand clutched the meat of your thigh, the other wrapped snugly underneath your throat, wedged against your jaw. He fucked you at a near-inhuman pace, rough and needy, causing you to part your legs just a little further for him. You huffed, a mess of moans and whimpers; his snarl was a familiar one.

David grunted, letting out a bestial hiss as he reached his peak, allowing himself to cum inside of you for a second or two, but that was painfully short-lived. His cock fell onto your stomach, painting your abdomen and breasts in ropes of hot, sticky seed. You shouldn’t have been so surprised — he got off on it.

His pearlescent grin glinted within the flickering candlelight as you came soon after, thanks to that generous caressing of his thumb pressing into your clit. You were spent, body spasming and quivering as you reached your peak, orgasm just as insanity-inducing as the last.

Warmth cascaded through you, goosebumps coalescing down the length of your spine when David caressed your jaw. He was stroking your silky flesh, head slightly cocked to one side as he watched you ride out your orgasm. You had gotten a little embarrassed, but he thought very little of it, peering towards the tattered remnants of your clothes.

“You’ll need something to wear.” David hummed, briefly correcting his attire as he found one of the many articles of clothing he’d collected in his immortal lifetime. It was a mahogany-hued sweater, something he lacked any attachment to, but you’d have his scent. He tossed it toward you, letting it land next to your head.

His callous behavior afterward was certainly something you’d have to get used to, but you decided to play one of the cards you had up your sleeve. “David,” You murmured, reaching for the ruined scraps of your dress to clean his cum off of you. “Come here?”

David paused, wondering if you were expecting a little tender, loving care afterwards. If that was what you wanted, it was best if you asked Paul or Dwayne. He decided to indulge you, stepping closer until he was back at your side again.

Wordlessly, you stood up, now shrouded in his sweater, which seemed entirely too big for you. He thoroughly reveled in that — your scent intermingled with his. It was a way to keep you close, now that you belonged to him. You rocked up onto your toes to kiss him, something that he reciprocated.

He felt your lips quirk into the ghost of a smile before you crawled back onto his mattress, both physically and mentally exhausted. David’s tongue swept across his teeth as he watched you lay down, and instead of leaving entirely, he turned, taking up residence in the rickety, velvet-cushioned chair he’d been in earlier.

As he struck his lighter, David placed the cigarette between his lips, ogling you across the way. It was difficult not to be a little soft on you — though, if you were to become an immortal, you had so much more to go. Initiation was far from over, but for now, he let you rest. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He exhaled, tone saturated with an edge of mockery.

As sleep claimed you, your dreams were only filled with him — and that distant scent of blood.

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