Lost Boys Paul - Tumblr Posts
How would the boys react to their s/o teasing them to the point of them snapping? X)
Oh you thirsty, thirsty fang babies. Do y'all realize my most liked and shared post is the Soundtrack Sex post? Alright you little hungry bats, only cuz I love y'all. Keep in mind since I've done a few like this before, I'm going to be diving more into each guy's individual kink. I think all of them are into some form of bdsm but to varying degrees. They're sadistic killers after all, so they'll crave that same control over their s/o. Again with each vamp having his own preferences. Get ready because this gets pretty graphic. Y'all better appreciate this, it took me two and a half frickin' days!
The Lost Boys Get Pushed to the Brink by Fem!S/O
18+ CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Themes, BDSM, Potential Triggers, Offensive Language! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!
David
David knows all too well what you're doing. You must think you're quite clever. The way you sway your hips when you walk across the boardwalk, dropping your purse "accidentally" and bend over to get it, pressing your breasts tightly against him for even the most casual hug. Don't think just because you're in public he won't fuck you here. David has no patience whatsoever. What he wants he'll have. You're not nearly as sneaky as you think you are when you press your butt against his crotch, leaning back so your lips are just brushing against his neck sending tender little breaths across his chilled flesh. He'll run his hands over any exposed skin you have, and just below your ear he'll coolly growl little threats.
"If you continue to tease me, little doll, I am going to fuck you until you shatter."
The words will send chills down your spine and light a fire inside you. That's not a warning, that's a challenge. When it's finally too much he'll tear you away to the nearest dark corner and rip your panties off. Just look what you did to him, the way he throbs until his erection is aching to break free. You will remember who is in charge when he hoists you right on top of throbbing his cock, balancing you with ease on his hips. He doesn't even have to hold you up, and instead uses his other hand to choke the pretty little words from that naughty mouth. Cautious not to strangle, he’ll tightly press his thumb right over the prominent vein in your neck savoring the rush of blood just beneath the skin.The gruff moans he huff out make your eyes roll back with delight. David loves the way your flesh clings to him, but you better not make a sound. If you even so much as whimper he halts his motions, leaving your body starved. No one is allowed to hear your moans but him. David doesn’t share in any way. Afterwards don't even bother asking for your panties back when you two sneak out of that secretive corner. He'll stuff then in his pocket with the most villainous grin you have ever seen.
"Consider it punishment for being such a wicked little minx, love."
Now if you're in the hotel you're not gonna get very far teasing him. He'll raise a brow, just barely looking up from his book to see you in that skin tight dress, it doesn't take him long to realize you are without a bra. If you don't come to him when called, he'll go to you. You haven't even seen speed until you deny your lover his precious doll. In a flash you're swept into his arms, thrown atop a bed laying flat on your stomach. With a slow touch, David will lift your chin from behind and lean himself against you. You shouldn't have run, shouldn’t have hid your perfect body from him. When you're alone he drags it out so much more.
Leather clad fingers will tease your lips, pushing ever so slightly but denying you the sweet release you so desperately yearn. He's such a cruel one taunting you, massaging your tender breasts just whispering into your ear. Naughty girl, are you wet already? He's just barely started. With a flick of the wrist he snaps his belt from his pants, dragging the cool leather piece over your exposed cheeks. The sting across flesh makes you moan, and again he sends a strike. David’s low chuckle is addicting. He takes a moment to admire your quivering form, tempted to leave you begging for more. That's what he wants more than anything. David desperately craves your wanton voice crying for him to defile you. He’ll just sit back, watching you lay in place. Don’t move, he’ll tell you. Instead he’ll order you to play with yourself. Show him how badly you yearn for his touch. The power fuels him, looking at your glossy eyes while your finger yourself, whimpering his name softly. When you close your eyes it breaks contact, and again he crashes the leather into skin. Never hide from him. The sensation is enough to entice a moan from you, the muscles squeezing your fingers spasming in delight. So, you wanted more. He’d chuckle again. You’re such a silly thing. All you had to do was say so. Slow strips of red surface over your ass with every erotic whip. He’s cautious to etch the border between pain and pleasure, never crossing the threshold. It’s give and take. He sees the way it sends you into a tizzy, which in turn only excites him more. Cum drips down your thighs, but he’s not ready to let you finish. Slowly David will peel away his gloves, taunting you with his precious touch. Clothes are shed to the floor in a mass of black. Lifting himself on his knees he runs a hand down your back. He taunts your soaked pussy with the belt still tightly grasped in his hands. Just look at the mess you’re making. When he pauses, hinting at his next strike you beg again.
“Please, what? Tell me what you want!"
“I wa.. want you.. to hi...hit me again..”
“Hit you..? Where? I don’t even think you said please, you greedy girl.”
“P-Please! M-master please! Hit my pussy! I-I can’t take it, please"
The hit stings, but it sends a bizarre pleasure through you. They mix in a sickly concoction. A heat of fire that causes your lips to pulse, and when he hits it again your eyes spin backward into black. He takes your wrists slowly and pins them behind, leaning over your body with his erection just barely grazing you.
“You did this to yourself, baby doll. I warned you what would happen, didn’t I?”
The wrought leather strap constricts your arms, binding them to each other while you lay face down on your knees. He’s left you completely exposed to him, ass eagerly in the air. Soaked sheets caught beneath your knees, any orgasm he had led you too was quickly denied, leaving you crashing back at the bottom just to be built up again. You're so wrapped up in the pleasure of it all, you don't realize when he commands you to scream his name; he's actually begging. Say his name. He has to hear it, he needs to hear your voice cradle his name perfectly on those luscious lips.
When you give him what he commands he finally takes you. With a hand pinning you down by the back of your neck he'll ram himself so deep you fear you may break. The twisted slaps of flesh crashing against each other is nothing compared to the crying whines that echo these endless halls. Everything is spinning, your walls are torn away leaving you to spiral into madness. Every thrust presses you further beneath. You are at his mercy, and there will be none tonight. Each orgasm you had been denied came flooding back in wild waves, spilling out onto the mattress below. His name practically burns your tongue, there is no other word you worship so endlessly. This creature of the night had you under his thumb. Tonight he had more than your love, more than your body. He was taking your soul into his hands and locking it away. Time is lost to the world. There is no before or after. Now just went on forever. Surroundings blur into wild smears of color. There is nothing beside the bed you two laid upon. His moans are a godsend, they caress your ears. Velvet, silky, David is all you know. It's a tirade of sweat and leather, stained in his cum. You can't even breathe as he fills you in floods, it's just this trembling simper. Not a drop is wasted inside your precious womb. When all is said and done, and you are a cum drenched mess David is, for once, genuinely tired after such heavy petting. Do not fear, lovely. He would never leave you to wallow in filth after he had battered you so. Its almost fluid the way he wraps you beneath fresh blankets, pressed to his panting chest. There would be no rhythm to soothe your body, rather his hypnotic touch bringing you back to Earth. With a cigarette already lit clutched between his teeth he'll coax you into taking a slow drag. You savor the bitter, ashen taste that burns your mouth. The plume of smoke leaves a veil of fog around you two, laying together while he softly praises you. His frustration was long gone giving way to his tender kisses trailing across your rosey cheeks utterly flushed
"You were such a good girl, baby doll. You did wonderfully my little kitten, I couldn’t ask for a more precious gem. Rest, you deserve it. I’ll be here when you awake."
Dwayne
Dwayne is a closet pervert. He's a lot more modest than the other guys, which is ironic considering his attire, or rather the lack of it. But it's true, he's not the type to fuck in the back of a McDonald's by the dumpster just because you went a day without undies. When you show up to the boardwalk in a low cut top he'll aggressively clear his throat with the reddest face you've ever seen. Flustered is an understatement. He'll suddenly comment how cold it is tonight and immediately sling his jacket over your shoulders. So what if he's shirtless? He doesn't get cold.
It's extremely hard for him to resist you when you're running your hands over his chest,sliding your wrapping your arms around him just playfully running your fingers through his hair. It aches, he can feel his zipper about to burst. That leopard print strapless dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination, including your bare breasts left braless just beneath the fabric, it's just perfect under his leather jacket. He’ll swallow dryly. When no one looks he feels your mischievous touch trails down over his caged erection eager to taunt his libido. One wouldn’t assume Dwayne could get so pent up, but when he’s pushed to the brink all bets are off.
You never expected to awaken a panther inside him once you two were alone. Those chocolate eyes were predatorial, wild, and that's when he takes you in his arms. A single kiss is enough to knock you off your feet. It’s melted heaven dripped onto your tongue. He draws breath from you, slowly peeling off his jacket. Your skin is so soft beneath torn, calloused fingertips caressing those trembling bumps spreading through your body. Chills, utter chills. You can’t help but rock your hips against him. Wandering lower he cups your butt until you’re tightly pressed again him, pausing those kisses. His words are soft, a sweet wine that gives you eternal life.
“Tonight, your soul is mine”
The way his voice rumbled deep in your core pushes you forward, hungry for more. But his cruelty surfaces. There will be no wild, tearing sex. He wants to drag it out. Making love can’t compare to those moments when he lays you on your back just to worship your sprawled figure. The deep, dark cave is barely illuminated by the wild flicker of candles wedged inside discarded wine bottles, the warm slips of light dipping over every curve in your body. You look like a goddess to him, and tonight you’d meet your god. Kisses trail up your silky legs, the way he shifts over you is like a tiger ready to pounce. Eyes eat you alive. His teeth drag, leaving tender little love bites. It’s an agony of anticipation swelling you. With a firm grip Dwayne tears your dress from your very body. Those same calloused fingers that taunted your skin now trailed over the dips and folds of your thighs tracing over your pelvic bone. A cascade of black hair veiled his face when he leaned in. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel hungry, labored breaths taunting your exposed womanhood. You draw in a sharp breath when his tongue slowly drags from the base all the way up and over your clit. The sensation envelopes you in waves. Slowly, aching, toe-curling licks prod at you, one after another. You wish he’d speed up, but he has you exactly where he wants you. Begging for more, utterly helpless to his will- just like you did to him. Fire wells in your lungs as you’re only able to writhe beneath him. Resistance was pointless, that iron grip kept your hips perfectly in place. He teases at your clit with wicked flicks, tracing around your most tender place. Grasps of his hair are clutched between your fingers, but it only excites him more. Dwayne will grant you mercy, slipping his tongue inside to lap up your sweet juices.
It’s impossible to truly describe the ecstasy he sends you into, Your legs hook over his shoulders just grinding your hips into his masterful grasp. Shuddering moans reverberate in empty halls, waves serenading just beyond. That edge is so nearby, dragging you by your ankles until your back arches upward. Karma is a cruel mistress indeed. Dwayne’s tongue slithers out leaving a trail of slippery fluids behind. If you try to move he’ll climb over your body, his hands pinning your arms above your head looking in your eyes. Again that monstrous tongue taunts you. Twirling over your perked breasts. With his other hand he prods at your entrance, never breaking eye contact with you. The sheer intimacy of it all is utterly ethereal. When you hear his hungry grunt just under your breath just feel another pull at your abdomen. It’s just too much, you need him. More than ever before. “Dwayne,” you whimper, thighs trembling under him. “P-Please… I..”
“Say it, princess…”
“I need you… D-Dwayne I… I need you”
You’re dwarfed beneath his body, lifted beneath your butt with his hips pressed into your lower half. Something burning pushed itself tightly in. You were barely able to accommodate his size even with how much he had spread you before. Each thrust pushed your body back further into the mattress, firm hands keeping you crushed against his heaving chest. You wrapped a leg over his wait using the base of your heel to push him further inside. Dwayne pushed against your womb desperately trying to pace himself. When he pulled back a slick suction coaxed him back inside, contracting muscles clinging to his veined member. You feel a dull ache in your back all the way up to your shoulders that tightens when he digs himself deeper. His lips caress yours, tongues eagerly tasting one another until you lock lips. He begins to moan louder. It’s a deep, almost bear-like growl. There’s a rapid pace to his thrusts now. They become erratic bucks, moans lost in each other’s mouths until you feel that familiar throb inside. It’s a burn that practically melts you. You feel more fluids squishing out, your nails dragging up his back tearing into skin until his hips stall. It’s a perfect moment, Dwayne lifting his head letting you gaze into his dark eyes carrying a flickering flame. You’re veiled beneath his hair, unable to hold back your glowing smile. When he pulls out to lay on his back you nestle in his arm up against his chest, listening to his shuddering breaths. There’s not much that can be said after that, you’re so worn out that you can barely keep your eyes open and simply savor his company until exhaustion lulls you into a heavy sleep in the arms of your lover. You definitely had to start teasing him more often if this is what you got.
Paul
That boy will chase your butt even if you weren’t teasing him. But catch him off guard, and he’ll make you regret ever getting him that pent up. You knew exactly what was up when you showed up in that busty shirt giving him a mouth watering view of your glorious tits, a teenie little miniskirt clinging to your figure, those hot fishnets under a pair of biker boots, immediately he already tries to swoop you into his arms- except you beat him to the punch. Your breasts press tightly against him, hands wrapping around his waist while you go in for the kill. Oh when you kiss his neck it makes him melt. Fine if you wanted to play, he’d play. And he’ll win. When you think it’s safe he’ll sneak up behind you to get a good handful of your ass, burying his mouth up against your neck growling into you. That’s when you start grinding it up against his pants and you’re really not surprised that he’s already hard. In a quick slip he catches his hands under your skirt.
Oh this just keeps getting better. You filthy kitty cat. He’s had enough, he pulls you to the alleyway in a mess of hot kisses. There’s barely time to react, his tongue slithering in to taste every inch of your mouth. There’s hardly a struggle when he tears a big enough hole in your fishnets for him to get access to your glorious pussy. There's the echo of vulgar clapping barely kept under by the hustle and bustle just only feet away. Paul isn't about to cover your mouth. You don't get the luxury, he wants to fuck you until the whole state of California knows you live for his cock. You shouldn't have pushed him, because now he's determined to make your head spin. The rough concrete walls scratch up against your shoulders, your front completely crushed against his heaving chest growling out snarls and heavy moans. Don't even try to beg for mercy, he'll just laugh. The whole time he's hissing into your ear.
"No more? That's not what your little pussy is tellin' me. God you're so fuckin' cute when you're screamin' my name kitten. Louder, fuckin' louder! I want everyone to know who you belong to!"
If it's not an alleyway he'll happily go into one of the larger ferris wheel kiosks. Yeah he knows you can be seen, barely kept hidden beneath a sheet of metal and a few choice windows. You don't have much choice, pulled into a straddle over his lap as soon as you get on. You're not even ten feet in the air when his fingers start to tease you.
"God you really do get a kick outta makin' me crazy don't you? You're already soaked."
Surprise, Paul had a bit of experience shredding a few tasty licks on a guitar not too long ago. Why did that matter? Because once those appendages slithered in, you almost immediately let out one of the loudest moans of your life. The way they pushed past his knuckles, swirling around, curving up hitting the sweetest spots even you hadn't touched before. It's impossible not to tightly cling to him. While you're utterly incapacitated he'll tear down your shirt and twist your pink nipple between his thumb and point finger. He'll tease you, suggesting maybe you oughta get them pierced. If you try to pull away he'll glance up towards the other kiosks just barely out of sight and smirk pulling you back into place. After all, we wouldn't want everyone else seeing how dirty you were. Everytime your body adjusted to the size he'd slip in another finger. Those muscles just sucked him in so perfectly, your sweet juices drenching his hand as he dug further inward. The moment you whine you're going to come is when the fun really begins. Paul's not just going to give it to you. Oh no, not yet. After all, you teased him, made his poor dick ache until it almost broke his zipper. It was his turn to tease you. You could hear his belt clink against itself and his fly slowly drag down. His cock practically whipped against your pulsating entrance once released, but rather than ram it right up inside where it belonged, he'd grab you by your chin and boast the most cruel, wild smile you'd seen. Stuffing himself inside, he halts watching your head immediately knock back at the sheer rush of pleasure that sent your back muscles into a spasm. With little effort he bounced you atop his lap. But you've still got a lot to make up for. Even while he penetrates you he's shoving his fingers inside as well until you're completely full, wiggling his tongue across your tits. The sensation makes your mouth hang open. There's no moans left. Just guttural whimpers barely able to make it through until you are left panting for air. You can't even keep your eyes open, it's too much to take. When you're on the brink of climax he'll halt again, burrowing his throbbing cock so deep you swear it's about to break your womb. The torture is unimaginable, he's just firmly wedged in place sending spasming pulsations that spread from the inside out. He fought the urge to ravage you. His revenge was just too cruel to give up now. WHen your hips tried to shift he planted them firmly against his naked pelvis. “Don’t fuckin’ move, or I’ll pull out.” The tight ache of your stomach just grew and grew but there was no relief! You beg wildly for him not to stop, tears edging the corners of your eyes. Do it more. Scream his name!
Everything inside burns white hot, gushes of sticky wet juices squirting onto his lap and the seat beneath you. For a moment you could feel your soul trying to fly away. After all you just experienced nirvana, fucking Valhalla on steroids. It's easily a good five minutes before you can even speak instead of just moaning out slurred vowels. When you do come to, you immediately slug him in the shoulder. Jeeze! You were teasing him, he was just flat out torturing you! "Well next time don't fucking tease me, my dick was just dying for you, kitten!" After you've got feeling back in your legs he'll release the ferris wheel attendant and take you out for a sweet treat, probably ice cream. Oh yeah! He almost forgot. You watch as he fishes out a pair of your panties, a souvenir from your many sex exploits. Don't get him wrong, he'd rather you be commando, but you were still oozing out cum. Besides, he wasn't patient but he could wait an hour to tear into you again. W-wait? An hour? Again??
Marko
The moment you stepped foot on the boardwalk he knew something was up. Since when did you own a skirt that short? You practically jumped into his arms when you spotted him, a chill running over his flesh. Your bra was missing, perked nipples rubbing into his chest just beneath the tight fabric of your shirt hugging your breasts perfectly. Now he’s not nearly as ballsy as Paul or David, he can’t just fuck you in the alley. Well, he could, but the situation called for drastic measures. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of riling him up. Rather, he has to plan this out just right. Revenge is a dish best served cold- WHICH ISN'T EASY WHEN YOU'RE OVERHEATING HIM!
God, it aches! Half the time he doesn’t leave any sort of counter or object he can lean on to hide away his pressing member begging to be unleashed. Plans would have to be dragged out, apparently this naughty girl wanted a whole date to torture him with. At the arcade he nearly lost his damn mind when you bent over to fish out your quarters from the machine. Yooooouuu vicious kitten, this was torture! When he stuffs his hands in his pockets he finally finds your panties, snuck in there while you had been hugging him. While you tore it up at the pinball machine he’d lean on you from behind. From any outside point of view it was just a boyfriend hugging his girl from behind. What couldn’t see was Marko’s hips grinding into your tender body barely kept safe under that tiny cut of fabric. When he whispered, he’d warn you what’s going to happen if you keep all this behavior up. Do you want him to go crazy, you wicked kitten?
“Careful what you’re doing, baby girl,” he’ll hiss in your ears, his fingers just barely brushing across the edge of your skirt. “When I get you alone… you’re mine.” At first it seems like a bluff. However you didn’t often send him into a fuss quite like this. Any teasing was at the hotel, little kisses and bites. Never was he denied for so long leaving him clinging to you. Every grasp craves you, but no matter how he snarls wicked begging into your ear you torture him further, even slipping from his arms when he least expects it. Tender kisses could never reach the passion you taunted him with. The loss of touch leaves him cold and yearning for more. At his brink, Marko practically tears you by your waist into his arms, jagged blue eyes cutting past your mischief. He’s taking you home. Now.
The entire ride across wind blown dunes and crashing shores he never releases you. Even as you rapidly step over debris scattered around the hotel’s entrance he cuffs his fingers around your slender wrist. Tonight you’ve made a very grave error denying him. For hours. Hours! Hours of watching you saunter about with nothing beneath, egging him on until he was ready to break. Now, it was his turn to punish you for your wicked ways. Marko had always been a tender lover, his dominant behavior kept cautiously under wraps. After all, he was afraid to frighten you off. No longer. With a firm flick of his wrist he practically throws you on the bed, pinning you in place by your neck. The force from the fall alone nearly knocked the air from you. There was an eerie silence for a moment, a dark tension emanating off of your boyfriend. His breathing would be sharp and trembling just barely keeping himself composed.
Honestly the urge to smirk is just too hard to pass up. Marko loved to tease you, rubbing up against your butt, nibbling on your neck when no ones looking, yet throw you in some tight clothes where he can't have you and suddenly it's unfair. His kisses ravage your mouth. There's little room to breathe. Wet appendages spiral in desperate taste for more. It physically hurt you to feel him pull away, leaning forward trying to keep the kiss going.
"Uh uh," he taunted, fangs poking through his smile, pushing you onto your back again. "You were too cruel, baby girl. Now I get to have my way."
Using the panties you had previously crammed into his pocket he tightly tied your wrists together until the fabric began to dig into your flesh. Slowly he trails his claws over your clothing, tearing through it in one painstaking cut leaving your body utterly exposed to him. The cold night air dances around you, any movement halted as if invisible strings held you in place. Hungry gazes froze your blood. Flicking his thumb nail just over your pelvis, Marko savored the tiny hiss you unleash. Little beads of ruby decorate you with an enticing aroma. Pulling himself between your bare legs he took a slow, deep inhale of that hypnotic ambrosia. His tongue dragged over your wound sending a thin sting up your thigh. While his tongue tore at bloodied flesh his gloved fingers traced just over the flesh above your clit. The anticipation alone made your toes curl. Time slipped through your fingertips tips like sand through the hourglass. Every painful minute he edged closer to you, and when that cold touch reached your aching mound it swept away your thoughts in one foul swoop. How he managed to leave you so weak from a simple touch was beyond comprehension. You tried to squirm when he pet at your entrance with a single finger, but he immediately hooked his arm around one leg while using his knee to pin down the other. "You're not getting out of this," Marko hisses, pressing his nail into the wound until a trickle of crimson fluid spilled over into the crevice between your thigh and pelvis. He tempted it further, smearing layers of color across your womanhood watching it stain.
Already drips of clear, slippery fluids drenched his fingers, just barely pushing in to feel your muscles tighten. Any contact swallowed them. If you were a good girl and held still he'd push further, tempting a third finger. Now come on, he knew you could do better than that. In went a fourth, spreading you open watching with amusement as all your juices spill down onto the mattress beneath you. He laps up the sweet taste, sucking it off his fingers and leaving you still aching from more. Just look at you, so eager for him to be inside you. Marko throws his shirt and pants to the floor. You can see his pulsing shaft pressing up against the fabric of his underwear. Firmly he pulled you up by your bound hands, teasing your bottom lip with his thumb. He’d rub his fingers against your tongue, the soft appendage wrapping excitedly over his knuckles. With his freshy wet hand he'd pinch your nipples, waiting for the inevitable whimper that gave him an opening to ram his own tongue back inside your mouth. A vulgar string of saliva barely kept your mouths connected when he pulled away, holding up your chin with his pointer finger. "I think you need more than just a little tease, don't you?"
When you nod he weaves his fingers beneath your hair and grasp it towards the scalp, bending your head back. Fangs brush on your neck, tugging at tight skin easily broken. Laying with his back against the headboard he yanked you over to him, pulling you down so you were balancing on your knees and forearms.
"Suck it." The command was so firm, you almost thought you misheard him. No, you wanted it so bad? Fine. Now you got it. Open up, or he'd leave you drenched, trembling, on the edge of orgasm. With wrists still restricted you pulled away his boxer unleashing his wild erection that eagerly pressed against your mouth. Marko will sit like a king in his throne with fingers woven through your hair. He makes sure it's all out of the way and in his grasp, watching your mouth bobbing up and down his shaft leaving slippery trails of saliva in its wake. His hips will begin to buck on their own with his tip grinding into your tongue. There’s a small push at the base of your skull, coaxing you further down. “There you go baby, get as much as you can fit in there, suck it nice and good.” You can feel his muscles tense under your grasp but you don't stop, continuing your relentless barrage until he snaps. All that pent up ache will flood your mouth in one foul swoop. It's hot, sticky, sweet and before you dared to open your mouth he pinched your nose. You better not waste a fucking drop. When he’s felt you’ve learned your lesson he gently pulled you on top of him, teasing your aching lips, swelled, pulsing, begging for release with the burning tip of his cock. You were such a good girl, taking all of him in like that, think you can do it again?
Leaning back with you on top where he can watch you, he rocks his hips back and forth with such force it bounces your breasts, his conniving whispers commanding you to never look away. His icey blue orbs lock with your own. Utterly hypnotic. Sloshing squelches of liquids were churned around inside you. It pushed further with muscles tightly contracting around him. Your body is coated in a tender mist of perspiration, whimpers and whines creating a symphony of erotica that leaves you feeling a well of humiliation. There’s nowhere to hide from Marko’s prying eyes, he’s watching every curve, ever fold, every perverted expression contort your beautiful face and he lives for every moment. Your hips move on their own, grinding your clit against his pelvis while his veined shaft spirals around inside you. Vision fades in and out, all you can do is feel fire running through your veins. He felt so cold inside yet it burned. As you edge towards climax Marko lifts himself up and hooks your bound arms over his neck. Your raw nipples rub up on his bare chest, burying your face into his neck where a mass of messy curls cradle you. The intoxicating scent of your body sends him into a frenzy, grasping your ass assisting you in slamming down harder and harder until that deep, overwhelming tension bursts like a flooded dam. A rush of liquids squirt out, feeling him stretch out your insides. It fills you, and rather than pull out he holds you in place. The sensation of you pulsating causes his hips to buck until he slams into your womb with a final spray of cum painting your lower abdomen. Barely able to pull himself out he releases your raw wrists, stealing a hot kiss from your quivering lips. You just look so cute painted in his cum. Maybe next time you’d think twice about taunting him. Now that your punishment has finished, he crashes onto his back with you on top. Even he had to catch his breath. There is no guilt, but that doesn’t mean he won’t praise the hell out of you for being such an angel. He’ll practically hum when you play with his hair while he rubs your back, peppering kisses all over your head and cheeks.
“I’m… sorry for teasing you,” You whimper out, nestled in the crook of his neck. His chuckle makes his chest spasm, lithe fingers tracing shapes over your shoulders.
“Don’t be sorry baby girl, you did amazing. Maybe next time I’ll try to be gentle, hm?”
Part One: Outlaws of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/ Western American AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤
Paul was never going to be an outlaw.
It was never in his plans, being that he was the son of Santa Carla's most renowned pianist, pioneering the occupation for the last few years. From salon to open venues, he was at his father's side, learning all that there was to know. His fingers memorized each key like the back of his hand. That was until his father was turned. Since that night, he vowed that he would never allow another person he loved to fall into the same fate.
Paul's bubbling ambition to outstand his father's Mozart worthy talent had turned into dust. The roadmap that was so clear, his plans of getting better, to deviate from the same tunes and cut and copy songs that riled up crowds was no longer.
The wind had willed him here and who was he to fight against it?
Paul shoves his fingers deeper into the warm sand. No one.
"Marko!"
The slanting sunlight spread across the ground, giving a strong reflective gleam to pooling blood that lays under a vampire hunter. The face of the corpse makes him sick, claws drawn deep into his face, highlighting a broken jaw. He had seen the worst, but at the very end of their journey, this seemed to be the one that struck him the hardest. With the sun obstructing his view, his eyes find his closest friend.
Marko grips his stomach where the bullet had slammed into him, leaving a trail of blood splattered in the sand. His fangs glow in the light as he gasps for air.
"Marko, what happened!" Paul breaks from the treeline boarding the empty space besides Marko, the hunter and a single horse chewing at a patch of grass.
Slowly, Marco stops, lifting his bloody clawed hands away from his crimson stained tunic, revealing a completely healed spot. Paul tucks his golden locks behind his ear as he nears, trying to push off the panic attempting to burst at the seams. Marco reaches to the hunters belt, plucking away an obsidian encrusted dagger.
"We did it. Now you don't have to put us in danger anymore. Now we can be free." Paul's thoughts race around his head, filling him with a joy that weeks and weeks of journey and sleeping with one eye open couldn't bring him.
"Thank God!" He huffs, his boots slamming into the hot sand of the endless golden stretch.
Marko doesn't move. His blue eyes remain empty, leaving no remains of the gold that once filled them. They stay fixed on the horizon, the sun slowly dropping in the sky, painting the evening with hues of cobalt and violet.
Paul draws back from his childhood friend who he had tried so hard to accept despite the revelation of him being a vampire. It had been hard and deep in the facade of love and kindness that he had shown for his friend was the will to walk away. To accept defeat.
"What's wrong?" Paul's voice grows silent as his eyes draw to the dagger of Billy the Kid. This was the famed dagger that the outlaw carried, changing his victims into creatures of blood or himself before using it to change back to a man.
Marko shakes his head, flipping the black blade between his blood stained fingers. "You will accept me when I kill a part of myself."
"What?" Paul carefully curls his fingers around the boy's shoulder. His fingers work their way into his shoulders. "You know that isn't true."
Marko wipes the blood from his cheeks, eyes lighting up with a soft gold gleam again.
"Then why did you lead me to Billy's grave?" Marko looks at the broken gravestone and the hole that had once been there, half covering the skeleton.
"To help you, to set you free from this hunger." A burning feeling of annoyance grips Paul, all his hard work and dedication thrown to the wind. Time and a messed up reputation that only very good lies will have the power to clean.
"Free me?" Marko echos. "We killed men for this. You didn't free anyone Paul. If anything, you drove us into a well we can't crawl out of."
"Not true!" Paul snaps. "Those men stood in our way."
Paul knew he was right. There was no mistaking that. He did what he could, even if his morality was wrong.
"If I become human and we go back to that town, they'll execute us."
Paul blows a breath. "We'll become outlaws, just like Billy did until they forget about us."
"Or get shot and become the price for someone's prize money." Marko holds on to the knife tight. "I won't let you change me."
Paul didn't even have a chance to blink. Marko jumps in his path, kicking up sand clouds, The obsidian blade flashes as it slices through the sunlight. Paul steps back, stunned as his friend, his closest friend threatens him.
"You're just like them!" Marko yells.
Paul's mind floats back to their memories, their friendship. All that they have been through. This couldn't be the end. He could not let himself fall into the same raging hunger.
"This isn't-."
"-this isn't me?" Marko laughs. "That's right, while you were searching for fame, I was fighting for my life on the prairie and now the only way that you'll care about me is if I rid myself of the person who overcame that lonely struggle."
For @softchonk since you asked for more vampire cowboys 🤠💫 Hope you enjoy!
Part Two: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American AU Fanfiction) 🤠🦇✨🖤
Dwayne didn't know the future.
Yet those who thought that he truly could read a set of well illustrated divination cards bought into his predictions.
The stagecoach driver would find gold.
The rich woman with the hideous ostrich feather hat would birth the child of a millionaire who would come to invest in the biggest cattle stock of the US.
Overwhelmed with fool's joy, they'd bought it and allowed him on the stage passing through the outskirts of Santa Carla, the current location of the man that caused most of the bitter hatred that lived in his heart for the mass majority of his depressing childhood, wishing to know more about his heritage.
"Where are you from, Mister?" The rich woman he believed that he heard being addressed as Clara leans in, elbows dug deep into the fine silk and cloth fabric of her skirt. Her golden curls fall from her bun.
He didn't want to explain the complicated details out of fear that his cover might be blown. He was a lost boy after all, a runaway but what would it matter if he was approaching eighteen in only two days. The mystery that being under the guise gave him was too good to forfeit now. Mystery would be his friend.
Clara reminded him much of the women who would show up to his orphanage in the place of their husbands, parading about in handsome gowns and fake smiles that came at cost of having their names broadcasted in the daily print. He was never adopted simply because of his refusal to conform to their standards, to rid himself of the heritage, of blood that he knew was inside of him. He was of indigenous descent and wanted to know more. He refused to cut his hair and be like them. There was no way that he would allow them to take that from him.
"Does it matter where I come from if I know where I'm going?" Dwayne had taught himself how to make his voice as soft as duck's down, wrapping all those who listened to him in his binds. "For people like me, we go where our intuition drives us."
"I suppose." She winks her eye, the aquamarine eyeshadow shimmering in the light of the sun.
Dwayne turns towards the glass outlook, curling his fingers into the metal. The stage was far from what he was used too as the bars and glass reminded him of a cell and the gentle rocking shifting to massive bumps giving him the premonition that he's on a boat about to sink. Outside, long gone was the endless slopes of golden sand and stretches of nothing as it had become healthy grass patches, tall fences and uniquely American architecture. Pristine white houses dot the land, horses who've never missed a meal and children running and playing among the gathering of pine trees.
"Do you suppose that I'll birth a boy and girl?"
Dwayne doesn't draw his eyes from the beauty of the higher class homes, their dream worthy drawn carriages and the pastel colors that kiss the eyes. It's all so beautiful, yet, none of it seemed to call him like an outside looking in.
Clara clears her throat pressing against her cameo choker.
"The child will be a female."
"Then who will keep up with the investment?" She tries to hide the panic in her voice at such a revelation. "A woman bidding in stocks or keeping up with the numbers in cattle. How preposterous."
"She will be strong enough to handle it." Though he could know less about what the future holds, he felt a burn of annoyance at the woman's thinking.
Determined, Clara pushes against Dwayne. "Maybe I will try and by the grace of God, he'll allow me a son. Just like in the good book with Moses and Hannah."
Dwayne lifts his chin, hair falling in sheets from around his neck. "Tarot isn't known to run hand and hand with the bible. You will bear no sons."
"Maybe you should give the cards another read, just for the sake of-."
The stagecoach jolts back, nearly knocking him clean from his seat. The driver gives a sharp yell, stopping the horses as they snort and pull against him, kicking their hooves on the ground in an odd rage.
"Just because a male is born it doesn't mean that he won't be an addlehead."
Dwayne stands up, tipping his hat to the lady who doesn't say another word. Her eyebrows knit as the predictions of Dwayne of being a millionaire's wife seem to no longer carry as much weight as heavy as birthing a daughter.
"Be careful who you trust and the very best of luck to you, whatever you do with your fortune."
Leaving out the red door with nothing but a pack of cards and a will to find where he belongs, a strong fear fills him as he watches the horses in their madness, pulling and pushing with a strength that he never witnessed among the animals. The stagecoach driver seemed too focused on his whip, yelling demands that seem to carry no weight to say his goodbyes.
"What is this?" Dwayne, confused, steps onto the dust street. Instead of a home sits a building bigger than any he'd seen his life. This was no home, it couldn't be. He had heard rumors that his father was wealthy, but this wealthy? This madness!
Massive stone walls arch towards the hills, dipping below in the distance. Gargoyles hang above three stories of large windows plastered against brick walls. Pillars hold lions snarling at the entry gate that hold not a single crack or error. Perfection.
A shadow appears from the base of the gate, towering above Ambrose from behind the bars. "What brings you here to Atlantis Hotel?"
Dwayne's entire being could be swallowed up in the man's shadow, his face pressed into his skull and eyes huge. Meeting his eyes, he could melt in both the man's harsh glare and the heat of the summer sun.
"I'm looking for someone."
The guard's eyes knit together. "So is every other man."
"But I am the exception, Sir. I have coin to pay for my stay while I go about my adventures finding this special someone in their child's game of hide and seek."
"Coin?" The man barks. "You'll need more than a coin to get in here."
Dwayne smiles, trying to recall all the smooth interactions that he had seen men in the town use to make the bartenders give them free refills. Even if it doesn't work, he would have to try something.
"Of course." Dwayne places his fingers through the gate bars. "Coin is simply play money for men like me."
"You mean boys?"
Ambrose reaches into his pocket, revealing a rolled up fold of money. The roll, despite being large, wasn't filled with money but playing cards covered by one dollar bills.
The man's eyes nearly bulge at the sight.
"It isn't much but for some men this would be much more than poker money." He had repeated the entire conversation from something that he had overheard before on the streets between the cry of buggies wheels and horses.
The gates open and like a charm, Dwayne walks through the gates. With a flick of the brown tie that binds the money together, he frees a few dollars bills won from an earlier game at the last saloon he'd visited. It wasn't much but enough to buy him a room for the next day. Enough to help him find his father.
"We have beaches." The large man drones on, his sharp and overbearing attitude long gone.
"That is Santa Carla's speciality." Dwayne says blankly.
"And great fishing waters if that is much to your liking."
Dwayne stops, his eyes surveying the man. He has the upper hand now. "Do not kiss the ground that I walk on. I am not the president but a mere man blessed with money. Know your worth."
"Of course." The man pauses before lifting his finger to gather Dwayne's attention again. "Have you heard about the vampires that roam this town?"
Dwayne, drawn in by the silliness of the statement laughs. "Yes. I am one of them."
The design of the inside is far beyond his dreams.
Everything is more grand than the next, striking him as more of something that belongs to the future rather than the present of 1870. He couldn't find the words to describe the anger raging inside of him at the sight.
This is what my father owns. This is what he had and he pushed me away because of who my kin is, because of who he once loved. He was ashamed for nothing.
"Greetings, new commer." A voice calls from the top of the staircase. "You look quite young to be here. Rich father? Mother inherited a will or something more?
Nothing stands among the gold railing. A cold wisp of air swings past Ambrose, drawing him back. Taking a stance against whatever it could be, the owner of the voice lays idly against the counter of the lobby, pale blue eyes looking out. White blonde hair glows in the light of a oil lit scone in the shape of a majestic lion. A rather handsome young man, but it was no way that he could be older than him.
Definitely not who I'm looking for. He thought with disappointment.
"Cat has your tongue?" He croons, his voice deep.
Dwayne shakes his head. "No. I'm just taking in the designs."
"Really?" He turns his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tartan button up to revel a short writing quill.
Dwayne felt a burning sink through his chest. This person was toying with him.
"My name is David and yours?" He asks, reaching for a gold bound notepad.
"Dwayne."
David snickers. "Surely you have a last name?"
"I do."
"What might it be?"
"Stephans."
David smiles with his teeth, lowering his eyes in a near animalistic way. "You share a last name with our owner, Dwayne."
Dwayne could bite through his lip. "What a coincidence."
Part Three: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American Fanfiction AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤
If Paul was to be turned, he was going without a fight.
Slipping through the branches of the trees with far from graceful grabs for the bark, only his fear in the silence of the woods propelled him. The canopy of dark green clustered pines remained still, not a needle moving among the darkness.
Night had come as everyday promised and with it was the truth that he would be caught. He didn't have the speed or the strength that Marko had or the hunger to hunt him in return. Paul had become prey now, losing his place as the shadow watching from afar as others found themselves trembling in his current position.
"Only a few hours 'till sunrise, then you can see yourself out of here. Only a few more hours." Paul's voice remained as a soft echo in his head as every thought was aided with a weak attempt to regain a steady breath.
Gripping on to the grooves of the tree, holsting himself farther into the crook of the thickest limbs, forcing himself into a much more comfortable position. Would he really have the will to hurt his closest friend or would he have to give in to his friend's monstrous actions? It was clear that Marko didn't want him dead but had a far worst fate in mind. Either he could accept the curse and live as a social outcast or try his best at taking down Marko and getting away scot free with a well crafted story of his heroism and fight with a dangerous vampire. He could be the hero that he had always strived to be. He could do something in honor of his father for one last time.
Paul felt a tear prickle at the thought of the day he had taken down his father, the person closest to him and it had been the worst agony that one could dream of suffering.
Could he do it again?
Paul's thoughts were becoming more and more overwhelming, blocking out the world around and below him. Armed with nothing but a stolen military knife and an empty pistol, his chance of hunting Marko in return was far too slim to even revisit those thoughts.
A rustle through the branches facing him snaches him from his thoughts as the forest lit with life. The cries and songs of the once silent birds of the forest filled that air so loud that gripping his ears became an instant response. The beating of wings sounded louder than his heart.
Kicking out at the slant in the tree, bark explodes from the surface, raining down on the ground below.
"I'm gonna die!" Reaching out for a higher hanging branch, his fingers barely found the separated twigs, pulling a few of the, off before gaining a stable hold. Blood dripped down his wrist as he held on tighter to the branch, swaying under his weight.
"You aren't gonna die, Paul. You're gonna live forever." A shadow hunched over the adjacent branch, hands on knees, golden eyes glaring and an array of forest dwelling birds perched on his shoulders. The gleam of a black and silver dagger slicing through the air caught Paul's eyes. The very thing that could save him or turn him.
Letting go of the branch, his stomach dropped.
Marco darted forward through the branches, weapon extended but not close enough to meet with Paul's skin. With barely enough time to balance on the branch below him, Paul summoned all the strength possible and swung forward. Grabbing his friend with a strength that he never knew that he had within him, the slant branch snapped. Paul fought for a grip on something, anything, but the claws of his friend dragged him farther into the air. Falling through the splay of branches, Paul had already come to terms with defeat.
The flock of birds surrounded them in a cloud of black, each one pecking at his skin and attempting to claw through the thickness of his hair.
Paul, barely able to make out Marko kept pushing against him, ignoring the fear of the steady fall to win. A sharp ring and the scream of Marko echoes as the branches of a short pine crash into Marko, tangling them both in a mess of pine needles. Holding on to him, both float feet above the forest floor as if they had never fallen.
It hit him with a sharp knowing like no other, They are floating.
He had seen Marko do it, but as he held on to his friend, so was he.
Searching his friend for the thing they had crossed endless miles for, he found nothing.
"Where is the dagger?" Paul screamed over the beat of one hundred wings, grabbing Marko's chin and tilting it so that their eyes met.
Marko simply snarled, fangs dangerously close to his flesh. His nails could rip him apart but aided with adrenaline, he was numb to the steady scraping of claws on his sides.
Marko's empty hands drive Paul deeper into a frenzy of anxiety. "Marko, you need that dagger."
With that, the air that had once held him so tight let go without warning, leaving him snatching at the air.
Hear me out. As a person who studies Paganism and even dabbles and animism, what if I was to write about the witches of Santa Carla. I feel like that would be so interesting. A coven of witches who are in love with the Lost Boys but are also hunted by the frog brothers and the vampire hunters. Get this, Star was once a witch in their coven-
Enough yes votes and I'll drop the plot....
"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."
- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)
Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.
Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged on release day!
"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."
- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)
Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.
"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."
- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)
Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.
🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊
SECTION ONE: OCEAN
Chapter: Introduction//Prologue
Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.
Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.
Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!
Fanfiction playlist:
🎠Kimora🎠
Night has long fallen.
Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.
A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.
"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."
"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."
"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.
"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.
"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.
"No way."
"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.
"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."
"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."
"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."
"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."
Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.
Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.
It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.
He was the cool water on the scorching sand.
"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.
"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."
"Never."
"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.
"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.
We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.
"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."
"Yeah."
"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."
"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."
I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.
Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.
The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.
The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.
My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.
Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.
My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.
The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.
"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.
Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.
I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.
"Blood!"
Halfway through calling me, he stops.
With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.
The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.
Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.
"Kimmy." His hands find my face.
I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.
"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.
I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.
"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.
My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.
The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.
The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.
The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.
The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.
Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.
A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.
She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.
I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.
Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.
My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.
Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.
I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.
She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.
And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.
🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊
SECTION ONE: OCEAN
Chapter: Introduction//Prologue
Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.
Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.
Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!
Fanfiction playlist:
🎠Kimora🎠
Night has long fallen.
Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.
A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.
"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."
"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."
"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.
"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.
"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.
"No way."
"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.
"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."
"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."
"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."
"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."
Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.
Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.
It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.
He was the cool water on the scorching sand.
"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.
"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."
"Never."
"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.
"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.
We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.
"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."
"Yeah."
"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."
"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."
I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.
Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.
The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.
The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.
My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.
Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.
My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.
The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.
"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.
Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.
I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.
"Blood!"
Halfway through calling me, he stops.
With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.
The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.
Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.
"Kimmy." His hands find my face.
I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.
"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.
I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.
"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.
My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.
The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.
The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.
The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.
The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.
Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.
A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.
She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.
I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.
Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.
My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.
Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.
I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.
She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.
And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.
Tags: @softchonk @piratesangel @kurt-nightcrawler @luxury-leeches @vampcrystal @charlizekkelly @local-vampire-s1ut @twentysomethingwereyote @misslavenderlady @goosejane77 @coreyslut @strayfrost
I forgot to do tags last night because I made this post on a schedule last night! I'm sorry for the bother, if you don't want to be tagged anymore just let me know! Thank you guys so much!🌊
🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊
SECTION ONE: OCEAN
Chapter: Introduction//Prologue
Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.
Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.
Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!
Fanfiction playlist:
🎠Kimora🎠
Night has long fallen.
Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.
A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.
"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."
"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."
"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.
"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.
"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.
"No way."
"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.
"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."
"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."
"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."
"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."
Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.
Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.
It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.
He was the cool water on the scorching sand.
"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.
"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."
"Never."
"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.
"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.
We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.
"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."
"Yeah."
"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."
"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."
I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.
Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.
The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.
The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.
My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.
Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.
My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.
The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.
"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.
Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.
I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.
"Blood!"
Halfway through calling me, he stops.
With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.
The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.
Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.
"Kimmy." His hands find my face.
I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.
"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.
I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.
"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.
My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.
The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.
The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.
The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.
The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.
Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.
A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.
She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.
I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.
Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.
My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.
Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.
I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.
She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.
And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.
🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊
SECTION ONE: OCEAN
POV: Kimora
Chapter: Chapter One
Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.
Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.
Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!
Playlist Link:
"Yes!"
I swing my hands in the air, stealing the water vapor from the atmosphere with little more than a thought and the pain of overexertion. A flare of white forms in the air, creating a cloud that aims itself toward the well-toned girl only a few footsteps away. Her hair, long and the deep shade of coconut is mixed with pure white highlights that shimmer and shine like the works of a very bad glamour magic attempt.
Her familiar, a chow chow lays in the sand, watching as the event unfolds between us.
A clap and a whistle from one of my biggest fans forces me to bite back a smile as I barely get away from the witch's hand. She's fast but I'm stronger and bigger and the only way that I'll win this battle is to use that to my advantage.
Eyes the color of a rare blood moon gleam at me as the cloud slices through her weapon, a wand made of pine wood and tarnishing copper. I arch back as she darts at me, her fist outstretched for my jaw but only finding my shoulder. I wobble backwards but stay afoot, moving away from her next blow.
Reaching for her wrist, I bury my nails into her skin and drag her onto the sand with a snag. The girl's eyes widen, the red glamor leaving them for her natural hazel with a blink and a yep for help.
"Conclude!" The referee, a young girl about seven years old runs to stop us, her raven black braids flying behind her. Her eyes, two large brown balls of light look between us with worry.
"Heard, Zefra." I say, offering my arm to Hannah, the sun-kissed girl who drags herself up from the earth.
"You owe me another wand." Hannah grins, dusting herself off. "You might have won the fight, but I won a new stick."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I snort as she reaches for my arm.
Before I can jerk away, my knees give away and the scorching ground burns my arms with unrelenting viciousness. Hannah says something under her breath as I lay in the sun with Zefra asking me a hundred times if I'm alright.
"I'm fine, Zefra." I huff as my skin starts to sting. "Just disappointed in myself."
"But you won." The dark-skinned girl looks at me with a soft sadness.
"I know."
"Then why are you disappointed?"
"Because I'm not perfect. One day I will be but right now, I'm gonna give myself hell until my form is undefeated."
"I thought you were great! And that cloud! You aren't even a storm witch and you did that with ease! Maybe you could teach me, Kim!" Her hand finds mine and I pull myself up to give her the illusion that her strength has grown.
"Maybe I'll be your mentor when the time comes."
Her smile grows so big that it makes my heart leap in my chest.
"Maybe you'll find your familiar too." I stand up as she says the very thing that I've been trying to forget.
Even after the horrible event of the destruction of the bluff's coven and the death of Ruth, my coven's leader, my familiar hadn't come to me. Things had gotten worse for us witches, as we had been forced to reduce our training and day-to-day lifestyle.
Even the waters had become agitated, forcing the human dominations to ban the surfers and the fishermen from taking to the waters. The spirits of the bluff's witches ran to the sea, finding comfort in the waves but even within the cobalt, their anger bubbled and raged.
Rightfully so.
"Yeah, maybe." I dust myself off with one hand and keep her hand in the other as we cross the beach towards the gathered witches.
"What do you think they'll look like?"
I shrug. I always imagined the creature would be bigger than the common snake, fox, or rabbit.
"A bloodhound."
"Why?"
"So I can hunt down those men who killed our friends. I want to hunt them like them like the animals that they are."
I don't tell her about the plans that Paul and I had conjured only a few nights after the tragic event. About the ideas that the rest of his lair mates and my coven had thrown in. It shocked me that even the vampires had felt the rage that we had, but alas, Max knew that an attack on us would mean an attack on them.
"Oh. Aren't you scared?" Her bright eyes warm my soul.
"Yeah, but we all are. We have to be to survive." I say, wishing that I could be as strong as the words coming out of my mouth, to be as sure as my steps.
The water hisses from behind me, smacking into the stone wall of earth rising above the waters. Jutting rock shelves hang like swords on a shelf, protecting the upper world from the crashing waves. The saltiness of the ocean fills my every sense, stinging my nose but reminding me of the magic that lives within it.
Zefra looks up in fear as the waves retreat without a body in tow, their hunger for revenge left unquenched.
"How can we please the spirits?" Her small voice asking such a big question catches me off guard.
I don't know.
"No one knows."
She holds my hand tighter as we walk closer to the gathered covens.
"Maybe they're hungry." She whispers.
"You think so?"
The small girl shakes her head. "I know so."
I freeze at her words but before I can clarify just what she meant, she breaks away from me and runs to her coven leader, a pale woman with a heavy amount of black eyeliner and lipstick, her eyes hard on me with something that ranges between distrust and curiosity. Then again, who could blame her?
Any good coven leader would question my motives. It was I who had found the charred remains of the witches with a vampire companion. It was also me who had been too wrecked to help place the bodies to rest before the humans could stump on our sacred lands and destroy what was left of not only our but their dignity.
I wave and dip my head low in respect.
The coven of the twilight hour.
The symbol of a half moon on the leader's arm in the form of a black tattoo clarifies that.
A pigeon pecks at her head, digging its beak in her huge bat's nest of a hairstyle but she seems not to mind it, her gaze locked on mine as she reluctantly returns the gesture.
Her cold expression fades as Zefra embraces her, replaced with a rather soft laugh. I take it as my cue to break the stare, moving off to where my coven of two stands huddled like they've seen a ghost. Even the outgoing Angel, a beam of sunshine seems to be bothered by something.
"Somebody died?" I joke.
"That's not funny." Darla steps forward, her Led Zeppelin shirt stained with its fair share of grit and sand from defeating challenge after challenge except for the last she lost to a girl as fast as lightning.
"Not that it was serious, Darla." I hold my ground as her frown grows deeper.
"Or something I want to bring up." She remains hard.
"Well, I assume that you two are gonna let me know why you're both looking like somebody kicked a puppy." I cross my arm, trying to look tough despite the sun using my head as a target practice.
Angel speaks first, her downward expression forming into one a little better but still quite worrying for her.
"They've been talking about us." Angel keeps her statement short.
"You in particular, as they have for the last weeks-." Darla raises her voice as she keeps going.
"And I should care, why."
"More like why you shouldn't care." Darla snaps. "Let's see, you were seen with a vampire."
"We all date one, keep going." Her pale eyes outlined in dark liner she took from my vanity could rip me apart.
"But you were seen with him in broad moonlight"
"-discovering bodies. If it wasn't for me following my intuition into the woods where their coven is located, who knows what those coven hunters could have done? They should remember the broadness of our situation."
"But they don't see that, Kimora." Angel's voice sounds like a plea. The wild colors of her maxi dress make it hard to focus on her dark brown eyes only a few shades darker than her complexion. "They see what they want to see."
I fight back the shutter in my stomach.
"I don't need to care what they see because I know my intentions. I know what led me there that night and if any of those twilight hour witches try to claw at my name, I'll ask the real question. Why didn't they hear anything, why did our leader have to die when they should have been the first combatants."
"Why are you so adamant?" Darla grabs my arm, the rosary around her neck worn as both a travesty and an attempt to fit in with the humans as a protection cold against my skin.
"Why are you so afraid?" I spit. "We are of the coven of sharp stones, we were never the biggest and now we're the smallest. We can't let them kill off what's left of us."
Darla is never afraid to fight but in front of the other covens would be pure stupid. I hope with the stillness and quiet anger burning in her gaze, something inside of her head is thinking about how right I am.
"Stop it." Angel forces her way between us.
Angel's name is more than fitting if you're relying on the image that comes to a human's head. She is indeed the stereotypical image of the humanoid figure of perfection and love, her beauty and kindness unmatched.
Her heavyset features only add to her goddess appearance, not a blemish on her skin as her stringent self-care routine and perfected glamour magic had paid off.
"Kiki is hungry and if I don't get home, she'll destroy the house." Angel starts, worry edging in her voice for the bobcat.
"You didn't feed her?" I ask.
"No, because if I feed her, she'll still destroy the house trying to find some more food." She lifts her finger. "And today is Laddie's birthday so I have to find him something, we all have to find him something."
Angel narrows her eyes with solemnity. She has come to love the kid almost as much as Dwayne does, if not more. I'm not quite sure who loves him more, Dwayne, Angel, Star, or Paul. Marko is much like David and Darla, silent around the boy with not much to say to him besides a simple, "Hey Kiddo."
"Of course." I nod. "How could I forget."
Only half vampire, like Star, I wonder just how long David or Max would allow Star and Laddie to stay that way.
"You never forget." She pats my hand. "But you-."
She pivots her eyes to the sulking Darla who's already leaving, her copperhead climbing out from the inside of her vest colorful with patches and iron-ons.
"Never mind her." I close my eyes against the sunlight. "Sorry about everything."
"It isn't your fault." I flick my eyes to the now empty beach, the humans only specks farther out towards the mainland closer to the boardwalk.
"There are so many eyes beating down on me, you know what I mean. I want to be perfect, I want to be that girl who holds her punches and laughs it off. The girl who participates in everything and makes everyone feel at home."
"But you aren't that girl. You're the girl who's better at defense magic than memorizing incantations and makes a mean sigil when she needs to. You're the girl who we'd send to walk through danger because your brain completely rotted in the fear department."
"I know and they fear that."
"That's what we love about you. That's what this coven needs." Her lips twitch as she tried to fight back a smile. "That's what Ruth loved, why she let you join with nothing but a stupid Crowley book, a welcome to California notebook, and some herbs which you still have in a box."
My throat trembles as I try to hold back tears and cover it up with more laughable memories.
"She set the Crowley book aflame."
Angel chuckles. "A good choice to be honest. She always knew best."
I try to keep myself as composed as Angel does.
"I miss her."
"Me too." She looks out at the ocean which rears up yet again and strikes, but this time at the humans, dragging some form too close to the warning line of red tap away.
Angel quickly points but I remain tranquil as the people scream and cry out curses to the waters, some running away while a few of the brave dart out to the water to retrieve a man long gone.
When the spirits strike, nothing is left.
Ruth's deep voice rattles through me. I feel it with every fiber of my being.
"We should go." Angel takes my hand. "We need to go."
I shake my head, happy that she said just what I was thinking. "For sure."
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