𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You weren’t supposed to walk the rocks alone. One wrong step, a fall, and your blood is spilling across the stone like a beacon. The Lost Boys find you in seconds, terrified, overprotective, and unwilling to let you die.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 885 words
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Hurt/Comfort. Near Death. Major Character Injury. Blood. Vampire Turning. Emotional/Angst. Overprotective Vampires. Character Death technically.
You shouldn't have gone walking along the rocks alone.
The tide was low, the moon a thin silver blade overhead, and the jagged black stones of the Santa Carla coastline stretched out like a challenge. You told yourself it was just a short walk. Just enough air to clear your head after another night of their intensity, their hovering, their unspoken rules about how far you could wander without one of them trailing behind.
The rock gave way without warning.
One second you were balancing, the next the world tilted. A crumbling formation, a sickening drop into darkness, and then impact. Pain exploded through your side, your leg, your head. You hit the rocks hard. Something inside you tore as warmth spread beneath you in a rapid, spreading pool.
You tried to move but failed. The sky above tilted and dimmed as your blood, bright and alive, spilled across the cold stone like a beacon to your boys.
They reached you in seconds.
Marko's voice cracked the night first, raw and panicked. "Fuck!" He was on his knees beside you before the echo faded, hands hovering, afraid to touch. "No, no, no, stay with me-"
Paul arrived right behind him, trembling so hard his whole body shook. His hands fluttered uselessly over your injuries, blood already soaking into his sleeves as he tried to press down somewhere, anywhere. "There's so much, oh God, there's so much-"
Dwayne dropped to his knees on your other side. He was the still one. Always the quiet one. But his eyes were wide, dark with something that looked a lot like terror. He pressed his hand to the worst of the bleeding, calm movements that didn't match the tight set of his jaw.
David was last; he stopped a few feet away like the sight of you had physically struck him. For a long, awful second he just stared, face drained of every sharp, cocky edge. Then he was there, scooping you carefully into his arms as if you might shatter further.
"Thought we lost you," he said, voice hoarse, almost broken.
You blinked up at him, cold already sinking into your limbs. The world was getting quieter. "You didn't," you breathed; every rise and fall was painful.
"Because we won't." His arms tightened. "Ever."
They carried you home like something sacred.
Marko refused to let go of your hand the entire way, even when the blood made his fingers slip. Paul kept murmuring your name like a prayer, walking so close he nearly tripped over David's heels. Dwayne stayed at the rear, silent, eyes constantly scanning the dark as if something else might try to take what was left of you. David never once looked away from your face.
In the cave, they laid you down on the softest pile of blankets they had. Candles were lit with shaking hands. Someone brought water. Someone else tore clean fabric into bandages that soaked through almost immediately. Your blood was everywhere—on their clothes, their skin, the stone floor—and the copper scent hung thick in the air.
You were still fading.
David knelt closest, one hand cradling the back of your head. The others formed a tight circle around you, overprotective and barely breathing.
"You're losing too much," Dwayne said quietly. His voice was steady, but his hand on your wrist was trembling now. "We can't stop it the human way."
Marko's usual grin was gone. He looked younger somehow, scared. "You're ours," he said softly, for once without a single joke to hide behind. "You know that, right?"
Dwayne's dark eyes met yours. "If you want to be."
Paul's fingers brushed your cheek, gentle despite the blood. "Please want to be. We can't- I can't..." His voice cracked. "Please."
David leaned in until his forehead nearly touched yours. There was no smirk, no games, no half-truths left in him. Just raw, open need. "Say yes," he whispered. "Let us keep you. Let us make sure nothing ever takes you from us again."
You were cold. So cold. And the alternative was the dark swallowing you whole.
You looked at each of them—the fear, the love, the fierce overprotectiveness that had always lived just under their playful cruelty, and you nodded.
"Yes."
David's breath left him in a rush that sounded like relief and agony mixed. He didn't hesitate. None of them did.
They bit carefully, one after another, sharing the gift the only way they knew how. The pain of the change was sharp and bright, a fire racing through your veins to replace the blood you'd already lost. You cried out once, and four pairs of hands held you through it—steady, unyielding, promising without words that they would not let you go.
When the worst of it passed, the cold was gone.
You woke to the four of them still surrounding you, closer than before. Marko's head rested near your shoulder. Paul's fingers were laced with yours. Dwayne sat watchful at your side. David's hand never left your hair.
"You're still here," David murmured, almost in wonder.
You turned your face into his palm, new senses flooding in. The heartbeat of the ocean outside, the scent of their relief, the deep, thrumming certainty that you belonged to them now as completely as they belonged to you.
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: A mysterious encounter with the silent brooding vampire pulls you into a night of raw dominance and forbidden pleasure. As blood flows and boundaries dissolve, Dwayne claims you completely.
𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌. 18+ explicit 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1,147
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: blood play. blood consumption. blood smeared sex. biting kink. blood drinking. possessive behavior. rough sex. pussy eating. fingering. unprotected sex. p in v. possessive talk. creampie. scratching. marking.
The night air along the Santa Carla boardwalk clung heavy with salt and decay, the distant roar of the ocean a constant undertone to the screams of riders on the carousel. You’d wandered too far from the lights, drawn by something you couldn’t name—maybe the pull of the shadows, maybe the way the fog rolled in like a living thing. That was when you saw him.
Dwayne.
He leaned against the rusted railing like he owned the dark itself, long dark hair spilling over broad shoulders, leather jacket hanging open over a chest that looked carved from marble. His eyes—those piercing, ancient eyes—locked onto yours across the distance, and your pulse jumped hard enough for him to hear it.
He didn’t smile; he didn’t need to. The promise in that stare was enough to root your feet to the weathered planks.
You should have run, but instead you let him close the gap.
His hand was cool when it wrapped around your wrist, fingers like iron. “Come,” he said, voice low and rough, barely above the wind. No questions and no coaxing, just command. You followed him off the boardwalk, down the cliffs, into the hidden recesses of the cave they call home.
The scent of earth and old blood hit you before the flickering candlelight revealed the jagged walls and scattered remnants of their feasts.
Dwayne pulled you deeper, until the only light came from a few dying flames. His body pressed against yours from behind, chest solid and unyielding, one arm banding across your stomach to hold you in place. His breath ghosted over your neck, cool and deliberate.
“You smell like fear,” he murmured as his lips brushed your skin. “And want.”
Your heart hammered as you felt him touching you, “I-”
Teeth—sharp and inhuman—scraped along your throat, not piercing yet, just teasing the fragile barrier. You shivered, heat pooling low in your belly despite the terror licking up your spine. His free hand slid under your shirt, palm rough against your bare skin, pushing fabric up until cool air met heated flesh. He cupped your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened into an aching point.
You gasped when his fangs finally broke skin.
The sting was sharp and immediately followed by a rush of wet heat as your blood welled. Dwayne groaned against your neck, a sound so raw and hungry it made your thighs press together. He sucked, slow and deep, tongue lapping at the flow like it was wine.
Pain twisted into something darker and hotter, a pleasure that made your knees buckle. He held you upright effortlessly, vampire strength keeping you pinned against him while he drank.
When he pulled back, his mouth was smeared crimson. He turned you in his arms, eyes glowing faintly in the dimness, pupils blown wide with lust and bloodlust. “Taste,” he ordered, and crushed his mouth to yours.
The kiss was brutal. Copper flooded your tongue as he devoured you, his blood-slick lips demanding everything. You moaned into it, fingers tangling in his long hair, pulling him closer even as the metallic tang made your head spin. His hands worked your clothes off with impatient efficiency—shirt torn open, jeans shoved down your legs until you were bare before him, skin prickling in the cave’s chill.
Dwayne shed his jacket, revealing the hard planes of his torso, faint old scars catching the candlelight. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, laying you back on a pile of stolen blankets that smelled of smoke and him. His mouth trailed down your body, leaving bloody kisses in its wake—over your collarbone, between your breasts, across your stomach. Each press of his lips left a crimson smear that he licked away, tongue rough and insistent.
He settled between your thighs, spreading them wide with his strong hands. You were already soaked and aching for him when his tongue dragged through your folds, tasting you mixed with the blood still on his lips, your back arched off the blankets with a broken cry. He ate you like a man starved—long, filthy strokes, sucking your clit until stars burst behind your eyes. Two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that made you clench and sob.
But he didn’t let you come. Not yet.
Dwayne rose over you, fangs glinting as he bit into his own wrist. Dark blood welled instantly, and he pressed the wound to your mouth. “Drink.”
You hesitated only a second before obeying, lips closing around the fang marks. The taste was overwhelming—rich, metallic, alive with power. It burned down your throat, spreading fire through your veins. As you swallowed, he freed himself from his jeans, cock thick and hard, flushed dark at the tip. He stroked it once, smearing a bead of pre-cum, then notched it against your entrance.
He thrust in with one brutal stroke.
The stretch burned, perfect and overwhelming, especially with his blood singing in your system. You cried out around his wrist, the sound muffled as he started to move in deep, punishing thrusts that rocked your whole body.
Blood trickled from his wrist down your chin, dripping onto your chest. He bent to lap it up, fangs grazing your nipple before he bit there too, a shallow cut that sent fresh crimson spilling across your skin as you gave a scream around his wrist.
“Mine,” he growled against your breast, hips snapping harder, cock dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you. The wet sounds of blood and slick sex filled the cave. He painted you with it, his blood and yours, smearing it over your stomach, your thighs, using it to ease the slide of his fingers as he rubbed tight circles over your clit.
The pleasure built like a storm, dark and inevitable. Your nails raked down his back, drawing more blood that only seemed to spur him on. He fucked you harder as the slap of skin echoed off the stone walls. When you finally shattered, it was with his name torn from your throat, walls clamping down around him as ecstasy ripped through you, amplified by the vampire blood humming in your veins.
Dwayne snarled, burying himself to the hilt as he came, flooding you with cool release. He collapsed over you, still buried deep, mouth finding the fresh bite on your neck to drink again, taking slow, lazy pulls now, savoring rather than devouring.
You lay there, trembling, covered in blood, sweat, and him. The taste of his essence is still on your tongue. The cave spun gently, and somewhere in the haze, you felt his fingers trace patterns in the drying blood on your skin—marks of ownership.
“Stay,” he whispered against your pulse, voice dark with promise. “The night is young… and I’m far from finished with you.”
You knew you wouldn’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Ahhhh I still need to write those fem!Vincent headcanons, I have them tucked away in word... should I write yuri headcanons for Vincent x Michael too? (Specifically RZ Michael)
