The Lost Boys X Reader - Blog Posts

ℭ𝔯𝔶 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔖𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯; III

{poly!lost boys x fem!reader}

♱ 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: explicit

♱ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Michael's sudden change is unwelcome in the Emerson household. After an apparent prank that scares you and your brothers, you take matters into your own hands and confront David's gang head on.

♱ 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: emerson!reader, fem!reader, reader is 18-19 (middle child), reader wears glasses, foul language, sibling dynamics, mentions of divorce, stuck-up?reader (she's prissy at times), teasing, temptation at its finest, mentions of stalking, flirting????? at the music store???? get your act together girl,

♱ 𝔞/𝔫: there are a few new scenes in this chapter because I wanted the reader to have more interaction with the boys before giving in. Side note, but I hate when I find a good song and it's released after '87, because it would be perfect for this series. So, the unofficial song for this chapter is Give In to Me by Michael Jackson. Also, if this were a movie, Runaway would start playing as soon as the reader storms out of the house to confront the boys on the boardwalk. OG word count: 2432, revamped word count: 4250

[1] [2] ... [4] ... [8] [9]

Michael is acting weird.

Okay. To be fair, your brother is always weird, but this is different. He's mean. He sleeps all day and wakes up at sunset, then hops on his bike and drives off to God knows where.

At first, you thought he was avoiding Mom after the boardwalk incident. Pissed was not an accurate rage descriptor for how upset she had been when she learned what he did. At first, you defended Michael. You did tell him it would be okay. But when he started acting like an ass, you became less sympathetic.

The night after that, David's gang came to the house. They didn't come inside—but they did tear up the driveway. They revved their engines, jeering Michael's name, goading him to go outside. 

Mom had caught Mike on his way out and encouraged him to bring them in.

"They might like a nice, home cooked meal." she said, peering at them through the curtains.

"Maybe next time," was his reply.

There was no next time. 

Another notable incident occurred when Sam forgot to untie Nanook and bring him inside. 

You chased Michael to the front door, fuming. "What? You're too cool to let the dog in in front of your friends?"

"He's not my dog," said Michael.

"But Mom asked you to do this."

"I don't have to do everything she says. Neither do you, you're an adult."

"And you're being an asshole."

Michael stepped outside, and, of course, David's gang was waiting. 

Michael rolled his eyes, "Why can't you get the dog, four-eyes?"

"Because you're already outside!"

Michael narrowed his eyes like he gained the power to see through your bullshit and laughed cruelly: "You're scared of them."

And, for the first time that night, you spared a glance behind him toward the boys. They said nothing, but you're sure they heard every word, considering they watched your squabble unfold like a soap opera. 

For the record, you're not scared of them. 

You're annoyed. Disgusted. (A little scared of how they make you feel, but that's neither here nor there.) 

And you could tell Mike this, but instead you said, "Oh, fuck off." before storming into the lawn. 

Nanook, who had been barking at the boys, calmed when you approached; however, you were too distracted to give the dog more than a head-pat. You were conscious of your every movement as soon as you stepped outside—your walk, the sway of your hips, your posture, hell, even your clothes. You liked your clothes, but you almost resented how dowdy they were. Why hadn't you worn something more revealing? You usually hate having people leer at your body but with these guys ...

Michael said something to them, and they laughed. It could have been nothing, but you swore they were talking about you, so you rushed inside and didn't look back. 

After that, you did everything you could to avoid seeing them when they came around. 

You lie and say these weird feelings began after that dream, but you know that's not true. Those boys have been burrowing in your brain since the beginning. The sound of their bikes roaring up the driveway makes your heart skip a beat. 

Sometimes—and you're reluctant to admit this—but sometimes you place yourself where they can see you. The upstairs window, the garage, the doorway—places far enough that they can't call out to you but close enough for them to look. 

It's stupid. You don't understand why you do it. These guys are strange and probably dangerous. You shouldn't want anything to do with them.

But that doesn't stop you.

Weirdly, you like being watched. It's like being under a microscope, but you've put yourself on the slide and control the outcome. A shrink would tell you that you're acting out because of your parents' divorce. That's the savory answer, so you refuse to believe there's another reason. 

A bird keeps leaving you gifts on your windowsill.

You haven't seen the bird in action, but you know it has to be one. It leaves you items at night. Random things.

The first one you find is a shell. It's beautiful—one of those shells you can't find on the beach, only in tourist shops. It's as big as your palm and bone-white. You assume the bird had placed it there after deciding it was unfit for its nest, so you brought it inside.

Two fluffy yellow dandelions were placed in the same spot the next day. The day after that, a flat stone with a hole in the center. Then, a feather.

On and on the little gifts came. You're not sure what you did to befriend this bird, but you're grateful. In the midst of so much turmoil with Mike, David, and Mom, the gifts never fail to make you smile.

"Honey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

She quietly thanks the customer for coming and passes the plastic bag across the counter. When they're gone, she turns to you again. 

"Why don't you grab a bite to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, please!" Mom shakes her head, giving you that knowing smile. "You've been with me all day. Go and get yourself something to eat. Better yet, stretch your legs."

You flash your 'new' (secondhand) paperback at her. "I already did."

She says your name in warning, but there's no bite to it. You know she's just looking out for you. With a sigh, you tuck the book into your bag and kiss her cheek goodbye.

If this was any other day, you wouldn't have bothered to come with your mom to work, but Max had called and asked if she could work a double because Maria was sick, meaning she would be here until dark. You know she's a big girl and grew up on the mean streets of Santa Carla without you, but today was also her and dad's wedding anniversary, and well...

Mom won't admit it, but you know she's struggling. It's the big reason she took the extra shift; it helps her not think about her failed marriage.

The door swings open, and you barely glimpse who is in your periphery before you swear. 

"Shit."

"What is it, honey?" She greets the new group with a big smile. "Hello! If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask ..." She pauses. Squints her eyes, looking, really looking, at the group. "Have we met before?"

"We're frequent flyers," says an all-too familiar voice.

David.

"Oh, alright," Mom cheers.

"Bye," you mutter. You turn fast and nearly collide with Marko, but you dodge at the last second. "Excuse me."

You exit the store and thrust yourself into the night crowd. Of course, the one night they take off from terrorizing Michael, they come after you. 

Actually—you glance at the nearest clock—it's too early for them to be at Grandpa's house. (Yes, you have their schedule memorized. No, that's not weird.)

And, no, you don't have an inflated sense of self-importance because one glance over your shoulder told you the four of them left the video store as soon as they came in. You don't know if they're following you or if this is their childish idea of a prank, but you refuse to find out.

You duck into the nearest store before they see you—a music shop. The walls are lined with albums, cassettes, and CDs. Band posters cover what little space is left; somewhere in the corner, a rock song wafts from its boombox. 

You don't frequent music shops; you might if you're with Michael or Sammy, but most of your cassettes are inherited from Mom. Still, you wander toward the folk-rock section and figure you have a few moments to kill before you seek out food. 

But good things never last.

The door opens, and you don't have to look this time to know. 

"So, you're stalking me now?" you ask.

Paul snatches the tape from your hand. "Midnight Voyage? C'mon, girl, you gotta get with the times."

You grab it back. "I like the Mamas and the Papas."

"That song's as old as you."

You cross your arms. "I thought you, of all people, understood good music doesn't have an expiration date?"

Marko, Dwayne, and David snicker, and Paul has the decency to look sheepish. You rest your hip against the display and raise your chin.

"What do you guys want?"

"We're here to look at music," says David.

"Uh-huh. Videos, too?"

He challenges you with a sarcastic look. "It's Friday night."

"Whatever."

You snake around them and move to a different display, but they follow. 

"You have to like some rock," Paul tries again.

You fight a smile. He's ... almost charming. "I didn't say I didn't."

Marko joins in, "Who?"

You flip through the singles, not paying them any mind as they throw out different band names.

Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Depeche Mode, Van Halen - tell me you like Van Halen, baby?

You find what you're looking for and flash it to the boys with a grin. "Iggy Pop, The Passenger."

Marko frowns, but it's more appreciative than judgemental.

Dwayne nods in agreement. "Not bad."

Your answer pacifies Paul, but he's not satisfied. "We need to find you some music that you can dance to, baby."

"I don't dance," you say. "Especially in front of other people."

"Are you always this serious?" David asks. 

For some reason, that hits you where it hurts. You glare at him, dropping the single back in its slot. "Do you always stick your nose into other people's business?"

David has the audacity to smirk. "It's just an observation, princess."

You scoff and try to shoulder past him, but David is fast. He catches your bicep. His grip is barely there, but it stops you in your tracks. You hold your breath, all too aware that you're sandwiched between him and Dwayne. 

"If you keep running off like this, you're gonna make us think you don't like us," David teases.

"I don't," you lie. 

He cocks his head. "You sure?"

You swear he can see through you, but you're unwilling to give in. Not yet.

You step closer, looking him dead in the eye. "I've never been more certain."

Jerking away, you make a b-line for the door. David can't let you have the last word, though. 

"Tell Michael we'll see him later," he calls out.

You shove the door open and shout back, "Bite me!"

You're in the kitchen helping Mom with dinner when Michael stomps down the stairs, sunglasses tucked in the neck of his t-shirt.

Mom rushes to meet him. (Even she's aware she only has a finite amount of time before she loses him again.)

"Michael, do you want to take the night off and have dinner with your family?" She reaches for him, but Michael keeps walking. "We haven't eaten together in a while. It would be nice."

He snorts. "Yeah, right."

Michael opens the door without another word, and the roaring of motorcycle engines fills the house.

Mom shrivels the tiniest bit. Had you not been watching her, you wouldn't have noticed, but you did, and it pisses you off.

You sit the bowl down a little too hard and chase after him.

"Michael." He ignores you. "Michael!" You latch onto his stupid leather jacket and yank him back."Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but it doesn't give you the right to be an ass to Mom."

He smiles, "But I can to you, right?"

Michael tries to walk away, but you hold firm.

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Listen." Michael faces you head-on. "Unlike you, I've got friends waiting for me. So, why don't you run back inside, little sister? Hm?"

Tears burn the back of your eyes, but your anger burns brighter. You release him with a push.

"Well, at least I'm not pretending to be something I'm not."

Michael frowns. For a moment, you think your words hit their mark, and you see the faintest glimmer of the old Michael in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Michael!"

"C'mon, Michael!"

"Mikey boy!"

You flinch as they rev their bikes. It works its charm because all traces of remorse are gone from Michael's face.

He looks at you coldly. "I gotta go."

"Michael, you're making a mistake," you say.

He rolls his eyes. "Don't wait up."

"Hey, baby!" Paul shouts. "Don't you wanna come party with us?!"

You flip them off, and they erupt into a chorus of laughter.

You toss the phone onto Michael's chest, startling him from his mid-day nap.

"... What the hell?"

"Mom's on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

Michael cracks his eyes open, wincing. "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock. You slept all day. Again." You don't even try to mask your rage. If he's going to be a jerk, you'll give it right back.

Michael motions for the sunglasses on his bedside table. "Hand me those, will you?"

You scoff but throw them at him, too. "You need sunglasses to talk on the phone? Are you high?"

"Fuck off," he mutters, and picks up the phone. "Hi, Mom..."

You faintly hear her voice drifting from the receiver. "Michael are you still in bed?"

"No. I'm up."

"Can you do me a favor this evening? Will you stay home with Sam tonight? I'm meeting Max for dinner."

"I watch him all the time, Mom," he says unsympathetically. "The only time I have for myself is the evening." He locks eyes with you from behind his sunglasses. "Can't you have her watch him? Or Grandpa? They stay home all the time, anyway."

"I want you to do this," Mom says. "You come home late, sleep all day—Sammy's always alone."

"No, he's not!"

"Michael, please! Your sister should not have to do everything all the time. Now, you always do whatever you want, and I don't stop you ... tonight, I want to do what I want for a change. Do you know how long it's been since someone has asked me out to dinner?"

Michael works his jaw and says nothing.

"Please, Michael?"

He presses his lips into a thin line. "Okay. Fine. I'll watch Sammy."

He hangs up with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You tsk, yanking the phone off his chest. 

"I guess it sucks to be you," you say.

"Get out of my room," Michael grumbles, drifting back to sleep. 

You leave, but you don't close the door. Sometimes, being petty is better than a middle finger.

Grandpa strolls into the kitchen wearing a khaki-colored jacket and a loud bowtie. He has a pep in his step and another one of his furry creations tucked under his arm. 

"Look at you, Gramps!" you coo. "Lookin' all spiffy. What's the occasion?"

"Can't an old fart like me dress up for fun?" He playfully adjusts his bowtie, and his eyes twinkle with mischief. "Anything in here that might pass for aftershave?"

Sammy hops out of his chair and plucks a bottle off the windowsill. "How about this Windex, Grandpa?"

"Ah!" The old man gratefully accepts the bottle, squirts some in his hands, and pats it on his cheeks. Sam exchanges a knowing look with you. "Thanks."

Unfortunately, Michael chooses this time to come in. (And he's still wearing those stupid sunglasses.) He appraises Grandpa, his mouth twisting cruelly. "Big date, Grandpa?"

Grandpa wiggles his eyebrows, smiling slyly. "Just dropping off some of my handiwork to the 'Widow' Johnson."

He holds up a taxidermy dog. Its beady marble eyes stare into your soul. You repress a shudder. Stuffed animals (the kind that used to be alive) aren't the way to your heart, but if this woman likes it, who are you to judge?

You pat him on the back. "Good for you, Grandpa."

Michael peers over the rim of his sunglasses. "Oh, yeah? What did you stuff for her? Mr. Johnson?"

Grandpa's smile falters, then fades away altogether. He grips the stuffed dog a little tighter. "I'll see you kids later."

As soon as he's out of sight, you smack the back of Michael's head.

"Hey!"

But Sammy's on your side. "That wasn't funny, Michael."

Grandpa honks his horn, and an off-key version of La Cucaracha plays as he peels out of the driveway. Sam resumes his task: dinner duty.

"I'm making you a sandwitch," your little brother grumbles.

"Don't bother."

Michael moves, and you catch sight of something shiny. There's a dangly chain piercing his earlobe, and you know for a fact that it wasn't there last night. You wrinkle your nose. "Lose the earring, Michael, it's not happening."

He crosses his arms. "Piss off."

Sam's eyebrows shoot all the way up. "Wow—you have a great personality, Mike! You should open your own charm school."

Michael starts to go in on Sammy, ready, aching, to deliver his retort when the house shakes. A harsh, howling wind rips through the windows. The curtains flap like frantic bird wings; the ground shakes. Outside, motorcycles roar up the driveway and circle the house. Headlights burn through the windows so bright that it's like sunrise. 

You grip the table to keep from falling over. Dishes and cutlery fall from their cabinets and smash into the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. 

"What the hell is going on?!" You can hardly hear your own voice over the noise.

From outside, you hear their voices, shouting, clamoring over one another, melding into a horrific symphony of Michael, Michael, Michael!

Steadily, the noise grows louder. You know it's impossible, but you swear the motorcycles are climbing the walls. 

Michael rushes to the front door, and Sam is hot on his heels.

"Don't open it!" Sam cries.

Michael! Michael! Michael!

Michael throws the front door open, and ... it stops. 

Everything stops.

All that remains is a faint breeze rustling through the trees and the dainty jingle of wind chimes. 

You grab Sam's hand to ground yourself, and he squeezes back, utterly petrified. 

No one is outside. 

You exchange a look with Sam. "That was real, right?"

He nods, but he doesn't look sure.

You trust your judgment, and Sammy's for that matter, but as you peer into the night, you can't help but doubt yourself.

Was it a shared hallucination? An earthquake? But what were those voices?

Grimly, you realize there's only one answer, and it wasn't a natural phenomenon. You know who's behind it. 

Michael shuts the door and locks it, resting his back against it like he alone could prevent them from coming in.

You clench your jaw and storm up to Michael, poking his chest. "Look—I don't know what kind of game you and your friends are trying to play, but it's not funny."

Michael dares to look offended. "I didn't do this."

"The hell you didn't!" Rage boils your blood, and you see red. "I have had it, Michael. This is the last straw."

You shove past him and throw open the door. The night is calm, but you are not. You've played the passive role for too long. No. Fucking. More. 

Those four morons could mess with you all they wanted, but not your family. Not their home. 

Your brothers call after you, but it's Sammy who asks, "Where are you going?!"

"Out!"

Your anger leads you to the boardwalk.

People laugh, their conversations overlapping until it's nothing but white noise buzzing in your ears. Overhead, Runaway by Bon Jovi crackles through the boardwalk's sound system, but the music is distorted as if filtered through a tunnel.

You find David and his gang easily, almost like you have a homing beacon guiding you straight to them. You don't overthink it. Really, you don't think about it at all. All you know is that you're past your limit for bullshit, and tonight, you'll make it stop one way or another.

Paul is the first one to notice you. He greets you with a cocky grin. "Hey, baby—"

You punch Paul in his stupid, pretty face. It wasn't hard—and the odds are, he's taken worse—but sheer surprise knocks him off his feet into Dwayne. 

You only realize what you did when the pain kicks in.

"Sunova—!" You bite back a scream, cradling your fist against your chest. You wish someone would have warned you: punching hurts.

"What is with you Emerson's and punching without provocation?" muses David.

You glare, filling it with as much hate as you can muster. David isn't affected in the least. In fact, he's amused. He grins like he's watching a newborn puppy learn to snarl. He pushes off the railing and invades your personal space.

"Let me see your hand." David reaches for it, but you step back.

"Don't touch me," you snap.

The boys laugh.

Marko throws his arm over your shoulder and nuzzles your hair. "Baby's got teeth, huh?"

You try to shrug him off, but he hangs on. "Stay away from Michael." They murmur his name like it's a private joke. It makes you angrier. "He's a good guy, and he doesn't deserve to be dragged down by a group of dirty degenerates like you."

David bends at the waist so he's eye-level with you. "Did big brother send you here?"

"No," you say, "I came myself."

"So you can go down on dirty degenerates like us?"

"To get you to fuck off," you sneer.

You shove David back for good measure, but he captures your wrist—your injured hand—without blinking an eye. 

Gingerly, he looks it over, paying close attention to your knuckles. His leather gloves are soft and worn. They must be thick, too, because you can't feel his body heat through them.

What the fuck. No, you're not thinking about that.

He grazes his thumb over the hills and valleys of your knuckles; he turns your hand over, coaxing you to spread your fingers. 

"It's not broken," David says. "You're lucky."

… Huh?

He manipulates your hand into a fist again. "Next time, don't tuck your thumb under your fingers, or you will break it. See?"

"Stop it," you stammer.

"Stop what?"

"Being—" Nice "—weird!"

David releases your hand, and you bring it back to your chest. 

"I think you better apologize to Paul," David continues. "You hurt him real bad, and, well, we don't want him to pout all night, right?"

You glance at Paul, who is indeed pouting theatrically. "Can you kiss it better?" He taps his cheek.

You sneer. "Look—just leave Michael and my family alone. That shit you pulled tonight was not cool, and Mike hasn't been acting like himself since you came along, so I know you're the cause. So, back off, okay?"

David smiles. "Okay."

You pause. Then blink. You wait for the punchline, another witty remark that David has locked and loaded, but it never comes.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Sure." David shrugs, "But you've gotta take his place."

"Excuse me?"

David doesn't repeat himself. He gives you a look similar to the one he gave you over a week ago. Daring you, begging you with those unfathomable blue eyes. Paul leans against your other shoulder.

"C'mon," Paul purs. "Join us."

Marko and Dwayne pile on, chanting with Paul, "Join us. Join us. Join us."

David only stares, his hypnotic gaze locked on yours as the chant grew louder. People are starting to stare. 

"You know you want to," David says. "Stop lying to yourself."

Marko giggles, "We promise we'll be good."

From behind, Dwayne mutters, "Extra good."

"Don't leave us hanging, baby," Paul whines.

This isn't what you came here to do. All you wanted was to get them to back off before someone—like Sam or Mom—got hurt. 

But that teeny-tiny part of you, the one you've been trying to smother since you arrived in Santa Carla, pipes up. You didn't have to come. You could have let Michael handle this. You could have ignored them instead of walking into the lion's den. You knew, deep down, that this would happen. You wanted it to.

Your rage evaporates with every passing second and is replaced with that familiar fuzzy feeling in your abdomen. They're so close. 

They pet you—your arms, your hands, your neck. David is content to watch like he knows they're steadily chipping away at your resolve. Dwayne's hands migrate to your hair, toying with the ends. Cool breath fans over your neck. Leather kisses your exposed skin.

You remember too late that you're not wearing your usual maxiskirts but instead a pair of cut-offs that reveal far more skin than you typically like to show. But ... you don't care. If anything, it makes that fuzzy feeling more intense. You want them to look.

"I..." Your breath catches. You don't know what to say, and even if you did, you don't think you can admit it out loud.

David sees this. He knows you. So, he offers his hand instead. Open. Ready. Accepting. You don't need words with him.

Your fingers twitch. It was only a matter of time before they wore you down and coaxed that yes from you.

Slowly, painfully slow, you place your hand in David's. He curls his fingers over yours, sealing the deal.

The boys erupt into cheers, and that hazy bubble of something bursts like fireworks, an explosion of euphoria. Your skin tingles, and you grin. Dwayne wraps his arms around your middle and spins you around, eliciting a surprised shriek from you. 

"C'mon, boys." David tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. "Let's go." 

Hello my little stars! I’m Hayden! and here’s what I will and will not write!

This will be added too over time

Will write

• fluff

• character x male!reader

• character x gender neutral!reader

• suggestive stuff (making out, etc)

• hurt with comfort

• angst

• FtM

• sometimes MtF

I won’t write

• Smut (this could change in the future)

• topics like self harm and suicide as those are triggering topics for me

• racist or homophobic shit.

• abuse or things like that to humans or animals

• piss and shit kinks and others like that

• Murder in detail

• Female readers YALL have enough content (respectfully of course)

Fandoms I will write for

• the little vampier (the newish animated one)

• Undertale (Aus as well)

• Yuurivoice

• TWST

• TMNT (rise, bayvers, 2012)

• Danganronpa

• ATWOW

• Avatar

• Obey me! Shall we date

• Arcana

• Gravity falls (platonic only for dipper and mable)

• The Black phone

• The lost boys (1987 movie)

Saving his Damsel~

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

🃜 pairing : David × Female! Goth! Mate Reader

🃜 fandom: Lost Boys x Reader

🃜 summary: Reader is new to Santa Carla and after avoiding the boardwalk for months she joins her friends for a night. She is drawn to the carousel and thats where she meets the boys. (no use of y/n) (I left the outfit entirely up to you the only thing described are the belts, boots and jacket. But you can imagine your look however you want)

🃜 Word Count: 2.3k

🃜 Warnings: Physical Assault, Death

🃜 Requests: Open

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

The lights of the Santa Carla boardwalk will draw anyone in from tourists to surfers and even goths like yourself. You were still new to Santa Carla area having moved there a few months prior. You had been to the boardwalk a few times,but people weren’t really your thing so you stayed away. One night your friends that you’ve made since moving there wanted to go explore the boardwalk. They only went to it during the day,their parents didn’t want them out after dark, but they were finally able to go. You spent the evening hours getting ready, teasing your hair into a huge messy up-do. You used a lot of hairspray, starting with your roots you styled it into a poofy and messy look. After your hair was done you covered your face in white foundation before lining your eyes with black liner, big bold wings now standing out against the white foundation. And to top off the look you added black lipstick to your lips.

Now your outfit. You had dug through closet for an hour before finally deciding on something. You had slipped on the clothes you chose before layering some belts and chains around your waist. And finally to complete the whole look you throw on some combat boots and your black leather jacket. After spraying some perfume, you grab your keys and head out the door. And in your driveway sits a black 1967 Chevy Impala, it shines in the last bit of sunlight.

You slide into the drivers seat, setting your bag beside you. After sliding the key’s into the ignition you start the car,and it comes to life with a small hum. You sit their for a few minutes going through your cassette tapes, before deciding on The Cure. After sliding the cassette tape in,you car is filled with the lyrics from A Night Like This. The drive to the boardwalk was peaceful, most of the locals retreating into their homes before nightfall. The boardwalk was mostly full of tourists and the braver side of the locals.

You park your car in a spot that was close to the boardwalk. You barely come here at night so you wanted to make sure you could get away fast. You were the first of your friends to get there so you get out, and lean against the rails by the entrance. People watching was always fun in Santa Carla, there were so many different types of people. There were the tourists, the punks, the goths (like yourself), the girls who just wanted a good lay, and the guys who would jump anything with a set of legs. And of course there were the Surf Nazi’s, they were some of the crudest people in Santa Carla. Your thoughts were cut off by loud bike engines,and you knew which group it was. All of Santa Carla knew who they were. The infamous Lost Boys.

You had never seen the group in person so you looked curiously. There were three blondes and a brunette. The first blonde you saw had curly hair, a patched jacket, and cherub like face.

The second blonde had long, wild blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s wearing a black coat that reaches his knees with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and split up the back, ending at his waste-line. The next one you saw was the brunette, he was tall and wore a black jacket without a shirt underneath it. And the final one you saw took your breath away. His short hair was styled into a mullet, and it was a platinum blonde. He wore a leather jacket, matching gloves, and dusty black pants. As you were looking him over, he was looking right back at you. And your eyes collided (e/c) clashing with an icy blue. You quickly averted your eyes not wanting to get on their bad side or have to much attention put on you.

Unfortunately for you, their attention was already on you, specifically David’s. The rest of the boys heard David’s thoughts through the pack bond, and they knew that he called dibs on you. The boys stayed perched on their bikes as David watched you with a cigarette between his lips. Then your friends finally arrived, and you headed into the boardwalk with them.

“Let’s go boys.” David says as he climbs off his bike and makes his way onto the boardwalk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You knew that your friends weren’t gonna stick around long. They were the type to go find any guy that would show interest. Since they ditched you, after some debating you head to the carousel. As you get on the carousel you notice a beautiful black horse,and make a beeline for it. You climb up on it, sitting sideways so your legs can dangle off the side. Your hand wrapping around the pole to keep yourself from falling as the carousel starts to move. As the ride moves you swing your legs humming Girls Girls Girls by the Motley Crue. Santa Carla was always full of excitement, but at this moment it was peaceful. That peace didn’t last very long when suddenly you felt two people move behind your horse.

“You got some pretty good music taste Goth girl.” You turn your head towards the voice, and you see two of the blondes behind you. The one that spoke was the long haired one.

“Yeah didn’t expect a girlie like you to know Motley Crue.” The curly haired one says as he leans against the back of your horse.

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Looks don’t define a person’s music taste.” You shoot back with a small glare as you cross your arms across your chest.

“Oh the little lady has some fire in her.” A new voice joins in as the third blonde appears on your side. His hand coming up to grab the pole as he leans in a bit closer. As he leans closer the fourth one joins standing by the front of the horse, they made it to where you couldn’t run.

“What’s a pretty one like yourself doing all alone. We saw you with a group earlier.” It was the platinum blonde again.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business…” You trail off realizing that you don’t know his name.

“David.” He says before pointing out each of the boys.

“That’s Paul.” It was the long haired blonde that first spoke to you, and he sends you a flirtatious smile.

“Marko.” The curly haired blonde. He sends you a wave with his fingers sporting a cheshire grin.

“And Dwayne.” The brunette didn’t say anything all he did was send you a nod.

“Well David as I said before I don’t see how it’s any of your business where my friends are.” You say before dismounting from the horse and leaving the ride once it stopped. Marko and Paul move to stop you, but David stops them with his hand.

“No one touches her. She’s mine.” Paul and Marko hold their hands up in surrender already knowing what this means with their brother. He rarely showed interest in anyone unless he was wanting to feed. And they could tell he didn’t want to feed on you. No he wanted something else.

“Well then let’s go get your girl.” Paul says as him and Marko start to shove each other making their way off the carousel. David and Dwayne share a look before following after the Terror Twins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After escaping from the boys you wander around the boardwalk slowly gathering your friends so you can leave. Their parents still wanted them home at a good time since so many people go missing at night. So you made sure they left the boardwalk safely, and made it to their cars. You quickly do a head count of your friends before you all head towards the parking lot. Making sure they’re all safely in their cars and heading home you go to your own car. You reach into your bag grabbing your keys, continuing to your car until you hear a wolf whistle.

“Hey there hot stuff how about you join us for the night.” A male voice calls out followed by catcalls from what you believe are his friends. You ignore them picking up speed as you make a beeline for your car. It happens when you’re about an arms length away. You’re grabbed from behind your keys falling to the ground as you start to struggle.

“Come on baby don’t be like that we saw you with those biker punks. So come on you can show us a bit of attention.” The hands that were on you yank you around making you face the group. It was a group of the Surf Nazi’s.

“Let me go.” You say as you bring your hand up trying to pry his hand off.

“Playing hard to get I like that.” The guy says laughing as you attempt to pull away. His grip tightens on you, yanking you closer to him. As his grip tightens you let out a pained cry.

“Stop squirming.” He says as one of his hands grab a fistful of your hair. Another pained cry leaving your mouth. Before anything else can happen the roar of bike engines fill the air as four headlights surround you and the guy.

“I believe the lady said to let go.” David says from atop his bike, gloved hands clenching his handle bars tightly. The guy looks at his friends and they all just laugh.

“Or what. You’re out numbered.”

“Boys.” With that one word the boys descend onto the group. One set of hands is carefully yanking you out of the guys grip and pushing you towards David. Screams fill the air behind you, and you go to turn around before a gloved hand is stopping you.

“You don’t need to see that Doll.” David says as he pulls you closer to him. His free hand comes up to carefully fix your hair.

“Did he hurt you anywhere?” Words evading you all you can do is shake your head no. Your mind was still trying to wrap around everything that was happening. You were being saved by the Lost Boys. The biker gang that everyone in Santa Carla avoided, who they were scared of, but they were helping you.

“Hm good.” David says as he looks up at the carnage behind you. His eyes zeroing in on the one who had his hands on you. He was left alone but unable to run away after Marko broke his leg. The rest of the boys knew their brother would want him. For touching his mate that guy signed his own death warrant.

“Alright boys feeding time. Finish up and bring that one back to the cave with us.” David says and your face shows confusion at his words as the screaming begins to quiet down.

“Feeding time?” You mutter to yourself and look up at David.

“Feeding time? What are you talking about? What are you?” At your questions David chuckles.

“What am I. Why I’m yours just as much as you’re mine.” He says as he pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and puts it in his mouth.

“Yours?”

“Yes mine.” He says after lighting up the cigarette. He slides backwards on his bike making room in front of him. Leaning forward he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in front of him.

“So the Doll wants to know what I am. You hear that boys she wants to know what we are.”

“Who wants to know?” Paul says playfully

“The Little Lady wants to know.” Marko says. You let out a huff as they mess with you, and then you feel David’s hand on your chin making you look up. This time your breath catches in your throat again as you stare at a completely different face. His face looked monstrous his eyes now a reddish yellow, and his teeth now fangs. You look at him in awe and excitement as your hands come up. The boys look on with surprise on their faces from your reaction.

“Oh my god you’re vampires.” You say with a small squeal as your hands latch onto David’s face, tracing his vampiric features.

“You’re not afraid.”

“Afraid? No. Excited. Yes.” Your hands keep roaming his face.

“Never seen someone so excited over this.” Marko says from behind you.

“It’s weird they usually scream in fear not excitement.” Paul says as they begin to dispose of all the bodies except for one.

“How long have you been a vampire? Can you still eat human food? Does garlic actually work on you.” You start rapid firing questions and the boys could barely keep up.

“Woah doll calm down. I’ll answer all the questions you gave back at our cave.” David says as he gently pries your hands away from his face. The boys walk back to their bikes after getting rid of the bodies, Paul carrying the unconscious body of the guy who decided to mess with you. As he passes by Dwayne hands you your car keys that you dropped.

“You’re riding with me we’ll comeback for your car.” David says as he moves you to sit behind him.

“Wait before we go does this mean I get to be one of you.” You ask as you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Yes you’ll become one of us tonight doll, and that piece of garbage will be your first kill. Now hang on tight we’re about to have some fun.”

Protectors~

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

🃜 pairing : Poly! Lost Boys × Vamp! Female! Reader

🃜 fandom: the lost boys × reader

🃜 summary: Reader is a newly turned vampire and mated toThe Lost Boys. She was turned a few months before Micheal arrived. And the day that Frog Brothers come with the Emerson’s the Reader decided to sleep with her mates. And in their haste to rid Santa Carla of the Vampires they make a grave mistake. (No use of Y/n)

🃜 Word Count:2.7k

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

The cave was quiet, the only sound being the waves hitting the rocks outside. All of the inhabitants of the cave peacefully sleeping, well almost all of them. Something instinctual, deep in your gut and the back of your mind is telling you somethings not right. Slipping through the dark fog in the faint chime of hushed whispers. Voices exchanging softly, all dim and low like they were sharing secrets.

It has you pushing your face deeper into David’s neck in an attempt to muffle out the sounds, desperate to escape fully back into the comfort of a deep sleep.

You usually slept in a bed that wasn’t far from where the boys slept, while Star and Laddie slept in the more open part of the cave. Something in your mind told you to sleep with the boys, so you listened to it.

When you arrived back at the cave after feeding, you were brought to where they slept. There was a little arguing over who you slept with,but something was telling you to sleep with David. So you stopped them from arguing,and they all climbed up to the bar they hang from. Dwanye stayed on the ground with you, so you had help getting to David. Once David is settled he opens his arms for you, and with a kiss to your head Dwanye helps you wrap yourself around David. Once you’re settled David wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you tuck yourself into his hold.

It’s still daytime. Something deep in your gut and the back of your mind assures that the sun is still high up in the sky, scorching and hot. An intuition that you still don't quite understand, but it has your limbs turning heavy and lax, muscles relaxing in David’s hold Your exhaustion has you numb to the world, the delicate rhythm of the waves crashing outside the cave muting down into nothing, the sound of the quiet voices vanishing.It must be two of the boys. Awake already. It would strike you as odd on any other circumstance, and to a degree it does, but your sluggish brain is quick to let go of that train of thought.

The insistence that something is wrong fading into an ignorable afterthought. The scuffle of shoes along dust and stone ignites a tremble down the notches of your spine, as though your body is begging for you to wake up and investigate while it simultaneously sinks further into David’s tight hold.

Something isn't right, something isn't right.

It's like a chant. A primal whisper that coils through your bones and sinew. Leftovers from your ancestors, remnants of the instincts that had kept them alive long ago, but it all seems null and void against the fatigue that seems to press you down like a physical weight. Even while hidden away from the sun it seems to sap you of all your strength.

It's impossible to even try to rouse yourself. Its as though you're held under water. The strength of that debilitating exhaustion sweeps back over you, making the sound of the angry, masculine voice that rises up high within the cave, reverberating from the dust covered stone, dim and distant. As though it's miles away.

“I feel a draft. I think there’s something up here.” You hear from far-away, murky and vague.

“Let’s check it out Sam.” Another voice.

“I’ll be right back Mike.” A third voice. Mike. Mike. That sounds familiar from somewhere - someone. A name mentioned in passing. Mike. Michael. A discussion carried on by the boys while they were all encircled around one of the burn barrels one night. So casual while they considered the fate of a complete stranger as though they were discussing dinner and not the destiny of a man's soul. Some sap that had apparently caught the eye of Star. She hadn't wanted it to go far, but then again, it's never supposed to go that far. But David wanted the guy dead. He was meant to be her first, she hadn't been able to do it. 

A wave of muddled scents breaks past the barrier of the rotting wood. Unfamiliar and thick, coated with cologne and shampoo that you don't recognize. All of it twisting with something even more out of place here. Something alive. Heat and life and blood. Iron, warmth, and salt. It's distinctly human. Living. The alarms go off in your head. Raging and flashing red in a way that's violent. And a bright light flashes behind your eyelids.

“JESUS.” One of the voices yells, another one screams before being cut off. Your eyes blink, lashes fluttering as you try to fight the sleep weighing your lids down. Your vision blurs a little, straining through the exhaustion, but then you notice the three figures standing below. They're children. Looking lost, dressed in camo and gear as though they've prepared to fight a war. One has his hand wrapped around the mouth of the blonde child muffling his scream. Wide blue eyes reflecting a visible panic while he stumbles back away from the other two. Another swears, cursing sharply under his breath while he flinches. But it's the one closest to you that moves. His dog tags glinting and chiming from a movement so sharp that it had to be a reflex, but the determination burning in his eyes is purposeful. 

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins.”

“That’s what this cave is. One giant coffin.” The one with the bandanna says as he moved with the other one dressed in camo. They begin to climb up the wood beside your group.

“They’re at their most vulnerable. Easy pickings.”

“You just have to kill the leader huh.”

“We don’t know which on he is. We’ll kill them all.”

“We’ll start with her. She’s already seen us.” They say as the climb closer to where you’re hanging with David. An animal kind of panic tears through you, lighting up your nerves like lives wires, electricity and adrenaline burning through your veins with the white heat of fire. You try to move and wake up David, but your limbs struggle, sleep thawing in your tired arms and legs.

"Kill her, kill her!" One shouts all while the blonde in the background yells at them to stop, but it falls on deaf ears. The boy wielding the stake lunges forward with a war cry. You manage to wiggle slightly in David’s hold.

“David wake up!” A panicked shout rips from your throat, but David remains sleeping.

"The bitch is trying to wake them, you gotta get her before they wake up," someone shouts in a panicked rush. You continue to squirm in David’s hold trying to get the two of you away from the teenagers. Poised in the air, high above the boy's head in an arch. There's hardly any time to act and fear sinks in your gut, chilled and frozen as he drives it down with all the strength he has in his body; his lips curled in a hateful snarl. He's going to kill you. This is it. This is how you die. Your mind screams it over and over again on a broken loop, but your body acts all on its own. It twists so David’s unconscious body turns away from the stake,and your heart is away from the point.

There's no time to rejoice when the stake is already piercing your skin. It sinks in deep, parting flesh and muscle beneath its lethal point. The boy collapses and tips over the side of the ledge that they were standing on. You don't initially realize that you're screaming. You feel it first. The strength of your agonized wail shreds up your throat as though you've swallowed nails, but that pain is secondary to the fire and anguish pulsing through your shoulder. The stake is still wedged inside of your back, burrowing past skin and meat, prying at your shoulder blade like it means to rip it free from the sinew keeping it intact with the other bones. You're bleeding. You can smell it, sharp and distinct in the panicked air. The pain is crippling. Ripping and engulfing, eating up your spine.

The boy with the blue bandana wrapped around his head is stepping forward, already clasping a stake in a white-knuckled hold. The resolve in his eyes is haunting. The desire to kill you fervent and glaring in his stare. That's all it takes to have your voice spilling from you, rising up in another terrified shout.

“BOYS WAKE UP!”

"Say your prayers bloodsucker." He practically spits it out, lips twisting in a grimace as he moves forward preparing to stake you again. And then combined hissing and snarling fills the pit as the boys awaken. They finally awoke to your shouts and the smell of your blood. Four sets of yellow eyes focus in on the three humans in front of them as snarls fill the air.

"Guys, guys, we gotta go." It's the blonde that's repeating it over and over as he sees the vampires awaks, stumbling over his words while he jerks on the other's arms. They give in without any resistance. Fear alive and bright in their eyes, even while the kid with the bandana points his stake in your direction and tosses a quick "This isn't over" at you as the three of them take off in a brisk jumble in the direction that they came from.

The growls from within the cavern raise up higher as the boys realize what happened and it has the kids in a full-blown panic. Tripping over their feet in an ungraceful run as they try and reach the opening of the cave. Your body trembles and your head rolls forward onto the snarling David’s chest.

“YOU’RE DEAD MEAT.”

You can feel your lung snag and pinch as though it's being burned from the inside out, catching on the point of the stake when you inhale. It has you crying, a tear managing to trickle free as your ribcage shudders violently as you gasp. 

You don't want to take your eyes off of them, desperate to track their panicked flee, but your eyes cloud over. Stars dot your vision, spotting and flickering in shifting colors as a vignette blurs around the corners of your sight. You feel the world spin as David jumps down from the bar and lands on his feet. You still cradled against his chest. Three more thumps follow as the rest of the boys land behind. Iron coats your tongue. Thick and wet. Bursting up from the back of your throat while you try to breathe, spitting up with each labored inhale. You can feel your life waning. The strength diminishing, shrinking under your skin. Dying out like a flame that's being smothered. Whimpers spill from your lips as your carefully laid on your bed. You can hear the sound of claws ripping across the earth as two of the vampires tear their way out of the chasm like creatures pouring out of hell.

You hear muffled screams and shouts. The dull thud of hysterical footsteps as they rush to escape before death can seize them. You hear David's bellow roll throughout the cave, crashing over the screams from the horrified children. The loud chaos of it all grows dim - distant as they're no doubt running up the mouth of the cave while Paul's laugh rings out from somewhere far away. 

It makes you jump when a pair of hands smooth over your shoulders, light like a caress, but you can still feel a heavy tremble run through the fingers. A voice hums out, cooing softly to hush you when a strangled sob wrangles out from your body. The way they handle you is delicate, softly turning you over onto your hip and lifting you up to cradle you against their chest as though you might shatter into a million pieces otherwise. Breathing past the wet iron to try and notice the traces of spice and earth and musk. 

It was Dwanye. You try to say his name, but your throat tightens, choking on blood. You can feel his fingers grip your bicep, holding you still and you know that he's looking at the stake punctured deep in your flesh. His hold is nowhere close to the to the wound and yet it flares pain across your nerves, making you twist in his arms while a gutted sob wracks from your body. 

"I know, I know, love. I know,but I have to take it out" he says into your hair. It's difficult to hear his voice past the roaring in your ears, but once the words make it past the hum. It's like you can feel the agony already, simmering and slicing across your fried nerves like the edge of razor blades.

“Marko! I’m gonna need your help. ” He calls and you can hear another person coming. And then a gloved hand is cradling your face. The glove was cold against your skin as the hand tilts your head back from where it was tucked against Dwayne’s shoulder. It makes your lashes flutter, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes open with how heavy they've grown, weighing heavy and threatening to slip closed.

“If we don’t remove it. You’ll die baby.” Marko says. There's a protest lodged somewhere in your mouth, slick from the blood and caught on a broken gasp, but you don't have time try and voice it.

“I’m gonna hold her still you pull it out.” Dwanye says as his grip around you tightens. Marko nods, gripping the stake in his hand and pulls. You want to scream, but there's no air left in your lungs for you to do so, and all that makes it out is a ragged, splintered gasp. 

Scorching hot pain pours in your veins as he rips the wood from your shoulder. It slices ribbons up your spine, feeling bone deep and white-hot, acid lashing up your muscles.You thrash in Dwayne’s lap, the grip around you tightening and pinning you against his chest. Marko continues to pull the stake from your shoulder, and there’s hardly any relief once its out. The damage it's done is still agonizing, coiling through your muscles. It's as though the flesh on your back has been flayed.

You can faintly hear the clatter of the stake hitting the stone walls. As the two fuss over you, David and Paul rush back into the area where your bed is.

“How is she?” There's a rawness to his voice, a breathless edge despite the non-necessity of breathing.

“She needs to feed.” Dwanye says. “She won’t make it to sundown.”

David stalks forward while dragging his nail across his wrist. He kneels beside your bed and presses his wrist against your lips. You clasp your fingers around his arm, digging into the aged leather of his jacket. Your teeth bury themselves into his arm as his blood pours down your throat. You feel a hand stroking your head as you feed on his blood. Life floods back into you with each gulp, syrupy and warm. The hole made in the split meat and torn flesh of your back begins to mend in a sluggish process, stunted. You’re cradled protectively between Dwayne and David as Paul and Marko hover around the two.

Paul leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Did you get them?"  Dwayne asks.

The thick silence that follows gives Marko and Dwayne their answer. And twin snarls rip out of their throats.

“They’re dead.”

“And they will be. They will be.” David says with a snarl.

“Marko when nightfall hits I want you and Dwayne to go hunt. She’ll need an actual feeding and we’ll need our full strength.” David says as he continues to stroke your hair, letting you have your fill of his blood. He wanted to make sure your wound was healed.

“Paul you’ll be staying here with her while we go take care of the little pests.” Paul nods as he sits on the edge of your bed by your head.

“They’ll regret touching our mate.” They all say as your wound completely healed and you pulled away from David’s wrist sagging against Dwayne as exhaustion took over. The boys continued to plan their attack as you fell into a deep sleep.

ALR YOU BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS AMAZING BRILLIANT SPECIMEN I just had a thought of catching David off guard like let's say he had a really rough and bad day cuz he had to deal with stupid surf nazis and then max 👊🏼 so while he is sitting on his wheelchair and I thought of getting on his lap push his face head first to my tits and just hold him and showering him with praises CUZ BABY NEEDS AND DESERVES IT 😭💕...sooo how would this big "scary" teddy bear react to this

Hello you Amazing Wonderful Person!! ☺️❤️

David is going to be confused at first, he of course isn't going to complain, no man in his right mind would in his situation. The best time to do this to get the best reaction out of him would be when you are alone together. David won't let his big bad image fall around the boys, but if you're alone, it slowly crumbles. He would hate that you could so easily get those walls to fall, but as he listened to the praises fall from your lips he found it harder and harder to care. He had denied himself of this for years, said he didn't need it, all he needed were his boys. But as he felt the love that poured from you he couldn't deny it anymore, he was not only touch starved but also starved for affection, and if you were willing to offer him pure and honest love and affection, he was going to take it. He'd wrap his arms around you, pull you closer and hold you there, he'd let you go only when he got his fill (which may not be for a while so get comfy) but in the end your bond would be a lot stronger.

Sent marking the lost boys + Star

How the boys and Star would react to you going up to them and rubbing up them to mark them with your sent ( NOT PISSING ON THEM )

No pronouns used

I %100 think they would do this to you first, but anyway...

Marko : is so confused. He thought you were coming over to cuddle with him so he opened his arms to you. But then you just started aggressively rubbing your skin on his, without a word. After like a minute you walked away and he was left there thinking 'what just happened?!?!'.(he looked to the others for an answer but they were all distracted by other things to see it happen)

Paul : is as horny as always.🙄 at first he's confused but figures it's a sexual thing so he lets it happen. He tries to do something back to return the favor but you shut him down. So he just tries his best to enjoy the attention from you. Then you walk away like nothing happened and he decides its best to not ask questions. ( seeing paul accept what happened so fast makes Marko even more confused)

Dwayne : likes it. It only takes him a second to figure out what your doing and he likes it. He thinks it sweet that you love them enough to mark what's yours. He enjoys every second of it but when you try to walk away he stops you. You think you can sent mark him and just walk away? Nope. He's pulling you into his lap holding you there with a bear trap like grip. Your cuddling for the rest of the night

David : is competitive. He lets you mark him for all of 2 seconds before he stops you and starts to sent mark you harder. You don't let that stop you, so you try harder as well. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but by the end you both smell equally like the other. Satisfied you walk away, but expect him to sent mark you alot more now that he knows your doing it to them.

Star : is ticklish. You walk up to her and within a few seconds all you can hear is her laughter echoing throughout the cave. She's also curious 🤔 so when your done she'll be the only one to ask you what you did and why. Once your done explaining it to her, she gets excited and asks to mark you back. You happily ablige her and laugh too as you feel just ticklish.

“I’m Here for You, Doll.” || tlb David x Reader

A/N: Hey guys. Depending on how well this does and everyone’s opinion on it i’ll most likely make a part two. Also, if you like this feel free to make send me a request. I’ll right for pretty much any slasher. Enjoy!

————————————————————————

There it was again. That feeling. The feeling of someone watching you. Watching your every move.

The feeling had plagued you for the past couple weeks. Walking home and around town became an anxiety inducing task. The fear of someone lurking, ready to nab you at any moment lurking in the back of your mind. But the feeling wasn’t nearly as potent as it was when on the board walk. You had moved to Santa Carla about two months prior, ready to start your life. You found a job at the diner on the boardwalk that paid extremely well and cheap apartment that was fairly nice. You enjoyed life and has little cares— until a couple weeks ago.

They came in while you were working the evening shift, hooting and hollering as they sat in one of your booths.

“Evening, what can i get you guys?”

You had approached the table without really even giving the group a once over. Look up from your note pad you finally took the time to take the men in. Black leather. And a lot of it graced your vision. Three blondes and a brunette. Oh shit. This was the biker gang your coworkers had been telling you about.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts you direct your attention back to your job as you waited for their reply, but nothing came. Instead, they ignored you. Giving you a sideways glance before heading back to their conversation.

Huh. Okay then.

“I’ll give y’all a minute then,” you deadpanned as you turned around to head behind the counter. You had better things to do with your time then dote on a bunch of pricks. Grabbing a rag you began to wipe the counter off, filling up the time. You watched as you hand made circular motions against the linoleum top, occasionally scrubbing at a stain left by a mess child. Then you felt it. Turning to face the group of men again you met the owner of the piercing stare. He was blonde. And not a natural blonde either. Bleach blonde. Not only that he had a short mullet and wore what looked to be multiple heavy coats on top of each other, along with leather gloves. His state was ice cold, making you wonder if they had been trying to get your attention and were becoming impatient. The strange thing was, he was the only one staring.

Setting the rag down you made your way from behind the counter and back to their booth while shooting the blonde an apologetic smile, hoping you hadn’t made him wait too long.

“I’m sorry about that, are you guys ready to order?”

Even with your apology and your inquiry to their needs, his glare didn’t diminish.

“Nah babes, we’re good. Just gonna sit here for a while okay,” replied a different blonde that looked strangely like a copycat of Dee Snider.

“I’m so sorry but you can’t just sit here without ordering. So either get a water or something, otherwise you’ll have to leave,” you replied in your best customer service voice.

“Look we said we didn’t want anything to leave, k?”

What the fuck, is he deaf? You head been here since 5 this evening and it was now approaching midnight, closing time, and you’d be damned if some stuck up kids were gonna keep you from going home.

“I said get out if you’re not getting anything. You deaf or something?” All politeness was gone from your voice as you spoke. The group then turned to you with a look of shock on their face. But that expression didn’t last long as they began to laugh at you.

After giggling like a group of little girls for a good 3 minutes, they picked theirselves up and left, all while that blonde still stared at you.

That had been two weeks ago. And your intuition told you that group was the reason for the constant feeling of being watched. Maybe you should have just gotten your boss to kick them out instead. If you had done that, maybe you wouldn’t be looking over your shoulder every few seconds while your hands griped your keys right i between the spaces of your fingers.

• • •

Your eyes scanned your surroundings as you made your way for the door of the dinner. It was supposed to be your night off, but your coworker need someone to come in and cover the last few hours of their shift and you were the only willing to take it. You push the door as you walk in, watching as your feet carry you across the checkered floor into the back.

Clocking in and grabbing your apron, you swing the door open walking out into the dinning area. Grabbing your pen and paper, you begin to walk to behind the counter as you hear the chime of the front door.

“Evening! Have seat where you’d like and i’ll be with you in a min-“

Turing around, your greeting to the new customer is cut short. It’s him. The guy whose state has been haunting you for the past two weeks.

A smirk graced his features as he relished in the unease that was undoubtedly shown on your face. Without breaking his stare, he made his way to a corner booth in the back of the dinner.

Your mind was racing a mile a minute. Why was he back here? What does he want?

You swallowed your nerves and made your way to his booth.

“What can I get for you?”

“Water, unless you’re gonna kick me out again,” he smirked.

“Did you come here for a water or to be another rude customer?”

“Neither actually.”

What? Then why the fuck is he here?

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you contemplated his response.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here for you, doll.”

The Lost Boys x GN Reader

Laughter and screams of joy filled your ears as you walk along the broad walk, breathing in the humid salt water air. The sound of your sandals clacking against the board walk lulls you into a sense of ease, exciting you for the new beginnings ahead of you.

Santa Carla wasn’t your top pick for places to live. Hell, with a name like “Murder Capital of the World”, it would be no one’s first choice, but something drew you here. Maybe it was the cheap tuition of the university in the town over, the warm weather, or the new sense of freedom that came with graduating high school and starting your life. Whatever it was it didn’t matter at the moment, because the feeling of the salty air tussling up your hair and the bright lights of the rides around you made you fee euphoric.

Stopping at the railing of the board walk, you looked down to the beach, watching the lone couples who walked barefoot in the sand holding hands. You smiled to yourself and you raised your gaze to look at the ocean, the moon reflecting its silver light across the water in ripples as the waves pushed them to meet the shore. Turning around, you scan the shops around you and find one that peaks your interest. Making your way to the store, the sound of a low rumble echoed across the board walk causing you to jump. You turned to find three blondes and one brunette riding their bikes through the crowds of people, laughing as they jumped to get out of their way.

Shit. They’re blocking the door.

While the men did give you an uneasy feeling, you’re want to look in the shop suppressed the anxious turn of your stomach. As you approached two of the men, both blondes, were playfully fight each other. The brunette and one other blonde were leaning against their bikes, snickering at the other two. As you approach though, they lifted their gazes to meet yours. Your skin crawled as their eyes narrowed in on you. Their gazes devoured you, making you feel like nothing but a piece of meat.

Swallowing down the fear that began to overwhelm you, you shoot the boys a polite smile as you tried to squeeze your way around them.

“Excuse me..”

You had successfully made your way through them, letting out a sigh. Just as you thought your interaction with them came to an end, one of them called out to you.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.” You turned around to meet the man’s eyes as your skin began to prickle with goose bumps. The first thing you noticed about him was his blonde mullet, which had no doubt been obtained by bleaching.

“Yeah, you new around here babe?” Your eyes flicked over to another blonde, you looked like he was trying to impersonate Dee Snider.

“Uh yeah, I am,” you said, trying to keep your reply short, hoping it would end the conversation.

“Looks like you need someone to show you around. Why don’t we help you babe?”

“Uh no, that’s okay, I’m fine really-“

An arm came around your shoulders and pulled you into someone. You looked up and made eye with a full head of blonde curls. “Don’t worry,” he purred, “we don’t bite.” The rest of them laughed at this as they began to walk, pulling you along with them.

“How rude of us boys, we didn’t even introduce ourselves!” called out the bleach blonde mullet. “I’m David,” he replied. “This is Paul, Marko, and Dwayne.”

You looked up at the one named Dwayne, who you forgot was even there. He had been so quiet the whole time you didn’t even notice the way he’d been staring at you, like he was looking right through you. You shivered.

Maybe you should have stayed home tonight.

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀʏɢɪʀʟ

Summary: Paul might just have developed an obsession with the camera that you let him have.

Warnings: 18+ MDI

(just a quick little blurb. this is just filth honestly)

You hadn't thought much of it when you had lifted the camera - one of those instant ones that spits out a laminated card of film that you have to shake.

It had caught your attention, because, in a certain way, it seemed important. The man who you had stolen it from, slipping the dark strap from around his limp, bloodied neck and over his head, had come all the way out in the middle of the night to take pictures. Trekking up the high hills that crest high along the ocean just to be able to stand on the edge.

All so he'd be able to take picture after picture of the town glittering in the close distance; the shimmer of the amusement park rides glimmering on the reflection of the water. Not that you could blame him, the view from up there is stunning.

You took the camera fully with the intention of using it, but somewhere along the span of a few weeks, it had wound up forgotten on the old dresser beside your bed. Hidden away amongst all the other tchotchkes and random trinkets that you've stolen throughout the last couple of years.

You didn't think much of it when Paul had asked if he could have it one night, nosily browsing through your stuff like he usually does. Always sticking his fingers where they don't belong.

You had hardly bothered looking up at him from your hand, carefully focusing as you glided a brush, damp with cherry red polish over your nails.

You remember giving a light hum of affirmation, nodding your chin stiffly from where you had it pressed against your knee.

You had hardly heard the delighted, "Hell, yeah," that he had whispered. But even while you idlily flipped through a dated issue of Vogue in between the application of the polish, you could hear the way his voice had gone all somewhere between husky but also light. Pitched with something downright sleazy. You could practically hear all the perverted thoughts rolling around in his head as he plucked up the camera from the dresser.

In hindsight, you should have expected the monster that you had unintentionally created. He's always been a pervert and giving him access to this type of thing was bound to unless a completely new side.

He has a whole stash of photos now. They're all of you, naturally. Sweet candid's that catch you in all the ways he'd like to remember. Immortalizations of your smile; sincere moments that he can tuck inside the inner pocket of his coat and keep held to his chest.

One in particular is always kept there. Hidden and safe like a cherished icon tucked away from unworthy, prying eyes. It's somewhat blurred. Distorted from when the lens had caught you in motion. It smeared around the edges of your hair; the lights of the carousel behind you create a sort of halo effect.

But he likes the carefree expression on your face the most. Bright and free, eyes glittering from when he had caught you in the middle of a fit of laughter. Courtesy of some joke he said - one that he can't really remember now, vague and miles away.

As much as he loves that little candid in his pocket - how casual and content it is, with you clutching onto a half-eaten funnel cake and laughing - he'd be a liar if he didn't love all his other pictures just as much.

He's become a bit of a photographer in the past month, and his portfolio is already packed. Filled to the brim with images that all focus around you in all the best ways possible.

He'd probably be able to make an entire magazine at this point. One that would put Playgirl to shame. All with you on each and every page, centerfold and cover.

God, he'd actually pay money to see that.

The pictures he has are all crammed into rusted toolbox that he keeps hidden away in a narrow crevice split inside one of the cave walls. It's close enough to the floor that he's able to block it from sight with a wooden pallet.

Maybe it's sort of overkill, but the last thing he needs is for someone to go snooping and find something that they don't need to see.

Yeah, he'd either die on the spot or kill someone if that happened, but he's pretty sure that you'd be more than happy to do the killing. You'd probably just end up wringing his neck though, and he'd be more than willing to let you.

The collection that he's got going on is easily one of his most prized possessions, and he's not guilty to admit it. Even if it is a little shameful how many times he's found himself looking back over them.

Shuffling back through the stack of pictures as though they're a deck of cards. But he swears that he notices something new about them each time. They somehow manage to look better and better when that probably shouldn't be possible.

He's jacked off more times that he should admit to the one that he has of you bent over his bike but fuck it's hot.

Between the dark cover of the night and flash of the camera, the background is a void of black. It makes you look as though you've been encased in satin.

There's a glimpse of the bike's handlebars peeking into the shot, a peek of chrome reflecting bright in the image. And yeah, he's not really paying attention to all of that, but he can't pretend that the sight of you bent over his bike doesn't do something for him.

Your skirt is all rucked up in the image, the tight slip of dark fabric bunched over the shape of your hips to shamelessly brandish the flash of your panties. The noticeable wet spot between your thighs, dark against the white material gets him hard every time, and his hand always manages to slip inside of his pants whenever he comes across it in the pile.

Just a small glance at the photo is able to take him back to that night, immersing him in that specific moment, with the warm air brushing over his skin and the sound of your cries melodic and mindless in his ears. You sounded like a pornstar.

His hand is pathetic in comparison to how you had gripped him. It's too rough, too cool. Nowhere close to the way your cunt had clenched around his cock like it was trying to keep him locked inside, stretched and wet and tight on him.

It makes it difficult to narrow down a possible favorite from the pile. There's somehow too many and not enough, and each specific photo has something that he loves, no matter how simple the subject matter might be.

Like the picture he has of your tits. Your bra isn't even completely off in the photo, just slipped down around your ribs just enough to free your breasts. The red lace cupped beneath them, nearly brushing over your nipples. They're perky in the photo, hard from the chill of the cave, glittering softly from the spit he had left behind with his mouth.

He can't count how many times he's fucked his fist to that one. Tracing over the marks he had left behind, the blotches of cherry and plum he'd made with his teeth and tongue; sucked into your skin.

He's held that very picture in his left hand, satiating himself as best as he could while you went off with Star to have a night out on the town - 'girl's night.'

They happen every week and he looks forward to them with all the enthusiasm of someone who's scheduled to get teeth pulled. The pictures almost make it tolerable. Like chasing tequila with a swig of Coke.

But the image of you all splayed out on your bed is a close contender for the number one spot. It was one of those lucky nights where everyone else was out in town, giving the both of you the freedom to actually indulge in each other on an actual bed for the few hours you were afforded.

There's a dreamy quality that had been caught in your eyes while you watched the camera. That dazed, fucked out look that makes him feel just as ruined.

You were completely naked, flat on your back with the sheets and blankets all messy around you; rumpled in a way that seems like a current shifting over water. Your spine was a little arched, pushing your breasts out, making them more pronounced.

You were all kiss swollen lips and ruined hair. He can practically hear the soft little moans that you had been letting out, bouncing off of the stone and back over onto his skin.

But the best thing about it might be how your legs were held wide open, fingers between your thighs to spread yourself open for the camera. For him.

He remembers kneeling down at the foot of the bed and aiming the camera directly at you. It had taken everything to speak, mumbling out a husky, "Smile for the camera, baby." But just that had taken a effort to say, his throat tight, words snagging like he'd been punched in the chest.

Despite it being more of a joke, a mindless ramble really - because he can't think straight whenever he's got you like that - you did as he asked. Your lips had perked up in a smile, just as dazed as the clouded glint in your eyes. Looking all gentle and angelic while you showed him your pussy, so wet and soaked that it caught the fucking reflection of the fires burning around inside the cave.

It was filthy. Depraved. He's never seen anything more beautiful. It almost feels religious sometimes, as crude as it is, to touch himself to all the pictures he has - photos that you trusted him enough to take.

He doesn't think that he's ever going to be able to stop. He has twenty-one of them already (but who's counting), and it's lead him to become a regular at one of the shops downtown. Visiting as soon as the sun will allow. Just narrowly making it through the door just as it's light safely settles past the horizon around 8:30, always giving him about half an hour to punch it before the store can close.

The owner recognizes him by now. Some innocent looking old man, with a gentle, wrinkled smile who always offers him a Tootsie Roll from the tiny candy dish on the front counter while he rings up the total.

The old man - Ron? Robert? - would probably have a stroke if he knew just why Paul is constantly coming in to purchase film. But then again, there's a lot of things about Paul that would give him a stroke if he knew.

The fact that he's become a regular should be a little telling. Some might call it an obsession, but that's pretty much what a hobby is anyway, right?

He thinks that shitty little camera might be one of the best gifts he's ever received. It's nearly painful how stunning you are in each picture. How hot you always are.

So honestly, he can't pick a favorite at all. Because somehow, it's not the photo of you sucking his cock. Lips glossy with spit and precum, stretched wide in a mouthful with your nose nuzzled all the way down to his pelvis, the point of it pressed into the thatch of hair at the base. Not even with the wide-eyed way you gaze up at the camera, watching him like you were greedy; unshed tears threatening to spill.

He can still practically feel that way your throat had flexed around him then. The soft warmth of your palms massaging his balls while you sucked and licked up the length of his cock until he had cum in your mouth with a ragged groan.

But it's not that one.

And it's not the picture of your riding him, bare chested with your face slightly scrunched, jaw dropped in pleasure from the thumb that he had on your clit. His hand was in frame, just barely visible, but the clumsy grip he had on the camera was just secure enough for him to snap the shot, and it caught the curl of his knuckle on your stuffed cunt.

That still wasn't his favorite either.

It's a shame that he doesn't have one yet. But he guesses that you'll both just have to keep trying until he does. Until he gets that perfect shot. He'd maybe feel bad, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest.

There's something knowing and hungry in your gaze when notice him from where he's sitting off on the couch. He's already holding the old Kodiak in his hands, tracing his fingertips over the corners of the cold plastic while he watches from your place across the cave.

The fire catches in your eyes. It makes you wild looking, like you could eat him alive. Fire lights up in his veins because damn, he really wants you to until he's only bones. He knows that he doesn't even need to ask, but he does it anyway:

"In the mood for a photoshoot?"

Your smile is answer enough.

Nothing. And I mean NOTHING. Can ever out hot the carousel scene from The Lost Boys

Welcome to my master list :) This will hold all of my works from all of my fandoms

A/n: Any art that is made is made by me, so please be kind and do not take them. Images come from Pinterest, I do make them on Canva if anyone wonders.

Supernatural masterlist

Mavel masterlist

The lost boys (1987) Bad moon rising masterlist

Obx Masterlist

Stranger things Masterlist

One Piece live action Masterlist

Haikyuu! Masterlist

A/a/n: Please feel free to make requests from any of these fandoms. I try to write for as many characters as I can; romantic, platonic, etc. I also have many more fandoms, so if yall have any other fandoms yall would like me to write then by all means don’t be afraid to message me. Because I really need something to do in my spare time. ;)

Bad moon rising master list

A/n: This will be the main page link for this story, and I will try to upload each chapter as frequently as possible. Enjoy ;)

Chapter one

After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Chapter two

The first night in a new town is always weird but exhilarating, and thankfully the boardwalk is there to welcome you and your family. Though, even with all the bright lights and loud music that surrounds you, you some how attract the attention of four bikers.

Chapter three

It’s been a week since you’d last seen the lost boys, and the only thing that you really know about them is their names. But, the boys seem drawn to you in a way that no one can explain why. And after an incident on the beach, the boys are eager to help get payback for you.

PLEASE!!!! I AM BEGGING @consuming-karma, FOR THIS TO BE WRITTEN. THE CHARACTER DESIGNS AND THE WAY EVERYTHING IS WRITTEN FOR THE SUMMARY, IS JUST, MWAH (chefs kiss)

BACK IN TOWN - THE MASTERLIST.

[poly!lost boys + ex!Michael x asian!ex!reader.]

content warnings: angst, pining, enemies to lovers trope, vampirism, gore, etc. (tba).

Years after the Vampire incident in Santa Carla, the Emersons decide to take the lost boys under their wings. Everything was happy for a while, until year of 92’ where Lucy had planned for a trip back down to memory lane, literally. Now, Lucy and the boys are back in Phoenix, Arizona. How will Michael handle seeing his childhood home? Better yet, his old ex? What happens when Michael’s boys gets interested as well?

page one : Home, Bittersweet Home.

let’s meet our cast, shall we?

READER.

THE BOYS:

- MICHAEL EMERSON.

- DAVID.

- DWAYNE.

- MARKO.

- PAUL.

“I’m not cut out for your creepy antics, Michael! Your world isn’t mine, and I don’t want to make it mine.”

“You can’t say that, you can’t turn back. David’s already picked for you, and honestly, I don’t want to lose you, and the boys don’t either.”

(THE LOST BOYS 1987.)

the lost boys is not my original work, the only credit I will be taking is for Reader and any non-canon headcanons I’ve implemented into the story.

This is also another lost boys fic that I really enjoyed :)

‘Cause We’re Gonna Be Legends; pt. 1

Summary: Imagine wandering the Boardwalk with your friends. A group of boys catch their attention and while your friends are doing everything to catch their attention in return, they are apparently more interested in the oblivious girl of the bunch who doesn’t care to bat her eyelashes at them. You. [Part One]

GIF courtesy of @daebom + Original GIF Post

Words: 6.5K Warnings: I have no idea what this is. I wanted just a quick little scene where the boys are taking care of a sick S/O and it turned into this. Fml. Sorry for their OOC-ness.

Keep reading

Bad moon rising II

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 2.9k

Poly!lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: I am gonna be 100% honest with all of yall, I have cried, yelled at myself, and threaten to throw my phone across the room. Because I had no idea how to get the reader and the boys to meet. So, this honestly will probably suck, but I have tried my hardest. Spent too many hours deleting and rewriting for this to be bad. So please enjoy if can

The board walk was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It was packed full of bustling people, everyone wanting to go through all the rides, shops and games that they had on display. 

Lights came from all around, aluminating your way through the crowd as you tried to decide what to do first on the boardwalk. Screams and laughter sounded from the rollar coaster ride, the bumps and spins tempted you, but you knew that you’d need to ease your way into everything. 

This would be the moment when you’d wish that Sam or Micheal had come with you, they would try to do everything at once. But, unfortunately, right as you three had arrived; the boys had caught wind of a concert, ditching you to go watch Timmy Cappello perform. 

Treacherous dicks. You called them, wishing that at least one of them would have stuck with you as you ventured where you’d be spending the remainder of your summer. 

You wiped your palms against the fabric of your shorts, the heat of the night air causing a faint sheen of sweat to coat your body. After you’d finished unpacking all the necessities from the car, you’d taken a quick shower and changed for a night out on the board walk.

And thankfully so, the gentle breeze against your bare legs cooled you down enough for you to actually enjoy the night out. 

Chimming bells suddenly grasped your attention, facing the noise, you saw a small shop that was isolated from the others. One of the stores windows was cracked, a piece of cardboard covered the inside to prevent the glass from falling out. 

It was a music shop. 

You remembered when your dad would take you as a kid, letting you pick out cassette tapes, and vinyl records for your room. The old record player would run all day from how many times you would listen to Elvis, Buck Owen’s, and The mamás & the papas. 

It was such a shame that you had to sell the record player and half of your vinyl collection to help out after the divorce. With such little money, you had to make sacrifices for your family. No matter how much you regretted it afterwards.

You glanced up at the sign above the door, a wooden guitar with the words Soundscape etched into the body, swayed against the gentle breeze.  A young couple walked out of the store, hand in hand, a paper bag with their purchase held tightly as they ambled away. 

Reaching into your pocket, you felt around for your wallet. The small leather bound material felt weighted as you pulled it out, the sudden urge to spend your money caused you to open the door of the shop. 

The bell rang above you, and a quick greeting sounded from the cashier. You politely greeted him back before wandering throughout the store. 

It was decently clean, a few stray cd’s littered the ground and a couple display posters were a bit too crooked. But, overall, it was perfect for you. 

You trailed your fingers over a couple of vinyls, picking up a few before putting them back in place. Not really looking for anything specific at the moment, you just tried to find something that would catch your eye. 

Stopping infront of the cassette tapes, you let yourself go through each row, the soft clicking as the cassettes bumped against each other drifted up towards your ears. That and the sound of Jeff Lynne’s voice singing Don’t bring me down, was the only noise that filtered throughout the store. 

Your finger graced an Elvis cassette, the image of him and his infamous guitar sat in the clear case. Picking up the tape, you flipped it over reading the listed songs that went with each side. It had a couple good ones; like Blue Suede Shoes, All Shook Up, Return To Sender, Burning Love and of course some others. 

It was his top greatest hits from each album. 

You tapped the plastic against your palm, debating if you should spend the money just to add to your Elvis collection. You actually had a lot of collections that you needed to complete, but, with this specific artist you only had small handful left to find. 

Kinda like Sam’s Batman comics that he’s been trying to find at every book store that you’d passed on the way down here. 

The bell suddenly rang once more, dragging your attention away from the shelf infront of you. A group of men walked in, each leather clad and mullet wearing. The smell of smoke drifted off of them, wafting through the store. It made you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“Welcome to the SoundScape,” The Cashier told them, the rehearsed words falling easily out of his mouth. “If you need any help, please let me know.”

None of the guys acknowledged the worker, or, they did though they just didn’t pay him any mind. You watched as they each dispersed from one another, going to different displays around the store. Picking up random items before putting them back where they originally were. 

One of the guys walked down the same row you were on, his eyes trailing over the selection of cassettes. You returned your gaze back to your own tape, not wanting to be caught staring at the guy like a creep. 

Eyeing the rack infront of you, wondering if you should buy the Elvis tape or possibly another. If you’d had enough money on you. You kept your eye on a Boney M. cassette, the item practically calling your name. You reached forward fingers less than an inch away from the plastic when a sudden commotion caused you to freeze. 

BAM!

Your head instantly shot up, the sudden noise disturbing the once peaceful silence. It came from a guy in the leathered group, the small one with curly hair, he stood over a fallen display of cd’s. His hands held up in the air, a small smug grin tugging on his lips as he turned to the stores worker. 

“I’m sorry, man.” He told him, his apologie laced with sarcasm. “It just started falling.”

The cashier let out a deep sigh, his smile turning from genuine to forced as he eyed the scattered items. “It’s alright, accidents happen.”

You watched as the curly guy bent down and picked up the stand, purposely hitting the one right beside it as he did so. He let out another fake apology before the worker shooed him away, picking up everything himself before curly messed up the entire store. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the movement of the blond beside you shove something in his pocket. You turned you head slightly, to get a better view, and you watched as he took another cassette from the shelf and put it on the inside of his jacket. 

You glanced between him and the other three guys that he came in with, noticing that with the worker busy they were taking items off of their display and stuffing them deep into their clothes. Hell, the curly guy was trying to fit a whole vinyl record in the front of his shirt. A very prominent square outlined for everyone to see. 

It was a diversion, knocking over enough stuff for the counter guy to get pissed and pick everything up himself. It was clever, but still wrong. 

With your attention kept on the tapes infront of you, you opened your mouth. Voice low enough so that only the blonde next to you could hear. “You shouldn’t do that.”

The man glanced up at you, not at all ashamed of what he was doing. “What’s that?”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning his upper body against the shelf. “Oh, really?” He asked, voice drawing out into a tease. “Wanna tell me why I shouldn’t, babe?”

You gestured to the store around you, eyes meeting his. “Because, its wrong. And, just because you and your friends can’t see that, doesn’t mean that it’s right.”

“Well, me and my friends seem to think it pretty damn fun.” He told you, pushing off the shelf as he took a few small steps towards you. “So, your reasoning is pretty much useless in this case.”

The guy stood a mere foot away from you, his eyes trailing across your face. His smile growing ever so slightly as he took you in. “So, watcha gonna do about it?” He asked, voice soft and teasing as he held a tape infront of you. 

“Put it back.”

“Why? There is no fun in doing the right thing.” He waved the item in your face. “Is there, babe?”

You snatched the cassette from his grasp, eyes not once leaving his as you placed it randomly on the shelf. “Put ‘em all back.” You scolded, voice rising ever so slightly. “It’s shitty and disrespectful for the ones that try to make a living working in places like this.”

He glanced over the top rack, eyeing the worker with disinterest. “Yeah, but, it’s also disrespectful to have to work at a place like this.” He turned back to you. “So, if he gets fired then he’ll come and thank us.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, wanting to tell him how much his point didn’t make since. When you notice how quiet the store had gotten, the music coming from the speakers and the worker picking up the cds were the only thing. Glancing around you couldn’t see the guys friends, all of them gone from where they originally were. 

“Yeah, Paul, put it back.” A voiced suddenly called from beside you, arm slinging itself across your shoulder. 

Peering beside you, you saw the curly haired guy, his eyes dancing between both you and Paul. You didn’t even hear him come up behind you, in fact you didn’t even know that he had moved from where he was across the store. 

You pushed off his arm, the feeling of his body pressed up against your own made your face heat up. Looking back at Paul, you noticed how his body seemed to get more ecstatic, smile forming into a friendly tease. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you put up that vinyl of yours.” He tapped against the cardboard beneath the fabric. 

Curly swatted his hand away, pulling the vinyl from beneath his shirt and dropping it on the floor. You eyed the disc on the ground, annoyance seeping into your chest at the disregard of store. 

“Pick it up.” You told the smaller one, side stepping away from them both to give yourself some room. 

He tsked, eyes roaming your body up and down. “Well, aren’t you a bossy one.”

“I wouldn’t be bossy if you’d stop fucking-“

“Watch your mouth.” A different voice spoke up, stopping you from finishing your sentence. You glanced over at the voice, taking in his long overcoat and bleach blonde hair. “It’s not nice to treat strangers that way.”

You furrowed you eyebrows, “If your saying I’m being rude, than that’s really the last thing I care about right now.”

A few small snickers came from around you, causing you to look around at each men that surrounded you. The two blondes stood the closest to you, giving you just a foot of breathing room. Then there were the the bleach blonde and brunette. They stood the furthest from you, but their stares alone were enough to make you feel like they were everywhere at once. 

Your body felt like it was on fire underneath their gazes, that and your dignity slowly burning away as realized how much of a fool you must look like right now.  You quickly crouched down, picking up the vinyl and gently setting it on the shelf. Not really caring that it’s not where it belongs right now. 

Someone cleared their throat. You and the guys turned your attention towards the worker, who stood behind the counter with a wet rag. “We’re closing.” He told them, nodding toward the door with little patience. “If your gonna buy something, now is the time.”

You gave him a quick ‘ok’, forced smile gracing your features as you turned to face the men. You eyed them wearyingly, knowing that they could just easily walk out of here without doing at all what you’ve been asking. 

A soft chuckle came from the bleach blonde, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “C’mon, Paul.” He said, turning to walk out of the store. “Put ‘em back, we got places to be.” 

You watched as he pulled out a cd, the front of the case covered in a band called Scorpion. He set it down on the shelf, his eyes not once leaving your own. “We’ll see you around.” He muttered, voice low and mesmerizing to hear as he spoke.

It was almost like a fly getting caught in honey. Alluring and sticky, but, it’s just a trap for the prey. 

You didn’t acknowledge his words, instead you just watched as he walked out, the others slowly trailing after him. The brunette hadn’t muttered a single word since entering the store, and apparently didn’t feel the need to as he stepped outside. 

Curly slowly wandered towards the door, turning swiftly to wave his fingers at you before disappearing behind the glass. A simple ‘Have a nice night’ spilling from his lips as he did so. Paul then turned to walked out, his arm resting across your shoulder slide off. Hand coming up to pinch your nose. “Yeah, we’ll be seeing ya around.” He told you, voice indicating that it wasn’t a suggestion, but more of a promise. 

Swatting his hand away from your face, you watched as he chuckled, walking away as he went to join his friends. Leaving you all alone in the isle, with nothing but your Elvis tape and flustered face. 

Engines revved outside as you walked up to the cashier, the sound of the fading bikes meeting your ears as you tossed the cassette on the counter. The worker rang you up, placed your item in a paper bag and thanked you for your purchase. You quietly wished him good night, before turning on your heal and walking outside. 

You were quickly met with the warm night air, the loud noises coming from the boardwalk surrounded you once more. You held on tightly to the paper bag, the cassette softly rattling inside as you quickly walked away from the Soundscape. 

You were still flustered from your interaction with the four boys. The feeling of their bodies pressed up against your own made the night heat all the more unbearable. What if I would have just left them alone? You thought, swerving through a group of people that waited patiently for the carousel. 

They still would have taken from the shop, and that guy would’ve probably lost his job from all the items missing. But, you wouldn’t have lost some of your dignity whilst doing so. 

A sigh left your lips, unoccupied hand going into your jacket pocket. Though instead of the feeling of the scratchy fabric, your fingers graced against a peice of cold plastic. You stopped walking, standing by your lonesome in the middle of the boardwalk as you pulled out whatever rested in your pocket. 

It was a Scorpion cd. The same one that you saw the bleach blonde pull from his coat. You hadn’t even felt him slip the item in your pocket, was it when you were getting on to him or when he was leaving? Was he even the one that slipped it in?

Stupid prick, you thought. Stuffing the disk into the paper bag with your Elvis one, there was no sense in returning it now. The shop was already closing up and how would you even explain that to the poor worker. 

You shook your head, the events of the night tiring you out. 

From a distance you could see both Sam and Micheal standing in the middle of the boardwalk, their attention caught on a girl and little boy. You made your way over to your brothers, the paper bag swaying in your hand as your feet picked up. 

Sam greeted you when you came near, his long over coat brushing against his shoes. “He’s been following her since the concert.” He told you, gesturing with his hand towards the pretty girl. 

“Mmh, hey, peeping Tom.” You tugged on Micheal sleeve, trying to pull him away. “I’m ready to go home.”

He didn’t acknowledge you, his eyes staring longingly at the back of the girls head. You pulled once more at his arm, barely getting him to move when the sudden loud noise of multiple vehicles rushed on the boardwalk. Glancing towards the disturbance, you watched as four familiar bodies stopped infront of the girl and boy. 

They each revved their engines, purposely scaring away anyone that too close. You watched as the little boy made his way over to one of the motorcycles, the brunette pulling him up to sit behind him. 

The girl placed her arm across the bleach blondes chest, hosting herself onto the back of the motorcycle. “C’mon, man, she played you.” Sam told his brother, pulling him away from his rooted spot on the deck. You stayed put for a second, slowly trailing after your brothers as the engines of the bikes faded from earshot. 

Your mind going to when exactly you’d be seeing them again. 

A/a/n: Like I said, this took so long to figure out how exactly the reader and the boys would meet each other. So, I honestly would understand if y'all don’t like this, but, trust me the other chapters are going to be a whole lot better.

Bad moon rising I

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 3.1k

Poly!lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: This is the first time writing for the lost boys, I will let yall know if there are any major warnings in each chapters or not. But I hope that you guys enjoy reading the first chapter.

‘Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise’

Your legs were killing you. 

After hours of sitting in the back seat of the Land Cruiser, you were growing restless. And Nanook didn’t really help when the dog draped his entire body over your lap, his weight making both of your legs go numb. 

You could hear the sounds of your brothers and mom arguing over which radio station they should listen too for the rest of the drive. The occasional static from the radio making you roll your eyes. 

Maybe your legs weren’t the only thing tired from the long drive, maybe the voices of your family were starting to drive you crazy. 

“Oh,” your mom suddenly said, turning up the music that was currently on. “This one is from my generation.” A smile inched its way on your face as you watched mom dance along to the music. 

Both Sam and Micheal turned to face each other, a soft grin playing other lips as they listened to the ole timey song. “Keep going.” They said together. 

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Mom said as she switched the channel. “My music isn’t hip enough for you guys.”

You leaned forward in your seat, hand resting on Nanooks fur to keep him still. “Hip?” 

“Yeah, you know. Cool, fresh, narly.” Your mom told you, bringing her hand up to do a surfers hand gesture. 

You glanced over at Micheal, trying to see if he too was hearing what mom was describing. He just gave you a playful eye roll, and a shake of his head. Not wanting to tell mom that nobody actually used those words in real life. 

“We’re almost there.” Your mom told you in a sing song manor. 

Glancing past Micheal you saw a billboard, the words Welcome to Santa Carla read across the front, an image of the towns beach drawn on cartoonishly. 

Sam let out a gag, his nose turnt up towards the window. “What’s that smell?” He asked, quickly rolling up the glass to try and block the stench from entering the car. 

Mom closed her eyes, taking a long sniff of the outside breeze. “That’s the ocean air, baby”

“It smells like someone died.”

You snorted at your youngest brothers comment, he wasn’t totally wrong. The saltyness that suffocated the air around you was a bit much, but you’d grow used to it, you all will eventually. 

“Look guys, I know the last year has been tough.” Mom said, glancing back at the rear view mirror at both you and Micheal. “But I think your really gonna like it here.”

You couldn’t count on either hands on how many times your mother had said those exact words to you three. It always starts with the ‘I know’ and always ends in your really gonna like this place. But, if you were being a hundred percent honest you missed back home. 

All of your friends and what’s left of your now broken family is all back home in Phoenix. And you know that mom is doing all that she can to keep everything positive, but deep down you know that the divorce is hurting her just as badly as it is hurting you and your brothers. 

As the car continued to drive down the road, you watched as the sign showed the back. It was packed with graffiti art and even a couple of stickers stuck to wood. But, what caught your attention most was the five letter word painted in black and red. 

Murder capital of the world.

Upon entering Santa Carla, you’ve noticed that there is just about any type of person you could imagine walking along the streets. There were girls in bathing suits, guys with halve shaved heads, groups of tourists, the locals, nerds, jocks. Hell you even saw a dog with its fur colored pink. 

You just hoped that at night the people were better looking. 

Mom pulled beneath the cover of a food shack, allowing everyone to step out and get some fresh air after ten hours on the road. Sam leashed up Nanook and took him to the bathroom, also venturing his new home town by himself as he did so. 

You woke up your legs as you stepped out of the Land Cruiser, the nerves shooting up and down your body, you wobbled a bit on your feet before steadying yourself against the car. You felt sweat begin to form beneath your clothes, causing them to stick uncomfortably to your skin. “Holy cow.” You muttered gently fanning yourself to try and cool off a little. 

You were used to the heat from the sun, but God, the humidity is what’s gonna kill you this summer.  

As you continued to fan yourself off, you noticed all the small shops that surrounded you. They were old and kind of antique-ish looking. But, past that laid the boardwalk, were you knew you’d be spending the remainder of you summer break and nights. 

Sam came jogging back towards the car, Nanook right on his tail. He stopped before mom as he pointed a finger at the boardwalk behind him. “Mom! Mom, there’s and amusement park right on the beach.”

Instead of acknowledging the said park, you watched as mom pulled out a small wad of cash. Placing it in Sam’s hand she gestured to a group of homeless kids rummaging through the dumpster. “Sam, tell those kids to eat something. Will ya’?”

As you watch Sam walk over towards the kids, you notice a telephone pole covered from head to toe in posters. Stepping away from the car and wandering over you read a few, hoping to catch a couple help wanted ads or even just something small enough to help out your family. 

Though instead of any job listing you did find a good amount of missing children posters. Actually, it’s just about a missing everyone poster. There is a little boy that looks about six, a grainy picture of him is nailed down with staples. And beside it is a man in what looks like his mid to early fourties, his balding head and crooked teeth makes you wonder who would miss a guy like that. 

Glancing past the telephone pole, you eyed the teenagers in the dumpster carefully. For all you know these kids could go missing next, and no one would try and look for them. 

The thought made your stomach twist in a discusted knot, the idea that you or even one of your brothers could turn up missing one day and nobody would bat an eye, didn’t sit right with you. 

A car honked from behind you, turning around you noticed that your family is back in the cars AC and that they are all waiting on you. “Y/n, sweetheart.” Your mom called, poking her head out the window. “We have to go, grandpas waiting for us.”

You quickly made your way back to the car, plopping back down in your seat as mom slowly pulled out of the food shack. The feeling of cold breeze in your face cooled you off a lot more than your hand did. 

After a while the car pulled up to an old two story house, the arch way made out of tree limbs and nails made you question how sturdy that would actually be in a storm. Once the car came to a complete stop everyone piled out, the dirt road beneath you dirtied up the end of your blue jeans. The bottom of your converse’s making little patterns in the grime. 

Micheal, who had decided to ride his bike for the rest of the drive, slowly unstradled the vehicle, his eyes darting around the front yard of the house. Wood carvings of animals and an old trailer was near the back of the yard, the fence that surrounded us was slightly spaced out and cut into sharp ends. 

“This is homey.” You muttered to micheal, the backpack that you carried felt heavy on your back after hours of not wearing it. 

Micheal hummed in agreement, albeit sarcasticly. 

Glancing back at the house itself, you took in the porch, it had one too many rocking chairs and wooden tables for you to count. There were even empty beer bottles rolling across the porch floor. But, you stopped judging the home style around you when you noticed a pair of legs laid out on the ground. 

Taking erie steps, you all cautiously eyed the body. Both fear and concern bubbling deep inside of you. Fear that this would be the first dead body you’ve seen and concern over who will come and clean it. 

Mom walked ahead of you and your brothers, crouching down by the head of the body. “Dad?” She asked, swiping hair out of his face as she did so. “Dad?”

“It looks like he’s dead.” Micheal stated, eyes glancing swiftly from his mom and the supposedly dead body before them. 

Mom shook her head, gently shaking her dad awake. “No, he’s just a heavy sleeper.” 

“Why is he asleep on the porch?” Micheal asked, trying to understand the older man. 

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, taking in the supposedly dead corpse in front of you. “Is the heat from the sun gonna make his body decay faster?” You pondered out loud, ignoring the glare your mom gave you. 

“Yeah. And if he’s dead can we move back to Phoenix?” Sam added on for you, receiving the same look your mom just gave you. 

“The both of you be quiet.” She scolded. 

Suddenly grandpas head popped up, his eyes half lidded as he held a smug smirk. “Playin’ dead. And, from what I heard doing a damn good job of it, too.”

You watched as mom playfully swatted at her dad, before leaning down and giving him a good hug. Sharing a quick glance at your brothers, they both held the same expression that you did. Confused and slightly baffled at how the old man acts. 

The inside of the house looked just like the cabins from Friday the thirteenth. The floor was wood, the stairs were wood, an even the walls were wood. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the refrigerator and sink were made out it, too.

You walked through the house with a cardboard box labeled kitchen, both Sam and Micheal right behind you. Though Micheal was carrying a barbell with a couple of weights and shirts on it, and Sam had a bowl on his head with tied up comics ontop. 

“This place is straight out of a horror movie.” Sam whined, as they reached the kitchen. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their are dead body’s buried somewhere.”

“It’s not that bad.” you tried to reason, placing the box onto the counter and cutting through the tape. 

Sam stared at you bewildered, “Not that bad? Not that bad!” He started to raise his voice, setting down the comics and bowl beside you as he continued. “There’s no TV. Have you seen a TV? I haven’t seen a TV.”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking a couple porcelain plates from the box and setting them in a cabinet. “Use your imagination.”

“Imagination?” The boy raised his voice a little bit higher. “You know who else used there imagination? The Torrence family, and they ended up trying to kill each other.”

“Ok, one this is not The Shinning. And, two, you kill me I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

Micheal chuckled at yours and Sam’s conversation, “Oh, you think this is funny Micheal?” Sam asked the irritation of no TV or even MTV was starting to get to him. 

“A little.” He told his brother, placing the barbell down and walking back towards the car. “But, we’re flat broke, Sammy. Can’t afford a new TV for this joke of a place.”

You walked back and forth from the car, box after box, cutting open and placing your stuff with Grandpas. It was tiring, but, you wanted to get it done now so that you could go to the boardwalk tonight. 

Though your brothers on the other hand, weren’t as helpful as you were trying to be. 

Sam ran through the living room, swaying between the boxes that littered the ground as he sprinted away from Micheal. The said older boy was running down the stairs, he hoped over the railing near the bottom and took off after Sam. 

You were pulling out a vase from a box, tearing off the bubble wrap and placing it perfectly on the table. You took a small step back and eyed the spot, debating if you should move it one way or another for it to look right. 

But, as you stepped back, you acidently stood right infront of Micheal’s path. He collided with your side, sending you both tumbling to the ground. “Dammit, Micheal!” You shouted, quickly getting up just as your brother did. Continuing with his chase after Sam, you immediately ran after him. 

“Hey, guys, no running in the house.” Mom called out to the three of you, though no one paid her any mind as you all just continued to chase one another. 

Sam stopped before two sliding doors, shoving each of them open. You and Micheal caught up with your brother, you about ready to shove Micheal for knocking you to the ground, when you saw what laid behind the double doors. 

Taxidermy animals laid on the table in front of you, some were even hung up to the ceiling because there was no more room on the surface. The three of you stood shocked at the room, you more disturbed that so many dead animals were cut open like they currently were. 

“I think we found the dead bodies, Sam.” You told him, referring to your earlier talk about grandpa hiding dead corpses. 

Sam let out a snort, eyeing the room with interest. Micheal leaned up against your side, his elbow coming up to rest on your shoulder. Even at pratically the same height he liked to remind you which of the two was the tallest. 

“Talk about Texas chainsaw massacre.” 

“Rules.” A voice suddenly called out, bringing each of your attention to grandpa who had a cardboard box in hand. “We got some rules around here.”

He gestured with his hand to follow, which you all did begrudgingly. The old man led you to the refrigerator, and upon opening it you saw a sign that read, ‘Old fart’. You hid your amused smile behind your hand as Grandpa began to explain the rules. 

“The second shelf is mine.” He stated matter of factly, easing the sign to show a couple of beer bottles and a box of Oreos hidden behind it. He waved a finger at all three of you, “Don’t nobody touch the second shelf, ya’ hear.”

You nodded along with your brothers, grandpa then waddled out of the kitchen leaving you to trail behind him. You watched discustedly as Micheal began to shove his finger in Sam’s ear, the younger boy trying to push him away when Micheal wrapped an arm around the poor boys neck. 

Clearing his throat, Micheal directed his attention back at grandpa. “Hey, grandpa? Is it true that Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world?” He asked, refusing to let Sam go from his grasp. 

Murder capital of the world. 

Those were the exact words you’d read off the back of the billboard. You hadn’t known that Micheal had read that aswell, although he appears to be taking the towns chosen nickname more jokingly than you had. 

Grandpa slowly turned back around to face the three of you, his eyes darting across each face. “There are some bad elements around here.” He told you, though his voice seemed to be a lot more serious than anything. 

Sam finally shoves Micheal off of him, “Woah, wait a minute. You mean to tell me that we moved to the murder capital of the world?” He asked, getting close to the old man’s face. “Are you serious grandpa?”

You watched as grandpa took his time with his next words of choice. “Well- let me put it this way; if all the corpses buried around here were to stand up at once, we’d have a serious population problem.”

That did about anything but soothe your racing mind. Are we gonna get killed here? Are you actually going to go missing and nobody would care? Could Sam, Micheal or even mom turn up dead one day?

Your thoughts immediately went back to the missing posters, all the untraced people that had disappeared off the face of the earth. And not one of them had been found. You don’t think your gonna like it here all that much, you concluded. 

Mom suddenly sauntered in the living room, a stack of hats resting ontop of her head. “Oh, Dad. You’re gonna give them nightmares.” She told him, not wanting to deal with three teenagers wandering into her room at night complaining about what grandpa had told them. 

Grandpa waved his hand, dismissing her accusation. Changjng the conversation, he picked up a TV guide that sat on the end table, waving back to you and your brothers he began to explain another rule of his. 

“Now, when the mailman brings the TV guide on wensdays, sometimes the corner of the address label will curl up.” He pointed to the address label on the guide, the corner slowly thrusting itself up towards the ceiling. “You’ll be tempted to peel it off. Don’t. You’ll end up ripping the cover, and I don’t like that

He tossed the TV guide back on a different table, making his way back to the taxidermy room. He yanked the sliding doors together and they closed with a great, smack. “And stay out of here.”

Grandpa then walked away, though not before Sam stood in his pathway, excitement rising in his chest. “There’s a TV?” He asked, slightly crossing his fingers for the man to say yes. 

“No. I just like to read the TV guide. Read the guide and you don’t need the Tv.” He then walked away, leaving Sam with a disappointed look. 

“See,” you told him, walking towards a couple of boxes that were laid about the living room floor. “Now, you get to use you imagination.”

Sam pointed a finger at you, “When we go crazy, here- and we will, you’ll be the first that I kill.”

You pushed Sam out of your way with your shoulder, balancing the box on your hip. “Then be prepared for me to haunt you until the end of times, Samuel Emerson.”

A/a/n: Hello and thank you for reading the first chapter :) Now we won’t meet the boys until the next chapter, but I am debating if I should just make that chapter about you meeting them or add on. I still haven’t decided. But thank you again and the next chapter will be done as quickly as possible ;)

I HIGHLY recommend this series, granted that it’s not finished yet. But it is seriously good so far, and I can’t wait to finish it.

ℭ𝔯𝔶 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔖𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯; I

{poly!lost boys x fem!reader}

♱ 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: explicit

♱ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: your family moves to your mother's hometown of santa carla, california after her divorce is finalized. you are less than enthused to be there, but you try to keep your complaints to a minimum for the sake of your mother. on your first night, you run into a strange group of punks.

♱ 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: emerson!reader, fem!reader, reader is 18-19 (middle child), reader wears glasses, foul language, sibling dynamics, mentions of divorce, sexual harassment, mentions of homelessness, mentions of poverty, stuck-up?reader (she's rather prissy at times),

♱ 𝔞/𝔫: here it is—the first chapter of the new and improved version of cry little sister. i initially wrote this fic back in the beginning of 2021 and you can still find the original, orphaned version on AO3. I hope you enjoy! Note - I used the term 'multi-murderer' at one point because 'serial killer' was still a relatively new phrase in the 80s. fun fact - the orignial chapter one was 2661 words; this one is 4434 words.

… [2] [3] … [8] [9]

" —You, too, can make a difference with a one-time donation of nine-ninety-nine— "

"Keep going."

Snow emanates from the car's speakers as Mom fiddles with the dial.

" —degrees today, a record high for our slice of sunny California. We'll see temperatures drop into the low seventies this evening —"

"Keep going, Mom," says Sam.

Snippets of songs, commercials, and talk show host voices overlap as she flips through the radio stations, again, to appease her youngest. Finally, a semi-clear melody plays as she settles on a new one. However, Sam shakes his head. His sandy blond curls bob with him in disapproval.

"Keep it goin'."

"Hey!" Mom cries, "I like that song!"

But Sam makes a face. "Keep going."

You're tempted to kick his seat.  If he says keep going one more friggin time...

Huffing, Mom complies, choosing peace over violence. The next station is, somehow, even worse.  Country.

"Ooo, what about this?" She giggles, shooting you a look in the mirror. You cover your grin with your hand.

"Keep going, mom," says Michael.

"Oh, alright."

More static until the middle part of an old sixties tune began to play. Immediately, your brothers groan.

"No, no, no—wait!" Mom perks up, "This one's from my era." She bops her head from side to side, drumming her fingers on the sweat-slick steering wheel. " Groovin' on a Sunday afternoon! "

Michael and Sam exchange glances and chorus, "Keep going!"

You gap, bracing your hand on the armrest, "Wha—no.  I  like this song."

"Keep going," they echo. Much to your chagrin, Mom joins them, albeit mockingly.

"I got it, I got it. My music isn't hip enough for you."

You sneer at Michael. "Who died and made you king of the radio?"

"The same person who crawled up your ass before he kicked it, four-eyes."

Michael moves to flick your forehead, but you smack his hand away before he makes contact.  That little shit!  Michael swats you back in an equally childish move, chuckling.

"Hey, guys," Mom cranes her neck to look at you through the rear-view mirror. "No fighting, please? Here, I'm changing it."

She turned the dial and stumbled onto a popular rock station. The boys relaxed into their seats, finally listening to good music. You roll your eyes and settle back in your seat, arms crossed.

Triumphantly, Michael wiggles his eyebrows. You flip him off.

"Oh, now this," Sam comments, "This really jams."

It did not, in fact, jam, but you let sleeping dogs lie.

Not literally, though. Nanook was wide awake, sandwiched between you and the window with his shaggy head out the window. He might have been the only passenger in this car having the time of his life.

You can't wait to get out of the car. You've been on the road for nearly thirteen hours now, stopping only to refuel or if one of you really had to pee. You were dying to get out and stretch your legs, which had become a near-permanent bed for Nanook to rest his head. Sure, you liked the dog, but sometimes he got on your last nerve. Especially right now.

You're tempted to pull the classic 'are we there yet,' but fate is on your side.

"Hey, we're almost there," Mom cheers.

She gestures out the window to a corny billboard. A cartoon beach with brilliant blue skies and cresting waves greets you. Yellow-and-orange letters stretch across the sign, reading WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA.

Sam wrinkles his nose. "What's that smell?"

Mom takes a deep breath and sighs, "That's the ocean air, baby."

"Smells like someone  died ."

"Aw …. Honey." Mom merges into a new lane. The general distaste for the place was not lost on her. She glanced back at you and Michael and rubbed Sam's arm. "Look, guys, I know the last year hasn't been easy, but I think you're really gonna like living in Santa Carla."

Her tone is so optimistic it hurts. You cover a wince by re-adjusting your glasses. It's like if she says it with enough conviction, it'll come true. You hope she doesn't notice how you shrink away.

Outside your window is a kaleidoscope of weirdness. Immediately you're hit with crowds of people walking or leaning out their windows as they drive, whooping and hollering. It's a free for all. A high-intensity beach town if you'd ever seen one.

Sunburned skin and skimpy clothes are a staple here. On the sidewalk, you spot a woman wearing rollerblades and a bikini weaving through the crowd like a ballerina. Ice cream cones leave a trail of sticky puddles on the street, serving as a catch-all for cigarette butts and loose bandaids. It's a mess. And yet, an intriguing one. Nothing at all like Phoenix.

Michael nudges you. "Did you see that?"

"Hm?"

"The sign."

"What about it?"

Whatever he's about to say is drowned out by Mom. "We're going to gas up really quick, okay?"

You quirk an eyebrow, elbowing Michael to continue.

"Uh. Nevermind, okay?"

"Sure..."

Mom flicks on the blinker and turns into a rinky-dink station off the main road. A crowd disperses, allowing the vehicle to pull in but not without complaint. Some smack the hood, others shout an oh-so-witty  Watch It!

You sink lower in the seat, cheeks burning with secondhand embarrassment. A group of vicious-looking punks passes by—the kind that has huge mohawks and neck tattoos. You can't help but gawk.

Hello, Santa Carla.

As soon as the car stops, you're careening out of the vehicle. Your knees pop as you stand as if crying out  for freedom, at last!  Mom and Michael stand near the attendant while Sam takes Nanook for a bathroom break. You stay on the opposite side of the car, casually stretching your arms and back as you bask in the breeze.

For the thick of summer, Santa Carla is mild. It must have something to do with being on the coast. The breeze from the water would keep it relatively cool, but the humidity was a bitch. After spending less than a minute in the elements, you can feel your hair frizzing up.

You shield your eyes, squinting over to the beginning of the sandy beach. It's packed.  Damn , you wish you'd bought a pair of sunglasses, but constantly changing them out with your prescription ones would've been a hassle. Squinting like an idiot would suffice.

A couple minutes later, Sam comes running back. Nanook jogs beside him, panting happily.

"Mom!" he calls.

Mom glances briefly over her shoulder and says, "Yeah?" before returning her attention to the attendant.

"Mom, there's an amusement park right on the beach."

Your eyes follow where he points. There is an amusement park a little ways away. You make out the shape of a rollercoaster and cartoonish kitchen shops, which spill onto the sand from the boardwalk. Mom is unphased and instead moves her flighty attention in the opposite direction of the coastal wonderland.

She passes him a few dollars and says, "Sammy, go tell those kids to get something to eat, yeah?"

Across the way, a couple of teens are dumpster diving, picking up half-eaten sandwiches and moldy Chinese takeout containers, giving them a sniff before discarding them into the dumpster once more. You lean further against the car and cross your arms as if they'll shield you from the uncomfortable reality you're faced with. They're runaways. This place is crawling with them. It's like a  Where's Waldo  - once you find one, you suddenly see a dozen more, blending into the background.

Reluctantly, Sam accepted the cash and did as Mom said. You choose not to add your two cents, knowing it would only crush her. Your family needed the money just as they do. You're poor. Barely scraping by over the past couple of months as you prepped for the move, and now you're almost positive that's the last bit of money Mom had on her. But when Sam gestures toward Mom after giving it to the runaways, you watch your Mom's face light up, and you know you are better off keeping quiet. The runaways show their appreciation with a wave and yellow-toothed smiles.

Sammy jogs to the car, jutting his chin at the boardwalk. "Can we go now?"

"Maybe later. Grandpa's expecting us, soon."

Your little brother whines.

A pair of surfers pass the car, raking their Ray-Ban-covered eyes across your body. Their skin is red and peeling from hours in the sun.

One of them whistles at you. "How you doin', baby girl?"

Nose scrunched in disgust, you deign not to respond. Instead, you open the back door and slide inside, taking shelter in the humid cabin; so much for stretching your legs.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long before Mom, Sam, and Nanook re-enter the sedan. Michael, who had unhitched his bike from the trailer, follows behind your car for the rest of the way to Grandpa.

You can't say you remember the old man all that well. It's been years since you saw him. Probably since Sammy was born. Grandpa didn't like to leave Santa Carla, and he and Mom's relationship had been strained until recently. (No thanks to your father, you're sure.) You can only recall his face from pictures in a photo album, back when he still had color in his hair. You're not sure what to expect.

The lively scenery fizzles out, turning into dirt roads, bleached from the sun and overcrowded with scraggly flora. Large wooden poles lay discarded on the law, a fencing project long since abandoned. Although they don't look out of place, the yard is littered with strange knickknacks and ornaments, making the space seem more like a junkyard than the house of a man pushing eighty-five.

When the car stops, you tentatively pop open your door.

The house is … not what you expected. And that's being mild.

Michael hops off his bike, walking ahead of you, but stops short. You follow his gaze and see a pair of legs sprawled out. The rest of the body is hidden by debris.

The four of you approach with caution. The legs don't move.

You share a look with Michael. Unfortunately, this could be only one person, which doesn't bode well.

"Is he dead?" you ask.

Michael affirms, "He looks dead."

Mom waves you off and climbs the porch. "He's just a deep sleeper." She shakes his arm, "Dad? Dad, wake up."

Michael inches closer. Not getting too close to the Maybe-Corpse, but close enough to have a good look. "He's not breathing, Mom."

Sam pops his head in between you two, Nanook trotting up the steps to get a sniff. "If he's dead, can we move back to Phoenix?"

You wack him on the back of the head. "Dude."

"What?"

You make a face as if to say  Have some fucking tact, dipwad!  But Sammy merely rubs the back of his head with a pout.

"What?"

Suddenly, the Maybe-Corpse sits up, one eye open. "Playin' dead … and from what I heard, doin' a damn good job at it."

"Oh, Dad!"

Mom embraces her father, laughing at his incorrigible attitude. You exchange a look with your brothers. What a weird old man.

Unpacking the car was the easy part.

The issues arose when it came to deciding where to put it.

And, hey, it's not like you came here packed to the gills with miscellaneous belongings. Quite the opposite. The four of you had paired down exponentially before the move, donating and selling your items left and right. Sending them to church yard sales, the Salvation Army, or your next-door neighbor's sister-in-law.

No, it wasn't your fault. Grandpa's house was, to put it delicately, a fucking mess. A hodgepodge taxidermy nightmare with tribal art, kitschy figurines, and petrified wood art cluttering every little nook and cranny.

Grandpa filled you in on the house's layout as he supervised. There were two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs, and four bedrooms. One, which was obviously occupied by Grandpa (though from the sound of it, he didn't sleep there), only stored more of his disturbing taxidermy.

Mom would have her own room, which left two others.

Michael attempted to pull rank, claiming that he should get his own room as the oldest. But you refused to go down without a fight. It was quite easy, in the end. All you had to do was pull your Woman Card—citing exactly why neither wanted to room with you.

So, Michael would room with Sammy, and you got a bedroom all to yourself.

You carry your books in by the armful, neatly balancing more atop your head. (A cool party trick but not useful in many scenarios—present one excluded.)

It's sad to think this was a mere fraction of your collection. When the divorce was final, you had pawned off most of your books for extra cash to help Mom out. She didn't ask you to do this, but you wanted to. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Abruptly, Sammy and Michael tear past you. Sammy clips your shoulder, sending the stack of books on your head, crashing to the ground. You stagger, dropping the box in your hands to the ground unceremoniously.

"Watch it, dweebs!"

"Mom! Help me, help! He's gonna kill me! "

Mom sidesteps, narrowly avoiding a similar fate. "Hey, no running in the house, guys!"

In a daring attempt at an escape, Sam threw a set of double doors open. It led into a once-spacious room filled with dead animal heads, disturbing tools, and … fresh animal carcasses.

"Talk about the Texas Chainsaw Massacre," Michael mutters.

"Rules!" The three of you whirl around, coming face-to-face with Grandpa's stink-eye. "Got some rules around here."

With a flick of his wrist, Grandpa motions for the three of you to follow as he trudges into the kitchen. He wrenches the fridge door and points to a cardboard piece that reads OLD FART, covering the middle shelf.

"Second shelf is mine." He flips it open, showcasing the goods that lay inside. "I keep my root beers and double-thick Oreo cookies in here. Nobody touches the second shelf."

Another pointed stink eye at the three of you.

He takes his leave from the kitchen, an unspoken command to follow him. Leading you into the living room, Grandpa says something about how he prefers his couch to be when Michael interjects.

"Hey Grandpa—is it true that Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world?"

"Where did you learn that?" you ask, startled.

"'S on the sign."

Grandpa presses his fleshy lips into a thin line. "Ehhh … There's some bad elements around here…."

Sam blinks. "Wait a second, lemme get this straight. Are you telling me that we moved to the murder capitol of the world? Are you serious, Grandpa?"

He shuffles, choosing his next words carefully. "Now let me put it this way; if all the corpses buried around here were to stand up all at once, we'd have one helluva population problem."

With two hats stacked on top of her head, Mom stopped long enough to hear the tail end of the conversation. She rolled her eyes and said, "Great,  Dad. Now you're going to give them nightmares."

Grandpa waved his hand at her, muttering something under his breath about how kids this age are surprisingly well-adjusted. Your stomach twists at the mere thought of what you just learned. But, apparently, living in the Murder Capital of the World doesn't phase an old codger like your Grandpa because he's on another one of his tangents before long.

"Now, when the mailman brings the TV Guide on Wednesdays, sometimes the corner of the address label will curl up … You'll be tempted to peel it off. Don't. You'll end up rippin' the cover and I don't like that." He turned into the taxidermy room and, with a stern glare, began to shut the doors. "And stay outta here!"

Sammy jogs after him—the horror of his new living arrangements suddenly forgotten—eyes bright. "There's a TV?"

"No. I just like to read the TV Guide. Read the TV Guide, you don't need a TV."

Grandpa slams the double doors shut with a definitive thud. Sam flinches, his expression falling flat. Apparently, the imminent threat of murder is nothing compared to being without MTV.

Together, you walk hand-in-hand with Mom along the Boardwalk. Night has fallen, and yet Santa Carla doesn't know darkness. Neon signs and blinking lights glistening from amusement park rides chase away the blackness. It's an artificial Arcadia. The smell of corn dogs mingles with the salty ocean spray and BO.

"Isn't this place fun?" Mom cheers.

To say that Santa Carla was better at night would be a lie. It's just as sweaty and packed as before, but now there are more miscreants. People up to no good, drawn to the dark, have come crawling out of the woodwork and currently infest the Boardwalk like maggots on a carcass.

You would rather be at home reading, but you endure the torture for Mom.

"It's … something."

You won't deny that it's exciting, but it's not your cup of tea. Everything is a little too much, a little too loud, a little too bright. A group of surfers pass you by, brushing against you. You shy away, gripping her hand tighter.

Mom giggles to herself, pointing vaguely. "I think I dated that guy."

Instead of following her finger, you stare at a four-sided bulletin board. Flyers stacked upon flyers create an inch-thick layer over the cork. Some advertise band performances. Others, the grisly black and white photos of the MISSING. A woman in her late sixties tapes a new one atop another. You'll avert your eyes.

"Horrible," you mutter.

Mom notices, her happy mood dampening. "That's the kind of thing that makes you sad with the world."

"More like  depressed ."

"You've just gotta hope they're somewhere good. Somewhere better. Like me," she motions to herself. "A little running away never hurt anybody. It's all about improving your situation. That's all."

Her admission makes your heart feel heavy. It's no secret that Mom was a bit of a rebel back in her day. She's been open about her time on the street, how it made her more appreciative of the little things, but still ...

You get a good look at her and try to peel back the layers of makeup and age, imagining her as a naive sixteen-year-old. Did she have a missing flyer? Would Grandpa have made one? Did anyone who saw it care, or did they walk away blissfully ignorant.

Michael's words flash across your mind. MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD. What an ugly thing to know? How lucky were you, knowing that Mom was one of the lucky ones when she could have been some multi-murderer's nameless victim.

Tightening your grip on her hand, you rest your head on her shoulder. "You don't have to worry about me running away."

Mom sighs—it almost sounds relieved. She lays her hand on my cheek, smoothing it over my hair.

"Thank you—I hope I never do. But if you want to, you know, just tell me."

"I think that defeats the purpose."

That earns a giggle from her. You laugh. It's nice to see her laugh again. She's been depressed even before the divorce was final. The sudden upheaval of her life, losing her job, and moving to a new state with three children ... It's a lot. You try to remind yourself that she's only human. Flawed and scared, just like you.

A sun-bleached HELP WANTED sign sits in the restaurant window; however, something else steals Mom's attention before you can point it out.

A small child. Maybe seven or eight—you've never been good at guessing children's ages—stands in the middle of the crowd, sobbing. No one else has noticed him, save for the two of you. You think you can hear him crying for his Mom, but it's drowned out by the general raucous of the Boardwalk.

Mom makes a B-line for the little boy, leaping into action before you realize she's gone. She kneels to his side and rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. They exchange a few soft-spoken words. The boy doesn't quit crying; he seems marginally calmer now that an adult has stepped onto the scene.

She calls out to you. "I'm going to go in here, okay? I'll see if I can find his Mom. Just stay put for me."

"Yeah. Of course."

She smiles, close-lipped yet appreciative. Mom leads him into the video store with one hand on the young boy's back.

You watch her go, suddenly feeling out of place on the Boardwalk. Too exposed, too vulnerable. All around you are swarms of people, cackling, smoking, and stealing. Everything is so new and unknown that it makes you tense. Even though you're old enough to stand on your own—a full-fledged adult, if you want to get technical—you can't help but miss the safety that your Mom provided just by being beside you.

" ... Murder capital of the world ...? " You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. "That's just ... peachy."

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a used bookstore, some of their wears outside on a cart.  Hm. A Perfect distraction . You wander over and pursue the cracked spines. Some of them are so worn that you can hardly read the title.

Dragging your fingers along the battered books, you randomly pluck one from the cart, which appears to be a serial gothic horror, and flip it over. The synopsis is mildly interesting, similar to dozens you've read before, so you can easily guess where the plot will go.

Glancing toward the video store, you see the little boy being led away by who you presume to be his mother. He's sobbing harder, but it's out of relief. The mother scoops him up. The boy is much too big to be coddled that way, but it pulls a small smile out of you. But, now ...

"... Where's my mom?" you ask, the air under your breath.

Instead of getting an answer, another group exits the video store. A group of punks around your age draped in black leather and bad attitude. One of them catches you staring. Quickly, you avert your eyes, returning to the book.

Brows furrowed, you grab another book, but you're too distracted by your own thoughts to read anything. What's keeping her?

You gnaw on your lip. Then, just as you decide to look for her, a figure blocks your light.

Prepared to rip someone a new one about personal space, you look up, coming face-to-chest with one of the aforementioned punks. He leers at you with gorgeous baby-blue eyes and a heart-stopping smile. Long blond hair cascades down his shoulders in a well-styled wave. Your insult dies before it's born, lips parting in shock.

Blondie's smile broadens. "Hello, hello, hello." He rests his arm on the wall beside you, casually leaning closer. "How are you doing on this fine evening?"

He speaks with the quintessential west-coast accent, and it suits him. He's summer personified, and perhaps in another scenario, you would have reciprocated his energy, but you're starting to feel claustrophobic.

"I'm fine." You blindly put the book back and duck under his arm, "If you'll just excuse me—"

A second punk blocks your way. He's shorter than the other, cherubic face and curly blond hair forming a halo around his head. His smile is less than angelic.

"Isn't that the darnedest thing?" He doesn't touch you, but his hand hovers inches from your skin. "We're going that way, too."

You turn away, but the first blond is waiting for you. "Yeah," drawls the first. "We can be your armed escorts for the evening. Don't want a babe like you getting lost."

"That's very generous of you, but I'm fine. I've gotta go, I'm meeting someone."

This earns a chuckle out of them. It echoes around you, and with a quick sweep of your eyes, you also realize the other two punks are there. They stay a few steps back, allowing their buddies all the space they need while they lean against their motorbikes.

Heart pounding, your throat constricting as if an invisible hand had reached out to choke you. You stagger back and bump into the railing.

The bleached blond pushes off his bike, readjusting his leather gloves. "Aren't you meeting someone right now?"

You avert your gaze from his, only to lock eyes with the fourth and most silent punk. His irises are like sloes, blackened pits of amusement. You would find no help in that man; he liked taunting you just as much as his companions.

Californian Blondie leans in close, toying with a strand of your hair. "What's your name, baby?"

He draws out the word—bay-bee—lazily. It sounds eerily similar to Jon Travolta's character from  Grease ; he nailed the greaser accent. It sounds like he's used it on hundreds of chicks, and it's worked every time. Unfortunately, you are no different. It brings a rush of heat to your face, and you try to hide it behind your hand.

You tell them, if only to shut them up. "Really, I need to go—"

"So soon?" The shorter, curly-haired blond pipes up.

Another bought of laughter ripples through the four of them. You want to die. Shrinking against the railing, you can't help but wish that Michael was around. He may be a meathead, but he was bigger than them. The threat of a punch might make them stand down.

"Don't you wanna get to know us?" jeers Curly.

"Not particularly."

"Ack—" He grabs his chest, feigning injury. "—you wound me! Be careful, boys, the lady's words are sharp!"

He stumbles back, colliding with the tall, dark, and brooding punk before dramatically collapsing. Apparently, his act is worthy of Shakespeare because the bleached blond is clapping. Yet, all the while, his piercing cyan gaze never leaves yours.

"Marko!" California Blondie cries, abandoning his position beside you to come to his friend's aid. "Hang on a little longer, buddy. There's still a chance!"

You catch a glimpse of Mom exiting the video store. Seizing your chance, you push through the boys and join her.

Mom takes one look at your face, and her smile falls. "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." You link your arm to her and pull her in the opposite direction of those punks. "Let's just go, okay?"

The punks erupt into another fit of laughter, and you flinch.