I HIGHLY Recommend This Series, Granted That It’s Not Finished Yet. But It Is Seriously Good So Far,
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.
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" —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.
More Posts from The-avengers-not-the-nazis and Others
Bad moon rising III
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: 3.7k
Poly!Lost boys x Emerson!reader
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A/n: This chapter will have a brief mention of SA, so this is your warning! But, don’t worry because we kick ass, literally. I also love this chapter, because it does go a bit more into the boys protectiveness and yours and theirs feelings for one another. So please in joy:)
You awoke groggily the next morning.
Staying up late the night before at the boardwalk did not mix in well with your normal sleeping routine. Sun filtered through the blinds, the light casting a glow throughout your bedroom. You lightly stirred awake, tugging on the itchy sheets to keep last of your sleep from wandering away.
“Y/n?” A voice called out from behind the closed door. “Sam and I’ve made breakfast, if your hungry.”
A muffled ‘ok’ surpassed your lips, the sound of your mother’s footsteps fading from your door. You reluctantly got out of bed, your pajama shirt that you may or may not have taken from Micheal’s closet rested loosely around your hips, the waist of your shirts twisted around your body from last nights sleep.
Glancing around your room, you took in the multitude of box’s that littered the ground. Each having different labels from t-shirt and underwear all the way to cd’s and band posters. You knew that you’d have to empty the boxes at one point, and not fish through everything just to find a clean pair of socks.
You slowly walked out of your room, careful not to roll an ankle stepping over a box of shoes. The floor was cold against your bare feet, causing a soft chill to run through your body as you made your way down the stairs.
Soft clinking of silverware and scraping plates met your ears as you rounded the stairs railing. Sam, Micheal and mom came into view, each of them sitting around the dining table, their breakfast either already eaten or halfway gone.
Your gave them each a morning greeting, mom receiving a politer one than either of your brothers. Upon entering the kitchen, you made a quick plate, filled with plenty of eggs and bacon to keep your hunger subsided for a couple of hours.
You returned back to the dining room, sitting next to Micheal. Mom and Sam sat on the opposite side, a single plate pulled with just bacon and a glass of orange juice sat at the head of the table. Definitely Grandpas.
Though, where the old man currently was, is beyond you.
As you start to eat your breakfast with your family, the gentle noise from outside passing as conversation for now. Mom let out an appealed hum, mouth stuffed with her own cooking, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she began to speak.
“I forgot to tell you guys,” Voice slightly muffled by her hand. “I already found a job for myself.”
You slowed your eating, glancing between your brothers and mother. “Already?” You asked, lightly stabbing the yellow bit of egg. “We’ve been here less than a day, how have you got a job?”
Mom lowered her hand, smile still evident on her face. “Yes, well, last night at the boardwalk, I met a fine man who offered me a job at his store.”
“Fine man?” Micheal echoed, leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have to expect him around the house, will we?”
“No, no.” She waved off. “He is just a sweet man, who happened to notice someone in need of work.”
You shared a quick glance at Micheal, not entirely certain if the guy was just looking out for a stranger or more. Sam, on the other hand, was estatic for mom. Talking with a mouthful of his breakfast. “That’s great, mom. And, just think, when you get your first check, we can buy a TV.”
Micheal rolled his eyes at his brothers sudden accusation, you held back a smile. Remembering the conversation from yesterday about having no MTV to watch here at grandpas.
“We can’t spend our money on entertainment, Sam. We have help pay for food and bills, we can’t just live off of grandpa forever.” She told him, taking a quick sip of her orange juice. “Besides, a video store will not pay that much on the first check.”
“Your working at a video store?” You asked, even though she had just told you the answer to your question.
She gave a soft nod, standing up from the table with her plate and drink in hand. “Yes, unfortunately. It was the only thing that I could find in such short notice.” She then walked out of the dining room, leaving you with your brothers.
Sam looked between you and Micheal, a sad look on his face. “My god,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with defeat. “We’re going to be living in the streets by the end of the summer.”
You kicked him beneath the table, earning a pained noise to pass his lips.
After breakfast, you returned back upstairs, gently closing your bedroom door behind you. Kicking an empty box out of your way as you sat down on your bed. Out of the corner of your eye, the sun bounced off of a square object, the light shining in your face.
Turning in the direction, you eyed the cd from last night. The same one that the bleach blonde slipped into your back pocket. Reaching over, you picked up the object, twisting it around in your hand as you read the song listings for the cd.
You pondered with the disk in hand, gently tapping it against your palm as you eyed your cd player. A pair of headphones hung on top of the device, eagerly waiting to be played.
A tired sigh passing your lips as you opened the plastic case. You weren’t one to judge people’s music, often giving each genre a try before making a conclusion on it. But, stolen music was something that’d you’d happily judge.
Placing the disk into the appropriate slot, you pressed play on the cd player. The music played through the headphones, the padded material fitting snug against your ears. You laid out on your bed, letting the music calm you, despite the punk metal flowing through your head.
You hadn’t seen the four boys over the past week at the boardwalk. Well, you did see them, anyone could see them. But, they were always driving away on their bikes or terrifying some tourists that got to close to them.
You also didn’t know what to say to them, it wasn’t like you were friends with any of them. So, you just stuck to the side when they would get too close or change directions entirely, not wanting to be noticed by the leatherback motorcyclists.
But, you were noticed.
They knew when you were near, and they knew when you would hide away in a random shop when they’d passed by. To them it was hilarious, this girl that they’d barley known was doing everything in her power to keep herself hidden from them.
It wasn’t like it was something new to them, plenty of people dodged their presence when around them. Often, giving them a clear path to walk along the boardwalk.
Though, whenever they would catch the sweet odor of your perfume, or the soft beating of your heart. Their feet would follow after you, trailing a good distance behind to not alarm you of their presence.
And it was like they couldn’t stop when they would catch your smell in a crowd.
It was something deep down that made them follow after you, something deep within their cold body’s that tethered them with you. They all felt it, that odd pull when one of them would spot you. But, none of them would speak out loud about it, not knowing how to ask what it was or why it was you.
They just knew that the pull they’d fell would softly strengthen itself they closer they were to you. And a small part of them was curious of what it could mean.
You watched as the sun lowered itself behind the crashing waves of the ocean, soft pinks and purples mixing in with the night sky before it turns black. It was always mesmerizing how the sun would move so quickly, yet slowly throughout the day. Beginning and ending just as it had started, beautifuly.
The railing from the boardwalk dug into your forearms as you leaned against it, a peaceful feeling scorching through your body at the sight before you. You knew you’d have to leave soon, you promised mom that you’d be back before dinner.
Pulling yourself from the deck, you made your way over to the stairs leading down to the beach. Straps of your bag digging into your shoulders, as the weight of your items shifted. The only reason that you had brought the thing was because you’d wished to open your wallet a bit more tonight.
A couple of happy’s for your family and yourself. As well as your house keys, wallet and Walkman. (For when you get bored.)
The sand inched itself into the crevices of your soles, no doubt something that mom would get on to you about if you track any kind of grime into the house.
You could have just walked along the boardwalk, but you were growing a bit tired of the over packed people crowding around you. Too many sweaty bodies, and far too many noises. So, a nice walk along the beach would be the perfect way to end the night.
A small fire came into view, the light casting a soft glow around a group of kids that surrounded it. You didn’t recognize them. Not that you’d recognize a whole lot of people with only being in town for a total of two weeks, but still. Loud music came from the group, shouts and laughter erupting the quiet atmosphere of the beach.
You kept your focus away from the group, not wanting to disturb their own fun. Keeping a far away distance to not draw any attention towards yourself. Though that seems to be the opposite of tonight’s plans.
A sharp whistle came from the group, dragging you out of your peace.
You glanced over at the bonfire, stopping momentarily in the sand. They were a lot closer to you than the fire itself, maybe a few feet away than the couple of yards they were previously at.
“Where you running off to on such a nice night, babe?” One of them asked, his voice slur like. The nickname didn’t roll off his tongue like Paul’s did the other night, no, instead it came off forced and disoriented. Almost like the name was just a way to try and sweet talk you.
“Home.” You told him bluntly, taking slow but deliberant steps away from them.
An airy chuckle came from a different guy, “What a coincidence, so are we.”
“Please don’t follow me.” You said over your shoulder, picking up your pace when you realized that they were starting to follow you.
“Why not, you look like you could use the company.”
You didn’t give a response, instead kept your head forward, ignoring the calls that they continued to ring out. “C’mon, beautiful, this a way to treat a gentleman?”
An hand gripped your arm, yanking you back into the imbrace of a body. Two strong arms wrapped around your waist keeping you tightly in his hold. “I was fuckin’ talking to ya.” He told you, the smell of his intoxicated breath making you gag.
He pulled you closer to the fire, dragging your body as you kicked and refused to allow him to take you to their spot. The other guys had brutish smiles on their faces, finding the situation as a pleasant form of entertainment for them.
One of the men snatched your bag off your shoulders, tossing it near the bonfire as a couple dug through your possessions. “Let me fucking go!” You shouted, arms and legs kicking out at anyone who got close. Your sudden movements caused the guys grip on you to slip, your feet finally planting firmly on the ground.
You twisted out of the guys hold, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. And, out of a flurry of emotions, you raised your dominant arm, reeling it back before your fist connected with his nose. Hard.
A sharp crunch came from the man’s nose, and something warm and wet coated your knuckles as you pulled your fist back. The man let out a pained groan, his hands cupping his nose as blood dripped from between his fingers.
“God! Fuckin’! Dammit!” He shouted, words coming out choppy and rushed as he struggled to breath properly through his nostrils. “Look what you fucking did, you bitch!”
You bit your toungue, fighting off a smug smile. Now is really not the time to play around with these guys, but, you knew it felt good to punch him. The tiny bag of dicks deserved it. “I can see.” You told him taking a small step back from the supposed leader of the group. “And it looks like a shitty nose job, if you ask me.”
“You broke my fucking nose!” He was beyond pissed, anyone with an eye could see that. He pointed a finger at you, blood dripping from the tip. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
God, this guy has a nasty mouth on him. He gets punched one time and it’s all fucking this and fucking that. His mama needs to teach himself some manners.
You opened you mouth to tell him, ready to snatch your bag back and take off towards grandpas, when a reflective object caught your eye. Glancing over at the man’s hand you saw a knife clutched tightly in his right hand, his fist slightly shaking for how hard his grip was.
Holy shit.
He really is gonna kill you.
Turning swiftly on your foot, you tried to manuver out of the outstretched hands grabbing at you. Sprinting on the sand, you felt as the tiny rocks slowed you down. Everytime you pushed off, your foot slowly sank down into the beach’s bay.
Holy shit.
A hand gripped your hair, tight. Your scalp burning as you get yanked back and thrown down on the ground. A yelp slipped past your lips when your upper body hits the floor, the air vacating your lungs.
You tried to lift your body up, tried to run, tried to scream for help. But, there were suddenly hands everywhere, holding you down on your back, arms and legs pinned down as the man you’d punched leaned over you.
“You know,” he started, twisting his knife in his palm. “It’d be a real shame for me to fuck up your face, because, well, you sure do got a pretty one.” He trailed his hand over your face, blood trailing behind as he did so.
“Burn in fucking hell!” You shouted, putting as much strength as you could muster to try and shove off the ones holding you down.
A nasty sneer rested on his lips, “But such a shitty attitude, maybe I’ll cut off your tongue, you know, keep you quiet for once.”
The guy pinning down your left arm looked up at the man, slight concern bubbling across his features. “Hughie, yer not actually gonna cut ‘er, right-“
“Shut the hell up!” Hughie shouted at the man, knife pointed dangerously close to his face. “Just shut up.”
He turned back towards you, the knife dropping down to his side as glared down at you. “I ain’t gonna cut the bitch.”
You felt air enter your body, feeling slightly better about the situation now knowing he isn’t actually gonna use the knife. But, you still didn’t know what he was gonna do with you.
“No, well just take her shitty bag, and I want just a little pay back for the nose.” Hughie brought his index and thumb close together.
You watched with wide eyes as he walked around you, stopping at the top of your head, kicking just a little bit of sand in your face as he did so. “Fucking slut.” He muttered, before he raised his leg and the heel of his boot came down hard on your face.
David sat on top of his motorcycle, the kickstand holding him steady as he puffed on his cigarette. The sun had set about an hour ago, the night fresh and just starting. They had plenty of time to scope out the crowd and find their next meal.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Paul and Marko sweet talking a group of ladies. They’d be nice for a snack, David thought. The sent of their blood flooding his senses, but, they’d need just a little more to actually fill them up.
Dwayne leaned against the wooden railing, keeping a steady eye on those who wander too close to him and his brothers. Anyone that catches his eye would immediately steer themselves in a different direction.
The smell of your blood drifted around the group, drawing Paul and Marko away from the group of girls and back over to their brothers. Your blood was a lot stronger than usual tonight, they noticed. It was more out in the open than what they’d usually smell around you.
Paul was the first to notice you, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, babe.” He drawled, watching as you came into view of the group. “Where you been lately?”
Though you didn’t stop to acknowledge them, in fact you seemed to walk faster to try and past them. It was slightly uncharacteristic of you, no snarky comment or a roll of your eyes. To say they missed it was an understatement.
One by one, they each stepped away from their bikes, sauntering over to your fleeting form. The smell of your blood grew stronger and stronger the closer they got to you, the reminder that they need to eat picking at the back of their minds.
Marko reached you first, gently pulling at your arm to catch your attention. “Hey, beautiful, where you been all week?” Though, you shrugged off his hand, barley giving him a glance as you tried to push through the crowd.
He furrowed his brows, slightly confused at your demeanor. The first time you’ve met you’d snapped at him for trying to take a silly vinyl, and now you wouldn’t even spare him a second of your attention.
Even when they’d see you out on the boardwalk, you’d always glance up at them, meeting at least one of their eyes before scurrying in a different direction.
He quickly glanced at the others, silently asking them what to do.
David brushed by his brother, understanding him without either having to open their mouths. He took long purposeful strides, the sounds of the others following right behind floated up to his ears. In no time, David was at your side. Gloved fingers wrapping around your forearm, as he spun you around to face them.
A witty comment danced on the edge of his tongue, the sudden impulse to hear a snarky remark fall from your lips egged him on. Though, what he sa made his thoughts stand still.
Bruises were found all around your face. A few rested along your jawline and cheekbones, but, the biggest of them all was the one on your right eye. The skin slightly puffed around the eyeball, making it hard to see clearly from that side.
A dark red was slowly but steadily seeping from your bottom lip, the sticky liquid had had found its way to the collar of your shirt. The fabric had caused the blood to spread across the top.
That explains the smell of blood.
Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Your breaths became labored, short intakes and outtakes, eyes darting past the four men to your surroundings.
David placed both hands on your face, the feeling of his gloved fingers against your skin oddly calmed you. You placed your own hands against his wrist gently trying to tug them away, though, his grip didn’t seem to loosen.
“Let me go.” You said in a hoarse voice, the sound of it made an odd feeling stir in the pit of the boys stomachs.
You hadn’t even realized that the rest of the boys had surrounded the two of you. Each eyeing the small marks that littered across your face with hidden emotion.
Paul had reached forward grasping your hand in his, eyes trailing across the hills of your knuckles. A faint coat of blood was slowly drying itself up, blood that wasn’t your own. The blonde gently showed your hand to the others, discreetly eyeing each of them, a silent conversation threading itself through the air.
A weak sniffle sounded from you, mindlessly dragging their thoughts back to the fact that you were here right infront of them. “Can I please just go home?” You asked, voice wavering with emotion.
One by one they each gave a chorus of, ‘of course’ or just a simple nod. Paul released your hand, not before wiping a small trail of blood onto the pad of his finger. Keeping the scent with them as you left.
David pulled his hands away from your face, the cold touch lingering on your warm skin. They watched as you pushed through the crowd, hand gently pressing against someone’s lower back as you pass by them. An eerie tick crawled its way to the back of David’s mind, something unsettling and terrifying.
And it didn’t seem to mix well with the need to feed.
David glanced over at Dwayne, giving him a quick nod. The brunette mirrored his brother, neither having to open they’re mouth before he distantly trailed after you. Getting lost in the crowd just as you had.
Now just the three blondes were left in the boardwalk. Paul was softly bouncing on his feet unpatiently awaiting for David’s orders. Marko stood beside his brothers, fingers twitching at the sudden need to sink his fists and fangs into someone.
The faint smell of the assholes blood filtered through their noses, a soft trail leading through the crowds. Without glancing back at the terror twins, David signaled towards the bikes. The three of them straddles their own Motorcycles, Dwayne’s would just have to stay at the boardwalk until they get back.
They revved their engines, the loud noise drawing attention of nearby locals. Though, tonight, the people’s attention was the last thing that they were trying to capture.
“Boys,” David spoke over the rumble of the bikes. “Let’s eat.”
A/a/n: Ok, so, if anyone of confused by the ending, the boys went out to basically kill the surfer nazis. And, Dwayne went to make sure you got home safe before joining his brothers. Also, I felt like the ending was a bit rushed, because I haven’t posted in like a week or something. But, let me tell you that this chapter has been 90% done the whole time. I was just lazy to finish the other 10%. But, let me know what you guys think ;)
@mrstargayen09
NSFW Alphabet: Poly!Lost Boys + Michael Edition
A/N: Version including Star
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
• David is an inherently selfish person. He's used to sharing with the boys, but he still wants your attention. He won't admit this though, he'll just stare daggers at you until you cuddle up to him of your own free will. He'll rub his hand up and down your arm with a smug little smirk while he lights up a cigarette because he got his way.
• Dwayne is a very tactile person so he's the most likely to clean you up afterward (with what little they have in the cave) and cuddle up to your thighs and rest his head down there while you comb your fingers through his hair. He just really loves touching you. He's also the most emotionally intelligent one in the group, so he knows it's nice to be taken care of after.
• Michael is not as likely as Dwayne to clean you up. Occasionally, though, he will feel inclined to lick wipe cum off of you, especially if it's his or Dwayne's. Other than that, he'll cuddle up to the side of you that David isn't occupying and shoot the shit with Marko. Most likely to fall asleep out of all the boys.
• As much as Paul loves you and loves being close to you, he's lighting up a joint after. He's just filled with so much energy after sex, he'll probably blast some music on the speakers they stole bought and jump around the room. Will probably go hunting.
• When Marko isn't flirting with chatting up Michael, he's being a general nuisance. Poking and prodding at places he knows you're ticklish at, pressing on hickies and bruises he left behind to see you jump, and nipping at any of your exposed skin. It's his way of subtly checking on you, making sure they weren't too rough with you. He figures if you can yell at him, then you can't be too hurt. Undoubtedly will be roped into going hunting with Paul.
B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)
• David likes his brain. Cliche? Maybe, but it's true. His intellect, mixed with his intimidating, yet, seductive, blue eyes, got him whatever he wanted when he was human, and it goes double for his undead life.
Loves your neck. He loves how your pulse jumps under his hand when he squeezes it, he loves how soft it feels under his lips when he marks you up, and he particularly loves to feed from there.
• Dwayne likes his chest and stomach, but mostly because of how much you like them. Believe it or not, he does in fact own shirts, but with abs like his, why would he bother wearing one?
He wants to say he loves all of you equally, but he knows that a glimpse of your thighs at any time will give him a semi. Favorite spot to feed from you.
• Michael is partial to his arms and back. He'd die if anyone said this about him, but Michael is a total gym rat. He likes knowing even without the vampire strength, he'd be able to carry you around with no problem. He'll try to subtly flex in front of you in his little cropped muscle shirts, so please tell him how strong you think he is.
He's definitely the most sentimental of the boys, since he's still half-human, and he's always wanted that teenage relationship you see in movies. As such, he loves your hands. They're smaller than his and they feel like they fit perfectly together. He loves to hold them in public, he loves to play with them when you're sitting next to him/on his lap, and he loves how they look wrapped around his dick.
• Paul loves his hair. Though it technically isn't a body part, he puts so much effort into taking care of it that it's practically an extension of himself. He really loves when you pull on it.
Boob man, boob man! We got ourselves a boob man, people! Big or small. He's looking at them, he's grabbing them, and he's most definitely sucking on them. If and when his clingy ass cuddles up to you, his head is homing in on them like a missile.
• Marko likes his hands. They're long and dexterous. He actually sewed each of those patches onto his jacket and if you just so happen to find a random patch sewed into your clothing, you know who to blame. His hands are also skilled at other things that involve far less clothing.
He loves your ass! He keeps his hands in your back pocket when you're out in public and loves to see you jump when he squeezes your ass through your jeans. In fact, whenever you wear a skirt, he does everything in his power to get you to bend over and whenever he gets a peek, he thinks maybe there is a God.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)
• David is cumming in your mouth or on you. If he's in a good mood, he might ask you where you want it. It's more than likely going on your face though.
• Dwayne always prefers cumming deep inside you because it feels intimate, he's real soft like that. And even though he knows he can't get you pregnant, it doesn't mean he can't try. Also, it's less of a clean-up.
• Michael can't cum inside you since you're both technically human. He doesn't really have a preference, so it's really up to you.
• Paul is gross. He loves making a mess, so cumming on you is his second favorite part of having sex with you. 9 times out of 10 will be aiming for your tits.
• Marko likes to cum on your ass or back because he's a feral animal. He'll wipe it off, at least. Probably with your clothes.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
• David plans on turning you eventually. He's allowing you to enjoy your humanity for now and giving you the illusion of choice. But just know, somewhere over the horizon, the change is coming. You somehow got him to care about you, and he's not letting you get away anytime soon. The other guys know (other than Michael) and maybe they'll feel a little guilty for deceiving you, but they're still just as selfishly sadistic as David. You might hate them for it, but they'll have the rest of eternity to make it up to you.
• Dwayne is into seeing you choke on him, more so than David even. It's not even an ego thing, he just loves your reaction and how hard you're trying to please him. No joke, the freakiest one in the group.
• Michael so desperately wants you to ride his face, but he doesn't know how to broach the topic and he doesn't want to just ask you. His pride won't let him. Needless to say, he's very jealous of how confident the other guys are.
• Paul really, really, really wants to drink your blood when your high to see if he'll get high from it. Not a dirty secret, but an odd one nonetheless.
• Marko has stolen multiple pairs of your panties. How he managed to get them is a secret to everyone but him.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
• Hmm...it depends on what you count as experience. Though he's a total pretty boy, Michael, at most, has experience kissing and heavy petting. He's made out with people before, but he was always too awkward to seal the deal.
• The other boys came from time periods where casual sex was frowned upon. Less so for men, but still frowned upon. I can see Paul and Marko sleeping with their prey before eating them, but David and Dwayne don't like to play with their food. So the two of them don't have much experience, but David has enough confidence in what he's doing that he seems like a natural and Dwayne is very intuitive and can read your body.
F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)
• David likes when you ride him. He'll sit back, maybe smoke a cigarette, while you work for him. But don't be mistaken, he's still in control. He also likes making you grind on his thigh while he sits back and watches. Something about seeing you so needy for him that you'll hump his leg like a dog, makes him feel powerful.
• Dwayne loves any position where he's close to you and can kiss you, missionary in particular. He can leave marks all over you and you him, he can see all the expressions he brings out of you, and he especially loves how your thighs feel wrapped around his waist.
• Michael likes when you ride him for the complete opposite reason as David. He acts all nonchalant when he asks you, but it's really because he likes being under you. He's in the perfect position to grab your hips and help you ride him, but if you just so happen to slap him around, well, who is he to stop you?
• Paul, like most teenage boys, wants to impress his girlfriend (who just so happens to be you). What better way to impress you than to take you flying! Knowing Paul and his libido, this leads to sky sex baby! Something about the adrenaline of doing something dangerous and possibly being spotted is addicting for you both. Let's just hope he doesn't get too distracted. Falling from that height is definitely gonna ruin the mood.
• Marko's favorite is doggy, surprise surprise. He'll absolutely try to talk you into anal. Whether you do or not is a different story. He's also partial to you sitting on his lap, your back to his chest.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)
• David will only laugh during sex if he's laughing at you. If somebody embarrassed themselves in some way, it is guaranteed to get a condescending chuckle out of him.
• Dwayne isn't really a goofy person in general and he takes your pleasure very seriously. At most, you'll get a smirk or a smile out of him.
• Michael definitely isn't going out of his way to make you laugh while he's 7 and a half inches deep in you, but he's not opposed to laughing if something funny happens.
• Paul is the one everyone is laughing at. Very likely to say something while he's dirty talking that'll make you pause before bursting into laughter. Especially if he's high.
• Marko is very giggly in any given situation, and he makes a habit of never taking himself or others too seriously.
H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
• David has never touched a razor in his life. It's the 80s baby, the bush is in fashion! Not that he cares; he just doesn't care enough to shave. He is, as we all know, a bottle blond, but he isn't manic enough to dye his pubic hair. Vampire or not, there are just some lines he will not cross. He will, however, have you help dye his happy trail from brown to bleach blond. It's your favorite day of the month because he walks around shirtless after with his jeans slung very, very low to let the dye set.
• Speaking of happy trails, Dwayne's is on full display considering his total lack of a shirt and it. Is. Perfect. It's a perfect smattering of dark hair leading from his navel to his crotch that makes you want to follow it with your tongue. Could be convinced to trim his pubic hair if you complain enough, but he isn't gonna like it.
• Michael has a bush because he does care that it's in fashion. He's still susceptible to the latest fads and the world is still riding that "all-natural" wave from the 70s. His pubic hair is a little darker than the hair on the rest of his body and it's just as curled as the hair on his head. Can be peer pressured into shaving it.
• Paul doesn't grow much hair to begin with, which is surprising considering how long and thick the hair on his head is. Unlike David, Paul is a natural blond and what little pubic hair he has lays flat. He'll shave it into shapes occasionally, but it itches every time it grows back.
• Marko's hair is thick and coily. Not curly, coily. It's dark blond, not that you ever see it since he prefers to have it shaved. One time, Paul convinced him to let him wax him; never again.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)
• David is not romantic in the traditional sense, but you'll never doubt how he feels about you. He's not gonna worship you and kiss the ground you walk on, he's not Michael for God's sake, but there's a certain possessive quality to the sex you have.
• Intimacy is Dwayne's forte. But don't assume that means he's a prude, far from it. Sure, he'll take his time to kiss you from head to toe before he even takes his pants off, but he'll also finger you on the Ferris wheel. The duality of man.
• Michael...hmm. Michael has an odd balance with intimacy. On one hand, he really does want to make your time together romantic and affectionate, on the other, he just gets so caught up and drunk in you that he can never wait long before he dives in.
• Paul wouldn't know intimacy if it grabbed him by the dick. He still loves you, of course, and the sex is great, but that's not his MO. He's kind of blind to romance.
• Marko is surprisingly intimate. Sometimes, he'll stay behind in the cave while the others go hunting so you and him can have some alone time.
J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)
• Of course, Michael has done it before. He's a boy teeming with hormones. But once you started dating, it sort of became obsolete. Sure, if the mood strikes and you're nowhere in sight, he'll do what must be done, but he definitely doesn't prefer it.
• I can't imagine the other boys masturbating. Like, legitimately. If they get horny, they'll just have sex. Easy.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
• They're all voyeurs. They'd have to be in a relationship with this many people. But David likes watching the most. He likes to sit back in his chair with a cigarette and watch you all together before he joins in. He's technically the leader so it's like you're all putting on a show for him. Choking? Definitely choking and he does it in public too. He'll grab your neck and use his forefinger to turn your chin towards him to kiss you. Feeling your walls clench around him as he tightens his grip is heaven-sent.
• Dwayne has a thing for your smell. Not like your perfume or anything, but your natural musk. He buries his nose in your hair when he hugs you. He even prefers it if you don't shave your pubic hair. Of course, he's not gonna tell you that. But the way he ruts his hips into the bed when his nose is buried in your pussy, definitely hints at it. Somnophilia on a lesser level. There's something about how much you trust him that gets him going.
• Michael has a mommy kink? More likely than you think. He'll probably only call you that during the daytime when the other guys are asleep. It happened for the first time while you were riding him and you wrapped your hand around his throat. Maybe you were trying to stop him from moaning so loud in your house full of people or maybe it was just unconscious on your part, either way, he couldn't stop it from slipping out. Please don't tell the guys.
• Paul likes roleplay to an extent. Think less doctor and patient and more rockstar and his groupie. It'll be very giggly and very unserious, but you'll both have fun. Surprisingly, paul thinks it's hot when you cry. Unsurprisingly, he also thinks it's hot when you're angry.
• Marko is an exhibitionist. Keeping it within the group is one thing, but Marco likes to push it to another level. I'm talking about places where you two will definitely get caught. You'd be surprised how often someone might walk upon you two and get off on peeping on you. Rest assured they're Marko's next meal. And when all of you are on the boardwalk, he'll take your hand in his and drag you off with a pep in his step to desecrate another fair ride. You two have done horrible things in the Tunnel of Love.
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
• Oh, anywhere and everywhere, baby! If there's a will, there's a way and there's definitely a will. In the cave, on the beach, in a booth at a diner they're definitely getting banned from, etc. The list goes on! Hell, they'd do it on the boardwalk if it didn't mean a permanent ban.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
• It would be easier just to name what doesn't turn them on. Like, clowns. Clowns don't turn them on.
N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
• As a general rule of thumb for all of them, no to anything that'll leave you in more pain than pleasure. No ageplay either.
• David is against any degrading that insults his intelligence. Calling him a slut or a whore is one thing, calling him stupid is another. He won't drink from you during sex because he knows how easy it is to get carried away when pleasure is involved. It'll be a pain if he killed you too soon.
• Dwayne is not a big fan of any of the nasty bodily fluids. He may be a sex fiend, but he's not an animal. He's also wholeheartedly against degrading. He's more of a soft dom/service top, and he called you a slut once or something equally as demeaning, but his heart wasn't in it. He doesn't want to unintentionally make you insecure about anything.
• Michael isn't into angry sex. It's very rare when you're mad at him, even rarer for him to be mad at you. If you're both mad at each other, it's over something serious and sex would be the last thing on his mind. He's all for makeup sex though.
• Paul's not super into power roles during sex. Nobody in charge, nobody calling the shots, just vibes.
• Marko wouldn't call you mommy or any title. He doesn't want you calling him anything along those lines either. He just can't take it seriously. Calling him Daddy is a quick ticket to getting laughed at.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
• David prefers receiving. The asshole he is sees blowjobs as a treat for you. It's not something you're doing for him, but something he's allowing you to do. He'll sit back in his weird little wheelchair thrown as you kneel in front of him and he expects a 'please' and 'thank you'. Not opposed to giving as long as you beg for it.
• If Dwayne had to pick a place to die for the second time, it would be between your thighs. If you offer it, he won't turn it down. He loves seeing you between his thighs after all, but there's something about feeling your soft thighs twitching and squeezing the sides of his head. He's obsessed with the way you sound when he has his mouth on you, the way you smell, and the way you shake. It's almost enough to make him cum in his pants.
• Michael gives as much as he gets. Whenever you go down on him, he has to return the favor. He's literally singing your praises when you go down on him, but he really, really wishes you would sit on his face. The idea of you grinding on his tongue and using him for your pleasure makes his hands sweat and his knees weak.
• Paul will give you the sloppiest head. He'd have smoked something beforehand, where he gets the weed is one of the 8th wonders of the world. Pushing your legs over his shoulders, gripping handfuls of your thighs, moaning into you. Literally just pussy drunk. Dear God, pull his hair and lead him where you want him. Legitimately could cum in his pants. Moans like a whore when you give him head.
• Marko much prefers skipping to the main course. He's not opposed to giving or receiving, but those are just appetizers. If he wanted to get his dick wet, he'd much rather do it inside of your pussy. He also has the overwhelming urge to talk, which kind of takes away from him going down on you.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
• None of them have a set pace. It depends on the mood you caught them in and where you are.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
• With this many insatiable partners, quickies are a staple of your relationship and they happen often. They're typically initiated by Paul and Marko, but the others aren't above pulling you into a semi-secluded alleyway either.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)
• Do the guys who hung from the bottom of a train track as a train rode by above them while they hooted and hollered (sans Michael, who was scared shitless) take risks?
• In all seriousness, they're all down to experiment. You don't become a vampire by sticking to the same old shit. They'll try anything you want as long as it doesn't put you in immediate danger (it's best not to tell them about Paul's favorite past time in the sky). Remember: safe, sane, and consensual. While safety and sanity are relative among them, consent is not. Consent is a 6 way street for you guys. So if you're game, they are too.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)
• They can go for however many rounds you're up for. Individually, I'd say keep going until your legs go numb. But with all of them at the same time, keep it at a 2 round maximum. You're only human after all. For now.
T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
• Nope. Maybe there's a sex shop somewhere in California, but with this many partners, none of you need any.
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)
• We don't even need to talk about David. You know and I know that he's a total tease. In fact, the only reason his photo isn't in the dictionary next to the word tease is because vampires don't show up in pictures. His teasing is mostly private.
• Dwayne is an intentional tease and an accidental tease. He'll take his time with the foreplay, nipping at your bare skin before kissing the rest of your body, but he won't touch you where you want him to unless you ask him. He'll say, "Speak up. I can't hear you if you're mumbling." Knowing damn well he heard you with his advanced hearing. But sometimes he'll hold your hips still against his while you sit on his lap in public, or trail his hands over your bare thighs without any sexual thoughts behind his actions.
• Michael is under no illusions that he's a tease. He won't even attempt it because he knows it'll be turned on him. In fact, YOU tease him. All you have to do is grab his chin and pull him into a kiss and he's following you around the boardwalk like a puppy. Hugging you from behind and pressing his hard-on into your back.
• Paul likes to think he's a tease, and it's really adorable that he tries. He'll start off real strong but he's easily swayed by your pleas and his own overwhelming need, and soon enough he'll end up begging you.
• Marko, like David, is a big tease, but, like, in the most literal sense. Poking and prodding at you, pulling you into a hug from behind before biting at your neck, pinching your ass to make you jump, etc etc. Just real gremlin shit. He's the schoolboy and you're his crush, get ready to have your pigtails tugged. Doesn't matter if you're in private or in public, he's an equal opportunity tease, baby!
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
• David is mostly quiet. Mostly because he's so focused on the sounds you make and the best way to get more out of you. But partially because he thinks being silent during sex fits his image. He'll occasionally let out a grunt or a curse.
• Dwayne is louder than expected. He isn't screaming, sadly, but his moans are deep and unrestrained. He knows how much you like to hear him, so he won't hold himself back.
• At the beginning of your giant relationship, Michael still holds onto that toxic idea that moaning makes him less masculine. But Dwayne isn't afraid to moan and he's the most manliest man Michael knows. So he drops that trait pretty fast. Is very loud and will get you caught in public.
• When Paul moans, they're very soft, pretty things—just like the rest of him. A lot of "Fuck, babe." And "Just like that."
• Marko is more of a huffer. He'll show his pleasure through panting with a few scattered moans thrown in. Don't be surprised if he giggles every now and then.
W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)
• Contrary to popular belief, David is willing to let you take control; if you think you can handle him, that is. The biggest brat. You'll really have to tighten the metaphorical leash on him. He expects you to slap him around, choke him a little, scratch him up. If you aren't rough with him, you're getting absolutely no respect and he will make fun of you. What's the point of letting you be in charge if you're too afraid to. Take. Charge.
• Dwayne wishes he could marry you. He's not exactly a traditionalist, but seeing how much love you give him and the boys every day, and how much they love you in turn, can make a man sentimental. And you know what they say: every girl dreams of her wedding day, and every boy dreams of his wedding night. In this case, Dwayne dreams of both.
• Michael is very grateful that he can bring you home to meet his mom. She's been nagging him about not having a girlfriend for years (little does she know there are also 4 boyfriends). And you guys get along, which is a huge plus!
• When his scruff starts leaning towards a beard, Paul lets you shave it for him. Since he can't exactly see himself in the mirror, you're a pretty good solution. And it's not like any cuts you leave behind will last long.
• Marko is convinced you have a favorite among them, no matter how much you insist you don't. He'll do little competitions and ask you who kisses the best and who's the funniest and who makes you cum the hardest. He's honestly fine with not being the favorite. As long as he isn't your least favorite.
X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
• Dwayne is the biggest (a surprise to no one) at a whopping 8 and a half inches. He's thick too; all in all, pretty proportional. Definitely something to write home about.
• David is close behind with a nice 8 inches. The tip flushes a soft red, becoming darker the longer he's hard.
• Michael is just about 7 and a half inches. A little left-leaning, with a thin vein along the bottom.
• Paul and Marko are both between 6.5 and 7 inches, but Marko is a little thicker. The only word that comes to mind for Paul is pretty, just like the rest of him.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
• They're all eighteen and nineteen-year-old vampires (and half vampires), you do the math. Your own libido skyrockets to keep up with theirs.
Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)
• If it's at night, then Michael could be persuaded to take a nap with you afterward. But the rest, not at all. Remember: they're vampires. If it's closer to sunrise, then they're all likely just to sleep with you.
Jealous types.
BYLER OMG
I’m not as sure about this but I REALLY and I mean REALLY think Byler’s ship is gonna sail so smoothly in season five. I mean the eye contact, the INTENSE sexual tension in the car, the difference between the “from Mike” argument between El and Mike and the “I’ll contact you more” between Will and Mike.
The drawing that Will made and the look on both boys faces when they examine the beauty of the artwork (and of each other *wink *wink)
But the way Mike straight up was talking about El and how much he loves her in front of my poor baby Will, I am officially joining the Mike wheeler hate club, with Max and hopper as president and founder.
Anyway back to the point Will and Mike better get together an finally confront their feelings because if they don’t I will purposely contact the Duffer brothers and give them a price of my mind.
Hey. Could you please do a Winchester!sister reader fic like the mystery spot episode where Dean dies over and over but can you have the reader be the one who dies over and over again while the boys watch
Groundhog Day
Note: Once again apologising for my lateness but here we are! I actually also wrote this yesterday but I thought it was only fitting to release this on a Tuesday.
warnings: death *and lots of it, It's mystery spot*, grief kinda, time loops, swearing.
Word count: 3.5k
⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤
‘Heat of the moment-’
Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother who was surprisingly already up and raring to go, having made his bed which he was now perching on as he laced together his boots. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep.
“Rise and shine, Sammy.”
“Dude.” Sam blinked, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Asia?”
“Come on. You love this song and you know it.”
Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, and if i hear it again, I’m going to kill myself.”
“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once.
Dean took a break from trying his shoes to reach over and turn the dial on the radio. The song blasted louder from the speakers. He raised his voice with a grin “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
Sam let out a light chuckle, still bleary with sleep as you sighed and sat up. Dean was still grinning at you before he began to mouth along to the words of the song. You shook your head at him before hauling yourself up and making your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
~
Dean had decided that he was going to be annoying today. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to go on the hunt and he was trying to delay it or something or if it was simply because he was being Dean. You decided on the latter because his keenness to be up and ready this morning was unusual. It started with the gurgling when he was brushing his teeth. Then, just as the three of you were about to leave, despite being up before either of you he had forgotten his pistol leaving you and your other brother standing impatiently by the door while he rooted around the motel room for it. He was irritating in the car too and you were itching to jump out of the Impala, praying for the day to end.
The diner was hardly busy when Dean pulled into the driveway. There were only a few cars belonging to passers by occupying the spaces. After securing your pistol in the pocket of your jacket the three of you headed inside. You decided to stick close to Sam; you had an odd feeling about this hunt and weren’t entirely sure what it was but something just wasn’t sitting right with you. Your brothers entered one of the booths and you slid down beside Dean who let out a content sigh as he scanned the menu.
“Hey, tuesday. Pig in a poke.” he read, gesturing to the sign.
“Do you even know what that is?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
The eldest brother opened his mouth to answer only to fall short of his words. Sam gave him a smug look and then pair fell into some sort of childish bickering that you weren’t really paying attention to. You were too busy scanning every inch of the room still unable to shake that uneasy feeling from your mind. Something just wasn’t right. Everything seems so…perfect. It made your skin crawl and you bit your lip.
“Hey.” Sam nudged you under the table with his knee, he had noted the way that you had gone silent and that you were fiddling with your hands restlessly. He knew almost straight away that something was up. You twisted to face him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. yeah.” You muttered. “Sorry.”
You nearly let out a sigh of relief when the waitress came over and distracted your brother's attention away from you. You hated the way that they stared when they were concerned about you. The three of you rattled off your orders before Dean leaned back in the chair, stretching his arm back behind you to lounge about as you all discussed the plan, only interrupted once by the waitress bringing your food and accidentally spilling a bottle of hot sauce which tumbled to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces.
The rest of the day passed by quickly after that.
~
You did not like the look of the so-called ‘mystery spot’. It was all overly commercialised, filled to the brim with strange and amusing objects that stuck out at odd angles or were glued to the ceiling. The darkness of the room mixed with the obscurity of the place made it come across as quite disorientating. You supposed that was the point. Your strange feeling from this morning was still lingering. You and Dean moved around with flashlights as Sam waved around the EMF. But it was silent.
“Find anything?” You asked.
Sam shook his head.
“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean said rather loudly. He was still set on the idea that this hunt was a complete waste of time and had decided to make it everyone else's problem.
“Uh… yeah.” Sam shrugged until you gave him a look and he dropped his shoulders. “No.”
It wasn’t long after you set off to explore again that Dean’s gun was being cocked. Somehow someone had managed to catch you off guard, causing the three of you to whip around alarmed when his shaky voice boomed through the room.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” He demanded. The man was small and scrawny and would normally be no match against Winchesters, but he was wielding a gun that he didn’t seem to know how to use and his unstable finger was hovering dangerously close to the trigger.
“Woah. We can explain.” Dean started, raising his gun in surrender and gesturing for the two of you to follow suit.
The man moved his weapon uncertainly. “You robbing me?”
“No.” You told him. “Nobody’s robbing you, calm down.”
Dean began to lower his gun, but this only wound the man up more.
“Don’t move!” He demanded. “Don’t!”
“I’m just putting the gun down.” Dean tried to reassure him, but the man was having none of it.
He raised his gun, but before he fired he spotted you moving out of the corner of his eye.
Sam, as worrying of a brother as ever, gestured with a tilt of his head for you to move toward him. He knew that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but it made him feel ten times better to know that you were hidden behind his lumbering frame, especially given the recent circumstances that had resulted in so much loss between the three of you. Your movement however, combined with Dean’s haste to put down his gun startled the man and with a fast flick of his arm he had pulled the trigger.
No one had any time to think before your pained scream filled the room. It was quick and short as the bullet lodged itself within your chest and you collapsed to the ground, writhing with an agony so intense that it made white spots dance in your vision like little stars.
“Y/N!” Sam cried out, moving quickly to bridge the short distance to your side where you lay in pain on the cold ground. Sam slid an arm around your back as your other brother dropped to his knees next to you, hovering his hand over your chest where blood had already begun to pool through and seep into your shirt. He was frozen with terror unsure what to do at the sight of your pained expression or the way that your hands clutched feebly at the hem of Sammy’s jacket.
“Call 911.” Sam demanded, turning to face the man who stood there white as a sheet.
“I-I didn’t mean-”
“Now!” Dean yelled.
You whimpered at the yelling. It cuts through your already pounding head adding to the concoction of your agony. You couldn’t see straight, couldn’t hear properly, couldn’t feel anything besides the burning fire in your chest that spread through your lungs like a disease. Your head lolled back against Sam’s arm as you began to taste metallic copper in your mouth, slowly drowning on your own blood that had filled your lungs.
“No. No” Sam said as you writhed in his arms, glancing up bleary eyed at him. Dean pressed down firmly on the wound, and it hurt more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to even whine at the contact.
“Come on sweetheart.” Dean pleaded. “Not like this.”
You could see his lips moving but it sounded like he was underwater as your body began to grow numb and your vision slowly faded. You tried to blink away the spots that consumed your vision, but it was no use and your eyes ended up fluttering shut just as your ragged breaths slowed before stopping altogether until you lay morbid limp in your big brother's arms.
~
‘Heat of the moment-’
Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother. He had been here before. He realised suddenly, but this time his older brother was not lacing his boots. Instead he was stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the space beside Sam. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep. Sam stared at you, startled. He could have sworn that just a moment ago you were-
“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean said, with much less enthusiasm as he had before. His little brother furrowed his brows.
“Dean…?”
“I know. Is it just me or are you getting a serious sense of deja-vu?”
He nodded in agreement.
“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once.
The Winchesters shared a look. Man, something strange was happening and whatever it was, you clearly weren’t feeling the same thing they were.
~
The diner was exactly the same as it had been the last time the two brothers were here. You were still looking around with the same uncertainty as you were before and you even ordered the same thing as you did before and so did Dean. Tuesday’s special. Pig in a poke.
“It’s tuesday?” He said uncertainly to himself.
You stared at him blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Yeah.”
Sam eyed you strangely and you raised a brow.
“You okay?”
“Peachy.” He replied, leaning across the table. “Are you?”
Narrowing your eyes at the pair of boys you asked. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?” Sam asked you
“Remember what?”
“This. Today. Like it’s happened before.” Dean.
“You mean like Deja Vu?” You frowned.
“No like it’s really happened before.” Sam stressed. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”
“Deja Vu.”
“No. Forget about that. Its-
The conversation was once again cut off by the waitress who was delivering the food. And once again she sent the hot sauce toppling. But this time, Sam caught it before it could hit the ground.
You gave him a charismatic grin. “Nice reflexes.”
The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that.
Your brothers were trying to explain the situation to you, while theorising themselves. It was safe to say that at first you were completely lost, but were halfway to believing them when it happened.
The car came from nowhere, speeding around the corner. It collided harshly with your unsuspecting body sending you skidding across the asphalt. By the time your brothers had reached you, a trail of blood trickled down your face from the wounds that were opened as your skin ran across the floor. Dean nearly choked on the sight of your pained and bloodied face as he reached you but you were dead before he had even lifted you into his arms.
And then, there it was again. That wretched song, screaming from the radio.
‘Heat of the moment-’
Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room and muttered one single phrase.
“Son of a bitch.”
The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that. In fact, it never seemed to end.
~
Sam was getting angry now. No. That's not really the right word to describe it. He was frustrated. Tired. Scared. Dean was angry. And growing impatient. But both of them could not bear to live another tuesday. They couldn’t bear to see you fine one second and then dying the next. They had lived through at least a hundred tuesdays, had scanned every inch of the diner, the town, the mystery spot, they had followed the people from the diner and had even tried to keep you in the motel room but no matter how hard they tried they were forced to watch you die again.
The worst part was that you were clueless. Sam and Dean had to re-explain the ordeal to you everytime they woke up to that stupid song again, leaving you back at square one. They had lived through the day so many times that it had gotten to the point where they could both predict your sentences word for word and while it freaked you out, their patience was wearing thin.
Until finally, something changed. Dean had asked the woman he kept bumping into to see her flyer. They finally had a lead. So, the next time Tuesday morning rolled around, they felt hopeful as they filed off the information to you.
“When’d you get time to do all that research?” you asked through a mouthful of food.
Dean did not have the energy to answer, so he just stood, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.”
That was when Sam spotted it. The sticky, pink syrup sat in the dispenser next to the half eaten pancake. He frowned, stopping suddenly. When you noticed his absence you turned and asked him what was wrong.
Sam watched the man leave through the slats in the blinds. “That guy has maple syrup for the last 100 tuesdays, now all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?
“It’s a free country, Sammy. A man can’t choose his own syrup now? What have we become?”
“Not in this diner.” Sam shook his head. “Not today.”
“Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. “ Dean told you. “Except us.”
~
The two brothers nearly lost their shit when they woke up again, but by the time they had suffered through the morning routine and had reached the diner they had come up with a plan.
There were no conversations during breakfast. The pair left you to ponder over your own thoughts after mentioning the idea of a time loop. Any of your questions went unanswered as they stared down the man, jumping into action when he rose, pushing the stool out with an ear splitting squeal and making his way to the parking lot.
Dean gripped the man firmly, forcing him against the fence by the scruff of his neck and silencing his protests. “We know who you are. Or should I say what?”
You watched very confused from the side.
“Oh my god-” the man begged, wide eyed. “Please don’t kill me!”
“Uh, Boys-”
“It took us a hell of a long time, but we got it.” Sam seethed.
“What?!”
“It’s your M.O that gave you away.” He continued. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just deserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”
“Yeah. Sure. Okay! Just put the stake down!” He pleaded, side eyeing the weapon that Sam pressed to his neck. Sam refused to move.
“Sammy, maybe you should-”
“No!” He yelled at you. The tone of his voice was so unexpected for Sam that you recoiled. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops- In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god.”
“You’d have to be a trickster.” Dean spat.
“Misters…” The man pleaded shakily with tears in his eyes “My name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia- I’ve got two kids! For crying out loud I sell ad space!”
“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” Sam shouted into his face.
“We’ve killed one of your kind before.”
There was a heavy paused before the grey hair and wrinkles on the man before you morphed into the all familiar face of the trickster you and your brothers had run into not too long ago.
He smirked and your brothers’ faces dropped. “Actually, you didn’t.”
“Why are you doing this? Why her!?” Sam pressed, digging the stake into his neck.
“You’re kidding?” The trickster replied “You all tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make you three suffer.”
“So this is funny to you? Killing her over and over again?” Dean gritted his teeth.
“One- yes, it is fun. And two -this is so not about killing Y/N. This joke is on you two. I mean… come on. How great has it been to watch you to see her being torn apart again and again. Watching your sister die everyday. Forever.”
“You son of a bitch.”
The trickster smiled. “How long will it take you to realise you can’t save your sister, no matter what.”
“Oh yeah? We kill you, this ends now.” Sam growled.
“Woah. Okay, look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll be wednesday. I swear.”
“You're lying. “
He shrugged. “If I am, you know where to find me.”
~
“But you better promise me, I’ll be back in time-”
Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he… made a double take. The small three letter panel now read ‘WED’
Sam couldn’t contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “It’s wednesday!”
“Yeah…?” You said from across the room where you were rummaging though your bag. “Which usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that crap off, would you?” you asked him.
“No. Leave it on.” Dean interjected. He agreed with Sam. If he heard Asia one more time he was going to kill himself. “Isn’t that the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”
“...No. Jesus, how many Tuesdays did you guys have?”
“You don’t wanna know.” Dean sighed. “Wait..what do you remember.”
“I remember you two being pretty whacked out yesterday. And then i remember running into the trickster. S’bout it really.”
“Right. Whatever. Lets get out of here.” Sam said as he pulled on a shirt.
“What? No breakfast?” You asked, slightly upset that you were going to miss out on the diner food you had quite enjoyed yesterday.
“No breakfast.”
~
Sam and Dean were still inside when they heard it. The unmistakable pop of a gun being fired. You were outside loading the last of your things into Baby and-
Sam's heart sank.
“Y/N!” He cried, dropping what he was doing and racing down the stairs towards you.
The offender fled the moment the gunshot had sounded and your two brothers could see him rounding the corner, but their concern was on you, sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood.
They shook you, crying out your name but you didn’t move. Your heart had stopped beating.
“No. This isn’t supposed to happen today.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, only to nearly cry when he opened them again and you were still lying lifelessly in his brothers clutch. “We’re supposed to wake up.”
And then, he began to cry.
Part 2 may be coming…I’ll add it to my to do list
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. ;)
Ted, but he’s one of The Boys…did I cook, guys?
MC: Bro-
Sylus: No, no, hold up, rewind.
Sylus: My tongue was down in your throat just a second ago and now you're calling me bro??
Found this quote and it suits this one SOOOO BAD.
Bucky Barnes incorrect quotes P.2
—————————————————Bucky: She's the girl of my dreams! Sam: You say every girl is the girl of your dreams.
Bucky: I have a lot of dreams.
————————————————— Bucky, barging in: Syphilis! Y/n:
Bucky:
Y/n: Pardon?
—————————————————
Steve: How is the most beautiful person in the world? Sam: *blushing* I—
Y/n, butting into the conversation:Bucky is perfect, thanks for asking.
—————————————————
Y/n: I don’t even use tubberware anymore. Bucky: What are you saying? Say it again.
Y/n: Tubberware.
Bucky: Say it again. Slow.
Y/n: Tubberware.
Bucky: Slow, very slow - actually, say the first syllable. Y/n: Tub.
Bucky: Wrong.
Y/n: What do you mean, wrong?
Bucky: I thought I caught that. You’re saying tub. It’s P.
Y/n: What are you talking about?
Bucky: Tupperware. Tupper.
Y/n: It’s tupper!
Bucky: It’s tupper, always has been, always will be.
Y/n: I thought it was tubberware because it kind of looks like a tub
—————————————————
Steve: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco. Sam: My life is a little too much fall and not enough boy.
Bucky: My life is a little too much chemical and not enough romance.
Y/n: My life is a little too much imagination and not nearly enough dragons.
—————————————————
Bucky: I’m gonna die alone. Y/n: Bucky, you’re not gonna die alone.
Bucky: Steve, was my safety net, okay? They got married and now I have to get a snake.
Sam: Uh-huh. Why is that?
Bucky: If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face.
Bucky: So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Man With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake man.
Bucky: Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE MAN!
—————————————————
Y/n: What’s your body count? Bucky: Do you mean sex or murder?
—————————————————
Bucky: I love you. Y/n: Me too.
—————————————————
Bucky: What are you eating? Y/n: You wouldn't like it, it's really salty.
Bucky: I like you, don't I?
—————————————————
Bucky: Y/n, my old friend! Y/n: I think you tried to kill me at some point.
Bucky: That was obviously just my way of getting to know you.
This is such a good drawing. I could never 😭
Introducing you all to my favorite OC that started out as a lost boys oc Sawyer "Steele" Henderson. He's the singer/bassist of his glam metal band Virtue of Crimson.
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"Writing's hard.""There only noodles, Micheal."HUGE FANDOM HOPPER!
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