When a group of hunters murdered your pack, you thought you lost everything. Somehow, the murder capitol of the world becomes your salvation.
Poly!LostBoys x gender neutral werewolf!Reader
AN: This is my first time posting a fic on here, so I wasn't sure how long to make part 1! I have more planned out, so please let me know if you want to be added to a taglist! Thanks so much for reading <3.
One of the reasons werewolves are so difficult to kill is that in human form, they go completely undetected; their nature to hunt in packs also means suicide for individual hunters. That's why, on the night of the New Moon when werewolves are at their weakest, no one expected a group of hunters to attack.
When I returned home from picking up a last-minute shift, I saw the aftermath. I smelt the aftermath. I could taste the disgusting tang of silver and gore on the air where without mercy to any of them they shot and shot and shot and—a branch snapped nearby.
I fled without looking back.
———————————————————————
For once in their un-lives, the cave was silent. Not the silence of mischief, nor the silence of tension before David lost his cool. This was the silence of four boys who thought they had been around long enough to forget the bone-ache of grief. Four boys who had dragged their broken bodies home, unable to even lick their wounded pride. Max was dead. The man who saved them and doomed them was dead and they no longer felt that pulling control to obey. They no longer felt the permeant caress in the back of their minds that meant there was always someone there for them. Silently, each unclaimed vampire slinked back into the shadows, feeling more alone than they have ever been.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!," Marko's screech bounced from the cave entrance. As the newest fledgling, he still struggled sometimes with staying asleep all day. Thus, he was the first to stumble upon the fresh body of a man facedown just outside, the remaining boys appearing immediately behind after the first sign of distress.
With a nudge of his food against the limp shoulder, Paul shrugged, "I bet a few too many beers close to the cliff's edge." He moved in to take a bite. Dwayne, who had crouched down to investigate shook his head, "No, look," he gestured to the sliver of neck visible from above, "claws to the throat."
“A BEAR!?”
“Yeah, one clean slice across the throat, definitely a bear, Marko ” Paul snarked, smacking said man of the back of the head.
As Paul roasted the pouting Marko, David and Dwayne gave each other the same suspicion look: if it wasn’t an animal, what—or more importantly, who—left a murdered body on their doorstep.
But was it a threat? Or something else entirely?
———————————————————————
I knew something had gone terribly wrong the second I was greeted for my morning shift, not by the sight of an empty video-store, but by a despondent Thorn lain across the doormat. With daylight rising above, I knew Max was currently unprotected, which meant either Thorn decided to take a vacation... or there was no one left to protect. Judging by the tone of despair in his whine, it had to be the latter. I quietly unlocked the door and curled up on the floor, Thorn’s head on my lap.
The last time you were in this position, the roles were reversed: You remember the ache in your limbs and stomach from running for days without stopping for food, afraid of the hunters not far behind. All you knew was that once you were able to blend into a crowd, the men would lose the trail. Stealing a car would draw too much attention and shifting to hunt would be too risky. Your only option was to run. But, there was only so long you could make it on your own: lost, tired, and grieving. So it was a miracle that when you collapsed in a state park outside of Santa Carla, instead of being shot in your sleep by a silver bullet, you woke to the concerned licks of a hell hound.
Soon after, Santa Carla's video store gained a new daytime manager, quickly trusted with a key to the store. Although you only worked together for a few hours in the evening, you learned a lot about the area (from the best restaurants to the best locations to find victims whose absences won't be noticed) and, more importantly, about Max's four "sons". Every story of the boys left you either agape at the stupid shit they got up to or having to lean against the counter to stop from falling over from laughter. However, no matter how many times he asked, you couldn't bring yourself to say more than a few words about your pack your old pack, aside from the frantic ravings the night Max found you. Yet, even though you gave him so little information about yourself, he never seemed hesitant to extend trust your way. A few months into working, you decided to brave asking him why. His usually goofy smile turned serious.
"Because," he paused. "You remind me of my boys before I saved them: lost…alone. They'll like you, if you stick around long enough one of these nights for me to properly introduce you. Paul won't shut up about letting seeing 'the bitchin' new store girl' that keeps running out before he can 'pick her up'," he rolled his eyes. "Back to my point, us…uh--those of us who are different need to stick together." His smile then turned sharp, a reminder that despite his facade, his power was not to be forgotten. "And, since you aren't an Alpha, you pose no threat to our territory. Right, pup?" You shivered under his gaze, which suddenly snapped to something over your shoulder, "Speak of the little devils…"
You both watched as the aforementioned rowdy boys made their way in, taking this as your cue to go. David smirked as you accidentally met his eyes, Paul pouted as you turned from him, Dwayne silently watched, and Marko unsubtly checked out your ass as you passed by on your way out the door. Max turned to greet the crying young boy and anxious looking woman entering the store, "This boy seems to be lost…"
Seeing the chemistry between Lucy and Max evolve over the next few weeks was sweet. So sweet you pushed for them both to take the night off. It didn't take much insisting—Max trusted you and was honestly grateful to be able to spend time with her outside of work. That, and you could handle yourself. That is, until a group of dickhead surfers decided Max's absence meant the video store was unprotected.
Shit, the way things are going, racial slurs, racist jokes, and the N word have become socially acceptable too. The bar, already in hell, has gone lower and still!
⋆˙⟡♡ PAIRING ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Poly!Lost boys x fem reader ۶𖹭ৎ
⋆ ˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ You're wrapping up a bad shift when your eerie fang-teethed, leather clad protectors wander in, and you receive some much needed comfort.
⋆˙⟡♡ AUTHORS NOTE ˚୨୧⋆ @i-heart-slashers this was very much inspired by 'For our girl'! So giving credits for my inspo there :] if you haven't please check their blog and fics out, they've definitely thrown me back into my slasher fixation!
✧ ⁺ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ implied verbal/sexual harassment towards reader from rude customers, possessiveness, implied murder at the end, tension.
☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆
Today has been horrible.
You've been holding back tears all throughout your late lunch shift. Forcing watery eyed smiles. Ducking back into the kitchen to wipe your waterline with the hem of your apron before braving the onslaught of pushy, demanding customers.
The day had started out average enough. Weaving in and out taking orders and making milkshakes, balancing trays of fries and burgers, and stacking the orders on your little clipboard.
But then someone screeches complaints about there being tomatoes in their burger- right after insisting that they must have plenty of tomatoes in their burger. You could only listen with a slack jaw and wide eyes as they throw insults at you, unsure on what to say before uttering a shaky apology. Knowing that your boss's eyes were sternly plastered on you, shaking their head in disapproval.
And then some old creep grabs your ass as you walk by a table, just trying to serve a few ice-cream sundaes. What's worse is that his wife bitterly glares at you and throws insults at your 'skimpy' uniform. That you brought it on yourself and that you've ruined their date night. You had to hold your tongue and refrain from dumping the melting sundaes over both of their heads.
Today has just not been your day.
Thankfully the diner was empty now- the last few stragglers now homebound. Their leftover bags full, and their wallets a little emptier.
The sun had settled on the ocean horizon, leaving only streetlights and shop signs to illuminate the night. Gulls cawed and ocean waves crashed in the hazy distance, music jingling from the lit up 50s stereo in the corner.
Whilst wiping down the last counter top, the bell from the entrance door chimes, and you sigh tiredly. Please just order a milkshake. The cooks are gone now. I really don't want to have anymore social interaction anymore than necessary please. I just want to lock up and hide in my bed.
David- all trouble wrapped up in black leather and bleached white hair strides in first. Slow and confident, a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He looks at you and smiles. That soft, possessive, fond smile.
"Still open?".
They all file in one after another, Dwayne coming in last with a hand clasped upon Paul's shoulder. The two speak quietly to one another before falling silent, their glinting eyes settling on you.
The wild-haired blonde waggles his fingers in a wave with a bright smile, whilst the dark brunette looks you over. His brows furrow slightly at the glassiness in your eyes. He can feel something is wrong, you look like you've been crying. His jaw locks firmly, dark eyes set on you.
Paul idly drums the mustard and ketchup bottles on the counter top, whilst Marko wanders over to the stereo player. Closely inspecting the song choices. His hands tucked loosely in his colourful pockets.
David circles around you, finally turning away after staring so intensely to inspect the lights glimmering outside. Passing cars and fairground rides in the distance shrieking in the night sky.
They're idling around, waiting for you to finish up. You've wiped the last table down now, tossing the damp rag in the cleaners bucket.
Except for Dwayne.
Instead, he walks up to you. Standing so closely you can smell the leather of his jacket over the scent of cleaning chemicals.
"What's wrong?". Dwayne mutters softly, ducking down a little to look at you. A veil of dark hair falling down his shoulder. The softness in his eyes and the sincerity of his voice breaks you.
Your lip wobbles before you can speak, and a half whimper escapes you.
The boys heads perk up at the sound. Expressions ranging from startled to stern.
"Shit, sweetheart". Paul coos, abandoning the condiment bottles to eagerly cup your face to make you face him. His thumb brushes over the corner of your wobbly pouting lips. Catching the stray tear running down your cheek.
"Did something happen?".
You sniffle, desperate to get a hold of yourself.
"s'nothing. Just a shitty day. Shitty customers".
"Talk to us about it". Marko chimes in, his hand reaching to supportively touch your back. His touch is steadying and warm.
"It's stupid". You force out a little laugh, not entirely genuine. "Some lady complained about tomatoes after asking for extra tomatoes".
Marko makes a face, and you laugh again. Sincere this time.
"It was bad though because my boss saw and didn't know the context. He just saw me getting yelled at by a 'dissatisfied customer'. I can't lose this job, I just can't. He probably thinks I'm a bad worker".
Your voice warbles weakly, failing to sound steady and blaze.
"That's definitely not true babe. You're the best. No-one else could whip up the finest malts in Santa carla other than you, I can attest to that".
You smile a little, a soft shaky giggle leaving you.
But a fresh wave of embarrassment and upset washes over you at the other memory, and you rub tiredly at your sore eyes.
"And then some asshole grabbed me and his wife blamed me".
They all pause and tense. The energy in the room is now icy cold and tense.
"He touched you?". Dwayne mutters in a low growl. They all bristle, expressions darkening.
You wipe the stray tears off your face, and they collectively melt.
"Don't worry. It's gonna be ok, yeah? You've got us looking out for you". Marko murmurs comfortingly against your ear as he takes you into a firm embrace. Arms locking loosely around you, his finger gloved hands locked, swaying you slightly in the hug. His nose in your neck, breathing calmly.
Whimpering a soft 'thank you', you hide your face in his shoulder. Sparkly fish bait tassels tickle your cheek as your fingers tangle in his curls of gold locks.
David's fingertips brush along your jaw, his touch possessive and confident and gentle. You let him guide your face to look at him, fixed by his stare.
"You're gonna have a good day tomorrow. We promise". David whispers firmly. His voice is breathy and sincere, if not a little eerie. The way he says it makes you feel like you can believe him, for the better or the worst.
It's comforting nonetheless, and you duck your face against his shoulder for a quick hug. His arm fastens around you, squeezing firmly and rubbing your back before letting you go. His eyes still on you, looking over your disheveled state, his jaw tensing. He doesn't like seeing you upset. Not like this. Not his girl.
"I'll take you home". Dwayne whispers against your ear, pressing a comforting kiss behind it. You shudder, breath hitching in your throat, a pleasant warmth tingling over your skin. It feels like a promise. A claim.
With his leather and leopard print clad arm around you, you miss the look he shares with David, who only nods in approval.
The bell chimes for the last time tonight as you lock it behind you, the building now falls in silence and darkness. Dwayne's arm is still loosely nestled around your waist whilst the other boys hop down to their bikes, parting ways with you. Paul nestles his nose against your temple, inhaling the scent of your hair with a breathy groan before bidding you a goodnight. Marko smiles reassuringly at you, his cherub face and gold curls hiding the tension inside him. The tension to eat. Kill.
David and him share a look, before he utters a soft murmur of your name and a 'goodnight'.
Dwayne takes you, as promised. Saddled behind him on his bike. They watch you both depart into the night before turning to the sound of the boardwalk, a cruel glint shining in their eyes.
David's lips curl into a predatory smile. Eyes glinting in the streetlights and neon signs.
"You got their scents Marko?".
The blonde sniffs, finding a trace of a man's scent leading off towards the beach. Embracing you was good for more than just comfort, he could smell them on you.
"Sure do David". Marko smirks, playful and dark. They all chuckle, satisfied.
𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜. “You’re burning up, siren,” David murmurs against your throat, his cool lips a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from your skin. “Let us take care of you.” Dwayne’s strong hands grip your hips, holding you steady as Paul’s teasing fingers trail lower, while Marko’s wild grin promises chaos. “We’ll make it good,” Paul whispers, voice thick with hunger. “All four of us… we’ll give you everything you need until you’re screaming our names louder than any crowd on the boardwalk.”
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Explicit sexual content (group sex/threesome+, polyamory, multiple partners), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, simultaneous partners, manhandling, possessive behavior, praise, dirty talk, breast worship, body worship, biting/grazing (vampire themes, no heavy blood play), power dynamics with dominance undertones (consensual), vampire seduction and feeding implications, scent marking themes, alcohol references, strong language, etc…
The air was thick with the scent of salt, sweat, and cheap perfume, the ocean’s roar a distant hum beneath the screech of electric guitars and the thump of bass from the open-air stage as the Santa Carla boardwalk pulsed with life under the kaleidoscope of neon lights.
The boardwalk was the beating heart of the city’s nightlife, a haven for rebels, dreamers, and those who thrived in the shadows.
Among them was The Lost Boys, the hottest rock band to ever tear through Santa Carla’s underground scene. David, the enigmatic frontman with a voice like whiskey and sin; Dwayne, the brooding bassist with eyes that could burn through your soul; Paul, the wild-child guitarist whose riffs were as reckless as his grin; and Marko, the drummer whose frenetic energy could make the crowd lose themselves entirely.
They weren’t just a band—they were a phenomenon. Their music was raw, primal, dripping with danger and desire, and their shows were more like rituals, drawing crowds that screamed their names like they were gods.
Rumors swirled about them: that they never aged, that they vanished after gigs, that their music could make you feel things you didn’t know you could feel. The truth was darker, more intoxicating. They were vampires, bound by blood and hunger, and the stage was their hunting ground.
Across town, another band was clawing its way to the top. Midnight Sirens was fronted by you, a singer whose voice was both a weapon and a caress, weaving melodies that could break hearts and ignite souls.
Your band was the underdog, gritty and unpolished, but your raw talent and unapologetic stage presence had the scene buzzing. You were a force, all fire and defiance, with a leather jacket that clung to your curves and eyes that held secrets of their own.
The Sirens were the antithesis of The Lost Boys’ polished chaos—your music was rebellion, your lyrics a middle finger to the world. And tonight, you were headlining the same festival, pitted against the untouchable kings of Santa Carla’s rock scene.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸.
The festival was electric, the crowd a sea of leather, studs, and teased hair. The Lost Boys had just finished their set, David’s voice still echoing in the air like a lover’s whisper as the crowd roared.
You watched from the wings, arms crossed, your heart pounding—not from nerves, but from the way David’s eyes had locked onto yours mid-song, a smirk curling his lips as if he knew something you didn’t. Dwayne had caught your gaze too, his fingers lingering on the bass strings, his stare heavy and unyielding. Paul had blown you a kiss from the stage, all cocky charm, while Marko’s wild grin as he tossed his drumsticks into the crowd felt like a challenge.
They were trouble, and you knew it. But you weren’t one to back down.
Your set was next, and you stormed the stage like you owned it. Your voice was a siren’s call, raw and sultry, pulling the crowd into your orbit. You sang of freedom, of desire, of breaking every rule the world tried to chain you with. The lyrics were your truth, and every note was a defiance of the shadow The Lost Boys cast over the scene.
You felt their eyes on you—David’s calculating, Dwayne’s intense, Paul’s playful, Marko’s wild. They were in the VIP section now, lounging like predators, their presence a weight you couldn’t ignore.
When your set ended, the crowd was yours, screaming your name as you left the stage, sweat-slicked and buzzing with adrenaline. You didn’t expect them to be waiting for you backstage.
“Nice show, siren,” David drawled, leaning against a speaker, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His platinum hair gleamed under the dim lights, and his leather coat made him look like he’d stepped out of a fever dream. “Didn’t think anyone could steal our thunder.”
You smirked, wiping sweat from your brow. “Maybe you’re not as untouchable as you think.”
Paul laughed, slinging an arm around Marko, who was practically vibrating with energy. “Oh, she’s got fire,” Paul said, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I like that.”
Dwayne didn’t speak, but his gaze pinned you in place, dark and unreadable. You felt it like a touch, a slow burn that made your skin prickle. Marko, meanwhile, was circling you like a shark, his grin all teeth. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?” he said, voice low and teasing. “Good. We like trouble.”
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝘂𝗹𝗹.
The rivalry should’ve kept you apart, but the pull was undeniable. It started with late-night run-ins at dive bars, their band and yours trading barbs and drinks until the lines blurred. David would lean too close, his voice a velvet challenge as he critiqued your lyrics, daring you to push harder. Dwayne would sit silently, but his hand would brush yours when he passed you a drink, the contact lingering just long enough to make your breath catch. Paul was all flirtation, his arm around your shoulders, whispering filthy promises in your ear that made you laugh even as your cheeks flushed. Marko was chaos, pulling you into impromptu dances in empty parking lots, his hands on your hips, his laughter infectious.
You knew they were dangerous, but you weren’t exactly safe yourself. You’d clawed your way up in a world that didn’t want you to succeed, and their darkness called to the part of you that thrived on rebellion. They started showing up at your gigs, front row, their presence a silent claim.
The crowd noticed, whispering about the tension between The Lost Boys and Midnight Sirens. The tabloids ate it up, calling it a feud, but it was something else entirely—something hungrier.
One night, after a gig at a seedy club on the boardwalk, they invited you to their loft, a sprawling, dilapidated space above an abandoned theater. The air was thick with the scent of incense and leather, the walls plastered with tour posters and half-finished lyrics. You should’ve said no, but curiosity, and something deeper, pulled you in.
David poured you a drink, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you the glass. “You’re not like the others,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “You don’t just sing. You feel it. Like us.”
You raised an eyebrow, sipping the whiskey. “Flattery won’t make me go easy on you at the next festival.”
He chuckled, stepping closer, his body radiating heat despite the coolness of his skin. “I don’t want you to go easy. I want you to burn.”
Dwayne appeared at your side, silent as ever, but his hand found the small of your back, a possessive touch that sent a shiver through you. “You’re not afraid of us,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Why?”
You met his gaze, unflinching. “Because I’m not afraid of anything.”
Paul’s laugh broke the tension, and he sprawled across a couch, patting the space beside him. “Come on, siren. Sit with us. Let’s see how fearless you really are.”
Marko was behind you now, his breath warm against your neck. “Or we could play,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm. “You like games, don’t you?”
The air crackled with tension, their eyes on you, predatory and adoring all at once. You should’ve run, but you didn’t. You wanted this, wanted them.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁.
It wasn’t just one moment that sealed it; it was a thousand small ones. Stolen kisses in dark alleys after shows, David’s lips cold and commanding against yours. Dwayne’s hands, strong and steady, are pulling you close during a midnight ride on his motorcycle, the wind whipping through your hair. Paul’s teasing touches, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh as you laughed over cheap beer. Marko’s wild energy, pinning you against a wall backstage, his kisses all heat and hunger.
They weren’t just falling for you—they were consuming you, and you them. But there was a secret they hadn’t shared, a truth that lingered in the way their eyes glowed under the moonlight, in the way they never seemed to tire, in the faint coppery tang on their breath.
One night, at the loft, they told you. David’s voice was steady, his hand cupping your face as he explained what they were—vampires, creatures of the night, bound to blood and eternity. Dwayne stood behind you, his hands on your shoulders, grounding you. Paul and Marko watched, their usual playfulness replaced by something solemn, almost reverent.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” David said, his thumb brushing your lips. “We’d never hurt you.”
You weren’t afraid. You were alive, your heart pounding with the thrill of it. They offered you a choice: stay human, stay with them, or join them in the dark. You didn’t answer right away, but the way you pulled David into a kiss, the way you let Dwayne’s hands roam, the way you laughed as Paul and Marko crowded close, told them everything they needed to know.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘁.
The first time you gave in entirely, it was like a song: wild, chaotic, and perfect. The loft was dark, lit only by candles and the glow of the boardwalk lights through the windows. David’s hands were everywhere, his kisses a slow burn that left you gasping. Dwayne was a quiet storm, his touch reverent but possessive, his lips trailing fire down your neck. Paul was all play, his laughter mixing with your moans as he teased you mercilessly. Marko was relentless, his energy a whirlwind that pulled you under, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.
They worshipped you, each in their own way, their hands and lips mapping every inch of you. It was overwhelming, the way they moved together, a perfect harmony of desire and hunger. You were their muse, their siren, their equal, and they made you feel it in every touch, every whispered word.
The air was heavy with heat as you sank into the plush velvet of the loft’s oversized couch, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced across their pale skin. David’s lips found yours, his kiss deep and commanding, tasting of whiskey and something darker, something that made your pulse race. His hands slid under your shirt, cool fingers tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him, your legs straddling his hips. “You’re ours,” he growled against your mouth, his voice a velvet blade that cut through your defenses.
Dwayne’s hands were on your shoulders, sliding down to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your top, his touch firm yet reverent. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear, his breath hot as he murmured, “Let us have you.” His fingers teased your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you, and you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.
Paul was at your side, his grin wicked as he tugged your shirt over your head, tossing it aside with a flourish. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said, his voice rough with want. His hands roamed your thighs, parting them as he knelt between your legs, his lips trailing kisses up the inside of your thigh, teasingly close to where you ached for him. He nipped at your skin, not enough to break it but enough to make you gasp, your hips bucking toward him.
Marko was behind you, his chest pressed against your back, his hands slipping under your skirt to find the heat between your legs. “So ready for us,” he purred, his fingers brushing against your core, teasing through the thin barrier of your underwear. His touch was relentless, circling and stroking until you were trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He kissed the nape of your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to hint at the danger beneath his playfulness.
“You’re burning up, siren,” David murmurs against your mouth, his cool lips a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from your skin. “Let us take care of you.” Dwayne’s strong hands grip your hips, holding you steady as Paul’s teasing fingers trail lower, while Marko’s wild grin promises chaos. “We’ll make it good,” Paul whispers, voice thick with hunger. “All four of us… we’ll give you everything you need until you’re screaming our names louder than any crowd on the boardwalk.”
David pulled back, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light as he watched you unravel under their hands. “Tell us what you want, siren,” he said, his voice a low command that sent a thrill through you.
“You,” you gasped, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him back to your lips. “All of you.”
They didn’t hesitate. Dwayne’s hands lifted you slightly, sliding your skirt and underwear down your legs, leaving you bare and vulnerable under their gazes. Paul’s mouth found your core, his tongue flicking against you with a skill that made your vision blur, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Marko’s fingers joined in, slipping inside you, curling just right as he whispered filthy praises in your ear, his voice a dark melody that made you clench around him.
David’s hands guided your hips, rocking you against Paul’s mouth, his own lips claiming yours in a kiss that was all hunger and possession. Dwayne’s fingers teased your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples until you were whimpering into David’s mouth, your body a live wire of sensation.
The pleasure built, a crescendo that had you trembling on the edge. Paul’s tongue was relentless, Marko’s fingers ruthless, Dwayne’s touch grounding, and David’s kisses consuming. You came apart with a cry, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy rolled through you, their hands and lips guiding you through it, drawing out every shudder, every moan.
They didn’t stop. Paul kissed his way up your body, his lips slick and warm as he claimed your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him. Dwayne’s hands turned you, positioning you on your knees, his chest pressed against your back as he entered you slowly, his size stretching you until you were gasping, clinging to David’s shoulders. Dwayne’s thrusts were deep, deliberate, each one driving you higher, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your heart race.
Marko was in front of you now, his pants discarded, his arousal evident as he guided your hand to him, his grin wild as you stroked him, his moans low and guttural. Paul’s hands were in your hair, guiding your mouth to him, his breath hitching as you took him in, your lips and tongue working him until he was cursing under his breath, his hips jerking.
David watched it all, his hand stroking himself as he murmured commands, his voice a dark symphony that tied it all together. “Look at you,” he said, his eyes burning. “Our perfect siren, taking us all.”
The rhythm built, their touches and thrusts a perfect harmony, your body singing under their hands. Dwayne’s pace quickened, his grip tightening as he drove you toward another peak. Marko’s moans grew louder, his hands tangling in your hair as he neared his own release. Paul’s curses were a litany of need, his hips bucking as you brought him closer. David’s hand pulled your free one, guiding you, his own breath ragged as he watched you unravel again.
You came together, a collision of pleasure and heat, your cries mingling with theirs as you shattered, Dwayne’s release hot inside you, Marko and Paul spilling with groans that echoed in the loft. David pulled you to him, his own release painting your skin as he kissed you, claiming you in the aftermath.
They held you close as you caught your breath, their hands gentle now, stroking your skin, whispering praises. “I knew you were ours,” David murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl that sent heat pooling in your core.
Dwayne’s hands tightened on your hips, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re everything.”
Paul’s grin was wicked as he kissed his way down your spine, his fingers dancing across your skin. “Our little rebel.”
Marko’s laugh was wild, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all teeth and fire. “Sing for us, siren.”
And you did, not with words, but with gasps and moans, your body singing a melody only they could hear.
The Eternity.
The rivalry between The Lost Boys and Midnight Sirens became legend, but the truth was more complicated. On stage, you were fire and ice, trading barbs through lyrics and stealing the crowd’s devotion. Off stage, you were theirs, and they were yours. The boardwalk whispered about the chemistry, the way you’d linger after shows, the way their eyes followed you like you were the only thing in the world.
You hadn’t chosen eternity yet, but every night, they tempted you closer. David’s promises of power, Dwayne’s quiet vows of protection, Paul’s teasing lures of freedom, Marko’s wild dreams of chaos, they were a song you couldn’t stop singing.
One night, as the moon hung low over the ocean, you stood on the boardwalk, the four of them around you, their presence a shield and a challenge. The crowd roared in the distance, chanting for an encore, but you were here, in this moment, with them.
“What’s it gonna be, siren?” David asked, his voice soft but sharp, his eyes searching yours.
You looked at them—David’s intensity, Dwayne’s steadiness, Paul’s mischief, Marko’s fire, and you smiled, slow and sure. “I’m already yours,” you said. “But I’m not done rocking yet.”
They laughed, pulling you close, their hands and lips a promise of forever. The boardwalk glittered below, the music never stopping, and you knew, whatever came next, you’d face it with them—your band, your boys, your eternity.
How very depressing that Neil Gaiman had trended not even a tiny bit for demonstrating what a fucking horrific person he is.
As a reminder, he's suing Caroline Wallner, one of his accusers, for breaking her NDA. Not for libel. He's saying she shouldn't have told anyone about it, not that she lied.
The author says Wallner broke her NDA by sharing her story with the media, including with New York Magazine.
He doesn't need the money. He's risking the Streisand effect. He is punishing Caroline, he's trying to intimidate other victims who have signed NDAs to scare them into continued silence.
He is no friend to women, to the LGBTQIA+ community, to anyone quite frankly unless he thinks they are of value to him.
Share the story. Put it on Facebook and bluesky and whatever else you're on. Make it clear what a horrifying person he is. Tell your friends. He's paying Edendale a fortune to try and cover this up. Make this hard for him. Make it cost him money.
REMEMBER: you can´t break NDA by speaking out about something illegal. This??
Gaiman denied that he’d abused Wallner and told New York that it was she who had initiated their sexual encounters, but in 2021, Gaiman paid Wallner $275,000 in exchange for signing an extensive nondisclosure agreement that prevents her from suing Gaiman or telling anyone about her alleged experiences with him.
Has no legal basis whatsoever. This is bribing someone to keep them quiet and it's also a very typical way rich people hide their abuses, assuming their victims won't have the ability or knowledge to protect themselves. This is a textbook SLAPP suit. So yeah, she did nothing wrong, and fuck this loser.
people who are just finding out about internet tracking and data mining in the year 2025 and that your special robot friend does not respect your privacy lol
shatters the facade and endless light pours in. and endless light pours in. and endless light pours in.and endless light pours in.andendless light pours in.and endless light pours in.and endlesslight
I have very unfortunate news to share regarding @shesmycollaarr / @unlikecharlie. I just got off the phone with the Bucharest police and they confirmed that she was found dead on July 6th.
Charlie has been absolutely, indescribably wonderful to have known. She has been, and always will be, one of the sweetest people to have walked this earth and her memory will be a blessing to everyone who has had the privilege of knowing her.
I hope the afterlife is kind to her, and I hope she is reunited with her dearest friend in a paradise no less beautiful than her own heart and soul.
I didn’t know her for very long, but she absolutely touched my life with the kindness and inclusivity that overflowed from every post and conversation with her. Thank you, Charlie.
Hello friends, I'm Ayoush Crochet, and I'm also Ayoush trying to help my family.
Please donate
Hi, I'm Raven, and I'm running this campaign on behalf of my friend Ayoush. Any money raised will go to her in full. Please note the campaig
✅vetted by @el-shab-hussein✅ click here
✅vetted by gaza-evacuation-fund ✅
I'm here to tell you a few things. There are many haters and liars around, but I want to thank @el-shab-hussein who refuted all these false claims. However, You can follow up on this matter through this link click here
First, I'm the one who makes these crocheted pieces, and this is indeed the business card. You can see it on this page and contact me there as well. Click here
It was under our business name. But I lost the pieces and the business phone when my house was bombed.
That's why I'm here; I need your help and support. There are many hateful people here who wish us harm and genocide, but I'm striving for my dream and trying to help my family. These are some pieces of my work from before the war. I hope you can help and support us so we can continue living and alleviate our suffering.
Also, if you wish, you can follow the page on Instagram and view many more pieces of art.
Tldw; there is majority support in the European Parliament for a bill that would cover most of SKG's issues, and if passed this would bypass the decision of the Commission. There are also ongoing lawsuits in France and other places that would likely lead to some legislation. There is also a bill being worked on in California that wouldn't stop current games from being killed, but would stop future games from being killed
