emma's dark corner

19 | she/her | infj minors dni | 18+ only great reader | awful writer | quasi-intellectual

[theprosemuse]

Hi! I love your writing style and im also a big fan of the lost boys! Could you do another gn reader x david fic (with a lil poly in there because who am I kiddin', its all or nothing with them) with some angst and hurt comfort. It can be whatever flavor of angst you want

𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁, 𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ 𝒾 𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓉

a/n: i recognize that posting so close together is slightly psychpathic. i do not care :-D

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: the anniversary of a loved one's death sends you spiraling and one of your partners is there to catch you and to wipe your tears away.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: poly!lost boys x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1.9k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: death of a family member, visceral grieving, brief mention of mc death (doesn't happen), swearing, slight relationship conflict, so much grieving angst (that's the whole thing)

"I see a line of cars and they're all painted bla-ack."

Mick Jagger's voice echoed into the main cavern from a distant somewhere in the cave, near the roost where you'd been all night.

Paul pushed himself up from his seat on the couch, jumping up to pace the edge of the fountain. "Okay, listen, I like the Stones as much as the next guy, but not the same song forty fuckin' times."

"Forty-seven." Marko chimed in.

David didn't bother to look up from his book, the command clear even in his dry tone. "Leave them be."

"It's been three hours." Paul dragged his hands down his face. "Can't you just ask 'em to put on somethin' else?"

David snorted, kicking his legs over the arm of his well-loved wheelchair. "Yeah, sure. Then, I'll braid their hair, and we'll gab 'bout Morrissey."

He only smirked when Paul scoffed with indignation.

"You got a problem?" David fiddled with the strap on his glove. "You can deal with it."

"Today's hard for them." Dwayne called over his shoulder, smoking a fresh joint by the cave's entrance. "Cut 'em some slack."

"I've been cuttin' them slack. Now, my ears are about to bleed." Paul turned toward the direction of the blaring music. "How is it possible for me to hate this song?"

"Go tell 'em to cut it out." Marko shrugged from his spot on the floor, surrounded by a mess of buttons, patches, and chains. "It's our angel face. I'm sure they'll be nice about it. Understandin'."

His lies were punctuated by a shit-eating grin that had David letting out a bark of laughter, but Paul seemed to ignore the obvious lying, anyhow.

"Y'know what? It's me. They love me." Paul nodded to himself, walking deeper into the cavern towards the roost.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Marko looked at his other two partners. "What's the over-under on him getting his ass handed to him?"

Dwayne called back, "They're not an animal."

"A minute and a half." David answered with no hesitation.

"I give him one," Marko snickered.

Paul returned two minutes after he'd left, stepping slowly back into the cavern with a look of surprised defeat.

Marko chuckled as the familiar sitar notes signaled a new playthrough of your song. "Didn't do well, I take it?"

"They threw a hairbrush." Paul's hand rose to pointed to his unharmed orbital bone. "At my face."

David just snorted, "Don't say I didn't warn you. And, you" he glanced at Marko, "owe me."

Dwayne stood, stubbing out the barely cindering roach of his joint. "I'll go talk to 'em."

Paul raised two fingers for a half-hearted salute, "Godspeed, brave soldier."

"Don't be nervous." Marko called at Dwayne's retreating back. "They can smell fear."

They ought to have given him more credit. He lasted four minutes.

David could only sigh. It seemed as though Paul's problem would have to be his problem. ___

Your spot in the roost was, first of all, barely a roost.

One of the few things that remained of your humanity, your fear of falling, hadn't been kicked quite yet. So, when you realized that you couldn't bring yourself to sleep with the boys, you improvised.

A curtain rod, stuck between the rock and rubble, was just high enough for you to hang comfortably. It was the shortest fall to the floor, at least. And, that was where David found you, upended and eyes half-lidded with your stereo right next to your ear.

You mumbled. "Please, don't talk."

His voice reverberated in your mind, eyes unblinking as they stared into yours. That's fine. I won't talk.

"Not what I meant," you grumbled, eyes peeling open as you got down from the roost to sit on the ground.

He stared at you, and you stared back. The silence filled the gap about as well as a chasm.

"I didn't mean to be mean to Paul and Dwayne," you said, looking down at your hands as you picked at your fingernails. Sitting under his gaze made you feel like you were in the principal's office. "Paul just wouldn't stop talking, and Dwayne tried to turn off the radio."

Radio's annoying, David conceded. But, I'm not here to scold you.

"Why don't you just go, then?" You furrowed your brows, shrinking into yourself.

He moved close and sat down next to you, shoulder barely touching yours as he rested his elbows on his knees. You shouldn't be alone, as much as you want to be, he answered.

You glanced upward, seeing his eyes still locked on your face. "I didn't say I wanted to talk either."

Didn't come for that, either.

"What do you want then, David?" You asked, exasperation masking the emotions under the surface. The ones behind the floodgate. "Because I'd rather you just leave me alone, if you're gonna be this way."

Let me in. It wasn't a command, even if it was phrased like one. That was easy to sense. It was an offer as much as it was a request. You don't have to hide from me.

Something bobbed at the back of your throat. "You don't want to see."

There's nothing in there that would frighten me. Nothing that would make me angry at you.

You watched as his face, sharp and unmoving, softened. "Nothing you don't already know, either," you answered back softly. "Are you sure?"

Always.

Before his mind closed in around yours, you were already moving toward him, shifting over to curl up in his lap.

His arm wound around your shoulder and the other cupped your face as your cheek rested against his chest.

Cold, pale, clammy skin. A counting of ribs. The flatline screaming in your ear. "Please, I can't see…" Your brother's hand clasping yours and slowly loosening. Screaming as your heart rips in two.

He retreated and you were sobbing before your mind was your own again.

"He-" You were interrupted by the sob that tore through you. "I still hear him, in my dreams. I-If I had gotten there sooner. If I had known-"

"Shh." He abandoned his hold on your thoughts, steeled against his own emotions while he helped you with yours. "He didn't want you to know. There was nothing you could've done."

You trembled, threading your fingers into his coat. "How can you know that? You can't."

To that, he was silent.

"A-and I get to go on living forever. That's really the worst part of it all." Your free hand worked fruitlessly to wipe the tears from your eyes. "I can't even die. I'll never see him again if I don't-"

"Stop," he interrupted, his grip on you tightening. "Don't say that. Don't think it."

You did as he asked, quiet as you shook against him. "I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm sorry." He sighed, resting his chin atop your head as his eyes fluttered shut. "You don't have to apologize, angel. It's just… that's not something I enjoy thinking about."

Your stomach churned at the idea. An eternity with your loves abruptly ended. The thought was more horrifying than sad.

"I… You know I love you." Mumbling it was easier than saying the obvious truth with your whole chest. "And the others."

"I do."

"I just miss him so much."

"I know, angel." His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping a stray tear away. He might've already known the answer, but he decided to ask anyway. "What was he like?"

"He was funny. He played the guitar really well. I didn't really see him for his last two years, but his boyfriend told me that he volunteered at the Y after he moved to New York. He was… the best." You replied without hesitation. "You would've liked him." A thought crossed your mind that made a laugh spill out. "He'd have hated you."

David scoffed, the sound more amused than anything else, "Is that so?"

"He didn't like people being overbearing," you clarified. "Or the idea of me doing, uh, anything. Anyone." You added the last bit under your breath.

David hummed appreciatively, nodding in agreement with the sentiment. "He'd be glad to know you loved him so much."

"I did."

A beat passed and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him in close. You breathed in his scent, smoke and leather and sea salt. It made your body relax.

"Thank you for asking about him." You murmured against his throat, pressing a kiss under his ear. A sense of satisfaction bloomed in your chest when he shivered at your touch.

"You don't have to thank me." He answered, fingers grazing the nape of your neck. "What you should do…" You pulled back and looked at him, waiting. "… is apologize to Paul."

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, averting your eyes as you reached across to turn your radio off.

"Then tell me exactly what it looked like when you nailed him in the face."

The loud laugh bubbled out of you, unrestrained, due to the sheer surprise at David making a joke. Hell must've been in the middle of freezing over.

"I'm serious. I'm jealous I didn't do it myself."

"I heard that!"

___

You did end up apologizing to Paul at the end of the night. Thoroughly. Many times. (He kept asking you to kiss his eye better, what else were you supposed to do?)

At David's suggestion, you dug out the photo album you'd had saved before you and your brother ran away from your old life.

After the required burning of your parents' photos, which was quite the delight, you flipped through the pages and showed them everything, surrounded by them as you sat on the floor.

"Aw, such a charmer." Marko pointed at a photo of you as a toddler, stood next to your brother who was wearing his brand-new kindergarten backpack. "A dollface since the very beginning."

"I have yogurt on my face." You scoffed, taking the picture out of the album's sleeve.

"Still charming."

"Damn, you were a looker." Paul leaned over you from his spot on the couch and plucked a photo of teenaged you from the album. Your quick shout of protest had him adding, "Still are!"

As you flipped the pages, you came across a photo from your brother's high school graduation. You'd thrown your arms around him from the picture, actions speaking more for your emotions than your expression, which was as neutral as his.

Time had stolen the smile from him, but his face was still round with childhood. You were lucky enough that your lovers had brought your smile back to you.

Your fingernail traced the line of his shoulder. "I wish he could be here."

"He is here." Dwayne spoke, his hand winding over your shoulder to rest atop your heart. "He'll always be there."

The sudden wash of feeling that came over you had you wanting to run from the tidal wave, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in the moment as the instinct made you lurch forward.

This time, though, you let yourself feel. There wasn't a safer place to feel earth-shattering grief than with your partners. Your devoted, frustrating, wonderful partners.

Sunrise came hours later, but not before you were gathered up by your boys and showered with more affection than you could take in at once. Your broken heart felt full, pieces picked up and stitched back together by their love.

a/n: (tldr- i hope you enjoyed, don't expect daily posts, please keep sending requests and commenting your thoughts!)

so, did i have a slight freakout when i got my first request? ...nooo, of course not, what? i totally didn't screech into my empty apartment... for about ten seconds. eh, i digress. i do hope you enjoyed and my writing lived up to your request. writing is what helps me process the difficult emotions that i'm feeling personally, and with the anniversary of my grandmother's death coming up, this was very cathartic. so, thank you for the request!

it's semi-crazy of me to respond to a request in less than 24 hours, but hey i'm crazy. i also had a little drabble of this already kinda written, so thankfully it didn't take super long! (seriously, i wouldn't expect daily posts, but i might just post the next request i got tomorrow because i've kinda been working on them both all day 😬 )

as i've said, requests are open, so please keep sending them!

thanks to @saradika-graphics for the divider!

[theprosemuse]

𝒹ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝓇𝒾𝓈ℯ

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: after a heated argument with the boys, you leave to stew in your own self-pity, but one of your partners refuses to let sleeping dogs lie.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: poly!lost boys x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1.7k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: relationship conflict(s), smoking, swearing, slightly toxic relationship (it's the lost boys y'all know what's up)

The pillow hugged against your chest didn't fill the empty space in your arms quite as well as the boys, but it'd have to do. At least it was cold like them.

The argument had been frivolous. A dead horse that continued to rise from the grave just to be beat.

Someone commented on how frequently you'd been disappearing. How many nights recently they'd spent without your company.

You'd answered back with a very tasteful and not-at-all snarky joke about how well they'd do as prison guards and a warden.

They hadn't liked that, and they made that especially clear with their overlapping shouts of protest.

The argument, eventually, metastasized into you storming off and declaring that you needed space.

And, they gave you space. Well, three of them did, for an entire night.

During your appropriately dramatic exit from the main cavern, you skulked away to one of the many small offshoots of the cave. Empty spaces carved into the rocks by what remained of the sunken hotel you called home.

You'd claimed it as your own private area when you were turned. No one else had bothered to clear out the dust and debris.

Your mysterious ways had worked wonders on the space, filling it with knicknacks and trinkets to your heart's content until the room was shiny and bright with color. (The boys were still unsure how you'd gotten a mattress inside the small entrance.)

Sleep was unable to find purchase in your busy brain, and you stared up at the mobile above your face, sea-glass glittering and brass keys clinking as it twirled from its strung-up position on the ceiling.

You weren't sure how long you'd been awake, staring. It was long enough that your eyes began to ache from the effort of keeping them open, crying out for you to just bite the bullet and sleep.

Something pulled at your mind, though, causing thoughts to race like a river crashing against a dam. It was exhausting, the desire to not let them win.

Well, there really wasn't any winning to be done, seeing as everyone was already hot and bothered and stuck in their ways like sticks in mud. You cursed the parts of their souls, however small, that were grumpy, geriatric men.

Your body began to win the fight against your mind, pulling your eyelids down as a hellish limbo, something like sleep, started to wash over you.

It was very abruptly interrupted.

"Good." His voice, which was unusually chipper, gave away his position in the doorway. Unfortunately, you couldn't be sure how long he'd been standing there. "You're still up."

"I wasn't about to be." You didn't bother to roll over onto your side and look at him. "Fuck off. Get back to your brooding, or whatever it is you do when you decide to be mad that I'm mad."

The mattress dipped down beside you, and David kicked off his boots as he stretched out. The thud echoed off the rocks.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not angry." His coat rustled as he pulled his arms out and draped it over your nightstand.

"Is that right? Well, I am." You turned over to face away from him. "Saying that you're not isn't going to make me any less mad."

"I just came to remind you of something you say all the time. Something about going to bed."

You heard the sound of his lighter clicking to life. "You listen and remember the things I say? How sweet."

A sharp pinch to your side had you swatting behind you, hand finding no purchase.

"There's no need for the hostility." He took a long drag from the freshly-lit cigarette. You smelled the smoke as it was blown in your direction.

You racked your brain for all the bedtime-related advice swirling around, of which there was a fair amount.

When you came up empty, you decided to take the bait anyway, against your better judgment, "What thing?"

"The thing," he repeated, as if his change in tone clarified everything perfectly. "I'm going to bed, and I'm not angry. You oughta be taking your own advice."

Don't go to bed angry. You did say that. Often, as a matter of fact, to Paul and Marko.

Hundreds of years of constant company from the same people could get… grating. The fights weren't at all frequent, but they could get vicious, at times.

You spouted the platitude at the two many times, when they both went off to sulk.

It sounded less appealing coming from David, who was staring back at you like he wasn't the King of Holding Grudges.

You pressed your face into the pillow under your head. "If that's how literally you're taking that, what I oughta do is stop playing 'Silver Springs' so loudly. You take those lyrics too literally, too."

"You play it a lot. Sound carries." He shrugged, cigarette resting between his lips. "You sound good singing when you're not screaming it."

You almost thanked him for the compliment, the reflex held back by biting your tongue. If he was trying to divert your attention, he was getting too damn close to succeeding.

Your jaw clenched, and you had to steel your nerves for your next words. "I don't want to have it out right now. I'm not forgiving anyone. I don't want to explain myself or try and defend myself like I'm in the wrong. And… and, I don't want to look at your stupid face."

You thought that you'd sounded serious enough to get him to drop it. You'd forgotten that, while he easily held grudges, he was also infinitely more patient than you'd ever be.

"Then, it's a good thing we're about to sleep. Don't have to look at anything." He stubbed out the cigarette.

You shot up to a sitting position, hands fisting in the sheets as you tried to hold back another explosion of rage.

"You think that waltzing in here and trying to call me out and whatever other bullshit you've conjured up is going to make me forgive you? When you haven't even said sorry? Y'know, David, I'm getting sick and tired of-"

The crash of his lips against yours silenced you, cutting off the sentence that he could've guessed the ending of.

He winded his hand against the curve of your neck, and you could feel your resolve slipping as his fingers tugged against the hairs at the nape of your neck. The way he knew you liked.

The sharp points of his fangs grazed your bottom lip, sending goosebumps prickling down your back. Your traitorous hand sought out his shoulder, trailing down to feel the muscle of his arm while your chest grew heavy with something. Not guilt, but not far from it, either.

When he finally released you, you looked only slightly less mad than before. "That's not saying sorry."

His hand didn't move. If anything, it pressed deeper into your skin.

"I can't apologize for telling you what I thought you needed to hear. What I think is right." He was as stoic as he always was, but you swore you could see tenderness lurking behind his eyes. "But, I can make sure that you rest easier."

"Rest easier? I guess I just can't possibly stay mad at perfect you." You scoffed, cheeks flushing red, but you weren't certain that it was with anger, "Telling me to take my own advice, and thinking you can just kiss it better is such crap. I'm frankly offended that you think I'm that easily convinced-."

"Shut up."

Instead of pulling you in for another searing kiss, he tugged you into his arms, and it was so unexpected that you didn't resist.

You couldn't remember the last time that it was him who pulled you close. Him who reached out first.

His hand traced a scar on your ribcage, hidden from sight by your shirt. (Well, Dwayne's shirt, if you cared about semantics.)

The night you were turned, he'd touched it just as gingerly as he did now, whispering in your ear and promising that nothing would ever hurt you again.

He would never admit it. Not with words. But, you knew him like you knew yourself. Knew his very few tells.

What was the most unbelievable was that he so deeply loathed when you were angry at him. Maybe even more than you loathed him being angry.

If you weren't certain that he was genuinely bothered by your argument, you would've thought it was purposefully manipulative. After all, manipulation was practically his second language.

He knew, all too well, that you spoke it too. He also knew better than to try it.

 "I know you're struggling," he said, sending vibrations with the rumble of his voice against your cheek where it rested on his chest. "But, we can talk about it tomorrow. Like civilized people. We'll always talk about it."

His words were honeyed. Not exactly what you'd wanted to hear, but close enough that you felt the walls around you beginning to crumble.

"Do you even understand why I'm upset?" Your words came out as a murmur, like your subconscious feared what he would possibly say in reply.

"No." He admitted. "Doesn't mean I don't want to make it better, though."

As you breathe out a sigh through your nose, you let your arms curl around him. "You promise?"

He chuckled briefly, and you could practically see the slight smile, even if you weren't looking at him.

He put his hand under your knee, pulling it to rest over his thigh, and used the other to press you closer by the small of your back.

The breath he let out was contented, and that was somehow better than any words or kisses he could've given you.

He finally answered with a quiet, "I promise, angel."

You both settled into silence for a few moments.

"Warden's gotta keep an eye on the prisoner."

He had to punctuate his victory in some way. To stroke his ego, if nothing else.

That time he caught your wrist before you could hit him in the face.

It wasn't an end to the argument. Hell, it wasn't even the apology you'd wanted. But, somehow, you felt the dark bundle weighing on your chest lift anyway. And, you fell asleep perfectly content for the current moment, boiling anger cooled to a slight simmer and tucked safely in his arms.

a/n: so, this is my first ever one-shot that i didn't public anonymously... be nice to me please. also, requests are open, if there's something you'd like in my writing style! ask and ye shall receive.

thanks to @saradika-graphics for the divider!

[theprosemuse]

live footage of me scheming to post a lost boys fanfic while in a hotel room with my family: