⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ grudgecollector's intro & story navigation ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
My name is Violet, your local stoner fanfiction writer. This blog is home to a multitude of fandoms that I switch through at the drop of a hat. My theme stays consistent with my current interests.
I’m twenty-five, my favorite color is wine red, and my pronouns are she/her
My interests include; music, writing, playing my silly little games, watching my silly little medias.
Fandoms on this blog include; Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, EverymanHYBRID, The Lost Boys, Breaking Bad, Thunderbolts*, Red Dead Redemption, Elden Ring, Stranger Things, The Walking Dead, Interview with the Vampire, various others & more to come
When it comes to writing on this blog I tend to only write about what I'm currently hyperfixating on at the time. I tend to do my own original works instead of taking specific requests, unless that request is something I enjoy a lot.
My writing will always be x reader, I don't write ships.
If you have any questions or requests, feel free to send me an ask!
A little update for anyone awaiting updates on both Mourning Dove and my Daryl story:
Last week I was sick the entirety of my vacation, was trying to put as little stress on myself as possible in order to recover quicker. Which I have, but now I’ve started my lovely time of the month, so it might be a bit before I start writing again.
My period is usually pretty rough on me. And I’m trying to take things one step at a time right now, especially since I’m back to work.
Patience is all I ask for, I have a lot of unfinished stories, but I’m hoping to finally put an end to that by going at my own pace instead of rushing myself. That has been my number one cause of burnout with stories in the past.
On another note: I started watching The Pitt, absolutely love it. There will definitely be some x reader stories written in the future
Luckily I will be off of work for the entire week next week, so that gives me plenty of chill time to write and watch my silly shows
I will be continuing the lost boys story, I promise. I’m just very invested in the walking dead at the moment because I’m finally finishing it…. I’m on the last season, then there’s the spinoffs.
summary: grace can't seem to get the hang of flying the hail mary—and you're definitely the problem (based on this textpost).
pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader
word count: 3.0k
tags: fluff and humor, lowkey workplace hazard (??), mutual attraction, pining, physical touch, awkward!grace, tired!grace, clueless!reader, idiots in love, confessions, making out, good luck quilt mentioned, rocky as wingman (also lowkey a bully lol), gn!reader
cross-posted to ao3
The Hail Mary endures a quick stop-and-go. Even in zero gravity, you can still feel the surge of movement. Your body jerks to the side and then floats still over the seat cushion. It takes just a second for Grace to correct course and stop the Hail Mary from doing a full couple miles in the wrong direction. From your position in the cockpit, seatbelt marking a large “X” over your chest, you can see Grace and Rocky’s immediate reactions. Grace has his eyes locked on the front-monitor in brooding silence; he clearly thinks that if he’s quiet enough, Rocky might cease to say anything at all. And, for a moment, Rocky is silent—letting himself drift mid-air, jagged appendages deathly still. Then, Rocky’s computerized voice rings out with a flat grimace. “Grace. Evasive maneuver unnecessary.”
So, Grace is having a hard time. Rocky isn’t making it any easier—but you’re starting to think that he isn’t really the problem. There must be some sort of reason to it. On the one hand, you know that he’s a scientist. Even if he can’t remember much about himself, there’s at least the fact that he’s never piloted an entire spaceship before. It isn’t like you’ve got much experience either, as far as you know—but you’ve clearly acclimated to the controls a bit easier than he has.
Grace hurries to defend himself. “That wasn’t an evasive maneuver. My hand slipped.” The rising intonation of his voice clearly flags his embarrassment. You’ve noticed now that he uses a different excuse every time this happens. Sometimes, there’s a smudge on the lens of his glasses. Other times, the controls are almost too sensitive… or too finicky, or not user-friendly, or impossible. More recently, Grace has cited Rocky’s coaching—backseat driving, he says—as the problem. Now, apparently, it’s butterfingers. Grace shrugs, “Need a glove or something. It’s like trying to grab a fish.”
Rocky taps three times in rapid succession on the glass of his casing—pointing to the control panel at Grace’s side. “No glove. Joystick shaped for human hand. Grace human. Grace bad,” he emphasizes with a waver. You’ve been thinking lately that Rocky secretly gets a kick out of it all, the coaching, the doling out directions, and the inevitable criticisms. It’s almost sadistic, the way that Rocky zaps Grace’s every mistake with some sort of obvious quip.
Grace can only let his head fall back against the headboard of the pilot’s seat; he groans impatiently, with a weathered mumble, “Oh my God…” From beside him, you can see his blonde hair sticking up in all directions. At first, you think it’s best to give him a moment of silence, maybe tilt your head to look up at the plethora of status lights above the three of you.
Then, finally, you decide to pipe up with a very kind, “You’re doing your best, Ry.” It should be a relatively pleasant exchange. Grace is on the verge of thanking you, turning in his seat with his lips curled into a soft smile. But, Rocky can’t help but angle himself toward you in his casing, arms flailing up in what looks like the mimicry of a shrug.
“Grace doing best, question?”
This steals Grace’s attention away instantly. His smile drops and, eyebrows furrowed, Grace grumbles, “Is that supposed to be rhetorical? What am I saying—of course it is.” Grace huffs, snatching his glasses off his face and folding them over the collar of his jumpsuit. “Now, he wants to be funny.” How they love to bicker. With Grace’s back to you, you can only imagine the pout on his face. He fiddles with his sleeves, trying to tighten them down lower on his wrists.
You rub your eyes tiredly. You’ve been sitting in zero grav for hours now, and you’d kill to feel the ground like normal—maybe have a cup of coffee in a mug and not a plastic-sealed pouch. It’s also clear that Grace isn’t getting any better, and Rocky isn’t getting any more patient. “I think it’d be pretty productive to take a break. Don’t you?”
Grace claps his hands together softly, “Break.” He’s just about to unbuckle himself out of the seat when Rocky taps a claw on the glass.
“Longer break means longer Earth, Erid sun dim. Grace need practice, or all die,” Rocky insists. You can see him stamp repetitiously on the xenonite glass a few times. Obviously, he’s being a little bit dramatic—but it still clearly gets under Grace’s skin, because he’s practically squirming in his seat.
“Okay, okay,” you decide, “Why don’t we switch for a bit? I can go over my part with you, and Grace can go strap down downstairs.” It might do you good to go over the post-handoff of controls, even if you’ve already got it all down. If it buys Grace a little bit of rest time, you’re willing to do it.
But Rocky repeats, “Grace need practice,” this time with more intention. It’s absurd how well the computer modulates his voice so intuitively.
“He’s trying to say that I suck,” Grace affirms. He doesn’t seem to deny the accusation; if you aren’t mistaken, Grace is pretty embarrassed about this whole ordeal of not being able to fly well. You watch as he flattens the decals on his jumpsuit, patches and all, down with his palms.
“Rocky, play nice,” you scorn. Even underneath the glow of the screens, you can see Grace’s cheeks are tinted a light red. You hate to see him so stressed out about this stuff, but admittedly, it looks good on him. It’s probably a bad habit to even think that way about Grace—considering that it’s just the three of you on this ship and you have to sleep a few feet away from him every night. You should decidedly pour more effort into making him less anxious about the mission. So, you tell Grace, “You’ll get the hang of it.”
You reach a hand out to touch Grace, thinking that a soft squeeze of his bicep might send across your genuine feeling on the matter. You do believe in him. As soon as your fingers curl around his arm, brushing the rough fabric of his jumpsuit, Grace’s hand seems to pass over the armrest and, with a slip, collides straight into the joystick. The Mary jerks left in a longer stride across the black space; you’re realizing, as the force throttles your body yet again, that you’re very lucky to have this much open space. Meanwhile, Rocky is grabbing on to his own makeshift seatbelt, claws tight on the strap. “Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake.”
—
The same thing happens the next go-around two days later, when Grace is trying to train for sample extraction. You’re in your seat, and Rocky’s in his. Between the first practice run and now, the three of you worked handily to rig the collector into a dropping mechanism on the lower portion of the ship. It’s all been programmed up to drop at the click of a button. Rocky has Grace testing the mechanism in a one-to-one simulation.
Now, all three of you are playing pretend, as if you’ve already breached Adrian’s atmosphere and settled into a steady trajectory across the top. Grace is doing a decent job up to this point, having trained his muscle memory and studied the thick paper manual you’d found detailing all the console’s buttons and switches. He mutters under his breath, “Okay, okay. I got it.” It appears to be more self-reassurance than anything else. You’ve been on the ship long enough to know that Grace is a master at talking to himself.
Rocky is counting down from T-minus 10 seconds with a monotonous tone, keeping his attention closed on the texture monitor in front of him. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” You have your eyes trained on Grace, who’s clearly trying to guide himself through a deep breath in and out. Grace flips up the metal casing on the drop button, sucks in a deep breath—“six, five, four, three…”—and slams it with his thumb. The collector discharges. On the monitors, both Grace’s and Rocky’s, you can see it free-float out of the containment chamber, right out of the open panels. At least, you know the release mechanism works well. But, Rocky is quick to note, “Grace release collector too early.”
Three seconds too early, you shake your head. Grace is already very aware of the mistake, searching for a half-excuse himself: “I was being punctual.”
“Need exact time. Count for reason,” Rocky grips and ungrips his left claw. Then, Rocky rotates to face you, stamping one claw on his seat. “Stare at Grace make Grace bad. Close eyes.”
Your eyes widen, index finger poking into your own chest. “Me? Close my eyes?” You can’t imagine how that would make things run any more efficiently.
“Woah now,” Grace coughs out, hand running over the back of his head. As he brushes his palm down against his short blonde hair, he seems to tilt his chair away, clearly locked in on the monitor in front of him. He shoves his fingers against a few switches—completely meaningless motions. “What’re you trying to say, pal?”
“Need word,” Rocky deliberates slowly, “For when watching heightens nervous system.” Grace’s hand hovers over the monitor.
You click your fingers: “Performance anxiety.”
Grace twists his seat to face the both of you, palms open and waving in disagreement. “I don’t have performance anxiety.” But, his body says otherwise. He’s practically sweating through his tight white polo—glasses on the verge of fogging up. It’s difficult not to be giddy when he gets like this, all flustered and discombobulated. Grace is having a hard time keeping it together. He must recognize your overt fawning, because he puts up an index finger, lips parted, “Don’t.”
“…Sorry.” You scramble for the vocal software on Rocky’s computer, typing it out hastily: <performance anxiety>. You press your middle finger into the enter-key and Rocky chirps a few times. Too happily, he exclaims, “Is performance anxiety!” Rocky alternates his attention between the two of you, and Grace’s nose is scrunching softly. He’s distressed. Up to this point, you’d thought that Grace was just having a hard time acclimating to the controls. This definitely has to be it.
Grace says, rather grumpily, “For your information, I actually perform great under pressure usually. This is just an… extraneous circumstance.”
Rocky seems to shake his head, but makes a more urgent tap on the glass towards you. “Retrieve collector, question?” The collector’s still floating out there, and somebody needs to lock it back into the release mechanism. Rocky sees you best fit, apparently—no magic words there. Since Grace has been doing the heavy lifting with the captaining, you’re not very motivated to complain.
“When I get back, we can try to run it back,” you offer. You unbuckle your seatbelt swiftly, zero gravity making your legs sway upwards.
Rocky hums, “No, no. Collector requires extra yard and half chain according to visual on monitor. Extra links in lab. Make while Rocky Grace reset.”
“Uh… okay,” you snort. The addition of the chain makes you feel a little bit like you’re being sent on an errand. Then again, Rocky’s the expert fabricator, so you decide not to push it. As you start to make your exit out of the cockpit, Grace pulls his glasses off his face to buff the lens on his shirt. Softly, he tells you, “Just radio in if something happens with the rig or the collector. I can put a suit on to come help you.” He throws his glasses back on, and you give him a curt nod. Rocky waves you goodbye with his right claw as you pull yourself towards the corridor.
Once you make it out of the cockpit, in the joint between the airlock and the rest of the Mary, you can hear Grace and Rocky bickering again. Their muffled voices barrel out into the whole ship. First, Rocky, pointedly: “Need re-test.”
Then, Grace, who’s sure to have his arms crossed in a tight lock over his chest: “Re-test what?”
Rocky replies, “If three in cockpit, Grace rate of distraction high. Need to re-test with two.” And Grace can only groan in response.
—
A half hour later, with the collector safely retrieved, your two crewmates set the Hail Mary into centrifuge. You get to work as soon as your feet touch the ground. The chain situation is meticulous and boring and you find it best fit, after linking together that extra yard and a half, to stay bundled up in the patchwork quilt in the lab—coffee in hand. It feels like as soon as you’re able to enjoy being upright, though, the commotion moves to you.
With the rapid sound of thunking on metal, Rocky rolls past you and makes it straight for the crew quarters. You whip around to tell him, “I finished those extra links you asked for, Rock.” It passes through one metaphorical ear out the other.
“Rocky develop breeder tank design,” he relays to you with a general disregard, “Try help Grace. Is impossible.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more patient,” you shout down the corridor. He doesn’t respond. You can already hear Rocky clinking his daily ball into the larger compartment. With the patchwork quilt clung around your shoulders, you place your mug down on an empty counter and peek in on Grace.
At the other end of the corridor, he’s still getting out of the cockpit—straightening out his polo and stretching his arms. When he finds that you’re standing behind him, he gets slightly more animated. “Hey…” Grace seems to trace his gaze down the individual patches on the quilt hanging off your back. Then, he looks up at you, dark blue eyes peering over his lenses.
You give him a wide grin. “Did Rocky give you a good lecturing while I was out?”
“No,” Grace pauses, pushing the bridge of his glasses up. “Yes.” With a defeated shrug, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “He’s right, you know. I am… pretty bad at captaining the ship.”
“You’re fine at captaining the ship—”
“—I’ve been getting distracted this whole time because you sit too close to me,” he blurts. You draw back a bit, tugging the quilt tighter over your shoulders.
“The cockpit isn’t that cramped, is it?” you laugh. It’s a little bit embarrassing how close together you three have to sit in there. The thought of Grace’s discomfort at the mere proximity makes you sheepish.
“No, I’m saying that when you’re near me, I get, you know…” Grace stammers, “Jittery. I get jittery.” He crosses his arms over his chest, Converse pointed towards your work boots.
“I hope it’s not that I’m putting too much pressure on you. I swear that’s the last thing I want.”
“That isn’t it.” Grace wrings his hands together and then drops them to his sides. “When I get in the cockpit, it feels, well, suffocatingly small, and Rocky’s talking, and you’re just watching, and you’re waiting for me to fly the thing. And I want to fly it well in front of you. For you,” Grace blinks. You’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m trying to tell you that I am very attracted to you, and it’s cramping my motor skills.”
You can feel your eyes widen. You’re trying your best to settle with the fact: “You can’t fly ‘cause of me?” You can’t be hearing it right.
Grace struggles to give you a steady “…Yes.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, opting next to run his hand over the control panel above you both. He can barely look at you, eyes flashing up to faux-examine the thing.
“I make you nervous. It’s performance anxiety for an audience of one,” you reiterate. “Are you sure?” It’s a little silly for you to ask, considering that he’s just laid it all out for you. It’s just… impossible. Grace drops his hand back down.
He looks like he’s about to melt into the floor. And still, he rasps, “I think I have about thirty failed test runs and one very upset alien to corroborate my claim.” He’s being serious. One close inspection of Grace and he seems to be blushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. The small grin on his face matches your own, but it’s riddled with a hint of unease. He’s dying for you to give him a straight answer.
You have to give him a little bit of slack. “Would it make you fly better if I told you I’m very attracted to you, too?”
Grace tilts his head, brows furrowed. “I think it might make it worse, actually—” The quilt drops off your shoulders and crumples soft on the ground as you launch up to kiss Grace. “Oh.” His surprise doesn’t get far, because you’re running your hands over Grace’s chest, throwing them up into his hair. Grace lets out a contented hum against your lips, his palms only lightly grazing over your jaw. It’s with an accidental bit of force that you guide Grace over and push him up against the side-wall of the corridors, your work boots tucked in between his Converse. You’re maybe too excited to kiss him, hands anchoring on his hips, then toying with the hem of his polo. He’s blushing—you can feel the heat coming off of him—and you’re not much better.
It’s all very heated until Rocky’s voice rings out from the crew quarters: “Crew take Rocky advice. Reject null.” Privacy at a minimum, you remember. You pull away, taking a look over Grace’s face. He’s heaving by this point, with you nearly kissing him to death. His hands finally lay strong on your hips, back still flush to the corridor wall.
You take a few steps back into the middle of the corridor, dragging Grace along with you. With a bit more air, he lets out a shuddered breath. You murmur, “I can think of a few good motivators for you to fly better.” There isn’t any bit of goodwill behind it, just utter anticipation; you’re too eager to get to be with Grace like this.
“Rocky is going to be very disappointed when he finds out you're going to be deeply, deeply unhelpful.”
𝐀 / 𝐍: this pairing just makes so much sense to me, idk man maybe im biased and this is completely self-indulgent but SURELY there’s an overlap between the gamer girlies and ryland grace lovers (make urselves known rn)
The dull glow of the monitor paints the room, flickering in blues and reds as gunfire erupts through your headset. Your fingers were outstretched over the keyboard, strategically tapping away as your eyes scanned the screen, your friends chattering away in the one-ear your headset was covering.
A small thunk echoed through the room downstairs, followed by the clanging of keys being mindlessly thrown on the dresser ripping you from your concentrated state.
Ryland was home early.
The small thudding of his feet against the steps became louder as he grew closer to the bedroom, pushing it open gently. His eyes fell on you immediately as you craned your head to offer him a quick smile, now turning back around as your friends became incoherent with chaos.
“Hey honey.” Ryland leant down to your neck, planting a long kiss against it as he seemed to breathe you in; a smile dancing across his face as he exhaled. “You winnin’?” He quizzed, giving the back of your hair a quick ruffle to which you leaned away from him, scrunching your nose in fake annoyance.
“We’re winning.” You corrected quickly, listening as your friends let out a string of greetings to Ryland, the chatter leaking out of the headset.
“Hey guys.” He greeted, leaning closer to the microphone attached to the headset, quickly flipping it up in a sweep motion; effectively muting the microphone as you turned to look at him. He took this opportunity to press a long kiss against your lips, distracting you the best way he knew how.
“Ry, stop!” You squeaked against his lips, giggling quietly as the familiar butterflies danced their way around your stomach. “They’re gonna yell at me.” You pouted sweetly as he pulled back, giving you one last loving look as he went to collapse onto the bed in wait for you to finish.
It wasn’t long before the game ended, all your friends had somehow died which left you responsible for winning the game against the members of the opposing team. The room illuminated a gold colour, a flash of white text appearing across the screen ‘Victory’ as your friends cheered.
“Oh, get shit on!” You exclaimed happily, hands coming to outstretch towards the ceiling in celebration as you swivelled in your chair, eyes falling on Ryland who clearly looked amused; fiddling with a book between his fingers.
He shook his head in fake disappointment, the smile on his face growing wider by the second.
summary: Winter came and went, but your worry remained. Not for the dead, or the Whisperers, but for Lydia. She was having a hard time adjusting to her new life. And you wanted to do whatever you could to make her feel safe in a community that didn't want to understand her, stepping up when Daryl was away, making her realize that she was never going to be alone when she had the both of you.
story tags: Set after the end of season nine and before the beginning of season ten, The reader is very very self indulgent (weird girls rise up), Reader: the mother who stepped up, Found family dynamics, Mentions of kids bullying Lydia, Brief mention of injury, Cigarette sharing, The quiet moments that matter, Fluff, Light angst, Best friends to lovers, Swearing
wc: 3.4k
a/n: I've been watching The Walking Dead again, FINALLY I've gotten to season 10. I absolutely love Lydia so much, I feel so maternal over her. I hope you guys enjoy this little one shot. Also I apologize if Lydia and Daryl are a little OOC, I whipped this up super quick because I just- I LOVE LYDIA THAT IS LITERALLY MY DAUGHTER AND ILOVE DAD!DARYL <3
not fully proof read
Reader's mixtape for Lydia
Alexandria was quiet, the streets were empty and cast in a soft moonlight. There was no overlapping conversation, no laughter echoing off the metallic walls that lined the town. Nobody was running up to you with a task for you to fulfill, no biters scratching from the outside, no gargled growls. Nothing but the chirp of crickets and cicadas to keep you company. It was a comfort you were rarely afforded now.
Your fingers slowly slid over your forearm, attempting to will away the goosebumps that prickled along your skin. A soft sound came from you, quiet, somewhat defeated as you tried, and failed to will away the anxiety that’s been plaguing your mind recently. Thoughts that you were too scared to let fully form. Not wanting to shatter the calmness that’s built up over the years, fearful that your world would crumble at your feet yet again.
Wind swept past you, carrying the promise of rain along with it. You inhaled deeply, sighing quietly when you felt the first drop hit your hand. Another came quickly after, then another, soaking deep into the shoulders of your shirt and settling on your skin beneath.
Then you heard it, muffled but still there, a sniffle.
You turned slowly towards one of the stalls just beside the gardens, hearing it again. Slowly you walked closer, fingers carefully curling around the hilt of your hunting knife, just in case. Just as you got close enough, a small twig snapped under your boot, prompting the person to raise their head.
Curled up in the shadows was a young girl, one that you had grown closer to ever since Daryl brought her to your home. He hoped that you could keep an eye on her while he was away dealing with his own business, and you had taken on the task happily after seeing how timid she was at first.
“Lydia?” You whispered, noticing how scared she looked now that she was caught, tears spilling from her wide eyes.
“I-” She started, wiping at her face with the sleeves of her shirt, “Sorry I- I’ll go back to the house.”
The girl stood quickly, head bowed almost fearfully, avoiding your eyes as she tried to walk past you.
“Hey,” You could feel her flinch when you reached for her wrist, “Sorry.” You were quick with your apology, she stared down at your shoes as she waited for you to speak, “I was just going on a walk, wanna join me?” You offered her a small smile.
“Now?” She questioned over the rain, “You’re gonna get sick.”
“Could say the same to you.” You tease, looking up towards the void of clouds in a moment of reflection, a brief silence passing between the two of you, “The rain makes me realize I’m still human.” The smile returns slowly, “Feel like that’s an important thing to remind yourself these days.”
The girl just provides a slightly awkward smile in return, twisting the sleeves of her shirt. It was clear something was eating her up on the inside, but you knew better than to pry.
“So you're just gonna make me walk all by myself?” You feign a small pout, tilting your head as you try to get a better look at her, “You know… I was planning on sitting at the dock, would be nice to have some decent company for once.” She looks up at you for just a second, long enough for you to see the purple bruise that was forming on her cheek.
“Decent company?” She asks quietly after a beat.
“The best I could ask for.” You start walking towards the docks after a second passes, giving her an opening to follow you if she wants, “Plus, what if I get attacked by bigfoot or something?” The joke only makes the girl furrow her brows.
“Bigfoot?” She asks, finally walking beside you.
All you could do was laugh quietly, “Yeah… Bigfoot.” Your elbow jabs into her side softly, “He’s this huge eight feet tall, hairy man. Like, covered in hair.” You spare a glance as you try to contain yourself to seem more serious, “Daryl said he fought one once.”
The look on Lydia’s face was priceless, eyes widening before narrowing seconds later, “You’re messing with me aren’t you?” Her eyes caught the smirk that was rising on your face before letting out a groan, “You’re not funny.”
“I never said I was.” You hold your hands up in defense, “I’m serious about the Daryl thing though, you gotta ask him about it.”
“I’m not asking him about that.”
The quiet always brought you peace, the stillness without worry. It made things easier, less claustrophobic, less overwhelming. It was something you had come to cherish after years of fighting, allowing yourself a moment to relax and just think. Reflecting on the past and what the future could hold, that so-called positive thinking your shrink used to hammer in when you were a teenager.
You glanced over your shoulder to see Lydia directly behind you now, her head no longer bowed, but her expression closed off. It made your heart ache painfully inside your chest, lips pursing as you tried to think of the best way to start your inevitable conversation.
The dock doesn’t creak or threaten to give way as you walk across it. It’s stable, sturdy, built with care and hope for a brighter future. It wasn’t broken and falling apart like everything else behind the walls of your community. It was the promise of a new beginning. Which before the outbreak would sound ridiculous, since in reality it was just a dock.
“Was it them again?” You asked after thirty minutes of sitting, relaxing under the therapeutic rhythm of rain on your head. You relished in the feeling of it dripping steadily down your face, catching on your lashes as you watch the pond’s surface ripple.
Lydia nodded, finally looking at you fully, “A little after sunset.” She answered quietly.
All you could do was shake your head at the thought, “Figures.” You whisper bitterly, noticing how her brows furrow curiously, “Those assholes don’t know when to leave it alone. I could get Daryl and we could-”
“It’s fine. I’ve dealt with worse.” She cuts you off with an attempt to reason, shrugging her shoulders mostly to herself. “I don’t really… I don’t want to talk about that right now, if that’s alright.”
You purse your lips thoughtfully, bumping your shoulder gently into hers, “You ever finish that painting?” She shifts slightly in the corner of your eyes, a telltale sign of her insecurities creeping up.
The anticipation of seeing her art has been hanging in the air for weeks now, forcing your patience to extend further than you ever thought possible. Lydia said that you weren’t allowed to go into her room until she was finished, and you respected that, knowing how important it was to her.
“It’s almost ready.” She nods, “I think it is, at least.”
“If you need any more paint feel free to take it from my studio.” She gives you an uncertain look, “You’d be surprised how easy it is to find good paint these days.”
You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you were certain that if you stayed out here any longer you would both get sick. That was the last thing you wanted for the poor girl, a little cough you could deal with, but Lydia has gone through plenty already.
A groan slipped from your lips as you stood, your ankles and knees cracking loudly from years of nonstop exertion. Before long you would be as creaky as a rusty sign, but even that wouldn’t stop you from moving.
“I have an idea.” A smile once again bloomed on your face, now beaming, “I think you’ll really like it.”
Lydia stood up slowly, her shoulders tilting forward instinctively, “What?” She asks curiously, walking beside you off the dock.
“I found something really cool last week.” You practically had a skip in your step as you failed to contain your excitement, “I wanted to surprise you with it in a week, but I think you’ve earned an early gift.”
She didn’t say anything in return, only narrowing her eyes as she attempted to fight the way her lips curled upwards in a small smile. She clutched at the soaked fabric of her shirt, her hair now clumped together from the rain. You made a mental note to put an extra log on the fire for her.
The hinges of your front door creaked as you pushed it open, allowing her to step past the threshold first before following. She was quick to head upstairs towards her room, muttering quietly about going to change her clothes.
While she was occupied you quickly went to the living room and opened the drawer to the side table. Inside was the holy grail itself, a portable DVD player. Battery powered. When you found it you almost fell to your knees due to pure shock, knowing that your idea of collecting batteries would finally come to fruition. A whole arsenal sat in your certified ‘junk drawer’, ready to be used for this exact purpose.
You lift the device like it was made of glass, gently placing it on the coffee table just in front of the couch. You had done a few tests just to make sure it was functional, but you didn’t want to experience this alone, especially when Lydia had yet to experience the cinematic masterpiece you found years ago.
For a brief moment Daryl’s words echoed through your head, making you snort with a self satisfied smirk.
“The hell you save all this shit for? All it’s doin’ is takin’ up space.” He was sorting through your bag, looking at the old DVD cases with faded labels, pushing aside a few ceramic figures you found in an old antique store, and fished out the singular can of food you had cared to pick up.
“In your fuckin’ face Dixon.” You mutter to yourself, listening to your clothes give a disgusting squelch as you crouch down. The feeling made you cringe, but you wanted to set everything up before moving on to your next task.
By the time you saw the girl again, there was a fire warming up your living room, and you were finally in your own dry clothes. The chill of rain was still settled deep in your skin, making you feel like you took a late night swim. Luckily for you, there was no shortage of blankets in your home.
“What’s that?” Lydia asks as she walks up to the couch, eyeing the device curiously.
“This is magic in a box.” You joke, “A portable DVD player, it plays movies or shows, or really whatever you have on a circular disk.” She looks at you, her fingers fiddling with her sleeves once again. “Since I’ve been able to successfully introduce you to some good music, I thought why not introduce you to some timeless classics in a more visual form?”
“I’ve seen movies before.” She crosses her arms loosely.
You shrug, “Yeah I know, but have you seen one of the best Disney movies ever made?” As a grand reveal you lift the DVD case, looking at her confused expression.
“Holes?”
“Holes.” You confirm with a nod, “My niece- she was obsessed with this movie so I watched it on repeat almost every single day while…” Your voice trailed off a bit, before you cleared your throat and blinked back up at the girl, “Anyway, this is just as much for you as it is for me. Just don’t make fun of me if I cry, alright?”
The girl snorts softly, her shoulders finally relaxing fully, “Let me grab my blanket.” She tells you, walking back upstairs quickly.
The crackles of the fireplace briefly cut through the dialogue of the movie. You were laying on your side, head comfortably resting on one of the throw pillows, Lydia’s back was pushed up against the opposite arm of the couch, her legs stretched out just enough for her feet to rest comfortably under your thighs.
You glanced over to Lydia when Stanley starts teaching Zero how to read, watching as her expression softens, fully mesmerized by the story on the small screen.
A hand softly pushes against your shoulder, making you gasp quietly, your eyes snapping open suddenly. The side of your cheek was wet with drool, and your neck hurt from laying in the same position for too long. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your hair standing on end as you became more alert of the presence looming over you.
You blink up towards Daryl, his index finger resting over his lips before he points it towards the weight that was pressing into your legs. You lift your head to see Lydia using your calf as a pillow, her shoulders slowly rising and falling as she sleeps. The sight made your heart soar in your chest.
“Holy shit.” It comes out in an almost silent whisper, your mouth curling into a wobbly smile.
Daryl stayed silent, merely waving his fingers at the side of your head to get your attention again. You look back to see him holding his hand out, his body slowly dropping into a crouch so he could talk quietly.
“Found these.” He flicks his head to get the hair from his eyes, “Figured y’would like it.”
In the palm of his hand were three little bones, sun bleached but still in need of cleaning. It was clear by the shape and size that it was a part of a small animal’s vertebrae.
Yet again your chest squeezed tightly, something deep inside that you refused to acknowledge.
This wasn’t the first time Daryl had brought back a gift like this, far from it, actually. It was a frequent occurrence to get strange little presents from the tracker. A habit he picked up not long before leaving the camp outside of Atlanta, after he found you off in the woods doing a bone hunt of your own. Restarting your now lost collection.
It was a sweet reminder that you were still uniquely you even after all these years, after everything you've been through together and alone.
“Think it’s rabbit.” His voice rumbled softly between the two of you, “Maybe possum.”
“Poor thing.” You whispered quietly, gently taking the bones from Daryl’s palm, “Thank you.”
He glanced over towards Lydia before standing back up and shuffling over towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Hey kiddo,” He whispers, steading her when she startles awake, “Hey, you’re alright. You wanna go up to your bed?”
The girl just groans, gripping a little harder onto your calf in protest, clearly not wanting to move from her spot. All he can do is lean back a little before letting out a small huff, eyes meeting yours.
“Whatever I guess.” He mutters, sitting himself on the floor in between the coffee table and couch.
You both sat quietly for a few minutes, relaxing in each other’s company. It’s been well over a week since you’ve last seen Daryl, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t get worried after the fifth day.
But here he was, safe and sound, staring at you like he had something to say but just couldn’t.
“There something on my face or what?” You tease, watching Daryl huff a small laugh, shaking his head softly.
“Yeah. Big booger stickin’ right out your nose.” He points at his own face, “Right there.”
“Saving it for later.” You joke, watching Daryl’s face twist at the thought. .
“You’re disgusting.” He rasps with another huffing laugh, which makes you smile.
“You like it.” You nudge his shoulder with your fingertips, “How was your trip to Hilltop?”
Daryl just shrugs, “Not much to say.” He No word on the Whisperers, they’re still keepin’ to themselves.” He fiddles with a leaf that was stuck to his pant leg, twisting it around his fingertips as a distraction.
“What about you?” He asks after a second of quiet passes, “You get up to anythin’ while I was gone?”
You and Daryl just sat and talked about everything and nothing at the same time, catching up on lost time. It was nice, being able to just relax with someone you were so close with, someone who understood you both inside and out, who didn’t go out of his way to judge you.
Eventually Lydia began to stir against your legs, the movement making your skin prickle and ache from not moving. It forced a quiet hiss from your lips as she sat up fully, blinking a few times at the two of you, then a small smile curved her lips.
“Well, good morning sunshine.” You said, poking her thigh with your toe, “At least she can smile when she wakes up, unlike some people.” You raise a brow at Daryl, referring to the grumpy face he usually had when he first wakes up.
“Funny.” He grumbles, standing up from the floor and holding a hand out for you, “C’mon.”
“Hey I didn’t name names.” You defend yourself, looking at the young girl who was climbing the stairs, “Night Lyds.”
“Goodnight.” She yawns out.
Your hand slips into Daryl’s like a puzzle piece, allowing him to tug you off the lumpy cushions and onto your stinging limbs. The feeling was returning slowly but surely, pins and needles spiking through your heels with every step you took towards the front door.
The cool night air hits your face, the rain finally gone and leaving a light mist to linger. Moonlight beamed down onto you, illuminating the brick steps that led to your front door. The streets were still empty, quiet aside from the occasional footstep coming from the guards on watch, or the chirping of distant crickets hiding away in the grass.
Daryl sat on the steps, a cigarette already balanced between his lips.
“She’s a good kid.” He says after a beat.
“She is.” You agree quickly, sitting yourself next to him, his heat soaking into your shoulder as you pressed against him, “Reminds me of myself when I was her age.”
“I can see it.” He nods, handing the cigarette to you without a thought, “Think if you ever had a kid, she’d be like her?”
You mull the question over in your head for a second, it wasn’t something you had really given much thought. Having children was never really on your to-do list before and after the world collapsed. Never thought you’d fit the bill of a ‘perfect mother’. That, and the thought of suffering through pregnancy made you want to crawl out of your skin.
“Probably.” You finally answer, “Is it bad to say that she kinda already feels like my kid? Obviously- I know she’s not but-” You pause, thinking about your words, “I don’t know… That’s probably strange to say.”
“Nah, I get what you mean.” He nods, smoke pushing from his lungs slowly, “I feel the same way.” He spares you a glance before looking back towards the dark, empty street.
“Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be co-parenting with the one and only Daryl Dixon.” You push yourself against him in a teasing way, making him smile a little, “Can’t say I’d want it any other way, though.”
The silence that settled wasn’t tense, or awkward, it was a quiet agreement. You knew that he felt the same way you did, and you knew even better that eventually this song and dance you’ve been performing for years would come to an end. And it felt like right now, that end was coming sooner rather than later.
His hand comes up to pat your knee, before it settles fully, the warmth of his palm warming the skin beneath your faded pajama pants. He leans his weight into you, sharing his cigarette with you until it was just a yellow filter.
“You ever think of settling down with someone?” He asks suddenly.
“Only one person.” You answer quietly, “He’s kind of a loser, though.”
Daryl scoffs, “Takes one t’know one.”
The back of your hand slaps his chest lightly, a quiet laugh coming from you, “Excuse you, I am totally not a loser.” You defend yourself, “I’m actually super cool and awesome, if I might say to myself.”
“Good t’see you’re still so humble.”
Eventually he flicks the filter towards the ground, now rolled up into a ball and forgotten completely on the sidewalk. He settles back against you, allowing his body to actually relax for once. You grab the hand that was settled on your knee, fiddling with his fingers casually, like you had done it thousands of times before.
After a moment of sitting, basking in his warmth, you turn your head to see him already looking. You couldn’t help but smile softly, something deep inside fluttering at the proximity.
“Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’ll think you’re gonna kiss me, Dixon.” You whisper, instinctively leaning a little closer, a movement that he follows.
He doesn’t even answer, probably too consumed by his own nerves.
For all the time you’ve known him, never had you seen him get this close to another person, maybe Carol but even then, the look on his face wasn’t something you had ever seen on him.
Slowly he leans in, fingers twitching against yours as his lips graced the corner of your mouth in a small kiss. Something that finally broke the seal of friendship, toeing the line of something more.
And that little kiss was something you’d be willing to accept.
summary: Santa Carla, the place of dreams and drunkards. It's been a home to you for the past fifteen years, ever since your parents decided to divorce and your mom wanted to move. It was a turbulent time in your life, something you have long since come to terms with.
What you have yet to come to terms with, though, was your interesting friendship with a group of bikers that often ventured into the twenty-four-seven diner you worked at.
story tags: Canon divergence - Modern AU/The boys Live AU, Possibly OOC (my excuse is that I haven't written for the boys seriously since 2021), The reader is awkward, POV switching, Nicotine consumption, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Slight angst, Slow burn, Swearing
wc: 4.4k
a/n: Hopefully my attempt to make the dialogue feel more realistic doesn't make the characters seem too OOC lol. I want to bring them to life a little bit with my story, they deserve it. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
Updates might not be very frequent but it's my way to prevent any sort of burnout with this series.
not fully proof read
story playlist - story masterlist
The cave certainly wasn’t the strangest place you’ve found yourself, but it was creeping towards the top of the list.
You lingered on the collapsed stairs just at the entrance of the cave, taking in your surroundings curiously. It wasn’t hard to assume what this place was, with the rusted railing to your right, and the thick pillars that kept the room from collapsing, it used to be a building of sorts.
“Make yourself at home.” Star says kindly, walking past you.
Uneven walls were lined with streamers and graffiti. Old and forgotten memorabilia that was caked in dust and glossy with the sea salt that lingered in the air. Sheer curtains were hanging from the lower parts of the ceiling, as well as roots from trees that no longer stood on the surface.
The more you looked around, feet bumping into small piles of clothes and narrowly dodging knick-knacks, it became increasingly more obvious that this wasn’t just a hangout spot either; They lived here, hidden away from rent and responsibility.
Eavesdropping on their loud conversations in the diner gave you enough insight to know their stances on the government, prices getting higher while wages remain stagnant, making it nearly impossible for people to live comfortably. You felt like it wasn’t a stretch to assume they chose to live in a place like this, a place they could truly make theirs without landlords breathing down their necks, without the prying eyes of weary strangers.
This place was enchanting in its own unique way. It almost felt intimate being invited here.
You slowly walked past the worn furniture scattered about, torn velvet and cracked wooden pieces, intricate detailing that’s been tainted by age. There was a decent sized lounge area with multiple chairs pushed together, creating a homey little space for the group to sit together. The couch looked the most inviting to you, the rusty springs creaking as you decided to sit down on the old fabric.
Star was still walking around, a pink shawl decorated with soft flowers now wrapped securely around her shoulders. The woman seemed to glide along the floor as she spoke with Laddie, smiling sweetly down at him before ruffling his hair. Her hair bounces as she looks over her shoulder towards you, tilting her head slightly before finally making her way towards you.
“I never noticed you had a tattoo.” Star comments when she plopped down next to you, her eyes glued to your forearm, “It’s pretty.” She smiles softly, reaching out with the intention to trace the lines before retracting her finger quickly.
“Oh… Thank you.” The smile you return feels slightly awkward. Your hand rubs against the ink, bringing the sleeve of your jacket back down just a second later.
The tapping of a falling pebble caught your attention. Marko and Paul were the first to drop down from the steep rocks, the sound of their heavy boots echoing throughout the room, next was Michael and Dwayne, then David. The different pendants they all wore jingled a familiar tune as they walked towards the lounge area.
Michael was the first one to sit, fitting himself perfectly between Star and Laddie. Paul and Marko were pushing each other around, attempting to wrestle for an object you couldn’t see, cursing at each other in between spurts of laughter. Dwayne sat down on a small bench just beside the couch, and David went for a wheelchair that was cast in an impossible beam of moonlight.
“This place is pretty cool.” You told David, picking at the sleeve of your jacket.
He smiled, nodding in agreement, “It was an old hotel a long time ago,” He explained, affirming your previous assumptions, “A pretty bad earthquake hit this area in the early nineteen hundreds, swallowing everything up and leaving what you see now.” He stood from the wheelchair and walked towards the fountain, his arms extending slightly outward, “Well, with some renovations.”
“Now it’s all ours.” Paul butts in, now holding the object he was fighting Marko for, a small porcelain clown with soft painted features. “It’s pretty sick, right?”
There was a sudden sound that made you jump. Something flew past your head quickly, forcing you to duck before looking back up with widened eyes.
A grey pigeon sat upon Marko’s fingers, seeds sitting in his palm as an offering, which the bird gladly ate. You watched with amazement, listening to him coo sweetly to the creature.
“Do you smoke?” Paul asks, dropping down on the loveseat that was next to the couch, pulling a small baggy from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at the question, feeling a touch of familiarity. Here you were hanging out with a group of delinquents, being offered weed in an unusual place that was covered in graffiti and antiques. It almost reminded you of high school, and the company you kept back then.
“It’s been a while.” You answer after a beat, Paul just nods to himself, easily catching the grinder Marko threw towards him. “But I’ll pass tonight, if that’s okay.”
David steps away from the fountain, turning to look at you, “That’s perfectly fine. We’re not those types of people.” He reassures, walking back towards the group and settling back into the wheelchair.
Something in the way he said it, and the quiet sound that came from Michael, made you doubt him a little. But, considering the fact that you were practically trapped here with the group, you decided it would be for the best if you ignore your doubts for the time being.
A minute dragged on slowly, the clock barely tugging itself forward as you tried to keep up with everything. Paul was sparking up the joint he rolled, passing it over to Dwayne. Marko was feeding another pigeon, and Michael was joking around with Laddie. Clustered conversations surrounded you, molding into each other, increasing in volume as you continued to shift at the end of the couch.
The topics cycled between movies, music, music in movies, whatever book Star got Marko to read. Then movies came up again, this time about the found footage genre, which made Paul let out a groan.
“Now you’re just trying to piss me off.” He ashes his joint while shaking his head, “Fuck found footage movies.”
“Well, fuck your zombie movies.” Michael retorts, making Paul bark a laugh.
“Okay then, Mike, tell me what’s so good about found footage.” The blonde leans forward, elbows braced against his knees as he brings the joint back to his lips, “They’re so fuckin’ boring, it’s always the same shit.” Paul sits up a little, pretending to hold a camera, putting on a mocking tone as he presents an example for his argument, “Turn a corner ‘oh nobody’s there, sick’ turn another corner, then ‘BOOM’ jumpscare! It follows the same formula almost every single fuckin’ time.”
“Some of them are really interesting, though!” Michael insists, “Like, Chronicle, you remember when I showed you that one? Or Cloverfield? It’s not all ghosts, man.” He slings an arm over Star’s shoulder as he settles back against the couch, “Gotta expand your horizons a little bit.”
“Expand my horizons, fuck you.” The blonde lets out an amused huff, bowing his head briefly before settling back in his own seat, “How about you expand your fuckin’ brain meathead.” He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face when Michael reached over to hit him.
It was hard to tell how much time has passed since they brought you here, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour. Every second of it you were silent, shy, not sure how you could smoothly insert yourself into the conversations.
At that moment you began to regret not socializing more outside of work like Marshal told you to, you felt more like a teenager rather than an adult. Your awkward fidgeting only served to make you feel a little embarrassed.
You glanced over towards David. He’s leaned against the armrest of the wheelchair, his chin settled calmly on the heel of his hand. His eyes were closed, lashes kissing his pale cheeks, he looked so peaceful.
Then he shifted, his eyes slowly opening and meeting yours. It was almost like he could read your thoughts as he nodded once and stood. He stops right behind you, leaning down so you can hear him instead of the overlapping conversations.
“Would you be alright if I drove you home?”
You don’t provide much of an answer, only a relieved sigh as you stood, patting down the back of your pants. You carefully step over some shirts and two forgotten DVD cases, making your way past David and offering a small wave to the group.
“Bye, drive safe.” Star says to the two of you, waving with her fingers as you walk past.
“Be back in a bit, boys.” David tells his group, offering a helping hand so you don’t slip on the steep rocks.
“Drive safe, sweetheart!” Marko called out in a teasing tone, “Ow! Paul, I swear to god I’m gonna kill you.”
David merely shook his head, a deep chuckle coming from him, “They’re like fuckin’ children sometimes.” He says after stepping out into the open air with you, a gloved hand pushing at the chainlink fence, allowing you to go first.
His looming presence made you shiver, making goosebumps rise on your arms.
“Sorry if we made you uncomfortable, or freaked you out.” The man said suddenly, “We don’t- it’s been a while since we brought someone here, so,” You turn to see him dig through the pocket of his coat, fishing out a cigarette, “Shit-” He searches both pockets for a few more seconds before giving up, “You got a light?”
“In my purse.” You reply, walking past him and onto the creaky wooden stairs, “It’s still on your bike.”
The cigarette dangled pathetically between his lips when you finally got to the top and walked over to the vehicle in question. His hands were still buried deep in his coat pockets as you sift through your belongings, the sound of rustling papers and zippers being opened almost made him smile a little.
“Jesus Christ, where is it?” You mutter to yourself, “Oh.” You blow out a small laugh, pulling out a bright green lighter, “It was buried at the very bottom.” You hold it out.
“Thanks.” David nods, flicking the spark wheel a few times.
You jab the ground with the toe of your shoe a few times before finally speaking, “Can I be honest with you?” David looked away from the moon and to you, offering you his cigarette.
“I wasn’t really freaked out, just more… nervous I guess. I mean, you guys are cool, and I really do appreciate the offer to drive me home. I just think it’s the fact that I don’t know you guys very well… I tend to get quiet in big groups.” You wring the sleeves of your jacket awkwardly, “Plus, ugh- I don’t know, I think I watch too much true crime shit, so when we drove out here I was like ‘oh shit what did I get myself into?’ And…” You turn to see an amused expression on David’s face, “And I should probably stop talking.”
“It’s alright,” His smile matches yours, laughing quietly as he takes the cigarette from your offering hand, “I get it, we have a reputation. That tends to sketch people out a little.” He looks back at the moon, blowing smoke from his nose, “You’re cool though. Nicer to us than most people are. Plus, you don’t charge us for the kid’s food.”
He turns his shoulders towards you, “So, I’d say you’re good in our books.”
You relaxed a little more as he spoke, a small smile forming at his light hearted tone. Silence wrapped around the two of you as you continued to share his cigarette, the smoke swept away by the wind. It felt much more comfortable out here with just the two of you, the overwhelming feeling that swamped you minutes ago slipped away.
“Ready to go?”
You nod, stomping out the cigarette before turning towards David’s bike, watching him lift the kickstand and throw his leg over the seat.
The leather is slightly wet against your pants as you sit behind him, your hands coming up to clutch the sides of David’s coat again. The vehicle roars to life beneath you, making your fingers tighten around the scratchy fabric.
Wind swept through your hair as David drove down the lamp lit streets. He was going much slower now, following the basic traffic laws that his group so easily broke earlier in the night.
‘Maybe he took your confession to heart and didn’t want to scare you more.’ You thought to yourself, watching familiar buildings pass by.
David took one last turn into the parking lot of your apartment complex, stopping just outside the front door. His headlights cut through the morning mist that surrounded you both, miniscule droplets settling on your jacket.
He turns his head slightly, watching as you slip off the seat and step up onto the curb.
“Thanks for the ride.” You smile softly, shifting on your feet awkwardly, fingers clutching onto the strap of your purse.
“It’s no problem.” The man says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
A yawn crawls up your throat, making you take a step back towards the door, “See you around, David.” You wave, another yawn threatening to come.
“Oh, and by the way,” David pipes up, making you turn around when he says your name, “Don’t say ‘promise not to kill me’ to a stranger ever again.” He jokes, raising a brow, “I’m serious.”
A snort comes from you, “Yeah, that was really stupid.” You continue walking backwards as you speak, “But hey, you didn’t kill me. So that’s a win for me.”
David laughs quietly to himself, watching as you walk into the building and disappear down the hallway. He shakes his head and allows your words to replay in his head a few times, humored by your naivety.
A soft sigh falls from his lips as he reaches back into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes, then your bright green lighter. You didn’t even notice when he slipped it into his coat.
David listened out for you, narrowing down to your breathing as you climbed the stairs to your floor, hearing you curse to yourself about the broken elevator.
Then he catches onto something else, a shrill flapping sound, too high pitched for any human to hear.
Marko lowers to the ground quickly, taking the cigarette from David’s pursed lips, and glances around the parking lot to make sure nobody saw him.
“He’s sleeping on his brother’s couch.” Marko informs the blonde, handing the cigarette back a second later, “I could get Michael and Dwayne to keep an eye on things. Could do it tonight if you don’t wanna wait.”
“How many people will that make this month?” David asks, bracing his forearms on the handles of his bike, “Seven? Maybe eight if his brother wakes up?”
Marko’s shoulders deflate a little at David’s question, tilting his head back with a frustrated sigh, “Come on, this guy’s a nobody.” He watches David bow his head a little, “I’m not talking about massacring the whole town, man.”
“Don’t argue with me, Marko. If it was just him I’d be fine with that, but two people makes it suspicious.” David blew smoke just above Marko’s head, “Plus after what happened tonight, if the guy turns up dead tomorrow we’ll be suspects. It’s too risky.”
“Ugh- God, I miss the seventies.” Marko grumbled to himself, “Can’t get away with shit these days, it’s ridiculous.” He slid onto David’s bike, settling where you sat just moments prior, “This place has become a fuckin’ servalence state. Cameras around every goddamn corner in every goddamn pocket.”
“His brother works on Thursday nights, right?” David looks over his shoulder and sees Marko nod, “We’ll pay Bradley a visit in a few nights then, gives us some time to plan.”
“Good, cause I’m so sick of eating rabbits.”
The door to your apartment clicked quietly behind you, the sound making you let out a relieved sigh. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders as you kicked off your shoes.
Inside the quiet of your apartment, you could hear David’s motorcycle finally drive off, the sound growing more distant before disappearing entirely.
Everything felt so warped, out of place in your mind, like you were only now regaining control. You could barely wrap your head around your impulsivity, let alone the rest of the night. Although David had been kind to you, joked with you and made you feel more comfortable, there was still something deep down that you couldn’t shake. An uncertain feeling that puts you on edge.
Maybe it was your relationship with Bradley that made you feel so nervous. With him you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his nice act to finally slip away, which it almost always did. He was the type of dangerous you had grown used to. So it was understandable to be wary around a group like this.
“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, hands rubbing against your face harshly before grabbing your phone, calling the first person you could think of.
The line rings a few times as you walk towards your room, flicking on the lamp just beside your door.
“Y’ello?” Marshal answers cheerfully, “Feeling better?” You could hear the sound of the cash register opening in the background, “Here’s your change Marge. Hey, tell Tammy I hope she gets better, alright?”
“I’m fine. But, I think I need some advice.” You say before sitting on the edge of your bed.
“Alright, let it rip, what’s up?” You can hear plates clattering quietly in the background, “Shit, that’s hot.” He mutters quietly.
Your fingers play with the edge of your throw blanket, focusing on the strings that lined the edge of the violet fabric. You draw in a deep breath, exhaling through your nose slowly, deciding to not beat around the bush.
“What do you think about David’s group?” You ask, tightening a string around the tip of your finger, feeling your heartbeat pulse as you tug a little harder “Like, do you think they’re dangerous?”
The other line was silent for a few seconds, before you heard a huff from your coworker, “Well, uh, I’d say they’re a good group. A little rough around the edges, sure, intimidating if you don’t know them.” Marshal replies, you could practically see him shrug, “But they’ve always been super chill around me. I’ve gone drinking with them a few times, haven’t seen ‘em start any shit.”
“Alright so with that being said, if David asked if I wanted a ride home again, and I happened to say yes, would you think I was stupid?” You couldn’t help but cringe at yourself, biting at the dry skin on your bottom lip.
“I mean,” He starts, “With Bradley out and about, I’d much rather you be with a group like David’s.” A soft chuckle filters through the phone, “They like you, always ask about you when you’re not around.” He hums quietly before continuing, “Plus you need friends.”
“Okay, no need to be a dick.” You laugh, feeling a little more reassured. “So you don’t think I should be worried? Y’know, with the shit I’ve heard about them, it’s just…” You trail off.
Marshal scoffed, “You know how people like to talk on the boardwalk. Nobody has a positive bone in their body over there.” He sighs, “I’ve known these guys for years, I wouldn’t be hanging around them if any of that shit was true.”
“I’d hope so.” You say, shaking your head and finally standing, beginning to shed your work clothes, “I don’t know, maybe I’ll have to try and get to know them a little more.”
“Wouldn’t hurt. Stop being so scared of living your life.”
“I’ll try. Thanks Marshal.” You grabbed a sleep shirt off the floor and quickly pulled it over your head, “And I’m gonna take your advice, I’m calling out. Maybe it’ll throw Bradley off his routine.” You say bitterly, “I might go to the boardwalk or something, see if my mom’s working.”
“No prob’ Bob. Be safe, and hey, call me if you need anything.”
Your shoulders slump when he hangs up, lifting a hand to rub your eyes sleepily, a yawn crawling up your throat once again.
The smell of grease clings to your skin, but you’re too exhausted to even think about showering right now. Instead you crawl under your covers, curling into yourself a little more before letting out a deep sigh, eyelids drifting shut.
Dreams curl around your vision soon after, lulling you further and further into a deep sleep. Quickly shifting images, faceless beings talking a language you couldn’t quite grasp, blurry backgrounds. Then, everything sharpens.
The scene itself was muted, quiet like a movie, allowing you to bask in the moment with the vaguely familiar man.
A finger glides delicately across your cheek, chilled skin barely grazing yours. A soft smile curled at the edges of his lips, bringing himself closer to whisper something. Your hand lightly pushes at his chest, laughing. His hand pushes back, lighter, but still initiating something you wouldn’t easily give up.
You were laying on the beach, waves almost brushing against your feet, play-fighting on the colorful blanket you laid out. Your giggles were muffled, pathetically battling against his strength, his fingers dancing across your sides as he tickled you.
He brought himself closer, his body becoming a shield against the sun as he lightly pinned your wrists to the blanket. A teasing smile lit up his features, his head dipping to place a feather light kiss on your cheek.
“You lose.”
Your eyelids flutter, fingers grasping tighter around your blanket as you feel a breeze sweep through your room. The sudden sound of a horn catching your attention, you jolt upwards in bed, scrambling for your phone to turn on the flashlight.
The curtains by your window flutter against the wind, making your heart rate spike. You knew it was closed before you went to bed, in fact you hadn’t even left it open all week, scared that Bradley would sneak in.
Your throat tightened as fear coursed through you.
Slowly you stood, turning on the light beside your door with shaky hands. Your eyes flicked to each corner of your room once, twice, then you sighed and locked your door. You even crouched to check underneath your bed, thankfully not seeing anything. Then your closet, nothing.
You walk over to the window, staring for a second before finally sliding it down, clicking the lock back in place.
The vague memory of your dream drifts away the second you lay back down in bed, turning over a few times before settling, mind racing. You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in your apartment, waiting for you to come out of your room.
You unlocked your phone to check the camera in your living room. It was something you set up a few months ago when you noticed rat droppings on your coffee table. A precautionary measure to make sure there wasn’t a furry little family running around after catching the first one.
Luckily, when you opened the app there were no rats or people.
Your living room was quiet, still. You checked the kitchen cam next, it was the same, then the front door. You carefully scrolled through recordings of the last three hours, thankfully coming up with nothing.
You exhale slowly, sinking further into your bed as your muscles relax. There was nobody in your home, there was nothing to worry about, you probably just left the window open without realizing. Those words continued to echo in your head, attempting to hammer in something that felt true.
Not even fifteen minutes away from your apartment Paul was crash-landing inside the cave. A strangled groan coming from his lips when he landed on his front, his face scraping against the rough floor.
“Jeez Paul, remind me to put a mattress down next time.” Michael jokes, nudging the blonde vampire with his shoe, “Cutting it a little close this time, man.”
“I wanted to make sure she was doin’ okay.” Paul mutters, eyes squeezing shut as he peels himself off the floor, rolling his shoulders once he’s finally on his feet, “I mean, did you hear her thoughts earlier? I felt kinda bad.”
“You guys gotta stay out of her head.” Star crossed her arms, hugging her shawl tighter, “It’s not fair, what if she catches on?”
“Hard to ignore when her thoughts are so loud. Plus she won’t catch on, are you kidding?” Paul defended with a scoff, “Have a little faith in me, guys, it’s not like we’re making her do anything against her will.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t wanna break David’s new moral code.” Michael jokes, “He’s such a good guy for not turning her against her will, right babe?” His elbow gently nudges the woman next to him. Star merely hums in response, trying to push down a smile.
“Oh fuck off, man. That was different and you know it.” Paul pushes against Michael’s shoulder, making the younger vampire laugh, “You gonna hold that over our heads forever?”
“I think I have every right to.” Michael argues, crossing his arms before smirking, “It’s entertaining.” He shrugs.
“You guys tryin’ to cook yourselves?” Dwayne called down to the three vampires, “Come on.”
Michael grabbed Paul by the neck, securing him in a headlock before flying towards their sleeping den. The blonde struggled against him in a mid-air battle, laughter echoing against the walls.
The two vampires slammed into the damp wall, just a foot away from the rest of their companions. The blonde finally had the upper hand, grabbing Michael by the ear and pulling until the brunette groans and surrenders.
“Okay, okay!” He whisper yells, hissing at his elder, “Let go of my fuckin’ ear, asshole.”
“Hah!” Paul pushes off Michael, kicking off his shoes and settling beside Marko, “Suck on that, Emerson.”
“Shut the fuck up, Paul.” David grumbles from where he was hanging, making the blonde giggle quietly.
Soon enough they were all in their designated spots. Slipping into a blissful death-like slumber, peacefully awaiting the moon to rise again.
