#drifter imagine

[rustridden]

hanging out with some deadlock characters (haze, victor, drifter, ivy)

[ a/n ]: im a big fan of these weirdos. partially inspired by the fact that i'm in new york rn (specifically manhattan) and i keep talking to people that remind me of some of them

[ c/w ]: stalking mention on drifter's part

haze:

...she doesn't do 'hangouts'.

i mean, not like she really has time for it. sure, there's been one or two places she's seen in passing that she thought were interesting, but being as busy and focused as she is makes it a little impossible to cut time out

hanging out with haze is going to require persistence but patience. bring it up maybe once a week, but not every day or she'll just tell you you're being annoying. EVENTUALLY, if yall talk more and she ends up kinda liking tolerating you, she will acquiesce

to be honest, haze doesn't really have a personal life so when you ask her where she likes going she- strangely -doesn't answer as quickly and assuredly as she does to everything else

nowhere?? anywhere?? like she doesn't really know, but she would probably really like something chill but interesting since she doesn't want to do too much on one of her rare instances not working

while she's first getting to know you, a hangout where y'all mainly talk probably isn't a good call since she's a little awkward. maybe a historical bus tour so she could point out all the inaccuracies in the history for you. or a music show of some sort that has cello involved to help her open up about her pastime hobby

wouldn't really want to talk about work, and weirdly enough wants to know a lot about you. it's partially cause she doesn't trust you (LMAO) but also because she's... interested in you

the question of "Why are you spending time with me?" will eventually come up, but as long as you answer honestly you will continue to hang out afterwards

victor:

honestly? i don't think he has specific hangout 'spots' around where the ritual is held considering he moves for info so often, but he does like parks a lot.

unironically he also enjoys the cemeteries around manhattan

if you tease him about it he might misunderstand and think you're for real making fun of him, but after you clarify you're teasing he crosses his arms and gruffs out an "I knew that." lie with a slight flush to his cheeks

his go-to routine at the end of the day is to get a hot dog and hang out in a park or a cemetery if he's feeling like he wants more time to get away from people

if you're a talkative person, he enjoys listening and ads his comments here and there, but if you're a quieter person and prefer to listen that's good too. actually- he kind of would like someone to listen to him for a good 2-3 hours.

it's not hard to tell that he kind of wants someone to listen to him and his experiences. he totally doesn't care what you think also a lie kinda but he does find himself getting more comfortable and speaking faster when you show obvious signs of interest in what he has to say

likes his alone time and still goes off on his own a lot, but if you two get closer he's going to start wordlessly expecting you to just tag along, looking over his shoulder to check that you're following when he just starts wordlessly walking off after the ritual

drifter:

bruh. everywhere what 😭

he really doesn't care; while he's surprised and incredibly amused that you're willingly making an effort to spend time around him, he's not exactly privy to traditional hangout spots aside from dive bars

the types of places drifter hangs out in are seedy alleyways with a few lamplights burnt out. seedy bars that stay open all night, drawing in all the crowd you're told to avoid. train tracks if he can find them. street corner crossroads with groups of homeless, blending in.

he likes to blend in, hunt like a bobcat in the bushes. the first hangout is definitely a drink or five in some smelly ass bar you have to walk under a building for, but if you end up hanging out frequently enough he'll start teaching you how to tail people without getting caught

he'd probably try to push you away at first but- if you can push through, be persistent, give him some pushback -you'll be hanging out more frequently than you'll ever know. (he's going to stalk you

drifter is a big fan of being in any place he's not supposed to be. dude's an expert at hopping fences and if you can keep up?

he might even go out of his way to ask you to come along sometime, sliding up from the shadows behind you after a ritual with a silky "Up for some trouble tonight, cher?"

will play with you a bit too- despite the fact that his 'play' usually ends in gore and viscera, he likes you so the most he'll do is let you loose in times square and tell you you've got a 10 minute head start before he finds you. which he will, so you better get smart about your tactics to keep him entertained.

don't worry, he won't actually hunt you. probably : )

ivy:

OHHHMY GOD okay

ivy really wants new friends and loves talking to people so the fact that you!!! went out of your way!!! to hang with her!!!! dude she's PUMPED

if you're not from NY she's most DEFINTELY going to take you to spanish harlem to show you around

you're meeting everyone in the neighborhood and then her family like you're going home with two to-go plates and a new baby cousin you've gotta babysit next wednesday at 5

would probably make an excellent tour guide if she had the chance; after y'all look around y'all will either eat out if she's got cash or head to her house for dinner! she's one of those people that will bring any of their friends close to their circle so you're feeling very welcomed no matter where you go

kind of worries that she did too much on y'all's first hangout so if you say yes to hanging again/accept her invite she's actually like over the moon. "yall are close as hell by the end of the week she's just such an angel

(also, hanging out with you gives her some time away from her family. she loves them dearly, she just wants to develop her personal life and stuff too!!)

asks a lot of questions about you!! where are you from? what foods do you like? what are your hobbies? she just needs to know everything! gets SUPER flustered if you ask her questions, tho

"Oh- me?? Oh, haha,, w-well.. I'm not sure, I haven't really thought about my favorite food. Maybe I should list off the ones I know?? Okay, spaghetti I like... elote is soo good.. but then there's also Carlos' smoked pork-"

not really used to someone being genuinely interested in her so she's a little shy at first. just be patient with her and show genuine interest and she loosens up a bit tho :]

either way though, ivy is probably the best person to ask to hangout out of the entire bunch besides a few because she's just like super excited to make a friend and is probably the fastest route to a bestie if you're similar to her like at all

© rustridden 2026; thanks for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated :] translations welcome with proper credit ("translated from rustridden on tumblr"). do not plagiarize my works for the purposes of AI or any other reason.

[rustridden]

❣ } aim for the neck! (drifter x reader)

{ a/n }: tell me what you think this is my first time writing after like probably 2 years also woahh part 2 ?

A gasp thrusts you from your sleep as you feel your heart physically jump from your chest, the force of it alone enough to lurch your body upwards like a man possessed. The sweat that beads on your skin feels ice cold with the fan’s gentle whirr, a strange contrast to the roaring furnace you feel just beneath your skin. It’s hot- too hot -and if you could be certain your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you, it almost looked like steam was rising off your skin. You can’t discern any details aside from what little moonlight peaks through your closed blinds and projects onto the floor in razor thin slits. They shift and move with the fan’s breeze, lines passing just briefly over clammy palms. It’s dark. Dark and late, according to the bell clock on the nightstand. A weary, shaky hand runs down your face, but when you fail to pay attention and hit your inner thigh you jump at the yelp that follows suit. Sensitive, an internal voice chides, drawing a sharp inhale from you.

Christ… this was the third time this week.

It’s impossible to be able to tell exactly when these… nightmares(?) actually started. It could’ve been maybe two weeks ago, when one startled you so bad it made you bump your head on the shelf above the bed in a panic. Wait, no, earlier than that, because you had gotten one the night before you had to go pull a double like a month ago… or, maybe before that? You wouldn’t be able to say, and even if you could anytime you tried to think about it too long you could feel whatever details you did have vanishing like trying to make shapes from fading smoke. Few details stayed consistent, but the ones that did were more like scattered sensations without a the full spectrum. Just- backtrack. It’s still fresh, maybe you can pull something from it…

Something viscous and warm coats you in thick layers, running down your shoulders, your hair. Running into your eyes and blurring your vision a deep red. There’s a rough thrum in your chest that almost rattles the inside of your ribcage when it beats, but you aren’t scared. No, there’s a searing acid that burns through your muscles like you’ve stretched after a good workout, a looseness in your joints and vibration in your fingertips that makes your claws- claws? -tap a bit against the hard- wet ground. Satisfaction runs through your veins, down the top of your head to your feet. There’s no way you’re clothed- you know you wouldn’t want to be. Anything to keep you from feeling this- all of this -would be torture. You can’t deny yourself the satisfaction, can’t resist the urge to lay in it and stretch as the sharp tang of metal hits your tongue.

It’s fucking revolting. If you stopped lapping you think you’d die. Your legs feel weak enough drinking here in the ground, the frenzy driving the heat further down into your middle. It settled somewhere deep in your hips, festering. In your indulgence you fail to notice whatever appears as if it’s been there beside you the whole time. You don’t see it, barely hear it- but you feel rough palms press against your lower back as if dragging the arch out of you. It rewards you with a purr. Hungry- like you. It growls as it notices your body reacting to it’s own, and before you can turn it grabs you faster than light to pin you down. You’re stuck beneath it, chest grinding into the floor and sweet water that surrounds you, letting whatever it is grind it’s prominent interest against you. It shows no haste to intrude, hips lazily grinding into you and barely paying mind to the desperation you rock back with. It’s messy and uncoordinated, impatience only multiplying with proximity rather than aiding it. You can vaguely recall the feeling of what could’ve been a large cat’s tongue lathe from your collarbone to your jugular, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in it’s chest at the motion. It’s desperate too, but it’s almost like whatever is there- both around and above you -hones that urge. It’s patient in it’s fervor, breath shaky and ragged as you feel something on your inner thigh… is that… is that stubble…?

-thump-

Before you can panic, a soft murrph from your cat catches you off guard enough to wait. He jumps up onto the lumped sheets with the elegance and grace of a small prince, nuzzling up to your side as soon as he knows you’re awake. He seems almost pleased with himself to have given you a start, but you find yourself running a clammed hand appreciatively over his little head anyway. It helps ease you a bit, the thrumming in your chest having slowed down nearly to it’s baseline by the time you pay attention to it again. At this rate you’re almost positive that you need to see a doctor. But what the hell would that even do? Waste money for them to give you melatonin that doesn’t work? You’d already tried. Maybe it was the fear, so you had started double checking your doors and windows. You barely opened either as of late, having spent less and less time speaking to people and more time just taking care of the necessities like your job or groceries.

It honestly seems the only thing to try is the thing you’ve been avoiding; trying to get out. It’s sort of impossible to not consider that your paranoia is just caused by the fact that you haven’t gotten out in a while. You know how you can get when you’re isolated, having spent many near endless nights scrolling through blogs, art pages, whatever you could to have a conduit for your thoughts. It wasn’t healthy, but it was the beginning of a long cycle you’d have to learn to handle better as you’ve gotten to this point. You have to admit not having seen your friends for weeks now was taking a toll on you. Whatever anxieties you’d have would be easily fixed with a blunt and a few shots in your system. An assumption you’re mostly correct about, even though you can’t quite turn off your vigilance once you all get there later that week. It’s sufficiently packed, but not to an extent you’d be horrifically uncomfortable with. Just enough for you to keep an eye on. Whatever’s playing from the jukebox has got everyone singing despite no performer being on stage tonight, and there are a few touches to your shoulders as you pass in welcome. It feels nice to be back here, where sketchy corners and dark shadows don’t feel so foreboding with wallflowers, neon lights, and mild exhibitionists filling them.

You’re a sufficient amount of drinks in when you notice your friends off across the room talking animatedly to someone you don’t recognize from your place at the bar. It's worn and familiar, something you'd go so far as to call cozy. It's a comfort that renders you surprise when you fail to notice the low voice that pulls you from your thoughts before it speaks. “You’ve been sat right here all night. Must be feelin’ down.”

The voice that interrupts your thoughts makes hairs stand up on the back of your neck, your back almost instinctively straightening it self out like a spooked cat. It’s low and gravely, thick with an accent that rolls off the tongue like butter. You don’t lift your head from where you’re staring at your reflection in the amber liquor. “You watching me?”, you ask, and there’s a strange pause before you hear a hearty laugh from him. You glance over a bit, blurry eyes falling on what looks to be glove-clad hands. A biker? His nails are black and slightly pointed, and you swear if you squint it almost looks like he has some slight red tint to his skin like a blush. This red almost looks deeper though- richer. It’s hard to tell with his sleeves down, though. Something in the back of your head nags to try and get that jacket off. You ignore it. “Not unless you like the attention. Watchin’s a strong word anyway, hard not to notice you.”, he says, and it’s when you finally look up do you find yourself slightly delayed in your response.

He peers down at you from beneath a worn hat, messy locs of hair falling over his eyes and curling around pointed ears. His stature is strong, slightly slumped but visibly large enough that you can tell he’s probably muscular under that old jacket and stained shirt he’s got on. He looks rough, probably spends most of his time on the street. Not much unlike you, or your friends, really, but it’s obvious whatever this guy gets up to isn’t something you’d wanna know about for plausible deniability. Everything about him feels like an alarm bell with a pleasant tune, the scent of something heavy and smoky in the air around him that almost sobers you up with the strength. Your wandering eyes earn a sharp-toothed grin and a slight narrow of his eyes, teeth glinting a bit in the dim hanging light above. Something in your chest clenches when he shifts like a scared animal. And, despite the endless distractions around you both, eye contact doesn’t cease with him, trained on you and your expressions as if the rest of the bar doesn’t even exist.

It makes you feel strangely exposed despite having a jacket on your shoulders, the vulnerability it puts you in apparently not lost on him as he rests his elbow on the counter and leans his head into his fist. “You alright, cher? You look red.”

constructive criticism more than welcome pls