#boyd stevens

Chapter One: The Things We Leave Behind

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The town had a rhythm. Not a peaceful one. Not a happy one, but a necessary one. Every morning began with work because if you stopped working, the town stopped standing.

It was still early when you balanced a bundle of weathered lumber across your shoulder, your boots crunching against the gravel road. The weight wasn't unbearable, but most people would've asked for help.

You never did. The front porch outside Sara's house sagged low enough that another hard rain would've sent the whole thing collapsing.

You set the lumber down with a dull thud. "You're doing that by yourself?" You glanced over your shoulder. Donna stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, already wearing the look that said she was preparing to argue.

"I was planning to." Donna looked from the lumber.....to you.....then back again. "You know," she muttered, "there are other people in this town."

"There are." You hummed, dusting your rugged hands.

"They've got arms."

"So do I."

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "You ever think about asking for help?"

You smiled faintly. "I do."

"And?"

"I usually decide against it."

"Stubborn."

"So I've been told."

Donna snorted. "Yeah. By me." You laughed quietly before kneeling beside the porch, setting your toolbox on the warped wood.

The first board came loose easier than expected. Rot. Too much rain. Not enough supplies. It was always one thing or another.

Behind you, Donna folded her arms. "You don't have to fix every damn thing."

"I'm not." You retorted, halfway glaring at the older woman.

"No?"

You gestured vaguely toward the town. "I haven't started on the diner yet." She rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might stay that way. "You keep joking."

"You keep asking." For a moment, neither of you spoke. Donna's expression softened. Not much. Just enough. "We're lucky you're here."

You didn't answer right away. Compliments were strange in a place like this. Luck rarely lasted. Instead, you reached for another nail. "I'm lucky I had somewhere to end up."

Donna's smile disappeared. Neither of you needed to say the rest. Nobody chose this town. Nobody stayed because they wanted to. You stayed because there wasn't anywhere else to go.

By noon, sweat clung to the back of your neck. The porch looked better. Not perfect. Nothing in this town ever was. You leaned back to admire your work. One of the boards sat slightly crooked. You frowned. "...Of course."

You reached for your hammer again. "You've been staring at that board for five minutes." You didn't bother turning around. "I've been staring at it for thirty seconds."

"Felt like five minutes."

Now you looked. Randall. Hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. Leaning against a nearby fence watching.

You smirked. "You following me?"

"No." He shrugged a shoulder, adjusting himself against the old fence.

"You sure?" Your brow raised.

"I was bored."

"So your solution was watching me work?"

"I said I was bored."

You barked out a laugh. "That's not helping your case." Randall shrugged. "You gonna fix it?"

"I was about to. You sure it isn't good enough?" You stared at him, sun beating off your frame.

"Did you really just say 'good enough'?"

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You rebuilt an entire bus engine because one bolt annoyed you." He remarked, pointing a finger your way.

"It was annoying."

"And this board is annoying me."

"Fair."

He pushed himself off the fence, walking toward the porch. Before you could say anything, he crouched beside you. The crooked board; his fingers pressed against one end. "Hit it."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The nail." He held the board steady. "You gonna stand there or fix it?"

A smile tugged at your lips. "You could've just offered."

"I did."

"No." Shaking your head, your hand met your hammer, raising it off from the dirt. "You insulted my work first."

"I had to warm up." You shook your head once more, laughing under your breath before raising the hammer.

One strike. The board settled perfectly into place. Randall let go. "There." You hummed, satisfied.

"There." He stood, brushing dirt from his palms. "You owe me." You breathed, tossing your hammer into the toolbox.

"For holding a board?"

"For emotional support." You stared.

"...You're unbelievable."

"So I've heard."

The afternoon drifted by in much the same way. Someone needed help unloading canned food from the diner. You helped. A truck had sunk one wheel into the muddy shoulder. You and three others shoved until it lurched free.

Mrs. Liu couldn't lift a crate of preserves. You carried it inside before she had the chance to ask. No one expected it anymore. It was simply what you did. Not because you thought you had to.

Because if everyone carried a little of the weight, maybe tomorrow wouldn't feel so heavy.

The town-crier bell rang once. Low and steady. Not a warning. A reminder. Sunset would come sooner than anyone wanted.

Boyd's voice carried from halfway down the street. "Start wrapping it up!"

People answered with nods. Nobody argued. Not anymore. You wiped your hands on your jeans, glancing toward the orange horizon. Another day survived. Now came the harder part.

───

The town always grew quieter before sunset. Not because anyone was told to...because everyone remembered.

A laugh cut short. A conversation ended with, "Tomorrow." Children who had been darting between buildings all afternoon were suddenly shepherded inside with gentle hands and practiced smiles.

No one wanted them to see the fear. Not if they could help it. You ducked into the diner, the familiar scent of coffee and fried onions greeting you before the door had fully closed.

Tian-Chen looked up from behind the counter, her sleeves rolled to her elbows as she dried another plate. "There you are."

You smiled. "I know that tone."

"You disappear."

"I was working."

"You always work."

"I like working."

She gave you a look over the rim of her glasses. "No. You don't. You work because sitting still gives you too much time to think." You opened your mouth. Closed it again. "That obvious?"

"To me."

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. "You need anything?" She nodded toward the stack of flour sacks near the back door. "Storage."

Without another word, you crossed the room and hoisted the first sack over your shoulder. Then another. Then another.

By the fourth trip, Tian-Chen had abandoned pretending she wasn't impressed. "You make everyone else look lazy."

"They're smarter than I am." A sly smirked etched onto your face.

She laughed. "I'll tell Kenny you said that."

"Please don't."

"I will."

"You absolutely will." You chuckled with her. You knew her too well.

"I absolutely will." The laughter between you faded as the bell above the diner door jingled.

Boyd stepped inside. His eyes swept the room automatically. Counting. Always counting. "Almost time."

"We're finishing up," Tian-Chen assured him.

Boyd nodded. His gaze landed on you. "You heading home?"

"In a minute."

"Make it less than a minute."

"I'll try."

"I mean it." His voice was stern, more than before.

"I know." He held your eyes another second before giving a satisfied nod. "Good."

He disappeared back outside. The bell jingled once more. Silence settled over the diner.

Tian-Chen resumed drying dishes. "He worries." You smiled faintly.

"He worries about everyone."

"He worries about you a little more."

You frowned. "I don't know about that."

"I do." She whispered, rag moving clockwise against the grime. You shook your head, pretending not to hear her.

The streets were nearly empty by the time you stepped back outside. The sky had shifted into deep shades of amber and crimson. Beautiful...if you forgot what came after.

You adjusted the strap of your worn canvas bag across your shoulder and began the walk home.

Most houses were already shut tight. Curtains drawn. Windows latched. The comforting glow of lamps flickered behind glass. Life retreating behind walls.

Your house sat near the edge of town. Not far enough to be isolated. Just far enough that the evenings felt... quieter.

You climbed the porch steps, your boots creaking against the wood you'd repaired months ago. Habit took over.

Door. Locked.

Windows. Closed.

Kitchen. Clear.

Bedroom. Clear.

Finally,

The talisman. Still hanging beside the front door. Your fingers brushed its rough surface. A small ritual. Not because you believed touching it made it stronger. Because it reminded you it was there.

Only then did you breathe.

───

Water simmered softly inside the kettle. Steam curled lazily toward the ceiling. You wrapped both hands around your mug, settling into the chair nearest the front window.

A book rested open in your lap. One you'd already read twice. Reading wasn't really the point anymore. Routine was.

Outside, darkness settled over the town. The porch light cast a warm circle across the old wooden boards. Beyond it, only black. The woods swallowed everything.

You turned another page. You didn't realize you'd stopped reading until several minutes later. Your eyes had been fixed on the same sentence. Your mind elsewhere.

The silence felt, wrong. Not dangerous. Just...different.

You frowned. The kettle had stopped whistling. The clock still ticked. Nothing had changed. So why did the hairs along the back of your neck stand up?

Slowly, you lifted your gaze toward the front window. The curtains remained closed. Nothing moved. Still, the feeling refused to leave. Someone was there. You couldn't explain how you knew. You simply did.

Carefully, you set your mug aside. Your footsteps barely made a sound against the wooden floor. Every instinct told you not to look.

Curiosity won. Two fingers pinched the edge of the curtain. You pulled it aside, just enough to see.

He was already standing there. Not walking toward the house. Not climbing the steps.

Simply there.

The Cowboy stood beneath the porch light as though he'd always belonged there. Cream-colored hat tipped low. Hands loosely clasped around the large silver buckle resting at his waist. His head angled downward.

Until, he realized you'd seen him. The smallest smile curved across his lips. Not wide. Not predatory. Almost, pleased.

"As expected." His voice carried easily through the glass. Smooth, patient. Like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.

You didn't answer. Didn't move. Neither did he. The silence stretched comfortably between you. For him. Not for you.

His eyes wandered past your shoulder. Toward the neighboring house. "The porch." Your brow furrowed.

"What about it?"

"It no longer sags."

You glanced instinctively toward Sara's house. "No...It doesn't."

He looked back at you. "You repaired it." It wasn't a question.

You hesitated. "How do you know that?"

His smile lingered. "I notice things."

"You weren't here."

Another pause. Then, almost thoughtfully.

"Wasn't I?"

Your stomach tightened. He hadn't answered. Not really. That was the problem with them. Nothing was ever simple.

He tipped his head slightly, studying your face beneath the warm glow spilling from your house. "You carry more than the others."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"The lumber. The crates. The trucks." His gaze lingered on your hands. "You're useful."

You weren't sure whether to be offended. Or complimented. "...Thanks..." His smile deepened.

"You don't like compliments."

"I don't like yours." Your arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I noticed."

For the first time a quiet chuckle escaped him. It wasn't loud. Just enough to make the silence feel even stranger. And somehow, even though every instinct screamed that you should step away from the window...

Pairing : Cowboy Creature x Reader

Summary : When an ordinary carpenter becomes trapped in the nightmare town of Fromville, survival quickly teaches her one rule above all others: Never open the door after dark. But every night, one creature breaks that rule. Dressed in a weathered white western shirt and a cowboy hat, he never smiles like the others. He never scratches at the windows. He never begs to be let inside. He simply knocks. Three quiet knocks. Night after night. Drawn by equal parts fear and curiosity, she begins to meet him beneath the moonlight, discovering that the world beyond the talismans is far stranger—and far more beautiful—than she ever imagined. As their secret walks through the forest become a refuge from the terror surrounding them, an impossible bond begins to grow between a human woman and the creature everyone else fears. Hidden from the town that would never understand, their relationship blossoms through quiet conversations, patient trust, and countless small acts of devotion. But as her connection to the night deepens, she finds herself caught between two worlds: the daylight life she has built among the survivors, and the ancient, silent world where Cowboy has always belonged. With danger lurking behind every sunset, friendships tested by impossible secrets, and a love that asks for nothing except a choice freely given.

The Lantern Beyond the Pines is a slow-burn paranormal romance about finding home in the most unexpected place—and discovering that sometimes the heart recognizes where it belongs long before the mind is willing to admit it. For every door that closes at night... One quietly opens.

Warnings : Shit dude, legit everything? I mean, come on look at what you're reading you sick freaks- >:)

Other : I have been working on this for A WHILE. Since the end of season 3 if i remembercorrectly. The whole book is written- but most of it is still in editing. Im hoping to update frequently(maybe every week???), but im a very busy woman and I have a family to care for. Anyways- enjoy your sick bastards. Dont forget to comment, like, and reblogg!

Important Note : This page is dedicated to be the 'masterlist' page for the book. Each chapter will be linked in this post to be easily found.

Hello again! I absolutely love Randall. (Less than the creatures but let's put him in top 3 of the townsfolk haha)

Thanks for the request! These are so fun to do. :)

Again, remember, requests are open! I mainly do creatures, but love doing the townsfolk too! Now..onto the request >:)

Randall With a S/O Who Stims

At first, Randall would be a little freaked- I mean, after all the weird shit he's been through, adding on top of it, it's a little hard to handle at first.

But once he understood what was happening- and why, it got easier. Rocking yourself back and forth, counting numbers back to back, and randomly leaving a conversation, it all made sense.

Most nights, when it was the worst, he'd calmly sit next to you, rubbing your back. Sometimes, he'd just sit there and tell stories of his life. About his nephew, the birthday party he'd never attend, and his work.

Sometimes it helped...most nights, it was just nice to have someone who understood you.

Each person had their own problems, yours were thrown to the side. Not that you were a problem, just that no one really got you like Randall did.

The creatures, tapping against the glass of the bus, were the worst. Even for him. Those nights, taunting you, mimicking even. It was enough to throw Randall into a rage, slamming his fist against glass, talisman bouncing against the wall. "Hey! Leave her the fuck alone!" "Get the hell outta here!"

But those nights, he'd hold you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his warmth welcoming; melting right into the scarred man.

Even with your quirks, he had his own. And you helped, just like he did. Everyone is a little different sometimes, you both so happened to find calm within the mass amount of difference.

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(Aaannnddd because I cannnnn...here's a super mini fic for this!)

The wind was light, your hair flowing within its grasp. It was almost nice. Almost.

The morning had been busy; crowded even. Helping with this months harvest, re-planting what you could ration. Food had become somewhat scarce, the soil seemed to be cursed.

Hands covered in dirt, knee bent to your chest, you swayed, counting back to yourself softly. Lost in thought, you didn't catch the sound of footsteps.

"Hey Y/n where are yo-" Randall's voice rang through. His head dipping to look at your frame. "Oh"

Without thinking, he settled next you to, sliding his jacket off, tugging it on your own frame. Still rocking, you looked at him, a soft smile sketched onto your face. "Hey.."

"Hey. You okay?" You hummed in response, your pace slowing, but didn't stop. Randall just sighed, wrapping his arms around yourself, pulling you into his lap. "I got you."

His warmth, combined with his jacket, had you melting back into him; him joining your movement. "I know."

That's how you too stayed, swaying too and frow. His head burying into your neck, prepping kisses here and there. No one dared to bother you too. And you liked it that way.

Pairing : The Milkman x Reader

Summary: Night after night, you exchange gifts, speaking what you both cannot say.

Warning : N/A

Other : Ive been working on this one for a while (totally not a whole month...haha.) but had this idea of forbidden love.

Speaking of...this creature doesnt get enough love. And hes in my top 3 haha. I have some more ideas coming in the future, but who knows for now.

Enjoy :) and dont forget, requests are open! (And more to come!)

The first flower appeared on your windowsill. It wasn't there when the sun went down. But when you checked the window before bed, a single white daisy rested against the glass. No footprints. No note. Just a flower. You threw it away.

The next night, there was another. This time, a yellow buttercup. The night after that, a blue cornflower. Each sunrise, you found a different bloom waiting outside.

The town had barely any flowers grow. You had no idea where they were coming from. Victor frowned when you mentioned them. "The forest doesn't grow those." Hands scribbling away at his most recent drawing.

"Then who keeps leaving them?" Victor looked toward the road outside the diner. His expression turned uneasy. "I think... I know."

That evening, you waited by the window instead of hiding from it. Just before sunset, he appeared.

The Milkman.

Neatly dressed in his crisp white uniform, carrying the same unsettling smile as every other creature. Except tonight. There was something clutched carefully in his hand.

Another flower. He walked to your porch with slow, measured steps and gently placed it on the railing. Not tossed. Not dropped. Placed; as though it were precious.

When he looked up and saw you watching he gave a small nod.

"You're the one leaving them." The words were barely above a whisper. Your eyes darting from the gift, to the creature.

He smiled. "Yes." Hands, too human, too wrong, brushing against his pants, as if it were natural.

"Why?" Eyes narrowing, not from anger, but confusion. These creatures...you seen tear flesh from bone, treating something with such care and consideration.

His eyes lowered briefly to the flower. "I remembered." His voice sounded distant, as though reaching through layers of fog. "Someone once liked receiving them."

"You don't even know if it was me." Head threatening to shake, yet remained still, as if, you moved a second, you'd miss everything. "I don't." He looked back at you. "But it feels right."

You didn't know what to make of that. Monsters didn't bring gifts. They lured. They lied. They killed. Yet every evening, another flower appeared.

Never the same kind twice. Always carefully chosen. Always untouched. Eventually curiosity won.

The next morning, while helping Kristi gather herbs, you picked a tiny purple wildflower growing beside the path. You carried it home.

All day, you debated with yourself. This was ridiculous. He was one of them. And yet, that evening, just before sunset, you stepped onto the porch while there was still daylight.

Your heartbeat hammered in your ears. You laid the little purple flower on the top step. Then hurried back inside before darkness fell.

When the creatures emerged, The Milkman stopped. He stared at the flower. For a long time, he didn't move. Then, with surprising care, he picked it up.

He held it as though it might break. When he looked toward your window, seeing your watchful glaze, his usual smile had softened. "For me?"

You nodded once. His fingers tightened gently around the stem. "How quaint" He stopped himself, thumb and index moving the flower too and frow. "I don't remember the last time someone gave me one."

After that it became a quiet tradition. He left one for you. You left one for him. Neither of you crossed the invisible line between the porch and the doorway. Neither of you forgot what he was. Or what would happen if you invited him inside.

But for a few moments every evening, the flowers spoke where words failed.

One rainy night, he arrived carrying a single red poppy. He placed it beside your usual white daisy. "You gave me two." He brow raising slightly.

"I missed yesterday." You replied, cup of tea in hand, indulging in its warmth. A storm had kept you away from the window the night before. "You noticed."

"I always notice."

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself. "You know," you said softly, "people usually exchange flowers because they care about each other."

The Milkman looked down at the blooms in his hands. "I don't remember much from before." He met your gaze. "But I remember..." A sigh escaped the creature, pulling at string he couldn't quite connect. "that flowers are meant to say things people can't."

Another sip. "What are yours saying?" Eyes exploring the 'man' before you. You wondered if he was as warm as the tea, or as cold as outside.

He looked almost...uncertain. As if, fighting his own instincts. "I'm glad you're still here."

Your throat tightened. You glanced at the daisy waiting on your windowsill. "I think mine says the same."

As summer faded and the leaves turned brown, the flowers became harder to find. Still, every evening, one somehow appeared. Sometimes fresh. Sometimes slightly wilted.

Never forgotten.

The townspeople eventually stopped asking why your windowsill was always covered in blossoms. They never learned the truth. That every flower was a conversation.

A thank you.

A promise.

A reminder that even in a town ruled by monsters, certain..unexplored, feelings could still bloom in the smallest, strangest places.

And every night, beneath the fading light, a human and a creature continued exchanging flowers. Never touching. Never crossing the threshold.

But it did make me reflect on the compare-and-contrast of the three romantic relationships of Boyd/Abby, Ellis/Fatima, and Kristi/Marielle, particularly in relation to the party left behind.