You had been intrigued by Randall since the evening that bus arrived, but everybody was ordered to stay away after he abducted Donna from Colony House. Now he wasn’t just alone at night, but 24/7.
His viewing options from the bus were: an empty diner, collapsed house, Boyd, or you.
Hey, it’s your fault for always being last to cover your windows.
It stemmed from boredom. Watching you just to distract himself from falling for the monsters taunting, but all it took was one time waving goodnight to him as you closed your curtains before bed. From there he had to make sure he saw you get home before sundown.
Felt it was his responsibility to track your shadows movements to each room until the lights went off in (what he presumes is) your bedroom.
Going to a back corner seat of the bus to open his bulging jeans and take care of his hard without creatures staring. Wondering if you ever looked back at him.
You would pretend not to see him on-top of that bus every sunrise, staring at your front door until you surfaced, and it was just a coincidence when you went to the church alone he always had to enter.
He would just lean against a wall. Not like he was praying or anything. (He looked bored honestly.) Sometimes he would nod to you as you walked out, but that was it.
This time you tried to be polite and let him have the room. Maybe he was always just waiting for some privacy?
Randall was slumped an inch away from the door, hands on his belt.
You faintly smile, trying to make it less awkward having to go past him.
…
“You been closing your curtains earlier lately.”
He said as you were moving your arm for the door pull.
“Oh.. yes.” A polite answer, but not inviting conversation.
“How come?”
“Um, the town has just felt ‘different’ lately.”
“Look, you got nothin’ to worry about. I tried a couple of your windows, nothing opened.”
…
“..Thankyou.”
…
You excuse yourself, trying to maintain the courtesy smile so much that you look like one of the night beings.
Randall thought it was pretty disturbing how you reacted. He didnt assume it was because of him, instead assuming you were scared all the time in this nightmare town.
A helpless young girl. Poor Little y/n.
Strangely…or maybe luckily, you hadn’t caught sight of him the rest of the day (and you were checking over your shoulder a lot.)
You didn’t even see him get back on the bus as Sheriff Stevens rang for curfew.
Randall hadn’t bothered you enough to trouble Boyd with it. Though, needless to say you covered your windows more paranoid than usual.
Like always, once it was dark going upstairs to decompress.
*Dum Dum Dum*
Your front door had frantic beating, a deep muffled yelling on the other side.
“Hey, y/n!” “Come the fuck on!”
It was a panic only heard from humans. You run down and press your head onto the glass window.
“y/n! I’ll break this fucking door, y/n!”
Randall repeatedly struck the door, through its shaking you could see blurs of emerging figures start creeping around your house.
Was there a choice? If you leave him to die you could be in the box tomorrow night.
You unclick the lock and Randalls hand already wrenching the door knob makes it swing open and knock you. Randall slams his back against the door, winded and heaving his chest.
“Fuck. Did I scare you?.. I’m sorry I scared you.”
He looks around you concerned, like he’s checking for an injury, his eyes are agitated and he keeps trying to turn his head to be in your direct line of sight. Randall grabs one of your hands.
Less like holding hands, more like clamping it.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“..Excuse me?..”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve been that late.”
Said as if you hadn’t heard him the first time with those things heckling outside.
You look like a deer in headlights, questioning how hard you got bumped.
Muted, you try to step aside, but Randall stiffens and his posture grows broader.
“Hey!” He doesn’t let you get farther.
Quickly sliding up off your hand and snatching your wrist instead.
Dropping his other hand onto the door knob, the still unlocked door knob.
“We’re gonna try this the fuck again.”
Next thing you were in your bed, faced up underneath Randall’s neck, trying to remember how you got there…
From: staring at his arm veins as your wrist was being dented, agreeing not to cry if he came away from the door, Randall bending down, wrapping his arm around your legs and carrying you up the steps, somehow already knowing which room.
To: his propped arms denting your mattress, a few tears drying up from when he pushed in, legs bent back against the sides of him, somehow already damp between.
Randall sighing out low moans as his strokes roll through you repeatedly and slowly, trying to draw the night out. You might flee at sunrise after all.
“Hmhh.. you wanna pretend we can’t hear your pussy flowing?” The little lappings of wet sap covering your silence. Randall smacks in deeper, making your eyes jolt and legs tighten on him.
“Ahghh”
He leans up, looking surprised that you gave him a reaction.
“You like that, huh? Should’ve figured.”
He gets firmer with his pace. The stronger pounds causing more wet to be released and seep between you both.
The bed begins creaking giving you confidence to shyly let out your own noises. You arch your ribs up, closing your eyes when an orgasm starts to feel close.
You draw your hand to your clitoris trying to give yourself some control over it.
Randall slings your hand away, pinning it beside you. You jerked to look at him, but Randall is staring down, obsessed by your vagina hugging him everytime it penetrates.
“Don’t touch my shit! vmhh, I wanna see it.”
Your legs are the only thing he’s not holding in place, no point with them shaking. Finally he does a slow draw out caused by you squirting all over his pelvis.
“Holy shit, baby. You see how much that bitch likes it?”
He keeps sinking back in every few seconds to see it splash again and again.
You murmur and grind each time, eyes low and sparkling.
“You done?” He smirks.
…
You nodded, thinking it was a sincere question.
…
“Mhmm, What about me?”
Randall grabs your hip bones, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your lower half up to his. Sliding his hand up your skins a few times before lining his warm tip poking into your vagina.
You get bumped forward by his dick, overwhelmed you lean too far and he drives an arm on your back to push you into the mattress.
“Don’t fuckin’ move away from me!”
“Get the fuck back here.”
He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls you up against his chest.
Kissing your jaw with each push up of his dick, giving you a lecture with each pull back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A story about what it costs to survive—and the one person who refuses to let you lose yourself trying.
pairings: randall kirkland x softangelgirlfriend!reader
synopsis: When kindness starts to look like a liability, you learn how to survive—you take less risk, give less away, stop reaching for people who won’t reach back.
She learns.
Randall is the one who notices first.
What starts as irritation turns into something sharper when the softness he couldn’t stand is replaced by something colder, quieter—something that looks too much like everyone else.
The argument that follows isn’t really about survival.
It’s about what she’s willing to lose to stay alive—and why he can’t stand watching her become someone she’s not.
CONTENT WARNING: emotional distress, survival setting, loss of identity, behavioral change, being taken advantage of, self-sacrificing tendencies, moral ambiguity, arguments/conflict, harsh environment, implied violence/danger, anxiety, internal conflict, themes of survival, angst, soft randall (if you squint)
word count: 2.1k
a/n: thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!! i had so much fun writing this and love the idea of randall dating someone who’s like the complete opposite of him. love this concept and the idea of randall noticing her change before anyone else just stuck in my head. considering turning this into like a non plot series type thing, so think of this as like how they were before they got together type thing!
She says thank you too much.
Not in a way that draws attention, not in that bright, performative tone people use when they’re trying to be liked. It’s quieter than that. Automatic. Like it’s stitched into her, like she doesn’t know how to exist without softening everything around her.
“Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
“I appreciate it.”
It slips out of her without thinking. For everything. Someone hands her a cup of water, she thanks them. Someone barely spares her a glance, she thanks them anyway, like acknowledgment in itself is something she owes something back for. Half the time, the people she says it to don’t even register it. The other half, they take it and give nothing in return.
Randall notices before he realizes he’s watching her.
And it bugs him.
Not because it’s wrong—he doesn’t care about that, doesn’t even know if it is—but because it doesn’t fit. Not here. Not somewhere that eats through people until there’s nothing left but what’s necessary. Softness like that doesn’t last. It gets worn down, traded off piece by piece until there’s nothing left to take.
Or it gets you hurt.
“You always like that?” he asks one afternoon, voice cutting in without warning.
She’s sitting off to the side, splitting what little food she has into two uneven portions. The bigger half is already gone from her hands, passed quietly to someone who hadn’t even asked for it.
She glances up at him, and there’s no embarrassment in it. No defensiveness. Just that same open, unguarded look that makes it hard to tell whether she doesn’t understand what he’s saying or just doesn’t agree.
“Like what?”
He tips his chin toward the empty space in her hands. “That,” he says. “Giving your stuff out like it’s unlimited.”
“They needed it.”
“So do you.”
She shrugs easy, like it’s not even worth arguing. Like her own needs don’t carry the same weight in her head. “I’ll be okay.”
Randall lets out a short breath through his nose, something between a scoff and a laugh.
He shifts his weight against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Heard that one before.”
There’s no real bite to it. Not like there usually is when he talks.
She watches him for a second, like she’s actually thinking about it, like she might take it seriously.
“Still,” she says after a second, “thank you.”
He frowns at her like she said something that doesn’t make sense.
“For what?”
She tilts her head slightly. “For saying something.” Then continues softer. “For looking out for me.”
That throws him off in a way he doesn’t like.
He hadn’t meant it like that. Hadn’t meant it as anything, really. It was just… a comment. An observation.
“I didn’t say anything,” he shoots back immediately. “I made a comment.”
“It counts.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She smiles anyway.
That… irritates him more than it should.
He looks away first.
“Whatever,” he mutters.
It’s small, but it’s real, like his intention doesn’t change the outcome for her. Like it counts regardless.
And that should’ve been the end of it.
It isn’t.
He doesn’t notice the change right away.
Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care enough to name it.
At first, it’s small.
She hesitates.
Someone asks for help, and she pauses instead of moving right away. Just a second—but it’s there. Like she’s thinking about it now, running it through a set of rules that didn’t exist before. Sometimes she still steps in. Sometimes she doesn’t.
Then she stops offering.
Stops hovering near people who look like they’re struggling. Stops splitting what she has. Keeps to herself more, stops inserting herself into situations that don’t directly involve her. It’s as if she’s learned where the invisible lines are and decided not to cross them anymore. Like she’s finally figuring out how things work.
Smart.
That’s what it is.
Smart.
Her voice changes too, a little. Less extra. Less… her.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Fine.”
The extra words disappear. The softness that used to round everything out gets trimmed away, piece by piece, until what’s left is efficient. Careful. Distant.
And eventually, the thank yous stop.
That’s what Randall notices first.
Not in some big, dramatic way. It’s just… gone. A beat that used to exist, a rhythm he hadn’t realized he’d gotten used to until it wasn’t there anymore.
She hands him something one day—he doesn’t even remember what—and turns away like it’s nothing.
No pause. No acknowledgment. No “thanks.”
Nothing.
He waits for it without meaning to. It doesn’t come. He catches himself almost saying something.
Doesn’t
Just watches her walk off, something in his expression tightening for a second before it disappears. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything.
But it does.
Because once he sees it, he can’t stop seeing it.
It’s in everything she does. Or doesn’t do.
She doesn’t look at people the same way anymore. Doesn’t step in. Doesn’t react. Someone drops something right next to her and she just keeps walking like she didn’t hear it.
Someone asks for help, and she gestures vaguely toward someone else instead of stepping in herself. She keeps her food now—every bit of it—tucked away like she’s finally learned the lesson everyone else picked up years ago.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe that’s what she’s supposed to do.
But it doesn’t sit right.
Not because the behavior itself is wrong, but because it’s her doing it, and it looks… off. Like she’s wearing something that doesn’t quite fit, like it pulls in the wrong places.
Randall leans back against the wall one evening, arms crossed, watching her pass by like she doesn’t even register he’s there.
“Hey.”
“What?”
She pauses, but she doesn’t fully turn toward him. The distance is subtle, but it’s there now—something measured in the way she holds herself, in how much of her she allows anyone to see.
“When’d you start ignoring people?”
“I don’t.”
He lets out a quiet huff. “Yeah. You do,” he continues, flat. “Just watched you do it.”
“They’ll figure it out.”
“That’s new.”
There’s something different there. Not colder, exactly. Just… shut down in a way it wasn’t before.
“People said I needed to stop,” she says.
“Stop what?”
“Being stupid.”
The word sits wrong.
Randall’s expression shifts, something sharper creeping in.
“Who said that?”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she says, a little firmer now, though her voice stays level. “They weren’t wrong.”
He pushes off the wall then, uncrossing his arms.
“Right,” he says, tone flat. “So now you just don’t do anything.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She exhales, already looking annoyed. “I’m just not making things harder for myself anymore.”
“By what—acting like you don’t see anything?” he cuts in.
“By not being an easy target.”
“So this is you fixing it?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You call this better?”
“I call it necessary.”
There’s no softness left in it.
“Necessary,” he repeats, pushing off the wall as irritation sharpens into something more pointed. “No. This isn’t necessary. This is you turning into everyone else.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” she shoots back, and finally there’s some heat in her voice. “They’re still alive, aren’t they?”
“Barely.”
“But they are.”
“And you think this is why?” he presses, stepping closer now, frustration creeping in around the edges. “You think acting like you don’t care is what’s keeping them alive?”
“It’s part of it.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s what’s left after everything else gets stripped away.”
She exhales sharply, already looking like she wants out of the conversation. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“Yeah, you are,” he counters, stepping into her path before she can move past him. “Because this isn’t you.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I don’t have to. I saw who you were before.”
“Yeah?” she says, turning fully toward him now, something raw slipping through the cracks. “And where did that get me?”
It lands.
Not loud, not dramatic, but exactly where it needs to.
“Nowhere,” she continues, quieter but sharper. “It got me taken advantage of. It got me ignored. It almost got me hurt.”
“And this is better?”
“It’s safer.”
“Is it,” he asks, voice dropping, “or is it just easier?”
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he shoots back, something deeper threading through the frustration now. “I’ve seen what this place does to people.”
“So have I.”
“Then you should know better.”
“Know better than to survive?”
“No,” he says, the word cutting clean. “Know better than to lose yourself doing it.”
She lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s easy for you to say.”
That one sticks.
Because it’s not wrong.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, even though he already knows.
“It means you already know how to be like this,” she says, gesturing toward him. “You don’t hesitate. You don’t second-guess. You don’t care about people you shouldn’t. That’s how you survive here.”
Each word lands steady, deliberate.
“And I don’t,” she adds, softer now. “So I’m learning.”
Something twists in his chest, sharp and immediate.
“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tightening, “and how’s that working out for you?”
“Better than before.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he says, stepping closer again, voice rougher now. “Because you look miserable.”
That stops her.
Not completely, but enough to crack something in the surface she’s been holding together.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in, not letting her pull away from it. “You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t help unless you have to, you don’t—” He exhales, shaking his head. “That’s not surviving. That’s just existing.”
She swallows, gaze dropping for a second before she forces it back up. “At least I’m still here.”
And that—
That’s it.
“This place already ruins people,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. “Don’t help it.”
He holds her gaze, something real breaking through the usual edge in his voice.
“Do you think I like being like this?” he adds. “You think this is something you should be aiming for?”
She doesn’t answer.
Because she doesn’t have one.
“I didn’t start like this,” he continues, dragging a hand over the back of his neck, pacing once like he needs to burn off the weight of it. “Nobody does. This place takes whatever you were and grinds it down until this is what’s left.”
He gestures to himself, something bitter flickering across his face.
“And you want to speed that up?” he asks, looking back at her. “You want to do that to yourself on purpose?”
Her expression shifts, just slightly.
“I’m just trying to survive,” she says, but it’s quieter now. Less certain.
“Yeah,” he replies. “So was I.”
The words settle between them, heavy.
“And look how that turned out.”
That’s what finally gets through.
She looks at him differently then, like she’s seeing past the surface of him for the first time, like she’s noticing what it cost him to get here.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she admits, and there’s something fragile in it now, something honest.
Randall exhales slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.
“You keep going,” he says. “The way you were.”
“That doesn’t work here.”
“It did,” he counters. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“Barely.”
“Barely counts.”
She lets out a small breath, shaking her head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I can’t keep being that person if it’s going to get me killed,” she says, voice tightening again, but not as defensive. “I can’t keep giving things away, trusting people, acting like things are normal when they’re not.”
“I’m not saying be stupid,” he says, more controlled now. “I’m saying don’t kill the only part of you that makes this place bearable.”
She goes still.
“Not just for you,” he adds, quieter.
Her gaze lifts back to his, something unspoken settling between them.
“You don’t have to be like me,” he says. “That’s not something you should want.”
A beat passes.
“Trust me.”
There’s something almost ironic about it, but neither of them acknowledges it.
Silence settles, but it’s different now. Less sharp. Less guarded.
She looks down at her hands, turning everything over, and for once he doesn’t interrupt it. He lets the quiet sit, lets her work through it without pushing.
After a moment, she exhales, her shoulders loosening just slightly.
“…Okay.”
It’s not a promise.
But it’s something.
It doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t magically undo the shift.
The next time someone asks for help, she still hesitates. It’s there, that pause, that instinct to pull back, to protect herself the way she’s been trying to.
Then, slowly, she steps in anyway.
Not like before. Not automatic.
But it’s hers.
Later, when she passes Randall in the hallway, she slows just enough to catch his attention, holding something out for him to take.
“Here.”
He takes it, glancing at her.
She starts to walk off.
There’s a pause.
It’s small. Uncertain.
“…Thanks,” she says, quieter than it used to be.
It’s quieter now. A little uncertain, like she’s still figuring out how much of herself she’s allowed to keep without it costing her.
Randall nods once, like it’s nothing.
“Yeah.” he mutters.
But he doesn’t look away as she walks off, watching her as she goes.
And this time, there’s no irritation in it.
Just something quieter.
Something that looks a lot like him making sure she doesn’t disappear into this place the way everyone else eventually does—even if he never says that part out loud.
It’s because he’s decided—quietly, without saying it out loud—that if the world tries to take that softness from her again, it’s going to have to go through him first.
dividers/borders by these lovely people: @dollywons @uzmacchiato @mieluno
I was simply visiting some family a couple states away for the week.
Nothing special.
Routine, even.
Rubbing my eyes, I grab my luggage and make my way towards the bus. Taking the bus wasn't my first choice but my car was in the shop and I can't afford airfare so here we are.
The station buzzes with early morning exhaustion.
People clutch coffee cups like lifelines.
A baby cries somewhere behind me.
Someone is loudly arguing with customer service.
Normal.
Painfully normal.
The kind of normal you never appreciate until it's gone.
At the time, I was mostly annoyed.
Annoyed at the bus.
Annoyed at my car.
Annoyed that I had to spend eight hours trapped with strangers instead of driving myself.
I shift my duffel bag higher onto my shoulder and join the line.
The closer I get to the bus, the more I debate turning around.
Not because I don't want to see my family.
I just don't particularly enjoy spending time with them.
Family gatherings always felt less like reunions and more like obligations.
Show up.
Smile.
Answer the same questions.
Pretend you're doing better than you actually are.
Then leave.
Go back to my cozy apartment and hide away from my problems.
Just one week, I tell myself. One week and then I can get back to normal.
The driver scans my ticket and waves me aboard.
I step onto the bus.
Scanning the bus, I notice how full it is. Its like when you board a plane to an obscure destination and realize how many people are headed there as well. Small world.
Making my way through the aisle, I plan my eight hour trip.
Music and sleep. I look forward to it.
Maybe a book if I'm feeling ambitious. Anything to make the trip go by faster.
I move down the aisle, searching for my seat.
Then I see him.
I stop so abruptly the person behind me nearly walks into my back.
No.
Absolutely not.
Three rows from the back, stretched out like he owns the damn bus, sits Randall.
His headphones are on. One arm is thrown over the empty seat beside him. His cocky demeanor already pisses me off.
And somehow, despite not even looking at me yet, he already looks irritating.
I stare. He stares out the window. Completely unaware that my day has just been ruined. There goes my peaceful trip.
Of all the buses.
Of all the routes.
Of all the people on the planet.
It had to be Randall.
I briefly consider getting off.
Not because I'm afraid of him.
That would be ridiculous.
I just don't think society needs to witness eight straight hours of whatever conversation we're inevitably going to have.
As if sensing my irritation through sheer force of will, Randall glances up.
Our eyes meet. His expression immediately darkens.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
I clutch my ticket tighter.
"Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
He drops his head back against the seat.
"Great."
"Great."
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then Randall points toward the front of the bus.
"Pretty sure there are other seats."
I smile.
Not a nice smile.
"Pretty sure there aren't enough."
His eyes narrow. Mine do too.
The poor woman sitting across the aisle looks between us like she's witnessing a divorced couple at a custody hearing.
And honestly?
Fair.
I continue down the aisle and find my seat.
Then I stop.
No.
No.
Absolutely not.
I look at my ticket.
Then the seat.
Then my ticket again.
"Fuck," mumbling under my breath. What the hell did I do to deserve this?
Randall notices immediately.
His expression somehow manages to get worse.
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
Of course. Of course my assigned seat is directly across from him.
Because apparently I did something horrible in a past life.
I throw my bag into the seat harder than necessary and sit down.
The bus continues filling around us.
For a few glorious seconds, neither of us speaks.
Then-
"Thought you'd be driving."
I close my eyes.
I don't even look at him.
"My car's in the shop."
"Huh."
The sound irritates me more than it should.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, what?"
Randall shrugs.
"You just seem like the type that'd rather drive eight hours alone than sit near people."
I turn toward him.
"I would."
"Yeah."
The agreement somehow annoys me even more.
I cross my arms.
"Why are you even here?"
He looks out the window.
"Taking the bus."
"Oh, thank God. Here I thought maybe you were training for a marathon."
That earns a glare.
Good.
At least I'm not suffering alone.
The driver begins her announcements. Neither of us listens.
Randall pulls his headphones over his ears.
I immediately feel relief.
Finally.
Silence.
I settle into my seat and pull out my phone.
Then I notice it.
His music is so loud I can hear it through the headphones.
I stare at him.
He stares out the window.
I stare harder.
Finally he turns.
"What?"
"Turn it down."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because now I don't want to."
I hate him. I genuinely hate him.
Three rows ahead, an older man glances back at us before deciding he wants absolutely no part in whatever this is.
Smart man.
The bus lurches forward.
The station slowly disappears behind us.
And just like that, we are trapped together for the next eight hours.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
A couple hours pass.
Most of the bus has settled into that strange travel silence.
Some people are sleeping.
Others stare out the windows.
I try reading.
Try being the important word.
The bus hits a pothole.
My book slips from my lap and lands in the aisle. Naturally.
It slides directly beneath Randall's seat.
Of course it does.
I stare at it.
The book stares back.
Randall notices.
Unfortunately.
A grin immediately appears.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're thinking."
"I wasn't thinking anything."
"Liar."
He leans down, picks up the book, and flips it over.
His eyebrows rise.
"Oh."
My stomach sinks.
Give it back.
Immediately.
Instead, he reads the title.
Out loud.
Loud enough for me to hear.
Loud enough for me to know he's doing it on purpose.
"Oh my God."
"Give it back."
"You're reading this?"
"It's a book."
"It's embarrassing."
I hold my hand out.
"Randall."
He finally hands it over.
Still looking amused.
I shove it back into my bag.
"You're annoying."
"You've mentioned."
"Several times."
"At least you're consistent."
I roll my eyes and turn toward the window.
A few seconds pass.
Then my silence is interrupted, again.
"You know that ending sucks, right?"
My head snaps around.
"You read it?"
"Unfortunately."
I stare at him.
For some reason, that bothers me more than him making fun of it.
Then he shrugs.
"I got bored once."
I hate that answer.
I hate him.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head against my seat. Just a few more hours, I think to myself. A few more hours and I'm free from this torment.
--
Just when I thought it was everything was becoming silent again.
There it was, the tree.
A tree in the goddamn middle of the road.
The bus slows to a stop.
For a second, nobody says anything.
We all just stare.
The thing is massive.
Its roots are torn from the earth, dirt and splintered wood scattered across the road.
There's no squeezing around it.
No driving over it.
Nothing.
The driver lets out a long sigh.
"Well."
A collective groan moves through the bus.
Someone curses from the back.
A woman near the front asks if there's another route.
The driver is already reaching for her radio.
I sink back into my seat.
Fantastic.
At this rate I'll see my family sometime next year.
Across from me, Randall leans forward and looks out the window.
"You've got to be kidding me."
His voice is low but annoyed enough for me to hear.
I glance at him.
"Wow."
"What?"
"I didn't realize nature personally hated you."
Randall shoots me a look.
"Shut up."
I smile.
A little.
"Having a rough day?"
"My day was fine until I got on this bus."
I laugh.
"Glad we're blaming the bus."
The driver stands and addresses everyone.
"Looks like we're going to have to turn around and find another route."
Another round of complaints follows.
Randall throws his head back against the seat.
"A detour."
The word comes out like a personal insult.
"It's not the end of the world."
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Randall immediately sits up.
"Oh, now you care?"
I blink.
"What?"
"You've spent the entire trip acting like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"I would."
"Exactly."
I stare at him.
He stares back.
Neither of us entirely sure how we got into another argument.
The poor woman across the aisle looks exhausted.
Honestly, same.
The bus finishes the turn and starts back down the road.
People settle in again.
Conversations resume.
Phones come back out.
Life continues.
Except now a strange feeling sits in my stomach.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Just a sense that something is wrong.
I glance out the window one last time.
The fallen tree is already disappearing behind us.
For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that it wasn't supposed to let us pass.
The thought makes no sense.
It's a tree.
Just a tree.
Yet the knot in my stomach only grows tighter.
I rub my palms against my jeans.
The motion doesn't help.
Neither does looking out the window.
The woods blur past.
Endless.
Unmoving.
Wrong.
I find myself checking the road behind us again.
Then checking it again.
And again.
As if I'm expecting to see something.
As if I'm waiting for something.
My knee begins bouncing.
The familiar feeling settles into my chest.
Panic.
Not yet. But close.
Close enough that I recognize it immediately.
God, I should've taken my meds with me.
It's been months since my last panic attack.
Months.
Now the warning signs are creeping in one by one.
The bouncing knee.
The tightness in my chest.
The feeling that I need to get up and move before I crawl out of my own skin.
I swallow hard.
Not here.
Please not here.
Outside, the road stretches endlessly ahead of us.
And the knot in my stomach tightens.
I force myself to look away from the window.
This is ridiculous.
I'm sitting on a bus.
That's it.
Nothing is wrong.
Nothing is happening.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Slowly, the feeling begins to settle.
Not disappear.
Just retreat enough that I can think again.
Around me, the bus continues on as normal.
Someone is snoring near the front.
A couple quietly argue a few rows back.
The driver hums along to a song playing through the radio.
Normal.
Everything is normal.
I cling to that thought.
Across the aisle, Randall glances over again.
Only for a second.
Then another.
His headphones hang loosely around his neck now.
His gaze drifts toward the rear window.
Toward the road disappearing behind us.
Then back to me.
His expression tightens slightly.
Like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Like he's wondering if he missed something.
Eventually he shakes his head and looks away.
Whatever. Not his problem.
The bus rounds a bend in the road.
A few people sit up straighter.
The driver slows slightly.
Ahead, buildings begin appearing between the trees.
Small at first.
Barely visible.
Then more. And more.
A town. Finally.
A collective sigh of relief moves through the bus.
Even I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders.
A town meant people.
Gas stations. Food. Directions.
Normal things.
"No, no, no, no," a young man mumbles a few seats behind me.
People exchange confused looks.
The man suddenly shoots to his feet.
His breathing becomes ragged.
Panicked.
Almost desperate.
"Stop the bus," he exclaims.
His chest heaves quickly, trying to get any ounce of air in.
"Bro, it's fine, we just took a little detour," someone behind me assures him.
This does nothing to calm him.
"We have to turn around. We can't be here. Please," his voice comes out desperate.
My heart picks up as I watch the young man come nearer to us.
He looks terrified.
Not nervous. Not upset.
Terrified.
The kind of fear that makes your body forget how to breathe.
"We have to leave right now!"
The desperation in his voice sends a chill down my spine.
Across from me, Randall pulls one of his headphones off.
Clearly annoyed. Clearly done with whatever this is becoming.
"We have to leave."
Nobody moves. Nobody knows what to do.
The driver is focused on the road.
The passengers are frozen.
The young man looks seconds away from completely losing it.
With an irritated sigh, Randall stands.
Immediately, I know this is going to end badly.
"Sit the fuck down, man."
The young man barely seems to hear him.
"We can't be here."
"Yeah, okay."
Randall steps into the aisle.
"Sit down."
The young man's eyes are wild now.
"No."
"We have to turn around."
Randall runs a hand down his face.
"You don't understand."
The young man takes another step backward.
Randall takes one forward.
"No, I understand."
His voice drips with impatience.
Randall reaches for him.
Not violently.
Just enough to stop him from stumbling farther down the aisle.
"Relax."
The young man jerks against his grip.
"No!"
A few passengers stand.
Someone tells Randall to let him go.
Someone else tells the young man to calm down.
The entire bus erupts into noise.
"We can't be here!" the young man shouts.
Randall tightens his grip on his shoulders.
"Take a breath."
Randall sounds thoroughly unimpressed.
The young man's breathing suddenly hitches.
His face turns an alarming shade of green.
I notice it immediately.
Unfortunately, Randall doesn't.
"Randall, wait"
Too late.
The young man lurches forward.
And throws up. Directly onto him.
The entire bus falls silent.
For one glorious second, nobody moves.
Nobody breathes.
Randall stands frozen.
Covered.
The young man immediately looks horrified.
"What the fuck."
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts.
Do not laugh.
Do not laugh.
A strangled sound escapes from somewhere behind me.
Someone else is losing the battle.
Randall slowly looks down at his shirt. Then at the young man. Then back at his shirt.
His expression somehow manages to become even angrier.
A small sound escapes me.
A snort.
God. No.
I immediately cough to cover it.
Unfortunately, it only makes it worse.
A laugh slips out.
Tiny. Barely audible.
But in the sudden silence of the bus, it might as well have been a scream.
Randall's head turns slowly.
Very slowly.
Our eyes meet.
My stomach drops.
Oops.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Hard.
Trying desperately to look sympathetic. Trying desperately not to laugh again. It doesn't work.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
Randall points at me.
Actually points.
"Don't."
That only makes it harder.
"I didn't say anything."
"You laughed."
"I absolutely did not."
"You did."
His shirt is still covered in vomit.
That fact does not help my self-control. A second laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Randall looks toward the ceiling like he's asking for strength.
"Stop the goddamn bus," Randall shouts to the driver.
The bus finally comes to a stop.
Rain pounds against the windows.
People begin filing out of the bus, eager to stretch their legs after hours on the road.
I stay seated.
Mostly because I don't trust myself.
The second I look at Randall again, I'm going to lose it.
Unfortunately, the universe hates me.
Randall stands before me.
Still wearing the same shirt.
The poor guy looks absolutely miserable.
Good.
He notices me looking. Immediately.
"Don't."
My smile grows.
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to."
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Maybe a little."
"A little?"
I lose the battle.
A laugh escapes.
Gone almost immediately.
Randall closes his eyes.
The expression on his face suggests he's considering throwing me out of the emergency exit.
"You know," I say, standing and grabbing my own bag, "most people would change shirts."
"Most people didn't get vomited on."
"Fair."
He points at me.
Again.
"I mean it."
The warning only makes my shoulders shake harder.
The bus doors finally open.
Cold rain rushes inside.
Everyone immediately starts complaining.
One by one, passengers step out into the downpour.
I follow behind them.
The rain hits instantly.
Within seconds my hair sticks to my face.
Fantastic.
Ahead of me, Randall mutters several things that would probably make a priest faint.
For the first time all day, I almost feel bad for him.
Almost.
--
"I just need everyone to stay here while I clean up the bus," the driver tells all of us.
The rain let up and now I'm left with soggy clothes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two men come running over. One of them seems to have a makeshift sling holding one of his arms.
The young man with the sling rushes to the driver and tries to catch his breath.
"Listen there is gonna be a bunch of people on their way down. Um, and there gonna help you guys out," the young man tells the driver., "So we'll get the diner unlocked and get you guys sorted out."
Unimpressed, the driver replies.
"Okay, well this isn't a pit stop, okay? So unless you have a mop, I'm good."
The young man has a defeated look on his face. Weird.
Before anyone can say anything else, movement catches my eye.
Someone is running toward us.
Fast.
A girl, probably a teenager.
"Ellis!"
She's soaked from the rain and breathing hard.
Terrified.
"Please!" she shouts.
Every head turns.
"It's my mom, she's trapped."
The panic in her voice immediately silences the crowd.
The young man, that I can assume is named Ellis, speaks.
"Wait? What?"
"She was digging in the basement, my dad's inside. She needs help, please," she pleads with Ellis.
The other man accompanying Ellis speaks up.
"Stay with the bus, okay? I got this."
He turns his attention to all of us.
"Hey, people! We got a little situation on our hands. Listen up. There's a woman trapped in the basement of that house over there. Her husband is inside. We could use some help."
Silence.
"Yeah, alright."
Immediately, I recognize the voice. Randall.
Another boy volunteers.
The elderly woman even tries to volunteer.
The bus driver shakes her head.
"I need everyone to stay by the bus."
Randall scoffs.
"Well, there's a woman trapped in there."
"Then let emergency services handle it," the bus driver replies.
"Oh, you're a peach," Randalls states. Sarcasm drips through his tone.
Typical.
Before anyone can reply, a van begins pulling up.
"Look you guys go, we can figure it out here," Ellis says, trying to keep the peace.
The man and the volunteers begins walking towards the house.
"Randall"
The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
He glances back.
For a second, I forget what I was even going to say.
Don't go? Be careful?
Neither makes any sense.
It's Randall.
He can do whatever he wants.
A corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.
More like he already knows I don't have anything useful to add.
Then he gives a small nod. Like he's reassuring me.
The gesture catches me off guard.
Before I can figure out why, he turns away and continues after the others.
I watch him disappear around the corner of the building.
Something uncomfortable settles in my chest.
I immediately ignore it.
Not my problem. Not my business.
If Randall wants to go play hero for strangers, that's on him.
A young man walks up to us with a few people form the van. He seems to be some kind of deputy.
"Folks, sorry about the inconvenience here. Let's get you all inside, huh? Get some tea brewing. Get you all warmed up."
He opens up the diner doors and ushers us all inside.
My eyes drift back toward the street.
Toward the house. Toward where Randall disappeared.
The knot in my stomach tightens.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
--
I went in the diner for a few minutes but decided it was a bit too crowded for my liking.
Sitting on the steps of the diner, I see the young man who freaked out on the bus with a young woman who seemed to be some type of nurse.
'Let's go slow, okay? We can go inside and get some water."
The young man and woman slowly start walking towards the diner.
"You okay?"
The young man starts stuttering and he begins to fall to the ground.
He's seizing.
Rushing to my feet, I quickly make my way to them.
"We need some help!" The young woman shouts out.
The young deputy and teenage girl come bursting out of the diner.
"We need to get him on his side," The young woman directs us.
"One, two, three."
We all help the young woman push the man onto his side.
"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," I find myself speaking.
As much as I am reassuring the young man, I think I reassuring myself.
Suddenly, a low grumbling sounds in the distance.
Like something crumbling.
The deputy and young girl shoot up, leaving me and the other woman holding onto the seizing man.
Turning my head, I see the house that they ran into slowly crumbling.
My heart drops.
Randall.
That fucking idiot is getting himself killed.
"No, no, no." I begin mumbling under my breath.
Someone shouts.
People start running.
The house groans. Then collapses.
The sound is deafening.
Dust erupts into the air.
Wood. Concrete. Glass.
Everything comes crashing down at once.
For a moment, the entire town seems to freeze.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
I can't breathe.
Can't think.
The image plays over and over in my head.
Randall walking toward the house.
Randall disappearing inside.
Randall—
My feet are moving before I realize it.
I forget about helping the young man. As if somehow I can do something. As if somehow I can help.
The house is gone. Completely gone. A pile of rubble.
I think I'm going to start writing for From. Why is there hardly anything anythingggg, im dying. I'll write smut, angst and fluff. Send me any requests if you are interested!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
So.. i think i'm a lil confident enough to say that i can share this oneshot i mentioned in my previous post
I've been worried sick about the grammar and kept fixing & rewriting a lotta stuff for dayyyss to the point i thought i might never post it cuz it's the first oneshot i've ever written and english is my first enemy (it isn't my first lang so ya...) ENJOY
"Fixation" Smiley Oneshot
—————————
Warnings: One-sided Obsession, Descriptions of gore, Mentions of dead animals, Implied kidnapping
During the devil hours—oblivious to what lurked around—you pulled up to one of the houses & knocked on their door to ask for directions upon entering a town which you found yourself driving in circles back to, only to hear your friend who was waiting right outside your car scream before you were suddenly pulled inside, their cry for help dying out while you were held back by residents as you called out to them..
ever since then for a month, you've been meeting those "friendly" faces outside your window, each one of them spoke sweetly to you—asking you to let them in—but after seeing what remained of your friend, after the talk you had with a woman named Donna, you never budged to their call, leaving them unanswered.
there came a particular one you've seen a couple of times in the span of that month, Auburn hair, dark cardigan and a wide smile stretched across his face. he's asked you to let him in last time he stood outside your window; disregarding his wish, you draw the curtains shut.
this time tonight—he just stared
"bit unusual" you thought to yourself as he seemed to visit you the most out of all creatures, still you dragged the blinds to avoid his soulless glare which always left you feeling haunted each time he visited.
you tried predicting which monster will be knocking on your window the following evening, the "old granny", the" jock" perhaps, or the "cheerleader".
only to be met with the same one from the night before, smiling like always, and that stuck for a few months.
you didn't pay attention at first. whenever you heard the shrieks outside at sunset, you'd draw the curtains and just hope you make it till daytime.
_____
on a warm evening, you tossed a notepad on your desk before sitting down, writing and sketched down a few animals you've seen inhabit this accursed town
you looked over your shoulder after what felt like an hour to find him glaring at your soul behind the glass, making you contort your face in regret of your earlier decision of leaving the blinds open. his head was tilted a little, his hand splayed on the glass, grinning softly at you.
and you grew tired of his recent behavior.
when you first met him, he'd knock on your window a few times and ask you to let him in, and you'd refuse before shutting the curtains and be met with silence all night long.
now he'd often play with the wooden frame while staring at you, lightly scratching them with his nail, the sounds remind you of a cat every time you tried to sleep, not even drawing the curtains could help quieten them, it bothered you.
those things outside know how to pretend and trick, and you stood with that for as long as you could remember, so you told him off
"it's not gonna work, quit it" you scolded as if it would get through him, he only stared in response, giving you the same grin.
and that's when it got messier, the more he visited you, the more disturbing it got ever since you confronted him.
first he brought you a bunch of dead flowers and left them for you to pick up in the morning.
then the following evening he brought you a torn plushie
the 3rd night he showed up, his face & clothes were drenched in blood from hunting a new citizen who happened to be unlucky at midnight which you heard from outside, his bloodied hand splayed on the window while staring at you, leaving a crimson stamp where he placed it as he looked at you with some kind of twisted fixation in his eyes.
then a dead crow with its wings torn off and its heart pulled out, left outside of its body for you to see the night after, his presence excluded.
it sounded more and more like a threat with each "gift" he left you ever since you told him off, and that kept you feeling unsettled for the rest of the week, it felt like a comeback to your reprimand
and it's been a year now, you still somewhat believe that one day this behavior of his will come to a halt, but you don't see a chance, given what he is, and what he's done
and you could only hope that as long as the talisman is hung, and the windows are nailed shut, it would serve as a reminder to whoever is idiot enough to try and let one of those things in.
speaking of an idiot...
"they're in the house, they're inside!"
hearing one of the residents shout, you jolt up from bed as screaming echoed within the building, panic tearing its way through you
with your door already locked, you ran & hid in your closet before your knees gave out upon hearing people getting mangled in the house, every beg was answered with violence right outside your room
you could've fled with the others and avoided interaction with the creature if it hadn't been for the sounds of horror outside your room giving you physical paralysis out of fear
jealousy, along with the hopeless yearning to be saved burned you as you heard the people rush outside followed with the sound of the van driving off
you felt abandoned, forgotten.
and in the temporary quiet of your room, you resentfully accept your impending doom and what might bestow upon you as you heard your door getting kicked off of its hinges, the sounds it made hitting the floor loud & taunting before the silence took over
you knew without a doubt that it was the same monster.
you fought to quieten your heartbeat in the midst of panic, the silence accompanied by slow & casual footsteps navigating your room made it feel like hell for you.
far from brave is what you are, just like everyone else here: helpless, scared, and relied on some rock to feel safe. now that the monsters are inside, with one of them after you, you can't deny anymore that tonight would not end unless you're found, and you're agonizingly close within the range
and you hate it, you hate that it's the truth the moment the footsteps stop near your hiding spot, its fingers wrapped around the handles before they pulled
and the doors creaked so slowly, and there you were
no window
no door
no talisman between you two anymore
your breathing grew shallow once he crouched to meet your level
"Please..." you begged, and his hands lazily moved and held your face, turning you to look at him with crimson all over his distorted wide smile as his thumbs slowly smeared the gore of his victims across your face
"Found you, my dear..." with such softness & eeriness in his voice, he purred.
you shook your head, your breathing grew irregular as he gradually grabbed your wrists before pulling you out of your spot...
Imagine Jade’s panic when he finds the bar destroyed and you’re missing…
Glass. There was shattered remnants of bottles littered across the floor of the gas station/bar. He called out for you but when there was no response, he ran through the small home desperately.
It was empty. Returning to the shopfront, Jade saw two specific shards of glass on the ground. He bent down and picked them up. They belonged to the cups that you and he favoured to drink from.
That’s when a different kind of horror swept through him.
He had killed you.
Yesterday, you were trying to help and, in his frustration, Jade raised his voice and stormed out to investigate the Settlement on his own.
He had stayed there overnight. His arrogance may have left you behind but he left you alone.
Did those monsters drag you out into the woods? Did you call out for him in your last…?
The doorbell jingled as someone entered. When Jade saw you walk through the doors of the bar - your shared home - completely intact, a choked sob broke free as he crossed the length of the room and wrapped his arms around you.
“Thank fuck you’re alive.” He breathed against your neck. Clinging to you as if he had been away for years. “Are you okay?”
“Our talisman went missing last night.”
The man immediately loosened his grip and pulled back. Jade saw the way that you averted your gaze. He gently touched your jaw and tilt your head up, your eyes finally meeting his. “Tell me.”
The last toll from Boyd’s bell echoed into the air. The sound of wind rattled through the streets and you felt unsettled more than normal. You had almost finished locking up when the very disconnected landline behind the counter began to ring.
You had half a mind to ignore it but fear and curiosity won. Picking up the receiver, you held it against your ear, unsure if you should speak.
“Get out.” A voice warned. You could have sworn it was a puppet. “They’re coming.”
“I have a talisman.” You frowned.
There was a moment of silence before the most haunting words were spoken through the line. “No, you don’t.”
You heard the first shriek of the creatures in the distance and glanced at the front door where the talisman… shit. Where the fuck was the talisman?
Jade hadn’t taken it when he stormed out. Another howl and you realised that there was no more time to think. Tossing the phone to the side, you quickly crept to the front door and peered through the window.
The street was still empty and there was no one on the porch. And so, you took a deep breath and ran outside - straight for the Sheriff’s station.
There was a glow of light through the station windows but before you could feel relief, you saw a brief flash of white to the side. The creature dressed as a nurse was smiling and walking over. Then another creature appeared - and another.
Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you reached the door, slamming a hand against it. There was a soft laughing as those things neared but you were too terrified to turn around and look.
You were never going to hear Jade’s voice again.
The door burst open and Boyd grabbed your arm, pulling you inside. “What the hell are you doing?” He growled before slamming the door shut.
Jade was speechless. He was relatively safe at the Settlement during the night. There was a working talisman to keep the creatures out but you? You almost died.
His eyes were scanning your face, your body, for any injury before he closed the space once more by slamming his mouth over yours. “I am so fucking sorry.” He whispered and felt the way you held him close. Jade squeezed you firmly, pressing a soft kiss against your collarbone.
He was never going to leave you like that again. One way or another, Jade was going to get you out of this nightmare of a place. And if he couldn’t, then he’d be right by your side until final breath.
~ More imagines here ~
A/n: I forgot how much I loveeee writing the stressful scenes.
