Well Shit - Fundy x Reader

Contemplation (of life choices)

Y/N's POV

Why do streams have to be so. damn. tiring? Especially when I'm with somebody else. Notably somebody who has... (frantically checks how many subs Fundy has) 3.75 million fucking subscribers. I tried my hardest not to say anything that would set Floris's chat off, so nothing remotely about how I feel about him, nothing about furries, nothing about his and Dream's "wedding".

Whatever that means.

I crawled out of bed, dressed in something relatively decent for any occasion, and headed downstairs. Well. As much as I could before bumping into somebody. "AaH!" I cried, as I tried very, very hard not to fall down two flights of stairs. The person I hit yelped and grabbed onto me, trying desperately not to fall. Out of instinct, I grabbed onto them, letting go of the stairway railing.

We overbalanced.

Down, down, down the stairs we both went, landing of the floor in a crumpled heap.

"ow. Sorry Y/N."

Oh. It's Fundy. Yay. I swear if he-

"I guess you just ... fell for me"

There it is. Why do I like this man again? "Furryman... I'll give you three seconds to start running.

"3...

2...

1...

RUN!"

He bolted, scrambling to turn the corner to the kitchen, almost catching drift. I bolt around the corner, almost hitting the doorframe as it swings behind me where Fundy has taken refuge behind his dad.

"Really furryman? You bring your dad into this?"

"HEY!"

I HAVE NO REGRETS.

"What are you two doing for the day?" Mr. Damen asks.

"Eh... I was planning on showing Y/N around the tulip fields."

( I know, I know, typical Dutch thing, but I've seen the tulip fields and they. Are. Gorgeous.)

"Ooh, that sounds cool! Thank you Floris!" I say.

"Okay, now that's settled, who wants pancakes...again, cause I can't cook anything else" Mr. Damen says.

A couple of hours later, we walk down the lane a mile or two from Floris' house. I'm about to ask where we were walking to but stopped as he tapped me on the shoulder (ignoring, totally ignoring the flurry of butterflies that exploded when he tapped me, yep, I don't have a clue what you're talking about) I turned toward him in questioning, and he points to the empty space, which isn't so empty.

It's filled with miles, upon miles, upon miles of gorgeous tulips, all the colors of the rising sun. Rich, dark reds, sunny yellows, fiery oranges, bright pinks, and even some smooth, dark purple. Miles of gorgeous petals and sleek green stems.

"Gorgeous isn't it?" Fundy whispered, so as not to break the spell. I stared awestruck at the sight before me. We had somehow made it out of the busy lane, and down near the quaint, painted fence that blocked cars and trolleys from hitting the field.

"Yes, oh my god Floris, this is amazing, thank you!" I cried.

We gathered a basket that was hanging on the gate, as well as a pair of pruning shears. We were allowed to take as many as we wished, as long as we cut them properly and spread out our harvesting. We gathered as many as we could carry to take home, and on the way back to the house, or home as I called it now – because it really did feel like home; it was warm, safe, and accepting, and other than sweet playful fighting, there was no yelling, no fighting, no pain, no anger – we stopped at a shop and I bought a scrapbook. I decided that I was going to keep a gorgeous scrapbook of all of the fun memories, to look at when the fighting got bad when I went back home.