Ryden Oneshots

Just A Dash Of Fairy-maldehyde [1]

Summary: Brendon had never expected to even meet a real nymph, let alone fall for one.

Brendon shuffled his feet along the wet grass, his untied shoelaces dragging in the dirt behind him. His eyes were intently pressed against the pages of his copy of The Great Gatsby while taking occasional bites out of the half-eaten apple loosely gripped in his opposite hand, the wind ruffling his untidy hair.

He had always loved the woods. Ever since he had been a little kid it was his safe space. Quiet, people free, always smelling like damp leaves and sunlight. He knew the mostly-destroyed paths like the veins on the back of his own hand, where they split, how they curved. In fact, he couldn't really remember a time where he had actually gotten lost before, despite his terrible sense of direction. So naturally, when Brendon had a not-so-great day, he usually found himself wandering in the woods, lost in a book, trying to let himself to forget the past 24 hours. Even if it was getting a bit dark and chilly.

He shrugged his shoulders in attempt to reposition his lightweight, gray jacket, the breeze pulling at his hair and folding back the thin pages of his book. The sun was just starting to duck behind the clouds, allowing a few bright, orange rays to splotch the ground beneath his feet as he took a bite of his apple, the leaves of the tall, dark trees above him rumpling in the slight wind.

Abruptly, he jolted his head upwards as a loud crash emitted from a nearby tree, his eyes wide with alarm as his heart spiked into his throat. He stopped chewing, slowing down his movements as his eyes darted around, searching for a sign of whatever animal had made it.

It's not that he really had an issue with the animals because in actuality, he spent quite a bit of his time watching them, but since the incident with the rabid raccoon, he's been, well, more cautious.

He stopped himself from jumping as it repeated the noise, accompanied by a soft panting sound. Maybe it was hurt?

Slowly, he made his way towards the noise, cringing as he broke a stick under his shoe, his entire body freezing.

Crash. "Ugh!"

That was definitely not an animal. Confused, he looked around, straightening his posture as his heart started to drum in his chest.

"Is someone there?" He pushed his hair out of his eyes, turning his head towards the sound when he felt a pair of large, cold hands press against his shoulder blades, forcefully knocking him to the damp, muddy ground with a squishy thud. He huffed, shaking his head as blood began to pump in his ears, his heart pulsing vigorously.

Moist dirt clung to his palms as he pushed himself back up, too on edge to feel badly about his page being lost. "What the hell," He muttered under his breath as he looked around frantically, his heart sinking into his stomach.

Light filtered through the ruffling trees as the low-laying plants swayed gently, a cool, moist breeze whisking away a few fallen leaves. He felt his heart skip a beat.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there.

He sighed, trying to collect himself as he brushed the dirt off of his pants, picking up his book and tucking it in the large pocket on the inside of his coat. His tight, light-colored jeans were undoubtedly stained and a shame really, they were his favorite pair.

"Pete, I swear to fucking god this isn't funny." Brendon called out, his voice uncontrollably quivering.

He heard a light, childish snort as his heart sank, his lips parted as chewed on his lower softly. That was definitely not Pete, either.

The dirty, inedible apple was trembling in his hand as he raised it, prepared to throw as he turned in a 360, scanning the empty woods. He had seen horror movies about people who were raped or murdered while on walks woods with no one in shouting distance, people who were never found. He had never thought he would be one of those people- the woods was suppose to be safe, not the place where his body would be broadcasted all over live television, littered with stab wounds. Or bullet holes. Or what if they tried to strangle him? Brendon thought he could take them. Sure, he wasn't very big but he was strong enough to hold someone off, after all, he had tackled that 200 pound midfielder earlier and how different were they really? You know, despite the fact that a serial killer would be carrying a gun instead of a lacrosse stick.