It's Thanksgiving week 1987 when Eddie finally opened his eyes.
"Eds? Oh my god, Eds! Wayne's gonna be so mad - he just left for his shift."
Eddie frowned at the voice and turned his head to find …
"Harrington? What're you …" Eddie blinked again to get his vision to focus - Steve looked … older? Tired. Not the guy he remembered as King Steve of Hawkins High.
"The doctor said your memory might be a bit hazy," Steve whispered. "You've been in a coma for a year and a half."
A year and a half … Eddie looked down and realized Steve had been holding Eddie's right hand in his left. And there, right on his wrist was a tiny bat tattoo. Steve followed his gaze and smiled.
"You gave that to me," Steve whispered. "Right before the big battle. Said we'd pick it back up once it was all done. Marked me as -"
"Mine," Eddie finished, voice raspy. "We kissed behind the Winnebago. Made you a promise."
"You did, " Steve murmured. "And I'm gonna hold you to that. You've got a long road ahead -"
"Wanted criminal," Eddie mumbled.
"Not anymore. Long story," Steve said. "Get better, get strong."
inspired by this poll by @young-royals-confessions
Simon woke up with a jolt and, as he laid there in the darkness, he catalogued his current, recently awoken, state: rapid heartbeat, erratic breathing, his skin tight with gooseflesh and soaked with sweat.
"Simon?" Wilhelm asked with a sleepy grumble. "What's wrong?"
"I..." Simon cleared his throat. It was sore from, presumably, screaming in his sleep. "I just had the weirdest dream...?"
Wilhelm hummed, listening, though Simon did note that his boyfriend of near a decade did not bother shifting from his comfortable position of rest.
"It was when we had our first kiss," continued Simon. "Only Boris was there, too? With a couple of cats and I swear maybe three dogs? Four? There were so many animals..." Simon huffed out a laugh. "J-O was there."
"He hates it when you call him that."
Simon kicked Wilhelm lightly under the covers. "He fell into a hole and it's not like we're ever going to see him again."
"Just say he retired five years ago..."
"What he won't know won't hurt him," Simon insisted.
Wilhelm grunted and nudged Simon back. "Tell me more about these cats."
"And the five dogs."
"No," said Wilhelm, and this time he turned his entire body to sprawl himself across Simon's back--as a sort of big spoon to Simon's now trapped little spoon. "I want to hear about cats."
Simon laughed. "So the dogs were pomeranians..."
Wilhelm retaliated by lovingly invading Simon's personal space even more. "Cats, Simon. Our first kiss was invaded by cats?"
His not long but not short either hair tickled Simon's sensitive neck; he could almost picture their tangled form from a bird's eye perspective, with Wilhelm's sunkissed blond hair mixing shamelessly next to his dark curls.
"And Boris and J-O," Simon added. "But that's not the weird part!"
"Oh?"
"You got a call and you picked up, which," Simon verbally shrugged, "first of all: rude. But it was August on the phone and he told you he was abdicating."
"A strange way to celebrate his coronation jubilee, but okay."
"He also said that your mamma was making a cake to celebrate."
"As if my mamma knows how to turn an oven on."
Simon laughed. "And then you hung up and went back to kissing me, except this time you had a cat's face!"
"Bet I licked you all over."
"Wille!"
"If I was suddenly a cat," Wilhelm said, nonchalant given the conversation, "I'd totally lick you. Your hands. Your hair. I'd.... hmm, what do you call it when cats make each other pretty?"
Simon sighed, but cuddled closer into Wilhelm's embrace. "Just go back to sleep, Wille."
Wilhelm hummed a soft "I love you," already falling back asleep.
"Love you, too," said Simon. "My ridiculous octopus cat, you."
Coincidence, My Ass: Sequel – Unclassified (Jake X F!Reader) [Ending 1 of 1]
[Resident Evil | Jake Muller | Reader Insert]
✨ A/N: Massive thanks to @snakevyro for the killer plot bunny in the comments of Part 1! Your “secret immunity” twist was too good to pass up, so here’s a sequel inspired by your idea. As always, feel free to request your own endings or twists in the comments section of Part 1 of the story—I love seeing everyone’s headcanons and wild theories!
Read Part 1 >>> HERE <<<
The last thing you remember is Jake cracking a joke about "coincidences" as he dropped you off at your apartment. That night, the city pressed in heavy and strange, washed in neon and the pulse of distant sirens. The streetlights cast fractured shadows across cracked pavement, and every sound felt sharper than it should—car doors slamming, footsteps echoing, the nervous hush of neighbors behind closed blinds. A chill crawled down your spine as you spotted a nondescript black van idling under the flickering streetlamp, its windows dark, engine rumbling like a restless animal. You couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, the sense that someone was cataloguing your every move, just out of sight—waiting. Even inside, the unease lingered. Your phone buzzed with cryptic emergency alerts, and your mind raced as you drew the curtains tight at 2 a.m., trying to believe Jake’s promise that things would finally calm down. They didn’t.
By morning, your world explodes into a mess of sirens, hazmat suits, and questions you’re not allowed to answer. It all happens so quickly: a pounding on your door, voices muffled behind respirators, neighbors gathered in the hallway, someone shouting about a containment breach. You barely have time to grab your cat and a pair of shoes before you’re hustled downstairs and loaded into the back of an ambulance. No one tells you what’s going on—just a barrage of questions about your recent contact, what you remember from the outbreak, if you feel any “symptoms.”
A paramedic leans close, voice clipped: “Anyone visit you last night? Coughing, fever, nosebleeds? Did you touch any strange animals?”
Your neighbor—Mrs. Lee from 3B—cries out, “Why are they taking her? She’s not sick!”
Someone in a hazmat suit jots notes furiously, ignoring your confusion. “Stay calm, miss. You need to answer everything. When was your last contact with the individual named Jake Muller?”
You try to keep up, but your words tumble out half-formed. You’re overwhelmed, frustrated, and getting more frightened by the minute as the questions keep coming, sharp and relentless.
Faces blur past, hands press you down onto a stretcher, and someone jams a needle into your arm. You lose consciousness before you can protest, your last thought a fleeting worry for your cat, cradled in your arms.
You wake up hours later in a hospital bed—needle still in your arm, sunlight slicing across white sheets, the air heavy with antiseptic and secrets. There’s a low beep from the heart monitor, the distant echo of hospital announcements, and the faint purr of your cat, curled up at your feet. For a moment, you think you’re dreaming—until you spot the armed guards at the end of the corridor. Not exactly subtle. Not even for the government.
Your first instinct is to panic, but before you can do much more than sit up, you notice Jake Muller lounging at your bedside—hair a little mussed, jacket slung carelessly over the back of the chair, dark circles under his eyes betraying sleepless nights. There’s a hint of dried blood at his temple—maybe not his—and a tension in his posture that says he’s been on guard for hours, even if he pretends otherwise. Boot propped on the windowsill, he flips through your latest chart like it’s the morning paper. The cocky, infuriating calm in his eyes is the only familiar thing in the whole sterile room. You glare at him. He grins, entirely too unbothered.
“You know it’s illegal to read those, right?” you snap, irritation bubbling up before you can stop yourself.
He shrugs, not even bothering to look up from the chart. “Rules don’t apply to people with mysterious blood types. Or their security detail.”
You huff, feeling helpless and oddly exposed. “Are you actually going to explain, or just keep making cryptic comments and drinking my Jell-O?”
He finally meets your gaze, the edge of his grin softening a little. “Fine. Short version? Someone ran your bloodwork after the outbreak. Turns out you’ve got some weird immunity to the virus. Didn’t you ever wonder why you didn’t mutate after that J’avo bit you?”
You stare at him, heart thumping. “I thought I was just lucky.”
Jake’s smirk fades for the first time all day. “You’re not lucky. You’re unique. The kind of unique that gets flagged in a thousand secret databases and has half of Umbrella’s leftovers drooling for a sample. They want to keep you safe. Or… locked up. Maybe both.”
Your mind races, memories of every strange encounter since the outbreak—the time you caught a stranger in a suit watching your building from a parked car for hours, the cryptic phone call where a voice simply said, “Be careful who you trust,” before hanging up—clicking together like puzzle pieces. The hospital visits, the weird men in suits, the random break-ins—nothing was a coincidence. “So now you’re my bodyguard? Is this, like, a government witness protection thing or…?”
He tosses your chart onto the side table, leans back, and folds his arms. “More like ‘keep her breathing and unkidnapped,’” Jake says. “And yeah, I’m supposed to be discreet. Which, apparently, means moving in next door and rescuing cats from burning buildings.”
You groan and rub your face. “No wonder you keep showing up everywhere. You really are stalking me.”
He flashes that cocky half-smile you’re beginning to hate less and less. “If I were stalking you, you wouldn’t know.”
A moment of silence stretches between you. The sounds of the hospital fade into the background, replaced by the low rumble of your own nerves. Despite everything, you find yourself almost comforted by his presence—by the way he pretends not to worry, by the way he keeps your cat close, by the way he acts like this is all just another day at the office.
You roll your eyes, but the weight of everything settles between you. “What now?”
Jake leans forward, dropping the bravado for the first time. “Now we keep living. I watch your back. You try not to die. We both pretend things are normal until they aren’t. And if someone shows up looking for a miracle cure?” He rests a hand over yours, serious for once. “We run. Together.”
There’s a moment where neither of you speaks. Even your cat, perched at the foot of the bed, seems to sense the shift—tail flicking, eyes narrowed at Jake like he’s the only thing standing between you and the next disaster. Outside, the sunlight shifts across the floor tiles, dust motes swirling in the stillness. The world feels strangely small, just the three of you in that sterile room.
You squeeze his hand, just once. “You’re still buying dinner.”
He laughs, relief flickering in his eyes. “Deal. But I’m picking the place. And you’re not allowed to order salad.”
Your lips twitch, a real smile breaking through for the first time since you woke up. It’s not much, but it’s enough.
A distant siren wails and fades in the streets below as your cat circles twice and settles between you and Jake, rumbling with a contented purr. Jake squeezes your hand again, grounding you. The world outside your hospital window is a mess—a tangle of government secrets, viral conspiracies, and threats you’re only beginning to understand—but with Jake beside you, maybe—just maybe—you’re ready for whatever comes next.
✨ Thank you for reading!
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Inspired by Sleepwalker's Serenade (17k, E, canon typical violence) by @octoberling, spoilers for their story! And I can only recommend you check it out, it's really an interesting idea and very well written :)
Geralt searches for a wraith in people's dreams, and stumbles across Jaskier's horny dreamscape... Jaskier is intrigued by the Witcher and inspired by his deeds.
This fic idea is set a bit earlier than octoberling's story, Jaskier has just come to Oxenfurt, the wraith ballad is one of his first proper songs.
Cross posted to Ao3! The Ao3 version is longer but more chaotic, tumblr is missing some parts in order to make it one cohesive storyline
Jaskier and Geralt flirt in the dreamscape, but Jaskier is too young for Geralt to really take seriously as a potential relationship.
Geralt fight's the wraith in front of Jaskier like in Octoberling's fic, inspiring Jaskier to write a song about it.
When Geralt comes back to Oxenfurt some years later and Jaskier is near the end of his degree and more experienced and, to Geralt's surprise and delight, still utterly gone on him, they rekindle their relationship, and once Geralt goes back on the Path Jaskier asks him to check in through the dreams at least from time to time so he knows he's okay, he hated not knowing what happened to Geralt when he had left the first time.
'and please be safe, take care I know what you do is important But So Is Your Life, especially to me'
Geralt is worried Jaskier will become too attached and be heartbroken when he inevitably dies, and Jaskier has to talk Geralt out of leaving him completely. They talk for a while and Jaskier asks 'Why are you Witchers going on patrol alone, I bet if you worked in groups or at least pairs of two you'd still make quick work and fewer of you would die, so in the end you'd make Better work and kill More monster not less' and Geralt is like... 'Hm. We've always done it that way?'
Jaskier argues 'Traditions can be good but not when they're bad fucking ideas done Just for traditions sake! Please promise to try it out at least! And don't just try to ask the first other Witcher you come across and let it go if they say no! Actually try working in a team!' Geralt can't say no to his bard, of course he promises to try, even though he doesn't believe it will work.
A while later, Priscilla, who had overheard their conversation, comes across a Witcher (Eskel?) and asks whether he knows Geralt and explains Jaskier's idea and he's like 'well... Vesemir will hate this but Sounds Like A Plan alright'
Eskel is already on his way to a contract, just in town looking for some supplies (he doesn't usually need but that will be necessary for this specific specific monster, and Jaskier is sad Geralt will leave earlier than expected but glad that at least he won't go alone, that someone will be there to have Geralt's back even if Jaskier can't be that person
They can't do the dream sharing every night because Geralt can only access a specific person's dream through meditation, not sleep, and while Witchers need less sleep they don't need none, but he still checks in regularly.
~
At some point, Geralt disappears from Jaskier's dreams for weeks or months, and Jaskier's getting increasingly anxious - his friends in turn are also getting worried, and while Jaskier had told them about the Witcher friend/lover before and of course wrote that ballad about the wraith, most of them thought he was taking a lot of artistic licence and hadn't actually met the Witcher (which, in my second idea, he hasn't yet in person)
Priscilla has to explain to Jaskier that she doesn't mean to offend or doubt him, she just honestly hadn't realized he was serious!
Finally, Geralt comes back from some exhausting hunt, but he's badly hurt. Jaskier drags him to the university nurse, and while she heals the physical injuries, Jaskier sleeps at Geralt's bedside, and it turns out sharing a dreamscape with him helps Geralt but leaves Jaskier utterly exhausted so afterwards he goes right back to sleep still in the room where Geralt is healing
Then, they stay at Oxenfurt, and either they're already a couple, or they just neatly slip into a relationship with barely any need to talk about it (though in that case Jaskier's friends are a bit o.o 'you said friend, friends don't sit on each other's lap and snog and make heart eyes at each other!'
And it's winter in some months and Jaskier's last semester will be over by then, and if he can manage to finish one last big song project (maybe a group project that students tend to fail the first time? Maybe he and his friends talk Geralt into giving some monster info and write a Witcher monster hunting ballad together!)
Jaskier asks Geralt to come back to Oxenfurt on his way to Kaer Morhen and Geralt nods and invites him to come with him over winter if he's finished with his degree by then
Priscilla also invites herself along because sure this Witcher seems alright so far but Jaskier doesn't exactly has a good track record she's not gonna let her best friend leave on his own with what to her is basically a stranger (Jaskier's communication skills are. Really not that much better than Geralt's. And he really told his friends fuckall useful information about his love), and she's also finishing at university and has no plans for the winter - she doesn't want to travel over summer like Jaskier does, she wants to go back to the cities then, but over winter she'd love to tag along.
They winter at Kaer Morhen together.
~
The next year, Jaskier stays at Oxenfurt again for some weeks while Geralt goes on some contracts. When Geralt's back in town, Jaskier meets him as soon as he hears there's a Witcher in town and practically jumps into his arms to the astonishment of anyone around them, and promptly gets into an argument with someone who's biased against Witchers...
Jaskier drags Geralt away from there and says he can stay in Jaskier's room, he doesn't need those idiot people anyway, and Geralt replies something along the lines of Jaskier just wants to get him into his bed, and of course Jaskier wants that! They're kissing when Priscilla runs into them: 'that's public indecency even for you, Jaskier. hey, are you coming to the pub with the others as planned?'
Jaskier kind of wants to just drag Geralt to his room immediately but there's something to be said about delayed gratification, plus the pub is on the way anyway...
They end up talking, and the mood turns a bit somber when maybe Geralt explains about really being used to people hating him for no good reason, and/or Priscilla asks about monster stories or rather invites him to the pub saying he can tell them and all the other bards some good stories and Geralt is like 'Yeah Jaskier already warned me about going drinking with any of you' 'warned? Warned? Warmly invited!' 'yes, to be needled about all the horror stories in my life.' 'oh, love, you know you don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to! You know I love to hear your stories, but seriously, I don't want to hurt you. I'll make the others back off too.'
They go to the bar and chat with Jaskier in Geralt's lap, and there's laughter and singing, but there's also Jaskier rubbing himself against Geralt and pressing against him, teasing him...
When they finally make it back to Jaskier's place they make love all through the night.
~
later that summer, Lambert comes into a small town on the way to Kaer Morhen and a woman greets him with a smile and going 'your brother his at the inn already! With his lover and friend!' and Lambert is like. Wut. 'i know I missed out on the winter at Kaer Morhen last year but how am I This much out of the loop?!'
This and more on Ao3! If someone wants to write a longer fic with this idea, feel free, just please lmk so I can read it and use the inspired-by function!
“Oscar, this might be beneficial for you to see,” one of the many people milling around the garage say. Oscar, fresh from another interview he’s done feeling red raw inside, isn’t expecting to turn and see Lando already studying the screen. A wave of relief crashes over him, even though he knew hospital was just a precaution.
The first thing he spots as he slides into the cramped space next to Lando is the hospital bracelet. Oscar’s eyes lock onto it, the crude way it isn’t fluro yellow or papaya with beads that spell sassy.
Gauging his presence, Lando stops fiddling with his beard and slumps slightly against him.
Lando glances at Oscar, then back at the screen with the ghost of a smile on his face as Oscar’s thumb moves his hospital tag up his arm, and his fingers wrap around his wrist, solid against his pulse.
Oscar can feel his heart rate decelerating and matching the pulse thrumming under his fingertips as they both stare at the screen and take in the rest of the data.
When they’re done, Oscar hovers close, not wanting to leave Lando until he knows he’s really okay. He’s so close Lando, turns and accidentally treads on his toes and he lets out a very manly yelp.
“Sorry,” the Brit says automatically, amused until he must clock the stress on the rookie’s face. Lando’s eyes soften, “I’m all good, Osc.”
Oscar blinks, and bites his lip, “That’s what you said on the radio, and you weren’t.”
“C’mere,” Lando sighs, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s dainty waist. Oscar’s arms encircle Lando, slightly tighter than a winded hospital escapee should be held. “I’m better than that shitty grid drive car of yours,” Lando mumbles against his neck and feels more than hears Oscar chuckle lightly against his chest.
thinking again about this one bbc sherlock comment-fic i read once from the comments section of a livejournal post that i can't find anymore, but i think about basically all the time
so in the first episode of bbc sherlock, when these two cops sally donovan and philip anderson are introduced, sherlock has an exchange to this effect with anderson:
sherlock: I see your wife's out of town
anderson: how'd you know?
sherlock: your deodorant told me. it's for men.
anderson: of course it's for men--I'm wearing it
sherlock: so is sergeant donovan. and i'm guessing she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees.
anyway the fic was set the previous night, and the premise was that anderson had severe ocd that only the presence of his wife could really soothe for him, so since his wife was out of town, it was flaring up really bad.
thus donovan had come over to help him settle his ocd, but she couldn't, because she's not the kind of person who knows what to say in that situation, so instead she just helped him scrub his already clean floors, and hoped that it really helped and he wasn't just saying it helped to make her feel better
and i don't know, i think about this fic all the time. donovan on her knees next to anderson, not knowing the right words to say, just being there and scrubbing those already pristine floors, and hoping that it helps at least a little,
gosh, i'm tearing up again thinking about it
my own bbc sherlock fic has more than 10,000 kudos, but it's empty candy, and honestly kind of silly if you think about it, not to mention way ooc (it's crack fic, so this is mostly intentional)
but this little comment-fic someone probably wrote in a few minutes that i read on an LJ comment section once has stuck with me for more than a decade
