#should I consider making a tag list for all my fics so people can be notified every time I post? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets.

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b.

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.”

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you.

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens.

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--”

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.”

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him.

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.”

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you.

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.”

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch.

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway.

“I need only see your sister,” you insist.

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs.

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask.

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so.

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace.

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps.

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.”

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks.

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say.

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again.

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.”

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth.

“I told you, I’m busy--”

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.”

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.”

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.”

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.”

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever.

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.”

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply.

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.”

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you.

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper.

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.”

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.”

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.”

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?”

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape.

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down.

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.”

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola.

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.”

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.”

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug.

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?”

“If you insist,” she pouts.

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte.

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position.

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway.

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.”

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--”

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.”

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.”

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.”

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.”

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--”

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer.

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.”

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag.

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.”

“I’m--”

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead.

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.”

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite.

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept.

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.”

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms.

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands.

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?”

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his.

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door.

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt.

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles.

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.”

You nod, uncertain of a proper response.

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.”

“Suppose not,” you reply dully.

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.”

“A spinster?” You supply.

“I didn’t--”

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?”

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.”

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.”

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.”

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.”

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.”

#sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #unraveled #enola holmes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

357 notes · View notes

sailorrhansol · 15 days

Text

One in the Grave | 01

❀ Pairing: Vampire!Vernon x Dhampir!Reader (f)

❀ Summary: Immortal problems require immortal solutions, but you never expected the unlikely help from a vampire lord and the destruction that might come with it.

❀ Series Word Count: 8,143

❀ Genre: Supernatural, Dystopian,

❀ Type: Unlikely allies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Chapter Warnings: My baby girl has PTSD!!! Very much forgetting where she is sometimes and thinking she’s back in The Bad Place, mentions of past torture and abuse (recalls someone breaking her bones over and over), mentions of mind control/compulsion, mentions of murder, gross ass vampires being killed grossly and sometimes the word choice is icky like did I need to use the word sinew? No but I did. A lot of references to Trauma and Being Traumatized, Jeonghan is funny but also diabolical about said Trauma, lots of blood because this is a vampire fic, fight scenes that idk if they make sense, mentions of disease, like hints of mentions of there being like DiRtY bLoOd classism what else… reader hates herself and it’s Saur Obvious. Reader sort of has an accidental terminator setting when she gets too into fighting and goes Sicko Mode and punches through a vampires chest to rip its heart out idk thats kind graphic

❀ A/N: This chapter took me forever to write because I re-wrote sections so many times, but I'm finally happy with where I ended up. I deviated from my outline almost immediately, but this beginning to this story feels more natural than the original! I am so excited to be writing this and to take you on a very dramatic journey through this vampiric, dystopian world.

A/N 2: Huge thank you to the best beta team a girlie can ask for in @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda because without them, so much of this would not make sense.

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Playlist ❀ Previous Chapter ❀ Next Chapter

I need not fear the dark. I need not fear the pain. In the dark, I was made. In pain, I become anew. I am the Grim.

Darkness seeps from the damp walls next to you. The air is foul and wet, leaving a sour taste on your tongue, nearly cloying the back of your throat. There’s no part of the Undercity that isn’t dripping with rot. It clings to your boots as you slip through the tunnels, settling on your skin as you turn a corner.

Water drips in several of the tunnels. You can hear the soft splash as the drops hit the puddles, the only sound in the deep dark. You frown - you know you’re not alone. The underground paths leading to the heart of the Undercity might seem empty, but they are never what they appear to be.

On instinct, you take a left. Even in the dark, you can see the general lay of the land, a complex network of abandoned, vampire-made passageways under the city of Black Harbor. The tunnels go farther than the city walls, stretching beneath the human districts in the Tombstones and ending at random stop points in the Wilds.

Another left and you’ll be heading east toward the coast. Even the old vampires would lose their way in the tunnels - everything looks and smells the same. You’re not one of them, though, and you’ve learned these tunnels by heart. Could navigate them even without your sharp vision.

A wet step catches your attention. You stop and crouch low, looking ahead. Dark shapes blend together. Even with enhanced vision, you can only see so far in the Undercity, the general darkness blending together.

But you can hear.

Another wet step catches your ears. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds. The steady drip drip drip of the pipes brackets the sound of a soft hissing - not hissing. Sniffing. Scenting.

Without wind in the Undercity, you don’t have to worry about the breeze carrying your scent. Still, the things lurking in the dark, especially recently, are better at smelling the difference between what’s alive and what’s dead. You straddle the line between, but you’re alive enough.

Slowly, your hand reaches up behind your back, grasping the leather handle of your blade. The scenting stops and you hear a soft grinding sound, like teeth gnashing, followed by slow steps. You pull your blade out the rest of the way, twisting it in your hand and taking a slow, deep breath.

The steps stop for a moment - and then something is running, the wet slap deafening in the silence of the tunnels. You poise yourself, leaning a little forward, ready to throw your weight into your strike. You’ll need to be fast.

Out of the darkness, a loping humanoid shape appears. The Rabid looks more or less human from a distance, but as it gets closer, you see everything wrong with it: crimson eyes as a result of broken blood vessels, bulging veins as a result of swelling before the host died, rows of serrated teeth, and twitching, dislocated limbs.

Nothing about a Rabid is human. Nothing about a Rabid is really a vampire, either. Though they’re a vampire species, they lack the fundamental ability for cognitive function, and are thus only driven by the need to feed insatiably.

Human-shaped but twisted by post-mortem metamorphosis, whatever person they used to be before Red Fever infected them and killed them is gone. In the place of what used to be a person is a genderless cryptid with muscular, half-rotted bodies and nails like talons. They’re more bedtime story monsters than they are anything else, and you’re running around their home in the dark.

The feral hunger works in your favor. The Rabid misses on its first swing as you duck, throwing your weight into your thrust as you plunge the sword through the creature’s abdomen. It screams, striking at you again but you’re already moving, keeping your momentum going as you pull the weapon with you, the sucking sound of the blade pulling from its stomach sickening.

It isn’t the worst sound you’ve heard, and you don’t let it stop you as you spin on your heel, slicing wickedly at the Rabid’s head. It ducks, though, sensing the attack as it scrambles away from you, curling inward as it bleeds from the middle. The wound won’t kill it, but making them bleed is key.

Blood is imperative to a Rabid’s strength. The more blood they’ve ingested recently, the stronger they are. Severing limbs and damaging the heart that pumps blood through the system - or removing it entirely - is important.

The creature turns to face you again. You spin the blade, point it toward the Rabid and take a wide stance, one foot forward and one foot backward with your weight centered on the back foot. Any other foe with a thinking, calculating sense would try to assess. The Rabid does not, driving forward again with a snarl, jaw extending beyond a normal human’s with the intention to bite down wherever it can.

Spinning to the side, your sword arm follows your momentum, coming down hard on the back of the Rabid’s neck. You hear the crack of bone as it cuts, your sword carving easily. The head separates from the rest of the body, thudding against the wet floor of the tunnel.

There’s no time to worry about burning the body yet. More hisses slither up the tunnel and the wet slap of feet rushing toward you is warning enough that other Rabids have been alerted.

That’s fine. You step away from the slain beast and face the source of the noise, taking your stance again, muscles coiled, heart pounding as your blood rushes. You feel the adrenaline mount, hitting your system like a high, pulse throbbing, focus narrowing.

Kill. Kill.

The impulse is fleeting, there and gone again. You grimace and swallow down the instinct to fall into a blind rage. Using bloodlust to fuel your fighting is a side effect of how you’ve been conditioned and taught - one you’re trying to get rid of. It might make you fight better, but it’s hard to escape the undercurrent of the frenzy once you let it pull you under.

They charge, hissing and snarling as they go. There is nothing planned or in sync about their attack. Rabids may sometimes linger near one another or nest together, but there’s no pack mentality, no strategy to the way they move. It makes it easy to take them down, but easy to get overwhelmed if there are too many.

Three isn’t bad. You cut through them with concise, sharp movements. Fighting Rabids isn’t like fighting sentient creatures. It’s not a dance, but there is a chopping rhythm to it, a hack and step that feels like a pattern as you go.

Step step slash. Step step stab. Step step duck. Step step slash.

When it’s done, sweat beads at the back of your neck. Silence falls in the damp passageways of the Undercity. You stand, hardly winded with your sword dripping in ichor, looking down both of the hallways that bracket you on either side.

Nothing else comes.

You flick your sword hand, freeing it from some of the gore before digging into one of your pockets, fishing out a small bottle and cloth. Carefully you uncap the bottle and tilt your blade point down, pommel near your face. You squeeze liquid out over the metal, hearing the hiss as the antiseptic eats at the foul blood on the weapon before stoppering and putting it back in your pocket.

With delicacy, you wipe the cloth on the flat of the blade, cleaning it. Sheathing the blade, you reach into another pocket, pulling out a small tablet of firestarter. You snap it in half and toss it onto the pile of bodies, flames catching immediately.

The sudden light makes your vision flash white for just a moment before it adjusts. The darkness hovers at the edge of the light like a hungry, creeping thing. In the firelight, you see the dispatched bodies of the dead, once victims to the virus that killed them and turned them into the mindless, frenzied creatures that lurk in the Undercity tunnels and the Wilds.

Not even the rats come down here. At least, the uninfected ones don’t. Even a rat makes a good meal for the feral creatures of the Undercity.

There was a time when you would have fed on the rats in the Undercity. A time you were so hungry, you gave into your primal instincts. A time when you were so hungry for love and approval from your master that you would do - and did - anything for it. Giving into bloodlust when fighting and becoming a mindless tool was easy, back then.

Fresh air greets you as you climb the rusty, iron ladder to the surface. It’s cold outside, autumn wind stinging the sweat on the back of your neck when you finally pull yourself out of the hole and flip the heavy, metal lid over one of many entrances to the Undercity.

An empty quad of an abandoned school surrounds you, crumbling brick buildings empty save for rotted furniture and dust, walls blown in and cracked from some skirmish during The Fall. The schoolyard grass is overgrown, brushing against your hips as you begin your routine, movements down to a science.

First, you pull the bottle of antiseptic out of your pocket and clean your hands before pulling out cleaning supplies from your pack. Then, you pull off all your clothes, cool air making the hair on your arms stand on end. The cold gets worse when you begin to wipe your skin with sticky antiseptic pads, tossing them into a pile on the ground as you go.

The routine is robotic. Disinfect. Take off your clothes. Disinfect. Put on new clothes. Disinfect. Put old clothes in a bio-safe bag to clean them later and burn the wipes.

Getting the virus isn’t likely for you, but you never take the chance, especially living in the human districts on the outskirts of the city. Red Fever hasn’t plagued the mortal population in a few years, but a single outbreak could make the community collapse.

And the vampires in the city wouldn’t help. They never do, even as those living under their jurisdiction get picked off by Rabids, vampires undermining the law, and other things lurking in the ruins just outside of Black Harbor.

No blood tax, no protection.

The sentiment makes you grit your teeth as you watch the antiseptic wipes turn to flames, then to embers, then to ashes. You can smell the fumes fade with the wind, along with the sound of a soft footfall.

You wheel around, unsheathing the weapon at your feet as you spin, pointing the tip of your blade at the figure behind you. Jeonghan seems unphased, looking down the sharp edge of the sword with a lopsided grin.

“Sloppy, little sister.”

“Oh fuck you.” Your muscles unclench and you spin the weapon, sheathing it. Jeonghan’s hands are in his pockets, eyes twinkling as he watches you. “What do you want?”

“I can’t check up on you?”

“Not usually, no.”

Jeonghan doesn’t check up on you. At least, not in the way you imagine normal siblings might. Jeonghan isn’t a normal sibling, though. He’s hardly a sibling at all - you share a bloodsire, not a biological parent. Blood kin would be a more apt term for the familial bond between you.

Still, when you think back on your life, Jeonghan has always been there. Fills the corners of your memories as a steady hand, a vicious thorn in your side, a confidant, an enemy, a rival.

“You like visiting the Undercity these days. Perhaps I, too, am nostalgic.”

“I don’t visit for nostalgia,” you snap. You strap the sword belt across your chest, the weight against your back a great comfort. “Don’t goad me.”

Jeonghan looks the same as he always has in the last hundred or some odd years. He’d stopped aging - as most dhampirs do - sometime in his thirties. His round, youthful face, and gentle eyes hide the demon within. Hundreds have fallen prey to Jeonghan’s saccharine smile and false, gentle disposition.

Wolf in lamb’s clothing.

“You’re no fun. Junhui is so much nicer to me when I visit.”

“Jun is nice to everyone.”

“Maybe you should take notes. Your neighbors might like you more.” You pause, looking at him with narrowed eyes. His grin spreads. “You think I don’t know where you live?”

“What do you want?”

“I need your assistance.”

“Doubt it.”

“Not everyone is a monster-slaying machine like you are. Some of us actually take the time to enjoy our freedom.”

Freedom.

A word you don’t quite understand. You might have gotten rid of the master holding your leash, but her influence is still heavy enough to control everything you do, even now. Freedom doesn’t exist for someone like you. Not really. You’re shackled by your inability to make your own choices, and the only things you’re good at are the things Lilith made you learn.

I need not fear the dark. I need not fear the pain. In the dark, I was made. In pain, I become anew. I am the Grim.

Most of your life has been spent in the service of killing your blood mother’s enemies, helping her carve her empire out in the world left over from the destruction of humankind. You’d also helped defeat her, but the absolution of ridding the world of her is not nearly enough to wipe out the long list of foul deeds to your name.

“You don’t have to help me.” Jeonghan’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. “However, I do not like the idea of going into a Rabid nest alone.”

“You want my help with a Rabid nest? Why?”

“There’s something inside of the building that a client needs. Some Rabids happen to have made it a home.”

You study him. He’s dressed in all-black dress pants and a black button-up, an equally black blazer thrown on over it. Jeonghan looks the part of casual elegance, a fine piece of art that is out of place in the middle of the abandoned bones of what was once a school, you think.

“Why me?”

“I need a weapon.” His mouth quirks. “Plus, I like you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do! You’re my favorite sister.”

“I’m the only sister you have that’s still alive.”

He holds up a finger to present his counterargument. “I killed our last sister but I haven’t killed you. If that’s not favoritism, what is?”

You walk past him, heading toward Black Harbor. “I want half of whatever you’re being paid.”

“Thirty percent.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Deal.”

Jeonghan catches up to you easily, hands still tucked into his pockets in that casual way of his. His hair is a little longer than you remember, tucked behind his ears as he smiles, happy to have you onboard for whatever it is he’s roped you into.

It isn’t the first time he’s sought you out for assistance - especially for killing - and you know it won’t be the last. Of all your blood kin, Jeonghan is the one who keeps in contact with you the most. Junhui might be sweet and fond of you, as is his way, but you’re too volatile for him, made to be loved at a distance.

None of your siblings love you, though. You don’t think any of the children of Lilith have the ability to love. It was bred out of you early and punished if it tried to crawl back in. Even loyalty to anyone but your master in the Undercity was punished.

Neither of you asks how the other is. Jeonghan won’t answer you honestly and you suspect he knows exactly how you’ve been. The not-so-retired spymaster has a network of little spiders in his web, scrambling back and forth to feed him information on any number of people.

You wonder if this is what freedom means to him. After living his entire life in the service of your shared sire, Jeonghan seems to have mastered his destiny, using the skills he was taught to climb the ranks among the vampires of Black Harbor and sit pretty. Still, in a way, he’s reverted to old habits just like you have, buying and selling secrets to keep himself safe like he did in the old days.

Maybe freedom is an illusion.

The blasted landscape around you doesn’t change as you walk eastward. Nameless buildings and road structures spread out in either direction. Cracked, broken, and decayed is an apt description for most things outside of the city, especially the closer you get to the Wild.

You turn northeast, heading toward the bridge that leads into Black Harbor. It’s roughly an hour's walk directly into the city from the abandoned schoolyard where you entered the Undercity. It isn’t the only entrance to the underground network, nor is it the closest, but it’s the most reliable and you don’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up on you.

Unless they’re a former resident themself, which are in rare numbers.

“Where is this Rabid nest?” you ask as the night deepens. The cool air kisses the back of your neck and lifts strands of Jeonghan’s inky hair. Above, the moon is swollen and momentarily hidden behind thick clouds.

“The old museum right outside the West End.”

You glance sideways at him. “That museum was an epicenter of outbreaks. No wonder there’s a nest.”

“Good thing we’re immune then, hmm?”

“We’re not immune, Jeonghan. Resistant and immune aren’t the same thing.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I survived the disease for two hundred years in the Undercity. And you have your nice little disinfectant wipes, don’t you?” Jeonghan pauses and looks you up and down, pointing at the ashes of your burnt pile. “Why do you do that, by the way? To protect that fragile little human community you live in?”

Yes, you want to say. Instead, you say nothing at all. Jeonghan might be half-human like you, but he has little empathy for them in general, unlike you. He tends to align himself with whoever he benefits the most from, and the humans have certainly never been in a position to help him out.

Not that they would. Most humans don’t assign a difference between vampires and dhampir. Your human neighbors might tolerate your presence, but it’s just that - tolerance. As soon as they feel threatened by you, they’ll hire someone to try and kill you, as is the way in the Tombstones.

Jeonghan scoffs. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sentiment.”

“Rather auspicious for you, wouldn’t you say brother?”

He grins but doesn’t respond, tilting his head up toward the sky.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. You keep a sweeping gaze on the quiet world around you. Crickets quiet as you pass, waiting until you’re out of range before taking up their song again. When the clouds move away from the moon, the world turns grey.

Nothing disturbs the two of you on your walk. You spot a feral pack of cats with sharp eyes watching from the long grass. You can sense them assessing you, deciding if you’re prey or predator. They remain in their clutch of darkness. Predator, then.

Jeonghan doesn’t strike up a conversation again as you walk. Instead of trying to get him to divulge details, you go through what you know about the old museum near the West End. It was a hot spot for breakouts early on during The Fall, and after Black Harbor became a city-state, it remained an issue under the jurisdiction of the Chwe family for years.

A center of resources, it had been targeted early on as humans tried to build communities and safeholds in a rapidly apocalyptic world. The museum has the space to house the resources, and protection that people brought to form a community, turning it into a quarantine zone at the very start of The Fall. Any building large enough to house a community center had people flocking to build safe zones, eager to recommission the square footage and walls into quarantined housing and living centers.

And they fell just as quickly.

Disease has no consideration for isolation, though. Particularly one as contagious and debilitating as Red Fever. In most cases, people killed themselves once they realized they had the fever. Suffering through the hemorrhaging and the madness wasn’t worth the small chance of turning into a vampire post-death, and carriers were too dangerous to be kept alive anyway. Accusations of sickness were as deadly as catching the virus itself.

The museum still remained a problem even after the collapse of its original community. Humans like to stick to what they know, rebuilding on old ground and trying to salvage what was left before them. Perhaps the human communities there could have flourished if the guard in the West End did anything to keep the Rabids and the rogue bands of vampires from decimating them, but anything outside of the official city limits of Black Harbor was only under the jurisdiction of the Chwe family, not the protection.

Those who wanted to be saved had to pay the blood tax, and most people weren’t even eligible for the blood tax, as picky as the vampires were with their qualifications and standards for clean, safe blood.

Salt tinged the air as you approached the official demarcation line of the Tombstones. It wasn’t an official name, but there was no point in giving it a real name - it was expendable ground, as far as Lord Chwe and his family were concerned.

Old, rusted piles of metal were pushed to the edges of the pavement to make way for the few operational vehicles that dared to travel outside of the city, creating the illusion that the road was lined by dead, decayed beetles.

Sounds from the city drift over the water and toward you. Lights in the distance glitter over the wall, skyscrapers bright against the dark swath of sky. The dichotomy between visions of human destruction and vampiric ascension always strikes you, the discordant images the perfect depiction of your two worlds.

“Why don’t you visit Jun anymore?” Jeonghan’s question catches you off guard. You tear your eyes away from the shimmering city to look at the dhampir next to you. His hands are still tucked in his pocket, the picture of cool and casual.

“I don’t think he wants me to.”

Jeonghan frowns. “That seems unlikely.”

“I assumed I reminded him too much of ho- of the Undercity.”

“I still think of it as home too, sometimes.” You don’t answer for a moment, unsure where the conversation is leading. Jeonghan is a storm of unpredictability, his desires changing direction with the wind. “Is it because you feel guilty?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wants my help.”

“I’m in the business of asking questions, little sister. Consider it the desire to see my siblings happy. One seems dead set on never shedding the victimhood of her past and one is too afraid to tell his siblings he’s lonely out of fear of rejection.”

You ignore the barb. “Good. Loneliness is temporary. He’s better off without me around.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “You were always such a self-righteous wretch. Spare me the I have done evil and should avoid the world speech.”

“You asked me!”

“I thought after fifty years you might be less insufferable!” He shoots back, taking his hands out of his pocket to throw them up. “I should have known better. Now come on, if you’re so hellbent on living your life in permanent apology, you can come kill these Rabids for me.”

“I’m insufferable?”

Irritation shoots through you as Jeonghan speeds up, ignoring your question. The wind is stronger near the coast, ripping at the end of his blazer and lifting his hair. You scowl behind him, fists clenching and aching to punch him in the back of the head.

Jeonghan thinks everything is so easy. You’ve never known him to feel things as trivial as guilt or empathy, able to rationalize his way out of feeling a modicum of responsibility for anything he does.

So why do you help him? You always find yourself asking the same question every time he appears with a task or to poke at you. The answer, you think, is simple enough: he’s a constant. He was there when you were born, he was there when you were molded, and he was there when you suffered.

Suffered together.

Despite the way Jeonghan trivializes your grief, there are few people left in the world who can relate to you. Junhui shares the same past, but you don’t know how to face him. Don’t know how to look the gentlest of your siblings in the eye without feeling like you’re reminding him of everything he’s suffered.

And Jeonghan’s presence is comforting, in a way. The familiarity makes you feel easy, though dealing with him is anything but.

You don’t know whether he feels the same sense of attachment to you or not. You’re unsure most days whether he sticks his nose in your business for the brief familiarity of it or because he considers you an asset to his growing power.

The latter is the most likely.

Wind scatters leaves across the pavement. Ahead, the museum looms like a skeleton bathed grey in the night. Somewhere, metal groans and creaks as it moves in the breeze. It makes you think of a phantom moaning, a shiver sliding down your spine as Jeonghan walks straight for the doors of the building.

The doors to the museum are shattered. Glass and gravel crack beneath Jeonghan’s feet as he climbs the steps and stops just beyond the entryway, his hands tucked into his pocket as he cranes his neck upward to assess the full scope of the building.

You pause next to him. You inhale again. You don’t get much of a scent on anything but the ocean air, but it doesn’t mean there’s not something deep in the guts of the building.

“Well?” you ask, looking at Jeonghan. “Do you know where in this building you need to look? It’s pretty large.”

“Hall of Human Life.”

“That’s… ironic.”

His grin is beatific. “Shall we?”

As someone who frequents a variety of abandoned buildings, you’ve always been of the opinion that all empty buildings have the same dead, empty feel to them. You’ve long thought that none was more or less creepy than the others, but now you know you were decidedly incorrect.

There is something haunting about the museum. Evidence of human life is everywhere as you pass destroyed exhibits on life and science, but also sections you can tell were made for the communities that tried to set up here.

Sections of the building had been remade to house living quarters and even what appears to be a botanical section. Untended, the plant life has consumed the west end of the building, mostly weeds and unuseful vines stretching their fingers across cracked tiled and concrete.

Your swordhand flexes, ready to reach behind your back at a moment’s notice. You don’t hear or smell Rabids, but you come across the evidence of them soon enough - scattered bones and human carcasses, rotted blood stains on the floors and steps as you descend deeper into the darkness of the building.

It’s hard to discern what any of the exhibits used to be. Time and civilization have erased all but the bones of each, leaving you to guess what they are as you pass. You’re about to ask Jeonghan if he has any idea where the Hall of Human Life is when you smell it.

“Blood,” you murmur, hand going to your blade and pulling it silent from the sheath. “East.”

He glances at you and sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”

“You aren’t a trained bloodhound.”

You’d trust Jeonghan if he were profiling someone and detailing every part of their life, psychology and desires. His skill has always been of a manipulation and information collecting sort, not the hunting and stick-a-knife-in-someone sort.

He follows you silently, slipping a deadly throwing star from his sleeve. You raise a brow. “I’m surprised you're armed.”

“I’m always armed, little sister.”

The sound of something snapping catches your attention and you hold out your hand, stopping him. Even he knows to obey you here. You listen and hear the sounds of crunching. Something breaking. Chewing, you realize. It is the sound of bones being snapped and the grind of teeth.

For a second, you’re not in the museum anymore. You’re in a dark room, the snap of bone sharp and loud against your ears. The sensation is worse than the sound, though. You feel the bolt of sharp, uncontrolled pain shoot through your leg from your thigh to your hip. It is agonizing, stopping you from thinking of anything else but the outrageous pulse of pain.

Your hand shoots to your thigh, feeling the phantom pressure of the foot as it fractures your femur again, the sneered voice telling you to stop your screaming as it steps down again, broken bone stabbing-

Jeonghan’s voice startles you. “You’re not there.”

Glancing to the side, you see Jeonghan watching you. His expression is unreadable, dark eyes pinning you to the place you stand. You realize your hand is hovering over your leg and you swear you feel the ghost of pain from the break. From the sound of the snap.

You don’t remember Jeonghan being there for that. Lilith had ordered Silas to break your bones over and over again. To make you used to the pain. To rebreak them when they healed. If you were ever captured and tortured, you needed to know pain. It needed to be an old friend, not something that could break you.

Then again, you’re sure Jeonghan’s been broken too. All of your siblings have known the torture of Silas, the perfect tool of to train Lilith’s children to develop no fear against pain.

There’s a flicker of kinship with Jeonghan until he mutters, “Experience trauma on your own time. I need you focused.”

Right. You’re here to help him do a job for money, not because you’re spending time together bonding as blood kin. When you really think about it, little adventures full of violence are the way you two often bond, even when you were under the thumb of Lilith.

Instead of shooting an insult at him, you creep forward, knees slightly bent and ready to spring. He follows you, a lithe shadow as you slip into the darkness.

Blood permeates the air in the underground level of the museum. At the foot of an unlit staircase, you step into a lobby of sorts. There are multiple metal, double doors leading into a room beyond. Over the doorway is a broken sign with missing letters: all man Li.

You snort and Jeonghan gives you a questioning look. You point toward the letters with your sword and whisper, “All man lie. All men lie.”

“Poetic. I suppose it was once Hall of Human Life.” You nod. “Rather inconvenient.”

Here, the sounds of multiple mouths chewing on flesh is louder. Wetter. You grimace and hope that the victims were dead long before they were dragged back to be made a meal of. Most Rabids won’t bring food back to a nest, too hungry and eager to eat right when they kill.

Blood is heavy in the air. Jeonghan’s nose flares and you know he smells it too. The scent is sweet like mulled wine with a hint of underlying fruit. Human. They always smelled sweet to you, something about them fragrant. A flicker of hunger burns through you and then is snuffed out. You don’t need blood and you don’t want it, especially with no way of knowing where it’s been or who it's from.

Getting infected doesn’t matter to Rabids. They’ve already suffered Red Fever and died, turning into mindless, feral vampires. To you, making sure you don’t contaminate yourself will be important, no matter how high your tolerance to the disease is.

Jeonghan taps his wrist as though he’s wearing a watch. You hold out a hand to tell him to be patient. You don’t know how many Rabids are on the other side of the doors, but from the grunting and amount of blood you can smell, you think it’s at least five. Maybe more.

Freshly fed Rabids will be a bitch to fight. You’ve never been inside the Hall of Human Life, but you don’t like the idea of walking into the nest blind and trying to fight without knowing how much space you have to fight. You also don’t want to fight where they have access to blood when they need it.

You settle on an idea, though you don’t like it much.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” He doesn’t answer, side eyeing you. “I just need to know how long you think it will take once you’re in the room.”

“I know what I’m looking for.”

“Great. Go hide in that far corner by the bathrooms.”

He frowns. “Why - what are you doing?”

Without a second thought, you bring your free hand up to the sword and run your palm across it. You barely feel the sting of the cut, watching as the blood pools in your palm, welling up.

Silence.

Jeonghan realizes it too, bolting from the foot of the stairs to the dark corner of the lobby and into the bathrooms just as the sound of hissing rises up behind the doors. You take a step backward, foot on the bottom stair as you watch the door. You need the Rabids to frenzy and hunt you - you should be able to make it to the main lobby or outside, giving you room to fight and -

They burst through the doors. You turn on your heel and jump, clearing the steps easily. They’re snarling behind you, tripping over themselves as they chase after the scent of live, fresh blood.

You squeeze your fist as you go, making sure to keep them on your trail while you tear through the museum the way you came. It has the desired effect, working up the monsters into a violent mania as they close in on you.

Looking over your shoulder to see how many of them isn’t an option. You just keep running, nearing the front of the museum as you take a corner, skidding as you go. The front doors are just ahead, the moonlit world just beyond. You pump your legs harder, tearing over the concrete floor.

Just as you vault over the threshold of the door, something hits you from the side. The force is jarring, your teeth snapping together in an explosion of pain as you hit the ground, sword slipping from your grasp. You barely manage to avoid cracking your head on concrete.

Instinct takes over. You thrust a hand forward, catching the Rabid by the throat as it gnashes its teeth at you. The others are at the door now, screaming and howling like a savage pack of wolves. Even dazed, you find the sense to throw your weight against the creature, rolling over and throwing it off of you.

Your attacker hits the steps but scrambles back toward you. It doesn’t matter. You only need a moment to roll and collect your discarded sword, swiveling on a knee as it lurches at you. Steel connects with flesh and severs the head easily.

There’s no time to celebrate. You dive from the stairs, careful not to stab yourself in the stomach as another Rabid swings a clawed hand at you. Panting, you get to your feet, turning to face them as you skip backward toward the street.

Ten Rabids fan out on the steps, but they pause their attack. You grip your sword, waiting for them to keep the feral pursuit. Instead, they seem to be waiting for something, swiveling their heads and looking around.

You don’t like that. Rabids don’t hunt in packs, despite sometimes sharing a nest, and the image of them all hesitating together in sync is alarming. Worse, you realize they’re starting to make sounds, an intonation deep in their throat that almost reminds you of frogs in the rain during summer. Their heads pivot, looking at you and then looking at one another as they softly call to one another like they’re… talking.

A chill runs through you. You’ve never seen them talk before, and certainly not before attacking. They should be in a blood frenzy, killing each other to get to you, even.

One of them lets out the loudest shriek you’ve ever heard, your ears ringing. You nearly drop your sword in surprise. You take several steps back, suddenly unsure of your situation.

The Rabids begin to slink down the steps. As they do, a figure appears on the roof, its shadow dark against the brightness of the moon. For a split second you think it might be Jeonghan, but then it leaps, flying over the heads of the skulking Rabids to land only a few feet away from you.

“What the fuck are you?” you mutter, pointing your sword at it.

And it is an it. You have no idea what it is. The creature looks like a Rabid. It has blotchy skin where the fever bursted capillaries and blood red eyes, but it stands straighter than Rabids, eerily still, regarding you - and there’s a crude sword at its hip.

You’ve never seen them carry weapons before - they shouldn’t know how to use them. They were named Rabids because they lack the function of their frontal and parietal lobes, making them lesser vampires that can only operate on base animal instinct, driven entirely by the vampiric nature to consume.

Rabids communicating is alien enough, but carrying a sword? You have no idea if it knows how to use the weapon, but when it unsheathes the sword and takes a stance, you can’t help but feel a tiny pulse of doubt. It uses that moment to attack, striking forward stiffly as though to gut you.

At the same time, the non-intelligent Rabids attack. Cursing, you dodge the stab and run, trying to put distance between you. The leader stalks after you, weapon in hand; its gait smoother than the broken movements typical of the species but not exactly fast.

One of the non-intelligent ones gives chase to your flight, giving in to bloodlust. You face it and sidestep easily, bring your sword down on the back of its neck as you do. It cleaves cleanly, blood spraying upward. Two more of them lose their grip on logic and follow suit, only to join their slain nestmate on the ground.

The leader snarls angrily - not at you but at the other Rabids. They chatter and skitter back, letting the one with the sword take charge again, flanking it like they’ve been chastised.

You keep your weapon pointed at the leader. They attack together again. This time, you’re ready for it, meeting your opponent’s blow. The ring of metal echoes and you feel the force of the hit vibrate down your arm. You don’t let it stop your momentum, leaning to plant a hard kick in one of the other’s chests.

A rib cage cracks. You don’t stop. You duck under a claw and parry another attack, always moving, always fluid. You dispose of another Rabid before blocking another sword swing.

With a growl, you push your weight into the block, surging against the lead Rabid. It’s not a good swordsman, and though its reflexes are better than its wild counterparts, you shove the lead Rabid several feet away from you, tripping it up and sending it careening. You can’t take the opportunity to finish it off as the non-intelligent Rabids press in. Thankfully one gets too close and you cut through its neck.

Something zings past your head, hitting one of the remaining creatures in the throat. It cuts through easily, the body and head falling in separate directions. You turn around to see Jeonghan on the stairs, silver shurikens flashing in his hands.

“Your friend has a sword,” he calls, looking at the intelligent Rabid and pointing. “How did it get a sword?”

“Let me ask,” you call back. Some of the Rabids slink toward your brother, splitting up to fight both threats. “Hey, where did you get the sword?”

The lead Rabid doesn’t answer. “He didn’t say!” you shout back to Jeonghan over your shoulder. “Should I ask in Lilin or-”

The lead Rabid cuts you off as it attacks, swinging blindingly fast, grunting as it does. It manages to strike your ribcage, sword too dull to pierce skin but you feel the rupture of blinding pain as it breaks your ribs. A wild shriek of rage escapes your throat as you stumble away from it, gasping.

Breathing hurts, the stabbing ache stunning you for a second. The Rabid seems to be satisfied - if they can feel at all - and it enrages you. Better creatures and fighters have never landed a blow on you, and a thoughtless creature catching you off guard is…

Shameful.

If this were another time, you’d have been beaten for this kind of embarrassment. Letting a less skilled opponent get the jump on you because you were joking is unacceptable. The shame quickly gives way to anger. Anger gives way to wrath. Your shaking hands still suddenly, and you feel your rage center your focus to a needle-thin point.

You’re no longer in the middle of the street fighting a nest of Rabids. Now, you’re in the cold undertow of something you try to never let out, that you try to keep buried down deep within you.

Kill kill kill.

Metal meets metal. You barely remember lifting your sword to attack, slamming your weapon down into the lead Rabid’s sword so hard that the beast makes a sound of surprise, dancing away from you a few feet. You stride toward it, undeterred, a vice grip on your weapon as you stalk forward.

Kill kill kill.

Another blow sends your opponent's sword flying. You don’t follow through with your weapon. Instead, you punch forward with your free hand, barely feeling the crack of bone against bone. You break through muscle and sinew, feel the scrape of ribs as your fist bursts through the lead Rabid’s chest.

Its heart only pulses for a moment in your hand, throbbing faster than your own heartbeat. The lead Rabid doesn’t move, body frozen as the source needed to pump its blood is suddenly gone. It dies on your arm, the deadweight pulling your limb down as you slide it off of you.

Kill kill kill.

You turn and see Jeonghan fighting admirably despite being outnumbered. You prowl toward the Rabids, hissing and drawing the attention of the ones closest to you as you go.

You hate them. You want to destroy them. You want to win and kill and-

One leaps at you and you cleave downward. It isn’t an elegant swing, but it’s efficient and strong. Blood wets your skin and you swing again, hearing metal meet flesh. A high-pitched whining rings in your ears. You taste ichor in your mouth but you don’t care, sliding to a knee as you cut through the leg of a Rabid. It goes down and you follow through with the neck.

Kill kill kill.

You hack through its neck again. And again and again and again.

Suddenly the Rabid isn’t a Rabid. It’s a cherub face with red painted lips and sleepy, green eyes. It’s apple cheekbones and pearly fangs. It’s silky auburn hair and the smell of sugar and vanilla.

Lilith.

You hack again and again and again.

Kill kill kill.

If you don’t kill her, she’ll own you forever. It has to be permanent, but making it permanent is so hard. Her command to spare her burns through you, liquid hell in your veins as she says your name, over and over and over, trying to grip your thoughts and -

Someone shouts your name.

The memory fades. You aren’t killing Lilith and you aren’t in the palace of the Undercity. You’re not a scared little dhampir trying to claw her way free from mind control. But you are covered in blood and your thoughts are a little hazy as you look up, dazed.

Jeonghan stands a few feet away from you. Right. Jeonghan. Jeonghan is here with you and you are helping him retrieve something from a Rabid nest. You’re not there, you are here. Above ground. And Lilith’s dead.

“Get up,” Jeonghan mutters through clenched teeth. For a second, you think he’s disgusted with you. That he’s realized how deep your inability to control your fear and memories goes. Then he flicks his eyes toward the city. “The West End guard is here.”

When you turn toward the city, shocked, you realize Jeonghan is right. Members of the city guard loyal to the Chwe family step into the ring of carnage, all six of them quiet and poised. The one at the point is tall and broad, dark hair swept neatly out of his tan face, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. You’d think he was handsome if didn’t look like he was going to kill you.

“Well,” the guard chuckles. “Looks like this Rabid frenzied and killed the rest of them before we got here. That makes this easy.”

It takes a moment for his words to register. To lock in what he means. Rabid. They think you’re a Rabid.

“I’m-” your voice is raw and broken. You heave in air and then gasp when it feels like a knife has slipped between your ribs, remembering they’re broken. You immediately fall into a triage routine, regulating your breathing to ensure none of your breaths are too deep or too often. “Not Rabid.”

The guard at the front unsheathes his sword. It’s beautifully made, and you see the Chwe family crest glint on the hilt. “I know a Rabid when I see one.”

“Really, Mingyu?” a new voice asks, deep and soft. “Have you ever heard a Rabid speak? Then again, they’re apparently wielding swords.”

A man steps around the guard - Mingyu - and looks you up and down. He’s made up of midnight - dark hair, darker eyes, dark presence, though his skin is smooth and pale as the moon. His mouth quirks to the side and he tilts his head, watching you with mild interest. A lock of dark hair falls into his eyes.

He’s beautiful. It’s your first thought and you immediately hate him for it. Vampires that look like him know what they look like, and they use it to their full advantage. The Undercity was swimming with ethereal faces and diabolical desires.

“Dhampirs,” the pretty one muses. “Huh. How fascinating.”

“A dhampir?” Mingyu asks again, face scrunched up and unsure.

“Use that big nose of yours,” one of the other guards taunts Mingyu. “You can smell the blood.”

“Shut up, Chan. I can’t smell anything but that fucking awful cologne you wear.”

“My cologne is not awful!”

The pretty vampire glances at his bickering guards and then back to you. “You’ll have to excuse the manners.” His eyes dart to your chest and he looks puzzled. “Your heart is beating too fast for a dhampir. Perhaps you are infected.”

“She’s broken a fair few of her ribs and her wrist.” You look up in surprise, almost having forgotten Jeognhan was there. He is stone still, face unreadable as his gaze darts back and forth between them all. “She also just killed about eight of those things - bit of an adrenaline junky, this one. I’d like to take her to a blood bank to assist with her healing process, if I may, My Lord.”

He would? How Not-Jeonghan of him. Your realization of him using my lord is delayed, the word choice hitting you as the pretty vampire waves his hand. “We’ve got blood; we can treat her. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask some questions about… well, this. The offer for treatment is contingent that neither of you are infected, of course.”

Jeonghan’s expression is tight but he bows his head, posture stiff. “Your timing is auspicious and your kindness a welcome gift. You have our most eternal gratitude. We would be happy to answer questions, Lord Chwe.”

“Vernon,” the vampire says, gaze flickering back to you and darkening a little. “You can call me Vernon.”

TAG LIST:

@hipsdofangirl @jacixbliss @chronicfic @jespecially @asyre @todorokiskitten

90 notes · View notes

caelanglang · 4 days

Note

Who are your fav skk fanfic writers and why? Do you have their works that you love the most that you don't mind sharing here? 💘

this... this is such a hard question, *brings out a whole safe of records* /j (no srsly it's gonna be a long read--)

Here are a list of authors i really like :3 Their ao3 links/handles are:

the_most_happy: love how emotional their work can be! they have smut and fluff works, and most of all—which i think the the most delicious one, is the way they write angst <3 I actually made a bunch of fanart for their fics/aus when I was just getting into the fandom :3 They're writing is like going into a spicy sexy emotinal adventure... idk how else to describe it xD my fav fic of theirs... augh so hard to choose... In Loving Memory caught me so off guard (cuz i forgot to read the tags and immediately dived into it the moment i saw their post about it hhhh)

forest_racoon: The fluff and softness and magic in their writing is so good! I love the energy and comedy and seriousness and everything in their writing! it's always so fun to pick up any of their works~ Don't be tricked tho,, the angst they deliver have the same gravity ToT it's just so... augh... I first found them through Plate :( and have reread it several times (please check out their other works too it's all so amazing!!)

devilrin: love how she writes. period. the emotions and the poetic energy of it?? the angst?? so. good. the skk energy in their writing is more mellow(?) it feels more realistic—it's like watching people instead of characters ;w; (very cool how she world builds an entire life outside of her fic for her characters actually, got to witness the behind the scenes first hand myself its pretty insane to me) The fic that ruined me tho is Down to a Sunless Sea (which is so angsty im so--)

themadtree: The energy in their writing is just so amazing. it's very hard to stop mid-way! The dialogue feels very fun and engaging and you really get very attached to the characters because of how energetic and full of life they are. Whimsical is the best word I can think of to describe the reading experience of their work :3 They made a bunch of fun aus; their brain is just so amazing (pirate au and avatar au like broooooo) My favorite is Mors Vincit Omnia (yummy pirate au!)

StarshipDancer: one of the first ao3 writers whose name i decided to remember by heart (which means a lot considering how bad i am with names) because they are my most searched user in ao3 xD The fluff is just so addicting. The sillies and shenanegans are so on point for me, idk it just scratch this itch so perfectly in my brain. I draw a of inspiration from my skk sketches from their works actually :3!! READ EVERYTHING THEY HAVE PLS ITS ALL SO GOOD (you should check the fluff week collection augh) Without Words is one of my most reread ones... I think... I reread a lot of their works tho...

setosdarkness: let's be honest. i think everyone whose dived into ao3 skk just knows her alreayd xD she's such a kween for that, making sure we are so well fed with so much fun skk writing. Her works are so fun to read! Very comedic and has such similar energy to the gag moments and bickering and shenanigans of the anime skk for me idk why. I love how fun and unique each fic scenarios are :3 (no srsly you'll never run out of food made with so much love by athina-san)

xLillyle: I am working with Lilly for a Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood skk au!! (its Royai skk BUT it's also beast!skk) it's been so exciting to work with her :3!! You can check some of the teasers here. She made an iwaoi!skk fic recently so if that's you're type hehe *starts bawling*

there are lots of other amazing authors there but these are the ones that came to mind and i am most familiar with for now :3 Here are some other fics ~~

When I Awake: Ghost(?) Writer Dazai and Musician Chuuya. yummy angst. silly skk

castle out of couches: My favorite domestic fluff skk. it's my must read. Halfbloom is such a master of the fluff in comedic tone and capturing that skk domestic softness idk how they do it. it's just so good.

In One of the Stars I shall be Living: A sweetheart wrote a fic about my little prince skk au TT it's so well written and I am so in love with all the references and angst ueueue

Five Steps: My favorite skk knight x prince au TT

The Best Worst Thing: Another sweetheart wrote a fic based on my silly sketches ;w; it's so cute waaaaaa

okay. i am. so sorry for the long answer. I just love a lot of stuffs from these incredible writers. feel free to drop by again :3 these are the ones that comes to my mind first so i may have missed out on a bunch oop

#sorry again for the long reply #bsd fandom has so much good food #inbox #recommendations

60 notes · View notes

tenpintsofsundrop · 9 months

Text

Fanfiction Etiquette 101

(Things You Didn't Know You Need To Know)

So, I have seen some discussions about these things on my dashboard, and I know some people are new to tumblr and new to fanfiction in general, so I decided to put this list together in case it might help people. And this stuff goes for all fandoms, no matter what type of fanfiction to write and post.

Also fyi, this post is mostly for people who write and post fanfiction.

1: Putting A Readmore/Cut On Fanfiction

So a 'readmore' (also known as a 'cut') is the ability to put the body of your fanfiction under a cut off link so that people's dashboards are not clogged up by long sprawling paragraphs of text. This is also helpful if your fic contains smut and people don't want to be subjected to smut - people have to click through to keep reading sensitive topics.

The button for it looks like this on desktop:

And this bar of options comes up on desktop when you hit 'enter' on a blank line.

And it looks like this on mobile:

Tumblr put it permanently into the hotbar of options so that it's easier for people to put a readmore on their posts on mobile.

Once you have inputted it, it comes up as a light grey jagged line, showing you where your text cuts off in the main post aka what text is visible before the cut and what's not.

And generally, I think it's a good idea to put the readmore after the first paragraph of your fic, or after the description/summary.

I have noticed that some people put it in after several paragraphs for a longer fic, but I think to make fics easier to reblog, you could put it closer to the top. And even if you're writing smut blurbs, you should put it close to the top to keep smut concealed in case people don't want to read or see smut.

If you don't use a readmore, people are less likely to reblog your fic because they don't want to put a long text wall on other people's dashboards.

2: Using (Stolen) Gifs As Fanfiction Covers

I have seen some discussion about using gifs from google, and people putting a gif that they have downloaded and simply writing under it 'this gif is not mine, please DM me if it's your and I will give you credit'.

It's generally established among gif makers that downloading random gifs and putting them on your fanfiction is bad etiquette. Those are considered stolen gifs.

Even if you say it's not yours and offer to give credit, any gif you repost that is not yours is considered a stolen gif.

Fanfiction writers and gif makers need to work together, not against each other. Reblog gif sets you like, and don't download random gifs, no matter what the source is.

The best way to use gifs as fanfiction covers is to make them yourself or to use the tumblr integrated gif search system.

The gif search system is in the same hot bar as the readmore, labelled under 'gif'.

When you pull it up and click on it, you type in the name of the character you are looking for, and then you can scroll through the results. You can click on a gif to add it to your post, and remove it if you don't like it. So you can try out different gifs to find the right fit of what you're looking for.

And when you find what you're looking for and put it on your post, it automatically credits the gifmaker.

And the credit appears like this. And the name of the gifmaker can be clicked and then it takes you to their blog, so you can see who made the gif. This is a much better way to use gifs, because if someone likes a gif they see on your fic post, they can click through to the original gifmaker and reblog it.

Alternatively, using stills from the show/piece of media you're fanfic is about is a great way to avoid using stolen gifs.

2.5: Using Flashing Gifs On Fanfiction

I have noticed that a lot of people use flashing dividers for their fics, and they don't tag it with a flashing warning (#flashing gif or something similar) and they don't see this as a problem.

Using a flashing gif in fanfiction without a warning can negatively affect disabled readers. Not just people with photosensitive seizures, but people with migraines and different types of eye issues.

3: Using Coloured Text For Fanfiction

Speaking of accessibility issues, I have noticed that many people (especially people new to tumblr/new to fanfiction) use Tumblr's coloured text option to differentiate characters in fanfiction - assigning one colour per character with dialogue.

Some people also just use coloured text for the whole body of their fics, just making it straight up unreadable for disabled people.

Using coloured text in fanfiction makes it inaccessible because certain types of colour blindness makes it unreliable to see on a white background, and bright colours can cause eye strain for different types of disabilities.

It is kinder to use the traditional black text for the body of your fic, and any important information (like the content warnings, DNI criteria, etc).

4: Putting Thorough Content Warnings On Fanfiction

Speaking of content warnings - I could (and probably should) make an entire post about this topic alone, because many writers (both new and old) are severely lacking in this department.

Content warnings are supposed to be more for just smut - and if you do have smut in your fic, you should put warnings for that, instead of just releasing for fic into the wild with no warnings at all. Content warnings are supposed to be for anything that could be potentially triggering for a reader - phobias and fears, sensitive topics, uncomfortable or fear-inducing situations, and kinks and nsfw topics.

Tbh I think not enough people put warnings for alcohol and alcohol consumption in their fics, because alcohol is far too normalized to most people, but again - I could probably make a whole post just about content warnings in fanfiction. Basically: if you think your post could be triggering to someone with an addiction or in addiction recovery (or triggering to a sober person who doesn't want to read about drugs or alcohol) - then include those things in the content warnings.

Fanfiction is about informed consent.

People need to be better informed about what the content of your fic is before they consent to reading it. Also, if you're worried about the warnings being too detailed and giving away 'spoilers' for your fic, then you're probably worried about the wrong thing. And you can just put a warning at the very top that says "the content warnings of this fic contain spoilers for the plot of the fic" and let people make their choice if they want to skip the content warnings or not.

Please, write about all the dark or sensitive topics that you want, but just put detailed warnings on your fic so people can be informed about it before reading your fic.

People always appreciate thorough warnings, and they are more likely to read your fic if they are fully informed before clicking into the body of it.

4.5: (Not) Censoring Content Warnings

Tumblr is not tiktok. (Same goes for posting fics on AO3, but this post is mostly about Tumblr fics.) On Tumblr you can say/spell out any word you want without your post being suppressed or taken down - suicide, kill, murder, fuck, abortion, hell, porn, tits, cumshot, etc.

So that means that when you're writing out the content warnings of a fic, you should write them out fully, rather than putting slang or alluding to the topics in a fic. (Again, informed consent.) Rather than saying 'this fic contains SA', say: 'this fic contains sexual assault' or 'this fic contains rape'.

I saw someone using the term 'unalive' in the content warnings of their fic, and tbh, that's what inspired me to make this whole post.

If you're not mature enough to spell out all the topics in the content warnings of the post, you're not mature enough to be writing and posting about those topics.

Also, try not to use terms that need to be looked up/implicit terms. Certain terms for kinks (like dacryphilia or somnophilia) might lead a person to google those terms and find things they don't want to see. So instead of using those terms, just say 'crying kink' or 'sleeping kink' instead, so that everything is spelled out plainly.

...

This is all I can think of for now. Basically, just be kind to others when posting fics. Be kind to gif makers, disabled readers, and anyone from your fandom who might have an interest in your fic! Be safe and have fun writing! <3

#sundrop speaks #fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you

170 notes · View notes

the-boy-meets-evil · 6 months

Text

take my hands (we can fall together) | lee chan | pt. 2

(where you and chan are friends, but he's your brother's best friend. and you've always been just a little out of reach. until one season changes everything.) pairing: brother's best friend!chan (dino) x f!reader genre: friends to ??, pining, slow burn | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut rating: explicit (for the full fic) warnings/notes: mentions of unhealthy relationships (reader x boyfriend), mentions of food, mentions of drinking/alcohol, halloween parties, mentions of cheating, reader's boyfriend is an asshole, reader's brother is chan's age and reader is 2 years older, eventual smut (in pt 3 - see that for warnings), any names of other idols are considered to be OCs word count: ~7.7k (full fic is roughly 23k) a/n: huge thanks to @svthub for hosting this fall collab. check out the full list of fics here. make sure you go back and read part 1 for context, this is part 2 (so only 1 part left!). also thank you to my bby indi for creating an amazing banner @classicscreations. if you want to be tagged in the last part send an ask or dm or just comment 💕

tagging: @christinewithluv @aaniag @dejavernon @tbzhub @bitchlessdino @seungkwansphd

part 1 | masterlist | part 3

When there’s multiple nights of dressing up for Halloween, it’s harder to put as much effort into costumes. At least that’s how Chan feels about it. So, he knows that he’s taking the easy way out by dressing up as one of the Kens from the recent Barbie movie, but he’s also not really bothered about trying to come up with something more elaborate. Not when it’s a Saturday night and they’re all going to a house party. He’s got another costume planned for the night of actual Halloween that he put a little more thought into.

He’s also sure to arrive a little later, because this is one of Seokmin’s friends and Chan doesn’t really know the people hosting the party. It’s not like that matters, really. Things like this are always pretty open as long as you know someone there. Even though Seokmin said he’d be there early helping to set up, Chan still doesn’t want to be that guy that shows up at an inappropriate time. The unexpected tradeoff is that he sees you before he even gets to the front door. It’s almost comical to see that you’re dressed up as one of the Barbies from the movie. It’s hard to tell which one under your coat. Not that it’s surprising. Chan figures you won’t be the only ones to pick a Barbie theme. Still, it’s like you coordinated without even meaning to. You force a smile when you notice him, and he sees that you’re on the phone.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Your voice sounds angry when it reaches Chan’s ears.

He hesitates when he’s far enough away to give you space, yet still close enough that he can offer support if you need it.

“No, I always have to understand. I don’t have to understand tonight. It’s a Saturday night and we planned this party weeks ago,” you retort.

Chan figures he probably should let you be because it’s clear that you’re talking to your boyfriend. It could be a minute before this particular conversation ends. Your eyes watch Chan as he goes to step around you and you reach out to grab his arm. You mouth “please wait” to him. That’s enough to make him stop completely.

“It’s not just a stupid Fall tradition. This is Halloween. Everyone celebrates Halloween,” you start and then roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m aware that you’re 28, but what 20-something doesn’t celebrate Halloween? Be so fucking for real.”

It’s hard to know where to look because all Chan can focus on is your tone. It’s not upset or defeated. It’s angry. Maybe you’ve had something to drink already, maybe you’re just fed up. He wouldn’t blame you.

“Forget about it, Seungsik. You do whatever it is you have to do,” you say, pausing for him to speak. “Yeah, I heard you say you have to work but it’s a Saturday night. So, you do what you’re gonna do and I’ll be with my friends. Don’t bother coming over if you were even still considering it.”

Your hand is still on Chan’s arm, not that he would leave anyway. It would be awkward to stay this long only to leave when the conversation is clearly over.

“Yeah, sure, we can talk tomorrow,” you say. You don’t say a goodbye or an “I love you” before hanging up.

“Let me guess, Seungsik bailed again?” Chan asks. He knows he shouldn’t sound so snarky about your boyfriend and also doesn’t care.

“Shocking, right?” you snort.

“Well, at least you still have friends here,” Chan says and motions for you to head into the house ahead of him.

You remove your coat and Chan tries not to stare at your Mermaid Barbie costume. He removes his own jacket and your eyes show your amusement before a laugh escapes your lips.

“Looks like I still have a Ken to my Barbie, too,” you joke.

“You mean Jay didn’t tell you I was coming as Ken?” Chan jokes back.

“Wait, was he supposed to?” you worry.

“No,” Chan assures you. “I’m not sure he was even listening when we talked about costumes. This was kinda last minute.”

“Well, we should take a picture anyway, we look good together,” you suggest.

“I’m down,” Chan agrees, too quickly.

Two of you end up, mostly unintentionally, spending a lot of the party together. People that don’t know you keep assuming that you’re there together and your friends think it’s funny, so they keep poking fun. At least it means that everyone stays in a good mood. It’s a little confusing, though, because you don’t correct the people that don’t know you about being there with Chan. At one point, you do ask Chan if he’s actually okay with how close you’ve stuck to him. You make something of a joke about not wanting to keep him from anyone. It’s confusing. It tugs at Chan’s heart as a reminder that even if you’re fighting with him, you do have a boyfriend. Maybe that’s something to consider. But, he shakes it off and insists that he doesn’t mind. Your shoulders fall in relief and you admit that it’s comfortable being around him. You don’t want to talk about the argument, so it helps that Chan knows some of what happens. You like it that he doesn’t ask you too many questions that you know you can’t answer.

It’s also a little surprising that even at this house party, which is relatively small because the house isn’t huge, you and Chan are the only Barbie and Ken. It seems like everyone thought it would be too common of a costume and tried to think outside of the box. Or some people just were lazy and wanted to save their better costume for the actual night of Halloween.

“You’re glued to my sister,” Jay observes when Chan excuses himself to get a drink.

“I’m not glued, we just keep ending up together,” Chan disagrees.

“Yeah, seems kinda glued. And you came back in with her after she left to take a call,” Jay says.

“Oh, yeah, I walked up and she was talking to Seungsik. I figured I’d wait for her to come back in,” Chan says. He’s not going to tell your brother that you asked him to wait for you.

“I notice he’s not here,” Jay tries to say casually.

“He’s not coming,” Chan shares. Jay goes to open his mouth and Chan cuts him off. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why he’s not coming, you’ll have to ask her. But, she seemed kinda pissed off at him on the phone, so maybe let her enjoy tonight and deal with the bullshit tomorrow.”

“I’m glad she has you,” Jay says.

“Not you too,” Chan starts.

“No, I mean literally. You’ve been a good friend to her with all the bullshit over that asshole,” Jay says, irritation clear in his voice. “Wish she’d just break up with him, but if I say that, I’m being over protective.”

“I dunno, I think she’s probably closer than you realize,” Chan shrugs.

You come rushing into the kitchen. “Come on, Chan, we have to go crush it at beer pong.”

“Forgetting her brother again. Good luck, man,” Jay laughs out.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you chide before pulling Chan away with a drink in each of his hands.

He’s more than a little thankful for Jay not calling him on making two drinks. It’s obvious when you show up that the other is for you, yet Jay just lets him be. It makes it easier for Chan to focus on beer pong. You’re at that perfect buzzed point, apparently, where you assure him that you’re going to be at your best. Even though it sounds kind of bullshit, he goes along with it.

It’s not bullshit, Chan learns two turns into the game. You sink both of your shots without even hitting the rim of the cup. Meanwhile, Chan is just thankful to make one on his second try so you don’t insist you’re carrying the team. You might be, or Chan might be a little distracted by the way you line up your shot. Might be a little distracted by the way you lean up against him. Might be a little distracted every time his arm brushes against your bare skin. Might be a little distracted by the way you celebrate with him every time either of you makes a shot. It’s easy to see why people who don’t know you assume you’re here with him. It’s harder for Chan to remember that’s not true when he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye.

After you win at beer pong, both of you find your way to a quieter part of the house. The party feels a little stifling and you want some air. Chan agrees, but it’s a little too cold to just sit outside. Instead, you settle for a quiet corner. This time you don’t ask if it’s okay to be stealing all of Chan’s time. Either because you can tell he doesn’t mind. or you’re trusting him to say if he did mind, he’s not sure.

Now that you’re a little buzzed, not drunk, just feeling a little happier, you’re ready to talk about how things are really going with Seungsik. It’s immediately a lot more honest than Chan is expecting and infinitely more heartbreaking. He’s working crazy hours, claiming that he’s up for some big promotion and has to put in the time. He’s canceling plans on you left and right. He’s making you feel silly for wanting to do all these Fall things. You feel silly for even complaining about it, but Chan interjects to remind you that it’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. It’s hard to only be supportive when you’re admitting that you feel like there’s something you’ve been doing wrong and that’s why he’s doing all of this. Despite Chan insisting it’s definitely not you, he can tell that you don’t fully believe it.

It’s like you’re in this weird limbo because you’ve been dating him for over six months, which feels long enough that it’s serious. But, you’ve only been dating him for like six months, which you say also feels like you shouldn’t be overbearing. You’ve always wanted partners to have the freedom they need. Always been really adamant about maintaining your own friendships and hobbies outside of your partner. That’s important. You don’t ever want to be one of those people that gets into a relationship and forgets about their friends. Those are the people who’ve been there through all the shit. There’s a part of you that feels like that’s being used against you with Seungsik. Every time you tell him that you miss him or want him to do something, he reminds you that you suggested keeping some hobbies separate from each other. Chan is quick to tell you that there’s a difference. It sounds like he’s using your well-meaning words as an excuse to not see you as much, which is weird.

Somehow, you both come to a silent agreement that you don’t really want to dwell on your issues with Seungsik, anymore. You’re just happy to have someone that’s willing to let you vent and then let you move on. Sure, Chan shares his opinions and reminds you as often as he can get away with that you do deserve someone who values you. Then, he also lets you get away with moving the conversation on to lighter things. Even though Chan’s known you for over ten years, there’s still so much about you that he doesn’t know. And he’s not sure what’s shifted, but something definitely has. You’re much more open in the way you talk to him lately, much freer with your words. It’s comfortable, kind of like a warm blanket.

By the time the party is winding down, Chan is essentially sober, having spent so much time just sitting and talking to you. You’re still a bit buzzed, but well on your way to sobering up. Chan planned to leave his car here and pick it up tomorrow (well, later today since it’s the early hours of the morning) and instead he can drive home. He offers to give you a ride as well, which you happily take to avoid paying for a ride. None of the rest of your friends, except for Jay, seem to be around, but he’s very caught up talking to someone. Good for him, Chan thinks.

The car ride back to your apartment is comfortably quiet. Aside from you asking if you could pick the music, you’ve just been softly singing along and looking out the window. It’s nice at this time of night, too. Everything else is quiet, just the traffic of people heading home for the night, whether it’s to their homes or someone else’s. It’s not until he gets to your house that Chan gets a text from Jay that makes him frown. “Everything okay?” you ask, hand on the door to get out of the car.

“Yeah, just Jay hoping I’m not headed home because he brought someone home with him,” Chan says. “I’ll just be quiet when I go in and put my headphones on.”

“Or you could just crash here tonight,” you offer and Chan grips the steering wheel a little harder to steady his nerves.

“I couldn’t do that,” he says, causing you to turn back to him.

“Do you really wanna hear whatever my brother is up to?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, no, but it’s also not like it would be the first time,” he responds with a chuckle.

“Come on, weirdo, you can sleep on my couch and I’ll make us breakfast in the morning,” you say, getting out of the car without waiting to see if Chan is following you.

Of course he is, though. He scrambles to get the keys out of the car and hurry after you. Once you’re inside your apartment, you put a pot on the stove to boil some water. Insist that you need some tea before you can sleep. While the water is boiling, you go to the closet to pull out some blankets. It’s entirely too comfortable, both the couch and the way you move around him. Something he can’t fully ignore when you sit down with a cup of tea for each of you.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” Chan asks.

“Why wouldn’t it be? You were nice enough to give me a ride home and it’s my brother that’s sexiling you,” you reason.

“What if Seungsik shows up tomorrow?” he asks.

You take a sip of your tea and then look over at him. “He’s not really the type to show up unannounced. Besides, why would it be weird to offer to let a friend crash?”

“You’re right,” Chan concedes.

“Plus, he hasn’t been over for breakfast in weeks and I miss cooking for someone,” you say.

It’s kind of hard to argue with that, not that Chan wants to. Well, he’d like to argue that it’s bullshit that Seungsik has you feeling whatever you’re feeling. It’s complete crap that he doesn’t appreciate what an amazing person you are. It’s just not healthy. But, at the end of the day, it’s also not Chan’s place, so he just lets it go.

You get up to wash out the cups when you’re finished with your tea and disappear into your small spare room. It doesn’t have a bed, because you use it as an office area, but apparently it does have clothes that you loan to Chan. The protest is on his lips when you cut him off to say that they’re Jay’s clothes he’s left here when he’s crashed. That’s much better than the clothing belonging to your boyfriend. When he comes back out of the bathroom, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, obviously ready for bed. He clears his throat to be able to say goodnight and pads out to the couch. It’s even more comfortable to sleep on than you said, but Chan’s brain won’t slow down enough to fall asleep. All he can think of is just how…domestic this all feels. How easy it is to be around you. Again.

Though it takes him a while to drift off, he actually feels like he gets a good night of sleep. The smell of coffee slips into his consciousness while he’s in that in-between state before he’s fully awake. When he opens his eyes, he can tell that you’re trying to be quiet, not wanting to disrupt him. Even though it’s your apartment and you can make as much noise as you’d like. Chan opens both of his eyes and finds your back to him as you look into the fridge. Possibly deciding what you want to make. Your hair is in a knot on top of your head and you’re still wearing that oversized t-shirt and shorts. Everything about you seems relaxed. Until you close the door and turn towards the living room to see him awake. You jump a little and your hand flies to your heart.

“Oh my god, I didn’t realize you were awake,” you share after a moment.

“Sorry,” Chan says and throws his hands up.

“No, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” you wonder and he shakes his head. “I was trying to figure out what’s for breakfast.”

“You really don’t…” he starts.

“I promised breakfast and you’re getting breakfast,” you interrupt. “Plus, look outside.”

It’s a confusing request, but Chan gets up off the couch anyway to look out the window. As soon as he moves the curtain aside, he sees how hard it’s raining. He’s a little surprised that he didn’t hear it. And he’s definitely not overly eager to leave in that.

“Guess you have company for breakfast,” he says when he turns back to you.

Your whole face lights up and you let out a squeak. “I can’t wait, oh my god, I have so many recipes I’ve been wanting to try.”

“Like?” he prompts.

“Do you trust me?” you ask instead.

That’s a dangerous question. One that Chan isn’t sure he really wants to answer, because the answer is that yes, he trusts you far more than he should. Probably more than he’s trusted anyone else. The last month or so of all these activities has only reinforced that. Instead, he pretends to consider it for a second, buys himself some time.

“I guess, you haven’t poisoned me yet,” he says, voice surprisingly even.

“I hate you,” you joke with an eye roll.

“I’ll remember that,” he teases back.

To do something helpful, Chan gets up and folds the blankets he used to sleep and asks you where they go. Once they’re safely away in your closet, he texts Jay to say that he’s still at your apartment and having breakfast at least. Jay sends back an inappropriate number of emojis and says he’s going to make use of the extra time alone with whoever it is he brought home. Thankfully, he only makes one joke about being replaced as the favorite sibling, which Chan answers that you’re a better cook. Was it ever really a contest?

To avoid being entirely useless, Chan makes both of you a cup of coffee. You’re about to tell him how you like it when he asks if you trust him. As he hands over the perfect cup and turns around to make his own, he misses the look on your face that he knows exactly how you like your coffee. It’s a mix of wonder and surprise. When you tell him it’s the perfect cup, you’re not even lying. He also can’t resist peeking to see what it is you’re working on, despite your attempts to swat him out of the kitchen.

“Is that French toast?” Chan asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I know it’s kinda simple, but I had some really good bread that was going a little stale and I’ve been wanting to try a new mixture,” you say.

“French toast is my favorite, I don’t think it’s simple,” Chan admits.

“I think I remember you mentioning that, actually,” you comment. It’s so offhand that Chan doesn’t think twice about it. There’s so many things he remembers about you that he’s thankful something about him sticks too.

While you continue making breakfast, Chan asks where the syrup is so that he can warm it up a little. He doesn’t like it cold and neither, apparently, do you. You also don’t like fake syrup so you direct him to where you keep it in the fridge. It looks like it’s some small company that you probably got directly from the shop on some adventure. That’s definitely one great part about living in this part of the country, you’re never far from good syrup. It makes the whole apartment smell like maple and the cinnamon from the toast. And something else that Chan can’t really place. But it makes everything feel warm and comforting despite the rain that’s only coming down harder outside now. Maybe Chan doesn’t hate everything about Fall.

Unsurprisingly, it’s the best French toast he’s ever had. Something he’s quick to tell you and you’re quicker to brush off like he’s just being nice. It’s just as easy to chat with you in the light of day in your apartment as the haze of the house party the night before. It’s harder to ignore the way your phone periodically lights up with Seungsik’s name. Harder still to ignore is the fact that it’s just his name. No hearts or emojis or pet names. It’s almost impersonal, not that Chan should be passing judgment.

“Are you going to answer him?” he finally asks.

“No,” is your immediate answer.

“But…” Chan starts and you level him with a look.

“He doesn’t get to have things on his terms when he couldn’t even come to a fucking Halloween party last night,” you say.

“Have you talked to him since…” he starts to ask before trailing off.

“Since I was fighting with him on the phone and you walked up?” you finish for him.

“Yeah, that,” he says.

“I read one text from him asking why I was posting matching costumes with you, even though my caption on it was clear and he’s literally all over my page,” you share. “So, I didn’t answer that. I texted him when I woke up to say that I hadn’t read whatever he sent and that I was mad from last night and would maybe talk to him this afternoon or tonight.”

“He doesn’t seem to have gotten it,” Chan comments as your phone lights up again with his name.

“No, he doesn’t. But that’s also not my problem. Not everything is going to be on his terms,” you say.

“I’m glad,” Chan admits.

“About what? Me fighting with Seungsik?” you wonder and Chan’s eyes go wide at the realization.

“No, oh my god, no,” Chan rushes out. “No, I’m just glad that you’re not letting it all be on his terms. You’re worth a lot more than how he’s been treating you.”

“Thanks, I think so too,” you slightly tease.

Breakfast turns into you asking Chan to watch a show, which turns into him spending the entire afternoon lounging on the couch. You talk a little more about your relationship and what you might say to him when you finally text him back. Chan also tells you some things he’s looking forward to coming up and about some plans he has with your brother and Vernon. Sometimes, you’re just quiet while watching the show, but that’s comfortable too. Eventually, though, Chan realizes that he has to leave. He knows that you’re using at least part of him being there to avoid talking to your boyfriend. Not that it’s the only reason. It’s clear you enjoy having him around, too. But eventually you have to talk to Seungsik and so Chan finally says that he has to head home. Jay is starting to wonder where he is anyway.

It’s not that Chan really wants to be out and dating, but he also thinks that it might help to get his mind off of you. Even though he loves every minute of being around you, it’s also getting harder. Especially when the time spent together includes things like the Halloween party and crashing at your apartment. He wants to be a good friend to you, but at what cost to his heart? No part of him feels entitled to your attention and he’s not even sure if he would be a better partner to you than Seungsik. It isn’t even about him anymore, not really. Not now that he’s spent all this time with you. It’s just about wanting you to find your own happiness that doesn’t come from a partner. Which is why he agrees to go out for drinks with a friend of a friend, Carla, that asked him weeks ago. What’s the worst that could happen?

He’s meeting her at some trendy bar downtown where the music is usually too loud to hear anything. Not exactly the ideal place for a first date, but maybe that will make it all easier. He does like to dance. And he knows the drinks are good. It’s also always pretty busy, making it easier to blend into the crowd. What’s weirder, though, is that she asks Chan to just meet her there. Again, not Chan’s first choice, but he goes along with it all the same. It’s thankfully very easy to spot her once he gets there.

She’s standing by the bar, her long dark hair framing her face and wearing a dress that clings to her in ways that should be against the law. The moment she locks her eyes on Chan, he thinks maybe he can do this. Maybe it’ll all be easy and fine. They exchange a quick hello, get their drinks, and then it’s right onto the dance floor.

Time seems to move in odd ways. It could have been ten minutes just as easily as an hour. All Chan knows is that he needs another drink. When he says that to Carla, she agrees and says she’s going to run to the bathroom. They can meet at the bar. Once Chan makes it to the bar, his stomach drops. He looks back out at the dance floor and sees Seungsik with a stranger, that is definitely not you, tight against him. Some bottle blonde presses her ass further back into him and he grabs her hips. As Chan looks at them, Seungsik ghosts his lips across her neck, moves a hand up her stomach. The woman turns around in his arms and pulls him in for a kiss. Seungsik’s hands grip her ass, dangerously close to causing her dress to ride up. It isn’t until Seungsik pulls the woman off the dance floor and into the shadows that Chan realizes just how bad things are.

Carla seems disappointed when Chan says that something’s come up and he’s got to leave, but perks up when he says that they’ll find another time. He’s not even sure if he should be giving her hope, he just wants to get out of there as soon as possible. Once he’s in the Uber, he texts Jay to ask if he’s home or if he’s got company. The answer that he’s alone in the apartment comes quickly.

“Thought you had a date,” Jay says when Chan comes through the door. “Unless you’re angling for a threesome. I’d have to turn you down though.”

“Come on, man,” Chan says as he collapses on the couch. He runs a hand through his hair without thinking about it.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Jay asks, he’s coming back from the kitchen with a bottle of water.

“It’s about your sister,” Chan admits. It’s clear that Jay wasn’t expecting that, but his surprise disappears quickly.

“Wow, are you finally admitting you’re in love with her?” Jay jokes. “Can’t say I’m surprised, but also it could’ve waited?”

“No, it’s not that. Well, I don’t know, it’s about Seungsik,” Chan says.

“So you’re not in love with my sister?” Jay questions.

“Can we not do this right now? This is serious,” Chan begs.

“Fine, we’ll come back to that. What about Seungsik? Other than he’s been a total dick about all the Fall shit,” Jay says as he leans back further into the couch.

“It’s more than that, he’s lying to her,” Chan states.

“What?” Jay needs Chan to connect the dots and it’s a lot harder than it seems.

“He’s, fuck Jay, he’s lying to her. He isn’t working late. At least not all the time. He was at the club with some girl, grinding, making out, dragging her off to some dark corner,” Chan says.

The color drains from Jay’s face. “Are you…fuck, are you sure it was him?”

“I’m positive,” Chan says.

“You’ve got to tell her,” Jay says after a moment.

“I thought it might be better coming from you,” Chan hopes.

Jay frowns like he’s considering something. “I’m not sure it would. I don’t even mean because you saw Seungsik. It’s just that she’s seemed to kind of rely on you lately. It’s you she was with apple picking and picking out pumpkins. You she spent all of that Halloween party with. She trusts you.”

“Well I’d hope she does, we’re friends,” Chan tries to joke.

“I’m not trying to fuck with you, I know I started by saying you were in love with her, but I just think it’s different,” Jay says.

“So you don’t think I’m in love with her?” Chan wonders.

“Oh, no I definitely do. I’m just not gonna bust you over it right now,” Jay says.

“I’m scared to tell her,” Chan admits.

“She deserves to know, though,” Jay points out.

He’s right. You do deserve to know. You deserve a lot of things that Seungsik seems unwilling to give. At the very least, though, you deserve respect. What Chan needs help with is figuring out just how to bring it up with you. Jay is right, you and him have been spending a lot more time around each other than normal. Chan’s been more than happy to keep you company to do all the things that Seungsik doesn’t want to. What he’s not prepared for, however, is this.

Even though it sounds dumb, Chan listens to Jay and asks you to come over to help him make a couple pies for a family get-together. He does have to go over to his aunt’s tomorrow, something you’re very aware of as you and Jay are also invited, and you are excellent when it comes to pies. Chan had just been planning to buy a couple, but this is a ready-made excuse. Even if he thinks it’s dumb. He’s a little surprised that you agreed since he only texted you the same day. Then again, maybe that’s not so surprising.

You breeze in with ingredients, including some that he already has, and immediately get to work laying everything out. He realizes, as you’re looking through his cupboards and scolding him over the lack of organization, how domestic this all feels. Again. It’s not as if he didn’t realize how much he liked you. No, it’s that he realizes he may love you and he’s going to have to tell you something that will break your heart. Best to get it out of the way early before you start baking. Just in case you want to leave.

“Where’s my brother? Avoiding helping in the kitchen?” you wonder.

“No, he went to help Vernon test out a new game,” Chan says.

“You didn’t wanna go?” you ask.

“I kinda figured I needed to make sure I didn’t show up empty-handed tomorrow,” Chan starts. “I was surprised you agreed to come over on such short notice.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have anything else to do and I can’t exactly leave you in your time of need,” you say, trying for casual and failing.

“Wow, I feel the love,” Chan jokes back.

“Chan, you were going to use fake vanilla in your pies,” you scoff.

It’s hard to keep the smile off his face, despite the news he has to share, as he throws his hands up. “I didn’t know there was a difference!”

“Tragic,” you sigh. “Plus, well, I don’t know. I like hanging out with you.”

“I like it too,” Chan says. It comes out as little more than a whisper and his heart constricts.

“You’ve made this whole season so much better,” you admit.

“Yeah, I could say the same for you. I didn’t really get the big deal about Fall before,” Chan shares.

“You didn’t?” you ask. Chan just shakes his head. “But you agreed.”

“Like you said, I couldn’t leave you in your time of need,” Chan jokes.

You playfully shove his arm. “Do you get it now? The appeal of Fall?”

“I do, yeah. I’ve had a lot of fun,” Chan agrees.

“Wish Seungsik felt the same,” you utter.

That’s it. That’s the opening, the best one he’s going to get. He has to take a deep breath to steel himself. “Where is he today anyway?”

“Seungsik?” you ask to confirm or to stall, it’s unclear which. After another nod, you sigh. “I don’t really know. He told me he had to stay late on a project and then was going to possibly get drinks with a friend at this little dive bar by his office. I hadn’t heard from him when you texted me to ask for help.”

“Did he say who he was meeting?” Chan presses.

You give him a weird look. “I don’t know. Sejun, probably. I don’t know all of his friends, though. Why are you asking?”

“Come here,” Chan says and pats a stool at the counter. It’s clear you think he’s being weird, or at least weirder than normal, but you listen anyway. “I don’t think he was with a friend. At least, I don’t think he was with Sejun.”

“What do you know?” you ask, eyes intent on searching his face.

“I, well I was out at that place you don’t like because it’s too, what do you usually say?”

“Try hard trendy,” you supply with a scoff.

“Right, well I was out and I saw Seungsik there. I didn’t recognize who he was with, but it didn’t seem like a friend. She was blonde and wearing something really revealing, grinding up on him, kissing him. I don’t know, maybe there’s…” Chan hasn’t thought this part out, not really. He feels awkward.

“Maybe there’s an explanation?” you snort. “I’m sure there is. I’m sure it’s that he’s cheating on me like I’ve assumed he was for the past month.”

“I’m so sorry…wait, you what?” Chan splutters.

Of all the outcomes he prepared for, your immediate acceptance hadn’t been one of them. He’s expecting tears and you asking if he’s sure. He’s expecting you to wonder if you did something wrong. He’s expecting all the tearful things you see in movies. Except this isn’t a movie, it’s real life. And you don’t seem surprised, at all. Somehow, that feels worse. Then, he remembers how you were at the Halloween party. How you were the day after. Maybe it makes some amount of sense. It wasn’t the same as before you went apple picking. It wasn’t meek, it was angry. Pissed off. This is more like that.

You stand and shake your head. “I’m not blind and I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” Chan interrupts immediately.

“Oh, no Channie, I know you didn’t,” you say, voice soft like he’s the one that needs to be protected. “I think I’m saying that to myself. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was up to something. He’s never been the best boyfriend, but he got really secretive. He blew me off a lot and just pretended it was because he hated this season.”

“Which is bullshit, by the way. It shouldn’t matter how you feel about something. You at least try for someone you care about,” Chan insists.

“Yeah, he was quick to have something to say about me spending time with you,” you admit. That brings Chan up short.

“What? We did most of the stuff as a group,” Chan points out.

“I wouldn’t think too much about it. It felt wrong when he said it. Like he was deflecting from his shitty behavior rather than commenting on something I’d done,” you say.

“I’m really so sorry, you deserve so much better than everything he’s done to you,” Chan says.

“You know, that’s the first time you’ve actually said it to me, at least in so many words,” you observe.

“Said what? That you deserve better?” Chan questions. Your face is a bit sad as you nod. “It sounds hollow to say, at best, or judgmental, at worst.”

“I could tell you thought it, though, even if you didn’t say it,” you share. “You said at the Halloween party that I deserved someone who valued me, but you didn’t actually say I deserved better.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it,” Chan says with a sigh.

“Don’t be, I wasn’t ready to hear it,” you assure him. “Besides, you’re one of the only people who shouldn’t be sorry to me. About anything.”

“Do you want to talk about it? About Seungsik and the relationship and what you’re going to do next?” Chan asks.

You look at him for a minute. “On two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“That you let me help you make pies if you do actually need them,” you begin.

“I do,” Chan interrupts.

“And you have to promise not to pull any punches when it comes to your opinions. I want flat out honesty or I don’t want anything.”

“Deal.”

It turns out that it’s still surprisingly easy to be around you. Obviously you’re sad. You’re hurt. There’s part of you that wonders what you’ve done wrong. But, there’s this vibrancy about you that’s been missing the last several months. The laughs come easier, the brightness in your eyes says you’re up to something, and you’re picking on Chan’s complete inability to make a pie at every chance you get.

In between making the pies, Chan is honest, just like he promised. Maybe a little too honest. He’s got a lot of opinions about the things Seungsik did, or usually didn’t do, and how nobody deserves to feel like the things they love are less important. When you share more about your relationship, Chan finds himself more irritated. It’s clear that you were dulling yourself down so that he didn’t find it annoying. Apparently, your laugh was too loud and you got excited about too many little things. You were too nice with new people and that was annoying because sometimes Seungsik didn’t want to be sucked into a conversation. Before he could stop himself, Chan was listing why those were some of the best things about you. He loves how everything about you brightens up when you’re passionate, loves that you can make anyone feel at home, loves how much you love life.

Once you both get past bashing Seungsik, an activity that’s entirely too fun, you ask for Chan’s advice about how to break things off. He’s a little surprised that you seem so sure and that you don’t want to give him a chance to work through it. That’s when you remind him that things felt off, anyway. Remind him about the Halloween party. You’ve given Seungsik plenty of chances to not disappoint you. He’s missed all of them. And when you’re done, you’re done. In that case, Chan suggests that you catch Seungsik by surprise. Show up at his apartment without telling him and maybe he’ll even give you more reason to break it off. It’s blunt and honest and you thank him before he has a chance to second guess that level of honesty.

“Chan, will you get the door?” his aunt calls from the kitchen after the bell chimes through the house.

It takes a second to excuse himself from the conversation with his cousin and make his way towards the door. There’s no thought about who might be on the other side because he knows that his aunt always invites way more people than she should. She just loves to be surrounded by good people and good food. What Chan isn’t expecting, though he probably should be, is seeing you on the other side of the door with a bottle of wine and a bag of ice.

“Hey,” you say casually and hand the bag of ice over to Chan.

“Uh, hey, I wasn’t expecting you,” Chan says, “or a bag of ice?”

“Everyone always needs more ice at a party,” you provide with a shrug. “So, uh, are we gonna stand at the doorway or…”

“Is that who I think it is?” Chan’s aunt calls as she comes down the hallway. “Oh my god, it is. It’s my favorite almost niece!”

Chan steps aside so that his aunt can engulf you in a hug. It’s actually kind of sweet to see such a warm greeting.

“I hope it’s okay, I didn’t think to let you know I’d be here,” you say.

“It’s always okay,” she says. “I’ll take any excuse to see you.”

“Actually, could I give you this ice? I wanted to have a quick chat with her about something before we eat,” Chan says to his aunt.

“Sure, I’ll take the wine too. You remembered my favorite, I see,” she says affectionately before disappearing back into the house.

“I suppose I don’t have to ask what this is about,” you joke.

“Come on, we’ll go this way,” Chan says without answering.

The house isn’t nearly as familiar to you as it is to Chan, but you’ve been here enough to recognize that he leads you into a guest room. There are a couple chairs that save you from having to sit on the bed. That feels like it would be a little too intimate. All Chan wants to do is check that you’re okay.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Chan states.

“This time of year is about being with the people you care about,” you answer. “Plus, your aunt makes amazing food and I helped you with the pies. It felt like I should be here.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been here without Jay,” Chan says.

It feels different to be alone with you like this. Going out on adventures, alone or in groups where you ended up together, was one thing. Different, yet easy to fall into. Crashing at your apartment after the Halloween party was entirely different from that, even if it ended up being easy. Having you at his apartment yesterday was surprisingly easy. But this, showing up at his aunt’s house without Jay and newly single, it feels weird. Not weird in a bad way, just weird. There’s almost an intimacy to it, like a glimpse into how things might have looked if everything was different. How it would be if you and him were together and spending time with his family. Yet, he also finds that’s not something he really wishes for anymore. It isn’t that he doesn’t still care about you, because that probably won’t ever change. It’s just that he cares more about helping you with your broken heart.

“Should I not have come?” you ask and Chan hates the way you seem smaller again.

“Of course you should’ve,” Chan rushes out. “I’m really happy you’re here. I’ve been wondering how you were since you left my apartment yesterday.”

Once again, it’s too honest. It’s too vulnerable. Maybe it’s even too much of a burden to possibly admit that to you, but Chan also knows he needs to so he really can move past this.

“You said the girl you saw him with on Friday night was blonde, right?” you ask and Chan nods. “I’m guessing it was the same girl that answered the door in his t-shirt.”

“What?” Chan nearly shouts.

“I didn’t even have to tell him that you saw him, which is probably a good thing. He can’t try to turn it around that you made it up,” you say.

“I…is that a thing that he’d do?” Chan wonders because it’s easier to focus on.

You snort. “Yeah, he was convinced you were in love with me or something. Just another way he was deflecting from himself. Like men and women can’t be friends.”

It’s hard to ignore the way his heart breaks a little at that. Yet the bigger issue is that you’re right, thinking men and women can’t be friends is insane.

“You’ve been such a good friend to me,” you continue on. “I’m so thankful for that. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see an example of a guy just being kind and caring until you were right there.”

“It’s pretty easy to be that to you,” Chan says because it’s honest and it’s real.

“I broke up with Seungsik on the spot, obviously. He didn’t even try to deny it. Actually had the audacity to try and make it my fault. I guess she knew I existed too and didn’t care. Maybe I wouldn’t either if I was getting all his time like that,” you say, more like you’re talking to yourself.

“Yeah you would’ve, you’re too good a person for that,” Chan points out.

“Maybe,” you concede.

“I know it’s a cliche, but you really do deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone that’ll wake up every day and appreciate everything you bring to the table because it’s so much,” Chan says.

“You have to say that, you’re my friend,” you deflect.

“Oh no, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I don’t even really like you that much. I just stick around because of Jay,” Chan jokes and you laugh, bright and real.

“Glad you finally admitted it,” you say. “Maybe you can tell that person, whoever they are, to hurry up and come find me.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Chan tells you. “I am glad you’re here, though.”

“Yeah, me too.”

last part dropping 12/8 💕 let me know if you want to be tagged!

83 notes · View notes

cozage · 1 year

Text

Welcome to My Blog!

Hi, I’m Cozage! You can call me Coza. I’m 25, she/they pronouns are preferred, but any are fine. Right now I’m just writing for One Piece, but I’m open to writing for just about anyone within that realm. Please read this whole post before sending a message!

Requests: OPEN

Pending requests: 30🤭

Masterlist Part 1 | Masterlist Pt 2

Are your requests open?

Yes!!!! Please do not send me a request when my requests are closed. I ALWAYS delete them, just to be fair. You are always welcome to send me questions and feedback on my writing or ideas for future chapters for my multifics, but please no new requests. Just because I am fulfilling requests, does not mean my requests are open!

Can I request a part 2 even when your requests are closed?

This is where it gets dicey. The simple answer is: no. HOWEVER, you can pop into my inbox and let me know that you really liked a specific story and ask if I'm going to have a part two (respectfully!) and you might convince me. Almost all of my multi-parters have come from requests, and I'm always looking for new multi-chapter fics to write :)

When do you open for requests?

I close my requests when my inbox reaches 20, and then I reopen it again when I get it back down to 5. You can check the status of my requests at the top of this post. Events have separate rules and guidelines, which are always explained in the post. If I have an event going on, it'll be tagged in the announcement section at the top of this post!

What should I include in my request?

Reader gender (if you dont specify I'll just do non-gendered), characters you want (try to limit it to 3 or 4, or else I might pick and choose from the list and omit some characters), the scenario you want, you can also clarify if you want a headcanon list or a short fic!

Edit to add: Just a friendly reminder, the more characters you add to a request, the more overwhelming it is for me (and more likely it is to get deleted! 3 characters really is the sweet spot!)

What requests do you accept?

Just about anything. I do occasionally post NSFW, but it’s always tagged and marked. I have a few hard no’s, though:

Relationship situations for minors/large age gaps, pedophilia, grooming, incest, noncon (that’s not a cohesive list, but you get the gist).

Do you write for polys?

Maybe! Polys are hard for me to write. I struggle making the relationship balance equal and keeping people in character while also doing justice to a well-written relationship w/o being too corny. But! If you send it in, I'll at least give it a shot :)

Who can I request?

Just about anyone from One Piece, and I'll do my best given the scenario. Some people I will definitely always write for and take almost any request you send are:

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Law, Kidd, Shanks, and Buggy

Everyone else is hit or miss on if I can imagine their scenarios, but I'll do my best. Some people who I really struggle writing are: Crocodile, Doffy, Izou (And I will not write for Gol Roger ever because I hate him 💕)

How detailed should my request be?

Try to keep it a healthy medium! If there are important aspects you want to be included in your story, let me know :) But try to avoid giving me a play-by-play. That level of detail makes me feel trapped and it's hard to take a creative spin on it. If you have a story you are imagining in your head and you want someone to write it...well, have you considered being a writer? :)

I have more than one request...

Try to limit your requests to 1 or 2, please! We want room for other people to have their ideas to come to light. If you have two ideas, you need to submit two separate messages. Please do not put two story ideas together in a request, or I will just write one :)

Do you take commissions? How can I support you?

I don't take commissions yet, but I think they are in the works. When they do appear, they'll appear on my Ko-fi account (where you can also support me through donations if you so feel inclined!)

What tags do you use (for blacklisting or other purposes)?

Most of my blog is writing, but here's how I tag certain things in case you want to blacklist or follow them:

"cozage" - any type of writing for One Piece I do will have this (just to show it's my work)

"coza thoughts" - May be my daily thoughts/info about writing. No substance though, just me.

"coza asks" - messages that I get that aren't requests. Usually just me responding to people

all the pairings also get tagged as well, so if you were to search "Zoro" hashtag on my page, any fics with him would come up

Do you have an AO3?

Yes! Same name as here. I put a lot of my short multi-chapter fics there (but Tumblr gets all the updates first) BUT here’s a link to it.

Is there anything else I should know?

Please just remember that when you send me a request or a message, I may not always respond to it. I do always read them, though! I just don't always respond because I don't want to clog up my page with posts that aren't content. Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing everyone’s ideas and working together with you all to bring these ideas to life. Send the ask, let me know what you think and how you feel and all of your ideas, but remember that I’m human too! I have feelings and friends and a life outside of writing for our favorite One Piece characters. I look forward to reading your thoughts, and sharing mine with you.

Love, Coza <3

#coza thoughts #faq

290 notes · View notes

fuckmyskywalker · 6 months

Text

Well, good morning.

To the anon who sent me three long and very passionate asks expressing how disgusting I am, how much of a freak I am, how little shame I have, that I don't have moral compass, a brain... too much insults to list.

Of course I deleted them, I don't have the time nor the energy to argue with people online. What I post on my blog is mine. Sorry if that upsets you but the best I can do for you is to tag the appropriate warnings because people don't like some stuff and sorry if you had to go through a traumatic experience but you should know that everyone reacts differently to trauma.

You said it yourself anon, you don't know the shit I've been through, you don't know what I experienced and what not, and you don't know even remotely close how much writing helps me cope with my personal issues. My obvious mental illness? That I should see a doctor? I have! And she is lovely! Honestly, people use traumatic and horrifying situations all the time not only for books, but movies, series... but when I do it in my blog it is wrong? Just because I chose to express it through words, I don't think that gives you the right to insult me. Many people write about so many things that are considered traumatic experiences such as SA, abusive relationships, even suicide, and you know why I don't go and tell them they are a fucking freak?

Because I don't care.

Because whatever they do with your life is their problem. The only thing I draw the line is when it is not 18+ stuff. In every fic I've had about the "incest writing", I explicitly mentioned it's not blood related. It is either an established relationship where it is merely a fantasy, or it is a «stepcest» situation. If I don't like something, I block it. I block the person and blog the tag. We are talking about a fictional character, someone who doesn't exist, someone who doesn't have a right in this. And that's the only thing I have to say to that matter.

You are choosing to wake up and send literal hate to someone who exists. Someone with feelings, with trauma, with personal issues, and without truly knowing how they can react to being criticized on their own personal space. To me a blog has to feel safe, and if you were trying to make me feel guilty or to feel ashamed... I'm sorry but it won't happen. Like I said before, I cannot take seriously anon hate. The whole concept is pretty obvious.

And I wasn't going to say anything, but I honestly won't let you talk bad about my friends. They don't deserve it. If you have a problem then let's keep it between you and me, alright? Cool. And I'm not going to insult you they way you did to me because despite the allegations I am genuinely a nice person 🩵.

— Asks.

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya answers!#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 important!!!#anya vs the world!

76 notes · View notes

tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 2 years

Text

Eavesdropping | Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: Klaus overhears you confess your true feelings toward him.

A/N: very very short but I enjoyed writing the drabble! I hope you all enjoy, thanks for requesting!

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

You stood at the sink, scrubbing away at the dirty dishes, phone between your cheek and shoulder as you talk to one of your girlfriends. There would be a birthday party thrown in honor of another friend and currently she was trying to pursued you into taking a date.

“I don’t have someone I can take as my date,”

“yes you do! What about that blonde hunk always hanging around you? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one was home. The house was full of silence, “Klaus?” You ask, turning back to the dishes, “He.. he’s just a friend.”

“He is not! Girl, he is in love with you! No doubt.”

You softly sigh, “Well, if he would admit it, that would be fantastic. I’ve only been in love with him for 2 years now.”

“2 years?!”

“Yes! 2 whole years. He’s always been so hot and cold about me. I’ve never known his true feelings and I never wanted to overstep my boundaries and make things awkward. That’s the worst thing I could do.”

“Maybe now’s the time you should tell him. If I can see he’s in love with you, that has to be how he feels for you. Klaus would be dumb not to admit his true feelings for you. You’re a catch and he’d be lucky to have you!”

You drop your tone to only a mumble, “He’s so hot, y/f/n. and I am completely in love with him.” You groan, “I mean beautifully hot. Just.. his body is sculptured like a god. He has such a kind heart, even if he’s shown other people something completely opposite. He’s absolutely perfect.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’d walked into the kitchen, stopping in the door way to listen in on your conversation. He’d overheard his name over the phone and pondered what you two could be talking about. He was not expecting to hear what he did come out of your mouth.

He can’t help but smirk, “who’s absolutely perfect?”

Your body jumped at his voice, your phone dropping into the suds filled sink as you turn to face him, “Klaus!” You pressed a wet and sudsy hand over your heart.

He chuckles softly, stepping into the kitchen, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I only just walked in.”

You catch your breath, “So you didn’t hear the conversation?”

He shakes his head, “only the last part.” He pulls your phone from the sink, “this is a tragedy.” He holds your ruined phone in his hands, setting it aside, “Don’t worry love I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Considering it was your fault for scaring me!” You playfully hit him in the chest, leaving suds on his maroon shirt. You face the sink once more to finish the last few dishes.

He steps around you to walk away, a soft smirk on his face as he watches you for a moment, before whispering in your ear, “I’m very fond of hearing you speak of my body as being.. what was it you said? sculptured like a god?”

Your body went stiff flushing with embarrassment; he had overheard your conversation. “Klaus-”

Busted. By the time you’d turn around to face him, he was already exiting the kitchen.

comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! x

483 notes · View notes

ladydorian05 · 2 months

Text

Fuck it weekend because this is a whole fic

BI BUCK IS CANON!!!!!!

I started writing this fic before the episode aired. This was inpired by this post.

I don't know what this is, but it's the first thing I've written in a while so, hope you like whatever this is.

Big shout out to @made-ofmemories for beta reading and helping me write some parts of this.

Also, special thanks to @wikiangela @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @theotherbuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @pirrusstuff @neverevan @giddyupbuck @bidisasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 for still tagging me in the weekly wip games even if I haven't been that active in a while (also, consider this your no pressure tag❤)❤❤ (and I'm sorry if I'm missing people I lost the list of people that used to tag me) I hope This will be my come back to writing.

Eddie's UNO Reverse

AO3

Summary:

“You know, he’s different, not only because he’d be the first man I’d try to date in, let’s just say a while. Spending time with him feels good. Like-” Eddie pauses, purses his lips the way he does when he’s thinking about something and then he says it. “Like he sees me.”

And just how the fuck is Buck supposed to take that? Here’s Eddie, literally contemplating a future with a man he just met, a complete stranger, and saying all of this to Buck’s face!? He’s really going to consider a stranger over the person who has known him for years, to the person who can basically read his mind with just a look! To the man who actually sees him because he’s known him for the better part of half a decade and now that he can be honest to himself, the man who’s been helping him raise the most amazing kid in the world!?

He hasn’t been hyping himself up to ask Eddie out on a date for weeks just for a stranger to come waltzing in and steal his partner right in front of him. Not again.

Or the one where Eddie speaks with Buck about Tommy the same way Buck talked about Natalia. And Buck doesn't take it well.

Word count: 3k something

Tags: Jealousy, Eddie's pettyness backfires (in the best way possible), getting together. It gets a bit spicy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I didn't expect to get along with Tommy so well, he's been nice.” Eddie comments as he lets his duffle bag drop to the floor next to the door.

“Yeah, he seems like a cool guy.” Buck follows him inside, he leaves his own bag next to Eddie’s and makes his way to the open space that makes up the kitchen area of his loft. He watches as Eddie opens the fridge and grabs two beers.

They just came back from the basketball court, they invited Tommy to hang out with them once things settled down after the cruise rescue. They all promised to make an effort to hang out more, and apparently Hen and Chim’s old teammate made a good impression on Eddie.

”We made plans to go to next week’s baseball game, said he had an extra ticket.” Eddie passes him his beer, their fingers brushing.

“Really?” Buck takes a long sip of his beer, hoping that he sounded normal and not upset. It was his idea to invite Tommy to their regular basketball hang out in the first place. He wanted him to feel included, to let him know that they appreciated that he placed his career on the line to help them get to Bobby and Athena. And well, even if he’s no longer with the 118 he should still be considered a friend, family. He just never considered that he’d be the one feeling left out.

He might not be a big baseball fan but they could have asked even if just to not be rude.

“You know, I might just try something with him,” Eddie says, far too casual. Buck chokes on his beer, thumping his fist against his chest twice before he regains his composure. “It’s been almost a month since Marisol and I broke up, so might as well.”

“What?” Buck croaks, carbonation from the beer still burning at the back of his throat.

“I mean, we have a lot in common. He says he’s good with kids, has been in the army, he’s a widower like me, he likes sports, has a good sense of humor, since he was a firefighter and now a rescue pilot he most definitely won’t have a problem with my crazy work schedule. Plus he’s nice as we previously stated and he’s not bad looking.”

“I guess.” The fact that Eddie is considering dating a man doesn’t come out of nowhere, they’ve had more than one conversation on their interests and on Eddie’s part on how he’s never felt like he could act upon those feelings or even mention that he’s interested in men before. The wonders of going to therapy.

Still, this is the first time he ever mentioned wanting to go on a date with a guy. With Tommy. He’d say yes, of course he would. Who wouldn't say yes to Eddie!

He hasn’t been hyping himself up to ask Eddie out on a date for weeks just for a stranger to come waltzing in and steal his partner right in front of him. Not again.

“What do you mean he sees you?” Buck asks, placing his beer on the counter.

“You know, like he understands the struggles and sees beyond what I let people see.” Buck sees him shrug his shoulders as if what he just said is the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, any other person that's not close to me.”

”Eddie, you’re sounding crazy right now.”

“What? Why?” Eddie asks.

“Why? You’re really asking why?” He raises his eyebrows incredulously at his best friend.

“Yeah, you just agreed that he’s a nice guy.” Buck watches as Eddie also leaves his beer on the side and crosses his arms in front of him.

“But you just met him.”

“Yeah, but there's the fact that we almost died together in that hurricane and he also risked his job to help us rescue our friends, that says a lot about him. To me it says he’s loyal.”

“There were 3 other people on that chopper that almost died with you and that you’ve known for years.” Buck takes a few steps away from the counter and starts pacing as he speaks, he needs to move or else he’s going to, to… Okay he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t move but he needs to just not stay still. “How can you say that someone who you’ve met twice and only really spoken with once ‘sees you’?”

Why does this whole situation feels familiar? It’s like a deja vu. Like Buck’s heard something similar before, like he's had this same conversation in the past but different.

And then it hits him.

He’s taken back to a couple of months ago, when they were standing at a graveyard.

‘There's something... different about her. I-I feel like she sees me. You know? Like she-she really sees me for who I am and what I've been through.’

Oh.

OH.

He said the same thing about Natalia after just one coffee date. And Eddie, Eddie just listened to him, he let him speak and didn’t question his reasoning. However wrong it turned out to be.

And here he was, criticizing his choice to find happiness, ready to try and live his life without caring what anyone may think of him for dating another man.

All because he's jealous, because the man in question isn't him.

Shit.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. I’m an idiot, I’m such a hypocritical idiot! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait what? Buck-”

“No, no, I am. I said the exact same thing to you about Natalia months ago and you just listened to me and-and supported me.” He stood still for a moment once the realization hit him, but now he was back to pacing.

“Buck.”

“You didn't question me like I was doing a moment ago. It doesn't matter that my relationship didn't go anywhere, because that's just me, forever cursed to fuck up and act on impulse. But it doesn't mean it'll be the same for you, if you say he sees you, he sees you, that's fine I believe you.” He knew he was doing that thing when he talks and gestures with his hands that most of his teachers used to find kind of annoying, but he just could never control it. Even less so now that he’s sure Eddie must think he’s a horrible friend for not being happy that he’s putting himself out there trying to find a romantic partner.

And he really is such a horrible friend, he should be putting his feelings aside and encouraging Eddie to look for happiness. He must do that, he’ll fix it, from this moment on he’ll be all in.

“Buck.”

“I'll support you, even if it kills me inside I’ll deal with it. I’ll be your wingman. My jealousy is my problem. I want you to be happy even if it’s not with me, even if I stay your friend and nothing more for the rest of my life I’ll learn to deal with my feelings I swear, Eddie. And-”

“Evan!” The use of his name and the weight of Eddie’s hands on his shoulders stops him abruptly from continuing his pacing. “Hold on, I'm the one that should be apologizing.”

“No, why? I was the one being-”

“Evan, I’m sorry. I- I said that on purpose to mess with you a little, I didn’t think it’d upset you this much. I’m so sorry, it was such a stupid and petty thing to say I just,” Eddie sighs, “You actually just voiced just about everything that went on in my head when you said that about Natalia, with the exception of you using nicer words than I would have, had I voiced my thoughts back then.”

“You- back when- what?” He feels Eddie’s hands leaving his shoulders, missing his touch for the few seconds it takes for them to move to his face.

“Okay, Buck. I need you to listen closely, I do like Tommy, he seems great and when I got invited to the baseball game I did consider trying to have something with him. That was before, before I learned that you were jealous, that maybe I could have a chance, because he’s no Evan Buckley.”

“But if- you were jealous back then, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, it had been a while since you told me you were Bi and I told you that I’m also into men even if I don’t really like labels. When our relationship stayed the same after that and when you started dating Natalia I just thought that maybe you didn’t feel the same way or weren’t into me like that. And so I- I invited Marisol on a date.”

“You’re kidding, right? Shit, Eddie. We’re both a pair of idiots.” Buck huffs in exasperation. “I tried to make it work with Natalia for the exact same reason.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” They stare at each other for a moment, processing all that has been said in the last fifteen or so minutes, before bursting into laughter. “So, we could have been dating since last year?”

“Guess we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for then.” Eddie smirks and Buck becomes very suddenly aware of just how close they are. One of Eddie’s hands has moved to cup the back of his neck, fingertips brushing against the soft hairs at the nape, the other has started to trail down Buck’s arm. All he’d have to do is tilt his head just a little bit.

Eddie beats him to it.

The kiss is chaste, barely more than the press of Eddie’s lips against his own before they pull away again.

“Sorry, I just- and you-” Buck worries at his bottom lip, tasting the bitter malt of Eddie’s preferred beer brand that lingers there as his best friend fumbles with his words. “You have no idea for how long I've wanted to do that.”

“I can guess.” Buck whispers before capturing Eddie's lips again. in a deeper kiss. Having no more reasons to restrain himself he pours all of him into the kiss.

It's messy and kind of uncoordinated but so good. He's not sure who deepens the kiss first or when it happens, but figuring out the details is not high on his list of priorities when Eddie is licking into his mouth like a man starved. It's messy and uncoordinated, teeth colliding when Buck tries to suck Eddie's bottom lip between his own with a little too much enthusiasm and Eddie returns it by smiling into it, but it's perfect. And Buck wants more. His hands wander, leaving their anchor on Eddie's waist in his mission to map out every dip and ridge of his body, keen to touch everywhere he can in a way he's never been able to before.

Buck leans down a bit until he can get his hands on the back of Eddie's thighs and lifts him up, his legs immediately going around his waist most likely on instinct, he takes a few steps until he reaches the counter behind Eddie and places him there.

“Oh shit.” Eddie pants, breaking the kiss. Buck takes the opportunity to lavish his neck with kisses.

“Buck.” He moans as Buck sucks on a spot just below Eddie's ear. “Hold on, Buck. We're going too fast.”

He stops immediately, he would never do anything or go further than what his partner would allow. Even back in his wilder years, he prided himself in always making sure his advances were wanted.

“Sorry, sorry. You're right. Too fast.” He takes a deep breath and lets his forehead rest on Eddie’s left shoulder as Eddie cards his right hand through his product free blonde curls. Eddie taps his back twice, it’s all the indication he needs to understand that Eddie wants to get down from the counter. Buck takes a step back to give him just enough space for that, not wanting to actually leave too much space between them. He really wants to stay as close to him as possible right now.

Once Eddie’s feet are back on the ground they stay still for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other.

“Just for the record,” Buck says, breaking the peaceful silence between them, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

His words are rewarded with Eddie’s blinding smile, the big unrestrained one he’s only seen when they’re either alone or when they’re with Chris. That one smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his whole face. He loves that smile, he loves everything Eddie.

“Then, just for the record.” Eddie chuckles. “I love you too, Evan.” He can’t help but lean in and capture Eddie’s lips with his own again. His hands that were previously on Eddie’s hips, playing with his belt hoops, pull him by them so that they can be as close as humanly possible while still being clothed.

Eddie is sucking Buck’s tongue into his mouth and god damn it if they don’t stop right now he’ll have to take the longest cold shower known in history. The fact that he can actually feel Eddie’s hardness against his own doesn’t help at all.

“Slow.” He manages to break the kiss with a wet pop. “We agreed on going slow.” He knows he sounds wrecked and so out of breath and really, if they hadn't agreed to take their time he’d already be guiding Eddie towards the stairs to his bed.

They take a moment to get their breathing back to normal.

“Yeah, you’re right, we’ll go the pace we feel like going.” Buck gives him a questioning look at that. “Hey, I reconsidered and slow is for people that need to know each other, to figure out if they’ll work out. I’m completely sure we don’t really need all that time. We’ve been partners for years, we were just missing the kissing part and… the other stuff too.” Eddie says that last part at the same time as his hands trail down the panes of Buck’s back to land on his ass.

“We’re going to be so bad at slow.” Buck groans.

“I know.” Eddie snorts. “We did transition from enemies to friends in the span of one shift.”

“Alright, alright. Are you hungry?” Buck watches as Eddie gives him a once over and he already knows that whatever Eddie is about to say is going to make the situation going on in his pants worse.

“Starving,” the little shithead has the gall to smirk. “But I can go for a pizza or chinese.”

“Jesus, Eddie.” He pushes away from his laughing… boyfriend? Okay, mental reminder to talk about relationship labels later. “You’re killing me. Just for that, you’re stuck ordering our food, meanwhile I’m going to take a shower.”

He starts making his way up to his loft to grab comfortable clothes to change into after his shower.

“Leave some of that cold water for me, babe!” Eddie calls from the kitchen, his voice laced with mirth.

“Shut up! And that’s not how it works, that’s for hot water not cold! You can’t run out of cold water!” He knows he completely failed to sound annoyed, he’s just too happy to be anything but elated at the turn of events.

He confessed to Eddie, he told him that he loves him and Eddie said it back. He’ll be walking on cloud 9 for the rest of the month. Hell maybe even for the rest of his life.

After dinner and with Christopher spending the night at a friend’s house, Eddie decides to stay for the night and it’s only after they’re both tucked into bed that Buck remembers the catalyst of the night’s events.

“Eddie?” He gets a noncommittal humm in response. “What about your date?”

“What date?” This time Eddie does answer sounding so sleepy and confused.

“Your date with Tommy.” Did he forget? He gets that a lot of things just happened tonight but to completely forget what started it all?

“Oh yeah, about that, it was never really a date, I did say he invited me, but I never said it’d be just the two of us. Chim is coming too.”

What. Did. He. Just. Say.

It wasn’t a date!?

“Don’t you think you should have started with that!?”

“Sorry, love. Think about it this way, if I had mentioned that Chim was also invited, we wouldn’t be here now. Who knows how many years it would have taken for us to finally get together.”

“Then why didn’t you guys invite me?” His bottom lip just out in what is definitely not a pout and the rough pad of Eddie's thumb traces over it.

“Buck you don’t like Baseball, you’d be fast asleep during the first inning.”

“Still, you could have asked.”

“Next time. I promise,” Eddie says, his hand has moved, no longer tracing the plump line of Buck's lower lip but now trailing a lazy line down one of Buck's arms under the covers.

“Are you still going?”

“I plan to. It’s a free ticket after all.” Eddie shrugs one shoulder and Buck takes the momentary pause in Eddie's movement as an opportunity to lace their fingers together. “But before that, I plan on taking you out for dinner this weekend. Would you like that?”

“I’d love that.”

“Alright, then it’s a date.” The end of Eddie's sentence is slurred with sleep, his eyes already closed.

Buck gives Eddie's hand a squeeze, their fingers still interlocked and watches the corner of Eddie's lip quirk up in the ghost of a smile before he lets his eyes slip closed, mind filled with thoughts of their date. Buck can’t wait.

#Fic: Eddie's UNO Reverse #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #inspired by the promos for s7 ep 4 #Bisexual Buck!!!!!#ladydorian writes #my fic

32 notes · View notes