#their relationship would have a body count unless navigated in the most specific way possible

[sidesteppostinghours]

atp the only reason im not making cyric canon is to give the citizens of ld a single chance of living a good life

[themanip]

late nights

SUMMARY — you and bang chan are both equally as stressed out. your solution?  sleep with each other. boom, problem solved.

PAIRING — bang chan  x  reader  WARNINGS — mentions of stress and mental health problems, unprotected sex, soft!dom chan, mentions of kinks, really soft, really cute smut basically, crying (not sexually), sad thoughts, angry and frustrated emotions, angsty GENRE — heavy angst, fwb, coming-of-age kind of, smut, romance, porn with a hint of plot WORD COUNT — 4.9k, i got carried away my bad

“How do you deal with stress?”

Chan’s question wasn’t ill intentioned by any means, and as you both sat in his studio, you pondered on whether or not to actually answer truthfully. “I mean, you’re the leader of two more trainees than I was, and navigating as a girlgroup is much more difficult than boygroups,”

“Do you want the honest answer, or the more appropriate answer?” you crossed your legs, Chan’s couch feeling quite comfortable. He stared down at you for a moment, the height of his chair offering him that leverage.

The room was quiet, the lights were dim, and the entire environment was soothing. “Well, honest, of course. No point in me asking if it’s a fib, no?”

You nodded, blowing a puff of air out of your nose thoughtfully. “Truthfully, I use sex. It allows me to physically and mentally drain myself, and I sleep really well after getting fucked. It allows me to refresh the next morning, and my stress, at least physically, is diminished.”

You didn’t look at him until you finished talking, and his face was blank. Once you two locked eyes, he sputtered out, “Oh, I—”

“This is why I offered two options, Chan,” you laughed, and at the lighten of atmosphere he giggled a bit too. “I didn’t mean to, y’know,” he stopped, and you nodded lightly. “I get it, but as of now I don’t do it much anymore. I usually just let out my anger or stress during dance routines or working out but it doesn’t work the same, and sometimes I deliver moves too harshly while dancing.”

“Why not?”

You were unsure what he was referring to, and you crinkled your eyebrows. “How come you don’t do it anymore if nothing else helps the same way?” he asked softly, his eyes swimming with genuine concern. 

“I’m a lot more conservative with my body, I just have to trust someone. It’s hard to get to know a guy without them immediately wanting to jump into a relationship. You can’t really do that in what we do, and the second I start to trust a guy things go haywire. I just really have to have a good friendship to have sex, I guess.”

The entirety of the conversation, Chan’s cheeks were turning peach. Even in the dark, dim light, you could see it. “I understand, it’s a very tangible thing. Just giving yourself to someone like that without a basic relationship, platonic or not, is important depending on how you view relationships,”

You nodded in response, and a silence fell over you two. There wasn’t much to be said, but for some reason you decided to blurt out. “If you don’t know how to deplete stress, I suggest it. Just the no strings attached part, because otherwise things get messy and stress becomes inevitable. Just try it sometime, Chan. If you don’t like it, then consider it a learning experience,” you shrugged, and Chan pursed his lips.

“I mean it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, per se. I just don’t know how I’ll casually ask someone to have sex. Most women just run off the moment I mention it, and who knows if they’re even into the same things I am? There’s just so many things to be unsure of.” His chin was now laying on his thumb, and his pointer finger was laying above his top lip. He was deep in thought. 

You stood up, which cause Chan to unexpectedly flinch, and he watched you with careful eyes. “Chris, if you ever feel like you need a de-stresser, you know where to find me. Nothing will be weird unless you make it weird. Or we can always just talk, either way, I’m here. I have to go before Sumna comes and drags me out of here, but seriously. Whatever you need, no strings attached. Nothing leaves this room,” you mentioned softly, and his eyes widened at his English name. It’s rather rare you used it, so he pondered the specific use of it in this scenario.

“Thank you,” he muttered simply, and he watched you as you walked out. Was she being serious?

Chan and you had not talked in a few days. Whether it was a crazy schedule, you embarassing yourself, or him not knowing how to approach the situation, you didn’t know. All you did know was that you missed your friend. 

You and your bandmates had a hectic schedule today, and as the leader, you’d had to sit in on a meeting with your manager and JYP’s public relations manager. Apparently, Dispatch had caught one of your members, Lanzi, out doing something with another k-pop idol. Dispatch had only obtained two pictures of it, but it was clearly legible on who they were, and what they were doing.

The cost to get those pictures thrown out was much more than JYP would have liked, so she had to sit and get chewed out. Instead of being angry at Lanzi, she became more angry at herself. She had talked to them about things of this sort, but clearly not well enough. It was her job as leader, and she failed doing so. 

After a three hour long meeting, you were absolutely exhausted, mentally at least. And now, just after that, was choreography practice. You’d just learned the choreo a few days before, so for the most part you had it down. As lead dancer, you also had to make sure everyone else in your group understood that too. 

So, thirty minutes into practice, when none of your members seemed to be latching on, you sighed. Your entire job was to simply lead, and do well. Somehow, you couldn’t manage to do that. Once more, you started the choreography, and told your girls to simply stand back and watch.

You had a slight tone, but you needed them to understand that rhythm is just as important as the real dance moves. Your entire body was covered in sweat, and you were growing more frustrated by the minute. 

The way your body moved was no longer elegant, just harsh, angry strokes of somewhat rhythmic actions. You did your best to do it just as you were shown, but the overwhelming anger and emotion in your body was just more than you could handle. 

Little did you know, next to your bandmates, stood Hyunjin and Chan. They had come to ask something, but instead found you dancing your angered heart out. All stopped and stared, and Chan could only focus on the way your hips contorted, the patterns your hips followed.

As the music stopped, you turned around, and your eyes widened at the visitors. 

“We can leave if you’re busy, Hyunjin-ah just wanted to ask if he could borrow the studio tomorrow, and I wanted a word with you, if that’s okay,” Chan asked, and all of your bandmates went silent, expecting you to take the lead of the conversation.

“Hyunjin-sunbaenim, the studio is yours whenever you need it. Let me know what time, and Chan-oppa, would you like to talk now?”

Hyunjin bowed, and gave a quick thank you before heading out of the room. “Yes, please. If you’re too busy, no worries,” and you looked at your girls and told them to head back to the dorm. You were done for today, no reason to beat a dead horse when clearly today was not a good one to get skills in. 

“Can we talk in my studio?” Chan came closer to you, almost a whisper, and you knew this was going to go one of two ways: he was going to fuck your brains out, or he was going to let you know that he did not think of you in that way, and to please never discuss things like that with him again. You don’t think you could handle either, at least not today. 

“Yeah, let me grab some other clothes,” you said softly, rubbing your forehead in anxiety. Chan quickly started to mention something, and you shut him up quick. “I don’t—”

“Chan, I’m getting new clothes because I am sweaty and tired, nothing else. I will meet you in your studio after I am changed,” you sighed, your hot knees feeling good against the cool floor of the choreography studio. Your duffle bag now wide open, you grabbed an oversized long sleeve shirt and a pair of loose jeans. 

You also reapplied deodorant and some perfume so you didn’t smell like you lived in a sewer, the amount

As your girls were long gone, you felt free to change in the studio. Your clothes quickly fell to the floor, and you were now in more comfortable apparel that is not drenched in sweat. Dreading this conversation with Chan, you swiftly collected your things and moved them to the corner to come collect after you spoke to Chan and was ready to go home. 

Guiding your way to Chan’s studio was a walk in the park. The amount of times you’d go in there to talk to him, or for him to let you hear what he’d been working on, was countless. You two had budded a beautiful friendship, and he had been somewhat of a rock. He had always been so sweet, so loving. And you’ve possibly ruined it because you couldn’t think of anything other than sex when trying to guide him through dealing with stress.

Your eyes almost welled at the thought. You couldn’t cry though, not now. So, as you stood outside of Chan’s recording studio, you held your breath for a moment and looked up, letting the tears vanish.

A soft knock sounded, your knuckles rasping at the door. The hallways were silent, and you couldn’t hear a single thing from inside Chan’s studio. Your own heartbeat pounded in your ears, and you tensed as you heard footsteps leading up to his door.

He opened the door, his face showing no clear emotions. He didn’t seem angry, but he wasn’t too happy to see you, either. His hair was clearly ran through by his hand, blonde tufts falling back towards his ears. His makeup was done to perfection, light brown tones covering his lids. 

He wore a simple outfit, a loose black hoodie and dark blue sweatpants. He’d changed from earlier, his black ripped jeans now nowhere to be seen. “Come in, you can sit anywhere,” his voice was always soft, even though he could be fuming, his tone would never soar. 

“Chan, I just want to say I’m sorry,” you muffled out, plopping down unconventionally on his couch. “I just, I don’t know why I said those things or did that,” at this point, you just didn’t want him to think differently of you. He was the closest thing you had to a mentor, and he was an amazing friend. 

If you lost him, or ruined your relationship, you don’t think you could ever forgive yourself. 

You pulled your knees up to your chest as he took a seat in his chair, staring expectedly at you. Silence followed, so you continued, unsure of what he was expecting to hear. “I just don’t like you being stressed, and the only way I know how to cope with things is kind of like that, so I figured maybe you could too, and then I offered, and I feel like I just fucked things up between us. I.. just I’m so sorry.”

At this point your eyes had clouded up, and your voice had cracked multiple times. The day you’d had just piled up, and your exhaustion was visible. Chan’s eyes immediately softened, and he felt bad. He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t know how to approach the situation. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, and he stood up from his chair and joined you on the couch. At this point, you’d started full on crying. “I ruined our friendship, and now I’m sitting here crying so you’re gonna feel too bad to be honest with me about what I did wrong,” you were now sniffling hard, and your chest was dense you were surprised you could breathe. 

“No, love, that’s not it, I promise,” your heart pumped blood a bit harder at his nickname for you, and he placed a warm hand on your back. “I came here to ask if you were okay,” his tone was now nothing but soft and supportive, and he continuously rubbed your back. Warmth spread throughout your entire body. 

“I heard about the meeting, and everyone kept discussing how stressed out you were today,” in the dim light once more, his eyes glowed. They were so soft, so sweet. His entire aura was just warm, loving, and nothing was more assuring. 

“No matter what happens between us, you’re my friend, and I care about you,” he smiled softly, “Nothing would change that, unless you like, stabbed me or something,” he laughed soulfully, and you laughed with him. He pulled you closer to him, your head now leaning on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Chan. I just didn’t know what to do, and today has been really shitty,” you smiled, and let your head fall even closer to his chest. His thumbs ran circles around your back, and he held you close. “It’s okay, I understand. Trust me,” a warm silence encased the entire room, and as Chan now cuddled you warmly, your face was now red at the reality of the situation.

“Do you feel a bit better?”

“Yeah, I just needed someone to remind me of how things are and to keep me grounded,” you sighed, and Chan’s thumb was now no longer rubbing your back. His hand had stilled, and all you could hear was the heartbeat from inside Chan’s chest. He was so broad, and the expanse of his torso provided a very comfortable pillow.

“I wasn’t offended, or taken back or anything when you offered, you know that, right?” Chan spoke out of nowhere, the rumbling of his chest vibrating intensely. “I wouldn’t have known, I tried my best to ignore you in case you never wanted to speak to me again,”

A small laugh came out of Chan, and his chest pushed your head a bit. “No, in fact, I think I’ve thought about it a little too much.”

You pushed your head off of him at this point, and resuming your position before he sat on the couch. You pulled your knees back up to your chest, and looked at him. “Really?”

“You said you wanted to have sex with someone you trust, and I feel the same way. It’s really hard to come by good people with good intentions, and you also happen to be beyond gorgeous. Why would I not want to?”

With cheeks now flushed red, you giggled. School-girl giggled, specifically. You had no idea how to take this compliment, but then the realization hit you. Christopher Bang just said he wants to fuck you.

His face also turned a deep scarlet, and he looked down, waiting for a reaction. “Mr. Bang, the things you say. So scandalous,” you both laughed lightly, and you hummed in response to the silence. “If we decide to ever do something, it’s important we talk about it first,” you mentioned, and now the conversation went from light-hearted to a bit more serious.

 “Of course, but in what way?”

“I don’t know, what kinds of things do you like? I can’t promise I can pertain to everything, but there’s no harm in trying. Especially if it happens more than once,” you clutched your legs, and Chan leaned forward a bit, his elbows on his knees as he stared ahead.

“Uh, well,” he laughed, and covered his hands with his face. This was the Chan you liked, who could make any situation, no matter how dark, seem light and easy-going. “It’s not really,” he started, beginning to look at you, then stopping himself, “I don’t know. I never usually talk about it like this,”

“Well, how about this: I tell you what I like, and you tell me what you’re willing to do. Just because I like it does not mean you have to do it, but if you enjoy it too, its mutual pleasure, yeah?”

Chan simply nodded, now mesmerized by you. His face completely tracked yours, and you sighed. “I have always loved your hands. I really, really like if you’d put them around my neck, if you would ever feel so kind. I really love being praised, I love being called a good girl, things like that. My favorite foreplay is just making out, I’m just a big softie, but I can take rough if that’s what you like. I’m a big pleaser, and I want to make sure you’re taken care of and get some pleasure out of this,”

Chan nodded once more, and his fingers instinctively wrapped themselves around his rings, twisting and turning. “Your turn, Channie,” you smirked, and he leaned back, a smile crowning his face. 

“Well, I really like being soft and intimate, I like any position, bonus points if I see your face,” he smiled, his cheeks burning scarlet. He clearly did not talk about these things often, moreso just played them out in the midst of a high and never spoke of it again. But he and you both knew how important communication was, so he continued.

“I have played around with being called Daddy, but I’m not sure, and if you’re not comfortable with it—”

“If I am that uncomfortable with something, I promise I’ll tell you. Besides, that’s really cute. Rolls right off the tongue, right Daddy?”

He visibily shivered, and you smiled. “I—uh, I like if you’d run your fingers through my hair, not too hard, but like soothingly, kind of? If that makes sense. I also like it if you’d verbalise when you’re, uh—”

You knew where he was going, so you leaned close to his ear and finished his sentence for him. “Gonna cum? Oh, it would be rude not to,” you laughed gently, and you saw the last of Chan’s patience snap like a rubber band. 

His hands grabbed your face sternly, yet somehow gently. “Do you want this?” he asked, the lust obvious on his face. Despite any previous conversation, he needed verbal consent to continue, and it would make him feel most okay with doing this. 

“Yes,”

The room was now silent, anticipation filling your entire body. You’d come in here crying, and you couldn’t help but hope you’d leave the same way; just a different type of crying. 

He pushed you so your back was now flush against the couch, the headrest leaning your upper torso closer to him. “Tell me to stop, and I promise I will, alright? The second you tell me to,” he was now looking you dead in the eyes, above you. Your legs were spread open, and his entire body was in the valley of your abdomen. Both of his arms were on either side of you, perching himself up. 

“Chris, just kiss me already,” you whined, and he laughed wholeheartedly, before dipping in. The first kiss was hesitant, exploring new territory. His lips tasted like vanilla chapstick, and the first few were light pecks. It took only a second before he took the initiative and added his tongue to the mixture. 

You rarely ever used tongue, most of your hookups barely even kissed, which is why none of them compared. Kissing was your weak point, it was a vulnerability. And Chan did not abuse that power once.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled against your mouth, your exchanging saliva now making more than your mouth lubricated. “Fuck, yes,” you moaned out, the amount of times he would kiss you now making you weak.

His hands dragged softly, and held themselves at your jaw, a classic sweetheart. His thumb was against your cheek so softly, the pads gracefully rubbing across the expanse of your cheekbone.

Everything about this was so domestic, so warm. His kisses were so soft, and full of love. There was no rush, no push to go any farther had you or him decided not to. His warm hands on your face made you purr on the inside, and when he pulled away, he had looked more beautiful than ever. 

You had no intention of mentioning the wetness that had gathered between your legs, until Chan was staring at you, and momentarily his eyes widened. “Shit,” he cursed, looking around rapidly. “We don’t have a condom. I’m clean and everything, but we don’t have to continue if you don’t feel comfortable,”

“I have an implant, and I’m clean too. I just want you, if you want me too.”

Chan had no other qualms about it, and he attacked your face in sloppy kisses. “Here, can we switch positions, my arm is hurting?” he asked awkwardly, and you laughed with your entire chest. It was a normal question, but the way he asked so ashamedly, as if it was something terrible. 

“Sit up straight, let me get on your lap,” you said softly, and he did as he was told. It was only then that you saw the bulge in his sweatpants, and you forgot that he actually had a male appendage, and from the looks of it, he was either girthy or long. Or both. 

As long as he knew how to use it, you’d be fine. 

He grabbed you by your hand to help maneuver you, and now your entire weight was on top of Chan. As you finally sat your hips down, he groaned. “Oh god,”

You took his face in your hands, and started kissing him again. At this point, you didn’t want him to be respectful anymore. His hands did not waver from your face, and so you took it into your own hands. Grabbing them both, so soft and calloused, and placed them as discreetly as you could, onto your hips. Moreso your ass, but Chan didn’t know your intentions. 

His hands pushed your hips forward, now rutting against his hard on. His lips and yours were now in a frenzy, drenching each other. It was still pretty slow, nothing fast paced, just more intense.

He broke the kiss, and his hands now edged at the bottom of your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he asked, breathless. His lips were now swollen and puffy, and his pupils were blown wide. 

You nodded softly, no words needed to be said. He quickly hauled the oversize shirt above your head, and groaned harshly when he realized you had no bra on. His first instinct was to latch his mouth onto your nipples, sucking softly. A moan left your mouth, and with nothing to hold onto anymore, your hands found his hair. 

Still rocking back and forth, your panties were probably soaked at that point. So much foreplay had you almost throbbing, and you couldn’t wait much longer to have him inside you. 

“Chan, please,” you moaned out, and he bit down on your nipple gently. “Only since you asked so nicely,” he added, and he told you to stand up. You did so, easily willingly, yet you loved the way he spoke to you.

It was almost a request, a plea. There was no power imbalance here, simply one trying to find another. He was so gentle, in everything he did. You wanted to drown in that feeling. 

He pulled your jeans off without a hitch, and eyed your lace panties hungrily, slightly thankful you’d changed earlier this evening. His fingers grasped the sides, pulling them down your legs. You were now completely bare, and he was fully dressed. This was a problem. 

“Not fair, your turn,” you pouted, and his eyes were fixated on your naked body. It felt odd, having him see you like this, but you couldn’t complain. Your arousal was now tainting your inner thighs, and Chan could probably see it too. 

He rid himself of his hoodie and his shirt at the same time, and you finally got a full view of him shirtless. This man was absolutely ripped, and you had to hold in a gasp. His arms were lined in protruding veins, and his abs were impeccable. You worked out, but not in your wildest dreams would you ever be able to maintain that nice of a physique. 

It wasn’t until he pulled off his pants, and painstakingly after, he patiently pulled his boxers off. God, did he have a pretty cock. A bit longer than average, slightly girthy, and it made your mouth water just thinking about it. 

Your first instinct was to pop down onto your knees, but as you were on your way down, Chan grabbed you by the arm. “Not this time, please, I need you,” he whined out, almost painfully. 

As you were on top of his lap, you were careful not to let him inside you yet. You figured he could decide when to do it, and you squealed when he let one hand slide from your face, down to your throat. His fingers, covered in rings, squeezed gently. He coaxed another moan from you as he let his fingers glide down the valley of your body, and found itself on your clit.

His movements were slow, but intense. His fingers glided over your folds, picking up some of your arousal, and placed all of his attention onto your little nub. Small pinprick moans escaped your mouth, and you began to tilt your hips in an attempt to get more friction. “Fuck, you’re so wet,”

Some noise semblant to a mew tried to leave your mouth, but his fingers tangled themselves around your neck further, leaving the sound trapped in your throat. “Are you ready? Or do we need to get you a bit more warmed up?” he asked softly, his mouth now next to you ear. His voice was dark, and husky.

“God, I just need you inside me,” you whined, and his hand let up on your neck, and he grabbed his cock harshly. He pumped it a few times, and spread your lips, and lined you up.

“Beg,” he said simply, and even if you tried to sink down, he now placed a hand on top of your hips harshly. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. “W—what?” you asked, breathless. 

“Beg, I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you,” he repeated himself, and looked down at you mischeviously. You two were face to face, and his cock was still in his hands, and your lips spread wide open for him to see. “Fuck, please,” you whined, and to no avail, he didn’t budge, “please, daddy, I just wanna feel good,”

As soon as the name sounded from your mouth, he pushed inside of you. The stretch was amazing, it was slightly painful, but it felt like nothing on this earth could amount. His entire cock filled you out nicely, and the lewd sound of him smacking against you was filling the room.

His hands laid at your hips now, piling into you like his life depended on it. His balls were smacking against your ass, and the harsh thrusts stimulated your clit. Everything was so intense, the way he filled you so deeply, you could feel him in places you didn’t know he could reach, and you felt like you’d burst apart the seams. 

Shameless moans spilled from your mouth, and Chan was in your ear, grunting like a man starved. “Such a good girl, fuck, for me,” his groans were so animalistic, and the way his hands would hold you steady.

His fingers traveled down to toy with your clit, and he never stopped fucking you. Your fingers started to tangle within his hair, and his lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking, finding anything to latch onto. 

The second his fingers started rubbing your clit numbly, you knew that you were going to cum soon. Everything he did just felt so good, you were just a hole the second he started fucking you.

“I—I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you breathed out heavily, and your legs started shaking. “Please, can I—please cum?”

“Yes, cum for me,” he breathed out in a husky tone, and it wasn’t long until you felt your thighs start to involuntarily shake, and the feeling inside your abdomen welling up. “I’m so—” you were cut off by your orgasm rushing over you, Chan’s fingers never stopped stimulating your clit.

You moaned out harshly, slumping towards him, unable to control yourself as one of the most harsh orgasms you’ve ever had washed over you. Your entire body started to seize, and you clenched around him harshly. He continued to fuck into you, sucking into your neck, and he starting fucking into you faster. He was definitely close, “Where-”

You cut him off, still under the shock of your orgasm, “inside me, please,” you begged, and he fucked into you once more, even harder. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,”

He lived up to his promise, as less than a few seconds later, his warm cum spurted inside of you, and he still rutted his hips, begging for more friction. He stroked into you a few more times, now drained of energy. He placed a soft kiss onto your neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

You got up, and put your shirt back on over yourself, and Chan pulled his boxers and sweatpants on once more. A thought rose over you on whether to leave or not, but you knew Chan would be a skinship type of guy. He would probably have a drop, and not be used to just casual hookups like this.

“Do you want me to stay?” you asked softly, and a large part of you hoped he would say yes.

“Please.”

[queerbrujas]

then it vanished away from my hands (part one)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro word count: 2.3k rating: T warnings: pure angst. not too hardcore yet (will ramp up in later parts), but this doesn’t have a happy ending.

part two | part three | read on ao3

Something unexpected happens during Eva’s turning.

See the end for more notes.

—

part one: take me home where I belong

The process and the preparations are much less complicated than Eva expected them to be.

Tedious, repetitive, but simple.

She speaks to Rebecca. More as a courtesy than anything else; she seeks her informed opinion as a colleague and as a member of her team, as an experienced mentor, but not, never, as a daughter.

Rebecca isn’t happy, not at all, but she has long resigned herself to the fact there is nothing she can do, that Eva wouldn’t listen to her even if there was.

Not in this.

(“Maybe there is some of me in you, after all,” Rebecca had told her, what seems like a lifetime ago. A different conversation, long before she knew the depth of what she was getting into, and yet it echoes, now, in her mind.)

Eva fills out a request form.

After the Agency greenlights it, and only then, she quits the police department.

This does require a few explanations, but Eva's involvement with the Agency isn’t a secret, even if the nature of it is.

Neither is it a secret that she had never wanted to join the force at all, and so nobody is exactly shocked—it’s not hard to convince everyone of what is, in the end, more than half the truth: they have offered her a better job that is much more suited to her skillset and inclinations.

A job that, most importantly, takes her away from Wayhaven.

(She had, after all, always wanted to leave. This is something everyone knows.)

Captain Sung is sorry to see her go, tells her she was a fine detective and that Rook would have been proud of her. She barely tenses at this.

Tina insists on throwing her a goodbye party.

Verda congratulates her on the promotion, with a smile and good wishes and love from Eric and Cara and Lacey.

She will miss them, a little. Not enough.

Not anywhere near enough.

—

Then there’s paperwork, more paperwork than she has ever had to deal with in her life.

There is counseling, endless sessions that she sits through with gritted teeth.

She finds them unnecessary. Redundant. She knows her own mind and doesn’t need, hasn’t ever needed any of this.

They are, of course, meant to ensure this is not something she will regret.

Why has she chosen this? What are her motivations?

She is made to list all of them. Outline them. Number them and rank them and develop them as though it is a test.

In a way, it is.

They do not say it is, but it hangs, unspoken, in the air. The idea that they might strongly discourage her from pursuing this if they consider she is not doing it for the right reasons, not fit for the transformation, for the shift it will bring to her life.

She is aware of this.

The minefield of questions she navigates with practiced ease. She does not say how the human world has lost every appeal it might have once held, but she does say her life is not, cannot be merely human anymore.

Not after everything she’s been through.

The counselor nods at this. They are a fae of some kind, but they were not born as one.

This, Eva knows, works in her favor.

It is not wise to tie these decisions to interpersonal relationships, the counselor says, their voice level and impersonal, almost flat. Of course, she must be aware of this already, is she not?

She is currently romantically involved with a vampire, yes?

It is imperative that she acknowledge the possibility of this relationship ending. Would she still want to go through with this, if that were the case?

Would she still want to live through eternity, then?

Immortality is not reversible. This is something she must remember.

Immortality is not reversible.

Eva suppresses a scoff, taps her foot on the ground. Taps her fingers on the arm of the chair. But she nods her assent anyway.

The process could be deferred for a year or two if she wished it; she is within the optimal time window still. It would give her additional time to reflect.

It is something they recommend. Though of course, they are quick to insist, the choice is ultimately hers.

She thanks them, and she declines it.

This, then, leads to more paperwork. Paperwork with questions and specifics about every last, minute detail.

Does she want to have the process handled by an Agency representative, or does she have a request for someone specific?

The Agency does not recommend that the process be carried out by a romantic partner. Is she aware of this?

She is, naturally.

(Nate wouldn't do it, anyway.)

(And after the conversation with Nate, she had wanted to ask Morgan. But Morgan—well, Morgan can't.)

Is she aware of the risks? The survival rate? The potential trauma? The changes that her body will/could suffer? The recovery period?

The unpredictability of her blood?

The risks?

The survival rate?

The potential trauma?

Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam.

She signs what feels like a hundred release forms, over and over.

She wants to do this the right way, the proper way.

(When has she ever done things any differently?)

She signs the forms and the paperwork without complaints, without hesitation and without delay.

—

The day comes.

(Weeks later, after all the forms have been processed and reviewed and approved, signed and countersigned. But eventually, it comes.)

With Morgan it's simple. It's her steely gaze and a raised eyebrow, questioning. Questions Eva is familiar with.

You sure about this? No taking it back now.

And then, same as always: you all right?

Eva gives a sharp nod, her shoulders relaxing.

That is the only answer Morgan needs from her.

(Morgan has always believed her when Eva tells her she can handle herself. That knowledge, in itself, is reassuring.)

—

With Nate—with Nate it’s not so easy. Not so simple.

It never has been, not with the way they feel about each other, not with the way they cling to each other, to every breath, to every beat of their hearts.

There is worry and fear in his eyes, dark and consuming, and she knows he is thinking about everything that could go wrong. She wants to soothe him, wants to kiss him and tell him it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

So she does.

And he sinks into it, grateful for the distraction (this, he always is; this has not changed). Grateful for any excuse not to think about what could be, his mouth almost devouring her own in a nearly bruising kiss and here she understands what he is telling her, too.

Please.

Please, I can’t live without you.

I spent three hundred years without you and I can’t do that anymore.

The pendant he had given her lies against the hollow of her throat, warm between them as their bodies press against each other’s, the heliotrope and edelweiss, the white clover and honeysuckle.

Deep devotion, eternal love.

Eternal love.

She does not mention it and neither does he, but she knows it does not escape his notice that she is wearing it. The agreement it stands for, the acceptance.

There had been arguments, before the choice was made.

(Though in reality the choice had been made long, long before, from the first time his hands left trails of fire on her skin and she wanted nothing more than to be branded, burned, for it to leave a permanent, indelible mark.)

(Everything that came after that was just confirmation of what she already knew.)

There had been arguments.

There had been raised voices that she regretted, that she very nearly hated herself for. But she couldn’t understand why or how—this is something she has never understood about Nate, and something Nate has never understood about her.

Humanity, humanity, humanity—

(“Would you rather watch me die?”

She spit out the words at him, not out of malice, but with the knowledge that they would hurt. Knowing, too, that the hurt was necessary. Knowing that unless she did things this way nothing would ever get done.

Nothing would ever get solved, concerning the very glaring problem they were facing.

“I won’t do that to you.”

Mortality was a problem, and this was the solution.

“Even if nothing happens to me, how long do we get before I’m too old? Thirty years? How long is that to you, Nate? You've been alive more than ten times that.”

She paused then, but he said nothing. He'd fallen quiet, and she could feel the harshness of her words and her voice, the knife being twisted deeper each time she spoke, but there was no point to gentling them when he refused to see what was in front of them: they did not, would not have another choice.

“Shit, Adam has been alive a millennium and you will too—are you going to remember me in five hundred years?”)

She pushes the memory away.

She cups his face with both hands now, the kiss turning gentle, soft. His lips brush against hers, lightly, so lightly, and send a tingling feeling through her entire body.

His skin is warm under her hands and the taste of him, mint and rain, almost makes her forget everything else, everything, nothing but him in her thoughts.

Nate.

“I love you,” she whispers in the space between their lips as she pulls away, only a fraction, eyes still half-closed and relishing the taste, the feeling of him. The warm comfort of his hands still tangled in her hair. “Te amo. I'll be fine, mi vida. Don't worry so much about me.”

“You know that's impossible, joonam,” he says in return, and though she knows he is serious (they have discussed this time and time again), there's still a soft smile on his lips.

“And I love you. More than I will ever have the words for.”

She smiles, warm, fond, and nudges her nose against his.

Words have never been her strong suit.

But she’s found them, with him, found words old and new as she has found warmth and light and life.

“I’ll be back to you in no time. You know how stubborn I am,” she says lightly, and kisses him again, short and sweet.

A promise, a beginning.

—

She had asked Adam to do it.

He was the obvious choice,

(choice, choice, choice)

if Nate wouldn’t and Morgan couldn’t; she and Adam don’t often speak but there is respect and there is understanding between them, too. There is determination and a desire for order that they share.

(he had also made a choice, once)

She would trust him with her life, and so she does.

(The fact of the matter is she would trust them all with her life and much more.

Farah just as much as the others, too, even if she is not as close with the younger vampire, by virtue of temperament. But she loves her as she would love a sister, as she would love someone whose absence would make the world dimmer—how funny, she thinks, that she loves her, that she loves them.

She had never loved like this before.)

—

It is difficult not to think of the warehouse on the outskirts of Wayhaven.

Not the one she has almost come to know as home, but the other one, the one where she knew, for the first time, what involvement with the supernatural would truly mean.

The sterile environment of the Agency facility is nothing like it.

Clean-smelling, almost like a clinic; white and well illuminated and with doctors and techs on hand to supervise and monitor.

She signs one final form on entry and then there is nothing standing between her and this.

It is difficult not to think of the first time she felt vampire fangs ripping into her skin.

Adam’s barely puncture her neck, instead of tearing into her wrist as Murphy’s had done. Almost gently, almost delicately—with care and quick efficiency.

It is not the first time since then that she has felt the bite of fangs (always willing, always wanted), but bury it as she may, the memory always resurfaces.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling.

There is a lingering something, an ache in her temples, like being underwater far too deep.

Pressure in her ears, a ringing sound.

It passes after a few seconds and Eva feels the pain in her neck, sharp and deep—there’s warmth and she thinks, oddly, incongruously, that it is not too unlike having her blood drawn.

She is aware of what’s happening: she insisted on knowing the mechanics of it, every step.

The warmth she feels is the injection of venom into her bloodstream, and within minutes it will start attacking her DNA, it will start melding with her own genetic code and changing it, altering it, molding it.

Enhancing it.

Adam withdraws now, pulls away from Eva’s neck and wipes away the very small amount of blood left on his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable as always.

She has been warned of the pain that comes next.

She has been warned of the way her body will feel like it’s on fire, of the way her muscles will pull and stretch and her bones will reshape and her blood will burn from within.

She has been warned.

But it doesn’t come.

The wound in her neck pulses along with her heartbeat, and there is a trickle of warm blood running down her skin, down her throat.

There is no pain.

By now she should, by all accounts, be undergoing a full transformation, genes and physiognomy rearranged, blood reconfigured.

She should be in agony.

All she feels is the warm trickle of the blood and the pulsing of the small wound.

Nothing is happening.

A different feeling starts to bubble in her throat.

She meets Adam’s eyes, and he looks just as confused as she is.

No mistakes have been made, she knows this, she is sure of this.

Everything has been controlled and accounted for; regulated, monitored.

She sees, out of the corner of her eye, the techs start to speak among themselves.

It’s not working.

Why is it not working?

———

This was inspired by a post by @crowsintheisland asking what would happen to a detective who discovered they couldn’t turn into a supernatural because of their blood. My brain took that idea and ran with it.

[slurpingsoba]

Game Over

Relationship: Shigaraki x Spinner

Word Count: about 1.9k

Notes: What started out as me trying to connect back to my childhood gamer days quickly became more Spinaraki propaganda. I think I wrote this a month ago, but I never finished it, mainly because I thought it was trash. I still think it's trash, but I slapped an ending on it so hopefully, it sounds better than it did before!

Also, this picture is the setting of the story. Sometime after Kamino

“Shigaraki”

Spinner called out his leader’s name quietly, not wanting to startle him. Shigaraki was currently cowering near the far edge of his bedroom, his eyes a bit puffy and his body curled up; the disembodied hands he held were overflowing in his arms.

He looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, but that was something hard to achieve with his lanky figure. Even in his own chamber, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Shigaraki grunted as a response, and he shifted his weight from his right foot to his left foot, to his right foot again. His jittery, uncomfortable energy was seconds away from spreading to Spinner, who picked at his scales. 

“Shigaraki,” he called out again, a little louder this time. Shigaraki grimaced and dropped one of his hands to the floor.

Spinner cringed as well when the hand hit the ground. It was hard to watch Shigaraki with his face on display. You could see the intense anger and hopelessness oozing out of every expression he made. With saturated features, Shigaraki bent down to grab the hand on the floor but dropped the ones he was holding in the process. He fell to the floor along with his prized possessions. 

“Stop sulking in the corner like a fucking loser and get over here, for fuck’s sake!” Spinner’s voice cracked a bit. 

He caught a glimpse of Shigaraki’s eyes, and for a second, Spinner was scared for his life. Nobody else was in the room except for them, so Shigaraki could get away with murdering him if he wanted to. But Shigaraki was above killing his own allies, right? Right?!

Shigaraki, as lethargic and languid as he could be, got off the floor at a snail’s pace. He left the hands where they were. Spinner thought he heard some of Shigaraki’s bones crack as he inched himself up.

“Christ, it hurts to see you like this.”

“Then why don’t you leave? Everyone else did.”

Shigaraki’s tone made it seem as though everyone’s departure was a form of betrayal. He was aware that they had lives outside of the League, but he hoped that they would at least stay and comfort him in his time of need. 

Spinner’s heart felt heavier, aching in his chest as he sympathized with Shigaraki. Honestly, Spinner didn’t have any place better to be, but in order to spare Shigaraki’s feelings, he fabricated a white lie.

“I didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave you when you’re… like this.” Spinner motioned to the pile of hands on the ground, and the mess of a man standing among them.

Spinner changed the subject. “I assume you play video games, right? With all the gaming terminology you use.”

“I do.”

“Okay, so let’s play one.” Spinner pivoted on his feet and made his way towards Shigaraki’s monitors. Part of him didn’t want to know what dark and bizarre things lurked on Shigaraki’s computer, but the other part was curious. He pressed the power button on one of the monitors to boot it up as Shigaraki slithered over like a shadow.

Spinner rubbed his eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness emitting from the computer screen. It was the only source of light in the room, and he wasn’t used to using electronics in such poor conditions. 

Shigaraki, appreciating the juxtaposition between dark and light, stretched before taking a seat in front of the screens. After typing in his password, he clicked on an application on his desktop. One resembling a dirt block.

“Minecraft? Seriously?” Spinner was expecting Shigaraki to pick a horror game or at least something more on-brand. But Minecraft...

“Yeah? And what about it?” The only reason Shigaraki was playing it was because All For One bought it for him. He said the game would help him think creatively and collaborate with others in a controlled environment. Not like Shigaraki used the game constructively, anyway.

From the loading screen, Shigaraki clicked on multiplayer and went through his saved servers. After some contemplation, he selected Mineplex.

“Have you ever played?” 

“Yeah, of course. You can’t call yourself a gamer unless you’ve played Minecraft.” Spinner spoke without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

“I hope you’re not serious about that.”

“And what if I a- oh shit, look at that Gamertag!” Spinner interrupted himself, crowding Shigaraki’s personal space in order to get a better look at the screen.  

“‘I_Sucked_Stains_Nuts’? The Hero Killer’s groupies are fucking horny, aren’t they?” 

“With a tongue as godlike as Stain’s, why wouldn’t they be?” Spinner licked his lips. With wide eyes, Shigaraki gave Spinner a judgemental look.

“You know he stabbed me.” Shigaraki navigated his way into a mini-game. Survival games, to be specific. He entered a lobby.

“You probably deserved it.”

An exasperated expression settled on Shigaraki’s face. With a huff, he took his hand off his mouse and folded his hands. Spinner took the opportunity to seize control of the game.

“‘HeroKillerLover <3’, ‘xx_DaddyStain_xx’... would you look at that?! Stain’s quite popular in the gaming community.”

“One Minecraft server does not equate to the entirety of the gaming community. Now, give me back my mouse.” Shigaraki right hand reached towards the mouse but got swatted away.

“You know what? Fuck it. You control the mouse and I’ll control the keyboard.”

“Sounds good to me. Queue up the chat log.” Spinner said, ogling over the game like he’s never played it before. 

Oh, Shigaraki thought, a lightbulb going off in his head. Perhaps Spinner never played Minecraft before, and his earlier statement was just him trying to seem cool. 

Shigaraki found this amusing, and for the first time in a while, he cracked a smile. 

Meanwhile, Spinner read over the chat log, soaking in the nonsensical lingo that made the log incomprehensible to him. He was too old to understand the slang that tweens used. However, one thing on the log caught his attention.

A girl with rainbow hair and the Gamertag ‘Detroit_smash_me_69’ was crouching and un-crouching rapidly in the middle of the screen. She was typing in the chat.

“‘Yo, yo, Minus_U1tra_4, answer me. I like your skin,’” Spinner read out loud to himself. “What’s your Gamertag, Shigaraki?”

“Minus_U1tra_4.”

“Huh. I was expecting it to be ‘I_Hate_All_Might_’ or something.”

“That’s a bit too self-incriminating, don’t you think? My name is perfectly edgy.”

Spinner screwed up his face and raised an eyebrow. “Sure it is. Anyway, the rainbow-haired girl is trying to talk to you. She said she liked your skin.”

“I’m using the default skin.”

“Okay well still, reply back to her.” Spinner had a goofy grin on his face. He had a feeling this would be a funny encounter.

“Alright, if you say so.”

Hovering his fingers over the keys before typing, Shigaraki decided to type ‘i like urs to’ into the chat.

“That’s the wrong ‘to’. And you spelled ‘yours’ wrong.”

“I’m typing a message, not a fucking essay,” Shigaraki responded.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t use proper grammar.”

Shigaraki ignored him and read ‘Detroit_smash_me_69’s new reply. “‘Thx. Wanna smash?’”

“Whoaaa, wait a minute. Hold on a second.” Spinner backed away from the monitor in disbelief, pacing in the space behind Shigaraki’s computer setup.

“Dude, I think she’s just referencing her username. Calm down and get back over here.”

Spinner, after taking a few deep breaths, returned to his former position. “What are you gonna say now?”

Shigaraki typed into the chat window, chuckling to himself. Satisfied with his message, he pressed enter. 

‘I’ll Detroit smash you any day darling.’, showed up in the chat log under Shigaraki’s Gamertag. 

“You don’t realize how creepy that sounds-“

“Shush, I’m ~flirting.”

“She could be twelve.” Spinner attempted to reason with Shigaraki. It’s as if he’s never talked to a girl before, real or virtual. 

“‘She’ might not even be a she. Besides, what twelve year old has a Gamertag like that?”

“You know this is public? Like, everyone in this waiting room can see this right now.”

“I don’t give a shit, I’m enjoying myself. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve been able to sit down and play a game like this.”

Shigaraki’s comment caught Spinner off guard, but it reminded him that Shigaraki has been a villain for most of his life. Spinner didn’t quite grasp the twistedness of Shigaraki’s relationship with his master until now, and Spinner felt sad knowing Shigaraki never got to experience a normal life. 

“Well, I’m enjoying this as well. Even if you’re being a freak online.”

“I’m a freak offline too, you know.” Shigaraki turned around in his chair to look at Spinner. He was smirking and seemed to completely forget about the game he was playing. 

“Oh?” Spinner wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but he would be deceiving himself if he said he didn’t want to find out. He and Spinner were kindred spirits, gamers starving for justice and murder, so he didn’t dismiss the prospects of growing closer to Shigaraki in a more than platonic way. 

“Especially in bed.”

“Oh?” Maybe the Hero Killer fanatics on Minecraft weren’t the horniest people after all. 

Shigaraki stood up and advanced towards Spinner.  “To think I was moping around earlier, when I could have been doing this.”

Spinner had no choice except to walk backward. He continued until his legs hit the side of Shigaraki’s bed and he was forced to fall onto the worn comforter. With Spinner’s back pressed against the blanket, Shigaraki bent over him, trapping him between his arms.

“...doing me?” Spinner squeaked, his cheeks heating up. Spinner was an avid gamer, and therefore a virgin, so he didn’t know how to react to the predicament he was in. Sexual intimacy was new territory for him, but he wouldn’t mind exploring it with-

“Kurogiri said you guys can’t use the WiFi. With All For One gone, nobody’s here to pay for the internet anymore.” Dabi interrupted Spinner’s train of thought. 

Dabi’s voice made chills run down Spinner’s spine. He left Shigaraki’s room about an hour ago, so Spinner was surprised he was back so soon. Why was he here? Why did he have to be such a cockblocker??

“Shit,” Shigaraki exclaimed, not moving from over Spinner. 

“Why don’t you nerds try going outside for once? I heard the graphics out there are incredible!”

“Why don’t you try minding your own damn business for once? I’m about to get some.” Shigaraki barked back at Dabi.

“Yeah! I’m about to get some!” Spinner echoed from under Shigaraki, his every word dripping with excitement. Somehow, Spinner felt breathless already, although Shigaraki hadn't even touched him yet. 

“Gross,” Dabi muttered before walking out of Shigaraki’s room and closing the door behind him, leaving Spinner and Shigaraki alone again. 

Faint sounds from Shigaraki’s computer provided a distraction for Spinner, who was too overwhelmed to function. He looked into Shigaraki’s ruby eyes and found himself starstruck by the man he called a loser just a while ago. Reality was so much better than fictional worlds at times, and this was one of those times.

“Guess I wasn’t that bad of a flirt after all,” Shigaraki said, before leaning down over Spinner’s trembling form.  

Stain’s nuts weren’t the only thing getting sucked tonight.

[krystalskies-blog]

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