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astracora · 1 day ago

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EVER's Tool - Chapter 2

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (MC POV/Sylus POV/Zayne POV), Caleb x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 11028

Written: 28th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This took me too long, and then Caleb was released, and then I fell into the pit. Anyway, here we go. Chapters for this are gonna be way slower cause for some reason I made em... longer??? I dunno why I did this but hey. Anyway, um... enjoy?

Now Playing: As We Fall, by League of Legends

Masterlist AO3

<- Previous

It is in one of the old labs, where Raincoat finds you later, as though he'd been looking for you.

He watches for a moment as you sit against a wall, hand extended out in front of you. Clenching the segmenting fingers, over and over. Trying to seek something out, you're just not sure what. Like there should be something there, grounding you.

"You good there?"

"Fine." You exhale, turning sharp eyes to him, as he raises his hands in mock defence.

"Hey, don't give me that look, I came to chat."

"I don't recall us being friends."

He bears a title like yours. You know that Raincoat is just a pseudonym, passed down. You don't know how many there have been, but he's certainly not the first. He definitely won't be the last. Until EVER no longer need killers at their beck and call, there will always be a Raincoat.

You do wonder, however, why they choose that name for his ilk. Was it a fashion favourite of the first one?

Easy to wipe blood off, you suppose.

You've never asked his name, you've never wanted to know. If anything happens, and he ends up on the list, it's easier if he's just another face. Someone whose history you don't know. Someone whose face gets lost in the static.

"Come on now, you're always such a grouch." He sits on the table in front of you, and that smug irritating smile ticks at the corner. It overlaps for a second, sharp canines, before it shatters. "I just wanted to ask if you'd dealt with the doctor yet."

"I don't fail my missions, Raincoat. Are you here just to ask stupid questions?"

"I told you, I came to chat. You're the most fun person to talk to in this place. Everyone else doesn't like bloody hands."

You snort despite yourself. You think of all the scientists with their sins on their shoulders, and the fear and dislike in their eyes when they see you or Raincoat. Like their torture is more palatable than your killing.

As though there aren't dead children in the shadows of EVER's growth.

"The feeling isn't mutual." You respond, but ease a little. Raincoat can't be trusted, he's manipulative, a trained liar, and he wants others to think him a fool. Still, if you keep an eye on his hands, you doubt you'll need to look too hard for a dagger coming.

Afterall, if you fail, someone like him will be sent for you, then after the doctor.

'Darling'

"Ouch, one day you'll want to talk to me."

"If that day comes, we have bigger problems to worry about."

He laughs but it's an empty, cool gesture. A feeling that holds no weight, that does not matter. Like so many feelings you experience in this place. Like everyone is behind a wall, and you're watching. Seeking something out. Something genuine.

"Look, I just wanted to know if you'd come across him yet-" Warm forest eyes, tears glimmering in them, wavering on the edge, "'cause I've run into him before."

"You have?"

"Yeah, they've had me keep an eye on him. Along with that scientist they keep sending to talk to him. Carl? Cartier? Whatever his name is, an old friend. I dunno why though, the guys never gonna convince Li to join."

You keep hearing it. He won't join, he won't join. Why wouldn't he join? Why would he suddenly join them now?

"What do you know about him?"

"Come on now, Unicorn, information is expensive."

You lean forwards, stretching claws out and glint sharp edges at the man, who raises his hands again. His laugh is still empty, but it verges on unsure. Like he isn't ready to test if you'll use it.

You don't want him to know you won't, not if you don't have to. Not unless the noose pulls around your throat.

"You really are their favourite hunting dog aren't you? Some people skills could go a long way."

"Like you? Smiling like a serpent in the grass? I don't need to lie to my targets. I just need to get rid of them."

"I bet holding your chain is a rough ride, do you often bite the hand that feeds you too?"

You want to cut his throat open, it is a clawing need at the bottom of your gut. Every EVER dog that pretends you're the only pet kept. Like he isn't aware that when his value runs dry, he will be put down, or left chained in a kennel in the cold until it claims him. You wonder if they're all so unaware of their lack of value. That a bottom line and a higher goal are all that matter. That whoever hands down your orders, is probably just as expendable.

You don't know what EVER want, they would never bother to tell you. You've heard stories, immortality and overwhelming power. You think it must be like every other organisation with more money and status than they know what to do with.

It is the knowledge that makes it easier. You have a job, when that job is over, you will finally be granted release from your chains. If it comes in the form of death, you think that will be more than you deserve.

"You can talk, or you can leave. You can also leave in chunks, that's your call." You snarl, pushing up from the ground, and walking past the man. Not before reaching out a claw and cutting through the end of his raincoat.

"Alright, alright." He sighs, looking down at his clothing, "Now I have to buy a new one."

"Don't you have like fifty of them? Why else would you have that stupid title?"

"I didn't pick it, did you pick Unicorn?"

No. You're waiting for the namesake to be accurate. Sword through your skull, quiet in your brain.

"And I know you didn't pick the other one-" This time you extend your dagger at him, pointed edge aiming for throat, teeth bared. Snarl burning through your throat. "Woah, I'm not gonna say it. I like my head attached."

You think of Leon as he purrs it at you, as he says it like you are his favourite doll. You think about the way you want to tear his head from his shoulders, to tear limb from limb, to watch him rot. Before you are removed from service, you will take the man with you. So that he can never turn your stomach or anyone else's again.

"Speak."

"I thought I wa- Ok, alright. Doctor Li isn't going to just roll over for EVER, whatever they're going to manipulate him with, it's big. I've seen him. He gives sweets to kids, eats most of them himself. One for you, two for me." Raincoat mimes, when he receives nothing but a raised brow, he continues, "He gets a sad look in his eyes whenever a cat runs away from him. I've seen him pull cat toys out of his pocket to try to get them to come over. Sometimes it works, sometimes… well. He gets real sad."

"So he's a soft heart, what does that matter? All hearts can break."

"He's moral. He abhors what Xander Science is doing, and he knows EVER owns them."

"I'm not hearing anything new."

You think about the man with the green eyes bending down in front of cats, extending his fingers, and frowning just slightly when the creature bolts. You think about him offering bonbons out of his pocket. You think about white lab coats and glasses pushed up as he smiles, as he tends to a jasmine.

There's something in your chest that stings and hurts in the cold. You think of frozen over petals, black ice and twisted shapes.

"He's living with three other people in a fancy house in Linkon."

That is new… Raincoat knows where he lives, but the information wasn't in the file?

"Where?"

"So I was right, they didn't tell you."

"What are you talking about?"

"No, nothing, just curious about the kind of information they give you, to let their favourite dog fulfill their hunt." You get the urge to sharpen your dagger on his bones. Chipping and carving through them.

The urge passes quickly enough, but the irritation at the smug smile does not. "They give me what I need to finish a job."

"No doubt about that, you have quite a record. I'll send you the address. You sure you want to go though? Taking someone from their home's quite a risk, maybe that's why they didn't share it. Easier to catch him coming out of work."

"I can catch him coming out of his home just as easily." It's not pride, or confidence. Not really. You fill your missions, you come home, you hand over a finished product. You are good at what you do. There is little doubt. It does not fill you with joy, to complete a job. It is simply to avoid punishment.

There are no fistbumps. No high-five. No congratulations…

No energetic voice telling you, you did good.

You aren't sure why you ever thought there would be.

"Alright." You watch Raincoat mess with his device for a moment, before he shrugs, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"If a warning from you would save me, I hav-"

"Bigger problems to worry about, I get it. Have you ever had friends?"

You don't bother answering him, leaving the room, twirling the dagger.

How would you even know? Years all lost to static, memories scattered to the winds. You were told the only person that mattered to you was Caleb, and if that's true… you cannot even remember him.

Perhaps your affections held no weight, perhaps even you and Caleb were empty, like you and every other person in the compound. Was it so meaningless to have a picture of the two of you, that his presence means so little to the you now?

Dogs can be loving, so you don't think it's the chain around your throat that stops you…

There is little in EVER that is worth caring for… perhaps the you now, lost their only chance at feeling more than dim acceptance. Tired withdrawal.

A need to see the end, and pass over. Perhaps then you can see Caleb, and remember what it felt like to care.

If he can care back, and not look at bloodied hand and broken carapace in disgust.

Perhaps you should be relieved he's not around to see you, to see the blood splatter up the lab walls. You can't imagine anyone would look at EVER's dog and not sneer.

—-

The training room is too warm.

You've spent four hours testing the limits of the new EVOL's you've been fed. Teleporting through space, mindless music thrumming through the background. It is hard to reign them in, pain ripping through your flesh as you reach for something you can't fully control.

Resonance is a powerful tool, you've been told. It is instinctual, breathing, a part of you. Every EVOL that has been devoured by it, is like the clawed hand. Attached to you, grotesque, too distinct. Too alien to really understand.

The first time you had tried to pull lightning to your clawed fist, you had felt the ozone burn. Tearing through the carapace, pain ripping through the limb. Shattering and twisting through it, until you had lay on the ground. Shaking, vomiting and screaming from the pain of it.

Your residual limb twitching as they pulled you away from the scorched floor.

Trying to feel for the lightning through your attachment was like feeling through thick mud. It was not at the surface of your skin, like calling your resonance to your other hand was. It was weak and hard to grasp, and if you did not grasp correctly… too tightly.

To summon something that could burn through your skin, with flesh and blood, felt like a fool's task. You sacrificed three attachments to the electricity before you could hold it in palm. For a short period of time, then the pain spread out from your shoulder, down to your chest.

Your heart thudding, thumping, racing, then screaming in protest.

Breath short, broken, fleeting.

You shook it out, releasing your hold, pulling away from the EVOL that did not wish to be held. Not by you.

You weren't sure where it had once belonged, you just knew it was not yours.

Weeks had been spent trying to harness the second, dampening. A power that should have been able to weaken or suppress the EVOLs of those around you. Harder to grasp, like it was in direct conflict with your resonance. Fighting it everytime you summoned it to the forefront.

A caged beast that did not belong in your chest, nestled amongst your heart. Teeth and claws, unrestrained fury. It does not wish to be used, or called to heel. It demands more space in your heart than can be allowed.

It is an unruly and uncontrolled tool. Without great focus and peace, it is impossible to use for combat.

You had only ever used it once, successfully breaking sound amplification, bringing you to your knees. Head splitting with the pressure of it. It had felt, for a moment, like the EVOL had taken pity on you.

Alive and warm, before it faded back into the recesses. Refusing to return to your hand.

Without snapping its jaws at resonance with vicious glee.

The easiest to use was the time EVOL, a weak little thing. It's uses limited, like a child's gift. Bursts and flickers of a power that flitted like a butterfly.

You could use it to slow time around you for snapshots. Using it to move out of danger, flickering out of existence to flee. Only useable on yourself, or things you held in grasp.

It always listened, curled around your fingers like a small hand. Seeking out the heat of your flesh for comfort. Like if it did not behave, it would be left alone in the cold.

Against all, resonance continues to be the only form of power that feels like you. There are moments when you use it, that you can almost feel it respond like a vine seeking out something that is no longer there. Poking, prodding, out into space.

You think of ivy on the sides of buildings, growing eternally seeking out comfort in shade that is not there.

Unclear what it seeks, an answer you can't give, not with no memories and static in your senses…

You just know that when it meets the other EVOLs that settle in your body, it recoils as though they don't belong.

Like its instinct has been to eat, ravenous and starving, without checking its food was not toxic, and now it writhes in pain at the result.

If it is such a part of you, you're not sure what that says about who you are.

A hungry, desperate beast, perhaps. Seeking out a thing you can never find.

A poisoned dog in the woods, waiting for the pain to ebb away.

Perhaps both.

It is when you lose focus, teleporting into a wall, stumbling back with your hand against your head, that you feel the exhaustion finally catch back up with you.

Escaping sleep, running on fumes, caffeine and sugar. If EVER had wanted you to be a sufficient tool, you think they would have removed the need for sleep.

Erased illness.

Removed your capability for pain.

You hiss as you ease the ache in your forehead, leaning back against the offending wall and taking a deep inhale.

It is the struggle eternal. To sleep and regain your strength, to finish a job. To reduce the chances of failing, of finding out what is on the other end of failing a job for EVER… versus the knowledge of what awaits you in the dark of your own mind.

Broken images and pain you can't put into place. Nightmares of things you don't recognise. Feelings you can't hope to understand.

There is no escape in the land of dreams, no comforting space to find safe and happy. No place to walk to remind you of times when you might have had a hand to hold, or a smile to greet you. Your dreams do not offer you the memories of Caleb, do not recreate the smile he has in the lone photo.

Perhaps if they did, you would escape to them often.

The close call with the red eyed man played in your mind. The mist that grasped your limbs, the arms around your body. The protest in your ribs as his muscles worked. The ache. The awareness that your body was still fragile.

You think about being dragged, and caged, and taken somewhere else against your will.

Against electric shocks through your skin. Scalpels through your body.

Waking up with your chest opened up, the agony of awareness, and the horror of a body that did not feel like your own.

There is something about the devil you know, after all, and the devil you do not know, with his shining red eyes…

You would rather not find out what lies on the other end, it is hard to imagine anything worse, but the static and the fear of his growl of a voice, that tore through you like the lightning through your attachment, did not make you wish for the risk.

The knowledge and the awareness was something to shy from. It always brought the abstract reminder of pain and loss.

If it kept you off that table then you'd have to brave what your brain concocted.

Figures in the shadows, and voices on the edges of your consciousness.

—--

EVER are careful, Sylus knows this well. He's used to them hiding, he's used to hunting for each head of the hydra. Cutting it back and cauterising the wound. What he can reach. What he can grasp.

He feels, however, like he is chasing his tail. Like they can see him coming, and have begun to lead him to dead ends. To mysteries that he has no time to solve. Sanitariums, graveyards, old bases, laboratories that matter little in their grand scheme.

Laying out crumbs for him, letting him take pieces on the chess board, while keeping the win out of his hands.

He is not a stupid man, he is used to playing games that feel unwinnable. Immense power can often push down any enemy without hindrance.

This, however, is him looking for a hidden jewel, in a desert. The longer he takes, the further you get from him.

The colder his home grows.

The evening that the doctor and fish had returned, hollowed out and on the verge of cracking, he had watched them fracture in ways he wasn't sure he could fix.

The doctor had sequestered himself away, and when Sylus had investigated, he had been staring at documents on experimentations with wanderers. Xander Sciences stamped across the top. Trying to understand the lengths that had been followed to attach one of their limbs to you.

The fish had first lay in one of the larger bath tubs, head under water, embraced by the coldest he could find. Staring up at the ceiling. A heartbroken, cracked song had flowed from under the door frame. He normally loved to hear the fish and you sing… this… this felt like an elegy. Taking him back to bloodied swords and your figure chained in front of his haunted eyes.

Eventually Rafayel had pulled himself out of the water, sopping wet and trudged into the bedroom, finding his way to Sylus' side. Dripping over the covers and curling up on his chest. If his tears were muffled into his chest, he didn't mention it. Just soothed hands he hoped did not shake, down the lemurian's back. Humming under his breath.

Not an elegy, never in mourning, just one of the songs he'd heard you singing a hundred times. Just another thing that was as familiar to him as everything about you.

It should have been a relief to know you were alive, and in some ways it truly was, but he knew the fish was tired. Of being forgotten, of watching you leave. Of knowing you were not returning to his arms just yet.

An ache and pain that lit up the canvas for his art, but left him hollowed and hurting.

After the water had cooled Sylus' skin through his clothes, the hair sticking to Rafayel's face, as he looked up at the man, he retrieved a towel with his EVOL. Easing it over skin, and brushing through wet hair.

"They're coming back to us." He speaks, and it is more assured than he feels. It is as hopeful as it is a need. He cannot go another lifetime without you, neither can the Lemurian, not since having you. In every beautiful flaw. He will chase every life with you, but this one… This one is special. This one is a family and a home, he cannot give it up without being killed once and for all.

He will put this immortal body to use, the way it should be used.

Rafayel nods against him, not moving, and it is moments before he falls asleep.

Sylus wonders at the dreams of the fish, before he decides to chase his own slumber for once, unwilling to disturb the peace that is so rare.

Days later he is working through information. There is something to be said for each of his family members. Rafayel has connections that even he does not have access too, and while he is often tempted to ask, he doesn't want to pry when the fish is willingly digging into it to find any sight of your tail.

Zayne has talked to anyone with connections to EVER, looking into Xander Sciences, digging through all of the correspondence he has ever had for any hint. Though he had come up empty, without accepting offers that his conscience, and his morals can never live with.

Xavier, after healing, had returned to working. Using the Associations information, talking to your captain, seeking out information from people he could trust there. A disappearance was one thing, a return with EVER's mark upon your collar, and a wanderer limb attached to you, was easier for them to mobilise for.

Though Sylus was unsure how reliable they could be, considering you disappeared on a mission for them.

Luke and Kieran have been working double time, in a way he has not seen them move in quite some time. They fulfil orders, of course, but it is never with the kind of violent desperation he sees in them now. Like they have a timeframe, and if they can't beat it, they will fade away.

He thinks about Kieran carving crystals out of his skin, of never having enough time to live.

They know better than anyone what cruelty EVER can commit for their needs. He should not be surprised when they return, disappointed and dirty.

"Nothing there boss."

"We asked around too, no one saw anything."

They're despondent, he realises. Looking at the two as they move their masks to the side. They have taken to wearing the crow hoodies you bought them, more and more. He has debated pulling them off, so that he can wash them, perhaps in the laundry detergent you prefer. Like he's trying to soothe cats whose owner has not returned.

It's not the best thing to wear for jobs, but he doesn't want to watch the twins shrink in on themselves more. There is dirt smudged over Kieran's cheek, against one of his scars, and Sylus blinks and sees you.

Scars through your skin, twisting your lips when you smile.

It blurs into the blank, cold look he received days ago.

The chill in his heart has to be chased away by the wine he drinks from his glass, as he flicks the screen on his tablet. "They're not going to make it easy for us."

Kieran snorts, sitting on the edge of his desk, to stare down at the tablet, looking for something. Anything, Sylus thinks. Like if they look at what he's found, maybe something will click.

Maybe their experiences will mean something, now. Pain justified.

As though it were ever so easy.

"Any other places we can check on the list, boss?" Luke tilts his head, the hood slips further over his eyes.

They look tired, and worn, and hungry. "No, not until I've gone through this. Go get some sleep, and get some food out of the fridge. There should be plates to reheat."

Always now. Food cooked at speed, stuffed into fridges, waiting for spare time stolen from frantic searching.

He cannot remember the last time a meal was shared around a table. Laughter in the walls of his home.

He misses it more than he would ever be able to confess to another. At least not right now, when he has to be strong. Stronger, even, for those who are fighting alongside him.

"But boss-"

"It's an order, if you fall over out of exhaustion, you won't be able to do your jobs."

The two look at each other, sharing a world he can't begin to touch, let alone understand, before they return resigned. Frustration lurking under the edges, of a loyalty he isn't sure they realise they've offered him, and a tired relief, bled into gratitude.

He can keep sending them on more chases, but every piece he claims, every facility abandoned or worthless to EVER, has made him more aware that where he is searching, is not the answer.

While it is unlikely you lie in the heart of EVER's web, they have sequestered you somewhere he cannot see.

Sylus' eyes are many things, but blind? Never. He has always seen the things others could not, even if he has not wanted to. Even if it haunted him. Why now, he cannot seek his own greatest desire, perhaps a punishment for blood or sins. The result of being a monster that lives on the sins of others.

He can only find relief that two plates are missing when he checks on them, dead to the world and curled up in one of the bedrooms set aside for them.

He still cannot remember if it was your idea or his own.

As he cleans up the mess they have left, he receives a message from the fish.

'I think I have something, come here.'

Sylus is unsure if he's ever moved as quickly, as he does, when he pushes his bike past the limits of what even the N109 Zone would comfortably allow.

—----

"Look, I can't tell you everything."

"You need to tell me something."

"I'll tell you what I can!"

When he arrives, Sylus hears before he sees. Rafayel stood, arms crossed but dagger in hand, turning it this way and that. Eyes narrowing on a man stood in a raincoat.

Tacky, with a torn edge.

"Did you ruin this man's coat, fish?"

Rafayel looks up, huffs and shrugs loosely, "He must have had a run in with someone else."

The man in question raises his hands, placating, and careful, now that someone else has arrived. A smile that looks too relaxed, makes Sylus look at his hands. Steady, fingerprints gone.

"Yeah, I had a run in with this nasty dog in my neighbourhood. It's got the worst temper, no good handlers. Likes to snarl."

"And- I don't care. Tell him."

Sylus steps up next to the fish, red glistening eye focusing on the man. Seeing… nothing. Emptiness.

He hesitates. Humans are full of greed and desires. They burn with it, as alive as souls can be, even if they're twisted, corrupt little things. This one, is either the one most closest to their mortal image of purity, or as broken as they come.

"Name's Raincoat."

"Idiotic name, tell me what you need to tell me."

The man huffs through his nose, "Do all of you have the people skills of a dead goat?"

"Is that a comparison people often make?"

His hands return to his sides, shoved into too deep pockets, but his smile remains. It does not offer an ounce of comfort. Sylus has seen smiles like his on other faces. It accompanies a spear to the abdomen more often than it doesn't.

"I heard you're looking for that hunter-" Sylus steps forwards and this time the man jumps back a half step, "Woah, no need to menace, I don't know where they are, but I do know what they're after."

"You're an EVER dog, why would you tell us anything worthwhile?" Rafayel finally speaks, and Sylus watches as Raincoat's eyes go to the dagger in the man's hand. It is a small flick of eyes, before he returns to his smile.

The shortest moment, but he can see recognition. He knows the fish does as well, because he spins the dagger right in front of him, watching as the eyes follow the movement.

"You think I like another one like me lurking around? If I get deemed useless, that hunter of yours will tear my throat out with that fucked up hand of theirs. I've seen the corpses of people they've been sent to kill. I don't need that."

"Like EVER would be any kinder without them?"

"Like minimising the risks of being mauled by a wanderer are always smart."

Sylus notes the chill in Rafayel's eyes, the way his hand tightens a little on the dagger, watching the twitch at the talk of your arm. The one EVER stole from you. Twice.

He hopes your metal one, with the beautiful fish, is still somewhere. When he claims you back, he'll find it.

"What are they after then?"

"That doctor of yours. EVER think that with the assistance of your hunter, he'll finally agree to work with them."

They look at each other, and don't see the widening grin on Raincoat's face, "I've heard he's pretty moral, but he'd do anything for them, right? EVER think so anyway, and they're willing to wave them in front of his face, to find out."

Eyes turn back to him as he shrugs, miming dangling something from his hand, "And if it doesn't work, they'll just find other ways to make him useful. Heard they have some fucked up chips they use for some of their tools. Makes 'em real compliant."

"Why would we believe you?"

He laughs, like it couldn't matter less to him, like Sylus couldn't tear him apart himself. He should, and as he steps forward, a hand tightens around his wrist. Rafayel is facing Raincoat, eyes focused. It is a subtle movement, quick. His dagger spins to keep Raincoat's eyes on it. When Sylus is released, he eases the fury bubbling in his gut.

"You've been useful before, so I'll let you go, so you can be useful in the future. Alright? If you're lying-"

"I know, I know. You'll find me and murder me, your little family are fond of death threats, huh?"

When the man is gone, leaving the two stood in an alley, with Sylus feeling as though he has gained weight strapped to his back, "So we keep an eye on the doctor."

"I guess I'll be on bodyguard duty for once." Rafayel laughs, but it's tired and it's worn. Weighted by questions left unanswered.

Of images that Sylus can't stop trying to shake out of his mind.

EVER pinned to your throat, their leash around your neck, pulling until it snaps.

If they use you, to hurt Zayne, he knows when you come back to yourself, you will never forgive yourself. He has seen you sink into despair once before, he will not witness it again.

—---

Zayne feels as though he's going mad.

"You wish to guard me?"

"You can have me, or you can have Mephisto, maybe the twins. I can reasonably behave myself."

"Sylus, you cannot follow me around the hospital. You would draw far too much attention, and if I am truly a target, it will be more clear that you have some kind of inside information."

The leader of Onychinus stares him down, unwavering jewel eyes. He's used to the man being stubborn, Sylus does not waver from a goal, he has never halted his intentions, or paused in his journey.

Even though Zayne can see fraying edges, and a strength that wavers on the cusp of cracking.

"Then Mephisto will follow you around, ready to alert me."

It's the best he thinks he's going to get for a compromise. The bird at least, can somewhat blend into the surroundings. Perching outside his office perhaps. He doubts anyone will capture him inside of Akso Hospital. Still he's not sure there are limits to EVER's pull at this point.

If they have their hand in everything, he doesn't see how they can't cover up a doctor's disappearance.

His disappearance.

He has no intention to be reckless, and he finds Sylus' concern comforting. A reminder that even though he watched you flee from a café he has frequented with you, he is not holding his grief alone for once.

"I'll accept your pets supervision, but ensure he keeps a reasonably low profile." Accompanies his sigh of weak acceptance. There's little else he can do, if something happens to him… he will not be there to help you, nor will he be able to keep feeling the warmth of his home. He does not want to be the cause for more grief.

"Whatever you say, doctor." Sylus stands, motions for the robot bird that flutters over on metal feathers and rests on Zayne's shoulder. Ready, waiting. He tightens his hand around his work bag, nodding at the thing that he's still not sure has much of a will of its own.

Then he thinks of the times he has found you curled up asleep with Mephisto, and the bird's reluctance to leave the perch of your metal shoulder.

Just as attached as his master, Zayne thinks fondly.

Fingers drift over his cheekbones, pulling Zayne from his thoughts, as he focuses on the wavering heat of Sylus' eyes, "I'll be alright." He offers, as the man hesitates.

"You will, but if you're not-" Something is attached to behind his ear, though it is small and the sensation disappears almost immediately, "I'll find you regardless."

"We need to have a discussion over requesting access to hinge upon privacy."

"I told you before doctor, we have different boundaries for acceptability." The smirk is wide and self satisfied, but it is more confident than Zayne has seen Sylus for some time.

"Now get going, you have lives to save, my good doctor." His hand is raised for a kiss to be placed upon his palm, and then he is released. Mephisto kicking up to fly out ahead of him.

He has always walked the distance to the hospital, it is an easy journey, a moment to prepare himself for a long and hard day. It is never easy facing the path he has chosen for himself, despite his passion for it. Some days are full of pain, others joy.

Zayne has worked ever harder in the pursuit of easing his aching heart. He worries that his handle over his EVOL will begin to shatter, that his lack of control outside of what he would allow himself with his family, will spread to his work.

It is with an iron grip, that grows ever tighter, and the sunken set to his stature, that has allowed him to keep moving.

He is only ten minutes into his walk, when he feels the prickling up the back of his neck, turning to erect a wall of ice in front of him. Steady hand pushing back against the jolt of lightning that touches the ice and fractures it, scorching where it lands.

He smells burning, and steps back, Mephisto screeches, before lightning arcs for the bird. Piercing a wing and sending him hurtling to the floor.

Before him is a vision he never wants to see again. That twisted carapace arm, with the lightning crackling and burning through it, leaving deep grooves with every spark. Your scars pulling at your lips as you focus mismatched eyes on him.

Cold, empty, devoid of anything.

Sylus had warned him… he hadn't been prepared to see it. When he'd seen you at the café you had been startled, alarmed. Human. Despite the lack of recognition.

Now, before him, dagger in your other hand, he sees nothing. Like you have shut down, broken off parts of the warmth of the person he knew, and stepped out a doll.

You look at the barrier, and he recognises the look. Calculating, ready. The lightning dissipates and you look back up at him, gold filtering into your gaze.

The resonance he can feel across from him is a familiar heat, like home. You place your hand on his barrier as he watches, one lip quirks pulling on the scars, before eyes narrow. "Doctor Li, I would appreciate you coming with me willingly. I have been informed not to damage the merchandise."

"A kind consideration, but I'd rather not hand myself over to EVER." He forces out, through a throat that feels too tight. Words tinged in a humour he doesn't feel. Like you're still you, like he's still making jokes with you. Dry wit and warm heart.

He pushes the barrier out, the ice pushing you back from him. Sharpening ice blades before him, holding them ready.

He watches, as your expression falters. It is like something filters through your cold eyes, a strange flicker of discomfort, before you refocus. He knows you well, has loved you for a long time, but this is a person he does not recognise. Not truly. Whatever lurks there, he isn't sure he can puzzle it out without time.

Which, as he watches your claw glow gold, he will not be offered easily.

"Very well, they will have to tolerate limbs in place."

It is said so flatly, that he feels the chill up his back. To be looked at by you, with nothing but tired acceptance. You who eased the pain out of his skin when the ice pierced it. You who saw warmth in him. You who gave him a safe place to let his control drop.

You who pulling him forwards in time.

Your hand pulls back, and before he can wonder at it, the claw sharpens, grows, and is pierced through the wall of ice, shattering it.

He shoots the shards of ice, backing up further. He can get back home, he thinks as he sends another flurry-

You dart forwards, blinking out of existence for a moment before you are before him, claw grabbing for his throat, and deflected with an icy blade.

It catches at the wrist of your carapace, the grotesque thing pulled back as you wince at the chill. The pain makes you smirk at him, fang peeking out under lip, and you dart forwards again, grabbing it in claw and snapping it. Before trying to headbutt him.

He shields his face with his arm, and pulls another barrier to keep you from slashing with the sharpened blade of claws.

Zayne has to fight you, he realises, something he has never done in this life. You have practiced how to resonate with him, had trial matches, practiced fighting with him, never against him.

Never pushed his EVOL past what you believed was safe, worried at the edges at any pain he has felt, even as you willingly eased it with your power or your touch.

He has never known you to want to risk him like you do now, pushing and clawing at his barrier. Edging him on. As you shoot lightning, with a wince he notes, he finds the logical part of his brain wondering how. Before he runs.

Ice blades flung behind him, a flurry of snow kicking up, he races back the way he came. Before he collides with a solid form, as you stand right before him. Claw grabbing his neck and tightening your grip. He grabs the wrist, freezing where he touches, watching as you hesitate.

Flinching as the chill hardens and cracks, before you squeeze. It is not the familiar touch of resonance he is used to, as the gold seeps up your claw, and into his own skin. It pulls at the ice, hardening its grip. Strengthening it. With none of the warmth of the EVOL he is used to.

It burns back up his skin, sending the ice back the way it came, pushing through his skin. He gasps as it spreads, fights back the cry he wants to let out as the ice turns black and pierces through his arm.

He distantly hears Mephisto squawk, the flutter of feathers, before the sound quietens.

The gold glow of your eyes intensifies, sharpening to points as you squeeze around his throat, the agony of his arm spreads up to his shoulder, as you cut off his airways. "A power you can't control…" Through the haze of his eyes, as he grows dizzy and numb, he sees the spark of something. Guilt. Pain. Understanding? "Go to sleep, Doctor Li."

A flash of red, and the force of a hurricane flings you from him. Sending him to the floor, knees colliding hard with the ground, and hand not frozen barely catching him. He gasps, wheezing to pull oxygen back into his lungs, to ease the ice in his limb. Relieved when it begins to skitter back. Pulling out of his limb.

He is rounded as Sylus stands before him, "Really now doctor, seconds after my warning?" A relief, an assurance that he will not have to hurt you without someone to keep him steady.

That there is a better chance together, than alone.

Even if his lungs struggle to pull oxygen in for his brain to function again.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

—----

You're falling.

Surrounded by nothing but pitch black.

There is no answer to how long you fall, you cannot see around you.

You're falling.

You reach out, grasping for something. Anything. To stop the hurtling. You feel sick. Agony. Like your body is covered in wounds. Barely holding itself together.

A flash of light and you see your metal hand, grasping. It catches on a ledge, and the light filters through, a lone wisp. It bobs next to your hand, tiny and gold and weak. It dances like a firefly, dancing over your fingers as you dangle.

You try to reach with your other hand but it does not move, like it is locked to your side. Too heavy to use.

As you tense the hand you can use, a little painted fish swims over it, over to your fingers. It twirls around each metal joint, seeking something.

You don't think it finds it, because it jumps as though leaving water. Swimming away. Your hand opens as though you need to grab it.

You need to grab it.

If it leaves, you'll never see it again.

You can't lose him.

The motion causes your hand to open, and as you watch the firefly of light die slowly… the metal turns to claws. Unnatural and broken. Grotesque and black. Scales replacing metal.

It is the last thing you see before the darkness greets you again, and you fall.

Slamming into a ground that knocks all the air out of your lungs.

It is cold that greets you, an icy expanse against the wounded skin of your back. Your claw twitches at your side. Pain shooting through your body that does not respond. Useless and worthless.

It cannot serve you, or anyone.

There is nothing to gain from this body.

Only your claw can move, only your claw can make you worth something.

You are a tool that will be discarded once they realise how very little you matter.

In the darkness the caw of a crow rattles your brain, the sound too loud to be flying over you. Your senses fractured and struggling to make sense of the lack of sight.

It is the first sound you have heard, other than your struggling lungs, with your claw you pull yourself over onto your stomach, and as you do. Blinding lights hit your eyes.

The flash of light lasts a moment, but it is enough to wound your eyes. Intense and harsh. As you blink, trying to force the retina burn to ease, you feel a hand reach for your cheek.

Through the blinking lights and the hazy vision, you see a light behind the back of a head. Eyes gazing into yours.

With each blink the colours flicker.

Red.

Purple.

Pink.

Green.

Blue.

Before your claw reaches out, desperate, shaking. The eyes turn, look at the twisted thing attached to you, before the hand pushes you away, pulling back. A hiss of disgust.

A violent rejection…

And you fall again.

—----

You have been pushed to complete this mission before you are ready. There is no rest, when you have a leash so tight around your neck you can feel the air leave your lungs.

You stare at the man before you, who guards his lover with the snarl of a dragon guarding a treasure. As he gasps to right himself. Trembling as your EVOL's influence stops ripping through his limbs.

At least there is something to be learned. Now if you could just deal with the red eyed man.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

It grates at you. Kitten. Kitten. Kitten.

"Stop calling me that." You snarl at him. It is not something you are prone to feeling, a violent feeling under your skin, on a job. You have become good at locking back the feelings to complete a mission. You are good at getting through them. At not feeling.

Why do these two have any impact on you? The people they spend time with? Why does your mind fracture through the feelings you cannot name?

"You never used to complain, is sweetie better? Beloved?"

It rattles at you, fierce and violent. Your brain tumbling through the darkness, seeking out a ledge to grasp.

So you rush him, dagger aimed for his throat.

It does not land, brushed aside with a careful hand, before you stab forwards again.

Again.

Wild and furious and desperate.

Your movements are easily deflected, and when he aims a punch you dart back. Staring at him. Forcing yourself to ease. You have to control it.

You have a target.

Electric and scalpel. If you can't finish, you will feel them again. The reminder of your worthless body on the awareness of agony.

EVER can do worse to you. You cannot give them a reason to.

"You are not my target." You manage to speak, correcting your grip on your dagger, flexing the claw at your side. "Stand aside, I would rather not kill anyone I do not need to."

It's bitten off and harsh, tinged in all the fury you cannot seem to pull back to heel.

Red eyes narrow at you, as the man adjusts his cuffs, moving to stand in front of the doctor, who pulls himself up a little. Breathing easier. "I won't let anyone hurt him, not even you Kitten, and this isn't you."

"I told you-"

You barely get it out before the mist grabs your arm, tugging you forwards and down. So you snarl, and throw yourself at him like the dog you've been called too many times.

Fangs bared, dagger out, and claw extended.

You slash at his face, kick out at his leg, when his EVOL grasps at you, you force it to shatter to the gold running over your skin. Though it never dissipates for long. A hand grasps the wrist of your claw, tightening against where the ice still has you frozen. Squeezing enough to crack it, and you let out a gasp of pain.

Red eyes turn to it, the damage in front of his eyes, and you stab into his chest with the dagger when he does. He releases you for a moment but grabs the wrist holding the dagger, eyes wild and canines bared.

He pushes himself further into the blade, staring down at you.

"The hell are you doing? Do you want to die?"

He barks a laugh, advancing, hand tightening so your bones creak, "When I die, it won't be the person in front of me doing it."

You push the dagger in, growling when he winces in response, "You say that now-"

A shiver runs up your back as the red flares. As his one eye glows.

The world sinks away for a moment. Leaving that pinpoint of red.

Devour.

Only you-

Devour him.

And this flower-

Devou-

"Get out of my head." You snarl, the gold shattering him back. You reach up for your head, stumbling back, leaving the dagger in his chest. The world tilts at an angle, and you slip to the floor.

It crackles and it stings, and the world turns to static. Your surroundings are in technicolour, before dimming into grey.

There's flowers fluttering in the breeze, before they scatter and become nothing but ash.

He pulls the dagger out of his chest, looking at you as you force yourself to your knees. You watch him hold it, like it's precious. Like it matters, rather than throwing it aside.

The man handles it with care, as he places it on the ground. "I do wish Rafayel hadn't taught you to use that, sometimes. Sharp little thing."

You turn eyes to him, scrambling back like a cornered cat, daring not to blink, as you will your mind to steady, to focus. To do something other than fracture.

The devil you don't know. The failure that awaits you.

You extend your hand, the lightning arcing, but rattling through your bones. You bite off the pain, relieved when his advancements stop, moving out of the way of your uncontrolled desperation.

The doctor has recovered mostly, standing, "Sylus, we need to get them somewhere safe."

"I know, doctor."

You stare up as the red eyes approach, as they waver on the edge of softening, before gleaming once again, "Let's get you fixed, kitten."

Fixed.

Arm replaced, body broken, mind fractured.

EVER wanted to fix you. Make you better.

You can't be fixed.

The hand grasps at your arm, pulling you up, stumbling against his chest. You don't struggle, caught in the gleam of red, seeing the swirling colours.

Answers you can't grasp.

The red is all you can see, the static bleeding into an abyss.

There is a whisper on the edges of your mind, husky and deep, warm and ready.

'Tell me you want me.'

Heat against your neck, teeth and tongue. A shiver down your spine, warmth against limbs. Thighs grasped in a tight hold as a growl warms the edges of your soul.

'Tell me you feel good.'

A gasp, a moan of satisfaction. The feeling of tumbling over the edge, but being caught. The answer on the tip of your tongue.

'Say my name, kitten.'

A mantra that resounds around you. A song sung through the fog. Music that lights the sky.

'Do you love me?'

Warmth in chest, a small flutter of life. An affirmation of everything that matters.

The scalpel in hand. The claw at your hand. The questions that have no answers.

The static.

"Get-" The beast roars to life, its jaws snapping as you reach for it, desperate.

"Out-" Tears on your cheeks, it curls around your broken heart.

"Of-" It's head rears, guarding you from the agony of the abyss.

"My-" The silver filtering over your skin, the creature serving you willingly.

"Head!"

You snarl with it, pushing him back. Watching the pain in his face, the silver skittering through his skin, like poison in veins. He falls, and he slumps. You hear the gnash of teeth, the growl.

You push further.

Forcing him down, hand on shoulder now as he is pushed to his knees.

Your heart twitches, and hurts, and aches. Resonance fleeing from you as the beast hungers and snaps and bites at the bit to pull the mist into its maw.

"Sylus!"

The ice that is flung at you, melts before touching you, as the beast whose leash you do not hold turns its attention to the doctor.

You can feel the shaking, through your legs, into your arm. It is only the claw that does not tremble, that does not feel like it will shatter at a touch.

Releasing the man, you turn to the doctor. Catching for a moment, the agony in red eyes as hands reach out, seeking you, but weakly grasping at air as you force agonised limbs to respond.

Your claw grabbing the doctor's hand as he winces. As the dampener rips part of him out of his reach.

You know your resonance is part of you, instinctual and like the blood in your veins. To have it torn out even for a moment… would be agony.

It is the weak guilt, of a heart that trembles against the beast squeezing it, that eases the grip so you do not bruise the doctor's skin this time.

As you fight nausea.

As you command your body to be the tool it was made to be.

As you pull the doctor with you into the jump, leaving the heartbroken cry of a name you don't recognise behind as red eyes shut.

When you finally skid to a stop, the pain too much to fight through, the new scarring up your arm from where lightning damaging blood vessels, and the beast finally releasing its grasp. You stumble into open space. Releasing the doctor for a moment.

It is too much, too many things that you cannot fully control, too many sensations in your head that hurt.

Too many thoughts and too many feelings.

Agony, and loss. Loss that tears into your stomach and tears out your innards. The guilt grows and weighs down your shoulders, reminding you of the pain in red, and the shivering under hand when you had placed it on shoulder.

A job was a job, you tried to remind yourself. It was a move to be made. If you did not, worse awaited you than the hurt you could inflict on others.

You think.

It does not feel as sure as it once did, as you force your body to behave. To listen, to pay attention to you. You have to keep moving.

The doctor recovers from the dampening slowly, "What was that?" He forces, "Sylus-"

"He'll live." You snap, reaching over to pull the man closer by the wrist, "Phone." Your hand extends, and it is at that moment you remember your dagger. Discarded on the ground, in the hands of a man you do not know.

It is shock that recognises the feeling you have, like a lump is in your throat. Grief. You have lost something precious, and you will never get it back. The only thing you owned and cared about, with its familiar carved symbols and the weight in your hand like something you could trust. A tether to something that reminded you, you had something to value.

Gone.

A piece of you is gone.

Hurt is what makes you tug the doctor closer, a raw wound you cannot salve, "Phone, now."

He hands it over, and you would give him credit for his steady expression, the look on his face that does not feed into fear.

So he is not a pathetic scientist like the others, then? Able to hold your gaze for as long as you can bear to hold anyone's. Not flinching at you, not trembling.

If he were not on the list, perhaps he would be one of the more pleasant scientists to get prodded by.

You crush the thing in your hand, throwing it away, before tugging him forward.

He sets his feet, making you feel as though you are pulling against a wall.

"Doctor Li," You hiss through teeth, desperate to get back, to find a dark room and hide in it. To not have to think for a moment, about hazy red and angry sensations of agony, "I will knock you out and drag you, if I have to."

The Doctor watches you, calculating for a moment. You can almost guess the process. Is it worth it to run? Can he fight? You hope the show of strength with dampening his EVOL will convince him otherwise.

He does not have to know you don't think you can do that again. Not for a very long time.

Maybe not ever.

You hope never again.

Pained red, and shivering skin.

"Alright." He exhales, allowing it as you pull him towards you this time. You jump, several more times, before the both of you stumble into the white halls of the EVER compound.

The familiar smell of, what you hope is, antiseptic and disinfectant doing nothing to calm the raging vortex inside of you.

"Follow me, if you run, I'll break a leg." You snap, releasing his arm like it burns you. Truthfully the sensation of touching anyone is at odds with the way you have lived these few months.

You don't want to think about the feeling of his neck under your hand for a very long time. Even if you can already see the bruise forming under his skin.

"Do you often threaten your prisoners?"

"You're the first one. I normally just kill my targets."

He scoffs, it would almost sound like a laugh, if he didn't sound so disgusted. You shouldn't be surprised that he is horrified by what you've said. A normal person should be. Let alone the so-called doctor with the heart of gold.

You lead him to Leon's lab, relieved to see the man is there for the first time in your memory. If only to be done, to wash your hands, to curl up and burn the memories off your skin. You can see the static on the corners of your vision. Flickering like a ghost you can't quite get into your line of sight.

Haunted.

You're just not sure which unknown grief is causing it.

"Little bomb-"

There's a noise of disgust behind you, as the doctor walks in front of you. Like he is half shielding you. It's a strange thing, to be looking up at the back of the head of a man who you have strangled. Tried to freeze. Whose lover you just brought to knees and made hurt.

"Doctor Li?"

The familiarity of Leon is a relief. He is easy to handle, he is a man who your emotional capacity can recognise. Disgust, hatred, violence need to tear, all very familiar. He is almost safe, in the kind of way the knowledge of a snake's venom is safe.

"Mission completed, can I go?" You snap, pulling away from the two. Itching to throw the claw away from you.

"You need to see medical." Leon notes, looking down at the new scarring up your arm, the blood on your hand, "You're not normally this sloppy, little bomb. Issues?"

"I did my job, didn't I?"

"If a tool breaks-"

"It'll be replaced." You snap back, then look at the doctor, "Have fun committing crimes against nature, Doctor Li.."

The Doctor's eyes narrow, cold, but he's looking past you, not at you. "I assure you, I will not be assisting EVER."

You want to laugh at him, the idea is laudable. Truly. Experience has taught you, however, that if EVER cannot use someone, they will break them. The fear of the punishment can often keep at bay.

What they cannot instil with fear… well you've heard the stories of mind control. You're not yet sure what is worse. To serve them willingly, or to lose your mind to become a true mindless tool.

One gives the weak hope of escape, you suppose.

"Can you go get the cot before you leave? We don't have any spare rooms for you yet, Doctor, so I'm sure you'll be fine staying in the lab for now."

"I've slept in worse places." He bites off, though there is little change to his expression. The term ice queen suits him, you think. He must be furious, you're sure he is, or at least thinking of ways he can escape. Instead he simply is observing.

You turn your attention back to Leon, raising a brow at his command, but not moving.

His sigh is long suffering, like he should never have expected anything else when you do not respond to him, and he walks off, "I'll get it then shall I?"

"Probably." You spit back, glaring at his back.

"You've been summoned to meeting room four, when you're done here, little bomb."

The exhaustion sinks deeper into your bones. If whoever gives Leon orders has summoned you, it means the chance to run is further out of grasp. The need to lick your wounds, and try to fix the weight on your back will not come soon.

You feel the burning in your eyes for a moment, before you remember there is someone else looking at you. You narrow eyes at Doctor Li, expecting him to look away, instead his warm green eyes soften. In a way that disturbs something in your chest.

"What?"

"Zayne."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Zayne." You know that. You want to say. It was in his file. You're familiar with the basic details of his profile.

'To you, I'm just Zayne.'

Your vision crackles, glitching, before you shake your head violently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." You bite off, stepping back and away, before he can speak to you more. You watch his hand extend, worry in his gaze, that you can't meet because the green makes the static worse.

You manage little else, before you flee. A scared creature, startled by a loud noise. You care little about the scientists who watch you race past them, before you slow and you stumble, and you step through hallways that feel like they stretch forever.

As you try to swallow back bile, and think of anything but agonised red and soft green.

You're done, you're done and you never have to see either man again.

You cannot be found here, and you can just let the feelings lie forgotten.

You can forget the voices and the eyes, you can leave them behind.

You can be the familiar you. Even if there is blood on your hands.

—---

The meeting room is cold. Like most of the compound. When you enter, an older man smiles at you.

You are not well versed in other's expressions, but you feel a chill at his. Like there is something sharp about it. You have not talked to Professor Lucius before, he is a man that commands deep respect, or fear, from those around him however.

You have seen him occasionally, though he is akin to a ghost. Drifting through halls when he has something to do, but otherwise unconcerned with those around him.

Today he stares at you with cool, unwavering eyes. It is not the kind of cool that the Doctor- Zayne has, you note. Calm and steady. It is the kind of cool that reminds you of a snake.

Watchful and venomous.

You do not want to be in this room.

"Ah, Unicorn." It bites at you, reminds you that you are here in a capacity of no control. "I've heard you have achieved a great many tasks for EVER, in your time here."

Unsure how to respond, you offer a nod. It is the first time anyone has acknowledged you, the time you have spent, the work you have done.

Should you feel proud? The feeling is closer to shame, you think.

Seen in a way you do not wish to be.

"Thanks to all of your efforts, we have seen fit to reward you."

"A reward?" Shock moves your mouth before your brain and rationale can remind you that he holds power over your position.

Relief keeps you steady when he does not immediately demand your silence, "Come in."

The door opens, and you first feel fear. The unknown of his words and his actions, make you wonder if this is a cruel trick.

That your reward will be a shot to the head, but maybe that would be a relief.

That your reward will be another limb replaced, to make you a better weapon.

That your reward will be the solitary or the torture or the heart held while still in your chest.

It is a man who enters, sharp black uniform and a hat tilted low over his eyes, before he pushes it back. So you can see pink and purple.

You have seen his face countlessly. Smiling back at you from a silent frame. Warm eyes, and what you think might be love, if you could ever remember. He is familiar to you in a way that only a picture can be.

If asked what he sounded like, you could never answer, but you think you could describe him to anyone, perfectly, down to the very last detail.

Your heart squeezes, like one of the scientists has it in their grip. You fear if you move it will crush under the weight.

There is noise in your ears, the crackling that is becoming too familiar. Your throat is tight and sore, and your lungs will not offer you air as they should. You waver on the edge of unconsciousness. Brain weak and starved.

He steps up before you and smiles as he steadies you with his left hand, "Hey Pipsqueak. I'm home."

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dragonsdendoodles · 2 days ago

Note

Do you have any trans Enoch head cannons?

You know I do and quite a few of these are angsty. No I'm not sorry

He never actually came out to anyone, I don't think. He hates explaining it to people so he just doesn't. If someone he doesn't know asks why he sounds like that or why he's so small, he'll make something up about his age or genetics, but if it's someone he's close to he just gets kind of quiet and tries to change the subject.

The others do know about it--Enoch isn't exactly great at being subtle about anything. There were some awkward conversations, and there was a bit of fumbling here and there due to confusion on some of the more sheltered kids' end, but they all accept him. There hasn't been any conflict or anything about that. (In fact, a good handful of the others are trans too.)

There's only been one incident in the Acre thus far because of it, and it started because he and Horace were being a little less careful about being gay in public in 1886 than they should have been, and also because Enoch is physically incapable of shutting his mouth and is happy to list off plenty of reasons he's going to hell when prompted.

On bad dysphoria days he doesn't leave the basement, not even for food. He only lets Miss Peregrine, Horace, and Bronwyn in his room to bring him meals. (The others can come in if they ask really nicely, but he doesn't like it because he knows how bitchy he can come across sometimes and he feels bad about it.) This does not get better after the whole face scar thing.

No one in the house knows his deadname. No one would ask, but he's still not telling you.

Someone suggested he named himself after his peculiarity (the Book of Enoch is about the revolt of God's angels before the flood. Fall of Lucifer, stuff like that) and I fucking love that idea and I'm stealing it. That's canon now fight me

Enoch has had... not great experiences with people outside of Miss Peregrine's loop finding out about this. It was another big reason alongside his peculiarity that he was treated so badly in his old loop. Sometimes that makes him refuse to talk loud enough for anyone but whoever's next to him to hear, because "people always guess right, and then I open my mouth and they 'correct' themselves."

Horace helps a lot, doing anything from helping him pick out clothes to actually yelling at people for making transphobic comments even if they weren't actually about Enoch, which makes Enoch happier than he thinks he has any right to be. Horace insists this is stupid and is happy to be the big loud scary one for once so Enoch won't feel as bad.

#the “people get it right until they hear my voice” thing is a true story btw #that's the one thing i'm not looking forward to going back to panera #mphfpc #enoch o'connor #dragon’s headcanons

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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

Text

Prey Animals (10)

— Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 5.6k

— Warnings: Violence, drugs, murder, mafia shit, hurt/comfort, controlling relationships, implied spousal abuse,

— Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

(105 days before, Yoongi)

Yoongi slides the new phone out of the case gently, undoing the packaging with a loud crinkle.

He’s set up on the kitchen table in the cottage. It’s morning and the coffee is half gone in the pot and fresh rings on the wood, chipped at the side. The tv left on just to keep the silence from grating. The first thing he does with the new phone is take off the back, fussing with the screws before he pops off the metal membrane. It takes a bit of force. Clatters to the floor in the process.

Yoongi leans over, taking in the dust bunnies under the table. Fingers skimming the gouges on the floor. Gouges he hadn’t noticed before. Who knows what they’re from. There are filled bullet holes in the bathroom, tiles that are shattered at one edge. If there has been violence here. It’s been plugged over with wood filler and spackle.

Yoongi picks it up and returns to the task at hand.

It’s not just a new model, it’s the newest model. If it’s bugged, there’s nothing immediately concerning about it in the wiring behind the backing. It doesn’t heat up too fast or have any suspicious battery discharge. He lets it charge and go to empty before he pops the sim card home.

You can never be too sure.

He’d found it conveniently dropped off at his front door with a thank you not from the Ahn family after yesterday’s evening round of text messages had gone unanswered. The pathway and driveway shoveled from snow too. The first snow of the season makes the city fall to almost a standstill. But he’s glad to spend the morning uncalled on at the cottage, even if the silence makes Yoongi uncomfortable, so use to the thrum and puppy pell mell of the pack tumbling all over each other in the morning. Unused to being able to hear the slight prick of snow falling outside and the damp dullness of winter without a hand to hold.

He busies himself with cleaning up and making little changes around the house. Happy to have something for his hands to do and ease his mind. Like fixing a squeaky door and righting one of the cabinets that have sagged, making it flush with all the others.

How the family figured out his phone was sabotaged; Yoongi has no idea.

The phone is just another bribe in a long list of them, his house is littered with other similar gifts. Most lay unattended in the doorway. A thick breasted coat from Burberry, a pair of Testoni shoes, a shotgun sitting by the door, the barrel already full of bullets tied with a bow. He’d also gotten a kilo of cocaine, bricked up already, but that he’d barely paused before flushing that down the toilet.

This phone came with a gentle invitation for dinner. Another one that cannot be skipped. He’s booked and busy for the next few weeks. Yoongi opens the phone unsurprised to find it littered with no fewer than 400 contacts, meticulously labeled, Every single eligible alpha for succession, the heads of house and their wives and husbands.

The Ahns oldest and head of house is favorited, already added as Yoongi’s emergency contact. Yoongi scoffs. At least he knows who to put on do not disturb.

But there is one contact, down there near the very bottom. Yoongi clicks it.

Yoongi thinks there’s a lot of reasons why he’s still thinking about you now, even days later, maybe it’s because there’s finally someone here like him, someone who doesn’t revel in the bloodshed or find satisfaction in the law breaking and mayhem that the family causes behind closed doors. Maybe it’s the draw of survival, of having someone nearby who’s as fucked over as he is.

It’s just because she’s pretty, and you can’t resist a project. A voice that sounds like Seokjin’s teasing whispers in his ear. As if, Yoongi replies, because daydreams are as close to the pack that he gets these days. It will take more than a pretty girl to tempt me. He says, mentally, conveying his response to Seokjin. Precisely 216.1 miles away.

He’s going a little bit crazy; can you get withdrawal symptoms from people? How has it already been two weeks since he held them? Since he touched them? The pack. Yoongi feels their absence like a dull ache, the touch-starved-ness turning his skin sensitive and the thoughts in his mind loud without another person to talk too. Is Yoongi losing his voice? Or is he just losing his mind cooped up here?

Maybe it’s because you’ve left your scarf here. The one you used to tie up your hair. Right now, it hangs on the other chair.

Yoongi does not know what to do with it. He leaves it in the kitchen, put it in the pocket of his coat to give you then next time he sees you- but then he might lose it. He puts it on his bedside table, hangs it from the doorknob. He spends a lot of time, more time than he realizes, looking at it while he eats, while he drinks, while he contemplates reaching out to the pack to let them know that he’s alright, that he’s alive. To at least let them know that he’s not coming back- at least not any time soon.

Yoongi wonders if they’ll even want him back after all of this, or if leaving without saying anything will be too much of a betrayal to stomach.

It’s a good thing that the cities snowed in today, otherwise Yoongi might be tempted to accept the Ahns invitation just to quiet his thoughts. He can use the weather as an excuse, more suitable than his disinterest. He spends his morning dodging requests for meetings formal and informal. Turning down casual invites unwanted however polite they might be. Yoongi takes this as a moment of reprieve, a free day and evening.

The snow keeps falling. Covering his driveway in one inch, two, then three.

In the meantime, Yoongi explores the cottage, taking note of everything that needs to be fixed. It’s better than wallowing.

It’s a bit of a surprise that the last beta and the late Don turned the safe house into something of a love nest. There’s still an ‘I love you’ sticky note stuck to the yellow fridge and more notes left in the junk drawer. And it makes a discomfort rise in his chest so thick. He takes the note off the fridge and puts it in a small side drawer full of rubber bands so that he doesn’t have to look at it.

It’s one of the things that makes him pick up his phone and text- not anyone from his pack (that’s too risky). But you.

Maybe you’re doomed, but that doesn’t mean that Yoongi can’t try and make it a little bit better. He types out his message after staring at your contact for a few minutes. Hitting send before he can consider if self-preservation is a virtue or a fault.

--- (11:12am):��Let me know if you want to go out again somewhere you probably know the city better than me at this point and I’d love to see it again.

It’s pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. A flimsy excuse at best. But maybe removing you from your husband’s presence for just a few hours will make a difference. Yoongi’s fucked but maybe you aren’t quite yet. You remind Yoongi of himself just before he left. So uncomfortable and alone. Obviously so ill-suited for this life.

His text remains unanswered, but that's okay. He didn’t expect you to get back to him right away.

He fixes the burner on the stove that hasn’t lit in years and locates a screw gun and some screws for more of the cabinets. Witling away the hours with hard work and his hands.

Yoongi decides he does actually like the cottage. Likes it- because its honestly been years and years since he’s lived in anything close to a house and not an apartment. Sure, the doorways are drafty and it’s not pretty on the outside but there is a certain peace in shuffling to and fro at the little coffee station, in sitting in the old chair in the corner or sitting at the small two-person table to eat his shitty take out.

Without anyone to cook for, Yoongi finds he’s lost his taste for it.

It’s hard to want to cook, when Seokjin’s not there with a bit of witty banter to cut the loneliness, and the pups aren’t there to beg for slices of carrot or nibbles of chicken. When Hoseok’s not there to fuck with the playlist and Namjoon’s not sitting nearby reading. Keeping a close eye on the movements of the pack. Always watching from the corner of his eye. A presence both protective and watchful.

It’s hard not to daydream about the pack, and harder still not to give into the temptation to think about them. Yoongi fingers the rotten edge of a window picking out old spray foam insultation and daydreams about maybe getting a house for them one day, big enough for all of them.

Fucking Christ, it’s only been two weeks.

He thinks that the rest of the pack would like it. They wouldn’t even have to get a new house because Yoongi would love to learn how to fix it up himself. He’s always been the handyman of their pack, how hard can it really be? Yoongi is already used to replacing faucets and fixing strips of floor that Jungkook accidently breaks when he drops his dumbbells. He’s extended the legs of every one of Tae's bookshelves (and Tae has a lot of bookshelves). Everything else can’t be that hard, right?

Yoongi would never say it, but he likes being helpful. Feeling useful. He likes the affectionate looks he gets from Seokjin and Namjoon when he fixes the leaky faucet for the third time that month. The short pets to his hair or the pecks to his cheek in reward are reminiscent of early happy times when their shitty apartment’s maintenance men couldn’t be trusted not to say anything around Seokjin. When everything felt too dangerous, and their little box felt like the only safe corner of the world. Their own corner of the universe, an ecosystem too delicate to alter.

If he owned this house and wanted to stay in this city- he’d add on a second story and change out the striped wallpaper. He’d fix the cabinets in the kitchen and take off the shutters outside and refinish them. Maybe he’d add on a small addition out front too. They wouldn’t have to be big rooms maybe just a small writing room and library for Tae. He’d cut out the old rotten windows and add more to look out onto the garden because Hoseok’s always complaining about the lack of natural light in their apartment. He could add sunrooms and skylights and re-do the squeaky floorboards. He thinks the wood is pine, Namjoon would know.

He contemplates calling his alpha, his heart giving a pang of grief before he thinks better of it and leaves his phone on the small table. Before he panics and realizes, his number, and all the packs, disappeared when his phone got destroyed. They don’t have his number anymore, and he doesn’t have theirs. Yoongi checks the contacts but- there not there. His knuckles go white, gripping the phone so hard.

He doesn’t even have a fucking picture. The whole pack has social media but-

Maybe it’s safer this way. The temptation is removed. And Yoongi has no one.

Grief consumes him for a moment as he flops on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of the pack on the air. Can almost imagine it in vivid detail. Maybe if Yoongi closes his eyes and wishes hard enough, he’ll open them back up and they’ll all be there, he’ll be at the apartment again. And all of this, his whole life and most of his adolescences, will just disappear.

His hands tighten in the sheets, and it’s like they’re here with him. Curled up close in this queen bed, too small for the seven of them. They’d have to press close to fit. Two people would have to lie on top.

Most of this visit has been too stressful for him to even think of them. But now he aches and aches and aches, like grief is a plant that’s taken home in his chest, prying open his ribs with its greedy roots. Searching for enough motivation to damn the consequences to hell and just reach out-

No. Yoongi cannot. No. Even if it hurts him- he cannot put them in harm’s way.

How many days had he taken their easy affection for granted? How many kisses had he let slip by uncounted? He’d die just to hear Jin’s laugh again. Yoongi’s body burns with the need for his packmates. Burns a little as he blinks back a stinging in his eyes that has nothing to do with the dusty interior of the cottage.

He sighs out a heavy breath, thinking of a future. An impossible one. The 7 of Them, pups maybe, in a house somewhere that Yoongi could build with his own two hands. He imagines a life without any of this. Without any hidden documents or covert meetings. Without any fancy clothes or blood money, without any body bags or secrets.

His dreams smell of innocence and soft cotton, sugar on the air and ice-cream before dinner.

But it’s a useless pursuit; the wishing. Yoongi cannot change where he is right now. He laughs at the ceiling, pipe dream smoking and sputtering out. It echoes in the empty house, dark with no one to flicker the light on as night descends. Shooting stars die out in the vastness of space, wishes make no difference.

Getting his pack back again, owning his own house, and having the money to re-do it is something that’s completely out of reach. Yoongi has no money without the family, Yoongi has no real career either. Surviving this unscathed, is a dream so very far away.

Yoongi puts his odds at being able to leave this at 50%, maybe 60% if he’s lucky. Maybe he’ll get a cool scar out of it. Maybe he’ll get one like Geumjae. But that only brings up bad ideas in his head, because there is one person whose odds of getting out of this unharmed are next to nothing at best. In the single digits if he looks on the bright side of things.

His eyes stray, looking at that damn silk scarf.

It moves, from kitchen to the doorknob, from the bathroom hung out, pressed clean. Heaped and red. He’d taken extra care to press it. He can’t remember the last time he actually tried to use an iron, but he’d removed most of the wrinkles without letting the silk burn.

What a funny thing doom is; it’s as close to a string of fate as people like you can get. Your destruction, your fates are mutually assured. Yoongi is doomed to a life at the next Don’s side, and you are doomed to a life next to your husband.

If Geumjae has his way, both of you will be inexorably tied together for eternity. You’re both fucked.

He wonders what you’re doing right now. The only person in the gang who’s as trapped as he is. The only person who’s like him. Maybe you’re looking up at the ceiling of your bedroom like he is and hoping for a different world and better odds. He wonders if you’re wishing too. What you do like best for your wishes? First stars, eyelashes, or dandelions?

Your bedroom has to be nicer than his, he knows the family brownstone is something out of a museum.

Geumjae inherited their families’ wealth when their parents died as well as their childhood home (if you could even call it that.) Geumjae got it all, its fine crown molding, copper ceilings from the gilded age and similarly golden. The house is large even if it is a brownstone technically, it practically takes up half a city block. Yoongi wonders if you’ve discovered the servants quarters upstairs, what their parents had turned into a playroom and a saferoom- one staircase in and one staircase out. All the hidden passageways.

He wonders what Geumjae has done to the house in his absence. If he’s renovated it into some mockery of modernity with galvanized steel and dark peined windows. The house that you’re no doubt trapped in just like Yoongi was growing up.

Sometimes Yoongi’s daydreams get so vivid it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

The idea of a beta wanting a house and a place to stay is a ridiculous dream, and yet- Yoongi dreams it anyway. He dreams of navy-blue rooms with delicate floral wallpaper and floor-to-ceiling windows and skylights so big that he could watch the snowfall through the world.

He dreams that that he’s lying there, beneath the skylight. Dozing in his bed, half asleep. He dreams he’s somewhere else. Stretched out on some large fur white as the snow and shaggy soft against his fingertips. There’s someone next to him reclining nude just like he is. Bare beneath a stolen stretch of powder blue sky. Blue and white and flesh tone. The fur beneath them is warm, shields them both from the cold.

It's a very very good dream.

He blinks and the person curled up next to him changes with every flicker of his eyelids. One moment it’s Jimin, his blonde hair splayed out all pretty. The next Hoseok is pulling him in for sweet kisses, and then Jungkook lying belly down, eyes dark and glassy, looking at him like he does when the youngest gets all scent drunk and hazy. His smile boyish and lazy.

But then he keeps his eyes closed longer, aware of what he’s going to see when he opens them, that he won’t like it.

You are there stretched out on that carpet with him. Your eyes staring unblinking at him, so still. The white fur is wet, and when Yoongi looks, it’s no longer white but red. It’s not a fur at all, it’s just a pool of blood still warm.

Someone’s shot you between the eyes, and Yoongi feels the gun in his hands and tastes the powder on his teeth before he wakes from the nightmare with a start.

He blinks back the wetness in his eyes and rubs furiously at them. The low winter sun has set outside already. Yoongi can see his breath in the air and when he walks to the windows, he finds the snow still falling. Hazy through the streetlights. He turns the heat on as high as he can make it. But it does nothing to thaw the icy feeling in his fingers.

When he looks down at his phone, he finds the notification there. It’s not a text at first, just a photo.

They’re tarts? Or are they cakes? It’s hard to tell- they look sugary but sweet, dewy from some glaze and maybe crumbly. They look good, mouthwatering actually.

He remembers asking you the other night, just before you left. “What do you like to do anyway, plan parties? Shop? or is fancy jewelry and polite scheming your only hobby?”

Now he has his answer.

Mrs. Min (5:54 pm): Hope you’re staying warm. I’ve just made these, if you want to come over you can have some. You know where I’ll be.

Mrs. Min (5:54 pm): Geumjae’s not here. Won’t be back until late.

Yoongi forgets his gloves on the way out. Grabbing his jacket and leaving the cottage so quickly he forgets to lock up.

But he does not forget to put your scarf in his pocket this time.

~-~

Your and Geumjae’s house is just as Yoongi’s pictured it, a conflagration of old-time class and decadent furniture, touches here and there of on the nose modernity. Brocade and Kaws statues that must cost half a mil, expensive dark wood floors and fake plants in the corner.

If he looks too closely, he can still see hints of his parents. The downstairs powder room is still the same, styled in the same way that his mother decorated it when he was eight. The fancy sink is still the same one she imported from Italy. Apparently, cut from the same stone as statues of goddesses and gods. The marble imperfect- stained in places from lifetimes of use. The same coat rack that Yoongi’s father used sitting in the corner that holds only Geumjae’s collection of sharp Chanel coats.

The staff in the front room takes Yoongi’s jacket from him with a gentle, “Welcome back Mr.Min, it’s good to see you home.” Yoongi spends a few extra moments looking around as he changes into the house slippers provided for him. He doesn’t realize what he’s looking for until he doesn’t find it.

There is no evidence of you on the ground floor of the house, not a soft touch in the room that could hint that Geumjae even has a wife. Not even a hair tie on the marble floor. Not even a pair of shoes or coat by the door.

Yoongi’s jaw tenses. Teeth clenching behind his lips.

The staff here know better to be seen and not heard. They’re just finishing up their Wednesday cleaning. The whole house smells like ammonia and in places- bleach. The kitchen is a similar monster of modern touches and decadent tackiness. It’s fashioned in the Tuscan style, too much crown molding juxtaposed with clean edges and stainless steel. There is an industrial chefs kitchen in the back of the house for hosting family dinners. This one shows no sign of wear or use.

You are there at least, dressed more casually that Yoongi’s ever seen you and still- all your clothing is tight. A workout fit high at the neck and long at the wrists. The front of your dark shirt spotted with flour. The bruises on your face are healing, the makeup you wear is lighter. You don’t even need to use color corrector anymore.

Someone must have taken out your stitches in the days since he’s seen you.

Yoongi takes one step into the kitchen, surely you must have heard him come in. But stops once the scent hits him.

Honey, delicate and sweet on the air assaults him, just like Jungkook’s scent.

Yoongi’s breath goes tight in his throat. You are wearing black oven mits to take the tray out of the oven. You raise your eyebrows at him in the doorway. Where Yoongi stands frozen like a statue.

“Are you alright?”

Yoongi steps closer, stumbling over the even floor. Hands hitting the counter. Eyes downturned at the pastries. “What are those?” he asks, the emotion makes his voice hushed. Rough. Maybe Yoongi really is losing his voice.

“Honey cakes.”

Yoongi blinks quick. Watching as you pop them out of the tray with a fork. Practiced. Like you’ve done it thousands of times. “They need to cool for a moment and then they get a honey drizzle, I’ve got the third batch in but-” Yoongi hears you speak through white noise, watching them, the steam rising on them from the baking tray. You don’t remark upon his silence. Everything is fine.

“After they cool, I’ve had tea set up in the drawing room.”

There are other things he should be saying, more conversation he should offer but instead, he’s looking at the honey cakes. They’re perfect little hexagons with delicately imprinted and honeycomb on top. They look so pretty, and they smell so good, but not better than they taste.

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t expect him to as he starts eating them, a cup of black coffee in a teacup for him too after he’d declined the tea.

Fuck- he misses them so bad. Coffee like Namjoon, honey like Jungkook, the cream in the tea set Seokjin and the sugar on the table Hoseok.

Your rain scent sparks, distressed.

“Yoongi-” you clink your glass on the saucer, and it makes you both flinch. “Are you okay?” Yoongi does not meditate his scent back into his salty chocolate. He knows he smells like a typhoon, but he just can’t help it. He lets it hurt because there is no avoiding his guilt and pain at this. He eats one, then another, horking it down like a man starved.

He is a man starved.

“I’ll be alright.”

He eats, and you let him go without asking again.

You’ve never known a beta before, but you get the feeling that no matter your prior expectations. Yoongi will exceed them.

The food fills the place in him where love should be. Outside the window in the stately garden sits with not a leaf or branch out of place. You’re similarly perfect, except for a single strand of hair that escapes its careful confines. In another world, Yoongi might tug all of your hair free from its pins. let it hang around your face pretty and wild. In another world, you would sit on the same side of the table and not a coffee table apart.

Your socked feet lay folded to the side, crossed at the ankles, pressing into the red carpet.

“These are-” he swallows, breathing. “-Very very good. Where did you learn to bake?”

You shrug, “no one taught me, I sort of just picked it up. I like sweets so-”

“Sweet tooth then? Do you know how to make any real food?” You scowl, puffing up, nibbling on just one of your honey cakes, Yoongi has eaten three in the time it’s taken you to eat just half of one. It bothers him, for some reason. It bothers him a lot.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I bet you don’t even know how to fold egg whites correctly.”

“I bet you let bacon burn.”

It feels good to tease each other, and Yoongi’s scent goes chocolatey, just a little bit. It cuts the melancholy. Yoongi reaches for another honey cake.

“Do you know how to bake then?”

“No, but me and my pack omega, we usually cook for everyone.” Your finger skims the edge of your China teacup. Yoongi can see the darkness of the tea through the side. Herbal, dark and pink.

“What’s it like- having pack? Having more than one-” You break off, looking in the direction of the doorway, as if you’re worried Geumjae will enter. If speaking his name will summon him. “Packmate.”

Yoongi swallows his cup of coffee, thinking. For many houses in the family, multi person packs are considered too dangerous. You can only bite one person with a mating mark, you can only bond your soul to one other person- not two or three or six in Yoongi’s case. Your world relies on the mating marks to limit liability. Everywhere else multi person packs are sort of the norm these days, with alpha’s outnumbering omega’s and all and Beta’s being so scarce. Housing prices are expensive and so is childcare. Resources go farther when shared.

The only houses that have a ruling head of house with more than one packmate is the Moon family and the Lucchese’s, and they keep both of their packs under wraps or abroad were distance promises safety.

It’s just another rule that Yoongi is exempt from.

“It’s very loud, but-” Yoongi hesitates, thinking about what Geumjae had said barely a few days ago, about ulterior motives and pretty women. Thinks about how wrong he is. Your questions are so innocent. Your eyes so hopeful and earnest.

“It’s very nice, having many people to love and love you. Makes it easier.”

“Makes it easier for you to move around and go from pack to pack, like you need too- you mean?”

Yoongi doesn’t fault you for your assumptions, he knows he’s probably the only beta in the country that has only one pack, so Yoongi does not scold you just shakes his head. “No, I only have one pack,” Yoongi swallows, “besides this one, and between you and me fuck the family. It’s just this and them for me. I don’t need anything else.”

You sip your tea. “They’re all male, aren’t they?” Yoongi sighs but nods. Homogenous packs are much more common than mixed primary gender packs, most of the time when a male alpha meets a female omega, or when a female alpha meets a male omega- they tend to stay just a pair like you and Geumjae.

There is a collection of purple roses on the tea tray, from Moonbyul’s house the other night (although they look suspiciously fresh for that).

“You’re a good cook you know, even if you don’t know how to cook bacon.” Yoongi teases you to distract from the discomfort of your questions. You flush, substantially plied. No one has complimented your cooking in a long time, and something that feels a bit too much like pleasure lodges it’s self in your throat. So instead you nudge the plate of honey cakes.

“Really Geumjae probably won’t have any of them, you should eat as many as you want, take some home if you like them so much.” You both watch golden hour fade to blue. It feels nice to sit like this, maybe it’s not interesting. But it’s the companionship that you’ve both been craving.

“I will.” Yoongi eats another. Crumbs on his cheeks.

“You got a new phone.” You say idlily, looking up at him from under your lashes, thick and dark.

“I did.” He folds his hands Infront of him, looking at you, sort of grinning, sort of rueful. “Lost my other one.”

Yoongi collects things about you like a child might collect small pretty stones, you like to bake, you know how to make maybe fifty different pastries. Most of which you promise to show Yoongi.

“If beauty is currency, I wonder how you view cookies?” Yoongi parrots the words you said the other day. Hopefully you won’t know how they’ve stuck in his head (like the rest of you and the little moments you’ve shared. The crisscross of the back of your corset, the red scarf in his pocket in the entry way. Still not returned to you. Yoongi collects them like keepsakes, shoved into the back of his mind, where they can’t cause any damage)

You snort into your tea, parrying his words. “If baking is less important than cooking, I wonder why you’ve eaten six of my honey cakes.” Yoongi puts his cup down, empty.

“I’d like to do this again, if you have the time for it.”

Your expression goes serious and your teacup clings in its saucer. Your hands are shaking. “Geumjae won’t like it.”

Yoongi’s hand goes across the table. Squeezing your knuckles in his. You go quiet and he stares you in the eyes, his gaze soft. This time you don’t glance away.

“Maybe we just won’t tell him.”

~-~

Yoongi stands in the doorway, and he knows it’s time to leave. Geumjae will be home in an hour and you have to make yourself presentable for dinner. This time Yoongi does not comment on that- your need to do your makeup.

Yoongi might like you- sticky cheeked from the honey cakes, a little better. You’re less unsteady. At least your cheeks seem more round now. Maybe he shouldn’t be suspicions of your thinness. Maybe he shouldn’t think things like that about practically strangers.

But you are not strangers, technically- you’re his family now. Through marriage and not by blood, not the same pack (so really it hardly matters) but family all the same.

Yoongi hesitates. “I’m sorry, for the other night, I should have been more careful to tie your corset back the same way that he tied it.”

You fail to meet Yoongi’s eyes. It’s the first time someone’s apologized to you in years, it feels so strange to hear it now, let alone from someone who looks so much like your husband.

“It’s okay, he-” Your eyes flash up to his. “He didn’t make it any worse than usual.”

“Make what worse?” he asks, but you dodge his question, helping him step into his jacket. Yoongi hovers in the doorway, waiting, prolonging his departure. Plunging his hands in his pocket. Feeling something silky smooth and cold to the touch. His eyes light up and he pulls your scarf out.

“You forgot this the other day.” Your hands hover on his, looking down it then up at him through your lashes. An indescribable expression on your face. “I would have brought it to dinner the other night, but I was worried about losing it.”

You pause, hesitating before you take it from him. Your fingers press against the pulse point at the inside of his wrist, beating steady and speeding up.

You smile. It’s the first time he’s seen you really smile, the kind that’s not fake and for the family, and his chest feels tight.

He can’t look away, won’t look away.

You tie it around his wrist like a bow. The same way he tied your corset shut. Your fingers are warm when they brush against the small but sensitive scent gland on the inside of his wrist. Chocolate blooms in the air, at odds with the honey. Yoongi breathes deep and doesn’t smell anything coming from you at all. No scent neither happy nor sad.

“There” you say, when the bow is pulled tight, letting his wrist go. Yoongi gently lowers it to his side. “Now you won’t lose it.”

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

-It’s absurd the amount that I think about these characters, like tell me why this whole time I think stuff like “yeah Yoongi is totally not the type of person to use punctuation in his text messages.”

- While editing the story this time around, I realized that having every one of the houses be Korean would not make much sense, especially with what I know about the American mob scene (more than you realize) I couldn’t just leave it alone. I have a list of all the families and their various business written out if anyone’s ever curious.

- Tbh I think Yoongi’s heart stopped a little when she tied the bow around his wrist. I think I’m doing a better job of making her a more sympathetic character.

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kpopsexstories · 3 days ago

Note

hi can i request xiapjun wayv rpugh sec with breeding kink?

And, even though this one actually takes place in a hotel room, it's also a response to: "Xiaojun smut when he doing it on a backstage or maybe in practice room?"

One-shot #19: Backstage Sex with WayV Xiaojun

This is the 19th story of my broader Mixed One-shots series.

Celebrity: WayV Xiaojun x Female Reader

Sex Content: Girl shouts "impregnate me Xiaojun" when he's on stage, Standing, Missionary, Dirty talk, A little rough.

Type of Sex: WILD

Word Count: 3.8k

When WayV is on tour there's a running joke between the members: that one of them will end up getting a fan pregnant. Ten was the one who said it first, when Winwin had unprotected sex with a girl he only just met. This was before he left the group, of course, but the joke – and the promiscuity and sexual habits of the boys – have lived on ever since.

Xiaojun, however, was not one to take the joke seriously. Actually none of them really did. Winwin's bare dick in the pussy of a random fan who happened to be in the right place at the right time was nothing short of a mistake. Since that day, condoms were a staple in their mental packing lists, and those who wore the same size frequently borrowed from one another.

A very much related recurring joke was that they collectively contributed negatively to global warming. Their reasoning was the excessive consumption of rubber, which – they joked – was so far above the average that surely it must be measurable. Yangyang was the one who came up with that one.

Fame certainly came with perks, but jokes aside the boys didn't actually have an excessive amount of sex. It happened, even with fans, and they did all pack and use condoms. But to some extent this was also just friendly banter between a group of horny young men. Getting laid wasn't as easy as one might think when you were famous, nor were they as reckless as their jokes made them out to be.

Bringing a stranger – especially someone who was also a fan – back to the hotel room was always risky. Xiaojun had done it twice. The first time was with a girl he met at a party after a show. The second was with girl who stopped him in the street. She had asked for a photo and he left with her number. A million girls – and guys – would kill for the opportunity.

This story, however, is about the third time. The time when Xiaojun met you, and when your kink became part of the joke and led to an accidental pregnancy. The time when Xiaojun fucked you so good you forgot all about who he was, and when he actually did do something reckless by indulging you in your sexual fantasies.

There was nothing stupid about your body in his arms, but his condomless dick inside you was. Had the others ever found out about it Xiaojun would have dethroned Winwin. From his perspective it's good that they never did.

Your initial contact with one another came when Xiaojun was on stage and walked in the direction of your section. You weren't right next to him, but you were close enough for him to hear you if you shouted extremely loud.

You're not sure quite what came over you that night. Maybe it was the ecstasy of the show and the pure joy you felt. Maybe it was the naive idea of getting personal attention from your idol. Or maybe it was Xiaojun's hot figure that became too much for you to control yourself. Whatever it was, you're glad that you did what you did.

When Xiaojun came closer and looked in your general direction, you yelled from top of your lungs: “IMPREGNATE ME XIAOJUN!”

Xiaojun's eyes widened as he glanced out across the audience. He smiled wide and laughed when he spotted you and you shouted again: “XIAOJUN, I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABIES!”

And guess what? Your adrenaline-induced antics actually worked. Xiaojun seemed to find it funny. And several times for the rest of the night you could swear he was looking at you with a playful lust and desire in his eyes.

Let me tell you a secret: He was undressing you in his mind just as much as you were undressing him.

But then the show ended, and you parted ways. Your interaction with one another could and normally would have ended there. Except in this case it didn't. Because once you returned to your hotel – where you shared a room with a group of friends – there was a sudden commotion in the lobby.

I mean, come on… Call it fate, call it incredible good luck, call it whatever you want. Personally I would say that you're crazy.

The reason you ended up in Xiaojun's bed that night is quite clear to me: You stood out from the crowd by asking him to impregnate you, in front of an arena packed with people, and he was horny enough to be intrigued by it. In fact he loved it. He would have fucked you right then and there – on the stage while the world watched– if only it wouldn't have had terrible consequences.

Instead, he had to settle for his bed. And I'm quite sure neither of you were sad about that. Because damn, you're a filthy one and so is Xiaojun. There's no way you could have done what you did with each other backstage.

I'll spare you the boring details. Instead, I'll tell you what you want to hear: how magnificent Xiaojun was, and how exciting and hot the sex you had would prove to be.

If you could see me right now I'm rolling my eyes at you, but lovingly. Truth be told I'm probably a little jealous. Incredible luck indeed.

Anyway, let me describe your time with Xiaojun in detail. Are you sure you're ready for this?

Sex starts here…

It's late at night and you're in Xiaojun's hotel room after an amazing show. Xiaojun pulls you closer from behind and rips your pants down. You bend forward and grab hold of a table for balance. When you feel his hands exploring your ass and hips with a strong passion, you straighten yourself and lean back into his arms.

“Mm, fuck Xiaojun, impregnate me,” you moan for his pleasure.

I swear, I wish this was all a joke.

His hands glide into your shirt. His fingers reach your boobs while his arms hold you tight from behind. You press your shoulder blades into his bare chest and feel him breathing warm air down your neck.

“Mm, Xiaojun,” you moan and squirm. “Mm, fuck you make me wet.”

Xiaojun is turned on by your words. You can tell it from the way he squeezes and holds you. He doesn't really move, yet the sexual desire is unmistakable in the way his body's tensing.

You recall his lustful looks from the stage. His noises confirm what you already know. “Mm, fuck you're hot,” he says and presses his dick against your cheeks.

“Mm, Xiaojun, I wanna feel your cock inside me,” you whisper in the dark.

“Oh yeah, you will baby. You want me to make you pregnant, huh?”

Your eyes shoot open. “Yes baby, I do. Ohhh, yes!”

He buries his nose in your hair. “You want me to fuck you so good my cum is dripping out of your pussy?”

Fuck! “Yes! Oh, yes! I want your cum in me.”

My God, you make me pregnant just telling you about all this.

Xiaojun suddenly pulls away and turns you around with a violent twist. He grabs your shoulders and holds you firmly, and looks deep into your eyes.

“I don't know you,” he says, ”but I'm sure you'd be a great mom. I'll cum inside you if you want me to. We'll make beautiful babies together.”

“Yes, please, I beg you,” you whimper, weakened by his strong grip and deep, dark eyes. “Please, fuck me!”

Neither of you can hold back any longer. You raise your arms and Xiaojun rapidly pulls your shirt over your head. You make out, hard and passionately, naked and horny. You moan, groan and grind against each other, rubbing your bodies together like you've been desperate for this moment for years.

In truth, you probably have. But Xiaojun didn't even know about your existence until just a few hours ago.

It's hard to know what's going on in Xiaojun's head at this moment. He heard your plea from the stage and it did amazing things to him. You've only just met, yet it feels like he's actually serious about knocking you up. Maybe he knows you'll probably never see each other again, and the risk of making you pregnant is turning him on.

All I know for sure is that, in the moment you're standing there naked together, it turns you on. Just the thought of it arouses you and makes you drip.

*****

You're completely nude with Xiaojun, in his hotel room after his show during which you loudly and recklessly asked him to impregnate you. You're wrapped tight in each other's arms, lips smacking passionately together. You're insane just for being here, and so is he for indulging you in your fantasy. Insane, horny and reckless. Damn, I'm so jealous right now!

Xiaojun grabs your thighs and lifts you up, suddenly raising you onto the table against which you're making out. You spread your legs for him, inviting his sperm to come in. You glance down to see his cock which throbs and points straight out between his strong legs.

You close your eyes and moan when it slips inside your wet pussy. The organ stretches your folds, lubricated by your bodily fluids. You can already feel your maternal instincts jump leaps ahead of reality.

“Mm,” Xiaojun moans. He feels your side boob and pulls you closer with a hand on your lower back. You quickly devour the entirety of his shaft.

“Fuck, don't stop,” you say. It feel hard and hot for the both of you.

“Mm, yeah,” he repeats, while you run your hand down his chest and abs. “Let's make a baby, baby. You want to, right?”

It's what you've been asking for. It's something you've wanted for quite some time, desperately. You never imagined it to be with him specifically of course, but here you are. The desire has turned into a real kink, and consequences be damned, there's nothing you want more in this moment than for Xiaojun to plant his seeds inside you.

His rock hard cock in your tight vagina is just the beginning. You want his bodily fluids to fill you and fertilize you. “Yeah, oh yes, fuck Xiaojun you feel good! Yes, please, pump me full!”

Xiaojun is about to do just that. The words really do turn him on too. He quickly begins to thrust, fast and violently, while he pushes and pulls your ass and clit onto his cock, making you slide back and forth on the table.

You kiss, long and hard. His arms keep flexing and his face quickly begins to twist. You feel him tensing, enjoy the hard muscles in your hands, just as much as his magnificent boner in your hole. The way his waist and hips move when he fucks you good on the table, just the way he promised, feels amazing.

Your hand slides down his side. You raise your legs and rub his thighs with your feet. You pull him just as hard as he is pulling you, your pussy wetter and his shaft throbbing harder than ever.

“Let's make a baby,” you whisper and moan.

“Mm, yeah, I can't wait to meet him,” he says.

“Him?” you ask and give the man a side eye.

That's the last time you joke about this. The rest of this story is no joke at all.

You feel Xiaojun's flat but toned ass cheeks. They're nice, his muscles working tirelessly, and the crack between them feels so good. Distinct, toned, and incredibly sexy and erotic.

He's building up a sweat. You push your arm into his armpit and hold him tight around the back and shoulder. He feels strong. Eager, ready to be your baby daddy.

You drag your hand across his chest, his heart and pecs pumping just as strongly as his cock soon will.

You reach in between your legs, feel the root of the shaft going in and out of your vagina, as it rubs your clit in just the right spot. Your fingers become just as wet as your pussy already is.

And finally you feel his abs, wet and slippery, and his preliminary discharge as you wipe your fingers on his hot body.

“Mm, fuuuck!” Xiaojun suddenly howls. His face is a crumpled mess by now.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” you repeat audibly, each time he slams his dick quick and hard into your hole.

“Shit, you'll be pregnant soon!”

“Yes! Xiaojun! Fill me up.”

The table bangs against the wall.

“I'm gonna put lots of babies in you.”

“Yes, please, put your load in me.”

You lean slightly back, his body pushing into and towering over you.

“Y-you'll be a great… Baby… Mama!”

“Yeeees, ahhh, Xiaojuuuun!”

Xiaojun suddenly thrusts so hard a glass falls off the tabletop. It crashes onto the floor and breaks into a million pieces, a literal metaphor of your life from this day on.

But this isn't it. He won't impregnate you in this moment. Because let's be honest here… the idea of getting pregnant is your kink, not his, and it's not all you want from the man.

Just as you feel him about to discharge you push him away. Xiaojun gets the message and pulls out. He grabs your body and pulls you with him. You make out with such lust and passion it's a wonder you haven't both come already.

He takes you to his bed, where he abruptly throws you onto the mattress. You bounce up and down when you land, naked and horny, while he climbs on top of you.

“Mm, Xiaojun, let me feel your hard dick.”

“Yeah, baby, I can't wait to come inside you.”

“You're serious, right?” you ask and look at him while he pushes his dick back inside you, and you close your eyes and moan. “You wanna be my baby’s daddy, right?”

Xiaojun suddenly stops thrusting his cock into you and looks you in the eye. He holds you with an arm behind your back, pulling your chest and stomach onto his while tilting his head back.

“Yeah,” he says slowly and smiles faintly. “I wanna father our children. May I, please?”

You burst out in an enormous smile. “Yes,” you whisper. “I want a baby, and I want you to be the father.”

“You weren't kidding when you yelled at me on stage?”

Whatever you were thinking back then, you and I both know that you weren't actually serious. But you weren't kidding either. What you thought and felt in that moment was more than just a kink or a funny joke. It's your sexual fantasy, and there are no words to explain the phenomena you experience between you.

“No, I wasn't,” you say with a serious expression. “I want you to fuck me without a condom.”

“Really?” Xiaojun asks, as if he still quite can't believe it. His body abruptly jolts as if what you just said turns him on immensely.

“Yeah. I want your sperm, your seeds, your love.”

Xiaojun finds your words poetic and snickers. He smiles wide and starts to thrust again, rolling his hips slowly while gently shoving his hard dick into your pussy.

He kisses your neck and his hands are all over your sides. He spreads his knees slightly to push the dick deeper with each thrust. You caress his back and ass, faster and more lustfully, and he soon starts to grimace and groan again.

You close your eyes and enjoy the sensation of his shaft stretching you wide, and the feeling of his warm and tensing body wrapped in your arms. He gives you another kiss on the lips, before he buries his head by your side and keeps it still.

He pants lovingly onto your neck while his ass moves up and down. You feel his body reaching a climax, as he breaks into a gentle sweat and saliva drips onto your skin.

Then he finally gets there. Well, not finally, because you could honestly have kept going forever. It was never about the baby.

Xiaojun suddenly gasps. He jolts and jerks and heaves and thrusts as his sperm releases deep inside your pussy. He ejaculates in you with a love and passion that surely can't fail in producing a child. The way he comes inside you there's simply no way his seeds won't take root.

It's not about how fast they swim. It's about how compatible your body is with his. And man, when you feel his dick throb as his balls fill the shaft with cum, shoot it out from the head, fill your pussy and the sperm races to your eggs – you swear you can feel him impregnate you, just the way you asked him to.

Fuck, baby or not, this is the greatest feeling in the world.

Xiaojun's warm, hot, naked body in your arms is incredible. His muscles and warmth feel so good. His dick throbbing and ejaculating feels strong and powerful. And to him, your soft, horny body underneath him is worlds better than he ever imagined having sex with you would feel like, when he spotted you from the stage and undressed you with his eyes.

“FUUUCK, XIOAJUN!” you scream when he fills your womb.

He jolts again, jamming his cock hard and deep. “Ahhh, fuck you're a hot mama!”

You pull yourself onto his shaft with an arm around his neck and a leg wrapped around his, your whole body jerking into his arms. “AHHH, YEEES!”

He jolts a third time, slower but still hard. “Shiiit, I hope they stick,” he exclaims and chuckles when he empties himself fully inside you.

Your body slows down too, your ass sinking into the bed. “Fuck me, you come so good!”

Xiaojun suddenly smiles wide, looking into your eyes again. But he's too weak to speak. You both pant heavily.

“If that didn't make me pregnant nothing will,” you say and giggle, while trying hard to catch your breath.

“I hope I did,” Xiaojun smirks. He's actually not lying.

You lower your legs around him and feel his open arms descending onto you. He holds you close but softly, his hard dick still throbbing inside you as the last drops of cum trickles out.

Fun fact: You weren't actually going to get pregnant until this point. That last trickle of sperm includes the one that will eventually succeed.

Xiaojun lets his forehead weight heavy on your shoulder. He's heaving for air, his warm breath engulfing your breasts. You caress the back of his head as the dick softens.

“Wouldn't that hurt your career though?” you ask, suddenly sounding serious.

“Yeah,” Xiaojun says. “But I wouldn't mind.”

He lifts his head and looks at you, then adds: “I wanna be a father. And I'm serious when I say I think you'd be a great mother.”

I mean, come on, how would the man know? But what is true is that he believes it. You might have just met, but he's felt a connection to you since he first lay his eyes on you. And you've felt it too, years before he even knew you existed.

You chuckle and hold him lovingly. “I'm sure you'd be a great one. Maybe one day.”

“Maybe I already am,” Xiaojun says with a smug grin.

“Maybe you are,” you say softly, not sure if he's talking about this very moment or if he means that he's had a lot of lovers and unprotected sex in the past. Regardless, you don't actually believe in that your sex with him will get you pregnant. “We sure did our best.”

“Yeah, we did,” Xiaojun says and laughs.

He's slowly regaining his strength. You lay in silence for several minutes, his heavy body on top of you and his dick slack inside you.

“Will I see you again at the next show?” you eventually ask, breaking the sweet and tender moment between you.

Xiaojun suddenly looks exceptionally happy. “Why, you coming?”

“Ehm, yeah! If every show is as good as this one, sure I am.”

“The yes,” he says and hugs you tight. “I'd love that.”

You stroke his back and kiss him on the lips. “I'm sure you'll be a great daddy some day.”

“I'm sure you'll be a great mom.” He gives you a wink, then slowly pulls out of you.

He abruptly rolls on his side, then laughs again and says in a mocking tone: ”Impregnate me Xiaojun!”

You chuckle and playfully punch his shoulder. You roll onto his chest and caress him gently, but his words actually make your ovaries go wild. “Well, if it didn't work this time, we can always try again.”

“Don't worry,” Xiaojun says. ”It doesn't matter if you're already carrying my child. We will try again for sure, if you want to.”

*****

You probably have a burning question on your mind right now: Did I ever have sex with Xiaojun again? No, you did not. Sorry ti disappoint, but this was the one and only time. Once you left his hotel room you never saw the man again, at least not in the flesh.

I mean, how could you? How could you tell the poor man that he's a father?

Oh, that's right. You don't even remember that any of this even happened. That's a curious situation, I'll admit.

But there is a simple answer to your precarious situation: It might not be Xiaojun who fathered your beloved child.

It might be Winwin, or Yangyang, or even Ten whose dick erupted inside you only days after Xiaojun's. Perhaps that's why you're in such doubt and denial about all of this.

If only the others had ever learned about any of it. Winwin would have been dethroned for sure, or at least the others would be called his equal. I still can't believe I have to remind you that this ever happened. How can you not remember?

Oh, wait… Now I get it. You do remember, don't you? You just wanted to hear it all again, to make you feel better.

And regarding the question who really is the father… I guess time will tell. For now, you just have to live with the fact that each of the boys you fucked were reckless, and that you were too.

I'm serious and honest when I say that I wish you all the best. It's just too bad Xiaojun will never know that he's a dad. Your kink had some serious consequences indeed, but in reality to no one but yourself.

And now that you've met her you wouldn't want to have it any other way. Whether you understand it or not, Xiaojun is the best thing that ever happened to you. If you were to see him on stage again, I'd strongly advice you to shout the same thing: “IMPREGNATE ME XIAOJUN!”

Because you never know what delightful time it might lead to ❤️🥰👼 Your daughter might want a sibling.

#smut #kpop smut #nct smut #nct #wayv smut #wayv #nct wayv #wayv scenarios #wayv xiaojun smut #wayv x you #wayv x reader #wayv xiaojun #xiaojun smut #xiaojun x reader #nct xiaojun #xiaojun #xiaojun scenarios #xiaojun x you #xiaojun x y/n

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ladyloveandjustice · 7 hours ago

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My Favorite New Manga and Graphic Novels I Read in 2024

I read 114 manga volumes and graphic novels last year! Here’s a link to my Goodreads year in books, which tallies one book from each manga series ( I've arranged it so the manga/gns at the beginning, the novels start with Red, White & Royal Blue) and my storygraph wrap up.

I have a post for my favorite books of 2024 you can read here! I also have a post on my top 12 anime for 2024 and you can read it here! (Also, since a lot of this is yuri, check out my broader yuri manga rec post here!)

Now let's get to all the new manga, with a little check in on ongoing titles at the bottom!

Love Bullet by inee

When someone who has never had the chance to experience love meets an untimely death, they're given a chance to become a cupid. If they help enough people fall in love, they earn the chance to have another shot at life. Koharu meets her end after her best friend, Aki, confesses her love to her, and she becomes a cupid...

Love Bullet is a brand new yuri with fun characters and a cute art style that feels a little charmingly retro. The concept of modern day cupids using firearms and behaving like sharpshooters in an action movie is so fun, but there's also a beating heart behind it. The tragedy of Koharu's life being cut sort and the bittersweet arc where Koharu tries to help her living best friend deal with her lingering trauma over her sudden death...it's touching and well written. We don't know much about the other cupids yet, but they already have a great dynamic--with Koharu being guided by a kind mentor and being challenged by her boisterous battle loving teammate. And, as befitting a yuri, the way the girls approach their jobs is casually queer, with the "targets" often shown to have both guy and girl options.

It's a story with great potential that seems like it could go a ton of interesting places. It's a little different than the rest of this list that it's not officially out in English yet. The reason it's here is because the author sent out an SOS that the first Japanese volume is struggling in sales, and the international yuri community, excited about the awesome story they've seen so far, rose to the challenge and bought out the first volume in Japanese! So far it's been successful, with volume one even going out of stock for a bit. If you end up reading it (you'll have to rely on scanlation but they're easy to find) or even if you just simply want to support a yuri that's outside the box, I really encourage you to do the same. Here's a document on how to buy the Japanese version. Hopefully, the grassroots support will mean we get an official English release soon!

The Summer You Were There by Yuama

All you lovers of tragic lesbians, this is for you. The manga follows Shizuku, a deeply depressed girl who is so guilty about something in her past she's got some serious suicidal ideation going. But when Kaori, a girl in her class, reads her writing and guesses what's behind it, she challenges Shizuku to a bet where she has to write a novel about a romance between the two of them. Now they're suddenly spending a lot of time together, and Kaori is helping Shizuku unpack her guilt. However, Kaori is struggling too. She's actually very sick, and though she hides it, it's getting worse.

The manga is a heart wrenching meditation on grief and redemption. For very different reasons, both girls think they shouldn't be loved for whatever reason, and both girls are shown they're very, very wrong.

I like how Kaori tries to be the manic pixie dream girl who fixes all of Shizuku's problems, but then Shizuku very firmly says "what the hell. no. You need support too" and they're both allowed to be full characters who find solace in each other. Unlike what certain other media have done with the concept! Shizuku's backstory is also really interesting, and it hits well. It's just a very good, but very sad read.

Barefoot Gen by Keiji Nakazawa

Barefoot Gen is a semi-autobiographical manga by Hiroshima survivor Nakazawa Keiji. Nakazawa said the story is taken not just from his life, but those of fellow survivors he talked to and lived with.

The story follows a boy named Gen, depicting how most of his family were killed by the bomb, and how he struggled to survive in a post-war Japan, while surrounded by the horrible effects of radiation poisoning, economic devastation, and American imperialism.

It sticks out from other animanga I've seen about WWII bombings in that it's very critical and angry at the Japanese government, to the point that Gen even calls the Emperor a war criminal. What stands out even more is how direct it is in denouncing of Japan's war crimes against Korea and China, as well as condemning Japanese racism against Koreans. It makes sure you know that Korean POWs and forced laborers also died and suffered because of the bomb, and that the Japanese doctors discriminated against them, forcing Koreans to wait on receiving medical treatment until every Japanese person was treated.

It does a stomach churning, effective job depicting the horror of radiation poisoning and war, and its message is extremely firm: Its the common people who suffer in the wars while those in power exploit them, that war and violence are an endless vicious cycle we must break free from, and nuclear bombing must never happen again.

Though it puts a lot of blame on the Japanese government for entering the war and on citizens for supporting it, the story is also critical of America's cruelty and imperialism, depicting lot of things America did to Japanese citizens post-war we don't get taught-- like soldiers sexually assaulting Japanese women, like getting Japanese labor activists and protestors removed from their jobs, like literally torturing Japanese leftists, like luring Japanese citiizens to treatment centers with promises of medical aid for radiation sickness, only to collect the data and send them off with no help...

Though the manga is brutal, there are moments of comradery and kindness (and a lot of humor). Gen helps a lot of people along the way, and his resilience and message not to give up is the heart of the manga.

It's educational and very direct about subjects that both sides don't want to acknowledge-- both Japanese nationalists and American nationalists do not like it (you can learn more about that here). Despite extremely gruesome content, it's aimed at kids, so it's very blunt and direct in its messages and dialogue. But that can be kind of refreshing.

It can get a little repetitive on occasion and storylines and characters tend to be introduced very abruptly, but it does keep you rooting for and feeling for the characters all the way through, hoping things will get better for them. I think it's an essential, highly informative and unforgettable read, and everyone should read at least a little bit. Or at the very least, read this interview with Nakazawa. If you can't handle the gruesome imagery of the comic, he describes his experience pretty in depth here, and there's a lot of other insight.

This Monster wants to Eat Me by Sai Naekawa

Hinako is a depressed girl who survived a terrible trauma and has been searching for death ever since. One day she gets approached by, Shiori, a mermaid who wants to eat her…but the thing is, said monster mermaid is a gourmet who wants her to be as delicious as possible, which means she’s going to make her happy first before she eats her (as apparently that enhances her flavor). In the meantime Shiori has to fight off all the other monsters who want to snack on Hinako.

This is TOP TIER yuri horror and a must read for any lover of monster girls. It was custom made for a freak like me, who thinks a hot monster girl covered in the blood of her enemies seductively telling the protagonist she wants to devour her is the stuff dreams are made of.

Shiori, the woman-eating mermaid in question, is a fascinating character right off the bat, always having a hint of menace and inhuman mystery, but showing some potential for genuinely caring for Hinako someday. There's an ongoing mystery of why monsters are so attracted to Hinako that's a good hook, as is the irony of Hinako starting to come alive thanks to a girl who wants to kill her. It's good stuff! And it'll get an anime soon, which I'm praying is worthy of such a cool story.

The Guy She Was Interested Wasn’t a Guy at All by Sumiko Arai

The green yuri! This web manga finally gotten a physical release this year! It tells the story of Mitsuki, a girl who works at a record shop. Her classmate Aya wanders in. Aya doesn't recognize Mitsuki with a face mask and hair hidden by a cap and immediately assumes Mitsuki's a guy. They bond over their mutual love of rock music and slowly start to get closer…and Aya finds her heart is fluttering not only over this mysterious boy, but her female classmate that seems a lot like him...

Despite it's clunky title, this manga makes a premise that could have been painfully cliche and, in the worst case, extremely uncomfortable and makes it work. Mitsuki catches on that Aya thinks she's a guy immediately, and she isn't offended but finds it a bit awkward and has a hard time clearing up the misunderstanding. It never swings into homophobic or transphobic territory imo. It helps that Aya is clearly catching feelings for "girl" Mitsuki along with "guy" Mitsuki from the beginning, subconsciously knowing they're the same person.

The focus of the story is the way their relationship develops through a shared love of Western rock music and it really captures the joy of finding someone who can share your interests and the affection that can spring up for that.

The characters are very likeable and easy to root for, the art is absolutely gorgeous, and the story as a whole has this laid back, naturalistic feeling while still developing at a good pace. I just really enjoy kicking back with my green yuri, and it's good reputation is well earned!

Maus by Art Spiegelman

This comic about Spiegelman interviewing his father, a Holocaust survivor, and learning his story (with Nazis being represented as cats and Jewish people as mice) is, of course, incredibly well known to the point it feels almost redundant to talk about it. But I did read it cover to cover for the first time last year, and unsurprisingly it's a great piece of art and an important story for anyone to look into.

The parts recounting the Holocaust were heartbreaking and horrifying as expected, and I'd expected that. But the things I hadn't heard as much about was how much the book explored Spiegelman's complicated relationship with his father, and his anxieties as an artist and whether he was the right one to tell this story. It was fascinating to see him struggle with those things, and it added a lot of layers.

The Moon on a Rainy Night by Kuzushiro

One rainy night, Saki runs into Kanon and is immediately intrigued and infatuated with the other girl. When she sees Kanon at school, she discovers Kanon is hard of hearing. Kanon is understandably frustrated at the ableism she tends to endure. But as Saki reaches out and gets to know her, Kanon starts to open up. And Saki, having gone through struggles related to her sexuality in the past, starts getting anxious about her feelings for Kanon...

The Moon on a Rainy Night is just... REALLY good. Kanon is just a great character, and as a lover of stubborn, prickly girls I just find her so charming. She has a lot going on with her, like her interest in music and relationship with her family and various quirks.

One thing I really like is how narrative allows her to be frustrated about the stuff she goes through, allows her to have complex feelings about being disabled, and pays attention the little details. She has to clear up misconceptions she can't hear anything, she points out that only 20 percent of deaf people use sign language (but starts using it when she really relates to a movie and the way the cute actor uses it, which is such a teenager thing to do), the lip reading isn't treated as some magic thing, Kanon has to remind people to look at her or she can't hear them, and she misreads things a fair amount.

I'm not hard of hearing, so I'm far from the authority, but most examples of deaf and/or hard-of-hearing female characters I can think of in anime (okay so there's only like two I can think of, so I don't know if I could say that qualifies as a pattern) are depicted as shy, super sweet and socially naive, so it's refreshing to have a character who brings some variety.

Saki is also such an interesting and relatable character. Her struggles with being gay feel so real, and I especially felt it when she was learning sign language and got bummed out by the heteronormativity of one sign (using "man" and "woman" for marriage). Those things really can bring you down. I also like that Saki finds an adult lesbian who gently supports her, showing the importance of queer community. Above all, Saki is struggling with being in love, and the story is amazing at communicating her adolescent feelings. It's just a fantastic romance and character study, and I hope the upcoming anime does it justice.

Wash Day Diaries by Jamila Rowser and Robyn Smith

Wash Day Diaries follows four best friends and their daily lives through interconnected short stories. As the official summary states: "The book takes its title from the wash day experience shared by Black women everywhere of setting aside all plans and responsibilities for a full day of washing, conditioning, and nourishing their hair".

The comic makes a great use of color to reflect the characters' moods, and the girls are drawn vibrantly and distinctively. The peek into the characters' daily lives feels like getting to know some good friends, and there's a great attention to detail, especially with the comic's beautiful step-by-step depiction of how each woman does her hair and what it says about her.

The comic touches on topics like depression, dementia, and homophobia. Just like real life, these things aren't neatly resolved, but the story does offer some hope and catharsis. It's a pretty quick read, but it's packed with good stuff.

Magilumiere Magical Girls Inc. by Yu Aoki

I'm going to give myself a little break and just reuse my entry for the anime. (The only difference between them is that the manga flows a bit better than the anime, moving at a faster pace with huge panels suiting the art style and the great action!)

Being a magical girl is no longer the domain of teenagers, and has evolved into an actual career dominated by adult women. Kana becomes a magical girl for a scrappy start up company, and tries her best to navigate working life.

It’s the magical girl story about adult women I’ve been craving for years! Magical girl media often explores the struggles of adolescence and growing up, and this show takes us to the next step by using magical girls to explore what it’s like to be a young woman entering the working world. The focus is one Kana struggling to grow her confidence and accept support from her workplace, but it also has a lot to say about companies exploiting their workers, prizing efficiency and growth over actually taking care of their customers, and it shows how the world could be better than what it is right now. Check out my review here for more detail!

I Married My Female Friend by Shio Usui

A pair of best friends enter a platonic marriage they both agreed to with the promise they’ll divorce if one of them falls in love. But one woman has decidedly not platonic feelings for her wife, and is trying to repress them...

This is a sweet, laid-back story from the creator of Doughnuts Under the Crescent Moon. It has a very slice-of-life feel, with the characters feelings and conflicts developing subtlety. There's a focus on domestic life and the compromises and struggles one makes along the way. It's set in a world where gay marriage is legal in Japan, which is cool to see. If you liked Doughnuts, or are just looking for a chill yuri, I'd check this out!

Himawari House by Harmony Becker

Himawari House follows the story of Nao, a half-Japanese woman who immigrated to America when she was young. She's now returning to Japan and feels a feels a deep sadness from how disconnected she's gotten from Japan's language and culture. While in Japan, she lives with two other girls, Hyejung and Tina, who are from South Korea and Singapore respectively. They form a friendship as all of them struggle to get used to Japan and deal with language barriers.

We get the interconnected stories of all three girls, and all of them are really interesting in their own way. This story does a lot of cool things with language, for example, showing words fading out when someone can't understand them, giving the reader the same experience the character is having trying to understand the language. It was a fascinating experience. The book does an effective job exploring Nao's feelings of alienation from both America and Japan, while having a lot of other interesting plotlines that made all the characters feel rounded and developed, such as struggles with independence and expectations from parents, trying to navigate romances, and dealing with homesickness. The art is beautiful as well. This is a well crafted and insightful story, that you might find especially great if you're interested in languages, cultures, stories about identity, and stories about Japan.

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl by Canno

Kiss and White Lily follows multiple lesbian relationships, with its main storyline being about two academic rivals, where one is determined to rank first in class, and the other is an effortless genius who becomes intrigued at the possibility of someone beating her.

The main couple have the kind of messy combative sexual tension I wish we’d see more often in yuri because it’s so good. I just love the drama and mixture of rage and attraction. The manga follows other couples too and while some stories are stronger than others, they're all usually entertaining in some way and its fun to watch the characters grow. The art's also very cute and the characters are vibrant. The ending is really strong too, putting a perfect cap on the story of the main couple especially.

However, big warning for some nonconsensual kisses in early volumes, with Kurosawa being especially pushy. There's also a storyline with...well it does leave you a little wiggle room on whether it's actually incest between a minor and an adult portrayed romantically??? but um. the implication is strong. Fortunately, that's mainly contained to the seventh volume--you can just skip any stories about the sisters.

When the manga is good, it's really good, and that makes up for some of the questionable elements for me, even if I wish they weren't there. You might agree or disagree!

Ongoing and ended titles:

Here's a look at some of the ongoing titles I've been following! You can look at this post for breakdowns of what they're all about and why I recommend them.

I Think My Son is Gay and I Want to Be a Wall both wrapped up with fairly open endings but remained good reads over all. I finally got around to finishing After Hours, a yuri about a girl who gets ditched by her friend at the club, only to meet a cool punk girl who introduces her to the world of DJ-ing. It's a very charming three volume tale, and I love the playful vibe and more natural dialogue, especially for the cool party-girl love interest.

There are several manga that just stay the course as far as being excellent go: Otherside Picnic (which is finally at some of the best parts of the light novels! It's getting real!), Monthly Girls Nozaki-kun, Witch Hat Atelier, A Man and his cat, How Do We Relationship, March Come in Like a Lion, The Summer Hikaru Died and She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat.

For Yuri is my Job, I have to warn for a intense predatory sexual assault scene between an adult antagonist and one of the underage main characters. It's even ambiguous whether the character in question got raped for a few pages (but she wasn't). It's completely framed as a an evil, bad act by the antagonist, but how it was handled was SO intense I'm not sure how I feel about it. Yona of the Dawn has gotten incredibly intense lately and continues extremely slowly but surely approaching the finale. Maybe we'll get it in four years or something.

And that it! I'm going to happily keep reading all these manga, as well as continue checking out some new ones, like Akane-banashi! I hope you enjoyed these recs.

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