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enyooshiro · 22 days ago

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Six - The ping

I can't even begin to tell you how shitty things have been on my end of the screen, but for those of you who don't stalk my tumblr for updates just know that my health has been on an ever downward spiral and it is a challenge for me every day to do the things I love - writing included. I'm so sorry it has taken so long for y'all to get a peep outta me, but I hope you're still out there because this story and you all bring me happiness even in the darkest times.

Trigger Warnings: depression

You’d been staring at your phone for the past thirty minutes.

Unblinking.

Shallowed breaths.

Regarding the thing like an elephant would a mouse.

The item itself was an innocent thing, really; just a complex bit of clever machinery constructed by some of the twentieth century’s most innovative minds. Technology that once struggled to fit inside a vast room at NASA that now came compact for your convenience, fitting snuggly inside jean pockets – just not the kind designed for women – and getting lost between couch cushions at the exact wrong time for the ringer to be left on silent.

And it’s pretty, too, all wrapped up in a sparkly case with chibi pastel dinosaurs, the purple metal beneath showing through the clear acrylic protection. A hairline fracture in the screen protector annoyed you at times, but as it did nothing to hamper the effectiveness of the touchscreen you kept pushing its replacement further down the road.

You had a couple games on it – cozy ones meant to distract, a cheerful bird to lift your spirits, an alpha harem from years past that you couldn’t bring yourself to break up with (or justify deleting the save file after investing so much money in their special cards). Options for mindless scrolling. A music app for all your playlists. Handful of streaming services that you still mooched off from back home. A library of treasured books you kept revisiting and a wishlist a mile long of ones you’d get to eventually.

Harmless.

Helpful.

Fun at times.

Nothing ominous at all about the pale blue notification light flashing ten times slower than your current heart rate.

You’d initially clocked the message waiting in your inbox as you unplugged it from the charger, ignoring your phone per usual to go about your lethargic morning routine, focusing all your lacking brain power on just getting through a meager breakfast first. Honestly you’d almost forgotten about it after that, curled up in bed with your few remaining swigs of tea, whirring laptop open in front of you, pointer finger on the touchpad scrolling aimlessly for something comfortable to watch – but not too comfortable that you’d find yourself painfully bored a mere twenty minutes in and fall predictably back on your mindless phone apps as the ever reliable crutch to hobble through the monotonous day instead.

Of course, as was the case with so many times past, banal routine kicked in partway through the first episode which left your palm itching for the familiar electronic, ignoring the resigned twinge in the back of your mind that muttered defeat in favor of an even shallower distraction than a fourth rerun.

The pale blue dot thrummed steadily in the upper righthand corner, a small but helpful reminder that someone had been waiting on the other side of the screen – not that you’d been purposefully ignoring them for the better part of an hour. Most everyone who had you in their contacts knew to expect delayed response times depending on how functioning your symptoms allowed you to be on any given day.

(Still didn’t help the guilt that settled in your stomach when you eventually remembered to text back after hours of forgetfulness. Your fathers shouldn’t have to have such patient hearts with you.)

The curve of the ceramic mug pressed against your lips gave your mouth something to nom on as your thumb mindlessly swiped at the notification. There was an eighty five percent chance at this point in the day that it was a picture from Chloe sharing her work-in-progress on the eighteenth century William Blake restoration that had been the focus of her vexation for the better part of a week (watercolor fairies were apparently not as fun to color match as she’d initially believed). That or it was a tiktok from your father asking if a christmas cookie recipe looked edible enough for the picky palate of his discerning other half. God forbid the alpha tasted flavors along with his heaping helping of dark chocolate chips. You loved the man dearly, but he seriously needed to broaden his horizons beyond what he ate as a scraggly teenager.

With those options in mind, you didn’t really register the name as you tapped the text open.

Your brow furrowed a few words in. There was no picture; no link. Only a handful of words that didn’t make sense in the context you were expecting. Not even glancing up to the previous message sent a few days prior gave you any hint at recognition or clarity, just befuddling you further as a small pear emoji stared blankly back at you.

The fuck?

The noise in your throat matched the look on your face. It was one of those annoying moments where blaming your brain fog for the initial confusion felt perfectly justified… right up until the point your eyes finally drifted northward and skimmed over the name of the sender.

There was a pause as your brain processed the combination of letters, short as they were. A name you’d only seen written down once on the side of a coffee cup. A name that invoked memories of crisp air and snowflakes and a shot of rich adrenaline.

The sweet taste of longing. Of purpose.

Of broken promises.

Panicky instinct and a fumbled throw sent the phone flying twenty feet to crash-land on well worn carpet, its resting place in the heart of your home where it could not be ignored no matter how much you wished for its existence to cease, refusing to succumb to the lowest probability of quantum mechanics. Mocking you with its black shiny screen faced towards the sky like an unlucky coin.

You knew you’d have to retrieve it - eventually - as you sat perched in your nest, hugging your knees to your chest to peer over them like a nosy neighbor at an unwanted solicitor. Belongings had been sent flying when you’d scrambled backwards from the perceived snakebite of your phone. The overturned mug pressed against your hip left a darkened stain on your pants, trailing a path from where its contents splashed across your lap and soiled the closest of your blankets like blood splatter. The stickiness soaking through the fabric to your skin would leave the material smelling of honey long after it dried.

Yet another thing you had no energy to deal with. Not that it was at the forefront of your mind at the present moment.

No, that honor belonged to the palpitations. And the full body trembles. And of course the incessant nausea. God was poor zofran you took this morning working overtime to keep your fruit loops down.

How long could you leave it there – realistically? Your fathers would call in a couple days but no one else would. It held your kindle library and a handful of carefully curated music playlists for various mental breakdowns, but who needed those when you could just stare into the void behind your eyelids with disinterest, making a Jackson Pollock out of the microorganisms swimming across your corneas? Maybe you could have Chloe replicate it and make a fortune off the poor taste of rich gullible tightwads. Live off the grid like wealthy eccentric witches who poisoned their husbands and threw masquerade balls. You were sure she'd have no objection to the arrangement.

Alas, as fun as it was to fantasize foolish notions, the longer you sat there in the stillness of your flat with only the faint hum of the heater to keep you company, the more your mind was lugged back to the cause of your discomfort: John.

How dare he do this to you. After pulling your heart strings like a jumbled cat’s cradle and snipping the future you both knew was beyond reach, he still had the gall to try whatever the hell this current approach of his was. You'd spent hours waiting by the phone like a forlorn puppy in hopes of getting adopted, only to curl up in the corner when you realized days later that that time had already passed. And then with what happened yesterday? He may not have been the one to leave a mark on your cheek, but he bore more responsibility for it than the one who struck the blow.

You didn’t blame her. How could you? Even as you felt the phantom sting on your cheek from where her palm made contact for even daring to exist in the same vicinity, you knew in the end that you were at fault. So great was her pain that if you were in her position you honestly couldn’t say if you wouldn’t have done the same exact thing.

Emotions ran high in your designation more so than the others. Yes, there was absolutely an argument to be made about how alphas were seen as the level headed ones when in truth they were driven like snapping sled dogs by barely contained instincts. But just because omegas were the ones fisting the reins didn’t mean that they weren’t as blood thirsty or possessive as their hounds.

‘Precious cinnamon rolls’, indeed. Especially with a bite mark to strengthen the bond.

What must this have been like for her? To find happiness with a pack – to court and trust and mate and make plans for forever – only to watch them react to their one-in-a-billion chance who wasn’t her.

How long had they known each other? Maybe they grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. Bosom friends? Made promises at sixteen that they would pack together no matter what? It certainly wasn’t uncommon for childhood crushes to grow up into treasured sweethearts once the designations revealed and the pheromones kicked in. Maybe that was too ‘hallmark movie’ though.

Perhaps they were coworkers. Blind date set up by a friend of a friend. Did they go through a scent matching facility? Could have been flatmates even. Or neighbors who moved in across the hall making too much racket one night that garnered a hefty worded noise complaint followed by a guilty tupperware offering of homemade brownies.

Or was it a sweeter handed twist of fate? A brush of fingers reaching for the same item at the grocery store. A few minutes alone trapped in an elevator sharing distracting laughs. A sultry look across a throng of swaying bodies, intentions wrapped in a haze of booming speakers and two shots of cheap tequila.

That last image made you wince as you thought about the connotations afterward. You didn't need to picture your scent matches slipping off somewhere quieter where they could go be loud.

In any case, you were the intruder on a perfectly built up life. The poisonous snake in a garden of eden to tempt them away from a chocolatey paradise. A dangling pear just sweet enough to mask the taste of betrayal once their teeth sink into your ripened flesh.

A smack was the least of what you deserved.

The hit lingered like a brand long after they departed, haunting you the same way as the fresh words on the screen.

‘I know I've been a right cunt to ya, but can we talk?’

Well, at least he was upfront about it. No shitty attempt at gaslighting; not really an apology though either.

You knew not to answer – you knew. In any other situation you’d be pulling your hair out at the thought of harbouring such mistreatment. Certainly if Chloe was trapped in such a precarious arrangement you’d be holding her hand with all the love in your heart as you pleaded with her to listen to reason. This toxic man coming into your life, spinning distortions of pleasant reality, baiting and switching and ghosting your vulnerabilities for… for what?! Some brief stroke of his ego in the same sheets as his mated omega?!

Whatever hope he might have had at your good graces was lost the moment they drove away. You were a worthless, pathetic, shell of a person but surely you had more dignity than to give in to that gullibility.

Surely…

You’d never before felt so bumfuzzled as you slumped onto your back, squeaking out a whine of frustration once your inner omega started making her presence known over the loudness of your sensibilities. Apparently the wayward bitch wasn’t quite so keen on abandoning her foolhardy ways just yet. You'd call her a glutton for punishment but then that would also apply to you and you weren't eager to make that association.

What a fucking joke you were; this pitiful example of the weakness of your kind and the power of bonds to sway them towards madness.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid–

You didn’t know who you hated more in that moment: the alpha causing you grief or the voice in your head that wouldn’t fucking comply.

Why?! Why couldn’t you just delete and be done with it?! Why couldn’t you erase all this chaos with a block of a number and go back to a life swallowed in mediocrity and sober expectations? Nothing he could offer you at this point would change the trajectory of that anyways.

‘We’ was impossible. She made that quite clear – and him by extension when he walked away from you.

‘But you forget,’ the incessant voice argued, ‘he hadn't gone to her. You were the one who held his concern.’

Such a simple minded creature your omega was. Even for how badly it bled in the caverns of your chest after you’d finished retching up acid and drove the few blocks back home to anguish in your apartment, the poor thing was much too apt towards forgiveness and hope, giving credit where none was due. Too much of the world shined like sparkles in her eyes, but she was just another example of innocence trapped in a predestined tragedy.

You would not speak it aloud lest a malevolent universe take exception to your musings, but in truth, some fragmented part of you still curtained in warmth was grateful that life still remained near your core; that the source of your debility hadn’t rooted far enough to leech everything pure that deleterious night.

But was that really it? Was that all it took to keep you tethered to this new alpha? That one brief flash of him seeing you – the implication that someone somewhere thought you might’ve mattered?

Your head danced in circles until your heart took the lead, slinking from bed against all prudent judgement and crawling to the phone bereft the dignity that sloughed off in tandem. Whichever way you opted, you still needed to physically interact with the object – that was a nonstarter. Chloe wasn’t around for you to shove your dirty work onto. You needed to put on your big girl pants and make a rational, completely unbiased decision.

Twelve minutes later, you weren’t so sure how that was going.

You hadn’t blocked him. Turns out you were just too weak-kneed to cut the cord entirely when faced with a ball of yarn begging to be batted. Even the devil on your shoulder fucking judged you at the lack of force it took for him to worm past your ‘defenses’. Practically held the door open with concierge and valet parking as he strolled into your psyche – red carpet roll-out and all. Couldn't even look him in the eye as he passed you on his way to your prefrontal cortex.

At that point the only viable option was to talk to John, which unfortunately left you with too many decisions branching off in too many directions.

How in the hell were you even supposed to start things off? He'd asked you the question, but do you now yell at him to ‘leave me alone’? ‘Get rid of my number’? Break down and plead with him ‘why would you do that to me?’ ‘Why are you still thinking about me?’ ‘Are you ok?’ ‘Is she ok?’

Go figure, the man was talking to you and still you were more mindful of how they were feeling.

At least your personality remained consistent.

Eventually you gave up and just spewed something out instead of giving yourself a migraine your first sentence in.

‘I don’t know what there is to talk about’

Your reply was honest at least. For all you knew, it was John who wanted to speak with you about some sense of closure, especially after yesterday’s fiasco in front of the store. You couldn’t imagine a comfortable car ride after that stunt he’d pulled in front of his packmates and you wouldn’t be surprised if she was bedbound herself this morning given the stress that must've been causing across their bond. It would be the right thing to do for the sake of everyone involved.

You didn't have to wait long for an answer, almost dropping the phone again at the unexpected vibration so soon after sending, pulse fluttering in your chest as you read with anxiety.

‘Think there’s a lot to talk about. And a lot of apologies I should be making if you’ll hear me out’

There was no universe where indulging his plea wasn’t a stupid idea. And yet…

‘Then talk’

…you acquiesced.

His response came a bit slower, the text bubble longer than it had been so far. All the while you remained in your spot on the floor, questioning every second you chose to engage and paying the price with an uncomfortable butt. At least you were on carpet instead of the tile. Could be having this conversation in the bathroom instead.

Your phone pinging pulled you back to the present.

‘Yesterday was a mistake that never should’ve happened. She crossed a line with her actions and yet nothing was done to make it right. I’ve given ya the worst impression and I won’t blame ya for however you feel about her or us or me or any of it. You deserve better than that and I’m sorry for my part in it’

It was a start at least. His acknowledgement of the fact dulled the brunt of the blade enough to act as makeshift chainmail, but just because he wasn’t making excuses didn’t mean the jab hadn’t hurt. It wasn’t even really that you were angry about all this – you were, but that part was only secondary and stemmed more from your own mistakes than his. And even then, so much of that emotion was the result of wasteful follies that you never should have brokered in the first place. So enchanted you were by the proffered temptations that you forsook every warning for a glimpse over the rainbow.

You let Icarus carve your wings even as he knew they would fail.

‘You lied to me’, you replied, feeling the words in your soul as the tang of disappointment mixed with the bitterness of betrayal.

‘I know. I’m a certified asshole and I’ll own up to that. But I swear it wasn’t meant to be at the time. I’d never make you a promise I didn’t intend to keep’

‘Then why tell me that things with your pack were ok when clearly they weren’t?’

‘They should’ve been. It's complicated.’

Understatement of the century, but then that also begged the question:

‘Do they even know you’re texting me?’

No hesitation. ‘They do.’

It should’ve been a good sign that John wasn’t hiding you from them at least, but that also didn’t answer if that knowledge came attached with their blessing.

‘And they’re ok with it?’

This time there was a pause.

‘They agreed it was necessary’

You almost wish he’d have lied to you. If it wasn’t painfully clear that you were an unwanted pestilence before, that text certainly cemented their abhorrence for you now. It was bolded in the gaps between the neutrality of his tone. Lemon and heat weren't necessary to reveal the hidden message.

You didn't belong.

Frowning at the screen, you absentmindedly rubbed the spot on your chest that throbbed like a phantom bruise. Pain had been more than a fair weather friend these past few years. It visited more than your artistic neighbor and came to call more than the spammers you ignored. It spent holidays and birthdays and shared in your milestones. Had its own placemat at the dining table, a dirty toothbrush near the sink. You planned your days around its drop-ins and sacrificed much for its selfish entertainment. Kept a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom for when it needed more from you than salty tears. Yet the implication that these strangers wanted no part of you was the wound that wouldn’t cauterize no matter how much force you used.

It hadn’t been your intention to leave him sweating over your inaction, but you must’ve taken too long ruminating as John’s next message appeared for lack of your own.

You weren’t ready for it.

‘I know this isn’t the kind of talk you were probably hoping for and I can only imagine all the creative insults you’ve been shouting at the screen to me… which totally justified btw. Hell you can fully tell me to shove my head up my arse and I’ll gladly lift my kilt in front of god himself as witness. But on the off chance you don’t, we wanted to ask if you would be willing to sit down somewhere to have a proper conversation’

Oh fuck.

The ache in your chest all but forgotten as you scrambled for the porcelain throne.

Your reply would have to wait. He just sent you the straw that broke the zofran’s back.

The cool water felt refreshing as you splashed it against your face, breathing through your mouth as you grasped blindly for a towel. The churning had lessened now that you were painfully empty, but the sensation remained as your mind rewound his words over and over again like a broken cd player. Wiping the water from your eyes provided you no more clarity on the matter as the person in your reflection stared back at you with worry.

This was not how you anticipated things would go at all. You’d made peace in bed last night that you were destined to be fucked as Lady Luck’s unwilling mistress. If fate was kinder and your immune system stronger, you would have never stepped foot in that grocery store last week and discovered just how close to salvation you’d always been. Twisting paths never crossing. Star-crossed bullshit staying in plays. You’d been a fool and had been made as such all for the crime of merely being a victim. It should have ended there and life moved on and order satisfied as you learned a valuable lesson about the dangers of errant wishes. After all, a rice ball could never belong in a fruit basket no matter what shape it molded itself as.

It should be so simple to ignore the pull to them – fated mates be damned. For years now you’d fought back against the rabid beast chained to your soul, his distemperature of your vital organs. The distance made things easier, but you’d still proven you possessed the will to live a life entirely of your own creation. Not everyone in your scenario could be so fortunate. Some days the urge to claw out your entrails to harvest out the rot was so dire and all consuming that you understood why so many like you chose to stay with their abusers.

The crucible of freedom was a heavy cross to bear. Yet here you remained of your own volition. Even at your weakest you were stronger than your suffering.

So why was the concept of turning down John the one thing that made you want to curl up and die?

The question weighed on your mind as you flicked off the bathroom light on your way back out to the main area, passing by your nest to collect your capsized mug on the way to your tiny ass kitchen. It joined your cereal bowl on the drying rack after a quick rinse in the sink, wiping your hands on your blessedly clean shirt before collecting your discarded phone off the floor to deal with again once you were good and settled.

The fatigue in your muscles were grateful as you took pity on your already struggling body and plopped your ass back down in your nest instead, changing into cleaner sweatpants and kicking the soiled blankets out of the way. You’d have to do something about the accumulative pile at the foot of your bed eventually, but that would be a problem for another day. At least you didn’t have to run the worry of dealing with an ant infestation from all the honeyed sweetness given the winter season. Maybe after Christmas you’d make the long trudge up and down three flights of stairs to give your bedding a proper cleaning. Lord knows you couldn’t recall the last time you'd bothered to.

Without any further distractions, you took a deep breath as you swiped your thumb across the sleeping screen, mindful to the return of that pale blue light signalling yet another missed message in your absence. You’d kept him waiting for nearly twenty minutes while you’d gotten things settled and now you braced yourself for whatever words he had to say in follow up.

Only, they weren’t from him this time.

‘This painting has been a lesson in nuance >< next project I’m picking something with more shade variation’

The accompanying image gave you an unexpected but welcomed laugh – a beautiful example of watercolor mastery held snuggly displayed on a paint splattered easel, full of celebration and mischief with the occasional flecks of blank canvas interrupting an otherwise whimsical scene. The gathered fairies paid no mind to their incomplete parts as they danced and gossiped just as they always had for the past two hundred years, totally ignorant to the grief they gave their refurbisher currently hidden behind the camera. The middle finger in the bottom right corner gave away their presence and was what drew your attention in the first place.

You allowed yourself to sit with that for a minute, taking in the reprieve from heavier emotions to exhale the bunched up stress in your gut. Chloe didn’t know how much you needed that break when she sent you it in aggravation, but you were grateful for her impeccable timing nonetheless. You quickly shot off a text back with a laughing emoji followed by a gif of two dogs hugging. She'd been working so hard on that finicky project and deserved a little commiseration.

The interruption sparked a quick debate in your head on if it wouldn’t be smarter to consult her before any further discussion with the alpha; the whole outsider perspective against your partisan blinders thing. And maybe you would've had she shared your designation, but without being able to feel the cosmic lure dragging you like riptides towards your fated mates firsthand you weren’t sure anything she had to say would be that different from the war you’d already been raging between the two mythical entities on your shoulders.

She couldn’t make that decision for you. Only you had the power to do that.

The question was: should you follow your own advice that you’d be handing out to others, or do you throw all that aside at risk of further humiliation?

Flipping back over to the conversation in question, your thumbs drove in the stake before your heart could change its mind.

‘Ok. When do you want to meet?’

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