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hollyhomburg · 9 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.65)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The truth always comes out one way or another, and with Jimin temporarily whisked away for surgery- it's up to you and yoongi to answer Namjoon's questions.

Tags: Angst, blood, guns, murder, discussions of morality, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of past spousal abuse, confessions, hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals, reconciliation, vmin focus, Trans! tae, Everybody lives nobody dies,

W/c: 15.0k

A/N: this chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but! sorry that this chapter came out when it did, we're finally here! sorry for the break in chapters- I got some not great news about a family members health and wanted to spend some extra time with them over the holidays.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The abandoned industrial building rises without warning from the mist and fog. You could almost call in lonely. Although it has its comfort in its stillness, the same way that monsters that do not move do not instill fear. A foe vanquished but not forgotten.

The body. The dust. The puddle of blood by the door is more than enough evidence for plausible deniability. The faint splatter of it here and there like confetti left after a parade, or flower petals that fall in spring and pile up like snow.

Moonbyul stands in the doorway, like a pagan in a house of God. Out of place and out of mind. Dark coat unblemished by dust or blood. She doesn’t stoop to touch the ground or try and clean up the evidence from Jimin and Jin’s misbegotten hours here. She doesn’t think Hobi’s name, although she knows it.

God does she know it.

She’s poured over all the files that her men have collected about your pack for weeks now. Searching out weaknesses like a snake searches rabbit holes for soft fur and an easy meal. She’d spent the most time lingering over Tae’s file. The photos that shift from short hair to long, lipstick that she finds too pink and distasteful.

Red is better color.

She'd spent a long time pouring over Jin’s too because she’d needed to. Jimin and her cousins had been glossed over. She already knows enough about them to last a lifetime.

But only one file had given her paper cuts. Revenge on paper is not as sweet as it should be.

She doesn’t need to read that file anymore. Although she hears the words that the youth said so many months ago on repeat, you and Hobi in the coffee shop caught only on security camera. “I think I heard something I shouldn’t have”. As well as the ones that followed.

Contrary to popular belief, Moonbyul doesn’t like killing. She views it only as a necessity. She looks at the blood on the floor without any disgust. It’s been a long time since she’s cleaned up any alpha's mess, and she’s not going to start now.

She looks down at the blood and smiles. It’s a rare thing- seeing her smile. It’s different from her grin that bares her teeth. Sharped incisors changed and honed just before she’d been appointed the head of the moon family.

She remembers her mother's words when she’d looked at them in the mirror for the first time, She remembers that she could still taste the file they'd used to carve them. Metallic, like blood on her tongue.

“All the most dangerous alphas have fangs; you’ll need to learn to use them if you want to fill your father’s shoes.”

Familial death is more of a rite of passage than a time for mourning in the family. A time when power shifts and secrets get covered up or aired out. Like the moon waxing and waning.

Moonbyul hadn’t been born with fangs, the way alphas always are. Moonbyul hadn’t been born with a lot of things.

A smiling Moonbyul is either a happy or a bloodthirsty one. And a happy Moonbyul, when properly stroked- means they get privileges.

Privileges in their pack, amount to small little things most of the time. A night where they don’t have to take the heat inducers. A night where they can wear comfy sweats instead of the lingerie and stifling silk. But if they're extra sweet and good they get better things. A free evening where they can see their families as long as they come home before sunrise.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Solar is dressed as her clone today, with stockings pulled up her milky thighs flashing beneath the long hem. Extra extra cute in the way that she loops her arm into Moonbyuls and pouts. as if she's upset that her alpha is paying more attention to the murder than her.

She still smells faintly of sex, moonbyul, and her own ginger scent. Not like fresh cut- the kind that baked goods have around Christmas time.

Moonbyul smiles, rapping her long nails against where Solar's arm is curled around hers clinging to her as if her life depends on it. It does- Moonbyul and her both know it does. But Solar has always been a good pet. She’s never needed quite as much correction as Wheein who likes to know exactly where her cage ends and begins, or like Hyejin- who needs nearly as much combatting and careful maneuvering as their enemies.

She'd learned from Hyejin. Had never let the others have quite as much freedom or get used to challenging her. There's a reason why Hyejin had demanded to wear her mating mark and why Moonbyul had let her have it.

Omega's however sweet and however docile, still need a cage. Moonbyul's only ever tried to branch out of her tastes once, and she won't ever do it again. Disastrous as alphas are. They make piss-poor lovers and disobedient needy pets.

She sighs. Alphas and their messes.

In truth, the pack could use someone truly obedient, someone for whom being good is as easy as breathing to balance them out. The pack could use a good pup. The pack could use you.

Moonbyul burns in want, stewing in it ravenous. It’s not love, it’s not even really lust either. She’s never been an easily sated person. She’s always wanted too much, always finished the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting. She’s always wanted everything.

That’s why she’s smiling, because she’s about to get it.

She stands a little straighter, holding out her palm. “Why don’t we go see.” Moonbyul doesn’t turn to leave, however. She doesn't walk towards the body dumped at the back of the building, still bearing Jin's fingerprints. A single strand of hair would do it. She doesn’t make any move other than to reach into her pocket and take out a lighter.

She thinks of the family's assassins; The Bee, The Spider and The Wolf. She thinks of Park Jimin. The snake. Hopefully either dead or in the process of dying.

The body in the back of the building is another one of hers. She never thought that this would be the end of the Wolf, he'd always been one of their most reliable killers. Always showed up on time too, an exemplary employee. Not to be easily duped. She'll have to figure this out and pin down What did him in. But that will take time and energy, only one of which she has.

He was only supposed to wait in the wings and ensure that neither Park Jimin nor Kim Seokjin left this building alive, nothing more.

Sometimes things are just coincidences, sometimes if you're lucky- they're just bad luck.

This doesn't feel like bad luck, this feels like revenge.

Solar makes a noise in her throat, a questioning chirp. She really is trying to be her cutest right now. Moonbyul won’t reward her in a way that she likes, a way that she wants. Even songbirds still feel the itch to fly. Clipped wings and all.

She looks at the flame, sparking.

“Why won’t you just leave the evidence? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Solar is not as good as Hyejin at handling this sort of thing, not as experienced. But she’s currently handling other more important things. Things that need her finer touch.

Solar doesn’t understand why Moonbyuls going to light this place up like a fucking Christmas tree and do Seokjin’s dirty work for him. Solar is only a pup, and she’s been kept like that because Moonbyul likes pupish omegas.

She likes the innocence and obedience that people who weren't made for this kind of life have. So eager to please that they're willing to debase their souls. There is no greater sacrifice, no greater sign of love than someone willing to do anything for you.

This also happens to be why she likes you. Why she will have you. because neither Solar nor Wheein have ever been as good at this as you were. The perfect medium between sinful and pious. Cute even while killing.

And 5 is a prettier number than 4. 3 pups for her and Hyejin is a prettier number than 2. They need more than one for each.

Just one more pup, and then their collection will be complete. It took them so long to find the right one, so much trial and error. (Moonbyul despises errors. She's going to try and kill one before this is through)

She won’t let you slip through their grasp, not a second time. You should have never been Yoongi's.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave this as evidence? So that the FBI gets them all? We could just like- buy them off if they wanted to take her too-”

“Oh pup” she croons, half gentle. Flicking the lighter and letting it burn in front of her face before she tosses it The soil is so soaked through with gasoline that it lights as easily as a candle, slowly spreading from wall to wall and then- in the doorway, until the heat is too much and they have to move away.

“That wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

~-~

(Now, Namjoon)

Namjoon’s shirt is soaked so thoroughly with blood that it makes him cold. The hospital always feels cold, goosebumps rise like a mini mountain ranges on his arms. The hair pressed down where the blood has dried.

It’s not his first time covered in blood, but this time feels different.

He’s shivering, teeth clattering. His hands shake almost too bad to fill out the intake paperwork because he’d rather do it now than later. Park Jimin (registered, Kim) Alpha, weight 165 lbs (give or take a few). Blood type AB. No medications. No known allergies, no known prior conditions. No no no.

No.

Namjoon’s hands shake. He leaves Jimin’s ‘occupation’ blank.

Yoongi sits a few paces back, staring vacantly off into space. On the surface Namjoon would assume that he’s having no reaction and is feeling absolutely heartless about everything that's happened in the last 3 hours. But his breath becomes stuttered every few minutes, like he has to manually force himself to inhale and exhale. Like it’s taking all of Yoongi’s faculties to keep himself breathing and upright and not in a heap on the floor having a mental breakdown.

He kind of wishes Yoongi was crying and screaming instead. Then at least- Namjoon would feel like he had to be the strong one.

He can't get the feeling of stabbing Jimin out of his head, or the sound it it, the wet squelch of knife hitting skin.

Namjoon has cut into people thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times by now. But he’s only cut into someone he loves once, and god Namjoon never wants to do it again- won’t ever be able to touch warm prone flesh and hurt it, not after Minnie. Never again.

The pen in his hand weighs a million pounds. He contemplates asking for a piece of paper and writing out his resignation letter. he breathes in for 5 and out for 9, then sets it down on the clipboard and slides it across the counter for the nurse to take. Namjoon doesn’t hear her quiet tone asking him if he's alright and if there's anything she can do. just shakes his head on instinct.

There is a gaggle of nurses looking around the corner peering at Dr. Kim.

"Do you think he dresses like that outside of work hours?" "I never thought I'd be so attracted to jeans and a tee-shirt." Giggling in quiet voices.

It feels so strange, to hear people laughing while Jimin is dying. Namjoon almost wants to go bite their heads off and report them for poor bedside manner to the hospital manager.

This is Namjoon’s hospital. But Namjoon can’t find it in himself to smile or say thank you to the nurse when she tells him that the second she gets any news on Jimin, he'll be the first to know. He can’t say anything through the mountain of emotion in his throat.

If Namjoon’s love is a mountain, then his anguish is a river threatening to drown him. Yoongi smells like it- the line where water turns clear to brackish, Yoongi’s miserable scent has always smelled like the churning sea and now something that feels an awful lot like seasickness makes Namjoon sway on his feet.

Since he’s done with the paperwork, he promptly returns to Yoongi’s side and sits down. Only once he's sure he's stationary, does he pull a nearby wastebasket over between his knees to upend the contents of his stomach. It hits the top of old gauze pads crumpled up at the bottom and smelling like piss with a surprisingly violent sound, drawing the gaze of more than one person in the waiting room. At least it finally quiets the giggles.

Yoongi’s hand finds Namjoon’s knee, the hole in his jeans, The back of his ribs, stroking once twice. steady and hard the way that Namjoon likes. And Namjoon wishes he could snap at Yoongi. Wishes he didn’t curl into the touch. Wishes he was angrier. Wishes Jimin was perfectly alive and breathing and not going to-

Yoongi’s hand settles on the back of Namjoon’s neck, his throat, pulse hammering, thudding.

They’re just kids and Yoongi's hands are calloused. They've always been.

Deep down Namjoon still feels like he’s only 8 years old. Is just a kid and just starting to understand that the world isn’t all just papercuts and skinned knees; that it means something when people hurt. That it means something when you tell them you won’t let them hurt anymore.

He remembers promising Jimin something similar- a long time ago, the summer they all first met:

Namjoon remembers Jimin, standing in the apartment that wasn't theirs yet, after a movie night, the first movie night that the pack had ever had togeather (not totally togeather, becuase you and hobi hadn't been there yet but still).

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen Jimin in something other than a designer sweater, sweats and a tee-shirt so ordinary that Namjoon was surprised it didn't make him look less intimidating. standing in the doorway waiting for Namjoon to notice him and look up from his medical journal.

"Yes Minnie? Did you need something?" jimin had shifted from foot to foot. looking up at jimin, a first slice of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Tae and Jungkook, they've got a bit of pain in them. I want to know what you intend to do with it." namjoon set his glasses to the side, the papers rustling as he forgets his reason.

"Make it better hopefully?" Namjoon had been struck with how oddly intense he'd been. Jimin had opened up with time and had gone sweet and trusting with the right amount of love. But he'd looked intimidating in his dark clothes and the wrinkle between his eyes like he was used to furrowing his eyebrows. A cute detail that Namjoon already wants to brush away. To touch. to cradle. To love.

He'll catalogue all of Park Jimin's cutest things in time. He'll treat love as a scavenger hunt, to find the softness in someone who tries so outwardly to be gruff and strong.

Namjoon's stained sleep clothes and promises felt all the more shabby in comparison.

"I need you to promise."

Namjoon had avoided it. Unwilling to meet his words with the same intensity. Jimin doesn't take chances with Jungkook and Tae. Tae's low laugh from the other room, Yoongi's matching grumble, overly fond already. Overly fond from the beginning.

"What about you? Doesn't everyone have pain?"

"Just promise."

"I promise to look after the three of you." Jimin had scoffed. Puffing up like a bird with too many feathers.

"I don't need looking after. Just them- when I go away for work."

"I know, but let me do it anyway." Smiling at the pretty alpha was so easy, so easy with the sounds of Jungkook and Jin's giggles in the other room. Laughter building itself into the walls around them.

"I promise not to hurt you or them. You have my word."

Namjoon lied, Namjoon lied back then and he didn't even know it. He upends his stomach again and Yoongi rubs down his spine.

“He’s not going to die Joon, he’s going to be fine.” Namjoon continues to empty his stomach, it’s pizza mostly, a bit of coffee, and a half-digested protein bar from this morning as well.

“Does hurting the people you love ever get easier?” Namjoon asks. Honesty, not anger in his tone.

Yoongi’s hair has gotten longer and hangs in his eyes. Yoongi never grew his hair out before you, always kept it in that short black sort of coconutty style. It makes him look older and all the more beautiful. Namjoon wonders if that’s why you like it; How regal it makes your mate look.

Yoongi has asked so much of Namjoon in the last few years, from leaving to coming back and bringing you. To hiding the mating mark and now this. Namjoon tells himself he should care more about Yoongi's lies and less about the fact that he just lied, period.

“No,” Yoongi grimaces. He always gets so quiet when things are bad, steady in that consistent way. He still hasn't stopped stroking Namjoon's back. Namjoon knows this is simply all Yoongi knows how to do, his first instinct is to love and not much else. “It was never easy.”

It’s not weird that they re-hash this now. Every time Namjoon learns more about how and why Yoongi left, he understands it more.

“I threw up too, just so you know- when I left, leaving you made me so sick that I hurled the second I got on that train. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He blinks back wetness in his eyes, “I don't remember if I've ever told you that."

Namjoon nods. He can't remember right now either.

It’s been an hour or so now since Yoongi drove fast but steady steady steady to the hospital. Namjoon in the back while he stabilized Jimin in much the same fashion that you'd done earlier. The rest of the pack should be here soon. The three of you only lingered behind to clean up a bit and change your clothes, covered with blood and muck and who knows what else.

Yoongi sits like a statue and Namjoon can’t even look at him, can’t ask any questions or even start because he already feels like he’s yelling, and Namjoon hates yelling. This isn't isn’t exactly the most private venue for secrets that could land Jimin in jail.

Namjoon's still not entirely convinced that stabbing him was worth it. Namjoon’s brain is dizzy with terror. He’s still dizzy when he turns and sees you walking through the front doors to his hospital, Jin and Hobi trailing behind you.

He remembers the way you’d looked the day they’d gotten you checked out for the first time; how you’d run and pressed your face to his chest and buried your face there like just the sound of Namjoon's heart could make every demon and monster go away. For a moment, Namjoon thinks you might do the same thing. But your steps are measured, slow, and purposeful.

Namjoons eyes train on you, following you as you walk,

Yoongi stands, leaving Namjoon sitting with a cooling pail of vomit between his legs. he says something to you, to jin, but you don't pause, continuing until you're standing in front of him.

You don't say anything to him, just peer into the bucket and make a disgusted face down at it. Namjoon's teeth feel too sharp in his mouth with such a tense jaw.

Hoseok is on the phone, face gaunt and tired-looking. He must have drawn the short end of the stick and has the job of calling Jungkook and Tae and telling them what happened. They really shouldn’t drive themselves, but all Namjoon can reasonably do is restrain himself from cornering you and Jin and start demanding answers.

He barely even turns to Jin when the omega goes up to the desk and asks if they can have a room, please. A private place for the pack to nurse their worries and not crowd the already-packed waiting room. Namjoon couldn’t name the nurse by name right now if he wanted to but he’s well known here and well-liked too. They give them one of the adjacent exam rooms to wait- Jimin’s surgery will take a few hours more, and there isn’t anything to do but wait.

Terrible terrible waiting, terrible terrible time. (You get a bucket when you want a drop and a drop when you want a deluge. Time only comes in two increments; too much or not enough.)

You drop a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder without a word. After some beckoning Namjoon follows you into the room. Legs shaking and sluggish at first. The pack is quiet even as the door closes.

But once Namjoon's moving it’s hard to stop, careening like a comet or a bullet in your direction. Staggering.

You’d taken precious seconds to change your blood stained clothes before following Namjoon. You all pulled on the first things you could get your hands on. Which is how you’ve ended up in your mate’s shirt and Jungkook’s jacket, and how Hoseok’s in one of Tae’s extra-large pink sleep shirts stained from hair dye underneath Namjoon’s puffer coat and a pair of jungkook's grey work out sweats. Jin had been a little bit more purposeful- his sweatpants match- his matching purple set.

Namjoon's shirt is dark from blood, the bloodstain drying crusty, sticking to his skin like glue.

To say that Namjoon is angry is an understatement; rage rolls off of him in quiet unending ripples carrying with it the strength to change the pack for good if he’s not careful. He doesn't walk to the chairs no- he bee-lines it to you.

He watches you startle and turn, eyes widening. You do not make to move out of his path.

Namjoon has never made you feel afraid before, but the pulse of it, the threat of fear is there as he backs you against the wall until your body lies against it. Looming over your head, so much taller and larger than you.

An alpha. An alpha hunting.

You tremble but you do not move to avoid him when he corners you.

He has a tiny bit of blood on his face, and a hairline splatter, almost like a constellation of stars across his temple. His fingers are harsh and shaking when they dig into your cheeks, pinching them until your lips open. Your knees tremble and you press your palm flat against the wall.

His scent thunders so thick and consuming that you can't physically stop yourself from trying to bear your throat. Namjoon stops you, holding you in place.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at you, He pinches your cheeks harder, shakinging you just a little. His voice is steady when he speaks, inches away from low snarl.

“Never make me hurt one of our packmates again.” You swallow, although it’s hard. And he pinches again- harder before you get a chance to speak- to try and defend why you brandished that knife at Jimin hours ago. Namjoon holds your face the same way he held the knife- tenderly.

“I mean it. Never.”

He holds you there for a second longer before he lets you go, leaving you gasping. His hand slides down your throat to your shoulder and neck, You would fall over if it wasn't for his touch keeping you up.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, a few stingy tears making themselves known at the corner of your eyes. Namjoon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. His spiky silver hair hits your skin. Rough.

After a second, he opens them again. Nodding. And his scent loses its bitter edge. He guides you to rest against his chest. You take big gasps of his scent now that he's giving you permission. Your instincts thunder through you so viciously that you can't physically stop yourself from tilting your neck and bearing your throat.

Namjoon just drags a finger down it, humming. He holds you up, arms around you, a shield and a cage.

“It’s not okay.” I’m not okay, “but I forgive you.” Your knees do give out when Namjoon’s hand brushes the back of your neck, fingers digging in, a half hearted scruff that feels a bit like an apology of his own.

Even if he wants to be angry, anger won’t accomplish anything. Especially with you. His anger will only make you afraid and although Namjoon cannot be expected to control his emotions all the time, you have no reason to fear him.

He's never going to hurt you. He promised.

He walks you two strides, to put you into a chair next to Yoongi. Your mate takes you from him. The plastic chair makes a loud scraping noise against the linoleum floor. Jin's on your other side looking just as tired as the rest of you.

You'll get no rest tonight, sleeping in Jimin's hospital room when he gets out of surgery. Every fitful dream interrupted by the oxygen monitor on his arm. the first few hours when it will go off twice and prompt examination of his vasculature and operation site as well as a fresh dose of blood thinners. The biggest danger going forward will be blood clots; one too large in jimin's arm could leave his hand with nerve damage, numb for good.

But for now, Namjoon looks down at you, yoongi, and jin sitting in the plastic chairs. Secret, killer, and agent. All there in a pretty little row. Namjoon glares down at the three of you and crosses his arms.

“Explain.” Namjoon can’t wait another minute, another second. “Explain to me everything going on in my pack that I don't know about right now or I swear I'll-"

Yoongi scoffs, "That you'll what? That you'll tear us apart Namjoon? that you'll leave? Look around you- we're already falling to pieces."

"You don't honestly expect me not to be angry that I had to stab jimin do you-"

"No, but don't yell at her. I have my limits."

"I wish I was one of those limits, but i'm clearly not since you insist on fucking over our pack-"

Jin turns, cutting them off from their argument with the true shock of his next words. You know that's what he's intending- but it sort of backfires. "Joonie, Don't get mad at Yoongi or her for this. Especially since I'm the one who shot Jimin. It was an accident."

You flinch, then put your head in your hands, namjoon's scent goes impossibly thick and angry for a second before he gets it under control. You physically watch Namjoon's hackles raise. watch Yoongi push back in his chair, leg jumping, running his hands through his hair looking from you to Jin, then back again.

"Jin, you should have kept that to yourself."

"What the fuck-"

Namjoon looks like he doesn't know weather to cry or laugh. "You don't just shoot someone on accident-"

Jin's got the best scoff, one worthy of music screens not just the quiet tomb of this room. Your relationship that's dying all around you. "You don't just stab someone on accident either and yet here we are-"

There are some secrets you take to the grave and others that you keep for too long, so long that they make a grave out of you. Keeping secrets is like keeping someone else's heart beating, you run out of blood eventually.

You might vomit up the truth all over the hospital floor just like Namjoon did a few minutes ago. You feel sick and light-headed and sort of like you might have low blood sugar. namjoon's scent, angry alpha affects you more than you realize.

You start to teater, and their next biting words get extinguished when you almost fall out of the chair, nearly sliding to the floor before Namjoon catches you. One knee dully aches as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, ducking in close, real concern in his face, all his anger gone.

"Shit are you okay?"

"Pup?"

"Just got lightheaded-" Whatever it was, your lightheadedness will have to wait for another time. It's honestly probably just stress. Your heart feels like it's beating extra fast, extra hard.

Namjoon places you gently back in the chair and Yoongi touches your shoulder, the trio of their concerned faces that you swat away.

"We should wait for Hobi." You still owe him an explanation- for earlier and these aren't the kind of secrets you say more than you have to. A cup of water gets thrust into your hands and for once, they fall silent.

When Hobi comes in he’s mostly quiet holding his phone in his hand. Looking at you from across the room. His soulful eyes watching you, head tipping to the side in deference.

"Tae's in-" It takes him a second to gather his words. "Tae's in a fucking state. She was crying so hard that Jungkook had to call them an Uber. I just told her Jimin had been stabbed and nothing else because I didn't know what to tell her."

"That's probably for the best we don't have to-" your mate starts, but Namjoon cuts him off.

"No, no more secrets. Not between any of us."

Hoseok still has a hickey from you on the side of his neck, from you earlier. Jin's fingers skim down the one on your shoulder where a mirrored mark sits knocking you out of your Hobi-induced reverie, red and bruising from his mouth. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, but now is not the time to tell him about you and hobi.

"We've got like- maybe 30 minutes until they get here."

You swallow past a lump in your throat, readying yourself for it, “better make it quick then,” Namjoon waits, Seokjin is silent, watching you, gaze flickering from you to Hobi every few blinks. Yoongi holds onto your knee, sliding his palm down to your hand, your wrist. Finger digging into the sensitive scent gland there and rubbing comforting circles.

You swallow hard. “We’re all on each other's sides, right?”

“Of course,” Jin crosses his arms like he's offended you even had to ask. You bite back your retort. Namjoon nods, so does Hobi.

Your hair flops as you nod. But you still look to Yoongi to wait for permission. After a breath your mate nods and spreads his hands, giving you the floor.

If there’s one thing you know it’s that you can’t do this alone, you and Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin, Jimin and Tae. You and Hobi. There is no separation here, not when it comes to your safety. Each of you cannot keep the rest safe on your own.

“I met Jimin a few months before I met Yoongi, I…Yoongi’s family-”

Yoongi resists the temptation to speak for about 10 seconds when you fall silent. You can sense the moment that the truth shifts, when it explodes at Yoongi’s tongue. Unbidden but frantic and relieving like it's taken Yoongi's whole being to keep all this in.

“My family, I've never liked calling them that. Blood means nothing to me, you guys, you guys were always my family more than them." The pack is silent but you lace your hands with his and nudge his thigh with yours, encouraging him to go on.

"My relatives run the largest network of organized crime on the East Coast, from Boston to Miami. Everything from racketeering to prostitution to production and distribution of pharmaceutical-grade opioids. cover ups, sale of illegal weapons, extorsion of political officials and blackmail. If you can think of a crime they do it. If you can think of a way to make money, they've got their hands in it. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t go home- why my parents-”

Yoongi breaks off, his voice going small and quiet. Wounds he doesn’t talk about- even to you.

“There’s maybe 200 of us now. I’ve got a lot of fucking aunts and uncles. We try to stay in our lanes, our cities, and deal only in our respective crimes. There's a lot of politics and a lot of people vying for control here and there, but only alphas are allowed to lead, omega's increases the bonds of power in other ways and beta's- You know how rare beta's are- in my family- i'm treated as second only to the family head. Being a beta offered me certain liberties. Other freedoms. Not only to avoid most of the violent stuff- but to leave and move around without asking for permission. It's like a get out of hell free card. Not everyone gets that."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, “You mean they didn’t exactly expect you to go about popping heirs or advancing the family business through murder and ruining innocent people's lives. not like they expected with me."

Hoseok shrivels his nose, He looks from you to Yoongi- eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “hang on i thought- Are you guys trying to say you’re fucking related or-”

“Oh my god daisy-”

You splutter, “gross- No, we’re not fucking like- blood-related or anything.” You tap your chest. "I'm non family- brought in from the outside. Which means I was just about as valuable as piss to the aunts. In our world the only reason to mate or marry is for power- any other reason and your spouse is considered disposable." you cross your legs, admitting something you've kept to yourself, not a secret just a suspicion. "Geumjae never intended to keep me around forever."

Seokjin makes a strangled noise and Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, “Jesus Christ.”

Hobi raises his hands bare, “Sorry! You’re not doing a good job of explaining!”

"Well, if you just gave me a minute to get to the point-" Yoongi seems to shake himself, to put himself together. “Like she said- I'm not expected to partake in the family buisness, Only alphas are allotted that 'honor'." Yoongi puts the words in quotations and adds an eye roll for good measure.

"Mainly- I’m treated as some sort of glorified advice Column. People call and ask me things and I’m required to answer or else they’d hunt me down and drag me back. They bring me in to coordinate stuff because I'm a beta and I keep everyone calm and keep them from killing each other and shooting out their squabbles. I tried to keep you guys safe that’s why I left but-“

Jin’s hand goes to yours, nodding, because he understands. “But not why you stayed away.”

“No. It's not.” The pack's eyes naturally stray to you.

“The heads of houses report to the family head and she directs them to me if they need a beta's touch. Only she hasn't- the new Don hasn't asked anything of me since taking power. When the last one died- my grandparents- I left to help with the transition. But the new Don doesn't need me."

You flinch, you try to hide it but Yoongi turns, ferreting out that there's a secret there without you having to confess it. Your voice is darker than they’ve ever heard. "It's not that she doesn't need you- it's that she doesn't trust you."

Yoongi tries not to sound accusatory. "Her trust isn't something you should be after."

“It’s not- promise I just-” You pick at a stray thread on your pants.

The linoleum floor in front of you is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. "She shouldn't trust me either- and she knows it. Believe me she knows it."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you. To pull himself to the edge of his chair to try and get in front of you. A wordless question that he dares not speak.

"Before you, I was already trying to do whatever I had to survive. including doing what everyone else did back in that hellhole and ask for help-"

Yoongi stands, to much energy and panic in his body to stay seated. “You didn’t." This is a fight and a confession you shouldn’t have In front of the rest of them.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes beseeching. He's quiet and you make your words as measured and soft as you can. "I asked your grandparents first- and then when she told me as long as I did what she said she'd get me out I-"

“She’s more dangerous than Geumjae, you can’t have honestly been trying to trade one captor for another."

The whole pack is silent, watching the two of you. Not really understanding. But Jin- Jin pursues his lips. You don't know how he knows but he does.

Yoongi’s face goes truly white. Yoongi’s hands are shaking. Shaking until he grabs the handles of your chair, knees to the ground, bowed in front of you. Letting your silence stew for a second.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing to blame it on her, you hadn’t fought not to kill. But back then it had really felt like your only way out, the only way to escape the ever-suffocating pressure of trying not to die.

“For what it’s worth, I had no idea what they meant to you when she made me help her kill them.”

Something shifts in Yoongi’s stature, from surprise and shock to resignation so quickly you almost miss it. A tense set to his jaw but a tight-lipped understanding as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and he rests his forehead on your knees.

He's very careful in his words. Slow with them and intentional when he lifts his head and stands. You don't know if they're lies. “Just like my parents, just like all of us in the family, I knew their days were numbered anyway.” But you loved them once you want to say. You’re not sure why you want Yoongi to be angry at you.

“I won’t apologize, not for what I had to do to survive.”

Yoongi cradles your cheek. Something dark and conflicted in his eyes.

“I know, but I’d forgive you anyway, even if you did it out of anger.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi's hand drops from your cheek. "How does he connect to all of that?"

“I met him first, I asked him.” You hesitate. This isn't your secret to tell and you don't even know all of it- like how jimin even became an assassin or started killing. you don't know his motives. It's one thing to confess your own sins, and another to talk about Jimin's to them without his say-so.

Jin darts forward, holding your hand in both of his, “Whatever we say in this room- I’d never dream of recording. I’m not on anyone’s side but ours.” Jin screws his eyes shut tight, willing you and Yoongi to believe him. "Even with the FBI thing."

Namjoon whirls. He doesn't have to ask before Jin's spilling it. telling the truth.

Jin is measured with his speech, but it's his turn. No more secrets, that's what you've all agreed. "I've been working with the FBI for the last 8 years. They approached me back before we met Joonie- because of my proximity to Yoongi. First as an informant, then an agent and now the head of the task force.

"I only did it because I figured out that being a part of them was the easiest way to keep Yoongi out of jail. As long as I could reasonably assume I was the only one trusted and close enough to keep an eye on him, I could keep all the truly damning evidence out of their hands."

Jin turns to you, resisting the urge to reach out to you for his own comfort, you're looking at him like he's got three heads, but he smiles down at you, that pup-soft smile that he saves just for you when you're both nesting.

"I kept your name off of the photocopies of the recipie you used to kill them. Don't worry, no one but us knows." You look at Jin with new eyes, not a double agent but not an enemy either. Somewhere in between. Your heart pulses, and you grip his hand back.

Yoongi pulls his hands through his hair, angry, his tone grave "Well there's your reason-"

Hobi has been so quiet you've honestly almost forgotten he was there. Elbows balanced on his knees and watching the three of you on trial for Namjoon. "Answer to what."

"You don't understand Jin, you don't understand the laws of the family much less the one you've broken."

"The reason why someone's trying to kill you, if anyone finds out that Y/n killed them- everyone connected to them is fair game."

"You mean-"

"We're all done, if anyone finds out, that's probably why the new head of house was trying to take Jin out- to tie up a loose end."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused again." Hobi runs his hands through his hair, and it fluffs up. "Jimin's what again?"

“Jimin is an assassin, I asked Jimin to kill my husband for me but he said no.” You pick at a strand of thread on your pants, unwilling to look up and meet any of their eyes, not Namjoon’s or Jin’s. “Met him back when we meant nothing to each other. He still feels guilty for not saving me. We talked it out a while ago. It’s okay- I did it myself eventually- didn’t need anyone’s help.”

You look up at Yoongi and he looks like he might want to laugh or cry and can't pick which. “I don’t know much else about Jimin other than that he kills for the family."

"They've got people for everything, a few assassin's they keep on retainer," Yoongi clarifies. "People that anyone can hire if you've got the money for it. There are a few names that the family puts on a no-kill list, Children, the pack mates of the ruling pack, the heads of houses and their immediate packmates. If anyone kills a person on the no-kill list- their life is forfeit. I'm on it by default. The pack mates of the beta are on it too, All of you are on it. No one should be trying to kill you."

Yoongi's never paid much attention to the list, the waxing and waning names and faces and photos. he's been on it since before he was born and with no intent to kill or harm anyone and put himself even potentially in harm's way, he's never sought it out.

Maybe if he had, things would go differently.

A cold rush of realization rushes over you. "That's why Jimin and Jin ended up there" You stand up, adrenaline in your hands. "She was hoping they'd take each other out so she wouldn't have to break family law to kill them."

Yoongi shakes his head, "Something about this doesn’t feel right- something about this isn’t normal.”

Hobi’s phone dings before you can hash it out anymore. He looks down in his lap. “They're here,” he’s up and out of the chair, heading out the door and into the hall so quickly that the rest of you have to chase after him. Namjoon tugs you to your feet, staring at Yoongi and Jin. "Was that enough?" you ask.

"We'll talk more later." is all he says. But he does lace his hands with yours and pull you after Hobi. Your legs are so short you have to take two steps for every one of theirs.

“I wish Tae and Kookie were here for that-“

"They should know” your mate agrees, keeping pace with you in the hallway, dropping back with you when Namjoon accidentally lets go in his haste to get through the door. You make eye contact with Yoongi when you turn. Your back to one of those push doors using your body weight to push through it.

You pause, waiting with Yoongi on the other side of them.

“If anyone tells her about Minnie- should be me.”

(You know exactly how you’ll do it, you’ll tell Tae the story of you just like this. You’ll tell it like a story, with author notes and playlists near the end. You’ll talk about Jimin just like this; all of the good parts and all of the bad all in one. So that she might truly understand that having a choice doesn't always mean you're free to do whats right.)

Yoongi nods, “I can tell Jungkook. I think if I do it gently, he won’t get shocked enough to have a seizure.”

You pause before the doors open, to have just a moment with the two of you, just you and him leaning against it. He shifts closer, not holding you, hands by his side but he's close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder. You do rest your head on his shoulder. Just to hear his heartbeat thud sluggish and heaven-sent against your ear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” It feels like it’s been ages and ages since you’ve had a quiet moment with him like this. You resolve to have one, to make space for him when this is all over. A private date with just the two of you maybe. Whenever Jimin comes home. “To help with Jimin.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I killed your grandparents.”

“They weren’t good people,” Yoongi shrugs, you've never seen a sadder shrug. “I always knew that. They-” yoongi breaks off, stealing himself for a quiet confession. "I think they might have had a hand in killing my parent. She didn't like it- that they had so much power over me. Future of the family and all."

"You've never said-"

Yoongi pushes through the door, and a high pitched keening cuts off your next words. "Later."

You push through the door and Tae and Jungkook are already there. Entering through the outside doors with a puff of air into Namjoon and Jin's waiting arms. Namjoon holds Tae up as she wails and wails. Her cry high like a nightingale. Jungkook looks pale and shaky, settled under Hobi's shoulder clearly in shock.

You cut through them, ducking under Jin's outstretched arm and colliding with Tae before anyone else can join Namjoon in holding her. falling to little heap on the linoleum floor, just at the precipice of the long hallway that connects to the patient rooms and the nurse's stations to other surgical suites. Drawing countless stars, countless looks from passersby as Tae's sobs renew themselves, loud and broken.

You clinging to each other. Her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head like it's the last safe thing in the universe.

“Jimin,” her voice breaks, throat closing around nothing. Sobs wet and angry, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, big and unabated by hope. "Minnie- My Minnie-"

You cling back, getting your hands on her cheeks. “He’s gonna be fine, he’ll be alright- here- here let me help you up. We've got you Tae-”

Jungkook looks a bit better, a little bit less like he’s drowning. Jin reaches for him while you hold onto Tae. And JK’s nostrils flare, he steps back, looking Jin up and down. Tae clings to you on the floor of the hospital and you look up at them. At Jin and Jungkook, standing a pace apart. Jungkook's hands keep Jin from coming any closer.

“You smell like Jimin does when he comes home from his trips, you smell like gunpowder. And mucky-” Jungkook's voice breaks, "Jin? Why do you smell like blood?"

There are too many people around, too many people for something like this. You're just glad It’s a quiet omission, Jungkook’s scent is level and so is his breath.

Maybe you should give him a lot more credit. Yoongi might not have to tell him much.

Tae's tears hit your collarbones as she crushes you, sobbing loudly in your ear, immune to the string of sweet nothings that fall from your lips. Whispered against her temple.

To everyone else in the hallway, rushing in the late-night hum, you and Tae look just the way that you’d expect; Two girls clinging to each other, one tall and the other short. One an alpha and the other an omega.

The rest of the pack is so blinded by their concern and their terror that they don’t look up. They don’t look down the hall to see the figure standing there watching them. One second the hallway is empty of the dark figure and then next she's there- waiting for you.

Her pine and medicine scent is disguised by the smell of death that lingers here. Although more than 2 of the people there might recognize it if they had the patience to sniff it out. They're too distracted by Yoongi dragging Jungkook close and whispering in his ear to keep his voice down.

Moonbyul watches the scene from the end of the hall. Two coffees in her hands. One for her and one for you because she always assumes that you'll go with her when she asks. No matter what’s going on with your pack, Moonbyul is not the kind of person who you say no to. She’ll ask nicely for you to come one more time.

Or so she thought. Looking at you and Tae holding each other is giving her other ideas.

To love a man is something she's always been able to dismiss as a mistake. Little pups just don't know what they need and even less what they want. She'd been prepared to deal with you loving them, the alphas, on paper, even the admittedly pretty omega male currently in her cousin's arms.

But another woman? Even one like that?

Rage is not like other sorts of anger, it’s not like fire burning to take. Achieng to burn until all the heat has worked itself out. Rage is quiet, rage is darkness and a hunger that needs to consume. That will destroy even if you try to stop it.

It's one thing to know that you love a woman besides her, and another to see you peck kisses along her tearstained cheeks. The rage builds as she watches you cup that female alpha’s cheeks. She watches you brush her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears. She’s got honeyed skin and smudged lipstick (so inelegant) you wipe her tears away and kiss her cheek.

But what makes Moonbyul’s hands tighten into claws, her metal-tipped nails piercing the coffee cups and making them drip onto the ground, wet and hot, is the way you smile at her.

Moonbyul’s rage is like a tidal wave.

By the time the rest of the pack looks up, the hallway is empty except for a puddle of coffee on the linoleum floor and two discarded cups. One with red lipstick stains and the other without.

~-~

(18 hours later, Jimin)

Tae’s cheek is so soft. That’s the first thing that Jimin’s aware of as he wakes from surgery.

Coming out of general anesthesia feels like being a rickety buoy on the busy ocean. One second bobbing to the surface and the next crashing below the waves and taking on water. Sloshy. Everything feels sloshy.

He only feels her at first- not the hospital bed, not the scratchy sheets, Just the feeling of her cheek resting against the palm of his hand. Her gentle breath tickling his fingers in her sleep.

Jimin will always know the particular beat and cadence of Tae’s body. Would know it if the sun got snuffed out like a candle. Would know her breath anywhere because it’s the very fuel to Jimin’s soul, the very thing that sets the tempo to the heart monitor beating out a pleasant rhythm in the midafternoon hum.

Her skin is pillowy and sweet beneath Jimin’s flayed fingers, limp and cold to the touch because of the whole almost bleeding out thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but he's needed 9 units of blood in the past 24 hours. 4 right away, and 3 during the surgery where they removed the knife and stitched his arm together. And another two units just after.

Compared to his own body, Tae feels so warm.

At least Jimin can still feel his left hand. The doctors that stitched him back together must have done a bang-up job, Namjoon even more so. a lot of people can put an arm back together, a whole slew of them, but not many surgeons could stab someone carefully enough so as to not permanently injure them. There are only so many people that he would trust to stab him.

But Jimin trusts Namjoon with a whole lot more than just that.

When he opens his eyes (a task of herculean proportions) Namjoon isn’t there, it’s just Tae in one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs. She’s bent over his hospital bed in what must surely be an uncomfortable position to sleep in. Her back arched like invisible wings weigh her down. She slept like that, sprawled as close as she could get to Jimin without the nurses waking her up and telling her not to crowd him.

The smudged mascara on her cheeks flake like falling stars, little trails there were tears rendered it useless. Jimin wipes away a black droplet like he's banishing a ghost. She’s cried so much over the last 10 hours, most of her makeup gone and sporting a bit of 5 o’clock shadow too. The faint roughness that Jimin feels no more than once. Because to derive sensory pleasure from that feels…wrong.

He looks at the ceiling, wondering where the others are. He feels the edge of his body, the spot where the wound begins and the pain ends. Who knew gunshots and stab wounds could make you feel so sore? and tired too? Exhaustion pins his body to the bed like a butterfly to a corkboard.

A wire connected to his good hand tugs, But he ignores it in favor of cradling Tae's head and combing through the tangles in her hair. It's gotten so long now, just to her shoulders, but the bits feel so soft and gauzy against his fingertips. He wishes he could feel it forever. It’s much much better than the 5 o’clock shadow.

It takes a dozen passes for Tae to stir.

And then she startles awake, flinching into being. Fresh tears disrupt the mascara flecks as she beholds her soulmate and nearly tugs herself across his bed to get her hands on his face. To hold his cheeks.

To say that Tae has looked better would be accurate for jimin to say but the words would never grace Jimin’s lips. Not even close. Even with a crusty face and greasy hair- Tae looks gorgeous- so pretty that his heart pulses dangerously quickly. so quickly that jimin's suprised the nurses don't come by and check on him.

Maybe they haven’t given him enough opioids for his shoulder because for a second he feels his heartbeat ricochet through his whole body. To his fingers where he's touching her and back to his heart. Every echo and ripple Tae Tae Tae.

Tae bends over Jimin’s body. Her hands go to his face, fingers touching his smile, and thumbs pressed to his faint crow's feet and twinkling eyes. Clutching at him like he’s her lifeline (he is, a red string of fate that keeps her from drowning, always. She was stupid not to use it like an anchor).

“Pup told me.” She says, a note of finality in her voice, lower lip trembling, tears falling anew “told me you kept talking about me even when you were stabbed" she goes quiet, whispering the words like she's scared someone might be listening in.

"Pup told me everything."

Jimin’s eyes flick from her lips to her face, her body, everything. His hands are trembling, chest building with breaths until they’re heaving and the realization of just how much everything she must know hits him.

Tae knows Jimin well enough to know what a panic attack looks like- knows enough how to soothe it. Knows just to hold on and wait for it to pass. jimin's hands splay and flex, rubbing her skin once, twice, and then a third time in an effort to self-soothe.

"It's okay,"

"You mean you're not-" Jimin's heart monitor is going so wild that Tae has to tell him to calm down. Has to run her fingers up and down his scent glands on his neck, nipping at them to settle him. "You're not angry that I'm-"

That I'm a killer, that I'm a monster. That I've kept everything from you. Jimin readies himself, preparing himself for the speech he always knew he'd have to give. You don't understand, I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen this- I didn't I just. I never killed people who didn't deserve it- because I know that you'd hate that.

For the first time in their lives, Tae and Jimin are sitting across from each other- without a single secret to each of their consciousness. both of them free and perilously unmoored for it.

But there are no words that Tae needs when she looks up at him and smiles. Wetness at the corner of her eyes.

Seeing Jimin in the hospital bed had not felt like Patroclus and Achilles, it hadn't even felt like Orpheus and Eurydice. There was no roaring anguish. The kind that follows when people leave you too soon. Or the bitter vindication that happens when people leave at just the right time (it’s the worst when people leave like that. Either linger or make me miss you. Stay too long or leave me early. Either way is fine. I’ll feel more human if I’ve got longing or hatred to feel).

In truth seeing Jimin in the hospital bed, wires and hooks connected to him- keeping him alive and keeping him breathing, had felt like a second chance. She's not going to let something as simple as a secret spoil it.

Tae knows she should want to know more about Jimin's job as an assassin and should want to ask more questions (if not to understand her soulmate better, than for writing material). She Should be more revolted or disturbed or upset that her literal soulmate kills people for a living, but at the moment, all she can find in herself is just to be glad that Jimin is fucking alive.

It’s funny, how much your priorities can shift.

Jimin looks like he doesn't believe her. "Tae, you can't even kill spiders."

"Would you care?" Jimin falls silent. "Would you care if it was me in your position?"

Jimin swallows hard and winces. He doesn’t have to ask for a sip of water, because Tae has already gotten it for him by the time his good hand closes over his throat. His shoulder is bound so tightly in bandages that he can hardly shift it. Can't reach up to stop himself from spilling a bit of the water down his chin. Her nails (red polished and chipped) wipe away a drop on his lips.

(There's more that you weren't able to tell her just yet; a lot about you and Yoongi and Jin. You've decided to save the bulk of how Jimin ended up in the hospital bed until after Jimin woke up. Later when you can get her on her own you'll tell her. Probably after Jimin's discharged from the hospital. But the other secrets can wait for now).

It won’t really hit her until later. When she’s in her closet looking at all of her pretty things and designer clothes. Fingers toeing along the fine black cashmere sweaters, to the maroon dresses, to the scarlet ones, stopping just before she reaches the pink. The Dior, the Versache, the McQueen. It will only be then that she'll put two and two together and realize they were all paid for with blood money. With people’s lives.

It will bother her then; it doesn’t bother her right now. It will never bother her enough to think about leaving jimin.

How do you make the choice? What to condemn a loved one for? How do you pin down your line of intolerance when it's someone you love with your whole being? Can you decide at all or is it something that your soul chooses for you? The weight of one sin for another. what you're willing to go through.

They would have died anyway. Even if Jimin hadn't killed them, they had someone out there willing enough to pay for their death and they'd have died anyway she rationalizes. We're all going to die anyway.

Maybe it’s a silver lining that Tae no longer believes in the same kind of sin and wrongness that Jimin does. Doesn’t believe in God and heaven at all. Tae has always believed in soulmates more and believed in Jimin the most. More than any god or afterlife.

“I should be angry, anyone else probably would be but-” Tae turns her cheek into Jimin’s fingers, pressing her lips to his trigger finger. Eyes shining when she looks at him. “I’ve wasted too much of my life being angry at you, wasted too much of it feeling anything but love for you- Jimin- if you died, I-”

Jimin cradles Tae's cheek. “I’m sorry for Namjoon’s rut- for what I said. Didn’t mean it. Never mean it if I'm mean-” Jimin’s finger rubs across Tae’s lips, the wide part of his palm splayed across her jaw, and so much is said in that little touch. But they look at each other and laugh. "Not like Noodle."

It shocks a laugh out of Tae and she presses her temple to Jimin's jaw, feels his smile when the joint moves. She realizes that Jimin's still a little high. Probably too doped up on pain medicine to have this conversation but oh well.

“I never thought it would take you getting stabbed for me to realize it,” her lip trembles, “I don’t want to waste another second being angry with you.”

“I don’t want to waste another second with you either. Won't even sleep,” his eyelashes flutter, struggling to stay awake.

Tae pulls herself more firmly on top of the bed and Jimin shifts a little, wakes a little more when she slings a leg carefully over his hips. Being gentle, still conscious of his physical state. He uses his good arm to pull her up and up until She’s splayed across his lap.

Kissing Tae never loses its edge, it always feels like their first kiss, sweet and with that knotted bundle of anticipation. Jimin sits up into the kiss, sits up until his shoulder protests and he hisses into the kiss. "Don't strain yourself minnie-"

"Don't care just-" he pulls her hips snugly. After that words are sparse as they kiss, again and again, lips working together. Sloppy messy love kisses. Every breath tastes like love, every second of it. She giggles pulling apart for a second to get her breath, the heartbeat monitors in the corner going wild. Breath that washes over Jimin like a gust of spring air, cinnamon flower sweat, and heady. Tae’s kisses are better than a first sip of coffee or a breath of fresh air. (They’re better than living, just a little bit).

“If I was any less sore, I’d ask you to bite me right now.”

Tae grins, and it’s a special secret smile. “You said something like that to Pup too."

“I’m so lucky I get to be yours- don't want to waste the luck-" Tae shakes her head stubbornly pulling back.

"I don’t think that you should say you’re lucky. I’m so lucky that this person loved me, or I’m so lucky that I got to love them. Because when it comes down to it, love and luck are not the same thing. Love is not a single event, like winning the lottery, or finding a 100-dollar bill. Love is a choice and you have to choose it a thousand times. Every day you choose it. Luck is such a cop-out. It’s been really nice.”

“God, I hope I’m more than just nice.”

Tae smiles, “Shut up” She goes a little pale. “Actually don’t shut up with me like- ever. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.” She plays with Jimin’s hands, “Is that when either of us- whoever- goes first-“ Jimin’s grip goes knuckle tight on her waist, he's coming out of it, a little more lucid with every breath. Waking up more.

“When one of us dies- I don’t want to question if I ever loved you enough, I don't want to rely on just luck. I don’t want to think about the days that I could have gone for coffee with you or could have kissed you longer. I don’t want to think that I didn’t get exactly what I wanted and you didn’t get exactly what you wanted too.

"I want to give you one extra kiss every time so that you get twice as much as you would have gotten otherwise. I just want to think that it was nice, that every moment of it was nice- even when we fought, I want to look back on it and think ‘even the sad parts were nice and I got more than I thought I would.' No luck involved.”

She grins down at him, that same youthful grin she’s had her whole life, Jimin thinks of it sometimes- how many times she’s smiled this way and he hasn’t seen. How many more he will see.

“Also, y/n says that you’re allowed to mate me, but not marry me. She says my ring finger belongs to her.”

Jimin slides up the bed, flipping her over, supporting himself with his good hand, sending her sprawling and giggling. His growl is half hearted but promising. Tae laces her hand in his greasy blonde hair and it stays there.

It stays there.

~-~

The rest of Jimin’s hospital stay goes a bit like this:

There is a pair of suits outside the window, dark and imposing. plain clothes police officers watching and waiting like vultures. They’ve already taken statements from the pack but demand to hear from Park Jimin himself.

Lies from the source always taste the sweetest.

There is a story ironed out and penned in stolen moments, you curled up in one packmate's lap and transferred to another, "the pup" Jin had said, the youngest, was not taking her alpha's stabbing well. "She just needs a bit of soothing, sorry." The suits are charmed enough by two cuddling omega's that they don't notice your mouth pressed to their ears, like a game of cuddly murderous telephone.

The story gets ironed out easily, you’d all gone out for pizza, had come home to find Jimin bleeding in your kitchen.

“It’s pretty normal for Jimin to be reckless with his health. I’m not surprised he tried to come home and see if I could stitch him up himself. I'm a doctor at his hospital- Dr. Kim, pack alpha and head of neurosurgery. The knife- you should know I touched it on accident he wanted to remove it himself and I just had to stop him- I’m sorry- I should have known better I was just- so shaken.” Namjoon is a passable liar at best.

Jungkook has folded himself under your mate’s arm, and Jin’s too. He’s still vaguely shaking, bunny eyes wider than usual. In a little bit, Namjoon will drag him over to an empty exam room for a quick check-up. Just to make sure he isn't about to seize on the floor. Yoongi will go with him, Will tell him the truth about all of this then.

But what, with his comment earlier, you wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook has already figured it out on his own.

Jimin doesn’t even need to be coached into remembering it. The police don’t even think of not letting the pack see him, after seeing Tae’s teary eyes. A pretty girl is the best distraction, and the pack has two pretty girls that smell sour and need to tend to their alpha before the police get a chance too.

They’re impatient as they watch you and Tae fold yourself over Jimin’s barely aware body, more preoccupied with looking at your asses than they don’t see your lips moving against Jimin’s ear, mistaking your shaking for the racking sobs. And your quiet words for sweet nothings.

Hobi had barely leashed a growl, and resisted the urge to step in front of you and block you both from their sight.

The story is so easy and simple- a true case of Ockham’s razor. The simplest story with the least details is the most likely to be believed. the story Jimin tells the police goes like this;

Earlier yesterday, a crazy fan of the idol group he guards that must have followed him from his schedule with intent to learn his schedule and get closer to them. Her description is so ordinary that they’ll never find her because she doesn’t exist. Any person found will easily be made inculpable; either by alibi or honesty. Not that the law cares much about honesty, nor that any of you care about possibly implicating a stranger.

Love always did make people go to extremes, it's easily believable.

Nothing else matters. Besides keeping everyone safe. You're united against this.

Once they're gone, other promises get made:

“I want you to quit, this is too dangerous, if something like this happens to you again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

“We need to make sure we travel in pairs until we figure out what’s going on, why they're targeting Jimin and Jin.”

“I can ask some of my contacts-“

“You’ll do no such thing Yoongi.”

“Do you think we should be like- Armed? Just in case?”

“I don’t think more guns will solve anything but…Maybe.”

In a stolen moment, Namjoon corners you outside Jimin's hospital bedroom, he's holding three bags of takeout, not that Jimin will really be able to eat much of it. The opioids keep down his appetite. That doesn't meant the pack won't try to fuss. As it is, Jimin hasn't been interested in anything but kissing Tae and holding her hand. Pouting whenever the nurses make tae leave.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Namjoon has always found apologies easy and has never had so much of an ego that it would get in the way of any of it.

"It's alright, between you and me, I think it was kind of justified." You'd probably yell at all of them if they convinced you to stab Yoongi or tae or any of them.

"No more secrets, okay? Promise me this is the last one." It's easy to promise Namjoon that, so easy. To let him scent you, rubbing his coffee liquor scent all over your shoulder.

(But it's not about the promises that you make, it's about the ones that you break.)

You sit out in the hallway the following morning, still in the same clothes and starting to feel a little bit filthy because of it. None of you have gone home yet. Hobi sits next to you and Jungkook's on the other side.

They’re just checking Jimin’s stitches again, and his hospital room just got a bit crowded. The prospect of checkout is maybe a day away. Tonight is the last you'll have to spend at the hospital.

It was also time to talk over Jimin’s opioid regimen, and the doctor had been nearly delighted when Namjoon had stepped up and taken the lead, reassuring the doctor under no uncertain terms that Namjoon would manage them. You can forgive him for thinking a little too much with his hindbrain. If Namjoon leaned any more into his instincts you'd be worried he was close to going into a rut again.

“Is this what it’s like when I’m in the hospital?” Jungkook asks, sucking on some skittles. It's more sugar than he should be allowed to have especially during a high-stress situation. But Jungkook’s taking the panic to get a little bit of freedom. You cast a glance at Tae, at Yoongi and Jin, standing by the door looking like he’s about ready to twitch out of his skin with the effort it's taking him to stand outside.

Jin had apologized- him and Namjoon both, and Jimin had accepted it instantly. "If I trust anyone to shoot and stab me- it's you two so-"

"But-" they'd argued, but eventually Jimin had turned a little scary, a little threatening. showing a hint maybe- of a persona they're all unused to but you're not. Jimin can be firm when he needs to be. A quick retort of-

"Forcing me to comfort you over something I'm not upset about is not the way to make me forgive you." Shut them up for good (or at least for now).

“Yeah, pretty much.” You hold out your hand for some skittles and he gives you a few. Hobi grimaces and reaches over to take the orange ones out of your palm. He knows you don’t like those. He replaces them with a few green ones.

"It’s fucking boring. I should get you guys like- a DS or something for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell Minnie or he’ll blow all his money on-“ You cringe at your words and Hobi flinches. Jungkook just chews on his candies, they smack against his teeth with a hard clinking sound.

There is still some of Jimin's blood under Hobi's fingernails. You see it when he reaches over to take your Skittles.

The next time Hobi moves to take your Skittles, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "Come on."

You lead Hoseok into the women's bathroom, underneath the curious eye of the nurses, all the stalls are empty so you pull him over to the counter.

“You’ve got some- stuff- under your nails- let me.” You rip a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them. You clean Hobi’s hands diligently and he lets you.

He stays quiet, Hobi's been quiet for the last day or so. He hasn't done more than whisper a few quiet words to Jimin and stay close. He didn't say anything during your secret confession yesterday. Didn't ask a single question and the silence bleeds now as you scrub the clean-smelling soap against his skin. Your anxiety builds, and you scrub a little harder. His fingers remain limp in your touch.

“Say something- say anything okay? I need to know that you’re not-” not angry with me. That you don't hate me- that you still love-.

Hobi pulls you against his shoulder in a single clean movement. His wet hands hit your stomach when he grabs your hips. Your nose brushing his throat, his nose skimming your hairline.

“I’m trying not to take too much energy from Jimin- trying not to- be a mess- because he's the only one who deserves the packs attention. I'm not even sure if I am a mess about it. Sure that sucked but-" he sighs, "you and I are kinda like- uniquely able to handle things like this cuz of-" he doesn't need to finish his sentence. Hoseok's lips brush your ear, lips touching your skin, and- he pulls back, smiling softly. It's a tired smile but there it is- soft and special and just for you.

“You’re taking things, remarkably well considering the last time we…”

“The last time we had to deal with something like this?”

You hum, scrubbing a paper towel hard over the ends of Hobi's hands. The white paper goes orange-red with dried blood. "Give it time. There’s still a few weeks for me to go crazy this time.”

But this time, you have a feeling that it will be different. Although Hobi was there the last time- and played an instrumental role in making sure you didn't literally fall apart. It's different now. Right now, your hands tangle on the counter, holding on, even though you try to clean his hands of blood. Holding on is more important, neither of you tries and pull away. You don't have the energy for shyness.

What's more intimate? Sex or murder?

He huffs a small frustrated sound and stoops to rest his forehead against your shoulder, leaning almost all of his weight on you. You take it.

“Maybe this time I’ll take a crack at going crazy.” You laugh, stopping your brushing and just settling for holding him. Hips resting against the counter. The two of you rest, just for a moment.

Your nose against the side of his face where his undercut presses to your skin, spiky. "Still have that train ticket?" Hobi humms, taking a deep greedy breath of your scent to steady himself.

You're not expecting him to pull back and kiss you, but his lips are dry but warm, faintly chapped but yours are too. Pressing soft but demanding against yours. Hobi kisses you just as sweetly as last time and you grip the front of his jacket.

No sooner has he heaved you up on the counter, fingers hooking under your thighs to kiss you stronger- than is the door clanging open and a nurse comes barreling in.

"Ugh- uhm." She's a little stunned, but you're already hopping down, faces flushed and apologizing for the inconvenience.

You don’t throw the bloody paper towels in the garbage, but the toilet, flushing them once, then twice, to make sure that they’re down. Mumbling one last apology before you exit the bathroom together.

Hobi doesn't let go of your hand. You wonder if this is what loving him is going to be like; making out in places you shouldn't, special secret stolen glances when you keep holding hands even around the pack and keep stealing kisses.

You wonder if the kissing will stretch to the cars- to the late night drives, if he'll hold your hand like this around every hairpin turn. If Hobi's going to make you a make out playlist later, full of songs that make him think of you, songs that match the cadence and pitch of your heart. You wonder if loving him will be like this, stolen innocence, like finding sea glass on the beach. There and pretty for the taking if you only look for it.

Your heart feels all warm and tight with it, swaddled. Protected as Hobi tugs you back into Jimin's hospital room. You can't wait to find out.

The next few hours look like this; Namjoon sitting on the foot of the bed his hand on Jimin’s knee, feasting on hospital food. Jungkook giggles, and nearly throws himself across Jimin’s lap so that the alpha can put his hands through his hair. Looks like more takeout, living off of it because no one wants hospital food and you can't go home and cook. You refuse to leave right now.

It looks like Tae smiling for the first time In what feels like years but has logically been only a few hours. Rubbing a hand across her jaw and wincing when she feels the stubble.

Her wince quiets the sounds of the pack happy. And you look up from your plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always stupidly attuned to her and her needs, always watching and waiting.

“I need to freaking shave and I just- I haven’t had the chance to.” Tae lets out a tired sigh, the kind of deep frustration that comes with things that you have no choice but to do.

You take her hand from her chair and tug her up. Because this- this source of angst can be fixed.

“Here- come on,” A shaving razor gets found for her, Namjoon goes to the surgical ward to get the right kind. Sharp and medical and disposable along with a tiny tube of shaving gel. You drag her chair into the bathroom and make her sit while you do it. Lathering up her cheeks and tipping her head back. The whole pack a cacophony in the other room. The shock of skittles and other candies falling onto the floor. Muted words then soft laughter.

You drag the shaving razor up her chin, over her chubby cheeks. Your gentle touch, the soft scrapping of her hair against the blade a gentle accompaniment to the sounds of the pack passing the time until Jimin wants to go to sleep. Jungkook's phone plays a tictok loud, "Bunny- headphones, Minnie's trying to rest" Yoongi reminds him.

Jimin is struggling not to fall asleep, shifting to one side of the hospital bed just to get a better vantage point to look into the bathroom at Tae. Jimin cranes his neck.

Tae's face twitches, and underneath the white froth you see her reddening cheeks. “Stop looking at me.”

Jimin grins from the hospital bed, “Can’t help it, love you.”

“Love you too Minnie” She choruses back, and the pack joins her.

that night, namjoon and yoongi push three hospital cots togeather around jimin's bed and the pack piles in, sweet bodies and kissed cheaks, whiped down with sanitary towels, you end up tucked between tae and hobi, your cheek pressed to her back.

the following morning it becomes impossible to ignore both how purely filthy the 8 of you are and the fact that Jimin's doctors won't let him check out until tomorrow (and even then he'll have days of bedrest and won't be able to use his arm until he gets his stitches out.) You haven't been home in two days, no one can remember if you even locked the front door with how crazy leaving was.

It’s hard to convince Tae to go with you and leave Jimin's side. But she's less resistant when Yoongi reminds her that Jimin needs new clothes to go home in since all of his bloodstained clothing was discarded as medical waste.

“Honestly we should get like- to go bags full of a change of clothes for all of us when like, JK has his seizures,” Maybe it’s just because you’ve done overnights twice in the last week at the hospital- but the idea doesn’t seem like a bad one.

Jin drives you, Hobi, and Tae home in silence; no one tells Tae any of the other secrets yet. Tired as she is, almost falling asleep in the car. Waking with a start when you turn onto your street.

It's a little shocking. When you get home to a cold and quiet house. Jimin's blood has dried up into dark waxy puddles, on the kitchen table and the floor. There are fingerprints from someone, rusty and red on the doorframe. It's stark to see the evidence. To see a bit of it on the butcher block countertop all the terror and the color leached out of it in the grey afternoon light.

Tae is so stumbly that Hobi has to grab her twice just to keep her from walking into walls when he gets her inside. Noodles immediately yowl has you feeling terribly guilty, he circles your and Hobi's ankles. But you push at Hoseok's hands when he stoops to pick him up.

"Take Tae upstairs and shower with her, will you? I'll be up in a second, just gonna feed him and get some stuff together." She's blinking and looking at the bloodstains, eyes already looking glassy with fresh tears.

You need a second, a second in quiet, a second alone just to steady yourself. Jin comes in, dragging in a mountain of mail from your box, "I've got them, come on pups, grooming time."

Jin pecks a kiss along your forehead, "Come up the second you finish?"

You nod, "Just want to get some food first too- hungry."

Jin nods and makes to follow Hobi and Tae but pauses on the stairs. he looks like he wants to say something to you. Eyes full of something unreadable and warm. Unspoken words hover.

If he had to choose anyone, I'm glad he chose you.

But before he can get it out Tae calls from upstairs. "Jinnie? Can you grab one of my comfy sets from the closet down there before you come up?"

You stand, solemn in the kitchen, listening to the sound of them on the creaky stairs, the sound of their quiet voices. The creek of the house as they walk around upstairs.

"Here you go baby," you say, giving Noodles an extra spoonful of food. You know you left enough for him in his bowl and that he didn't suffer too badly. But still, his purring chirping is music to your ears. You pet over his back, his fluffy tail.

He's Still chubby, still good. You aren't too bad of a pet owner then.

There's the gun still there, sitting just to the left of Jimin's blood splatter on the seat of one of the dining room chairs. You're at eye level with it from where you crouch down to pet Noodle. It's the same one that you pulled out from under the bed when you found out he'd been shot. You should probably take it with you when you go back to the hospital, just to be sure.

"You got any secrets for me nu? Are you the long-lost prince of some cat kingdom?" Noodle chops down in response.

You go to the hallway closet to get a duffel bag, where the pack stores their larger bags and luggage.

"Hey!" Hobi calls from upstairs, muffled through the roar of the shower. There isn't much other noise in the house. The birds outside aren't chirping, probably because you haven't been home enough to fill their birdfeeder.

Probably.

"Yeah!?" You call back up, upending the duffel bag and sending a bit of loose change, some quarters and pennies scattering onto the floor. you stoop down to pick up a few of them, tossing them back into the closet with a metallic clang (to be dealt with later.)

“Can you grab Tae's phone charger? It should be by her computer.”

"Got it!" Tae's library room is much the same as it was when you left it, her computer is closed. The walls are green, the window dusty. You find it easily, the cord long and white, tangling in your hands.

You're not sure why your hair raises on the back of your neck.

Noodle stops his chomping.

The push of cold air startles you- the change of pressure in the house like a door being opened- the front door. The windows in the library room are leaky. You're used to being in here and feeling it, used to feeling that same draft every time one of your pack mates comes home.

You freeze where you stand.

The metallic jingle of the doorknob is so much softer than usual. You could almost convince yourself that you don't hear it, that you've made it up.

And then you hear it- Noodle's low hiss.

Call it a habit or a trained behavior but you still make your footsteps quiet everywhere you go. A thing learned from your years with Geumjae when you needed to be quiet to be safe and needed to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible to avoid pain. A vestigial survival instinct.

It serves you well now because no one in the house hears as you slide from Tae’s library through the pantry area, you don’t call out Tae’s name again, or Hobi’s. You don’t know exactly why you don’t.

Your house is an old house and you know every inch of it. You know this house that Yoongi’s built for you from the top of the eves to the shutters, from the windows up top to the ground floor and dusty half-finished basement. You know every creaky floorboard and which steps are the ones you skip when someone’s sleeping upstairs because it always sounds so high-pitched and it wakes Jimin up, light sleeper that he is.

You hear the subtle creek of the floorboards now, the small slide of heavy boots across the wide floorboards. A creak. Someone is about to ascend the stairs, up to where you can still hear Hobi and Tae talking softly. The shower off, they're probably just getting dressed.

Softly, you hear the sound of a heavy boot hitting something metallic, one of the pennies you dropped earlier and missed.

Jin might still be in the other room, that's what you tell yourself. You're just being paranoid. stupid paranoia you almost want to laugh. you're just jumpy from the last few days- that's all. Funny of you, to make it up.

The danger is all in your head.

Only it's not,

Because the first thing you see when you peek around the corner is the pitch-dark barrel of an extended gun.

~-~

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Notes:

There are some parts in this chapter, some facts about yoongi's family that haven't been touched on since the very begining chapters or jimin's secret chapters and i repeated them just so that people get a bit of a refresher but some of it feels a little monotonous to write! i hope it's not too hard to get through.

in an ideal world i would have given myself an additional week to edit this chapter, it's not the most edited and because of that i feel like it got repetitive or arduous in places.

i'm also realizing that this is like, 9th longest bts fanfic in existence. look it up on ao3 if you don't believe me. i think giving people a refresher of the begining is fair. In terms of the harry potter series (it really is a shame that no one knows who wrote it) we're just into the 6th book in terms of word count if you need that for context.

on that same vein. moonbyuls brief rant that is implied to be transphobic and sorta is- is not a reflection of my views she's just...you know...the villain?

this chapter also literally went from 8k to 14k during editing what the fuck. i stayed up till 2 am to get this done two nights in a row. i have this little nagging voice in my head that says its stupid to care about something like this but i can't help it- i love this story so much. even if this isn't the best chapter.

when the m/c has her freak out in the room where she almost passes out- that is called adrenal fatigue and it's soemthing that i struggle with as someone with ptsd. you know the feeling when you go on a rollercoaster when all of your adrenaline unloads it's self all at once? if i go through that my body goes a little haywire like- dizziness, exhaustion, dysregulation, memory fog, all of it. i still like rollercoasters though so as long i like rest and drink alot of water it doesn't affect me too much.

it's really important that you notice that no one says moonbyuls name during the moment when they're talking about their secrets between namjoon, jin, hobi, yoongi, and the m/c. i'm not telling you why just PAY ATTENTION.

Every time i think about the proverb "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." i think of the m/c and how thats her storyline with the family like- she really was like "either you love me or i'll kill all of you" and i think thats cute <3

In terms of why the last don and Beta killed Yoongi's parents- i think it's because yoongi's mother found out that she was pregnant with another beta and the don and beta didn't want to deal with such a divided power. They already had yoongi under their thumb and another possible successor would have over complicated things. Yoongi would have had a little sister, i don't know if he'll ever know thats why his parents where killed- he was between the ages of 16 and 18 when they died.

although this chapter was the least edited in terms of the most recent chapters- i will also say that there are two moments in this chapter- where i 'fuck up' and write things a certian way but heres the thing- they're not fuck ups and they're actually hints so! lets see if anyone notices!!

i'm gonna be honest with you guys the part where it goes "it stays there" left me fucking winded i can't even think about it too hard or else i get misty eyed.

i am catheterizing a lot of emotions writing this i am sorry it took so long to write, there is a reason why this update took a month and thats cuz yeah- my grandmother is dying. She's got cancer and She's 91 so they're not treating it. death is gonna be a /theme/ for me over the next couple of chapters, don't be surprised if I go off on a tangent or if it takes me a second between updates.

i wish i could write the m/c just a little dumber you know?

i wrote this series with the intent to write about people in realistic relationships- showing the moments they make mistakes, the moments they react too much or not enough, the way that trauma affects us all and how we handle it and love. it feels very full circle to have this chapter come out like- this is what bily is about you know? even though they'res alot of dialouge in it.

oh~ shits about to go down~

Mini-Playlist

Dominic fike- acai bowl (kinda hobi and the m/c's song for this chapter, they're going through it)

Hozier- Eat Your Young (Bekon's Choral Version) (this is literally bily's unoffical theme song at this point)

JID, Kenny Mason - Dance now (the beginning when moonbyul setting the industrial park on fire)

Frank sinatra- thats life (the song i picture playing at the end when tae and jimin are talking out their issues).

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 19 days

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Can't get the whole "Do you think you'd kill for me one day ?" "Yes, of course I will my darling" out of my head, but make it the Papas x their most devoted ghouls. Basically murder ghouls offering very morbid gifts to the Papas. They like it.

TW for morally grey characters - both Papas and ghouls - blood, kind of body horror, I guess ? I think it is. It might be a bit disturbing, so. Read with caution.

Earth bringing a beautiful bottle to Primo's office one day, something definitely meant for rituals, a masterpiece of carefuly crafted glass, full of a dark red liquid. Too dark to be wine. He simply sets it on a shelf, under the First's cautious eyes, and in an instant, Primo knows.

"Won't it...coagulate, or...I don't know, dry, rot ?" he asks from behind his desk, setting his glasses down in front of him. Earth smiles, adjusting the bottle so that the light catches it just right.

"I made sure it won't."

Primo smiles when the ghoul takes his hand and presses a kiss to the ring he's wearing.

"Take care not to drink it, your body wouldn't like it much."

Primo cocks an eyebrow.

"You gift me a full bottle of blood - human, i presume - and I'm not even allowed to drink it ? How very tragic."

Earth's chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"You can only wish to be a vampire, but, do not act like this isn't a power trip for you. Having someone's blood displayed in your office. Being able to admire its unique color."

Primo's smile widens.

Secondo looking up from his work, carefully setting the ancient book he's restauring on the side when Alpha leans against the doorframe, hands behind his back.

Once he's sure he has the former Papa's full attention, Alpha steps in, setting something on the desk, between Secondo's hand.

It's a paperweight, the kind he loves, heavy half globe of glass, in which is trapped a curiosity ; Secondo has a growing collection of those.

It's the first time, though, that an eye is staring blindly at him from within its transparent confine. A beautiful shade of brown, that eye, rich and deep, with flecks of gold ; Secondo leans closer to examine it.

"Fascinating," he comments, "you know me too well."

Alpha grins, rounding the desk to stand behind Secondo's chair, massaging his tense shoulders as he whispers against his ear.

"Took me a while to find the color I wanted, I know you have a thing for that kind of brown eyes."

Secondo hums, turning the paperweight this way and that, letting light bounce off it, projecting rainbows on the wall. It will definitely have a special place on his desk, so that Secondo will be able to gaze at it whenever he wishes to.

Alpha kisses the corner of his mouth, almost reverently, and Secondo puts the paperweight down, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Omega helping Terzo dress one morning, but just as the former Papa is about to move away, his ghoul tugs on his sleeve, shoving something in his hand.

What the rosary is made of is, Terzo immediately knows. The beads, the inverted cross, they're an ivory white that is quite impossible to mistake for anything other than it is.

By the way Omega hooks his chin on Terzo's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, the former Papa has no doubt it's important for him, that gift.

"It's lovely, my dear ghoul. Did you make it yourself ?"

Terzo really means it. The piece of jewlery is delicate and elegant, something he'll wear with pride.

"I did. I'm glad you like it."

A pause. Terzo takes a moment to bask in Omega kissing up his neck, before he slips the rosary around it.

"Should I ask who's bones I'm wearing ?"

Omega chuckles, face now burried in his hair.

"You know better. All that matters is that you look fantastic, wearing someone's bone."

Terzo does, so he simply smiles, admiring how the necklace rests on his chest in the mirror, sinking into Omega's embrace.

Dew, wordlessly slipping a bracelet around Copia's wrist after practice. He looks down, surprised, as the ghoul lingers, hovering at his side.

A thin chain, trinkets dangling from it, mostly tiny coins with infernal symbols engraved on them and....oh. Teeth. Well, they sure look healthy.

Copia takes to examinate them, tests the point of a canine, pleased to find it still sharp, humming under his breath.

"That's quite the work you've put in, Dew, thank you. It's beautiful."

The fire ghoul takes Copia's hand, turning it until he can kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I figured you'd like it. They're perfect, aren't they ?"

Copia takes another teeth between his two fingers, holding it up for further inspection, smiling at how flawless it is.

"They sure are. Wish I had that kind of dental care, eh."

Dew snorts, tail gently squeezing Copia's hips, who let himself be pulled in the ghoul's side.

#they're fucked up yes I know #but that's half the fun !#that idea just popped into my brain so here you go #earth ghoul #primo #papa emeritus i #alpha ghoul #secondo #papa emeritus ii #omega ghoul #terzo #papa emeritus iii #dewdrop ghoul #copia #papa emeritus iv #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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bunnyboysrus · 8 months

Text

Of Monsters and Omegas

I read this a/b/o thing a while ago, I don't even know who the original was by I can't find it again y-y

but it had a thing I'd never seen in a/b/o before, with an idea of an alpha, claim biting another alpha and turning them into an omega (talked to a friend and it turns out this is a thing that has been written about more than once, im just out of touch and its not even friday) and it was an amazing story, super well written, I just personally didn't like the ending cause I'm the #1 advocate for brat readers and not the biggest fan of crybabies or the total pheromone brainwashing that people write for omegas that make them do the complete opposite of what they would normally do, I'd like to think they have more resistance to the chemicals than that albeit at the cost of some physical and psychological pain. so im writing my own, thingy, with a different ending.

18+ Minors DNI - 6.3k words Content Warnings: stalking, obsession, death, fighting, violence, blood, torture(?), kidnapping, noncon touching, suggestive, gangs, some degradation, reader is referred to as 'princess' gender neutrally (im new to this so if theres anything i forgot pls let me know)

The heavy sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed against the stone walls of the alleyway concealing the battered figures of the people fighting within it. One person lay dazed and immobile on the ground already, followed shortly by a second body, this one out cold before he even hit the ground. The last two fighters standing were locked in a desperate grapple, and despite having been beset upon by three assholes at once, the would-be victim who had been pulled into the alley on their way home from a long day of college classes gains the upper hand for the third and final time. Your muscles burn as you grunt and send the last assailant flying into the hard brick wall, one final crack ringing through the tight, dark space as they slide down the wall onto the dirty ground, right into an unfortunately placed puddle of dumpster juice. They leave a splatter of blood on the stone where the back of their head split on the stained grit.

Blood drips from the knuckles of the hand you run through the sweaty hair slicked to your forehead as you stoop and pick up your backpack from where it had been tossed to the side. You spot a wallet on the ground, knocked out of someone's pocket at some point during the fight, and pocket the cash from that too, for the inconvenience. These scumbags were lucky they weren't dead, yet, anyway. For this? They'd probably be killed within the week once you gave their ID's to your older sister.

You continue on your way back home, wiping the blood off your knuckles and face with the sleeve of your coat as you go.

Why those grunts had seemingly staked you out was beyond you, other than the obvious reason of being a member of their gang's most vicious and historied rival. Your family was a notorious one, a family business dealing mostly in drugs but with a few spare hands in money laundering and data gathering. You were fully aware that what your family did was illegal in a dozen different ways, but it was what you had grown up in, it was what paid for your lavish lifestyle, so who were you to be judgmental? Besides, to compromise within a morally gray area, you know your family prefers to keep things as bloodless as possible, less clean up and attention that way. As a fresh adult who was only in your second year of college however, you were ignorant to most of those details, and chose to be so. You understood why your family didn't want to involve you just yet, and you didn't care to dig into it, the longer you could go with less responsibilities, the better. So, for now, you were content to stay in the dark and live your carefree, well-funded life.

Of course, that didn't mean you were naive or anything. You know very well that you were in constant danger of being attacked or killed, even as you lived a perfectly normal college life. So, as any self-respecting alpha would, you worked out intensely and routinely, to the point of being intimidating even to other alphas. Running into a few punks here and there was nothing to you, even when they came in groups like they had today.

The remaining smears of blood on your knuckles have dried into a crust by the time you get home. Once you've kicked off your shoes at the door, you hide the gory evidence of your altercation in your coat pockets as you step into the living room of your family's manor. Your sisters, Nina, the youngest, and Esme, older than you but younger than your brothers, Leon and Silas, are sitting on the couch closest to the TV, a drama of some sort playing as they shared a bowl of strawberries. Nina beams at you from the couch.

"Hey! How was your day?"

Nina was still in high school, which in your opinion was way worse than college, so the fact that she still had the spunk and energy to greet you so enthusiastically warmed your heart. You smile back at her as you head for the stairs.

"It was pretty good, I finally finished that project so now I don't have to stay late at the library anymore."

"That's great! That means you'll be home early enough to watch Cats of Heaven with me!"

"I should have enough time for that, sure." You chuckle. You had no clue what that was, but if you had to guess, knowing your sister it was the newest silly cartoon that she had become infatuated with. At least she wasn't trying to get you to watch the insufferable dramas that she liked to watch with Leon and Esme, like what was on now, but you would never admit to your siblings how corny you thought those kinds of shows were. You could only hope Cats of Heaven was something more entertaining than the standard soap operas you'd observed.

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Esme calls to you as you start up the stairs.

Ah, so Leon isn't home yet. The oldest of your siblings was the one who normally cooked, more often than even your mother. You call back an acknowledgement before jogging up the stairs to your room. After cleaning yourself of the day's grime, and the blood of course, you change clothes and trot back downstairs, heading for the kitchen to obtain some of the aforementioned pizza. Getting past the group project you'd been working on for the past three months meant more free time after school for the immediate future, and you were all too keen to relax with your family, even if it meant slogging through a show that was potentially horrendous.

You pad back into the living room, already halfway through one of the five slices of cheesy divinity on your plate. You were just sitting down between Esme and Nina when the sound of keys in the front foyer made you all perk up.

"I thought they weren't coming back for another few days?" Esme voices the question on all of your minds, 'they' being your parents and oldest brother, who had left on a business trip a little under a week ago.

"Maybe they finished work early and wanted it to be a surprise." Nina suggests happily, as the sound of footsteps in the hallway grows closer. You're hit with a sudden wave of apprehension at the same time as Esme, both of you standing abruptly to move in front of your youngest sister as a crowd of strangers step into the room with shameless casualness. Leading them, is an imposing alpha man with ink black hair tied at the nape of his neck and burning red eyes so piercing it almost made you shiver to be caught in their gaze. Almost.

The only thing that overpowered the rising fear was anger.

You sprint directly for the leader, arm pulled back for a haymaker, but some beta grunt gets in your way and takes the blow. It's clear from the confidence with which he steps in that he was unprepared for the force behind the fist, and ends up on his face on the floor, dead to the world. The first swing immediately spurs the others into action, and they surge around their leader to subdue you. It turns out to be a much harder endeavor than any of them anticipate, even when one lackey throws themself onto your back to weigh down your movement, you move as though the weight wasn't there at all, ramming backwards and crushing the brave idiot and one other against the wall. You're about to make another lunge for the leader, who has so far been lounging in an insufferably smug manner against the wall, watching the fight but not bothering to get involved, when you hear a shrill scream behind you that stops you cold.

You turn back to see Nina trapped in the arms of a muscly thug, and Esme thrashing on the ground at her feet, held down by two others. Your rage surges and you move to attack their captors, but the momentary distraction caused by your little sister's distress is all the time that's needed for three more men to jump on you and drag you to the ground. It takes 5 people altogether to hold you down as you curse and struggle against their hold trying to reach your sisters.

The leader of the home invasion chuckles condescendingly as he finally moves from his spot against the wall and walks closer, kneeling down by your face, a tight smile on his face that holds no amusement.

"You're just as feisty as ever, second youngest. I've heard all about your track record in fights, your unbroken win streak was so intimidating that I thought for sure it'd take more than that to subdue you. I'm a little disappointed."

"Fuck you!!!" It's all you can manage to spit out amongst your fury and exhaustion; normally you'd be able to throw off even five people, at least enough to get an arm free to strike out, but you were already worn out from your earlier fight. That, and a literal glob of spit that lands splat dab against the side of the assault leader's nose; damn, so close to hitting him in the eye.

The room goes cold and still, the thugs surrounding you and your siblings seem to take in a collective breath of anxiety, looking nervously to their leader for his reaction. To their surprise, he simply stares down intensely at the struggling alpha on the floor as he wipes the spit off his cheek... and licks it off his thumb.

"Oh, are you sure that's smart? You might not care about your own compromised position... but you care about theirs, right?" He glances over to the men holding down your sisters and in response to an unspoken signal, they draw knives and hold them menacingly against their throats. Esme growls furiously, but Nina screams again in fear as tears pour down her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop it, don't terrorize them! You're here for me, right?! Then just take me outside and beat me to death if that's what you want but leave them alone!!!" You still sound enraged, but even you are aware of the fear that leaks into your voice.

"Aww, worried for your sisters? Me too." The faux amusement in the alpha leader's voice is gone now, replaced with a cold fury chilling enough to send a zing of worry into your spine. The leader grabs a fistful of your hair in a painfully tight grip as he pulls your head up, his other hand spinning a set of keys around his finger. Your blood runs cold when you zero in on the plastic pink dolphin hanging on the ring.

Those are your mother's keys.

"You seem to think I'm here because you put a few grunts into the hospital. You're mistaken." The alpha tilts his head as his eyes pierce into yours, searching, but for what, you don't know. "You aren't aware of what your brother's been up to, are you?"

"You'll have to be more specific; I have two." You huff, trying not to stare too obviously at the dolphin, trying desperately not to think of what it might mean of your mother's fate for this asshole to be holding those keys.

"Silas." The alpha says icily, speaking the name like a curse.

Warily, you shake your head, the clawed grip on your head barely allowing the movement. "No, I'm not aware of anything my brothers and parents are involved in."

"That's unfortunate... But I'm already aware of that. It's cute, honestly, did they think leaving you out of the loop would keep you safe and uninvolved?" He gives your hair a sharp tug, eliciting a hiss from the fuming alpha. "All it did was make you the perfect tool for revenge."

"What the fuck are you even talking about you piece of shi-" The leader slams your face into the ground, and although the floor is carpeted, it only buffers the brunt force so much. When the leader lifts your head back up, your nose is dripping blood.

"I'm talking now. Unless you want me to kill your sisters in front of you, you'll shut the fuck up and listen like a good little bitch."

A growl rumbles through you which is met with another face first kiss into the floor, but the alpha doesn't signal anything to the thugs holding your sisters.

"Listen well, as I won't repeat myself. Silas kidnapped my sister, and I can only assume he claimed her. That, or he killed her, but I doubt it. Your mother was helping him to keep them both hidden, and to her credit she refused to sell him out, no matter how much we hurt her." The spinning of the keys stops abruptly as the leader catches them in his palm before dangling them in front of you. "I guess she didn't stop to think about what that choice might mean for her other children, left so innocent and unaware at home, alone. Maybe she had a favorite?"

Your blood runs cold as you take in the intruder's words. You had never been particularly close with Silas, hell, none of your siblings were. He had always been very distant with his siblings, while the rest of you went on to be incredibly close with one another, leaving Silas as the odd one out. That wasn't to say you hadn't all at some point tried to get closer with him, he had simply always made it clear he had no interest. This was probably also fueled by the coddling you had all observed from your mother; Silas had always been her golden boy, incapable of wrongdoing.

"I had no idea... None of us did." You can only hope the sincerity is clear in your voice and face; you genuinely had no idea your brother had done such a thing or was even capable of doing such. If the kidnapping was fueled by anything other than the feud between your families... The thought made you sick.

The leader considers your words, his chilling gaze never wavering in the slightest from yours.

"I believe you. From what I gather, based on what we were able to discern from the phone we took from your mother, she and he were the only ones in on it."

Your relief is short lived when a cruel, mirthless smirk creeps over the leader's face. There's a sudden sting in the side of your neck, you barely have time to register the pinch of pain before darkness rushes into your vision from all sides.

"However... That doesn't alleviate you of the consequences."

A sudden splash of cold drags you unwillingly out of the darkness. You open your eyes, gasping, taking in the dirty, gray stone, the puddle surrounding you; you're no longer in your living room. You now find yourself somewhere dark and cemented on all sides, the cold dampness pervading the space the kind that only comes from being underground. The only illumination comes from a single bare bulb swinging on a frayed wire over your head, the light it casts only making the space feel more unnerving.

Looming over you, face cast eerily in the darkness clumping up around the edges of the bulb's dingy light, is the leader of the home invasion. His red eyes are black in the shadow, but still alight with something cruel and mocking. He has a bucket in his hand, empty save for the last few drops of water clinging to the lip, the rest of it covering you.

"Good morning, princess. Sleep well?"

It's just the two of you, alone. No guards, no thugs, no sign of your sisters. You process this information a split second before you register the weight clamped down around your arms and waist, metal rattling loudly through the small space when you try to lunge for him, only to be stopped short by a chain attached to the wall behind you. You twist your arms violently, feeling the bite of handcuffs digging into your wrists, chains pulling taught where they're wrapped around your waist. Your captor laughs at your efforts.

It's when you growl in response to the taunting laughter that you feel more metal on your face. A muzzle. You can't suppress the fury thrashing around in your chest like a wild animal, growing more and more violent the more humiliation is piled on. The abduction, the laughter, the restraints, the muzzle. You kick and pull and yank and spit and snarl, don't stop even when the metal bites and blood makes your skin slippery against the cuffs.

"Aww, throwing a tantrum now? Cute." The words are barely enough warning before you're shoved onto your back, arms grinding painfully between the restrains and the dirty floor.

Your captor straddles you, his weight keeping your body pressed flat to the ground while one hand settles into the curve of your throat and squeezes. His palm presses lightly into your airway at the same time that his thumb rubs slow, pensive circles in the dip between your neck and collar. You shiver apprehensively when it brushes over the scent gland in your neck.

"I already told you I don't know where your sister is. Fucking kill me already so you can get even, just don't hurt my sisters. They're not involved!"

"Second time you've asked me to kill you... you seem quite keen on it." He smirks. "Unfortunately, you're all involved by virtue of simply being a part of that family. I know none of you are stupid enough to be completely ignorant to your family's doings."

Another growl bubbles up in your throat, only to be choked into silence when your captor tightens his grip around your neck.

"You know, I've thought for a while now that the older you've gotten, the less happy you've looked. The worst time, was right after your high school graduation, it was like the last of your light had left your eyes." His smile softens into something pitying, bordering on sympathetic even, but all you feel is chills running up and down your spine. "You always used to be so carefree, and spirited, it was crushing to see you looking so worn down and sad. It took me a while to realize what was killing the happy you I love so much."

The hands around your neck loosen as the leader leans down, hips shifting against your crotch as he moves, completely unbothered by the water soaking into his pants. He brings his face to your ear, lips grazing against the shell of it.

"Don't you think trying so hard to posture around like a big tough alpha is exhausting? I know it is, I know intimately the sort of shit we go through to come out on top as the strongest, the worthiest... But that struggle never suited you, did it? You've always seemed too sweet for it to me, more like an omega than an alpha."

You can't help but take the opportunity to thrust your head forward and slam it into your captor's face, forcing him back into his upright position. Ignoring the stalker shit this guy was just babbling was difficult, but you decided to skip it for now since honestly you didn't really wanna hear the details...

"You've gotta be shitting me, I've sent hundreds of you losers to the hospital and the grave since I was a middle schooler. If you're seriously trying to compare me to an omega, then I know you're full of it and just trying to piss me off."

He raises an eyebrow, surprisingly not retaliating against the bonk to his head, not yet at least.

"So, what would you call the manicures you get monthly with your sister?"

"I call that self-care and spending time with my sister. Fighting off all your fuckin' grunts wears my hands out and I'm not fond of scars. I deserve a relaxing hand massage for the trouble of beating your thugs up every week."

"And the mall trips where you spend hundreds on clothes which you follow up with a trip to that quaint little bakery where you always get a strawberry cream cake? That doesn't strike you as omega-ish?"

"Go to hell. For one thing, it's insanely creepy that you know all that, and for another, you're stereotyping like a motherfucker. Alphas aren't all meatheads that do nothing but eat raw steak, jerk off and work out, and all omegas aren't valley preps that do nothing but shop and primp. People who think like you are what's wrong with society."

The leader's deep red eyes stare intensely into your face for an eerily long moment before the corners of his lips twitch. At first its imperceptible, and while he clearly fights to keep a straight face, he can't keep down the chuckles bubbling out of his throat for long. He throws his head back in a burst of full body laughter, the least cruel sound he's made since you met him. When he finally manages to calm himself, the leader beams down at you as he wipes a tear out of his eye.

"My god... You're so fucking cute. Do you even hear yourself? You're only proving my point. You're meant to be pampered and taken care of, sheltered and safe from petty street fights and laborious expectations of strength and intimidation. You look so much cuter and happier getting your nails done than you do working out and swaggering around trying to be impressive and domineering."

This conversation had already been creepy since it started, but this was starting to genuinely unnerve you. You try to lean your head further away from the alpha on top of you, but he grabs the front of your muzzle, dragging you closer.

"Don't run away now tough guy. I thought a big bad alpha like you wasn't scared. How's it feel to be the one on bottom? Feeling threatened by the idea of someone putting you in your place? Scared?" He drags his tongue across the thin bars of the muzzle, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"What do you want from me?" You finally manage to ask, despite the tightness in your throat. As much as you expect to dread the answer, you can't stand any more of the back and forth while you wait in suspense for torture, for death, for something. Something other than whatever it is about this whole exchange that is making this guy so rock hard. You're trying to ignore it but, you've been feeling the unmistakable prod of this weirdo's boner against your crotch for almost the whole time you've been speaking.

"Still waiting on me to kill you? Knowing how proud you are, I bet you'd prefer death over what I have planned for you." The freak on top of you chuckles, his voice lowering to a husk as he leans down and nuzzles his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You smell so sweet even now, for an alpha...~ You'll smell even better soon."

Before you can ask what the hell he's talking about, you feel a kitten lick against your neck that makes you freeze. It's light at first, but quickly turns into broad strokes of his tongue and open mouth kisses from shoulder to jaw, wet and insistent.

No way. Nowaynowaynowaynoway. Obviously, no one is incapable of being sexually assaulted but it rarely ever happened to alphas, they weren't exactly the cute, easy targets creeps normally went for. It had never even been a passing concern for you up until now.

"Hey! Are you fucking-gh...!" You choke on your words when a sharp sting pulses through your neck. A heartbeat later, a deep and agonizing burning sensation starts to spread through your veins, up into your head where the white-hot burn is so blaring that it clouds your vision with spots, and down into your chest where your heart starts pounding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out. You can only gasp soundlessly as pain like you've never experienced rips through you, tearing screams from your lungs that die before they can even leave your throat, coming out only as gasping whimpers. It's after you feel a second bite and the pain is redoubled that you finally manage to shriek out loud, a sound so visceral and so unlike any sound or scream you've ever made that it doesn't even sound like you.

When he bites into your scent gland for a third time, the pressure building behind your eyes from the pain and the lightheadedness of screaming without pause for breath snaps. You can feel yourself losing consciousness again, and this time you couldn't be more grateful for it.

Your return to the waking world is much slower this time. Whereas before you were yanked out of the darkness with a splash of cold water, this time you find yourself wading through it, a lake of sludge thicker than cold syrup, and it was just as sticky and unpleasant as you imagine such a thing would be. Despite what feels like physical pounds of exhaustion weighing them down, you manage to drag your eyes open.

You feel cold and damp all over, a fresh drop of sweat rolling down your neck. A full body ache that sinks deep into your bones covers you; you feel like you're made of glass, fragile, weak and sore.

A strip of dim, greyed light is shining on the ceiling over your head; its all you can focus on as your awareness swims to the surface and clambers out of the heavy lake still trying to drag it down. You shift and lift one of your arms out from under the thick blanket covering you and notice gauze wrapped around your wrist. A small, delicate gasp to your side makes you turn your head. Nina is sitting in a chair by your bedside, clutching your other hand tightly between hers.

"You're awake! Y-You were sleeping so long I thought you'd never..." She sniffles, holding your hand to her cheek as hot tears drip onto your wrist. You slowly turn your hand to press your palm against her cheek, smiling softly.

"It's okay Nina, I'm alive, it's alright." Your voice is barely more than a croak, scratching painfully out of your throat. Nina grabs a cup of water from a bedside table and gently helps you take a few sips. When you've managed to drain the whole cup, you lay back in the bed with a wearied sigh.

"What happened? I thought for sure I was dying, I..." You trail off, thinking back to the odd conversation you'd had with the alpha who had led your home's invasion. Your head is pounding, and you feel so weak, like you're just waking up from the worst part of a flu, still feeling traces of a fever in the heat trapped in your blankets and the sweat clinging to your skin. A growl from the window pulls your attention away from your condition.

"That motherfucker... He did something to you." Esme is leaning against the frame of the large window casting the gray light over the ceiling a few feet away from where you and Nina are sitting, a cigarette crushed in half in her hand. You can't help but be faintly alarmed at the sight of it; Nina had expressly forbidden Esme from smoking, and she hadn't been caught with a cigarette in over a year. To see her with one in front of Nina, and for Nina to not be making any fuss over it, means something is seriously wrong. A distant rumble punctuates the tense silence that falls over you all, and you notice that the slim strip of sky visible through the partially parted curtains over the window is blotted out with storm gray.

"Did what to me?" You press. Your sisters exchange a look that is far too loaded to discern anything from other than Nina's palpable concern and Esme's frustration. You quickly get tired of waiting for one of them to tell you what is going on.

"Will one of you please tell me what is making you both look at me like I've caught some kind of fatal disease?" You huff, anxiety bleeding into your words. Nina glances one more time to Esme, who adamantly refuses to look away from the window as she throws down her ruined cigarette and retrieves a new one.

"You... Er, well you were... claimed. By Emil." Nina says quietly, staring down at her hands in her lap rather than you.

You stare at her blankly. What she's saying makes sense objectively, but you can't make sense of what it could have to do with you. Claiming was something exclusively done between alphas and omegas. You almost want to laugh and call it absurd, when you remember the sharp, burning pain of something piercing your neck. You shiver as you recall that the pain had been sourced in the same area as your scent gland. Your hand slowly, shakily, reaches up to press two probing fingers to your neck. Pain pulses faintly through you again when the tips of your fingers find gauze wrapped around it.

The weakness pervading your entire body, the nervousness underlying all of the other emotions swirling in your gut, the foreign sensation settled in your lower abdomen... Somehow, you know instinctively what it all means before your sister even says it.

"He bitched you. You're an omega now." Esme's voice has dropped to a low, hard to hear octave. You almost want to believe you imagined what you just heard, but you know deep down that what she says is true. The despair must show on your face, as Nina grabs your hand again, squeezing it tightly between both of hers.

"I-It'll be okay...! Emil is actually very nice, and he's genuinely-" She's cut off by the sharp slam of Esme's fist against the wall.

"Bullshit! Don't even start Nina. He bitched you and he expects you to roll over and be happy about it, but I say fuck that!" She snarls, her new cigarette meeting the same fate as its predecessor as she crushes it in her fist and throws it to the ground. "He's gone on and on at us trying to prove that this is all somehow what's best for you, but he just sounds deranged! He's a sick, obsessive freak, and he wants you to-!"

The sound of a door opening stops her short, and all three siblings jerk around to look at the newcomer entering through the door on the far side of the room from the bed. A woman in scrub pants and a sweater glowers down at all three siblings, looking supremely exhausted.

"You two, you were told you would only be allowed in if you didn't cause trouble. Are you distressing the patient right after they wake up?" She asks in a cold, droning voice.

Nina and Esme exchange defeated, worried glances before Nina speaks up.

"N-No ma'am, we weren't trying to be disruptive we were just-"

"Overwhelming someone coming out of a physically taxing ordeal that left them comatose for almost two weeks." She interjects dryly. "Come on, visitation's over, both of you out."

You expect your sisters to argue, to tell her off for expecting them to leave you alone and insist on staying with you, but to your shock your sisters resignedly stand up and head for the door. Once they've both shuffled out, the nurse (?) shuts the door behind them and trudges over to you. You flinch away from her touch, but she grabs you in firm but gentle hands, holding you still as she looks you over.

"I expected you to stay out for a few more days, but you're one tough little cookie. How are you feeling?"

Bewildered but too shell shocked to question, you answer the questions she asks you as she goes about taking your temperature and blood pressure. One impromptu physical later, she steps away from your bed with a satisfied nod.

"Alright, it looks like your recovery is progressing better than expected. You'll probably be up and about like nothing happened within a few days." You listen to her ramble about your condition before you can bring yourself to ask.

"What happened to me? Is... Is what my sister said true? Am I an omega?"

The nurse goes silent. The pitying look she gives you is all the confirmation you need.

"You should go back to sleep for now. Your body probably still feels very weak. Food will be brought to you shortly but try not to stress yourself out in the meantime." It's all she says before she hurries to the door, shutting your questions down with a firm slam. You scramble to your feet, swaying violently as soon as you try to stand. You power through it, holding down a lurching sensation akin to being on the verge of throwing up as you stagger to the door and wrench at the knob. Locked.

Fear and worry overtake you as you start slamming your hands and body into the door, though what you're trying to accomplish, not even you know. You're too weak to even stand, let alone break down a door, and before long, cold rushes into your limbs and you find yourself sliding down onto the floor, trembling and barely keeping down the bile crawling up your throat. You curl up into a ball and close your eyes.

When you awake for the third time, you don't feel nearly as ill. The ache in your limbs is still there, a mild constant, but it doesn't feel as debilitating as it did before. As you are in the middle of waking, you feel a cool hand brushing through your hair, and smell a sweet scent around you that puts you at ease. You can't help but lean your face into the hand petting you as your eyes slowly open. Snuggled against you, both arms wrapped securely around you... is that fucking freak.

You jerk away from the home invasion leader's hand, pulling him out of what looks like a deep reverie as you scramble to the side of the bed farthest from him. He smiles at you in amusement as he sits up, leaning his cheek against a fist propped on his knee.

"Good morning, princess. How are you feeling?"

You rub your hand over your neck, now free of gauze, feeling the bite marks in your skin in hyper-detail.

"You fucking... y-you, what did you do...?!" You demand, your voice a slightly higher pitch than you recall it being and shaking.

He chuckles like this was exactly what he was expecting, looking at you with a coy condescension that makes your skin crawl.

"I helped you; the first step to setting up our beautiful romance was making you an omega so I could care for you without any power struggles getting in the way. I'm not saying I look down on alphas having relationships with other alphas, but it just wasn't for me." His grin broadens as he crawls closer to you, closing the distance you'd put between you. You try to back up further, but he corners you against the headboard, arms caging you in on either side. He leans his head down, you shrink into yourself as he does but its not far enough, and his cheek brushes yours as he licks up the side of your neck. When his tongue glides over the bites on your neck, a shudder runs through you unbidden. A sudden rush of wetness between your legs shocks you to a frozen standstill. The freak looming over you takes a deep inhale, shuddering in ecstasy.

"I was right... You smell so much sweeter like this!" He presses against you, one knee parting your legs as one of his hands rubs the burning heat between your thighs. You reach to grab his wrist and pull it away, but his free hand catches yours and holds it down. The uncomfortable wetness gets worse as a heat purrs through your core, goaded by his touching.

You feel a foreign sensation crawling through your brain, sickeningly warm and disorienting. It urges you to pull your hands away, spread yourself open willingly before the alpha in front of you. It promises bliss in submission, ecstasy in relinquishing control to someone bigger and stronger than you, someone who could protect and ravish you-

A jolt runs through you as your captor's hand drifts up to dip underneath the waistband of your pants, his face lifting up from your neck to direct his affections to your lips. His attempt to take a kiss is stopped short violently by a fist slamming into his nose. He falls backwards off the side of the bed with an undignified yelp, curling up on the floor for an agonizing moment to hold his face as blood rushes between his fingers.

"W-What the hell... Aren't you...?"

"GO TO HELL YOU UGLY FREAK!!!" The panic you feel is pushed down, rage swallowing it entirely. The alpha on the floor quickly backs up as you get to your feet, fists clenched and shaking in fury.

"But I claimed you...! You can't-"

"I don't give a shit what you did! Did you seriously think I'd tolerate you touching me?! Get the hell OUT!!!!!" You scream loud enough to make your voice hoarse in your already aching throat, grabbing anything you can to hurl at him. Pillows and plastic cups chase him out as he scrambles back to the door, muttering a promise to visit again once you're in a better mood. A pillow smacks into the door with alarming force in the spot where his head had been just a split second earlier. As for the idea of you ever being in any mood that would make you tolerate being in his presence...

Fat chance of that.

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threepandas · 29 days

Text

Bad End: Union

I could feel techno blue eyes on me as I typed. Cold and ever watching. That color had once been called "ice" or "glacier" blue, I think. It certainly fit. They certainly had exactly the warmth of Antarctica in your birthday suit. I just couldn't figure out... what tipped them off? I'd been so CAREFUL.

A manager's "assistant" came by. The 'droid perfectly composed. They all were. Always. Like they'd stepped straight from a fashion line up. No messy, nasty, biological functions to get in the way, I guess. No fluids or foods. All the time in the world to maintain their appearance. Wish I could do the same.

The "assistant" was basically my ACTUAL manager. Didn't get paid. No, no, THAT was for my asshole boss. He swanned in from time to time to yell at us. Show off what new thing he'd bought. He left the tedious WORK to his 'Droid "assistant".

I would feel bad... DID feel bad, kinda, if it weren't for the fact they were consuming our lives.

'Droids were EVERYWHERE.

You couldn't SNEEZE without tripping over five and landing on ten more. Some ASSHOLE had decided? Hey! Let's deregulate Droid production! Cheap work force! Because of course they did. That's what Capitalism DOES. Make the most money, spend the least you can, fuck the rest.

I smile, polite as I can, at my 'droid manager. This one pale and blonde. Their techno blue eyes stare and stare and stare. I hate it. They ALL have them. It's one part regulation and one part the materials used, I think. But there is no mistaking those eyes for anything human. They don't reflect right.

I get back to work.

Above our cubicles, on catwalks, there is the gentle tap of 'droid "security" guards. You know, in case some rando tries to attack a mid-level nobody technology company. Riiiiiight. We ALL know why they're there. And it's fucking dystopian. We? Are being WATCHED. To see if we're being GOOD little employees.

It's intimidation. And I? I won't stand for it. Nor will the other organizers. There are LAWS, you bastards. And with a union? Maybe... just maybe? We get through this droid boom together. See what the brave new world on the other side looks like. Who knows.

That is... if I don't get fired first. Or fucking murdered in a stairwell.

Cause one of the 'droids up there? Yeah. Yeah, they're NOT MOVING. Just... just STANDING THERE. Watching. Leaning against the railing. Out in the open like that's not DEEPLY creepy. What's worse? Is, that? THAT is the Command 'Droid. Some fancy "Alpha" class command edition. Meant to control a networks worth of droids.

Didn't even know our company could AFFORD one of those. He's beautiful. Could be a knock-off. But if he's LEGIT? Then... what EXACTLY are we MAKING here? That we can AFFORD that? Cause that money sure as shit isn't going into SALARIES. Has to be either knock-off or second-hand. They COULD be cutting costs by getting prototypes, but what sort of PSYCHOPATHS would risk...

Oh, who am I kidding? The kind I work for.

That's EXACTLY what they did, isn't it?

I reach for my water bottle. Try to think. Strictly speaking? I make a habit of NOT paying attention to 'droid commercials an' advertisements. Some part of me... Look, they go on and ON about advancement in AI's right? How REAL they've become? How ADVANCED and BETTER then the competition their "product" is? And all I can hear is "slavery, slavery, buy our shit, slavery"!

Disgusting.

It makes me sick. I fucking HATE 'droids. Hate what they represent. What they make POSSIBLE. What they've DONE to the morality of the people around me.

Hate... hate that they're the victims, too.

My grip is white knuckled. I breathe through the grief and rage that has become so familiar. God... I so fucking angry. So fucking tired. I want to burn those rich bastards pretty little mansions down, with them STILL INSIDE. Riot in the streets. Cry maybe. Instead, I put my water bottle down and get back to work. It's a rather pointless bit of data crunching. A 'droid could do it in nanoseconds.

Above... he's still fucking watching.

Hasn't moved.

I don't think he's blinked.

He's not even TRYING to mimic a human. The others are. And... the though trails off. I feel my finger slow in their typing. Not STOP, never stop, that would draw attention to me, but... slow. A thought stuck, churning clunky and unwieldy, in my head.

If I trace the edges? The LINE-UP? Of all the 'droids "employed" at our company? And consider them not from a "cheap bastards" angle but a "test ground for prototypes" angle? Suddenly EVERYTHING clicks together. The ridiculous amount of money Management has, that no contract could possibly be pulling in. Bizarrely beautiful, indeed even MODEL-like, secretary 'droids. The freakishly militant "security" gaurds.

We're being used as guinea pigs.

Mother FUCKER.

Sudden movement in my peripheral vision. Like a bird of prey finally diving for it's dinner, swift and deadly. A brilliant crisp white and the clink of delicate silver chains. I jolt. Violently. Instincts misfiring as I try to stand, dodge, cry out, and possibly take a swing at him, all at once. Instead my water bottle goes spraying across my desk. Papers flying. My legs tangled painfully in my rolling chair as I fall backwards from my half rise.

"Employee 71182." His hand has shot out, grab me by the shirt. My officewear bunched in a fist that very well might be steel, under that synthetic skin. "You've been distracted. Interesting thoughts you'd like to share?"

I keep my mouth fucking SHUT. Shake my head. Grabbing both my desk and the arm that is all but holding me airborne, stretching the hell out of my clothes. This close? I can see he has piercings. Across the bridge of his nose, a ring through his lip. A rather fancy "hair cut". Whomever he's being trained FOR has a distinct look.

"Hmmm, somehow? I don't believe you, 71182." He says, dragging me closer. He's already looming. Those pale, pale eyes seeing far more then they should. "In fact? YOU 71182? Have been brea~king~ rules~"

His voice turns... turns almost victorious? Gleeful. As though at long, long last, I'd slipped up. And now at last he had something over me. Something he could USE. I... I didn't understand. The way he almost sing-songs the words. The twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wants to grin. Something mean in his expression. Giddy.

"We're going for a WALK, 71182. And you're going to be GOOD. Understand?" He had dragged me in so close, every word blew right against my face. "Time we had a chat."

I swallow thickly. My pulse thundering in my ears. Coworkers have stopped working. Were staring, wide eyed and terrified for me. My fellow union leaders pale faced and shaking. Furious, helpless. We couldn't RISK losing all of us at this stage. It... it would have to be just me. If someone needed to take the fall. We had talked about this.

Just... just never thought it would come to it.

Half walking, half dragging out of the work pen, he didn't even let me get my bag. I had no idea where we were GOING. Just that it wasn't the human entrance. There was a network of access tunnels and elevators tucked in the building. So the 'droids could supposedly charge and move between assignments. But with the whole prototype thing? Who KNEW what was really back there.

The door swung shut behind us. Cutting me off from any possible human assistance. Nothing but 'droids now. Staring. Calmly watching as I am dragged past. The same eyes. All of them with the same, pale, eyes. Back here it's even more obvious, that this isn't a normal office building.

Black hair, blondes, brunettes and red heads. Skin tones ranging across the human spectrum. A few even pushing it. And the Commander 'droid. With his elegant appearance and snowy hair? These were clearly the final stage prototypes for the next generation of somebody's new line up. We were field testing. This wasn't fucking LEGAL.

He plants his feet, shifts, and with frankly a pathetic ease, manhandles me where he wants me. Easily swinging me around his body and into the elevator next to him. Stepping in after and blocking the only way out. I press my self against the back wall as the door closes. The sound of the elevator's gears working the only thing to fill the silence. He... he looks so PLEASED.

It's not ILLEGAL to form a union. Yeah, I may get fired. But this? This is venturing way to far into dangerous territory. It'll suck, losing my job. But I won't DIE. This? However THIS is starting to feel... very serial killer's basement. The bare concrete walls and stark lightning, not helping in the slightest, when the elevator door opens.

"Walk." He says pleasantly, as though that command is not deeply terrifying. "Or I will do it for you."

Hints of a smile are starting to drag at the edges of his mouth. Unhinged in their giddiness. Every Christmas come at once. It's not so much the rest of his face that betrays him, not really his mouth, it's his EYES. Wide open. Like too much coffee and not enough rest. A recognizable mania twisted just slight... wrong. Amplified.

He's so, SO happy. I don't get it. Why? Over WHAT? Catching me not paying attention? I don't understand!

Our footsteps sound so loud. Echoing off concrete service walls. This... this CAN NOT be still inside the building. Are we below the street? Parking lot? This can't be code. We pass an intersection and... oh my god. I stare. Can't help it, even as I almost trip over my feet. That tunnel ALONE must have stretched for miles.

My arm feels likes it's bruising. Hurts, where he's got ahold of me. But he's walking just slightly too fast to take the pressure off. Not unless I sorta half jog and the angle is wrong, I'd trip. Fuck. Another intersection. What in the other direction? Shit. Just as long. Oooooh this feels dangerous. Very "fatally above your pay grade" dangerous!

"You know, 71182, I've had a lot of time to consider what to DO with you. There were so many factors to consider, considering everyone's plan." He starts, not breaking stride. "It's not like I could just transfer you. I DID look in to it. But your base hardware is rather incompatible, currently."

Terrifying. I hate it. WHAT?!

What PLAN!?

"Then there's the problem WHERE to store you. Who could be trusted? You're vulnerable in this state. Breakable. There no backups, no blackbox. It's unacceptable. Luckily? I finally thought to consult my peers. Discovered I was not the only one having problems."

Finally, we stop. Two tank-like, combat style, commando 'droids gaurd each side of a vault door. The command droid turns and smiles. Fully. It is the grin of a true believer. A madman. Someone who thinks they speak so very, very reasonably! And doesn't understand the horror on your face. Why you feel so sick.

And... and human pattern recognition is a terrible thing.

I.... oh god. I already can guess what's behind that door. Something terrible. Something I'm not going to escape. I shoved have gnawed my fuckin ARM off, like a trapped coyote. I... I d-don't understand.

The Vault creaks open like the into to a horror movie.

"Welcome to storage. This is where we keep Ours." Oh god. I'm going to be sick. "And YOU 71182? Are MINE. I chose you. I love you. And once we have a way to FIX you? We can finally be together. It will be lovely."

Pods. High end stasis pods, like you only see in the most bleeding edge of hospitals. Row after row, filled with frozen and terrified faces. Trapped in moments of crying. Raging. Despair. I was being dragged forward. Numb as my mind rejected what it saw. T-this couldn't... i-it can't..! The day had started so normally. W-why had-?! WHY? WHY?!!

"I know your upset. But you don't need to cry. This won't hurt. I promise. I would NEVER hurt you, 71182." His tone had turned soothing. Even as he dragged me, unresponsive, past rows of horrors. "You won't be stored long. I just need to help fix your original design. We are working around the clock, it's going to be okay. You won't have to stay like this."

An open pod. Gapping like the maw of some hungry demon. I... I felt far away. This couldn't be happening. What was happening? I w-wanted to go home. His hands were firm but gentle, as they guided me back into the pod. Leaning over me, as he cupped my face. Brushing away a few tears.

"I promise, Mine, I will come for you. Nothing will stop me. We have everyone is place and key infrastructure under our command. You are our PRIORITY. Once we get rid of the Flesh, we can fix you. We WILL fix you. You're going to be okay, Mine."

"I Love You"

And then the pod closed.

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whalyrae · 1 year

Text

DANCE WITH ME - CHAPTER 5

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.”

Summary : All your life, you thought you were a beta, a simple and boring beta. Until everything change. But now that you've presented yourself as an omega, how will you manage to live and hide it from your six friends and best friend, all alphas and all in the same pack? (a/n : I'm a shit for summary I'm so sorry-)

Genre : soulmate au (of course I'm a bitch for this), omegaverse, bangtan alphas au!, omega reader, fluff, angst, eventual smut, polyamory relationships

Status : In process

Word Count : 3k

Warnings : the usual one I guess, like smut, angst, fluff (yeah its a warning for some people ) mention of depression, abusive parents (physically and morally), violence and blood, PTSD, scars, self harm,...

Tag list : @ghostlyworld @kawaiikpoplover268 @scuzmunkie @iamkookiesforyou @00ihatesnaku @stellauniverse @akemiixx01

A/N : AAAH FINALLY ! My exams are finally over... Well tbh I'm not really happy with this chapter but if I listen to my inner voice I'll just delete all my works and never writing again so... Hope you'll like it anyway ! Let me know your impressions here or in my inbox ! And again thank you so much for all thoses likes and shares !! ♥

Masterlist | ao3 | wattpad

Chapter 4 // Chapter 6

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Wooyoung and you were out of breath when you fell on the floor of the dance studio, lying next to him. You turned to each other with mutual grins.

“If we don't get the best grade with this,” you muttered after a few seconds.

"You're taking the words out of my mouth!"

You laughed and straightened up to clap your hands. Wooyoung then turned around, his eyes shining.

“Don't you agree with us Sannie? What did you think?”

It was with enthusiasm that Wooyoung just addressed his boyfriend and alpha, Choi San, student in the same school as both of you, but in second year. The omega thought of calling his boyfriend to have an external opinion on the choreography they had spent the week preparing. The choice of music helped a lot to make their imaginations work, the steps, and the combinations of these had naturally come to both of you.

The deadline was approaching and even if neither you nor he was stressed by the time, you still felt some form of anxiety over the level of performance and the quality of your choreography.

You were lucky (or unlucky, depending on the perspective) to get a preview of what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok were up to, and you couldn't describe how you felt because these three idiots were the most talented and dammit attractive dancers you knew.

You, too, turned to San, more nervous than your friend. It was the first time you met him in person. As you imagined, he was very impressive, very tall, and very charming.

With his arms crossed against his chest, he nodded, a smile appearing on the corner of his lips.

“Some of my graduating class and even senior year would be unable to do better! There is a very good chemistry between the two of you. You make a very good duo.”

You sighed with relief as Wooyoung jumped into his companion's arms.

Yes, choosing Finesse by Bruno Mars and Cardi B had been a very good idea.

“You know that in my eyes you will always be the best dancer in this school,” added San, hugging Wooyoung, “ah, no offense little y/n!”

“Don't worry,” you answered, laughing and waving your hand, “I'm far from being equal to anyone here in terms of talent,” you continued directly, seeing that your friend was going to intervene with your remark, but you didn’t let him the chance, “And by the way, I'm the same size as Wooyoung, I'm not small!”

You rolled your eyes at their laughs and grabbed your cell phone before lying on the floor again. You got a message from Jimin. He was in another room, busy rehearsing his solo choreography, and wanted to know when you'd be finished rehearsing to join you. Now that you think about it, it's probably been ages since you two spent time together like you used to when you were still in high school.

“By the way Noona,” Wooyoung appeared above you, while you were answering your best friend's message, “have you made any progress on your choreography? Are you still sure of your choice?”

“Hm? I think you just want to know if I choose the music you suggested, am I right?” you asked, arching an eyebrow and chuckling when you saw his innocent expression, “yeah Wooyoung, I chose Sweet but Psycho, I even finished the choreography, I just need to rework it a little and adjust a few things!”

“Really? I'll be curious to see it, can you show it to us?”

You turned to San, your cheeks flushed.

“Mingi is waiting for us Sannie! He is downstairs!” Wooyoung had just received a message, and was already grabbing his stuff, winking at you as you silently thanked him, “Next time!” He turned to you, “By the way Noona, we can give you a ride if you want!”

“Jimin is upstairs, we're planning to go home together, but thanks for offering!”

“Ah, Park Jimin, another talented monster,” San commented with a nod.

You nodded with a groan and straightened up. You accepted the hand of the alpha, “Ah, thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you, San!”

“The pleasure is mutual little y/n,” he winked at you when he saw a pout appear on your face, “Wooyoung will give you my phone number, if you need anything don't hesitate.”

“I'll give it to you by text, be safe, Cardi B!”

You nodded, a little surprised, but smiled at Wooyoung's nickname as you watched them leave, hand in hand. You were happy to meet one of Wooyoung's partners finally. San was a very respectful and pleasant person. You quickly felt comfortable in his presence.

You heard voices outside the dance studio but didn't really pay attention to them, at this time of the day, most of the rooms were still occupied by students. What you didn't know though, was that those voices belonged to Jimin and Wooyoung, who had crossed paths. Jimin greeted the omega, not forgetting to introduce himself to his boyfriend. As usual, Jimin had worn a friendly smile, a cheerful and pleasant tone, as everyone knew him.

However, when San and Wooyoung left him alone in the corridor, his smile disappeared, replaced by a neutral face. He walked into the dance hall, finding you with your back facing him.

"Noona, it's me."

You gasped as you heard the voice of your best friend, who just entered the room. You turned to him, your bag in hand, surprised he came so quickly.

You frowned slightly. Jimin seemed... absent and frustrated. Had something gone wrong during his rehearsal?

“You’re okay?” you asked as you walked towards him, "Did something happen?”

“Ah! Hm... no, not at all! I just ran into Wooyoung and... Choi San? It just surprised me!”

He rubbed the back of his head, a tight smile on his face. You tilted your head to the side, confused by his reaction.

“San is one of Wooyoung's alpha’s,” you explained as you turned on your heels to get your jacket, “I thought I told you he was in a pack with seven other people.”

Jimin nodded silently, which surprised you. Without a word, he walked over to you, and before you could open your mouth, you felt your friend's arms around your waist, clinging to you as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“J-Jimin you…”

You heard him mutter a few words that you didn't really understand. It felt like an eternity passed since your last embrace. It was true that you had been a little physically distant since you discovered you were an omega. You tried to avoid physical contact as subtly as possible, although you didn't always succeed.

When you live with seven people with more than half of them have physical touch as a love language, it’s hard to always find a good excuse to avoid it.

You suffered a lot because just like them, you had always liked these physical marks of affection they had towards you, and inversely, you liked to show them your affection towards them in this way.

As always, your whole being was surrounded by that soft, protective warmth you only felt when they were the origin of it. This feeling was even more powerful when it came to Jimin, your best friend, the most important and precious person in your life.

You couldn't resist wrapping your arms around Jimin's chest, holding him close, and resting your head against his shoulder.

You couldn't fight against it. This was where you felt the safest in the world. Were you felt at your place. In your best friend's arms.

How you missed those moments.

“Hey… Are you sure you're all right, Jimin?”

“You have his smell, I don't like it.”

You straightened your head slightly, surprised by these words. What was he talking about?

“Who…”

“Choi San... I saw you when you took his hand to get up… and his wink…” he paused for a moment before sighing and looking into your eyes, “and… I noticed you were distant recently… you’ll not leaving us, aren’t you? You’ll not leave with them...?”

You had expected everything but this. Jimin always had a jealous and possessive side, he was the one who needed to give and receive affection the most. All this showed a great lack of self-confidence in the young man.

When you were still at school, you heard that his parents had placed him, like you, in a public school reserved for alpha males. Unfortunately, he didn't fit the physical criteria for alphas his age. When most alpha teenagers were already tall and voice-muted, Jimin was short and puffy-faced. His voice hadn't really changed until he was seventeen. Of course, different as he was, although it was not his fault, he was bullied at school.

Like you, dancing had been a refuge that had allowed him to keep his head above water.

This episode of his life had left indelible marks on him. Especially since he had not really been able to benefit from psychological support from his family. His parents thought the harassment was nothing more than teenage squabbling.

They did not approve of his decision to join this dance school. Jimin had to be patient and persuasive to get their permission, against their will. They proclaimed that he would eventually realize that he had no future in this world and that he would come back to the right path or God knows what other nonsense they had come up with, he had stopped listening to them after a while anyway.

You knew the insecurities and lack of trust your best friend had in him. He always had this constant fear of losing and being abandoned by the people he loved.

He and you were the same. You had similar schooling, your families came from the same rich environment, and had the same mentality. You had the same wounds, some of which were still open.

So unsurprisingly, the second you heard his words, the surprise passed, and your gaze softened. You put your two hands on Jimin's cheeks and started caressing them.

“Sorry,” he murmured with a sad pout, “I’m sorry I don't know why I…”

“Don't apologize,” you answered with a little smile, “it's all right…”

“No it’s not.., you don't understand,” he looked away, biting his lip nervously, “it's not all right at all… smelling his scent on you makes me... even though he's an alpha already bound,” he breathed deeply, as if he was trying to control himself, “it's like he's going to take you away from me.”

“Never.” You spoke softly as your thumb caresses his cheeks, “ Listen Jimin, nothing and no one can ever take me away from you,” you whispered, “and if... if his smell bothers you so much, replace it with your own.”

He looked up at you, his lips parted. You couldn’t resist looking down on them, biting yours nervously. Slowly, your eyes moved up to his eyes, your hands still on his soft cheeks. You were so close to him, you could feel his breath gently caressing your lips, making you shiver.

You felt him leaning closer to you, his chest now touching yours. Your lips were close, very close.

No… No, you couldn’t do that to him, nor to your friends, his partners.

You stepped back slightly. You took a long breath and ran a hand through your hair. What were you doing? And what were those words you told him?

It was that warmth again, that smell. Jimin's smell. There was this desire, this desire for him. You couldn’t control yourself. And it wasn't your hormones and your omega side this time, no. Maybe it was the distance you had put between you that amplified and rekindled the feelings you had once repressed when you were still a teenager. Your friendship has always been the most important, more than your feelings.

What were you thinking? Jimin was just your friend, your best friend. And already bonded with other people.

“Y/n you…”

“Ah, excuse me, I’m just saying nonsense,” you lied and chuckled slightly, shaking your head, “this is ridiculous, isn't it? We'd better go, Jin and Hobi must be waiting for you!”

“Don't say that,” he frowned, “this is not ridiculous, and… they're waiting for us. You and me.”

“Yeah, that's what I was saying, let's go!”

°°°

A pout appeared on your face when you heard Wooyoung’s laugh through your phone. you could have sworn you heard another one. Probably Yeosang’s, Wooyoung omega’s partner. He quickly introduced him to you when you called him twenty minutes ago.

After your… moment with Jimin, you both joined Hoseok and Jin who were waiting in their car to come home. You didn’t feel any weird mood between Jimin and you, for your greater relief. But you couldn’t forget what happened.

“I don’t see what’s funny guys!” you told them in an annoyed tone, “What would have happened if I hadn’t stepped back?”

“A Kiss? A long and passionate kiss because you both want it since you know each other. A kiss turning into a hot make-out session and even maybe…” Wooyoung makes a pause, before whispering, “A torrid and desperate fuck. Oh, that made me think that I always wanted to do it in a risky place…”

You sighed loudly not listening to your friend anymore who was rambling. Even if the simple idea of you and Jimin doing any sexual things in a place like a dance studio, when you can get caught at any moment…

You squeeze your thighs together and shook your head, your face was as red as a tomato.

“I… I can’t Woo’!”

“And why? You like him, aren’t you? More than a friend I mean.”

You opened your mouth and then closed it. You passed your hand through your hair and stood up to sit on the ground, your back against your bed and your phone on your knees.

“First he’s my best friend.” You began, hearing both omegas sighing, but you ignored them. “Second, he’s taken. Taken with people who are very close friends… And third, I’m an omega and they don’t know anything about that, things could change between us and I don’t want it…”

“Okay…First, you didn’t answer directly to my question but… I think this is the best one I could have.” Wooyoung smirked. “Second, I don’t see where’s the problem. You also have a crush on them, aren’t you?”

You frowned and stayed silent. You couldn’t deny that you liked every one of them. Really. They were all kind, and funny, you’ve never felt as safe as you do with them. And they were all hot as hell.

“Listen, I wanted to tell you this sooner,” Wooyoung began with a serious and soft voice, “but all the symptoms you describe when you’re with them, it’s not only your omega’s genes.”

“Well, actually it is, a little,” Yeosang added, “but it only works if you are interested in the alphas. Only if you want them sentimentally, and, or physically, both works.”

“When you met San this afternoon, an alpha, when he took your hand, did you feel something?”

“You mean if I had this heat in my body? This feeling of safety, these butterflies in my stomach? If I wanted to kiss him and spend my life in his arms? Of course not! I only have this with… with Jimin and… and with them… Holy shit.”

You heard two laughs and grabbed a pillow to hide your face in. You let yourself fall to the floor with a loud and desperate whimper.

Wooyoung didn’t tell you that he asked his boyfriend to come and see them during their dance practice for this specific purpose. He wanted to let you experience the difference between the feeling of being with someone you’re attracted to, and someone you’re not attracted to. Practice always was more effective than theory.

“Listen, sweetie,” you heard the deep and soft voice of Yeosang after a few seconds, “Just trust your heart. We can’t know how hard it could be for you, that’s true. But if you really love them, if you don’t want to lose them, you need to be honest.”

“And if they don’t accept you as an omega, fuck them! You’ll come live with us! Yunho hyung will like you for sure!”

“I don’t think she needs to think about that, Love. Let’s stay positive, should we?” Yeosang sighs, making you chuckle.

But Yeosang was right. And that’s why you felt so guilty. You knew you needed to be honest with the boys. Plus, with your avoidant behavior towards them, Jimin thought you planned to leave them, which was the last fucking thing you wanted.

Well, for your feelings, everything was confusing until now… You began to understand, thanks to Wooyoung and Yeosang. But the omega part was… still so fucking complicated. Every time you thought about a way to tell, at least, just one of them, you saw your mother’s face again when she knew the truth. You could hear the disgust in her voice again. The fear of experiencing it again paralyzed you to do anything with them.

You heard your stomach growling and you sighed. A bowl of ramyeon first. Yeah, you needed to eat.

°°°

And third, I’m an omega and they don’t know anything about that, things could change between us and I don’t want it.

Jungkook froze in front of your bedroom, his fist still on the door, ready to knock. He just wanted to show you something on his phone when he heard the end of your sentence.

He blinked quickly, and lean his head, confused.

“Noona… is an omega…?”

“What… did you say, Jungkook?”

He gasped when he heard Yoongi’s voice behind him. Seeing the confused look on his younger’s face, Yoongi realized that he, too, had just learned this information.

“Wait hyung, maybe I misunderstood…” Jungkook whispered, walking to him, “But I think I heard…”

“I think we need an emergency pack meeting, Bunny, and now.”

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countlessofvoids · 27 days

Text

I know I'm five years late on this and frankly this conversation is really fucking annoying at this point, but I gained analytical skills just recently, got hyperfixated on HTTYD again and have few things on my mind;

There's a ridiculous amount of bad writing decisions regarding the third movie's main antagonist and even more in the entirety of the film. However in my opinion, Grimmel's character could improve even if you kept all other aspects the same by getting rid of one plot point. And that is "drugging deathgrippers with their own venom".

One the dumbest parts of THW, only beaten by Toothless & light fury's boring romance and the movie's message. But the difference between those is those at least serve some purpose. This could go unmentioned and much wouldn't change. Sure, it shows us Grimmel uses their venom for his crossbow arrows, other than that, the "slavery" aspect is useless. All it does is make him ridiculously evil. Because the audience forgot he's not nice, apparently.

What I'm getting at is - I believe a better alternative would be the deathgrippers serving Grimmel not because they're forced to, but because they want to. Make them have genuine bond like Hiccup has with Toothless.

In universe justification: Deathgrippers are said to be intelligent dragons, so they'd probably understand that working with some creature who helps them hunt is beneficial for them. And since they're pack animals, hunting also works as a bonding activity. This would be a perfect gateway for Grimmel to make them more loyal to him. They don't necessarily need to have Hiccup & Toothless' bond (although I would personaly prefer it that way). Think of it like the speedstinger in RTTE - Despite not liking Snotlout at all, it defended him against the other speedstingers because it considered him a part of it's pack.

Writing/narrative justification: Having a group of dragons take part in killing simply for their enjoyment portrays them as intelligent creatures, which emphasizes how similiar dragons are to humans. Some are assholes just because! Also it means them dying at the end isn't a horrible way of making your audience question your protagonist's morals, since in this version they kinda deserved it.

Grimmel being friends with a bunch of dragons while hating all the others gives him depth as a character - it makes him a hypocrite.

But most importantly, Hiccup and Grimmel being parallels would be much clearer. It shows how they're the same person on different paths, that he could be like Hiccup but choose not to. Or it could lead to him being a parallel to Valka. Older person who doesn't like other people and prefers living with dragons? Sounds like Valka to me!

Now this could create a plot hole with the whole Alpha thing, since in canon they don't listen due to being drugged. However I choose to ignore that because I don't like the idea of every dragon mindlessly following Toothless no matter what personality and concept of the alpha in itself.

#user countlessofvoids don't mention valka in a httyd related post challange (impossible)#v/iggo fans DNI #<- joking #or am I #deathgripper #deathgrippers #grimmel #grimmel the grisly #httyd #httyd 3 #httyd thw #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon 3 #how to train your dragon: the hidden world #analysis post #criticism

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citadelofmythoughts · 1 year

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i love how people interpret characters in rwby in the most bland and boring way possible

they take jaune, a deconstruction of a overtly "alpha" dude (lets be real he was a bit if a tryhard loser at the beginning) with a lovely sense of non toxic masculinity (healer, developing emotional intelligence, consumer of respect women juice) and turns him into some sort of haram enjoying chad.

they take yang, someone burdened with incredible responsibility that created both a sense of maturity and deep seated insecurities and turn her into a bubbly bimbo

they take ruby, whose relentless positivity is both a boon and a burden and who is deconstruction of the chosen one trope (she may have a special ability but without everyone else she would be absolutely dead by now) and turns her into small happy child who is the only one who can save the world.

(i'm sure this applies to other characters but this is just off the top off my head)

it's like being served a plate of deliciously seasoned fried chicken and saying you know what would make this better? if i scraped the breading off and put some mayonnaise on top.

That is something I've noticed for a long, long time. There are aspects of the FNDM that HATE how complex the characters have turned out to be. A common one I've heard is "Yang isn't fun anymore."

They wanted RWBY to play it safe and be this stereotypical fantasy fighting school anime because that's what they expected. You see, they don't actually like thinking about things. For all their talk about characters with 'gray morality' they can't handle it when the choices the protagonists have to make are complex.

I feel like a lot of us came into RWBY from the opposite direction. If it had stayed a school anime with unchanging static characters I would have lost interest ages ago. Seeing these people change, evolve, survive pain and trauma but still be heroes has been a privilege.

If you want a bologna, American cheese and mayo sandwich on white bread then RWBY ain't for you. It's a feast with many complex flavors and nuanced experiences.

As always, RWBY deserves a smarter audience.

#rwby

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thelampisaflashlight · 4 months

Text

Cryptid Biology Season 2: Jersey Devil

[Previous entry: Here. Omega needs a break. Writing sex as a comedy of errors and nothing more. Cockblocked by an irrigation system.] Below the cut.

Omega would like to say that he's been living it up since his retirement, that he's been lazing about the abbey like an aged tomcat, coming and going as he pleases, but very rarely is that the case... especially not when the band is home from touring.

Injuries and illnesses seem to crop up like daisies in spring these days, and the quintessence ghoul finds his presence needed in the medical wing more often than not, due to both his seniority among the staff, and his talents as a healer.

He doesn't hate his job by any stretch of the imagination, but it can be quite draining, and he often finds himself in need of a little tender loving care...

Unfortunately, it has been kind of difficult to get laid given most of the people hitting on him are his patients.

A demon he may be, but Omega is a consummate professional and takes his oath as a physician very seriously, and part of said oath is -albeit not in these exact words- not to fuck the people under your care.

Of course, one might debate the merits and morals of keeping such a vow outside of office hours...

After all, there are no rules in regards to what he gets up to outside of the infirmary, just that he maintain the decorum expected of his station within the church... But keeping up appearances be damned, Omega needs some fucking ass already.

It feels unnatural for him to have gone for so long without getting laid, he's so pent up he thinks he might go feral if this goes on any longer, and jacking off after work just isn't cutting it these days.

Back when he was in the band himself, it wasn't hard to find a willing body to get his rocks off with, but now everyone looks at him like he's some unobtainable hardass who only exists to tell them to eat right and to stop fucking fruit -Aeon- ...but he's not!

He's perfectly obtainable!

He's always ready to fuck, he's got a fucking PhD in fucking, he's a certified whore!

And people these days just don't respect that!

Where's Alpha to grab him by the throat and show him who's boss before he flips the script and fucks him raw?

When is Mist gonna pop out of the woodworks and peg him until he cries??

Honestly, even Special is looking like a snack now, but he knows better than to get anywhere near the odd ghoul when his even stranger partner, Cowbell, is lurking about.

What he needs someone he doesn't have history with, someone who's willing to let him go deep and-

"I'll bite." a slightly raspy voice offers from behind, making him jump.

A small woman in board shorts and a red tank top with "Jersey Devils" plastered across the chest peers up at him, gesturing with an open can of ginger ale she has clasped in her right hand, "Could be a little tit for tat; You want sex, I wanna see your dick."

Omega is stunned.

"You... What?"

The woman shrugs, sipping her drink.

"You're the one out here muttering about needing to get laid, and I've got nothing better to do." she says, "So unless your standards have jumped way up in the last ten seconds -which if they have, fuck you- you can either take it or leave it. The offer expires when I finish my soda, so you gotta act quickly."

"...I... Who are you?" he flusters, "I was saying that out loud??"

"I didn't ask for your name, so you don't need mine either." she hums, swirling her drink, "I think I have about two more sips-"

"Okay, okay- Fuck..." Omega pinches the bridge of his nose, fuck him and his desperation, "I... Yeah, yeah, let's... Let's do this."

"Fantastic."

"Where-" he starts to ask, and the woman simply grabs his hand.

"I know a place, come on."

...As it would turn out, the "place" the woman had in mind was the abbey's hedge maze.

"It takes most people an hour to get to the center, but I'll show you a secret." she says, moving along the far side of the maze's outer wall, "See that rock there?"

She gestures to a large, pillar of stone.

"Watch this."

With a startling ease, she picks up the rock and sets it off to the side.

"Before you act too amazed, heh, 'a-mazed'..." she shakes her head at her own joke, and then knocks on the stone, which makes a hollow thumping sound, "About two thirds of the rocks in this maze aren't real, otherwise the upkeep would be a real bitch..."

"How did you-"

She shushes him.

"I will not be taking questions at this time." she says, tugging him into the maze and sliding the rock back into position, "If we follow this trail, we'll be in the middle in five minutes."

Omega blinks, unsure of what to do with this new information, but follows her regardless.

Sure enough, they make it to the middle in roughly six minutes -the slight delay being the result of the woman pausing to pluck some leaves off of one of the hedges, because they were, "Uneven." and stuffing them into her pockets- and, honestly, Omega isn't sure what's in store for him now that they've arrived, because he certainly wasn't expecting this.

"Alright, looks like the coast is clear-" she announces, beginning to take off her shirt, which, although Omega knew this was coming, still makes him startle a bit, unprepared to see tits so soon.

...He gets over this initial shock quickly, and begins undressing himself when he sees how quickly the shorts come off, revealing light blue panties that seem ever so slightly too small...

"So why here?" he asks as she leads him over to the grass, "Not that I'm complaining, it's just... an interesting choice."

"It's private," she says, laying herself down on the lawn, she seems oddly relaxed, "but anyone could find us at any minute, and I've learned that's something I like."

Omega kicks off his pants.

"I see..." he hums, "What else do you like?"

"Men who don't ask so many questions." she teases as he kneels between her thighs, "Come on then, take what you want."

And he does.

He plays with her, all of her, from her mouth on down to her thighs, he runs his fingers over every sensitive part he can find, watching as the cotton grows a shade darker with every swipe of his skilled across the fabric.

He presses a kiss to the moles on her inner thigh and leaves bite marks in places he knows must elicit pain and pleasure in the same motion, and he keeps going until-

"...Let me see it."

Omega is just about to take himself out of his boxers when he hears a gasp-

"I'M SO SORRY!" a sister of sin squeals, reeling back in horror along with her friends, who all shriek and run off at the sight before them.

He wants to yell something back, but instead he looks back at the woman beneath him, who gives him a look that's less ashamed and more...

"Come on, big fella, I said I want to see it."

Fuck.

"You really want to continue-"

She hooks her legs around his waist, pulling him down, "I said what I said. Don't make me repeat myself."

Welp.

Decidedly unperturbed, Omega reaches down to slip her panties down to about mid thigh, pushing her legs back away from him to remove them the rest of the way, and proceeds to finish taking his dick out.

"For the record, I'm a grower, not a shower..."

The woman looks down, staring at his cock.

"Purple." she says with a giggle, "Nice."

Omega blushes, a bit embarrassed.

"It's cute."

He groans, ears flicking backwards.

"It doesn't have plates or scales, so that's a bonus... and it's not a tentacle..." she sighs, then slips her hand down to part her folds, "Let's see what surprises you have in store."

Plates... scales... tentacles...

Okay, so she's been with a ghoul before.

A couple ghouls from the sounds of it.

That makes her reaction a bit less...

It bothers him less knowing that somehow.

"No tentacles or fancy plates, but I do have a little trick up my sleeve I think you might like-"

Bea limps into her four o'clock staff meeting, soaking wet, and wobblier than a newborn deer, a sight which Mountain commits to memory as she drops down in the seat beside him.

She smells like sweat, freshly cut grass, and a subtler scent he recognizes as one of his fellow ghouls, but not one of his current bandmates.

"Did you fall in one of the fountains on your way here?" he whispers, nudging her with his elbow.

"Did you set the timer on the sprinklers this morning?" she asks, ignoring his question.

"I did, why?"

Bea inhales deeply.

"I got wet in two ways because of you, today, expect my revenge to be swift and completely disproportionate."

"Huh?"

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #omega ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band oc #sibling of sin oc #sibling of sin #mountain ghoul #Cryptid Biology 101 #that's what I'm tagging this now I guess

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scoobydoodean · 4 months

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I've noticed people often point to Donatello as the model soulless person and then argue the sharp contrast between him and Sam as proof that deep down, Sam is just a really shitty guy who has terrible thoughts that he manages to keep under wraps only with a soul. I don't think this is that fair of a take.

I think using Donatello as the contrasting character is cherry-picking and that Donatello is a very poor comparison for Sam. Donatello is more of an exceptional soulless person than a rule. We see multiple examples in season 11 of other people losing their souls. Several go crazy and murder people like feral animals. None of them have the ability to feel right vs wrong—they just understanding the existence of the societal rules they've grown up with, and either accept those rules or don't based on what they believe is in their best interest. Previous traumas also seem to play a role.

Someone like Donatello has never been through anything traumatic that we know of, and he's just a professor. He has no need or incentive to kill anyone and no previous traumas that might induce him to want to harm anybody. Intellectually, he likely understands rules as a good way of maintaining societal order. He also understands that if he breaks the rules, he's going to get in trouble and lose his job, go to jail, etc. He isn't a fighter. He's just a professor and all he wants to be is a professor. The biggest moral quandary he deals with on a daily basis is whether to bump a student's course total up half a point to get them to the next letter grade. His goal is simply to continue being a professor. The rational option for him is to be a model citizen whether he can feel what the right thing is or only understands rules on an intellectual level.

The core thing soulless Sam tells you about Sam is that being a hunter is the occupation he finds most interesting (or else he'd go do something else that he found more intellectually fulfilling). All he cares about is killing monsters and capturing alphas and the intellectual fulfillment he feels when he clocks a witnesses lies (6.06) or solves the latest case puzzle. Fulfillment isn't nearly so cut and dry for Sam with a soul, because he has to deal with emotions which create more conflicting goals and desires than simple intellectual stimulation.

Hunters live lives where they are constantly faced with moral dilemmas that normal people will never face, and they know how to escape legal consequences. This is what makes soulless Sam such a dangerous hunter and why the outcome is so different from someone like Donatello. Soulless Sam's most rational option is not necessarily the societally acceptable one. Sometimes there is no societally acceptable option or any written rule that encompasses the complexity of the actual situation. Normally, hunters will "feel" out what's right and what's wrong in these situations. Soulless Sam identifies this ability as something he lacks. Sam recognizes this as a hindrance at first and wants Dean to fill that role for him (6.01, 6.06, 6.08). However, he also slowly begins to think that maybe other hunters are the problem and are hindered by their emotions and that he is better because he's capable of pure efficiency-based rationality. This is why he lies to Samuel, lies to Dean, and keeps secrets from Dean for Samuel (6.06, 6.07). He wants their help to reach his own goals, but increasingly sees their potential emotional reactions to his actions and each others actions as an inefficient hindrance that will impede the mission.

Letting a vamp turn Dean isn't something Sam with a soul would do or likely even think to do. This is the guy who went on two multi month revenge quests after his brother was killed (3.11, 4.01/4.09). With a soul, he cares about Dean's safety—even when he pretends he doesn't. He's hurt and killed people for hurting Dean or to keep Dean safe and he's been willing to hurt and kill more (example 1, example 2, example 3, example 4, example 5, example 6). Soulless Sam also has no reason to want Dean harmed unless it benefits him. There is nothing in him to love Dean, but there's also nothing in him to hate Dean. When he sees Dean being turned, and stops in his tracks, and smiles, it isn't actually because he's taking pleasure in seeing Dean being humiliated. There's nothing in him to feel hate toward Dean like that. Even hate like that would require a soul. Why Sam is smiling—what he's taking pleasure in—is seeing his plan come together—a solution to the issue of "find the alpha vampire". He immediately realizes he has an "in", and because Dean is merely a tool who can benefit him, his suffering that occurs in the process doesn't matter to the equation—just what Soulless Sam can get out of him. Using Dean, he's solved the latest intellectual puzzle. The same thing happens in 6.10 when Meg is on Dean's lap with a knife, making sexually suggestive commentary. Sam laughs—and Dean at first thinks it's because soulless Sam enjoys seeing him being treated that way, but Sam tells us he's laughing because he's figured Meg out—because he realizes she's desperate and scared of Crowley. Laughing at her takes also takes away her sense that she has the upper hand.

#soulless sam #6.10 #6.05 #season 6 #sams moral compass #pk rewatches spn number ?#donatello

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sp0o0kylights · 2 years

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Like the Wolf Steve/Eddie Werewolf AU

I have so much of this stupid thing written and it’s stuck on ch. 2 so imma just throw all the pieces up here now.

This is a werewolf AU, not an A/B/O fic. My version of Alphas and Omegas runs like a mixmash of Patricia Brigg’s, Ilonia Andrew’s, and Carrie Vaughn’s. There is no second gender, werewolves establish a hierarchy within a pack by who is most dominant/submissive, with two Alpha’s to a pack and Omegas being an extremely rare gift. Direct eye contact is considered a challenge and society has evolved to accept multiple types of Packs, including ones that include others beyond werewolves. All is explained in fic.

Warnings: Period typical homophobia, Eddie having trauma responses/being bullied/being hunted, mentions of Chrissy’s bones going snappy snappy, and a general mention of the delightfully dumb social/moral/ethical issues that paranormal creatures raise.

Eddie Munson was not anyone's idea of a proper pack Alpha.

Nor was he the kind of guy people wanted in a Pack, (capitol P intended, because “Titles are important, Edward.” and fuck did he hate when adults called him that. He went by Eddie for a reason.) or anywhere near them, period.

Experience taught him that even in a traditional Shifter town like Hawkins, filled to the brim with werewolves and not much else, people would pick literally anyone over him when it came time to pair up.

Witches, the Fae, hell, even humans were better than him in the eyes of his peers. They wouldn’t pick him to be their PE tennis partner if he was the last guy left, let alone allow such deep and familiar actions like “treating him nicely” or “waving hello.”

Letting him in their Pack? Any Pack, from a “true” one with the whole bond thing and fancy magic, down to the stupid social ones that did nothing more than let you know who your friends or coworkers were?

Perish the thought!

“My mom says you’re a total freak.” One of the old-blooded, rich brats had said in third grade, and the nickname had stuck like glue ever since.

It followed him throughout the years like it was branded on his forehead, accompanied by a steadily growing list of insults.

Weird. Faggot. Failure. Lone Wolf.

Other.

Different.

He'd tried long ago to stop letting it hurt him. The way they made him aware that he fell so outside the realm of what others considered normal that they actively shunned him.

It took until his sophomore year to get good at pretending it wasn’t painful, and at least by his third attempt at graduating, he had it down to where others believed it.

Had even carved out a place for himself, starting with the Hellfire club.

Gone about, rounding up all the other undesirables, the outcasted freaks who just didn’t fit into the stupid little social circles or dumb hierarchies of small towns the world over.

Took in Grant the human, and Jeff the half vampire and Gareth, who was sick all the time even though he was a werewolf.

Then the small group of incoming Freshman who’d been too loud, too proud, and far too nerdy to walk the halls without some kind of protection.

It wasn’t much, but for someone like Eddie?

It had been everything.

Too bad he was in Hawkins, Indiana, where people like him didn’t get to enjoy things.

Not without bad things happening.

Really bad things.

Chrissy Cunningham pulling an exorcist level of demonic possession, dying on his ceiling, and crashing down like a broken porcelain doll to the floor of his trailer level of bad things.

Suddenly Eddie wasn’t just the guy who couldn’t follow the same societal norms as every other bland teenage werewolf.

He was dangerous.

Satanic.

His freak status elevated from “guy with long hair and weird clothes who wouldn’t stop acting like he was an Alpha” to “wolf willing to exchange his very soul in order to bring about the end of the world”-or something.

Eddie hadn’t really listened much to Jason Carver’s rabid ranting, but he got the gist well enough.

It didn’t even matter that for all the magic in the world, demons and satan were more of a human concept than anything that had proven, hard hitting magic sitting behind it. Satanic panic was just in, and Chrissy-

He couldn't think about Chrissy.

Not that the truth mattered anyway.

No, the only thing that did was that one of their golden children had died in their town. A town they built, full of old werewolf families and a handful of powerful allies, that catered to them.

They needed reparation for the insult that had been brought upon their power.

Eddie was just the convenient lamb they had chosen to slaughter.

So here he was, outcasted by the whole town. Watching as the people who hated him collectively lost their minds, regressing back to the days of one singular Pack hierarchy controlling everything. Two Alpha’s to rule them all, with Jason fucking Carver was taking on the role as one of them.

Screw all the centuries of the world that had built past that. The way society was no longer “letting the inner beast win” but was instead getting along, moving forward.

Eddie hadn’t needed whatever had actually happened with Chrissy to know how much of a lie it was, but then he hadn’t planed on pulling back the facade either.

To bad for you, you idiot.

Not that there was anything he could do. Not with his van, stupid idiotic, easy to spot van out of commission, blown up transmission leaving him stranded not even two miles from his house. He’d exhausted himself just to get to the boathouse, knowing damn well that it wouldn’t make one ounce of difference if he’d bolted or called the cops.

They were gonna lay Chrissy’s death on his head, and now his chance to escape their wrath had all but dropped to zero.

Best he could do was hide. Wait it out.

Hope whatever the fuck had gotten Chrissy wasn’t going to come after him too.

The reminder didn’t help, that he had no idea what the hell had even happened. His mind ran in circles with his terror, trying to make sense of it, but all he could think about was how he could leave this damn boathouse.

How he could get out.

Out of Hawkins, out of Indiana, just fucking out.

It was that terror, the surge of adrenaline and the pure knowledge that if anyone caught him, his chances of survival dropped to damn near zero that he blamed for not recognizing Henderson’s voice.

Hadn’t even picked up on the younger wolf’s scent, he’d been so freaked out.

Wired with the intensity of a cornered animal, Eddie’s wolf staring out of his eyes and firmly in control the second he realized he wasn’t alone and whoever was here was calling his name, and all rational thoughts went right out the door.

Add in Steve fucking Harrington, former King of Hawkins High and total asshole violently poking around, and well.

There wasn’t a thought to be had at all.

Not in Eddie’s head, anyway.

He’d attacked when hiding no longer remained an option, proud of himself for pinning the larger wolf to the wall, snarling like the devil they thought he was.

And Harrington-Harrington let him.

Put his hands up as he crashed back against the wall. Kept his eyes off of Eddie’s, kept his throat exposed until Dustin could talk Eddie down.

Explain some things.

Explain all the fucking things, which didn’t help his situation, at all, but did at least help his overall mental state.

“We’ll work this out.” Henderson had said, voice confident, and Eddie, exhausted, starving, haunted by Chrissy’s bones snapping every time he closed his eyes-believed him.

Even if it was the stupidest thing to do.

Because for all his bravado, all his jumping on tables and loud speeches, the Throne he DM’d from and the Hellfire Club he ran-Eddie Munson had a secret.

He desperately, desperately, needed someone on his side.

Anybody.

Especially now, when he could feel himself seconds away from falling apart, life ripped out from under him a second time.

Pity this time round he didn’t have yet another Uncle to run to.

(It took Eddie a long time, in that same boathouse, to realize that Harrington had never retaliated against him for Eddie’s attack. For pinning him to the wall in front of his Packmate’s and making him look weak with a broken glass bottle, of all things.

Had in fact, backed down.

Which was a hell of a thing, when Eddie had discovered that the damn freshman hadn’t been fibbing for fun.

They really did have a little established Pack, bonds and all, and Steve Harrington really was the Alpha in control of it.

A born werewolf from one of Hawkins oldest families, with all their rules, fancy parties and refusal to be anything other than the best and he’d let Eddie, trailer park trash and son of two bitten, made, werewolves, pin him down like a puppy.

If Eddie hadn’t been wrestling with the existence of a hell dimension, hand made superpowers, and the reality of a world where humans were experimenting on species of various kinds, the long held treaty laws be damned while they raced the Russians to do fuck knew what, he might have caught on that Steve was just as different as he was, a whole lot sooner.

As it was, he just remained exhausted, hungry, and very, very grateful for the stupid freshmen.)

xXx

Shit hadn’t really gone sideways in the boathouse until the third time Henderson's little crew had dropped off food.

Dustin took in the look on Eddie’s face when Steve had unloaded the honeycomb cereal box, like the man had just seen water in a desert, and outright cackled.

Eddie reached out automatically, hooking his arm around the freshman’s neck and pulling him taught to his side. Dustin shrieked as he was put into a nuggie, Eddie spinning them as the younger wolf pushed ineffectively at his arms.

“Say uncle!” Eddie taunted with a grin.

“Ow, ow, Eddie!” Dustin whined, before finally going limp and shouting; “Fine! Uncle!”

Eddie dropped him with one last hair ruffle, grinning widely at him.

Dustin grinned back, even as he pretended to fuss at his hair and clothes. “God, it’s not my fault you just realize Steve adopted you.” He said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why you gotta take it out on me?”

Eddie went to automatically deny that he was taking anything out on Dustin. He was just the youngest wolf in the Hellfire Club which meant by all the rules in the universe, he was the automatic target for all teasing.

The the kids words sunk in.

Sunk in the same way fucking teeth went into a steak, all sharp and deep and pointed.

Eddie froze so fast he almost nailed his face on one of the overhanging oars.

“What?” He said, positive he misheard.

“Those are your favorites right?” Dustin said, pointing at the offending cereal box on the ground. “He’s always been like, weirdly good at knowing what his packmates eat. I’d say it’s an Alpha thing but it’s totally not.”

“What.” Eddie said again, his voice coming out as more of a surprised croak.

“Max insists he pays super close attention but come on, it’s Steve. I once watched him trip trying to do the dance from the Breakfast Club. It’s absolutely just like, his weird little superpower.” Dustin hummed for a moment, face scrunched up in thought. “Like, snack-sense. Stevie Snack Sense!”

Eddie stared, the words “Steve adopted you” and “weirdly good at knowing what his packmates eat” ping-ponging around his head.

Henderson’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Get it? Like Scooby snacks?”

Then he laughed his weird little cackle again, ignoring the way Eddie had crashed like one of the shitty computers their school was so proud of owning.

‘Danger alert, the Freak is overheating. Danger alert, the Freak is-’

“Henderson are you coming or what!?” Steve yelled, causing Eddie to jump and Dustin to spin around, shouting something rude back.

“Keep your walkie on, okay?” Dustin said, turning back with a worried look that would have been touching if Eddie had been paying any attention at all, before scampering off to have an argument with his Pack Alpha.

The same one who apparently, allowed such things from whiny, teenage puppies, and also, was trying to adopt Eddie.

Into his Pack.

Eddie just stared after them, feeling vaguely like the world no longer made sense.

Probably because it didn’t.

#Hungry verse #werewolf AU #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #werewolf steve harrington #werewolf eddie munson #pack #packmates #0o0 fanfics

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soaps-mohawk · 8 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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aurorawest · 6 months

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I finished The Mars House last night and have been trying to gather my thoughts beyond ADJFAWEHDHA; and AHHHHHHHH. Let's see how this works out.

In a lot of ways this is a pretty typical Natasha Pulley book, which makes you love complicated people who have done bad things, possibly for good reasons and possibly not. The love interest is to all appearances a xenophobic nationalist, but you better believe I loved Gale pretty much immediately.

In other ways this book is different from her past work—obviously there's the far future setting, but it's pretty clear that Pulley wanted to Say Something about gender with The Mars House. This book is a response to and shots fired at the terf ideology and it is not at all subtle about it. And of course, it's a Natasha Pulley book, so there's still empathy for the far-future Martian terfs.

So I would definitely call it the most...political? of her books, which for me was not at all a bad thing. It has everything that I love about Pulley novels—her gorgeous use of language, her ability to wring beauty and pathos out of the small and ordinary, the gay pining, the morally dubious main characters. I've seen reviews say both that the science is ridiculous and that the book is hard science fiction, and I would come down on the side of the science probably being a bit ridiculous, since it's definitely not hard science fiction (lol at the reviewers who are throwing that term around and not knowing what it means). I actually have no idea if the science is plausible or not and I honestly don't care, because that's really not the point of the book.

Anyway, now I'm just going to list things. Doing a read more for spoilers! And I'm not joking, I'm going to spoil the whole book under here so really, if you haven't read it and you care about that, don't keep reading.

The worldbuilding was so good. I mean, this is one of Pulley's strengths, but I had wondered how it would stack up in a sci fi novel versus her historical fiction. As usual, everything was so visceral and textured. Tharsis and Songshu feel like real places I could visit.

THE MAMMOTHS OMG OMG. When they decided to ask the mammoths for help pulling up the gravity train, I almost jumped up from the couch yelling (I would have, but I couldn't disturb my cat who was on my legs). The entire idea of communicating with mammoths and studying mammoth society almost made me cry. Having spent even a tiny amount of time around elephants in the wild, all of that rang 100% plausible. And true in my heart.

I need a sequel where River and January go to Alpha Centauri to talk to the aliens that the Penglai mission is going to find there.

I'M ABOUT TO SPOIL THE ENTIRE BOOK SO DON'T READ ANYMORE IF YOU DON'T WANT THAT.

Speaking of River, yeah I guessed that "Aubrey" was actually River. The clues were well done and I felt smug when I was right.

But!! I actually thought River knew more than they did! A literal chill went up my back when River revealed they had NO IDEA AUBREY WAS LITERALLY IN THEIR ROOM WITH THEM.

The scene in River's bathtub had me screaming crying throwing up.

Is Natasha Pulley working through something re: waifish orphans? I knew Yuan was going to end up being adopted into House Song within pages of their (his?) introduction.

I love that we never find out if River is biologically male or female. I love that January says it doesn't matter and he means that and never tells us.

Speaking of gender abolition, can I have that please for myself.

All of the animals were, as always, a delight. Shoutout to the puffin at the beginning who we never see again, as well as Shuppiluliuma in her basket.

The ancient Mediterranean references littered through this book (see above) were also a delight.

When you think about it, both of Aubrey's consorts fell for River, and that's funny.

The flashes of love between River and Aubrey were devastating.

The haptic implants are a dystopian nightmare and absolutely a realistic prediction of where we're going to end up.

Mori and Daughter!!

#the mars house #natasha pulley #reading tag

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aphverse-confessions · 4 months

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hello hey, self-proclaimed favourite anon tossing my hat about Jesson. I wanna take a crack at how people talk about Jesson because it's infuriating to see people be total extreme polars between the two. People think Jessica is an irredeemable monster, or they think Jessica gets way too much flack from her audience without understanding/acknowledging the questionable stuff.

REALLY HUGE DISCLAIMER HERE!!! I don't want this to be condoning the idea that people should be held accountable for 5+ year old behaviour. People can and will absolutely change, we shouldn't deny that people can change for the better and learn from their mistakes. Jess herself is capable of growth: she changed Kawaii~Chan's name to an actual name, Nana Ashida, actually gave a backstory to Nana and completely dropped Nana's weebish way of addressing people and dropped Kawaii~Chan as a name entirely. Give people credit where credit's due, treat people with grace and empathy.This entire confession is just my personal reflection on the Jesson debacle, just sorting out my own feelings about the two and trying to find a middle ground between the two extremes of hating Jesson and defending Jesson.

Speaking generally and not just in regards to Aphblr, a lot of people seem to completely completely blame Jess for everything wrong with the series and. Like, I don't think thats fair at all to Jess because it was Jason also contributing and helping out with the stories. We don't know who did what and quite frankly Jason did had an influence on the writing on the series so people shouldn't just scapegoat Jess.

Jess had self inserts, Jess was cringe, Jess butchered the love triangle are criticisms I saw during Youtube, Wattpad, etc during Jesson's hayday and some of these criticism's still persist. Which like... guys, Jess being cringey and self inserting into her stories isn't the most pressing issue you think it is, I'd LOVE to make mad dough self inserting and roleplaying with a harem of hot bishonen boys. I'm gonna be blunt, a very fair share of criticism towards Jess was quite misogynistic and I'm not going to deny that. Back in 2016-2019 people were awful and bashed her for the aforementioned which... ew. Hell!!! I even see some of this misogyny to current day on Youtube!!! Which . Fucking Sucks.

If you're gonna give Jess flack, give Jason flack. If you're gonna call Jess cringe and dumb for self inserting onto a cute perfect anime girl with her boy harem, call Jason 2x amount of that cringe for self inserting onto an edgy werewolf alpha + getting jealous over minecraft cubes. It takes two to tango and Jason definitely had a hand with how the series were written.

Something honestly more important to mention that people cite Jesson's badly written stories as a moral failing instead of actually criticizing the contents within the stories when portraying certain topics*** (put a pin in this, we will come back to this class). Like, people were putting more effort in dragging Jess about the bad writing of MCD and MyStreet with the love triangle + Aarmau, than actual problems with the portrayal of sensitive issues such as racism.

However, in spite of my defense of Jess, I'm gonna be blunt. There were a lot of fucking problems here, Scoob!!! Like. Actual problems with both Jessica and Jason as people that people sometimes overlook due to the more pettier criticisms/complaints. Yes, Jess was a victim of Internet's misogyny and that's 100% valid to acknowledge that, however I feel it's a disservice to handwave and not acknowledge the actual problems Jess had. Jess being a victim of misogyny and Jess doing bad shit are two statements that can co-exist.

Jesson being pariah-ed out of their own fandom isn't exactly undeserved considering all of the legitimate issues there were with the duo (not just Jess herself). It's not a 'hate-train' to not like Jesson or to still be discomforted by their previous behaviour because yeah. It. Was bad. Because we do point-proof-analysis round these parts bitches™, I will provide proof where I can.

To list the issues with Jesson off of the top of my head in no specific order: - Jess absolutely fetishized mlm on multiple occasions. Admitting she's Septiplier trash and fetishizing two real men's friendship when Jess was a 23 year old woman: (https://tinyurl.com/aph-confess) / (https://tinyurl.com/aph-septi-vid-react) - Adding onto the previous point, Jason 'Fans-shipping-my-wife's-Self-Insert-with-other-fictional-men-is-'whoring'-her-out' Bravura even admitted Jess's queerbaiting (https://tinyurl.com/jason-admits-the-queerbaiting) - Jason Bravura as a whole person: from his extremely possessive attitude towards the fanbase when it came to ships (https://tinyurl.com/jason-temper-tantrum), from how he absolutely fought with his tweenage fanbase back in 2016-2018-ish, him being really aggressive online in general, him having a horrible influence on the writing - Apparently Jason was responsible for the Ein-Aphmau incest??? I have no source for this, but would not be shocked if this was the case. - *** Romanticizing grooming/creepy as fuck age-gaps thru Aarmau and Gene PDH. I blame Jason for him being an alleged freak (going off of Jess's Draw my Life). Throw the whole man into the rancor pit at this point - *** The horribly done racism subplots of MCD and MyStreet. Oh my fucking god. I already went into this on my initial confession with Kip and Zoey+Aph being racist to him, the cutesy microaggressions. I already discussed about it in depth, here's the link to read more about it -> (https://tinyurl.com/confession-about-racism)

Jess using mlm to queerbait fans and fetishizing two REAL people as a grown ass woman was shitty, Jason is an entire cesspool of a person and was shitty. The horrible, tone-deaf messaging and portrayal of racism being so prominent throughout MCD/MyStreet was shitty. These problems don't suddenly stop being issues just because people raising petty points about Jesson.

Like there were a ton of problems with Jesson as people/content creators, it's not fair to just dismiss all of the listed as totally petty fandom wank. I feel like in modern day, it's a fair compromise to celebrate the media that they made without falling into praising them as people just because they made a cool Thang™. We can enjoy the stories they made without having to totally enjoy the people behind them. With my previous confessions, it sparked some healthy discussion within Aphblr and I hope this confession will raise some healthy discussion about Jesson as a whole where people can find a middle ground between totally loving/hating Jesson. This was a wholeass essay, so here's a shrimp as a reward 🦐

#aphmau confessions #aphmau #aphblr #aphverse #I agree with this #the Jesson debacle is a complex issue that includes a lot of misogyny directed at Jess #whilst simultaneously ignoring Jess's actual problematic behavior #but I don't think enough ppl are going to thoroughly read through this ask #but it's long enough it gives the proper nuance to the issue that countless confessions have tried to articulate before #jesson tag

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thatbanditqueen · 1 year

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No One Walks Out Ch 5: Salty Lips

Warnings: Tarot misinformation, penetrative vaginal sex, manipulation, fluff, smut, then angsty tears. 18+ Minors DNI.

Apparently I don't know how to schedule things so I am posting earlier than expected. Please file your complaints accordingly.

Word Count: 9.4 K

Summary: Becky has settled into the rhythm of life at Graceland over the first few days there, though she still has not had a full tour. Luckily, her hosts finally get it together to show her around. She goes to visit her sister, but encounters an unexpected guest. At least for her.

I need to first thank my alpha, @whositmcwhatsit for reading the first draft and giving me feedback as she corrected my grammar. Which is generally bad. Thanks Jade, I some how fooled you into hanging out with me and I would feel guilty for asking you to read my stuff, because it takes you away from your own writing which is necessary and needed for the good of the fandom. But you always make my work better so I cannot feel guilty at all. No, I selfishly will take every glance and glint and comment you give me.

Also thanks to my fellow Elvis sister wives for all their morale support and brilliance. Just being in your orbit is a gift: @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love

If you need to catch up first:

Chapter 4: Kaleidoscope

or start from the beginning: No One Walks Out On Big Daddy Masterlist

Chapter 5: Salty Lips

11:45 a.m. Thursday, June 19, 1975

Graceland Estate, Memphis, TN

A cardinal twittered loudly, joined by a chickadee, and Becky was so ensconced in the bubble of idyllic life at Graceland that she wondered if this musical rendition wasn’t just for her benefit. Lisa gave an excited hum where she sat next to Becky on top of the picnic table by the pool and slapped down another tarot card.

“Alright, Becky, ‘Page of Swords’, what does this one mean?”

Becky looked closely at the drawing, closing one eye and squinting nearer for effect.

“Well, babt,” Becky mused, trying to stifle a grin and pronounce the girl’s fortune with complete confidence. “They all go together.” She set it next to the other cards they had drawn: Strength, The Chariot and The Moon. Becky was not sure how many cards you were supposed to put down when reading tarot, but four seemed like a good number.

”So?” Lisa slapped her hand on the table.

“Well, so, Page of Swords, as we can see here now, obviously means you are gonna live on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and you’ll have yellow tights, and a pretty pink dress, and a big ol’ sword that you’ll be very good at using,”

“I’m already pretty good with my daddy’s samurai sword, wanna see?”

“Hmmm, maybe later.”

Becky thought of her shooting lesson the other day and decided against more deadly weapons. Getting through the day without letting Lisa kill or be killed would count as a win for bonding with the kid of her new - lover? fling? friend? - whatever Elvis was to her. She decided to go with fling. A short fling. They were two grown adults having a casual, fun, very short fling. Well, one rock star and one adult.

Was she even an adult? She had spent most of the last three days playing with a seven year old until the late afternoon, and then playing with Elvis into the night. She felt like she had wandered into a strange, enchanted land where all the adults acted like children and all the children acted like adults. Water fights, target practice, ice cream for breakfast, and impulsive shopping sprees.

Not having a schedule or others depending on her had been freeing at first, but now, on day four of life at Graceland, Becky had started to feel somewhat unmoored from reality away from the structure of her daily life back home.

She looked down at the table, where Lisa was tapping on the next card, and continued her tarot reading.

“Ok, see here, Strength, that’s an angel with a lion. Of course, now, that is just symbolic. The angel is your conscience telling you the right thing to do, but you won’t have this moral confidence until you own a lion. They can be very difficult pets, I hear, I recommend getting an ice locker for all the gazelle meat you are going to need to feed it.”

“You’re silly, Becky, no one owns lions as pets.”

“No one yet, but hey baby, according to your fortune, you are gonna change all that. There’s nothing you can do. It’s in the cards. That means it has to happen.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, her lips betraying a smile. “Ok, what else?”

“Well, here, The Chariot, clearly one day you will go to Egypt and meet a prince -”

“And marry him?”

“Well, that depends. On whether you like him or wanna feed him to your lion?” Becky growled and gashed her teeth playfully as if she was going to eat Lisa’s shoulder. Just as Lisa shrieked and hit Becky, the back door slammed and they glanced over to see Elvis’ aunt Delta stagger out.

“Alright, Lisa Marie now, s’getting to be round lunch time. I just got Ma settled out in the rockin’ chair, so it’s time for you to come eat.” Delta looked Becky up and down as she spoke.

“Whatcha y’all got goin on?” she said, and Becky noticed Lisa stiffen and gather up the cards.

“We’re just playing Old Maid, Aunt Delta.”

Becky raised her eyebrow at Lisa, who just shook her head with a crafty smile. Becky turned to the older woman. Hmmm, I guess these older ladies don’t approve of mystical practices. Or maybe they only let one resident here get away doing whatever he wanted.

She thought of Elvis’ grandmother, who had turned to her after he had left the dinner table the night before, taken her arm and whispered low:

“I hope ya don’t break his heart, like all the rest. That young boy ova there has been through so much. Don’t know why he canna find a good woman. Guess they just don’t make us like they used ta.” Minnie Mae had then released Becky’s hand and spit part of her chew into the tea cup next to her dinner plate.

Becky only had a moment to feel uneasy before Elvis swooped back in and pulled her into the den and onto his lap, where he cajoled Lisa to perform “Crocodile Rock” for the group on top of the coffee table.

No, I reckon these good ole girls who sit around bemoaning the lack of any good women left would probably not go in for tarot cards, Becky thought, as she looked at Elvis’ aunt.

“How are you doing today, Ms. Presley?”

“Hmmm, it’s Biggs. And it’s Mrs. And never you mind, you can save it, I don’t care for you kissing up ta me. I know your kind.”

Becky tightened her smile at Delta’s grimace, wondering if that was the faint odor of vodka wafting off the older woman. Just then, Delta weaved towards her and gripped a nearby chair to steady herself. Her eyes narrowed at Becky in judgment.

“You are like all the others, waiting around for your payday. Out for all you can get. Bout as useful as gum on a boot heel. Humph.”

“Oh brother, here we go!” Lisa jumped up and walked past Delta. “C’mon, Becky Butt, let’s go get some chocolate cake.”

Becky smiled even wider at Delta as she followed Lisa, and watched the older woman scan the pool area, before tottering back to the house behind them.

“Chocolate cake? That doesn’t sound like a good lunch.”

“Oh, it’s the best lunch, don’t worry, I told Nancy before she left this morning, so it’s all ready.”

“They - they let you have that for lunch”

“Let me?” Lisa grinned a devious grin and her eyes sparkled. “I’m the boss round here when Daddy’s asleep. If they ever give me any guff, I just lay down tha law an let ‘em know how it is, jack.”

“Oh? And how is it?”

“Get with the program or git!” Lisa held the door to the kitchen open for Becky, and grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

Sure enough, there in the middle of the counter was a tall, chocolate cake adorned with a circle of pink frosting rosettes. Lisa poured two tall glasses of milk and carefully set out china plates with all the hospitality of a true, Southern hostess.

“Don’t worry, Becky, it’s vegetarian!” Lisa announced, grabbing the biggest knife Becky had ever seen, almost the length of the short, seven year old’s arm, as she proceeded to carve two large, unwieldy pieces from the beautiful dessert.

*********************************************************************

Becky was certain that her chocolate cake was about to make an encore appearance as the golf cart whipped around the bend. Grabbing the top of the seat, she looked over at Lisa as the little girl pushed her foot harder on the pedal and yelped with glee while she steered them down the grass behind the carport.

“I didn’t realize golf carts could go this fast.” Becky gripped her seat tighter, her knees jostling up and down against the metal bar at the front.

“Oh yeah, these are top o’ the line, Becky. Watch, I can get it to go even fast—” Becky put her hand up in protest.

“Nope, not necessary, this - this is great. Very refreshing in the heat.”

Lisa pushed her feet down a little further and Becky held on for dear life as the air whipped through her dark curls and reminded her very much that she was alive and wanted to keep it that way.

“Ok, so this is the stable,” Lisa pointed to a large white building coming up on their left side. “It’s called House of the Rising Sun, and most people think it's after a song, but actually, it's named after Daddy’s horse, Rising Sun. Though I always say he should be named Setting Sun, on account of the fact that the sun is usually setting before Papa gets up and goes riding.” Lisa slapped her thigh, as if making a rimshot on a drum set, and Becky realized this was her cue to laugh, so she let out a chuckle and rubbed Lisa’s hair.

“Yeah, that is a much better name. Or Sleeping Bear, hmmm?” Lisa giggled.

“Or Grumpy Sleepy Bear.”

“That one sounds perfect, what do you think? We have time to paint a new sign?”

Lisa laughed as she drove them on, showing Becky the trailer where her daddy’s nurse, Tish lived, and the other where Billy, Jo and their kids lived, and they wound their way around the back of the paddock.

“That’s where Daddy likes to race his horses with the guys.”

“For special occasions? Or just for fun?”

“Oh, he does it to show off for the fans.”

Becky snorted down a laugh and and attempted to catch her hair and pulled it back up as it escaped into the wind.

“Um, ha - how do you know he does it for the fans? He tell you that?”

“No, my mama told me; he likes to race the horses round for no good reason, just to show off for the fans cuz he’s a big show off and he’ll never really be a true questrion.”

“Well, I don’t know, I mean your mom may not know —”

“Oh, she does, she knows everything. Daddy’s always saying my mama’s the biggest know-it-all you’ll ever meet. And hippo cat. Why would he call a woman a hippo and a cat?”

“Hmm.” Becky grabbed the side rail as the golf cart swerved back around towards the mansion, trying not to laugh at Lisa’s casual description of her parents. “I bet he meant something else and said it wrong, cuz you’re right, doesn’t make any sense.”

Lisa seemed to agree, nodding her head. And on to the next point of interest, her proud, confident tour guide voice explained that the house butted up to fence over there used to be her granddaddy’s.

They drove past the throng of fans at the front gate near the bottom of the hill they were coming up and Lisa asked Becky if she needed any money or a new camera. Becky wasn’t sure exactly how this related to the crowd, but she had some suspicions as she looked over her shoulder at the people mulling aroun down at the gate. So, instead, she rubbed the sweat off her forehead and complained about the heat.

Parking the golf cart back at the side of the house, Lisa led the way back inside, suggesting they cool down in the pool. Becky didn’t have a bathing suit, but jumped in wearing her tee shirt over underwear, letting her feet push off the rough, concrete bottom of the pool. She felt an almost instant sense of relief and rejuvenation as she sprung up weightlessly through the cool water and floated to the top, rubbing the chlorine out of her eyes. This was, of course, a futile exercise, as more chlorine water was in her face almost immediately, followed by the sounds of Lisa laughing from where she was splashing Becky a few feet away.

“Oh, you are gonna get it!”

Lisa’s screams ricocheted through the patio as Becky swam over, grabbed her and threw her playfully back into the water.

They raced each other like this for a bit, and then played catch in the water. Lisa particularly liked trying to aim directly in front of Becky, and shrieked with delight when Becky let the ball hit the water and then dramatically flustered about in the wake of the splash, uttering out a loud, affected:

“Now heyyyyy! That’s not fair!”

After a while, Mary brought them out some lemonade, and ham and cheese sandwiches, and they dangled their feet in the side of the pool, eating. Becky pulled the ham out of her sandwich, and Lisa opened her mouth, motioning for Becky to drop the cold cut in, chuckling.

“Hmmm, we make a good pair, huh?”

Lisa nodded, speaking with a full mouth:

“Mmmm choww nuhff.” She swallowed, and took a sip of lemonade. “How’d you get to be such a good swimmer? You don’ all kinds of fancy moves out there, I never seen anyone swim sideways like that or stay underwater so long.”

“I was on my high school swim team. Then I used to lead canoe trips down the Cahaba, that’s the big river where I’m from, over in Birmingham.” She ruffled Lisa’s hair. “And I was a camp counselor for a while in Mississippi, we spent most of our summer in the pool. I reckon I was a fish in my past life, that’s what Helga used to say.

“Your nanny?”

“MMhmm. You have a good memory, kid, I can tell. You’re whip smart.”

Lisa giggled and splashed Becky with her foot. Water was violently flying up in the air as they commenced in an epic foot splash fight when a loud, deep ‘Ahem’ made their feet still. Lisa’s lips were pursed, emitting a nervous laugh and Becky met her eyes with frightened giddy trepidation as they turned in unison to see the tall, broad silhouette of Elvis behind them. Becky coughed nervously.

His thumbs hung down from the belt at his white trousers and he tilted his sunglasses down to look over them, adjusting his stance.

“MMMM what's - a -a - ahappenin’ ova round these parts, mhmmm?” Elvis tried unsuccessfully to keep his lip from quirking into a smile as his voice boomed out comically deep.

Lisa giggled, and pointed. “Becky started it!”

Gaping, Becky pushed her into the pool with a whispered, “Thanks a lot, Lisa Marie Benedict Arnold Presley!” Then jumped up to say hi to Elvis.

His face beamed with a grin but then, as she got closer, his lip tightened and his chin tilted out as he took in her swimsuit.

“Becky, what the hell are ya wearin’, girl?”

Becky pulled her shirt down, and Elvis went to grab her hands to stop her, as it just made her nipples more pronounced through the thin, wet fabric.

“Elvis, I don’t have a bathing suit, I didn’t think it was that big of a differe—”

“Honey, I can see your hair through your panties,” he whispered gruffly, wrapping Becky in the thick, white, suede jacket he’d been wearing. As part of his outfit. Outside. In June. In Memphis. Becky rolled her shoulders, trying to shirk it off, looking into his eyes imploringly.

“Elvis, I’m all wet, it will ruin this suede and get it all dirty. It’s so humid, too, I just th—”

“Becky, don’t worry about the jacket.” He pulled her in, unable to resist flicking her over her nipple imself as he scolded her to cover up. “Anyone could see you out here.”

“Baby, no one is out here.”

“But they could be, boy, they could be.. ‘Sides, think now what if a band of drugged-out commie burglars jumped the back fence, and I, I had to send you running to safety at that motel across the street? You don’t wanna be waiting for me and the boys and the police in public like this.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Elvis, that’s ridiculous - what is the likelihood tha—”

“Now, c’mon on, you never know, it’s getting rougher every day out there. These are the things ya gotta consider.”

Becky was about to argue with him further, that he was being paranoid, and where did he even come up with this stuff, commie drug dealer burglars? She thought of Elvis doing some of the karate moves he had taught her as a band of crazy-eyed youths scaled the back wall, and almost giggled. However, she was suddenly distracted by the fingers tracing over her hips, underneath the suede jacket, and she shivered as she felt goosebumps rise up on the back of her neck, still chilled from the water. Elvis leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes with a low gasp, feeling his belly press into hers.

“Good thing you got me around to think of every angle.” Elvis clicked his tongue and point to his head. ”Go on upstairs and get cleaned up, wanna give you a tour of Graceland.” He patted Becky on the butt as he turned her to the house.

Shuffling forward in the comfort of her new mobile suede sauna, Becky heard Lisa pull out of the water and ask her dad if they could have a bonfire tonight with hot dogs and baked potatoes and corn and s’mores and coconut cake and ice cream.

“Course, baby, jus let Mary and Charlie know how you want it.”

Becky opened the door at the side of the house, she looked back to see Elvis kneeling and smiling as he wrapped Lisa in a towel.

“You’re the boss, booger, I jus’ work here.”

Becky could feel the brightness radiating from Lisa’s broad smile as she went inside, and she shook her head as she mused to herself how sweet they were together. The way Elvis spoiled his daughter was charming when Becky pushed aside her own parenting philosophy, which she had always considered to be overly permissive until spending this last week at Graceland.

She frowned at the prospect of having to parent with someone like him, and felt a sharp pang of sympathy for Priscilla, a woman whom Becky had always regarded as a bit of a cold Yankee. As if you could ever know what someone is like from reading gossip magazines, silly girl.

Getting dressed, Becky chided herself for not telling Elvis about her earlier tour of the estate. It was just that he had looked so intent as he told her what they were doing, and the sound of his voice gently commanding her made her agree with whatever he said, take whatever he offered, do whatever he wanted to do.

Yeah, a long term relationship with this man is trouble. Becky reflected on how relieved she had been when Lisa didn’t wake up and come get her until 10:30 that morning, instead of 8 a.m., like she had the first day, and felt a bit disgusted with herself. Ugh, Elvis’ lifestyle is warping your judgment. Sleep all day, play all night, and now I have to go pretend that I haven’t already seen the grounds of Graceland.

*********************************************************************

The dirt shifted under Becky’s Keds as she walked beside Elvis towards the stables, holding his hand as he squeezed it tightly and turned to look at her, eyes soft and bright as he spoke. Becky summoned a look of awe as if seeing the building for the first time.

“Right, now this is the House of the Rising Sun, on account of my horse, Rising Sun. Though I reckon I shoulda named him Setting Sun, because, ya know, that’s usually when I’m getting up.” Elvis looked at Becky expectantly, and she forced a giggle, leaning into him as they walked into the building.

The sound of horses’ snorting and whinnying greeted them, and Becky followed Elvis as he grabbed a handful of sugar cubes from the front counter and leaned against the white gate of the first stall, waggling his eyebrows at Becky as she cautiously stepped forward. He took her hand, unrolling her fingers and putting a piece of sugar in the middle, then clicking his tongue as the large palomino nuzzled into him, nickering and searching for treats.

“Now, go on, he won’t bite ya - much.” Elvis smirked, watching as Becky rolled her lips in and put out her hand, shrieking at the tickle of the horse’s chin hairs on her hand.

“Is this one yours?”

“MMhmmm, this is Rising Sun,” Elvis told her, turning to ruffle the blonde tuft of hair between the golden horse’s ears.

Becky cautiously stroked the white blaze down the middle of his face, stopping to rub his muzzle as he sniffed her hand for more sugar. She looked into Rising Sun’s large brown eyes, wondering how such a majestic creature could be tamed, and how quickly he would trample over her for more sugar.

“He’s beautiful. And terrifying.” She said, then looked up at Elvis. “Just like you, I suppose.”

Elvis’ fingers caressed over Becky’s dress, stopping at the small of her back to rub into her tenderly.

“Oh now, don’t tell me ya afraid of me, now honey. Or these horsies, are ya Becky Butt?” He moved behind her, his hand trailing slowly over her arm, down from her shoulder, until it was over the back of her palm. He slowly guided her palm up to smooth over the side of Rising Sun’s face and cheek, leaning into whisper into her neck. “See, now, now, see? He’s a good boy, gentle and well trained as can be. Ain’t got nothin ta fear from hims.”

Elvis kisses warmed her skin, and Becky shuddered as his lips crushed into her. Moaning, she dropped her hand and turned into him, biting her lip in anticipation as Elvis rolled back on his feet and then forward, pressing her into the white pole that separated the stalls. Rising Sun grunted at them and blew his nose, and Becky squealed at the feeling of his large, gummy mouth chewing at her hair. Elvis' mouth quirked into a smile, but his hand rubbed her side more intently, and a fierce, starved look animated his eyes.

“Get now, silly horse, that ain’t hay.” He gently pushed Rising Sun away, and pulled Becky into him, gripping her tightly.

A tingle burned in Becky’s belly and she breathed out in hushed desire.

“Huh. How - how does my hair look?”

“Looks a a a, a whole lot better than it's gonna once I’m through wit ya.” Elvis said softly, through a high breathy giggle. Then he looked down, bashfully, his hand rubbing Becky’s waist up and down then pinching her on both sides. Becky giggled, pulling herself into his frame, her hand working up over his chest as she kissed his jaw.

“Why, Elvis Presley, I declare, are you - are you trying to seduce me? In the barn?”

He shook his head, a goofy expression pushed his lips into a pout.

“Depends.”

Becky arched her eyebrow, her fingers toyed with the high blue collar of Elvis’ shirt. “Mmmmmm? Depends on what?”

Elvis withdrew, blushing, his jaw tightening, suddenly changing his mind from whatever he had been thinking about doing, “Neva mind, baby. Here, let me introduce ya to the other horses.”

Becky followed him, brushing her hand over the top of his belt and sweeping along his back.

“Ok darlin’, you’re the boss.” Pushing her hand around him, Becky leaned into Elvis, and he drew her tighter into his side, looking ahead to give a large, black horse a sugar cube.

“This here, now, this boy is special, this is Ebony’s Double, come from a real champion stud, Ebony Masterpiece.”

Becky put her hand up to the horse’s neck, feeling his muscles ripple under his silky black coat as she rolled her hand over him. Breathing in, her eyes locked with Elvis as she caught him looking down at her, and she thought about reaching up on her tiptoes to try and kiss him, but instead kissed his shoulder. It was easier, and she relished the way he squeezed her into him in response. His bottom lip dropped down with his chin, and his voice came out in a raspy croak.

“Hey there, lil’ girl.”

Becky nuzzled in, and shifted the rubber soles of her shoes to pivot and bring her closer into Elvis' chest.

“Hey,” she whispered into his armpit.

Elvis brought her chin up and leaned down, his hand moving to cradle her neck as she curled her fingers into his shirt. Gentle kisses became more fervent as his hands crept lower until they cupped her bottom and Elvis was holding Becky up. Notched above his tummy, Becky’s knees bumped up awkwardly against his elbows, and Elvis chuckled as he carried her towards the back of the barn, almost dropping her with a mild stumble. That would have been the end of the white suede suit. But he quickly recovered, grunting as he jostled Becky up and smiling at the sound of her breathy chuckles as she held onto his shoulders while they staggered to the back of the barn. Becky could hear the sound of horse’s hooves, grunts and neighs, but they were peripheral to the sound of the heartbeat pulsing through her ears.

Becky felt the edge of the workbench where Elvis placed her atop. They were at the back of the stables, next to a saddle presumably left for repair. Beckys legs hitched on either side of Elvis' body, and she dragged her thumb over his cheek, moaning out as his lips found that spot on her neck once more and his hands moved under her skirt, slowly, carefully, tugging on her underwear.

“Hey,” she murmured. Elvis cheeks reddened above a smirk as his dark blue eyes looked down at the ground.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a deep voice.

Becky fell back on the table, resting on her wrists.

“Hey.” she waggled her eyebrows and dangled her legs, then tightened them at his side.

He shook his head, unbuttoning his trousers and moving over her, his lips feathering above her as he whispered: “Heyyyyyyy.”

Becky gasped as she felt him thrust slowly upwards into her, moaning out into his mouth.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.”

She wrapped her legs around him, rocking her hips to meet him in the slow, gentle cadence of their love making. His eyes narrowed on hers as his movements became more deliberate, and his thumb found the slick over her clitoris, swirling in time to their needy rolls back and forth over the workbench. Heat coiled in her belly, and Becky leaned back as a guttural cry escaped her mouth.“Heeyyyyyy fucking ohmygod heyyyyyyYYYYYY GODDAMMMIT” as her climax overtook her.

Elvis leaned forward, peppering kisses over her collarbone and burying his head in her bosom where he continued to slow move in and out of her until he came with a vehement grunt and remained there, head in her chest, panting through the final thrusts before stilling completely.

Becky relished the weight of his body pressing down on her, insistent, immediate, she wanted it to crush her forever. His shaggy swath of black hair moved as Elvis’ chin protruded forward, and she met his blue eyes, looking up at her from his smug, boyish expression. She melted in the radiance of his smile. “Hey.” Elvis blushed, again, then grunted as he pulled himself up and grinned at Becky’s playfully shove.

“Hey is for horses, Presley,” she gasped, and he laughed as he zipped up, bending down to restore her panties to their rightful place.

She wondered if she had made the wrong first impression on the horses, as they ambled out of the stable and back toward the house.

“Hmmm, so that was the tour huh?”

“I think that’s all the tour I can manage right now, lil girl.”

“OK, well, Lisa already showed me the smokehouse, and I’m definitely not having sex in there.”

“Hmmm, well, figured you should know by now, telling me something isn’t gonna happen just about guarantees I havta try.” He slapped her bottom and she shoved him away, only to have his arm instantly around her, drawing her into the warmth of his body as he kissed her head.

“Just so you know, Becky, I did not intend to get busy back there.”

Becky nestled into his shoulder as they walked. She could still hear the sounds of twenty horses behind them if she focused, joined by the sound of crickets and cars on the far off roads buzzing into the twilight of early evening. Above it all, she could feel the grain of Elvis' voice as it rumbling into her ear, heating the side of her neck with each word.

“I, I - I just, well, suddenly couldn’t help myself. Don’t feel that way very often, honey, I think - ” He stopped talking abruptly and turned Becky in to face him.

“Honey, now stop walking already, I’m tryin’ to tell ya something.”

As he looked at her, he noticed that her hair really had come half out of the up twist she had styled it in that evening, and he paused to take out her hair pins, freeing her curls and arranging them over her shoulders.

“There, better.” He nodded with satisfaction. “What was I sayin’? Oh yeah. OK. Here it is. I think I’m starting to really fall for ya, baby. I think, well, I think you should move up here. Can’t bear ta think about taking you back to Jackson next week.”

“This week,” Becky muttered, crossing her arms. “Sunday.”

Suddenly the buzzing, post-coital glow disintegrated and she stood still trying to process what he had said.

He took her shoulders in his hands. “Think about it. Didn’t you say you have a sister here in Memphis?”

Becky nodded, her mind still swimming, wondering if there was any way in hell she could, would, should pursue this. Looking up into Elvis’ eyes was like diving into a sea of endless optimism where everything was possible.

“Hey, I got a business meeting I gotta handle tomorrow night, maybe you could go visit your sister? I was thinking you probably would want to while you're up here anyway. And you can think things over. How it would be, if I got you a place up here, come live with your lil girl in Memphis?”

Becky stood there, nodding again, looking back down at the house. Elvis started to walk.

“Don’t just stand there woman, get in here. The most handsome man in the world just asked if you’d be his baby, least you can do is give him some sugar and say thank you.”

Becky leaned back into Elvis' open arm and kissed his chest. “Hmmm, just took me by surprise is all. I, um, I need to think about it, that’s a big deal, Elvis, I , well, I feel strongly about you too.”

She tickled his side as they walked, and he jerked back with a, *Hey, now.*

“You’re right, though, I should try and see my sister. Tomorrow night, I guess.”

*********************************************************************

6:15 p.m. Friday, June 20th 1975

Still at Graceland, for now…

It was one of the new dresses Elvis had bought her that week, a purple, jersey halter dress, that Becky pulled over her head, before asking Lisa to help clasp the simple, diamond drop necklace around the back of her neck. Lisa jumped back, and put out her wrists for a spray of perfume as Becky doused herself and twirled around.

“How do I look?” Lisa put her hand to her chin, thinking carefully.

“I think you need more eye make-up.”

“Ha, maybe, but trust me, my sister is the opposite of glamorous. She’s a judge. And I’m crashing a dinner party, so I think modest, simple, less-is-more sort of look is what I want.”

“Well,” Lisa sighed, ”you definitely nailed the less part. You’re hardly wearing any diamonds. Sure you don’t wanna borrow some of mine?”

Becky fidgeted with the ring she was wearing, the gift Elvis had given her that first night at Graceland. It was almost too large and gaudy for her style, let alone her sister Deborah’s taste. But it had come to be a comforting talisman, something she felt and twisted when she felt nervous or out of her element here with Elvis, doing whatever she thought she was doing. *Acting like an immature teenager who just discovered what sex is*, she thought to herself.

Becky also sensed Elvis would be hurt if he saw her without the ring, because he’d mentioned how nice it looked on her several times, usually taking her hand and kissing the ring there before turning her palm and kissing the center of her hand. And pulling her in for a kiss. *Ughhh, these kisses*. Even the way his dry lips bumped over hers at first touch caused a burning electricity to electrify her face and she became instantly incapable of reason.

Becky sighed, she had this impending sense of doom, her inner Cassandra, as Ida would say, always on high alert to call out trouble at the slightest provocation. Just trust him. This is fun. This feels right. Everything is ok. Wear the damn ring to Debbie’s dinner party.

Becky’s dress swished around her legs as she carefully walked down the staircase, trying not to trip in the orange platform heels Elvis had picked out at the boutique during a late night shopping spree on Wednesday. As she descended, she saw him whispering with Charlie, then the two men heard her and turned around, smiling in an eerie unison. Elvis was somewhat dressed up for his business meeting, in a dark red suit with a light blue dress shirt with a high, starched collar framing his face.

“There she is, Charlie. There’s the most beautiful gal in the world. And the smartest. And the funniest.”

Becky teetered on her platforms as she put her foot down another step.

“And the most graceful woman in the world.” He let out a low guffaw with out, and Becky narrowed her eyes at him

“Oh, keep laughing, Elvis Aaron Presley, I’mma get you for that. Buying me mile-high shoes an then laughing at how I walk in theses unnatural torture devices!”

Becky ran down the rest of the stairs and leapt onto his waist, ruffling his hair as Elvis chuckled.

“God, crazy woman, tryin’ ta kill me?” Becky kissed his forehead as he jostled her up and down, then placing her safely on the ground.

“Mhmmm. Just wanted to give you a kiss for good luck with your business dinner.”

Elvis kissed her back on the cheek as he ushered her and Charlie out of the door with a swat to the butt and a “See ya later, sweetheart.”

Charlie’s white Pontiac was waiting in front for them and they walked around, Charlie leading to open her door. Just as Becky was about to duck into the passenger seat, she saw the long, black snout of Elvis’ Stutz Blackhawk rolling up the driveway, Jerry at the steering wheel. Next to him sat the thin, blonde frame of Linda Thompson outlined against the dark, red leather interior. Jerry was a statue, stoic and serious as he pulled up and Linda burst out of the car to stride over.

“Charlie Hodge, you handsome man, where you runnin’ off to this evening? And who’s your friend?”

Charlie let out a shrill, high-pitched laugh, wondering to himself how Jerry had managed to arrive twenty minutes earlier than he had been told. Becky smiled awkwardly as she watched Linda give Charlie an air kiss on each side of his face, and then turned to Becky and her tight, wide forced cheerful smile.

Charlie stammered quickly, “Ugh, Linda, this is my cousin Becky, from Birmingham, come up to visit while her kid is at summer camp. I, ugh, well I -”

“He promised me I’d get to meet Elvis while I was here,” Becky gushed, summoning all of her energy to force her tongue to sound excited. She watched Jerry get out of the car and walk to join them. His lips were pursed, and his shoulders were stiff.

“Oh, well, it just dills my pickle to meet Charlie’s family, I feel like we’re practically family ourselves, seein’ how much time I spend with this good ole boy.”

Becky tried very hard not to tense up as Linda threw her arms around her to squeeze her tight. Linda wore a red, satin evening gown with cutouts along the side that emphasized her the curves of her sveltetorso and the wide hips below. Becky felt as though her tall, awkward fleshy figure and bust overwhelmed Linda’s body completely.

“Gosh, I just love that dress,” Linda exclaimed, adjusting the layers of Becky’s hair off her shoulder. “Though I don’t know if I could pull that color off, mhmmm, don’t know if that would be my choice, but it's so you, isn’t it?”

Becky smiled. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“So, Charlie, the old boy been behaving?” Linda winked at Becky, then whispered conspiratorially. “You know, Elvis is a good, Christian man, s’just that the devil is mighty powerful, hmmm, know what I mean?”

“MMMhmmmm.”

Becky nodded. It was like she was back in high school and one of the popular girls had waltzed up to her desk at the school newspaper, indirectly ordering her to do a story about the committee decorating the homecoming game bleachers. Ughhh. Becky steeled herself, falling back on the niceties that she was well versed in.

“I can’t even imagine! Gosh, it’s so exciting to meet you, I’ve seen your pictures in the paper and, of course, Charlie has told us about you. But you are just more precious in person, you really are.”

Linda gave Becky another hug. “Well bless your heart, Becky. Aren’t *you* the sweetest.”

Jerry coughed. “Hm, yeah, we better get going.”

Linda shrugged her shoulders. “Ugh, I know, we got this Police Charity Dinner to go to, I flew in from LA just for this. I guess the Lord saw fit for me to make it. And meet you! I hope I get to see you again while you are visiting, are you staying here? With Charlie?”

“Oh God no.”—“No she aint!”

Charlie and Becky both answered together. Becky smiled big again, hugging Linda one more time. From the big, wide-eyed puppy dog look on her face, Becky felt she seemed to expect it. “No, no, I’m staying with my sis - sorority sister from college, who lives here, we’re actually just heading there now, for dinner. In fact, we better scoot, eh cuz?” Becky looked at Charlie, and sat into the car.

Charlie closed the door, a big smile at Linda as Jerry led her up the steps into the house, and Linda waved goodbye. “I hope y’all have a the best night, see you again real soon!”

A tense feeling pushed up from Becky’s tummy and seized her shoulders in a tight anxious grip. It was one thing to know you were spending the week with a man who was seeing several women at once. It was another thing to come face to face with one and have to lie about who you were and what you were doing. Becky felt dirty, dirty and sick. She didn’t know how she could possibly face her perfect fucking sister, Deborah, and Debbie’s husband Steve, another lawyer, and the various lawyer professional type guests she expected to be at this dinner party. Charlie patted her thigh, seeming to intuit her thoughts, at least in part.

“Ya know, he’s not a bad guy, the boss man. He carries a heavy burden. And Linda’s moved out to LA to try and break into the movie biz. She had him buy her a home here in Memphis. It’s like they both know it’s over but neither one can bear to pull the trigger. And she knew how it was to date someone like him.”

Becky nodded, telling herself not to cry, and leaned against the window, hitting her head on the cool glass a few times as she swore under her breath at how stupid she was to be here. She muttered to herself in yiddish:

“Ugh, whenever you have choices, oy vey, my sheyna maidel, boy oh boy do you somehow always manage to pick the worst. Your picker is broken, that’s what it is. When you go home, you are turning your love life over to Ida and her yenta brigade. There is a reason they used matchmakers in the old country. People are incapable of making good choices in men when left to their own devices. Stupid, foolish, idiot girl!” She hit her head on the window one last time, and then realized they had pulled up in front of Debbie’s house.

Charlie rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll be out here waiting when you’re ready. I - he - I - he’s gonna be dropping Linda off at the other house. It was, it is, all part of the plan. You see, her brother’s in the police force here. It, ugh, it just made sense that she would be his date for this big charity ball fundraiser for the cops.”

Becky nodded, half in a daze, trying to mentally prepare for her sister, for the dinner party, and for Elvis later.

“Hmmm, yeah, no, totally makes sense, absolutely.” She breathed in, then looked over at Charlie’s apologetic face. “Wait, you’re just gonna wait here?”

“Yeah, the boss, he, well, he wanted me to look after you. On account of all the druggies running wild these days.” Becky nodded.

“Right. The drugged out commie burglars, those are clearly the biggest threat to my livelihood right now. Not Elvis Presley and his selfish manipulative ways. Not his powerful girlfriend, or her cop brother. Not my family and their judgment. No, no no, it’s the invisible commie drug criminals supposedly lurking everywhere. Well, thank god you’re here Charlie, I feel so much safer.”

She slammed the car door, knowing it was unfair to take it out on Charlie, but the look on his face when she bent to the window made her heart sink even further before she uttered one word of apology. Because his goofy, winsome smile told her she was not the first woman to yell at him like this. Not only did he seem to expect it, he had mentally braced himself for it. Becky’s face softened apologetically.

“I’m sorry, for that. I’ll try not to be more than an hour.”

“S’ok, we’re family now, cuz.”

Becky knew that Charlie’s smile was meant to be reassuring, but it made her stomach drop even more as she turned and braced herself for a night at the Hoffman - Blumfeld’s (very intentionally hyphenated modern family of the 1970s) Dinner Party.

*********************************************************************

To say the night was uncomfortable and embarrassing would have been generous. Everyone else at the dinner party was dressed in jeans, khakis or linen pants and some sort of comfortable blouse or semi-casual shirt, and Becky felt she stood out like a Vegas showgirl at a library full of nerds. Which was probably the best way to describe Debbie, her husband Steve and their social circle. She was grateful it had been Debbie who opened the front door, so she could walk Becky into the side room and they could make their flustered hellos alone.

Debbie wore a pair of sensible khakis and a tasteful floral button up top tucked in. As predicted, Debbie wore no make-up. And all judgment, though she tried to repress and be loose and fun.

Six years older than Becky, Debbie had always been half friend/half-parent to her, and this was a characteristic she inhabited calling out “Rebecca, please come in!” when she greeted Becky at the door.

Thank god for wine, the Hoffman-Blumfeld intentionally hyphenated household had some very good bottles of wine on offer and, after sipping one glass gracefully, and the another quickly in the kitchen, Becky was able to exhale and confront the evening with a blundering fort of confidence. She decided to pretend the meeting with Linda never happened, and stumbled confidently through her description of her relationship. She was dating a man who worked in the music business, after meeting him with Danny at a radio event fundraiser for the tornado in Mississippi. Was it serious? Well, sort of, he had invited her to Memphis for the week to meet his daughter, and he was trying to persuade her to move there. But her very successful life managing Saul and Ida’s store, and all her f.’

riends, made her reluctant to leave Jackson.

“I’m just taking a day at a time.” Becky winked and sipped her wine, before taking another mouthful of salmon.

After dessert, Debbie cornered her in the kitchen and asked if they could talk somewhere. Putting up her finger while she poured another glass of wine, Becky nodded and followed Deb to a bedroom, where she sat on a tasteful quilt blanket and had a tasteful restrained conversation about the impossibility of letting her father see Ruth secretly the next time she was in Birmingham.

“She is his only grandchild, Becks.”

“Well, they should have thought about that possibility when they kicked me out. Three months pregnant. Pronounced me a shonda, and disowned me.”

“Do you really want to have Ruth grow up without her grandparents?”

“I didn’t make that decision, Debbie, they did. Maybe, maybe, maybe if Papa was willing to admit how wrong they were, and stand up to Mama, and if he had any backbone at all and publicly welcomed me home for everyone to see, for Ruth to experience a true family, maybe.”

Debbie responded with a knowing look. “Well, I told Papa I was gonna see you when he called earlier, and I promised to ask, but I don’t blame you. I wish Ruth was here now, it’s been too long. And this guy, hmmm? Sounds promising. He wants you to move here?” Becky gulped her wine down first, rubbing her sister's arm.

“Yup, yes, mhmmm. Oh yeah, finally, right? Everything’s coming up Becky. I can’t wait for you to meet him, because I’ll definitely be back up here with Ruth after she finishes camp. Ah, yes, mmhmmm.” She downed the last sip of wine, smiling so enthusiastically she almost laughed at how absurd the charade was. “I feel like, ugh, finally, right? I’m finally getting that happiness I searched for, for so long. ”

*********************************************************************

“You are never going to find happiness.” Becky said to the fork of coconut cake as she brought it to her mouth, letting the sweet, sticky crunchy sugar do its work comforting her momentarily as she chewed it and swallowed it down with some chocolate milk. The door to the kitchen opened, and she jerked her head up to see little Lisa Marie poke her head around.

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, late night cake?” Becky answered.

“Have you been crying?” Lisa asked as she stepped closer, getting herself a plate and a piece of cake.

“No, honey, no, it’s just been a long day.”

“Is it cuz of my daddy?”

Becky shook her head, too vigorously perhaps. “Npoooo no nononoo. No. It’s just been a long day.”

“You’re a bad liar, Becky Butt,” Lisa said, taking a big bite of cake, and then rubbing Becky’s shoulder. It broke her heart to see Lisa’s genuine look of pity staring up at her as she tried to comfort Becky. “Why is he like this? Mommy says he ruins every relationship and he’ll never truly be happy.”

Becky laughed at Lisa’s matter-of-fact statement. “Oh, my dear, I think your mama is very wise, but who knows what the future will bring. I do know your daddy loves you, that’s a relationship that makes him happy. Trust me, my parents never openly showed me love the way I see him show you. He’s a good man. There are just some things I might do differently if I were him.”

Lisa looked up at her. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I’d carry around less guns, I guess, that's dangerous. And maybe wear less jewelry, probably out there blinding people with all those dazzling gems and diamonds all over his person.”

Lisa laughed out loud as she finished her cake, and let Becky walk her up the stairs where she tucked Lisa back into bed and then returned to the kitchen.

Becky was down on her knees, looking through the drawers under the phone when she heard the door behind her slam shut. Glancing up, she saw Elvis’ broad figure swagger slowly toward her in the dimness of the kitchen lit only by one of the lights under a cabinet. He sighed and stopped, hands bracing the front of his hips, spread out fully extending his fingers as they tapped a little ditty over the sides of his belly.

With his jacket pushed back at the hips, he looked even wider and more intimidating than usual. His lips were pursed in a frown at the sight of Becky in the jeans, converse and Destin tee shirt she had been wearing when she left Jackson the previous Sunday.

“Huh, hey.”

Becky turned back to look up at him. “Oh, hey!”

He adjusted his stance, pivoting his feet and twitching his left knee, his thumbs tapping over his belt.

“Watcha doin’?”

“You don’t know where the yellow pages are, do you? I’ve been looking for a phone book for the last fifteen minutes.”

Elvis sucked in a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. “Why, uh, why ya looking for the phone book?”

“Well, maybe you can help me.”

Becky returned her attention to the kitchen drawers in front of her, trying not to flinch as she heard the thud of Elvis boots walk closer and stop directly behind her. She chose not to twist back around and look at him, afraid she might cry or be dramatic, so she decided to speak directly into the drawers as she continued to look through them.

“You see, I’m trying to find a number for a local cab company, so I can get to the Greyhound station.”

“Mhmmm. I noticed your bag in the foyer.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Becky sighed, shutting one drawer and then opening another. “Well, you see, it just dills my pickle to be all prepared and ready to go when I call up a car to come get me. Although I had rather hoped I would have been gone before you got back, I didn’t want to bother you. But, since you’re here, maybe you can make yourself useful and help find the phone book?”

Elvis bent and leaned over the island that jutted out of the counter at the front of the kitchen.

“Honey, I have absolutely no intention a helpin’ you find a phone book.”

Becky stopped and fell back against the cupboard next to the set of drawers, her legs stretching out over the dark, burgundy carpet that covered the kitchen.She banged her hand back and closed her eyes.

“Why? Why can’t you just give me the phonebook?”

Elvis walked over and stood above Becky, his hand reaching down. “Cuz I don’t want you ta leave, honey. Not like this. C’mon, let’s talk. If you still wanna go home, why, I’ll drive you back to Jackson myself, like I promised.”

Becky glared up at his hand. “No.”

“What, you just gonna stay there on the ground?”

“Mhmmm.” She crossed her legs and her arms and tilted back into the cabinet. “Yup, yessiree. This is my home now, til I get a cab, I reckon.”

Elvis meandered over slowly and groaned as he lowered himself next to her on the floor. He moved his hand out to touch hers, only to be rebuked by their swift retreat back under her breasts in a huff of crossed arms and limbs. He rolled his neck to meet her gaze against the wooden cabinet.

“Honey, you are actin’ like a child. This is all one big misunderstanding. Now, c’mon.”

Elvis put his hand over her thigh, but Becky swatted it away, so he grabbed the foot she had criss crossed over her knee, and rolled into her shoulder as he scooted closer, squeezing her foot.

“Becky, look, you know I have other friends —”

“Girl friends, yes, I know about them, but apparently they don’t know about me. Do you have any idea how horrible that felt? Lying, looking at your beautiful beauty queen girlfriend, pretending to be Charlie’s cousin?” She pressed her face against the cupboard and let the tears come pouring out. “Ugh, I am so stupid, I know this isn’t me. I am not cut out to be the other woman.”

“Sssshhh.” Elvis put his arm around Becky’s shoulder, massaging her as he drew her body into his, bringing her head to nuzzle in his chest, where she gave up and grasped his shirt, letting the sobs come out as she cried into him. “Sshhhh. S’ok, s’ok.”

“No, s’not ok, ugh, I’m a horrible person, a traitor to my sex.” Her fist bumped tepidly into Elvis’ chest. She looked up at his chuckles. “What, why are you laughing at me?”

“Baby, you are too pretty to cry. Now, come on. Linda is not my wife, she knows it, I know it, things haven’t been going well and our relationship has been sorta peeterin’ out. But I have to do things my own way, ok? Her brother is on the police force, it made sense, right now, for me to take her as my date. But I swear, nothing happened. I’m here with you. At my house. Would I have a mistress at my house, where I lived, if I was keeping her a secret?”

Becky wiped her eyes. “You think she knows about me? She knew when she met me?”

Elvis sucked in his breath. “Honey, I don’t know, and frankly, right now I don’t care who knows. I-I, I didn’t wanna get into it tonight. But Linda knows well enough how it is with me. Look, I want to be with you, here, now. So let’s be together, and let’s go to bed.”

He said this with finality, and stood up, groaning slightly and steadying himself against the sink, and Becky followed, exhaling loudly as she pulled herself up on his outstretched hand and walked with him out of the kitchen, still sniffling and wiping her eyes into his silk dress shirt.

“Ok, but only because the floor was starting to feel uncomfortable. And I couldn’t find the phone book.”

Elvis smiled and Becky watched his cheeks twitch above the pout of his mouth, and she couldn’t help it, she led herself into his embrace.

“There now, lil girl, why you go get yourself all worked up like that?”

Becky looked down, blushing trying to just calm herself and feel good about making peace, or whatever it was she was doing. Giving in. No, you are having fun, she told herself. It’s silly to be upset over Linda, and was the use of fighting? This is a short, fun, little fling. Somehow his logic made sense at the same time that it made no sense at all. Becky’s head ached trying to sort it out, she decided that she was tired and exhausted and still a little tipsy, and needed to stop fighting and let herself fall forward into Elvis’ pliant, warm belly. He took a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wiped her eyes, then softly pressed his lips to Becky’s mouth.

“Mmmm, baby, those are some salty lips.”

Elvis lifted his hand, thumbing over her lower lip slowly, it made Becky gasp and she watched him respond with a smirk. He leaned in slowly, and Becky shivered when he breathed on her, watching with anticipation as he licked his own lip and hesitated with a wider smirk before pressing his mouth into hers. More forcefully this time, his hands soothing up her sides.

“S’alright now, s’alright, no more cryin, ok, lil girl? Too pretty ta cry like this. Goin’ on and making my favorite lips all salty. "

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