#nct 127 cyberpunk au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hexonthepeach · 7 months

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a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 18: care

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [17: chivalry]

wc: 5k

chapter warnings: smut with a little angst - oral (fem receiving), use of pet names (kit) - aka life-altering head from a man you can't stand the sight of

recommended listening: hmm stream fact check but maybe add back 2 u (AM 01:27) - nct 127 because that's about the time this takes place and the sentiment is the same (in the words of mark lee "damn, they're really not going back"

You're on fire when you wake up, burning hot, unable to think straight for how your vision swims with fever.

It's excruciating to be alone in this wide bed, empty, whimpering as your fingers reach for the bedside table and the glass of now-oxidized water on it, fumbling enough you hear the shatter as it hits the floor.

You cringe back into the bed, too tired to get up and take care of it, or even to roll out the other side to get a drink, lines of radiating cold keep you bed bound.

Something heavy sinks the mattress beside you.

"___," someone says, distantly, pulling your clenched fist from your face to place a cold metal cup against it. When you can't lift your head you're gently lifted up by a hard set of arms, your head tipped back just so to accept the drink pressed to your lips.

You drink, and taste him. Your eyes fly open, brow knitted.

You'd fight it if you could, would wrestle free of his hold so you couldn't have to accept it, but there's no battle left in you.

Johnny keeps you upright until you're finished, laying you down on the bed as softly as if you were made of gossamer when he moves to clean up the mess, leaving you with your heart racing in your chest as you watch his sloped back bend over his work.

"What are you doing here?" you mumble, finally, after he's returned with a towel to finish mopping up the puddle from the floor.

You can see the muscles in his shoulders tense, hair brushing against them as he shakes his head.

"You're not meant to be alone," he says, softly. "Don't get mad. I gave my word to Doyoung I'd just take care of you while you were sleeping. I'll go get him–."

Take care of you. How ridiculous, you think, turning over to twitch and shiver. You hear him move to leave, cursing yourself for the jolt of fear that runs through you at the thought of being abandoned again.

"Stay," you say aloud.

Johnny doesn't leave but he doesn’t move towards you. You feel your hackles raising defensively as his gaze burns into you from across the room.

"I'm not going to try to mate you," you spit out. Not even if you were the last person on earth, you think, though it's as much a lie in your mind as it would be on your tongue. "Just stay, you don't need to disturb them this late."

"Alright," he says, moving to the door a little more lightly. When he comes back he falls back into his routine of dropping to the floor beside your bed. You knew cats had a stupid habit of establishing or conceding dominance through relative height but it's absurd having him sit on the floor when the bed is big enough for you both.

You roll over to glare at his wide shoulders.

"What are you doing, exactly?"

"I know you don’t feel safe," Johnny answers, resigned. "I haven't . . . I can stay like that, if you want me to."

Your heat-dazed mind still knows what he means, having seen his ears just as black as before–tail curling around his feet. He'd spent more time in his shift than out of it the past 24 hours, and you'd done nothing to stop him.

"If that’s what gets you to shut up, by all means," you say.

Strange how the beast was so much easier to be around than the man, how you can't stomach the sight of the face you'd longed for since you'd first learned to put a name to your desire.

But it's undeniable that having him at your side is already diminishing some of the worst aches and chills, feeling like when your mother used to rub a remedy of menthol on your chest when you were sick as a child.

"And get off the floor," you add, turning so you can't fixate on how beautiful he looks to you, how much you want to wrap your arms around that neck and hold him tight. The sound of him undressing makes your body incandescent with shameful arousal, at least saved from embarrassment by the fact that it can't be helped, and you aren't doing anything about it.

You don't even sneak a look. The air goes frigid as he changes, the scent of juniper stinging your nostrils.

Within a few seconds the bed dips deep beside you, paws the size of your head sinking into the mattress. And then a whuff as he settles, knobby spine beneath the fur and muscle digging into your own.

The minutes drag out as your fox settles, body heat melding with the cool brush of a flicked tail across your thighs twisting in the sheets. His Felid pheromones are laced with a sharp citral, but he's also velvet draped over soft, black leather and warm tea.

You breathe more deeply, body responding to your Alpha like clockwork. The fever making you uncomfortable is also making you feel gooey and pliant with arousal, your hands flexing beside you to keep from reaching for him in the dark.

Minutes pass, an eternity by your own estimation.

Any innocent thoughts of sleeping beside him while he’s in his hybrid form are torn asunder by how far into need you have fallen. Snippets of fantasies play out on loop, intrusively, as the minutes count down.

You try to concentrate on the deep well of hurt inside you but your fox isn't wont to look down into it. She tosses and turns in the sheets, uncomfortable for the fact that she cannot burrow into the side of the thing behind you.

There's a spark of fear inside at what you'll do when you're asleep. Even if you trust him to recognize your boundaries you don't think you can live with the embarrassment of letting the heat overwrite your will to keep him at arm's length.

"I don't think I can do this." You sound so pathetic in your own mind, asking the peaceful night for courage. "Please go.”

A rumble, and then you feel the sweep of his tongue against your neck, the side of your jaw. It's meant to be comforting, a farewell of sorts as the jaguar lifts up off the bed, but you respond without thinking, clinging to his broad neck until he remains.

"Could you . . . Could you do that again?" you ask. You turn away again, convincing yourself there's nothing wrong with this–you need it, can use him while you can.

If Johnny minds, it's not apparent. He licks you in another broad swath, this time across your sensitive neck. You bite back a moan, going limp under his careful grooming.

Your blood should run cold at the memory of the last time an Alpha cleaned you but instead you're dissolving into the healing of it, being rewritten. Salty tears roll from the corners of your eyes as you reach back to twist your claws in his ruff.

It's clearly not an indication for him to stop. You pull his great head forward, raking nails across his thick skin until you hear the distant rattle of his breath and then, finally, what sounds like a purr.

You know his genus can't make the sound–they lack the hyoid bone of smaller cats–but the fact that he's trying makes you only sob harder, curling into him.

You can feel him beneath the form, quiescent and equally as comfortable with you as you are with him this way. Such a sudden change of heart has your own feeling sick; you don't know what it means, don't want to think too deeply into something you still feel like will be snatched away.

Your fingers drift over the back of his massive toes, then curl under them to test the sandpaper pads with your smaller thumb for the prick of claws. You marvel at how he keeps them contained.

"Do you still think of me as a threat?" you ask, as he grooms you. Speaking to him is the only way you think you can stay tethered to reality and the emotions inside you.

There's a careful lick down the back of your neck, dragging your shirt collar.

"Am I still nothing to you?"

You can feel a layer of salt removed along with a few layers of skin by his tongue clearing your wet cheek.

Not nothing, it seems to say.

"Why did you have to be so cruel?" You look at him now, seeing only the slow blink of a relaxed feline. He offers you a place to rest, collapsing onto his side and exposing his belly slightly. You shuffle to lay where his leg meets his broad chest, burying your face into his rich fur.

"I feel like an idiot for letting myself believe, even for an instant, what you said to me." It's a relief to speak without fear of him arguing or shutting you down. "But you wanted me to, didn't you?"

He pauses, pushing into your skull in what feels like reassurance, resting his head above yours with an animal’s sigh.

"And now you want to take responsibility? Only after you feel bad about it? How can I ever trust you again? Why shouldn't I find someone else who appreciated me from the beginning?"

Now you feel the flex of claws from their sheaths, hear the tear in the duvet as a spark of jealousy burns your blank mind.

"You don't want to share me? You should have thought of that before leaving me."

Like dropping a choice cut of meat in front of a starving animal's cage and telling it to wait to consume it. But of course you had also offered yourself willingly.

"I'm yours," you say. "I can't not be yours. If you want me now you have to wait for me. The way I waited for you."

You reach beside you, palm brushing against his slow-breathing side. The power hidden under miles of dark-patched fur is its own kind of aphrodisiac–knowing he could consume you or kill you in an instant, if he wasn't himself.

But he'll never not be himself with you. Though the bond you share is mostly quiet, that connection tells you everything you need to know about his control, and most especially the comfort he has having his omega at his side.

You don't even realize your hand has drifted lower until your knuckles brush against his less-furred belly, startling you both.

You've reached down between your legs to where you're just as saturated with slick as you had been the last time you'd let him touch you. You wait for him to break away or respond cruelly but he only nudges you again with his broad nose, whiskers tickling your eyelashes as you close your eyes.

"Don't stop, please," you murmur, dragging your fingers through your swollen sex. "Keep grooming me, Alpha."

At first you think he won't do it, his chin resting against your head lightly. Then you feel his teeth catch on your hair, as his tongue folds against your ear.

You moan, lightness rolling through your scalp down to your belly with each soft lick. He's being more careful now, probably unsure of how to proceed.

Again, you reach up across the foreign yet familiar shape of him, as you touch yourself to the thought of him going lower. You want that roughness to follow the course of what he's transmitting to you through his care, for him to taste you with that same tongue–

The bed goes hot, as if hell had snapped into existence beside you, and suddenly a male body is pressed dangerously into yours. Within a moment your hand is pinned over your head, his hold loose.

"Look at me, ____."

You look up, whimpering softly, into his stare–dark as honey left to crystallize, darting with concern.

"I'm not trying to mate you," Johnny says, voice rough. He swallows, eyes wandering to your tongue wetting your lips, his own curving in a pained smile. "But I can help you."

You don't want his help. More importantly, you don't want to need it.

"You know you can stop me. Whenever you want, okay?"

It's a statement of fact, not a question. He's ceding control to you, but also you understand the wild orange blossom radiating from him isn't just arousal. He's as terrified as you are of crossing a line–perhaps even erasing it completely with the tension between you.

You can only nod, your tail breaking free of your weight to curl against his bare thigh in invitation. The knowledge that he's naked over you isn't as humbling as the way he looks at you now, eyes half-lidded and gentle. It's as if you're the only thing in the world.

"You can say whatever you want, be as mean to me as you want," He closes his eyes in that same slow blink of a relaxing Felid. "I won't fight you or hurt you. Just please let me take care of you."

As frightened as you feel, you nod, hand under his tightening to let him know you understand.

"You can go back to hating me when the sun rises," he whispers. Then he wrests your hand free of your sex, lifting your glistening fingers to his mouth to gently suck them clean, watching your reaction.

The bed should be on fire for how quickly you've broken out in a tingling sweat, heartbeat stuttering at the feeling of his teeth against your knuckles, nails catching on his full bottom lip.

He leans in to brush against your chin, threading down to your bared throat. He's deliberately running his tongue–much softer now–over the uninjured right side of your neck.

His side.

It makes your fox want to roll over and raise her hips for him immediately but you hold on to the memory of his claws in your throat. Does he still hate you? Is he just using you at your weakest for his own base desires?

"I've never hated you," you say, gasping as he settles into pulling his tongue over your pulse, until the throb matches the one between your legs. "I just . . . I hate what you make me feel."

"Good." He's cleaning you again, hair tickling your jaw as he makes broad swaths on your collarbone. "You should."

You really should, you know. You will, when you can actually form a coherent thought. He's taking advantage of you, exploiting your weakness. Shame should be spiraling you down to a darker place, where you're forced to face what you are.

But he's not touching you or kissing you in a way that implies his need, just grooming you, as you'd asked. The only betrayal here is the fact that it's not your beast but a man–softer and more intimate than you could have ever imagined.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, lifting your loose shirt to access the skin beneath.

"Quiet," you warn. You're already undone by the sight of him lowering his tongue to your breast, lapping the dots of sweat that have collected over your heart.

For a moment your barriers slip and you can taste yourself as he experiences it through the bond.

He won't show you any other affection but the thrum of pleasure inside of him is enough. He's so very pleased to have what little he can of you, each breath chasing his licks marred by the purr he can give you in this form.

You lose yourself in hypersensitivity, legs locked to keep from accidentally brushing against his body. You know even just a taste of contact would have your heat-addled brain demanding he fill you immediately.

His tongue accidentally flicks across your nipple and you seize his skull in your claws so tight he gasps into your skin. You can't tell if it's because of the pain until his tongue wraps around it again, pulling it into hardness as your nails scratch deeper.

"Stop that," you warn.

Johnny murmurs his assent, laving at your underbreast in a manner that is just as maddening. You arch your back, forgetting your grip on his head until he pushes back into it, demanding you pet him.

You have a mind to deny him but it feels so good to have your fingers buried in those soft, thick locks. They've curled under your handling, draped over his jaw and ghosting you every time he dips in to taste you.

The passes of your sharp nails are your way of speaking, of consenting as he drifts lower over the softness of your belly, mouth and breath lighting up your clammy skin. He takes his time in lapping at the salt on your hip bone, earning a smack in the face from your flicking tail.

"Lower," you command, not letting any reason guide you. He glances up, too slow to hide the smug look on his face.

"Clean me, only." You move to remove your loose sleepwear and are unsurprised when he uses brutish force to tear them free of your tail and legs, following them down.

You freeze in anticipation as he pants over your exposed sex, taking you in. His face is hidden but you can feel his smile, hear it in his voice when he speaks.

"Is this your first time?" he asks.

You sigh, staring at the ceiling, hands tightening into fists. You don't have to tell him about Jungwoo burying his face between your legs on his desk, or anything else, really. But you can feel his hesitation and the question is more for your sake than his.

"Yes," you say, unable to make eye contact.

"Good." He settles down over your hips, breathing hot, "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You kick him a bit in retaliation but he pushes your thighs open and apart, tongue drawing through the dripping folds just as tenderly as he had your neck, your breasts.

You knew this would be different. You don't expect the fox's shriek that rips from your throat, muffled beneath your hand, as his head dips with each long swipe, collecting your slick with curls of his tongue.

His jaw works as he drinks you in, the pleasure from that hot, tender press so unlike anything you've ever experienced.

When he presses his tongue to your hole, sliding into the fluttering heat, you seize him by his ears to pull him back.

You don't remember them being so soft and on his head, but it's not the only thing that's changed by the new scrape against your inner labia, the texture adding a layer of animal need that has your hips moving on their own against his face, wanting him closer.

Lick after lick has you rising from the mattress. When he swirls his tongue into your hidden bud you know it won't be long before that bright wave inside of you begins its descent.

"Please, Alpha, please," you keen, scratching his skull in a way you're sure leaves blood beneath your nails. He's so patient with you, not stopping the steady stimulation you need to build towards bursting, nose pressed to your skin as he takes every drop of slick you can give him, drool mingling to slide hot down to your tail.

It doesn't matter if it's messy, the opposite of grooming, he's taking care of you–bringing you perfect pleasure and humming in reassurance when you press hard against him. The tighter that winding in your belly the more lazy he is, prolonging it until you're whining, your begging inarticulate.

"Come for me, ____." He doesn't need to order, not with that Felid tone and the thunder you feel in it, electric zings beginning where his tongue meets you and spreading down in radiating pulses as far as your curled toes.

You're breaking with nothing inside you this time, and somehow it's more relieving, prolonged by the constant but unpredictable movements of his mouth and tongue.

He finally eases once your legs constrict around him and you squirm away from the overstimulation, flush rolling through you along with the tiny aftershocks of the first orgasm you've received from your Alpha.

Your first real gift.

If you're glowing, he's incandescently self-satisfied. You watch his silhouette lift against the backdrop of the bluish, clouded city behind him, wiping his face clean just to lick the remnants from his fingertips.

"That won't be enough." He laughs a little, lowering his face back to your mess. "Should I clean you again?"

"Alpha," you try to warn him but it sounds more like a plea, legs trembling awaiting the next attack.

"Yes, kit?" The vibration of his voice against your sex is too much already; the endearment makes your fox fully prostrate.

"I want . . ." you admit.

You'd forgotten what you want to say, whining in the back of your throat. The sound is desperate for other reasons, and he seems to recognize it immediately. He lets go of your thighs, hunching over you far enough away in the dark his body isn't pressed to yours–just your foreheads.

You keep your eyes clenched shut to keep from weeping again, scared of how little control you have left within you. It's too soon, too much, and not enough at the same time. And the worst part is how far away you feel from him, as if just relaxing into this new joy would damn you to be written the way he'd already estimated you.

It's just her nature. That thing.

A violent wave of despair and anger courses through you, unearthed by the comedown.

"Shh," he says. "You're safe. I know I haven't been there for you when you needed it. But you've always been safe with me. Everything I've ever done–"

He pauses, biting his own words, pressing closer.

"I just want to take care of you while I can."

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down until your noses bump against each other.

"I'm still mad at you," you say, searching for his eyes. "I may forgive you, but I can't forget."

"I know," he says, shifting in your grasp.

"If I beg, even if I order you . . . please don't mate me yet. Please. Listen to me, if you can."

He nods his head. You feel your own body quaking transferred to him–or maybe he's feeling it just as intensely. Sometimes you think that it's impossible to tell where you end and he begins.

"I want you to earn me, first," you say. "I want you to know me."

You feel he wants to reply but you don't give him the opportunity, pulling yourself up by his shoulders to kiss him for the first time.

His mouth is softer than his fur, or his hair threaded in your fingers, or even him as he holds, not melting into it the way you wish he could.

He's still unsure.

Johnny doesn't push you any further, letting you be the one to explore his swollen lips, finding them parted and still soaked with you. Instead he opens up for you to better taste yourself on him–tart and so much sweeter with his impression.

When his lips move with yours, finally, it's tentatively hopeful, like his exploration of your body. For all his bravado and confidence you never would have imagined him to be just as shy as you stroke his hairline and he trembles deeper at being touched.

It's what makes you want him more than anything you've ever wanted in your entire life. Not for the first time, or the last.

A part of you wants to be bred until you're dripping his hot release for days, making him stay locked in you for hours as you tear the mattress to shreds beneath you coming on his knot. You want him to lose himself in your body, to finally mark you again now that you're both willing and ready to have each other.

But Doyoung was right. You had to know it was your choice. Even if you never had his love, even if you would always question your own heart with the bond unbroken between you, you had to know if he was worthy.

It's only fair. For both of you.

"Get out of my bed," you say, firmly.

That easy smile again, eyes narrowed with confidence. "Don't you want–"

You shut him up with a claw against the dip beneath his nose, shaking your head a little too hard.

"I know what I want," you say. "Be grateful that you got a taste of it."

He's shocked by your response, but there's a flash of thrill. You think maybe he likes being talked down to, his Alpha so ready to be challenged.

"Fine," he says, appropriately dismayed but also a little more himself in the way he stands over you, once he's managed to pull his pants back on. "I'm staying here tonight, though. I'll get you more water and something to clean up with."

You grunt a little, turning away from him so he can’t see how mortified you are at what you’ve just done, as well as how much you wish you could continue.

"If you need anything else, anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Don’t forget I can feel it, too.” He pauses, letting it sink in that of course, he knows you’re still simmering with lust. “I don't mind being used–"

You throw a pillow in his direction to silence him.

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#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct smut #nct 127 fic #nct fic #nct imagines #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct johnny smut #johnny suh smut #nct scenarios #nct 127 omegaverse #nct fanfic #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios

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misswoozi · 4 months

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nctzens are really weird because i remember one art from 2018 they draw ten, winwin, and taeyong with pussy and they were waiting for their daddies yuta, johnny and jaehyun. it felt so weird that day but i was 16 those days. some people still draw ww and ten as women and they stopped drawing winwin after he started his solo gigs in china because for those artists they can't draw him cuz winwin became more "manly" it's so weird. I'm happy to find someone who also finds this weird because those posts are getting thousands of likes.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I can't speak for other NCTzens. I'm just looking for some NCT discourse today.

#Lately I get more asks about NCTzens than NCT #I don't really care what NCTzens do #I just wanna talk about Dream in a dystopian cyberpunk AU #Or 127 in a Pokémon AU #Or WayV boyfriends idk

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notacelestialbeing · 10 months

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criminal (tiffany x f!reader)

a tiffany au, chapter story.

⤷ synopsis: tiffany is the leader of a criminal society known as the syndicated. she meets you through her father who wants her to marry you as a way to grow army of the syndicated. it all starts to spiral out of control until tiffany and you begin to develop feelings for each other. tiffany being unable to love/be loved, doesn’t know what this new emotion is, you help her figure it out. however, an unknown society begins to invade any possibility of happiness entering the two societies and tries to take revenge from the past. a past two guys tried to put behind. but can you two truly defeat whatever unknown society has started to take over the world?

⤷ characters:

switch!f!reader - co-leader of the jaded morningstars

switch!tiffany - leader of the syndicated seraphs

jung ho-seok - father of tiffany

kim namjoon - father of the reader

IU - mother of tiffany

han sohee - mother of the reader

kim chaewon - sister of the reader

rosé - right hand woman of the reader/older sister

bang chan - left hand man of the reader

huh yunjin - right hand woman of tiffany

min yoongi - left hand man of tiffany/older brother

newjeans - the reader’s younger sisters

dreamcatcher - the reader’s cousins (special appearances)

aespa - tiffany’s younger sisters

itzy - tiffany’s cousins (special appearances)

the serpents/vampires

the dearils/shapeshifters

lilith’s messengers/demons

hades’ pigeons/phoenixes

+ more guest appearances/special appearances.

⤷ warnings: violence, sexual themes, suggestive language, cursing, mature themes, gore, mentions of traumatic experiences, fluffy, slightly angsty, supernatural characters/places, themes of paranormal activity, greek mythology, dark.

⤷ themes/tropes of the story: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, cults, dystopian societies, cyberpunk, paranormal, supernatural themes, mentions of greek gods/goddesses, mentions of demons/vampires/evil seraphs/phoenixes/shapeshifters.

⤷ songs:

s-class by stray kids, venom by stray kids, freeze by stray kids, charmer by stray kids, etc.

cyberpunk by ateez

end of the night by jay park

love killa by monsta x, got me in chains by monsta x, rotate by monsta x, etc.

dive by jooyoung

bother me by chungha

mirotic by tvxq, everyday it rains by tvxq, wrong number by tvxq, etc.

trauma by sf9

love on the floor by nct 127

criminal by taemin, move by taemin, artistic groove by taemin, heart stop by taemin & seulgi, eclipse by taemin + a lot of songs by taemin.

bite me by enhypen

eve, psyche & the bluebeard’s wife by lesserafim

sinphony by kim wooseok, shame by kim wooseok, red moon by kim wooseok, etc.

miss right by bts, dimple by bts, coffee by bts, rain by bts, 21st century girl by bts, etc.

h2o by lay

⤷ a chapter series.

⤷ chapter 1: the unknown society.

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neocityfics · 4 years

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2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Chapter 2 < ❝ Chapter 3 ❞ > Chapter 4

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia, not-so dystopian, angst, slow-burn

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stalking (last part)

Note: This chapter is mostly for getting to know Taeyong and a little bit more about the Zodiacs. Next chapter will be a lot more action packed! I’m also starting a new college term, so updates may or may not be shorter, depending on how classes go. I hope you enjoy!

⠀

▶ Ambience

⠀

9am again on Monday morning, the usual routine and the usual walk, but thankfully alongside Lucas this time. Though not as bustling as it is on Friday nights, the clinic is up on its feet, ready to take in an influx of patients. First thing in the morning after clocking in for the shift and prepping some equipment for the nurses, I check to see where Taeyong might be hanging around. Lo and behold, he’s already been moving hurriedly between wings tending to patients who have been admitted overnight, many for burn wounds from a big fire in one of the cell phone stores at the other side of the building. Nurses in low voices chat about what happened, though I don’t feel the desire to butt in and join the conversations. The weekend was tiresome, and I didn’t want to start my week with more exhausting things than I needed to. For a moment, Taeyong eyes me while preparing a syringe with a pale yellow liquid. It’s justifiable that I can’t look at him the same at work, right? He’s got my best friend and me wrapped around his finger. I tell myself to try to be professional at work, but the icky feelings pop up whenever I see or think about him. That split second of eye contact sends me away, walking over to the receptionist’s desk to ask for more duties until I feel a tug at my scrub. “Dr. Taeyong wants us in Meeting Room 3 in half an hour,” Lucas starts. The serious expression on his face turns into a grand smile as he says, “and he’s got donuts! The really fancy brand from uptown apparently.” I breathe out a long sigh, though a donut sounds good to my stomach right now which is close to empty. My typical breakfast consists of an apple or orange and no more than that. As if on cue, the lions in my stomach grumble. Nodding my head as confirmation, he and I swiftly work on spraying the rooms with a quat disinfectant and wiping down surfaces.

Time’s up, I say to myself looking at the chunky clock fixed on the wall behind the front desk. Lucas and I give each other a fist bump and start towards the meeting room. When we arrive, the door is ajar and the two of us slip inside. As Taeyong promised Lucas, on the table lies a box of donuts intricately designed with fancy yet hard-to-read lettering. Taeyong sits across from us, hunched over a few documents, a small case to his left. “Close the door, please,” he asks and beckons us to sit down. Lucas gives me a reassuring look, closing the door behind us and guides us to our seats. Without another thought, he grabs two donuts, one for himself and one for me. He remembers my favorite flavor, and I happily accept it. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the donuts. Now that the three of us are here, let me show you this.” Taeyong rests his chin in his palm, the other hand sliding a document over to our side of the table. Lucas and I lean over to see the tiny print on the paper. It seems to be a list of tools I recognize instantly. Medical equipment? Scalpel. Vital sign monitor. Centrifuge. Why does he need a centrifuge? Twenty items. I wonder what he’s scheming. Taeyong laughs and I shoot him a glare. I look at Lucas and realize that he and I just gave the same face. “Anyways,” he clears his throat, “I need you two to find all of these things by the end of today. But here’s the catch. You cannot gather them all up at once. Space it out, leave it in my office behind my desk.” He peers over our shoulders as if to check nobody would hear his next words. “If you do that, suspicion will be raised. Remember, this is a tiny clinic and we don’t have much.” Then why steal stuff if it’s important to keep up with the patients? This plan doesn’t make sense to me, but it appears I have to comply.

“So you’re saying that I,” I pause to look at Lucas and correct myself, “we have to go on a scavenger hunt throughout the day, on top of our already tiring work?” A loud scoff escapes my mouth, maybe louder than I thought since Lucas nudged me. But I don’t care, I will air out my opinions. “I’m just a messenger. Why can’t you do this yourself? Plus Lucas shouldn’t have to do it since you’re literally experimenting on him.” Crossing my arms and leaning more forward, I stare down Taeyong who seems to shrink away.

“I know I’m asking for you two to do more than you probably bargained for. But you realize… I’m one of the very few licensed practitioners, right? Most of the others are merely college degree holders.” Those words sting as they remind me that I haven’t finished, same with Lucas whose shoulders I noticed droop at his statement. “Plus, if I do this by myself, the potential for suspicion raises. I need you two.” I rub at my forehead. He makes valid points, annoyingly. Now isn’t the time to be selfish, especially with Lucas and a possible promotion at stake. Looking at it from a broader perspective, I’d be putting my own feelings over the clinic’s as well as patients’ well-being. I’m not going to let those emotions rule over me. Taking Taeyong away from his work here would make others suffer, a scenario that would only lead downhill into chaos.

Lucas finally chimes in, “We’ll get it done! Won’t we?” He looks at me with those damned puppy eyes he does whenever he wants me to be nicer. After an eye roll and a light punch to his shoulder, I agree to take on the mission. Lucas gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and pushes himself off the chair. “We should get started.” He stuffs his mouth with another donut and grabs another one of my favorites and urges me to get up. “Let’s make this into a competition!” he excitedly suggests. I don’t think I can turn down a good opportunity to play games, especially since shifts feel so long and tedious. I nod, looking at Taeyong to see if anything else needed to be said. The doctor simply readjusts the glasses on his face and shoos us away. Lucas and I turn and leave the room.

As we leave through the door, I slightly turn to him with a hushed “Also,” I whisper over to Lucas who’s already in a giggle fit, “you’re going down!” With that, we tend to our duties for the day, grabbing things on the way out of rooms we work in, and putting them in the designated area for Taeyong to collect. We keep a mental tally throughout the day, and I’m winning-- or so I thought. Lucas ends up winning the scavenger hunt, finding eleven items. I found nine. The prize? The rest of the donuts at the end of shift, which is a bummer. Though Taeyong, Lucas, and I are heading over to Electric Egg, my stomach growled embarrassingly loud while Lucas snacked on the extra fancy donuts. Shifts at Pearl Park drain you, but they always made trips to Electric Egg much more rewarding.

⠀

▶ Ambience

⠀

We arrive where Sicheng diligently works away at the grill, skewering bits of chicken onto kabob sticks while flames wildly dance beneath the assortment of meats. After Lucas and I hop out of the car, Taeyong drives it down a street to park, uneasy about where the food stalls are for fear of getting hijacked. Three of us place our orders, and Sicheng makes his own food to accompany us for a chat. Now a party of four, we sit at a round table and Lucas introduces Taeyong. “This is Dr. Lee, he’s the coolest doctor at Pearl Park! Smart and handsome guy,” he says, his elbow playfully nudging Taeyong’s arm. The doctor simply sits there and inhales his food, a sight I did not expect from him. But he must be hungry, having the top practicing position in the clinic. Thinking about the things he has seen working there must be nauseating at times, though he’s probably used to it. Sicheng nods, introduces himself as the Electric Egg man, ‘Eggman’ for short, and holds out his hand for the doctor to shake, maybe too unabashedly as the neon lights hovering over us highlight the shiny grease on Sicheng’s hand. Taeyong, who notices the slimy-looking texture, pinches his pointer finger and thumb around one of Sicheng’s fingers. They shake, timidly, and Sicheng lets out a laugh while Lucas hands Taeyong a napkin. The doctor roughly wipes the food oils off his hand. For whatever nostalgia I’m experiencing, this moment feels nice. Two friends, an acquaintance (or boss, whatever he may think I call him), and myself. Right now it feels… normal.

Right after introductions, Sicheng boasts, “By the way, I stole this from a butcher’s shop, don’t tell anyone. It’s premium meat!” Lucas exaggerates a gasp which earns soft laughs from the rest of the table. Taeyong jokingly scolds Sicheng for stealing, though it doesn’t seem he’s totally against it. After all, we live and breathe in Neostone, a hot spot for crime. He shifts in his seat, checks his phone, and the screen turns off in a split second. Repeatedly poking my shoulder, he explains that he’s about to work a graveyard shift.

“Rent’s due at the end of this week, so I’m picking up an extra shift,” he says while he collects his coat. Paying rent at our micro-apartment complex has always been a rough rollercoaster. Some months are easier than others, and it’s getting harder especially with more acid rainfall than usual. Damage to buildings requires higher rent. I nod and tug at Sicheng’s sleeve to let him know of Lucas’s sudden departure. He notices and gets up to grab a container for the remainder of Lucas’s food. I help pack up some of the food while Taeyong also starts to put on his jacket. Lucas and Sicheng exchange goodbyes and Lucas takes off for the clinic. That leaves Taeyong and I next to thank Sicheng for the food, shaking hands as we leave. He deeply bows and goes back to the other customers.

Stopping outside of his car, Taeyong turns to me. “Thanks for taking me here, the food’s really good. Sicheng is pretty cool, too.” He softly smiles, my own lips reciprocating. It came as a bit of a shock hearing those words when I’ve gotten accustomed to his usual harsh tone. I’m glad he’s comfortable around Sicheng. Despite the low chance of them ever interacting further than meals at Electric Egg, it’s good to know he probably won’t involve Sicheng in our state of affairs. Plus, it must’ve been exhausting having to work, work, work all day. Living alone, too, and getting to know other people outside of the clinic bubble might be good for him, though I’m not one to dictate what and who he’s comfortable with. I still am wary of his behavior and intentions, but… I think it might be okay. He seems more warmed up than when we first met. Taeyong opens the door for me to slip into the passenger seat. He takes the wheel on the other side and drives us to his apartment where our plans will be sorted out.

⠀

▶ Ambience

⠀

Taeyong and I trudge up the stairs, lugging boxes of the equipment we gathered from the clinic earlier. Upon reaching the apartment, he sets down his boxes and unlocks the door, pushing through to the interior. The very few times I’ve visited here, there’s such a stark difference between his place and the world surrounding it. Warm, inviting, cozy, luxurious. Not like the cold streets or the dingy micro-apartments, a neverendless blanket of smog and musky smells weighing down on the mega city. But here, it felt like home, the one I used to have, and all the comforts that came with it. Taeyong gently tugs my sleeve to pull me in, taking off a few of the smaller boxes off my stack I’ve been carrying. I utter a low ‘thanks’ before placing the equipment in the room where I first discovered his whole operation on Lucas. Since we’re alone and Lucas isn’t here to stop me from running my mouth, I decided it’s time to get to know Taeyong better. There’s no deadline, no timeframe, no plan provided, so if I have to continue this messenger job under him for a long time, I might as well get to understand him better. For future references. Taeyong plops down on the sofa. “Make yourself at home. You’ll be here a lot from now on, anyways.”

I comply, making myself comfortable on a plush chair adjacent to his seat. He seems tired out, but I decide to press on. “Doc— Sorry. Taeyong, since we’re working together, I feel like we should know the basics about each other. Where we came from, what life was like before 2094, why he’s a doctor, why I’m stuck at the clinic, stuff like that,” I pause, examining any signs from his face. But he’s blank-faced. He points a finger at me, insinuating that I go first. Well, it’s not like I’ve kept my story a secret. Pretty much everyone I’ve become close to, including friends from the food stall street, knows everybody else’s life before all went to shit. Sharing our struggle stories is what makes us closer. Plus, despite being one of the twelve megacities, Neostone felt small, like being trapped in a bubble with no way out. “Me?” Taeyong simply nods, and I begin to tell him every detail, from growing up to college to now after the disaster. I tell him about Lucas and our friendship to which he responds with no words, but a soft expression. Even for someone who’s most likely weary from the day, he seems to listen intently. His elbows perch on his knees, his torso leaning forward and head tilting at different points of my story. When I run out of words, I gesture to him that it’s his turn to spill. A long sigh fills the space.

“You already, don’t you?” I raise a brow at his question, a heartbeat in my chest skipped. “The page of my information, you have it.” I shifted nervously, playing with the trim on one of the arms of the chair. “In any case, you are only aware of my achievements. But I was pushed a lot as a young child by my parents. I do love them, but my childhood felt restricted. From then on, I never sought out others. I either let them come to me, or I never talk to them. Ever.” A faint chortle follows a brief silence. “Though I have one close friend who sticks with me even to this day. Doyoung, you’ll meet him this week when the shipment arrives.” He must have a personal and trusting relationship with this person. I couldn’t imagine this Dr. Lee being anything but playfully mean and cold. Doyoung must be a good person. Taeyong proceeds further, “Oh, also, I was part of the S.O.G Project.”

“What the hell is S.O.G?”

“Special Operations for the Gifted. It was a series of supposedly non-invasive and supposedly safe trials where children who performed extremely well throughout their early education were put to the test. How far can you go without breaking the limits? Natural law?” He removes himself from the prior position and relaxes his back against the sofa cushions behind him. “Do you know why I’m part of the Dragon Zodiac?” The answer is not as evident as I shake my head in disbelief. “Each person in the Zodiac has gone through the S.O.G. Those of similar abilities banded together, and now we have the twelve Zodiacs. Dragons are those who are able to manipulate objects in one way or another. For me, metal manipulation.”

The pieces start to fall in together. That’s why his handiwork is so seamless. Should I be shocked? Taeyong is full of surprises, He speaks again, “There are hundreds of us in Zodiacs. Some children don’t even remember they went through S.O.G. Myself included. Doyoung, who was in mostly the same tests as me, recalls everything. It’s not fun to think about.” Questions run through my mind, but the pain in his face tells me to keep quiet. “These mutations plagued us even before 2094. I don’t know about the progress made or the research done, but the project was abandoned right before the disaster.” He detects the confusion on my face to which he brings up again that he knows nothing else about S.O.G. Another heavy sigh loads the room. “I’m sure you have questions.”

As sure as he is, I don’t want him to feel like he has to expose everything about himself to me. This already appears to be a lot for him, especially now that it’s late. But I do want to say something, though not centered on him. After a small pause to gather my voice, I ask about someone who’s close to him and seems to be comforting, “So what’s Doyoung’s special power? What’s he like? What Zodiac is he in?” Taeyong tilts his head, as if expecting me to ask more about him, but he smiles at the gesture.

“He’s a Rabbit, known for their hyperawareness. Their reflexes are out of the world and their attention to details make them very clever. Doyoung is a very calm and collected person, but is very lucky with getting what he wants. It’s annoying, really.” He rubs the back of his left hand with his right thumb. “But he’s helped me a lot through the S.O.G tests.” Listening to Taeyong talk about Doyoung makes me miss Lucas, though we have not been together for as long as the other two have. But it makes all the difference having someone, especially in your roughest patches and darkest of times. I think I can start to mostly trust Taeyong. Of course, I have to keep my guard up, but listening to him talk makes me feel a bit more at ease about us working together. Taeyong closes his eyes. The ticking of the clock becomes louder as it strikes eleven o’ clock. “Anything else you want to ask?”

It’s time to call it a night, I say to myself. But in that same thought, I remember the encounter with Jaehyun and decide to ask. It might be better to ask now rather than later, to avoid a potentially bigger mess. Johnny warned me not to get myself too involved with the man, but it’s scratching at the back of my head. “Well, do you know Jeong Jaehyun?”

Taeyong’s eyes widened in an instant, snapping his head from its resting position to look at me. “Jaehyun. He’s the leader of the Ox Zodiac. Why?” I gulp. This is serious then. “Was he at Club Zone? Please tell me you did not talk to him.”

My voice lowers to a wavering whisper, “Well… Just a little,” while I hold up to make my pointer and finger close together. Maybe it was more than just a little, but he doesn’t need to know all the details. Just that I met him. The look of concern on Taeyong grows.

“He’s dangerous. You should stay away from him as much as possible.” The uneasy feeling is back. That night is a bit fuzzy from the light drinking, the noise, the dancing, the whole atmosphere. If any information slipped that I shouldn’t have, or if he caught on with what I’m doing for Taeyong, it could mean big time. Taeyong rubs his temples, lowering his chin. “He’s a very important part of our operation.” He inhales sharply and lets the built up air back out the second after, “Jaehyun and I made a promise that if I can show him I can make a fully functional prototype, a.k.a Lucas, he will provide me more of his men. The Ox Zodiac is known for extremely enhanced strength. They’re brutes, not to be messed with.” My head starts to feel dizzy from the amount of information combined with the exhaustion from work. He continues, “He’s an assassin, but covers for himself by working in real estate. Jaehyun is the closest one could get to the top. He’s our only connection that can help, unfortunately.” To my shock, he seems very distressed at this topic. “Word spreads fast between the Zodiacs, and we can’t afford to lose Jaehyun. You need to be careful when you’re doing your messenger duties. But remember, know your boundaries. You work for me, not him. Not the entire Dragon Zodiac either.” He accompanies his demanding tone with a pointer finger firmly pressed to the coffee table. Now, I understand the true gravity of the situation. I can’t risk Taeyong and the operation going under. I can’t be careless.

Speak of the devil.

My phone buzzes loudly in my pocket, lighting up through the fabric. With a vexed sigh, I pull it out and read the name flashing across the screen from the caller ID. Jeong Jaehyun. I take a peak at Taeyong who’s staring at me. “It’s him.” He simply tells me to pick up.

“Let me know what he says.” I nod. Hesitantly, I press the accept button.

“Missed me?” Jaehyun’s voice pierces through the line.

“Jaehyun. Why are you calling me so late at night?”

“So there’s a mansion party, and I have admissions for two. But as of right now, I’m going solo. I was wondering if you’d be able to come with me. It’s a really important event for real estate agents and upper class entrepreneurs.”

I quietly relay the information to Taeyong, the phone pressed against my chest to prevent Jaehyun from hearing. Taeyong rubs a finger to his chin in deep thought. “Are you okay with going? I know I said to stay away, but this is a good opportunity for us to make more connections.” I nod, but a little frazzled at the thought of being put in another uncomfortable situation. Isn’t my job simply to send information back and forth between him and other Zodiac members?

I breathe in deeply. “What time and where?” Jaehyun the describes the location, making it seem very grandeur and huge. This Saturday at 7pm. My stomach starts to hurt again from the nervousness. He says it’s formal attire, but will have something for me upon picking me up. Taeyong paces back and forth across the room. I note all the information in my head, making myself more dizzy than I already am. What makes me freeze is Jaehyun’s next query.

“Are you with Taeyong right now?”

I stood there, Taeyong and I keeping each other’s stare.

“No. Why?”

“You’re lying.”

“How do you know? I’m by myself at home.”

“I see you with him. How’s the brown sofa? Comfy right? And that green coffee table looks exquisite. It looks like it’s from that expensive brand, what’s it called... Boca Do Lobo?”

Jaehyun continues to taunt me, my eyes verifying that the coffee table indeed is from that brand, and then lowering to the floor in perplexity. Taeyong immediately springs into action. He closes the blinds and curtains and ensures all doors are shut tight. He’s locking down the apartment.

“I have my eyes on you. I’ll come pick you up on Saturday at 5PM to get ready for the party. See you soon,” he sings into the call, ending it before I could get another word out.

The blonde-headed doctor and I both have widened eyes at what just happened. My voice croaks out of fear, “How can he see us?” Taeyong presses a palm to his forehead and pushes his hair back, revealing small sweat droplets.

“I don’t know. But you can’t go home. He might follow you and find out about Lucas and take him for himself. You need to stay here.” His tone drops low and gentle as if to not wake up his neighbors in the rooms next to his. There’s no other way, and I obviously don’t want Lucas to be snatched. Taeyong, seeing that I’m visibly shaken and overloaded with information, pulls me into a hug which surprises me. At first, the wariness from the phone call heightened, but this silent embrace makes me feel a bit more relaxed. I trust that Taeyong won’t let Jaehyun hurt me, so I think staying here will be the best option.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Camping here. This is your apartment.”

“But your safety is most important, I still need you for this project.” Though the reminder that I’m bound to this chaos hurts, I let loose the remaining tenseness in my body. I’m falling asleep in the warmth that radiates from his hug. My head is heavy. My eyes are closing. I feel myself being lifted up. Taeyong’s voice is merely a murmur. “I’ll put you in the guest bedroom. Rest up well.” The plush sheets underneath me feel like I’m laying on a cloud, my hands automatically circling the softness and gaining some sort of consolation. I can no longer string coherent thoughts. Taeyong pulls a comforter up to my chin, turns off the light, and leaves the door ajar. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I was not expecting such hospitality, but I’m damn grateful for it. The day has been a lot, and the rest of the week ahead will be nerve-wracking as Saturday will come closer and closer. There’s no way to avoid it now. I’m going to have to deal with Jaehyun again.

I wonder what Lucas is up to. I’d love to call him, but he’s still at his shift. I hope he comes home safely, unharmed, happy. The phone in my hand keeps slowly dropping, but I try to fight it to press on Lucas’s contact while my surroundings darken. But I didn’t get to press his name. I let the fatigue take over me, at least for now until the next day.

⠀

Jaehyun’s going to pay for this.

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ohhmydyosfics · 3 years

Text

(Hyuckhei) heart and soul, bought and sold

got a job for u. urgent. meet me in 10 mins. - snowball

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626213

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markohmy · 4 years

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584040

Street Credit by TRASHCAKE

Teen And Up Audiences

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Category: M/M

Fandom: NCT (Band)

Relationship:

Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee

Characters:

Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Mark Lee, NCT Ensemble

Additional Tags:

Street Racing, Mechanics, Alternate Universe-Cyberpunk, Drifting, Underage Drinking, Car Accidents, Street Rats, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Slow Burn

Language: English

Part 1 of the Making It Punk Loud series ( https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472714)

Collections:

Pro Debuter Fest Fic Recs (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PDF_Recommendations)

Summary:

Donghyuck fixes cars by day and drives them by night. Mark wouldn't know a Thorium core from an exhaust pipe, but he's still the best racer that Donghyuck has ever met.

#kpop #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #wayv #nct fic recs #markyuck #mark lee #lee donghyuck #haechan #cyberpunk au #street racing #mechanics #one of the best things i ever read

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hexonthepeach · 6 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 22: sated

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate��s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [21: confrontation]

wc: 8.4k

warnings: cousin incest, explicit m/f smut (rut sex, breast worship, omega locking) between omega/alpha-passing!omega (trans 2nd gender, use of Alpha as affirmation), switching, a little breeding kink, pet name: baby

recommended listening: i'd pick something sweet from shalala like ruby but let's be real all i've been listening to is wayv's rodeo

You'd woken to a new day well after dawn, clouded by winter snow, watching the swirls of white this far up recede into an unknowable horizon. It's dark outside, but you begin your work to make this space your own bright refuge, your own hospitality in the smallest of measures taught to you by your former servants.

Candles lit, ambient music played once you'd found an appropriate channel. You'd attended to yourself the same, donning another of the traditional robes from Taeyong's closet, hem pinned to keep it from dragging, tied back carefully.

And then, finally, you get to work on your meal. It might be for others, but it’s for your benefit most of all, a gift and a blessing.

Doyoung had delivered on his promise to have everything you needed brought up before you woke. He'd quietly come in to sleep beside you and Taeyong last night after you’d fallen asleep talking, but you never expected him to stay. Today is not much different.

Back when you'd been training you'd been given carte blanche access to one of the many Imperial kitchens servicing your household, after rigorous instruction in much smaller spaces.

What would you do if your mate demanded you bring him his mother's hangover soup after a late night business meeting? What would you make to show another pack's Alpha you respected his tastes in Renaissance Shanghai cuisine?

Traditional Goryeo cooking still eluded you with the new overwhelmingness of garlic on your fingers or onion in your eyes but you had a mastery of technique. It was better to make this, you think, than any of the European dishes you'd grown sick of.

You attack your project within the hours given you, pulling out every ingredient and lining them up like soldiers on the spotless countertops, next to crates of freshly harvested vegetables and a beautiful array of crocks, an entire pallet of eggs awaiting your destruction of them.

You imagine chickens clucking and pecking away deep in the belly of NeoTech HQ and have a laugh at that. You hope they are warm and safe and happy, their little bird bellies full.

Your first guest is, of course, your fellow residents. Doyoung enters, smelling vaguely of snow, as if he's been outside. Trailing him, shyly, is your guest of honor.

"No waiting," you say, pushing plates in front of Taeyong the moment he's near the low island. "You have to tell me if this is edible."

The other fox hesitates, removing his suit jacket, sniffing the air. He looks flushed but relatively healthier, eyes bright as he sniffs at the banchan.

"Do you need help?" his eyes go even more round at the sight of the kitchen. You've managed to keep everything orderly but there is more than enough going on, all 6 ranges and both ovens on for warming.

"I need you to eat," you remark, turning back to your work. "Is there a dish you're craving?"

You empty a bowl of eggs into a pan of sauteed tomato, ears backwards for a response from him as you watch the whites congeal.

"Anything you make," he says, softly.

"Try the jeon," you say. "I understand we both like sweet potatoes?"

You peer over your shoulder to find him eating the last fried slice, crumbs and oil glistening on his mouth.

"It tastes like my sister's." Taeyong sniffs, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Thank you," Doyoung concedes, tying his apron. "He's never had that reaction when I've made it."

Together you fall into a steady routine, Doyoung darting out of the way to allow you to work, managing dishwashing when you begin handing him your used utensils and pans. You don't realize you have a second set of hands at your disposal until the steam from an opened cookpot of radish stew burns you, and your hands are enveloped in long fingers.

"Are you hurt?"

You look up to see Jungwoo's watery gaze.

"No," you say, fighting the urge to pull back. "Can you finish the–"

"Allow me." Taeil fights his way between the other two, already fixated on the next round of jeon in the pan. "Run cold water over it. No ice. Taeyong has an aloe plant somewhere, get a cutting."

It's directed at Jungwoo, who flees just as quickly as the thought is put into his mind.

"Thank you," you murmur, moving to the sink.

"You've done a lot more in this kitchen than Taeyong ever aspired to. Is that fresh crab?" Taeil says.

You preen a bit, remembering how much work it had taken to pick it free of the shell after boiling it.

"I wanted to use it for stew but I ran out of burners. Should we make it now? The chrysanthemum greens are over there."

Taeil laughs a little, adding green onion to the pot that burned you.

"There's more than enough with what's on the table." He looks up at your first glimmer of disappointment, cued to your response in a way that has you back under the tap, fingers shaking.

"Do you mind if I add it to the fried rice? I think we'll have more than enough, then," he says. Quietly, for you–"Thank you. Sorry for oversleeping."

You shake your head, smiling.

"You're just in time. I couldn't do this without you," you say, appreciating the way he takes over for you now.

Your eyes drift over the occupants. The long unloved dinner table you'd cleaned of dust last night is the center of chaos with Doyoung managing the hotplates and the central pot, swatting Taeyong's hand as he steals radish and kimchi to shove into his mouth. You sight Haechan arranging plates, immediately turning away before his gaze can lift past the rice he's diligently doling out.

"Is he coming?" You ask, tail smashed against the cupboards.

"He'll be here," Taeil answers. "They just needed time to arrange everything."

"Is it too early to drink?" you ask, earning a dark look.

"After tonight, I owe you one." he says.

Now that you're unoccupied you hear the door open, are ready for a new intruder. You're not prepared for the silence that takes over–the shock on the other's face as they rush to help the person who came in.

"Found him stuck on the stairwell," Jungwoo says. "___, I think you should come here."

You turn off the water, breathing deeply, rounding the corner to the living space to set eyes on your first real challenge.

Wrapped around Jungwoo is a person you are wholly unprepared to witness, clad in much more comfortable athletics clothing under his sling, his face drawn with effort.

"Mark," you breathe.

Tears make your vision swim as you move to support him–embracing him more, arms encircling his solid chest. After a few moments, his free arm twines around you to pat your back.

"Might be the drugs but I'm kind of . . . Well, no. I'm really glad you're alive," he says, voice husky.

"Because of you," you say, so only he can hear, nose in his ribcage and ear against his chest, lulled back into peace by his steady heartbeat. "I didn't know you'd be able to make it. I hope I made something you like: meat, eggs–"

"Who doesn't like that?" He extricates himself, slowly, more agile than you expected after what he'd been through.

There's something else in his scent–a new bitter melon green that has you holding on even as he hobbles away.

"Let me get you some water," you say, fighting back tears. You're denied entrance to the kitchen by someone already carrying two full pitchers. It's nice to see your needs answered so quickly but you look up into bottomless eyes and drown, smile fading.

"Here."

You try to take Jaehyun's offering, realizing too late he's just telling you that he's taking care of this for you.

"Are you . . .?"

He leans down, lips ghosting your forehead. "Thank you."

Then he's past, bringing Mark his water. You watch them for friction, for a flinch, only to find the younger man nod his head in thanks, your new mate moving counterclockwise around the table to fill each glass.

You feel utterly unnecessary in this moment, picking up the abandoned piece of aloe on the island to rub against your scalded red skin.

"Relax," Taeil says, handing you a plate. "He's coming."

"I feel like I need to do a headcount," you joke. "I need some air."

"Do me a favor–take a walk and try some pranayama," Taeil says. “Breathe through your nose for four seconds, hold the breath for 7 seconds, exhale through your mouth for 8 more. And take your time."

You slip out without protest, heading down to the next level with anxiety clinging to each hair raised on your body. Your rounds of breaths are only a few when you're startled by Yuta at the end of the hallway.

"Princess."

"I burnt myself," you say, lifting up your palm. "Taeil told me to get something for it."

Yuta looks at your hand, then up to you, stony face unbreakable as a smile tugs on his lips.

"Looks like you already found it." He pulls something out from behind his back, the bag heavy and redolent with blood. "I heard we needed beef?"

"Yes. Thank you." You feel nauseated by the sight of so much marbled flesh.

"Have you seen Johnny?" You ask, hyper aware of your last guest.

"I'm here."

You don't turn. At least, not quickly. When you finally do your eyes remain on his chest, the peek of gold skin above a thin shirt, leather jacket padding his shoulders.

"Can we talk?" You ask for him, feeling the question between you.

Yuta leaves without another word, feet pounding on the stairs, clearly wanting no part of this.

"Here?" he asks, quietly.

"Where else." You say, exhausted already. "I have nothing to say others can't hear."

"Fine," he says. "Here."

Something is thrust under your nose, the scent overwhelming enough you immediately begin to sneeze, eyes watering beyond tears.

"Oh," you say, watching him pull back the offering and reaching out to snatch it before he can take it back. You're in a tug-of-war for a moment, your hands brushing against the wide splay of his knuckles around a bouquet of golden flowers, wrapped in paper.

Dedication, you think, though you doubt he brought them to you with any intended meaning.

"Are these from–?"

He sneezes, too, turning away. You have a momentary impulse to place your hand between his shoulder blades, snuffing it out in favor of inspecting the blooms.

"I had them delivered from a place I know in Six. Hothouses, obviously."

"Sunflowers in winter," you say, quietly, sniffing the blooms, sneezing again. Their scent is waxy and slightly artificial but you appreciate the color–the way red and orange hues dance down the petals from purplish-red centers. "They’re beautiful."

"Here," he says, pulling a bag from his jacket. "You can plant them if you want. Or eat them, I don't care. They said they won't grow until they know the time is right, but they gave me the instructions if you want to simulate the light and heat cycles–"

"Johnny." You stop his rambling, heart aching in your chest. "Why did you come back that night?"

"For you," he says.

"For Taeyong," you correct.

He sighs, boots creaking as he moves away.

"If nothing had happened, if Taeyong could have been cured, would you still be here?" You ask even if the answer is clear in his irritation.

"I wanted . . ." He ends his statement before he even begins. "No. I would have left as soon as I knew you were back where you belonged."

"Where I belonged?" You finally look up, meeting his steady gaze. "Where was that exactly?"

"Doyoung is–was–working on a solution to transfer you abroad," he says, leveling you with how sure he is in his answer. “One of the EEC countries accepting designated refugees.”

"Even if I wanted to go North to find my–"

"Don't give me that line about going back into that hell. You were a target there when you were a kid, even more now. That will never be your home."

He realizes his mistake, wiping at his face and his cold-reddened nose and cheeks.

"You would have shipped me off to another country, rather than help me?" You bite your lip to keep it from trembling. "I see."

"No, you don't," he argues. "Everything I've ever done, always, since the first time I dragged you out of that godforsaken pit, was to make sure you were safe. It's not my fault you chose to run headfirst into danger at every opportunity."

"No," you counter, paper crinkling as you hold on to your first offering, fighting the urge to toss it in his face. "Don't twist history to make it seem as if you're prioritizing my needs. You had a decade. Ten years to do something that mattered. Spying on me in my own home doesn't count."

"Right," he says. "Did Jungwoo show you that before or after you fucked him in my bed?"

You slap him. He's too tall to get a good hit but your nails are long and sharp, red scores rising on his jaw. Immediately you've plummeted into regret, feeling the hurt you've caused magnified in the echo in your own, burning face. But you hold fast against it.

"You don't get to make accusations like that without asking me first, directly. Do you understand?"

You watch him battle through the rage, nostrils flaring. It so easily disappears when you're back to hyperventilating, remembering the sting when you'd cut through the back of your own ankle on the floor of his room, unable to see how deep. No you'd just felt it–felt it again when Taeil had been forced to cut you open to restitch the nerves and tendons back together so they could finally heal.

"___," he says, but you're not there anymore. You're underwater. Counting seconds between breaths.

"I'm sorry," he says, forgetting your unspoken directive not to touch you, shaking you.

When you don't respond he crushes you against his chest, flowers mangled, face in your hair.

"Please. No. I'm sorry. I fucked this up–I have so much I want to say and I just didn't–"

"Let her go."

You expect someone who can feel you to intervene, one of the Canids–maybe even Doyoung. But the person who pulls you away one-handed, the other leveling his gun, is your most unlikely of saviors.

"You have a choice to make right now, Suh, so I'll keep talking to you like I don't know you're thinking about ripping my arm off." Yuta's voice is level, posture expectant.

"You're going to take a minute and think about what you owe us as Prime. I'm going to take her back upstairs and let her recover. And then you are going back into that room together, as one. Got it?"

Johnny may have nodded–you didn't see it before he turns and leaves–but immediately you feel the empty hallway grow wider, the space less constrictive.

"Thank you," you say, turning away from him as if an automaton. "You didn't have to."

"Technically speaking, I'm the one who fucked you on his bed," he says. "I'm just not apologizing for it."

You look back at his sly face, too astounded by his candor to feel anything other than morbid amusement.

"Yet," he adds. "Didn't want to ruin our first and last meal together."

"In the spirit of community, and to honor our coming together as a tribunal tonight, I would like to ask that we all hold hands and say a prayer."

Doyoung's voice breaks through the tense silence and the ringing of metal utensils on dishes. It takes a long time for the group to respond, eyes turning heavenward for other reasons.

"From youngest to oldest, please," Doyoung adds, looking directly at you at the head of the table.

You fold your hands in your lap, bowing your head slightly.

"Oṁ amṛta tejovati svāhā," you say.

You realize everyone is looking to you to continue, or for an explanation, but you nod your head instead towards the slack-jawed face of the second youngest, seated as far away as possible.

"Well, that's useful," Haechan says, the table shaking when Mark kicks it's leg instead of the one he'd been aiming for under the table. "Dear Heavenly father. Glad eomma and appa decided to stop fighting and fucking eachother long enough we could enjoy this home-cooked meal."

He looks up, smiling wider at the horror on everyone's faces. "Amen."

"Jesus Christ." Mark repeats, blinking slowly at his plate. "Thank you for this meal we're about to receive. Thank you for keeping me alive a little longer, I guess. Sorry for not having the words to say what I mean. Drugs are great, doctor."

He lifts his water like it's a toast in Taeil's direction as Doyoung sighs heavily beside you.

Jungwoo stands up, earning another, more quiet sigh.

"I would like to thank ____ for the meal." He's toasting you, too, but with what looks like a half-drunk glass of tea. He bows his head, mocking but somehow deferential. "God doesn't deserve the praise for whatever you added to the jjigae to make Haechan cry when he ate most of it earlier."

"It was too spicy–"

Jaehyun pulls him down by the shoulder. You meet his direct stare, unsure of what he's thinking. There's an icy wall between you now that you're bonded, but there's nothing malicious or frightened in his regard.

"Thanks," he says, quietly dipping his head in your direction. "For bringing us back together."

"It's been too long," Doyoung murmurs in agreement, hands folding in front of him. "Heavenly creator–"

He has to pause at Haechan's muffled laughter, sitting up to his full height.

"--we have not had an opportunity to be together in a long time. And though it comes with its trials we know that these moments of peace are more precious than we have any right to expect or ask for."

He grips your hand at the left side, making you only more aware of Taeyong's weak and sweaty hold in your right.

"Amen," Doyoung says, quietly staring daggers across the table.

"Amen." Yuta echoes. After a moment he looks up around him, confused. "That's it, right?"

"You're supposed to say something meaningful before it," Taeyong intervenes before Doyoung can explain.

"Oh," he nods, thoughtfully. "Amen."

"Alright well," Taeyong says, finger drifting on his agent. "I'm going to follow ____'s example and share another sutra."

Awkward silence follows his admission, but you squeeze his hand once it's back in yours. He clears his throat.

"’It is like a lighted torch whose flame can be distributed to ever so many other torches which people may bring along; and there– therewith they will cook food and dispel darkness, while the original torch itself remains burning ever the same.’"

The only sound is the bubbling of the stew, Jungwoo offering a solemn nod of understanding.

"Was that AI-generated–" Haechan is cut short by Johnny standing and slamming his palms on the table.

"Are you finished?"

Haechan mimes zipping his lips, but remains silent.

"Good," he says. "Sorry, Doyoung. I have something to say and if anyone interrupts me they can eat from the floor like the animal they are."

No one even breathes in his direction.

"____ is the newest person at our table, but she's also the reason some of us were able to cross paths in the first place."

He looks up, hands flexing on the edge of the table. "We wouldn't be a pack, and we certainly wouldn't be sitting here in the same capacity. For better or worse, we owe her that."

He sits down again, table vibrating with the quake.

"Thank you for that . . . Inspiring gesture," Doyoung murmurs.

"I guess that makes me the last to speak," Taeil says, crossing his arms and leaning back. "I also have known ____ for as long as Johnny. Incidentally, I think by practice amidst designated, we're now also common law married."

Johnny clears his throat, but he defers to the Doctor. You remain in horrified shock, baring your teeth in what you hope resembles a smile.

Taeil raises his glass between you both, and you get the impression from the viscosity of the liquid in it that it's not water.

"May we attend to each other's needs in a way that no longer leads to bodily injury, crisis, or divorce," he says, clearing the shot in one throw. "Let's eat."

The words are echoed–mumbled in Mark's case–the nine descending on the food like they've been starved for weeks. Meanwhile you sit staring at the man across from you, a new hunger manifesting where your appetite should be as you watch him in his element.

As upset as you know Johnny is, he's also content with the atmosphere of normalcy–relaxing into the conversation around the table, occasionally glancing up at you to hold you fixed in his steady gaze. It’s impossible to not feel sadness at being included in this scene, as more of a misfit and outlier than ever.

You don't know what to say, how to relax into it.

"Eat something for me," Doyoung says–not an order–as Jungwoo fishes out crab meat from his own bowl of fried rice to place upon your own and someone else passes down grilled meat.

You pick away at the meal, feeling a dreary sense of finality and the distant sense that, even with you all here, you don't belong. Every bite is flavorless. Taeyong looks just as miserable beside you, black-tipped ears in his pinkish hair pinned back.

"Suppressants?" you ask, leaning in so only he can hear, hyper-aware of the others' eyes on you.

"That. And painkillers. Stimulants, hormonal therapy," he says, swallowing saliva. "I ate a lot already, though–thank you–just trying to let it settle."

You move your chair closer to him, enveloping him with an arm around his quivering shoulders, rubbing his bicep through the layers of fine, loose clothing he'd dressed in for what should have been a more formal affair. He’s not in the state to be doing much, you know.

"Let's try to stomach a little more, and then we can go watch the snow together, maybe?"

He nods, sleepily. Your hand drifts to his head to scratch his scalp at the base of his fur, the sound he makes in his chest loud with the silence that immediately follows.

"Really? Some of us are still eating here," Haechan says across the table, chewing.

"Please, continue." There's a little bit of a snarl in your response, but you don't meet his glare for long, standing up and bowing.

"You'll excuse us," you say, giving Doyoung a measured look before attempting to lift your pack's leader from the table.

He helps you, the both of you navigating Taeyong awkwardly back to their quarters. Johnny moves to stand and you stop him with a flick of your head.

Doyoung tries to guide you to the bedroom but you rally your strength to veer a different direction with Taeyong's weight pressed into your side.

"I'll take care of him," you say, slinging his arm over you as you duck into the nest. "We just need sleep. We’re not going to be able to do this if he's not in the right state of mind."

You think the Lepid will give you a warning or a speech but he simply nods, bending down to make sure you're able to navigate the crowded space before closing the too-small door.

"You don't have to stay," Taeyong says, collapsing into what you hope is just a pile of pillows. Your eyes are adjusting now–seeing the space, finally. It's chaos, yes, but organized in a way you assume has less to do with his mates' concern than his own self-soothing.

Everything is clean and smells of a rich leather and woodspice, green rising up from unlit candles and plants illuminated by soft ultraviolet lamps. The floor is missing under a sea of rugs and blankets and pillows in different colors, shapes and sizes. Trophies of a life that you can only imagine litter ceiling-high shelves, between books and statues and even a little aquarium burbling in the dark.

On the ceiling are stars, of sorts–pinpricks of strung lights spider-webbed beyond a veil of curtains, glass lamps and paper lanterns dimly lit above.

"It's lovely," you say, looking down at his curled form. You make a decision then, shuffling out of your slippers and leaving on the heavy, embroidered robe you'd changed into for the meal.

It's warmer in here than outside, but you still feel a chill as you sink down beside him.

Taeyong's breathing evens out the moment you're in view again, his eyes open and watchful as you pluck a blanket to drape over you both, inching forwards to knock your knees against his.

"Is this going to be alright?" you ask, seeing the uncertainty in his dark gaze. The purplish light paints him almost two-dimensionally, his plush mouth set in a frown.

He nods after a time, radiating that sharp scent of clean musk you know so well.

"I can just hold you for now," you say–more a caution for your fox than his. His tail beats in answer, making you smile. "That helped last night, didn't it?"

"It did," he says. You'd fallen asleep in a similar fashion, fingers laced between each other as you spoke of your histories, your futures. You suspected he’d needed that time even more than you did to feel comfortable with what would happen today.

"We have a lot to work out later. My penance, first, for marking you without your consent," you say, voice cracking.

"Remember. No apologies," he whispers. "Promise me something, though?"

"Anything."

"Only stay if you want to." His words don't match the pleading in his expression, the distress transferred to you through the tenuous bond you share.

"Promise." You find his hands beneath the cover, cold and clammy, lifting them to your mouth to press kisses to his knuckles.

His exhale is a shudder of relief, turning around to press himself closer to you. You have to move a few velvety pillows and what looks suspiciously like a stuffed animal in order to find a comfortable spot behind him, wrapping around his taut back like a smaller, softer sleeve.

This, finally, feels like home.

There's something enrapturing about being so close to someone like you–with Wooyoung out in the Wilds it had been the necessity of shared body heat and the species familiarity that had you locked together at night, no sensuality whatsoever.

Here, pressing your nose into the hair at his nape, a different design is at hand. His heartbeat is loud and steady beneath the white noise of the water filter, slowing with yours. This is safety, you think.

Soon he begins to purr. The sound is too precious for your fox to ignore, finding yourself nuzzling at his bare skin in answer, brought back by the sharp swishing of his tail.

"Sorry," you murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to his spine. His tail swats you again before you can lock it under a leg thrown over his bony hip, hands kept at a safer distance beneath your chin.

"Sleep," you say. You feel languid, finally, tension easing from every muscle and joint and distant throb in the healing of both.

With the heat and the comfort you feel between you, you drift down with him.

"No!" You’re not drowning, now, you’re on fire. Green light arcs across your vision, bound for the valley beneath you. "NO!"

"Wake up," You recognize the command and pull yourself up and out of the abyss, throat ragged from screaming.

A door slams open, air rushing in cold and bitter burnt, and you hear Taeyong growl–loud–shifting over you.

You come back to consciousness with the other fox straddling your hips, strength incredible as he holds you down by your arms while twisted in aggression against the other men outside. It’s still daytime out there, grounding you more in the present.

"I have her. We're safe," he says. "Don't you dare let him in."

Words are spoken, anger pin-pricking at your mind until the door slams shut. The feeling recedes, leaving you panting as sweat breaks over your face and body.

"Shh," Taeyong says, dropping down to press his equally damp forehead to yours. "It was just a nightmare."

"I know, I know," you say, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry to bring them here."

He laughs a little, easing his hold. "You think I haven't had them? I grew up with the airstrikes, too–"

"What did you say?" You feel another wave of cold and pain begin to subsume you, grasping on to rational thought.

"I still dream about the bombings–" his dilated eyes widen, suddenly just as aware. "Wait. That was you. It was so intense. I felt like I was actually there–"

"No," you protest. "No, oh no."

"Shh," he says, eyes flicking over his shoulder, voice lowering. "We'll be alright. Just relax, please."

You begin to cry, prompting him to let you go, fingers soothing your wrists as if to make up for holding them so tightly.

"No, no, ____. It will be alright."

"I really didn't imagine I could ever have that kind of influence. I am a curse, aren't I–?"

Taeyong growls, fisting the pillows beside your head rather than pin you.

"With me," he orders. "Stay with me."

Surprisingly, your fox complies. You hiccup, meekly, watching his face for a sudden change or danger that never arrives. You only see his ears lower, eyebrows raising.

"Damn," he says, quietly, shifting back to take his weight off your thighs.

"What?" you ask, still drowsy, sitting up with your robe hanging from your shoulder.

"That–" he begins. "I think I need to–"

"Go?" you finish for him, followed up quickly by an urgent desire for the opposite. "Please don't go. I can leave if you prefer."

"You don't understand," he says, creeping back.

"Stay," you order.

He looks down at you with disappointment, sinking onto your legs until you can feel what he's so pointlessly tried to hide. He's erect in his loose pants, cock trapped against your robed thigh.

"Oh," you say, cheeks aflame. "Of course. Sorry."

"You always apologize for the wrong things." His eyes clench shut, hips involuntarily rocking into your thighs–just once before he pulls back. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You just . . . you feel so good. You have no idea."

But you do. Warmth spreads through your belly at the sound he makes in the back of his throat, choked and needy.

“I’m going to help you,” you say, rolling your hips up.

"I can't, though–we can wait until–" he's pleading more with himself than you, you think.

"We talked about this. Yes, you can." You grasp at his shoulders to pull him down. He flops down comically beside you, looking defeated. His head is buried in the bustle of pillows beside you, eyes losing focus as you pet him.

"I know I’m not myself, too, but I meant it when I said I wanted you first," you say, running a hand over his head, pushing back his fur to hold his ears down. "Let me fix what I started. Mate me.”

"But . . ." Taeyong's lip wobbles.

"Unless you don't want that? Do you need me to do something . . . Else?"

You're not entirely sure how this will work, but you know it's only fair that you help break his heat. Time was running out.

He pulls you into his arms, sharp chin atop your head.

"You're so precious," he murmurs.

"If you like I can be in control," you say. "I can take care of you. Taeil showed me."

He laughs into your hair, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

"Did Doyoung tell you I'm a pillow prince?"

"You do have a lot of them," you sniff.

That makes him laugh harder.

"I know it must be strange being in another person’s nest. If you . . . we'll help you build your own. Wherever you want it."

"Thank you." You try to keep your voice light but he's tuned into the sadness of realizing how useless it would be without your claims to share it. He clutches you so tightly you have to actively fight the claustrophobia.

"I really should have stayed here," he says. "As useless as I am when I'm in heat–rut–whatever this is, I think I could have taken care of you, too.”

You feel hot and itchy at the admission.

“Do you know, I couldn't stop thinking about you.” His voice is even lower now, nails soothing your spine. “What it would be like to be needed by someone like you.”

"Did you really want to?" you ask. "It's not just because I bit you? Or because of . . ."

There's so much in your mind to try and quiet, doubt ever present. You let his scent infuse you instead, playing with the strands of hair curling under his jaw.

He rubs his face against your hairline, pressing a dry, soft kiss to your forehead.

"I've never been with a girl before, much less another omega . . . Not that I'm not attracted, it was just too dangerous to be with anyone outside the pack. Do you understand?"

You nod.

"So in a way, I'll be your first?"

"You know you feel safe to me, too," Taeyong whispers.

It's a comfort to hear that, after everything. At least even if you feel estranged from them all he's still on your side. Perhaps it's just because you’re family, or shared species or birth designation, but you won't take it for granted.

"How does this work?" you ask. "What can I do for you?"

"We don't need to rush. Let's take it slow and see what we both like, yes?"

You enjoy the thought of exploring with him, even more when he moves lower to kiss your face, smooth lips tracing your features. Unlike Johnny's shyness you think he's trying to keep from appearing desperate, avoiding your mouth until you take it for yourself.

You kiss him, gently, teeth kept locked away as he licks into your lips. He's an incredible lover in this regard alone, stroking your tongue with his and swallowing your soft moans.

Soon you're entwined, your hips rocking together through your clothing, almost more sensual without bare skin. But you want it, stroking his belly beneath his thick shirt until he takes it off. You're immediately exploring the dark, winding pattern of a tattoo wrapped around his lean torso, distracted by how intricate it is.

"A dragon?" you ask, pressing your lips to the scales inked into his shoulder. It's a traditional, ancient design–greens and blues muddied by the magenta light. Like the old myths, you think–a fitting enemy for a tiger.

"Yes–" Taeyong gasps as you lick at his nipple, sucking the bud into your mouth. He seems to enjoy it, but pushes you down after a moment.

"May I?" he asks, waiting for your nod before his firm hands trail down your body, plucking at the sash of your robe.

He looks at you dangerously, eyelids lowered as he parts the clothing to reveal your thin underwear. Slick has already drenched your thighs, a little noise erupting in the back of your throat as he curls down, pulling aside your bra to taste you.

"You're so, so soft," he whispers, sucking gently on your breast, rolling the other beneath his thumb. Your hands bury in his thick hair as he pushes the meat of it upwards, exploring your shape. “And sweet.”

You're losing yourself already at the tender laps, sex throbbing as he teases you, ears brushing against your thighs when he goes lower and you shyly close your legs around his head.

"Open up for me, baby." His tone is deeper, a little more rasped with need.

"I should be pleasing you," you whisper, but he shushes you by flipping you onto your stomach. For a moment you're paralyzed by the memory of being face-first on a cold floor, and just as quickly he's recognized it and off of you, soothing your curled back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"No, no," you breathe, sitting up. "I'm not afraid. Just. Do you think I could be above you?"

You’d wanted to know what it was like to be with a less dominant mate, you think this might be your only chance.

"I don't think I could say no to that even if I wanted to." His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale as he lies back, pulling you on top of him as you try to strip down, distracted by the hands and mouth fighting to explore every inch of exposed skin. You feel as hazy as if you were sedated, too, moaning when he grabs your thighs to pull you down onto his face.

You fist the pile above his head as his breaths make you cool, his nose brushing against your heat as he laves carefully at the sensitive gland at your inner thigh. It's such a light touch but your body responds intensely, pleasure like butterfly wings brushing inside you as your nipples harden and your toes curl.

"Oh gods," he says, tongue darting out to collect drips of sweat and slick from your skin, dragging across your underwear. "It's better than I imagined. Kind of like ambrosia."

You whine in earnest now, back arched to present yourself for him from above. He licks into your folds, pulling aside your underwear to bury his tongue in your heat. Your hips move of their own accord and it makes him even more bold in fucking you with his mouth; the deeper he works the muscle into you the more you writhe, clamped down by his hands spreading your gap to expose you for him.

He pulls away the moment you feel like you're getting closer to your climax, breathing just as hard and glossy with your release.

"I don't want to breed you just yet," he murmurs, making you whine. "Can I just do this until your legs can't hold you up, anymore?"

"Please, Alph–" you stop, realizing your mistake, but he only laughs, thumbs kneading the fat at the crest of your thighs.

"You can call me that," he soothes.

"Do you like it?" you ask, cocking your head to look down at him. He's not capable of recognizing your question, it seems, as he buries his damp face in your tail, marking you with your own scent.

"Don't you want to breed me, Alpha?" you ask, experimentally.

"Fuck, don't stop," he says, finally shuffling free of his pants, almost making you collapse on him in his haste. You hold steady, moving down his body to take him in your mouth, grabbed loosely by the scalp to stop.

"Let me make you feel good," you say, already licking a stripe up his shaft and tasting salt and something sweeter. He's a solid weight in your hand–a little softer than you expected and lacking a significant knot but perfect, you think. Yours.

"Turn around, then," he says, rough. "I'm not finished."

You don't know what he means until you're dragged bodily back, underwear torn by what you think might be his teeth, unable to see with your face buried in the crook of his thigh as he devours you again. You struggle to wrap your lips around him, too lost in the scrape of canines on your inner thigh and your own muffled noises, feeling the tightness in your belly ebb whenever he pulls back just as you're close to sliding over into bliss.

"Please," you whimper, grip tightening on his cock to slow him down. "Please, Alpha."

"Not yet," he moans, muffling it with your sex. "Want to feel it."

You struggle out of his arms, settling down over his narrow hips to rub desperately against his length, coating him and your fur equally in slick and spit. He pulls you down, holding you tight to keep from riding him as he slides between your folds.

"I can't wait, ____, it hurts so bad not being in you," he groans in your ear. "Tell me you want it."

"Knot me, Alpha." You don't know if he's capable of it but you don't care, too hellbent on having him fill you. It was silly of you to think you could take your time, you know he needs this as much as you do.

"Want you so badly, Alpha," you say. "Breed me, please."

Desperation has you clawing the pillows beneath your legs, trying to angle yourself to guide him inside of you. He holds your hips, hoisting his own to catch you just right. The first slide into your heat is so much different than what you expected, the perfect fit in how easily he can move inside you, hitting the curve in that sensitive place just inside.

He doesn't pull out completely, instead rocking into you until he’s fully sheathed, dragging against muscles inside of you that tighten for you automatically, gripping him hard.

"That’s so good," he repeats, claws digging into your skin below your breasts as he pushes up into you fluidly. "So soft inside too, velvet."

Any concern about him not having a knot to ease your suffering is erased as you feel his thick base stretching you wide, fighting against the constriction that is utterly out of your control, like you can't and won't let him go now that you have him at your mercy.

You hold his head to you so he can lose himself in the pleasure of tonguing your shape, suckling and biting in a way that makes you flutter even more inside.

"You really like that, don't you baby–" He loses his words when you tense on him again, not sure if you're forcing him out or drawing him in deeper.

"Yes, Alpha." Your mind is obliterated, disappearing into the soft light and the ache of pulsating around him. You feel so good and warm and wanted. "Breed me, fill me with your pups."

When Taeyong comes it's with his teeth scraping the softness over your heart, tongue wrapped around your nipple. He jerks inside you as warmth surges in your belly, your voice's higher pitch mixing with his low growls and whines. He doesn't stop pumping into you, throbs of heat radiating between you as you finally can't hold yourself up anymore.

Artificial fur slides against your back, real fur under your stomach where your tail, or his, is trapped between you as he pulls you over. Now on top he fucks you into the pillows, rough but somehow tender, teeth closing on your neck to tug at the healed skin, not breaking it but bruising it deep enough to mark it. It makes you lose yourself, too, scratching his strong back until he bites you more, and harder.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," you cry out, finally feeling that dam break inside of pure euphoria, your own release a hot gush squeezed out of you around him. That tightness in your core doesn't let up even with the tics of pleasure around him softening inside you.

"Good omega, good baby," he says, finally able to make a word that isn't a grunt or moan of pleasure. "Can't stop, you're already making me hard again, I'm sorry–"

"What is happening . . . ?" You can't finish what you're murmuring either, gasping at the way each word makes you seize again, like you never finished in the first place. You expected him to slip out of you but that's not happening, nor is his spend coming out of you.

He picks you up, gently, rolling you both onto your side so you can breathe more deeply, pulling you against him.

"You locked me," He laughs softly, choking a bit as you try to squeeze the muscles inside you experimentally. "Never in a million years did I think . . ."

"Is that bad?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. Taeyong nibbles at your bottom lip, licking immediately after in case he's caused you pain.

"No. It's perfect. You're so perfect it's hard not to believe you weren't actually made just for me."

Your fox is in rapture, being told she's good enough–for once not empty praise but something to make you feel like you belong. You hold his head to yours, noses bumping. Rubbing his scarred ear between your thumb and index makes him pant a little as his fingers dip between your closed legs, buried in your fur.

"Relax for me," he says, "Now we can really take it slow."

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper, gripping his shoulders to push against him. "Yes, Alpha."

"I should be calling you that," he murmurs, licking at your jaw. "Since you claimed me."

"Oh," you say.

There's not very many thoughts in your head with adoration and joy circulating instead but you do remember the physiology of female Alphas being markedly different than yours. It was unfortunate that it was often spoken of in the context of failures of hybrid breeding programs, the unstated prejudice against them even more taboo than male omegas in an intolerant culture.

But you don't feel like a failure, or a mistake. Not now, not with being able to please your mate so thoroughly.

"You feel like both to me," you gasp out as his fingers lazily explore your sex, answered in the tensing of your walls around him. He's still only half-hard but you can feel him rousing for you, ready to give you more.

Taeyong grinds into you, leg twining over yours to deepen his thrusts. "You feel like both to me, too."

Kim Doyoung [Lepus europaeus α]

"This is bad."

Doyoung checks his agent again, the sky already darkening as mid-afternoon passes into evening. It's not just the deadline, or the weight of dread in his chest, but the fact that it's been an hour and a half since your screams turned into different sounds altogether, loud enough for his sensitive ears and unfortunately–everyone else in the vicinity.

"Make a call, then." Johnny says, a cold towel draped over his face. Like some of the other members of the pack he'd already taken it out on gym equipment, hands a little bloody despite healing from pummeling them raw. The others had evacuated to their own retreats not long after clean-up, Mark and Haechan heading down to the lower levels to check in with what little remained of their meal. From the distant sounds of gunfire below some of the others must be running CQD drills as their preferred form of distraction.

"I'll separate them," he sighs. "We shouldn't have left them alone in the first place."

"No, we shouldn't have. But here we are." The Felid is currently stretched out on his couch, having become a somewhat permanent fixture in his home. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the desire to constantly be near one’s mate, certainly never able to travel far during ritual.

"Are you going to help me?" Doyoung sighs,

Johnny pulls down the cloth, cracking an eye open. "Why? Afraid she'll take a bite out of you, too?”

"It's not her I'm worried about." One of the many benefits of hybrid companionship, he thinks–was being intimately familiar with the mating habits of vulpes vulpes. He checks the syringe gun Taeil had left them–two just in case.

"How do you want to go about this?" he asks.

"I thought you were the planner here," Johnny remarks, tone acid.

"Oh for fucks sake, be an adult about this." Doyoung paces, loosening his tie. He's not sure if he should get fitted into gloves or body armor but he supposes it would only make things worse considering how tight the space is to navigate.

"I go in first and get her. You get Taeyong."

"Brave," Johnny says dryly.

"She can order you, jackass."

"Should I wear earplugs?"

Doyoung doesn't waste another second fielding the Alpha's snark, heading to the dreaded foxhole. Lord knows he's been in a similar position as you before, thankfully with the wherewithal and means to order Taeyong down. It didn't mean you couldn't do the same, just that if his hunch was correct, you lacked the mental capacity to do so.

"____," he asks, quietly, opening the door.

The room is positively drenched in the overripe fruit scent of sex, nothing unexpected considering it had been seeping through the cracks for a while. One of the requirements of any good nest design was ventilation, of course, that had been accounted for but two omegas-worth of perfume could not be contained that easily.

He hears a soft whine, and then a low growl–too deep and masculine to be yours. Of course, he thinks–he knew that burning sensation in the pit of his stomach wasn't imagined. It had been a long time since Taeyong slipped into rut behavior but it was always a strong possibility with the therapy he maintained.

"It's just me," he says, cautious as he slips in, eyes adjusting to the low light.

Thank god his species was nocturnal, although another reminder that it was to avoid being preyed upon by the creatures in the room. Another snarl startles him from behind, causing him to hit his head on the nearest shelf.

Immediately there's chaos as someone–something takes a swipe at him, claws snagging in his shirt. He's thrown back, syringe gun dropping from his startled grip as Johnny threads past him, mostly beast, pinning Taeyong with a massive paw.

Doyoung pulls back as he finally meets your wild, slitted gaze, teeth bared.

"Down," he says, sitting up and fumbling for the medication. As soon as you see it your tail curls, shoulders hunching into a shape best suited for a lunge.

"Get that thing away from me." Your voice is strained, overgrown canines making you lisp slightly. He fights the urge to laugh at your feral appearance, placing it on the shelf close enough to reach in a hurry before raising his hands.

"Do I need to order you, again, Princess?" he asks, keeping his tone neutral even though his heart is racing beyond his control. He's not immune to the instinct to avoid those orange-touched eyes looking at him like he's your next meal, choosing to lock eyes with you.

You know who's in charge, eyes sliding down submissively even as you snap your teeth.

"Don't order me." You shake your head, grimacing after a moment as you adjust under the robe you'd half-heartedly covered yourself with. Doyoung sits up, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. Immediately you're stilled, tail flopping fish-like behind you.

A cry bursts out of you as Taeyong chooses that moment to fight back, trying to reach up past Johnny to claw him off of you–Doyoung is prepared for his mate's betrayal but not your intervention.

"Sleep!" you bark, voice pained.

It works like a charm–he's never seen Taeyong respond to a command that quickly or effectively, perhaps aided by the exhaustion so clearly lining his face. You look terrible, as well, drenched in sweat, hair tangled around your ears so even their movements are obscured, flattened in pain and anxiety.

It’s not what he expected to find after that prolonged session but he suspects from the minor wounds you both bear your animals had taken over in more than just behavior. You're probably sore.

"Thank you for obeying," he murmurs, stroking your neck. “Let’s get you out of here and bathed–”

"We have a problem." Johnny is human again, thank goodness, already attempting to lift the unconscious Vulpine from the wreckage of unstuffed pillows and torn clothing.

"We do," you whine, hunching down over Taeyong protectively.

"We're stuck."

[previous] [next] [check the masterlist before you proceed]

#agtbtb #nct 127 fic #nct fic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct imagines #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fanfic #nct omegaverse au #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong x y/n #taeyong x you #taeyong smut

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hunnyuwu · 3 years

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Thank you for the tag, @bl--ankhaeji !! Love you hun and sorry this took so long<3

(btw, I’m basically giving mini descriptions, which I suck at, so please give these a read even though these descriptions will do nothing for them lol)

To Call You Mine || Part 1 (Kun) : I definitely did not write this on a complete whim when I saw THAT photo of Kun in that blue suit (Pictured at the top in my fic). He just looked so pretty, I couldn’t resist haha. Anyways, in short, it is about the daughter of a wealthy business conglomerate being in love with her strict, business-like assistant, Mr. Kun himself. While it sounds extremely bland, it gets a little ~~~spicy~~~ by the end after a few glasses of wind and crumbling inhibitions, so give it a read if you want. It is also part one, so I will be releasing part two soon!!

Muse (Johnny) : I like this fic because it is about photographer Johnny! This fic deals more with image portrayal and self love, so the thought of this one warms my heart as I think a lot of us need more self love in our lives haha. Let’s just say that Mr. Johnny leads us on our journey to accepting ourselves as we are.

Royal Flour (Jeno) : A three part series that I keep putting off, but I do have a part one! Issa little rough, but it’s about a small baker in a sect of a large overarching kingdom owned by the royal family. Jeno is the prince, as he should be, and he just can’t seem to take a liking to any of his potential suitors. Could the worlds of royalty and peasant class potentially collide harmoniously? Tbh, Idk, but read it to find out ;) Honestly, a sugary fic with super duper fluffs. Hope you give it a read :)

My Baby Don’t Like It (Jaehyun and Mark) : Another three part series that I only have part one for, are we noticing a trend yet? I like this fic because I tried developing the dynamics between characters a little more compared to my other fics. And tbh, there be some dramatic ish, because why not lol. Its basically about a messy ass triangle between reader, Mark, and Jaehyun with mini Jeno holding it all together. And trust me, you want to read this one for baby Jeno :D

Connected (NCT 127) : Finally, this is my only running series that I actually have gasp three parts to, albeit one of them being the prologue... Anyways, with cyberpunk as a theme of interest rn *cough* Cyberpunk 2077 *cough* I wanted to bring this series back to light because I am an absolute sucker for cyberpunk aus and themes. I don’t want to reveal too much, but basically the city and world have gone to shit. Society is in ruins and normalcy isn’t quite... normal. Rising underground group NCT is setting out to regain their country, but it seems like a certain elite force can’t let them have it that simply. Join me for the ride as chaos ensues:)

I kinda have no one to tag, so if you are a writer who sees this, feel free to do this!!

#tags #nct #uwu

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onlyonebiaswho · 4 years

Text

Neo Culture Technology

Neo University | NCT | social media au, college au

Sunrise | Johnny

Starstuck | Yuta

Prima | Ten

Eureka | Taeil

Handle | Jaemin

Yours | Mark

Slam | Lucas

Sforzando *ongoing* | Chenle

Soulmates | NCT | college au, soulmates au

Everyone had a predetermined way of figuring out who their soulmate was. Some has marks on their skin; others lived in a world without color; and some didn’t even know what their tell was until it happened. No matter what, fate managed to pull destined lovers together, whether conventionally or not.

A Rather Unfortunate Phrase | Mark

Living in Color | Johnny

Birds of a Feather | Lucas

The Art of Fate | Jaehyun

Lost and Found | Xiaojun

College Scenarios | NCT | bullet scenarios, college au

Taeil

Johnny

Haechan

Lucas

Frat Boys | NCT China-line | social media au, college au, frat boy au

Help! | Winwin

Somebody to Love | Renjun

Honey, Honey | Kun

More Than a Feeling | Lucas

Andante, Andante *ongoing* | Ten

Troublemakers | NCT 00-line | high school au, bad boy au

Your school has five troublemakers you need to be wary of. Their reputation precedes them, with onlookers whispering about their looks, the way they talk, the things they’ve done. Each of them stands out in their own way, liked and disliked by a variety of people. And you need to decide which side you fall on.

Troublemaker | Yangyang

Heartbreaker | Jaemin

Archenemies | Renjun

Youngblood | Haechan

Moonlight Cafe | NCT 00-line | bullet scenarios, college au, coffee shop au

You love your job at the on-campus coffee shop. It’s like your own special paradise: making coffee, studying in your free time, and getting to know your regulars. That is, until a particular customer walks through the door.

Vanilla Latte | Renjun

Mocha | Jeno

Sweet Iced Tea | Haechan

Caramel Latte | Jaemin

Iced Matcha | Yangyang

Matchmakers | NCT 127 | social media au, college au

Get to You | Jaehyun

Matchmaker | Taeyong

Let’s Pretend | Johnny

Where U At? *hiatus* | Doyoung

No More Trauma | NCT 127 | apocalypse au, cyberpunk au

Welcome to the Neo Zone, the perfect place to escape. To enter, please press “A.” To leave the Neo Zone, press--

Elevator

Kick It

Boom

Pandora’s Box

Daydream | Haechan

Interlude: Neo Zone

Mad Dog | Doyoung

Sit Down

Echo

Umbrella

White Night

Not Alone

Dreams Come True

Heist Society | NCT Dream | thief au

Error 1290 | Mark

Over the Rhône | Renjun

The Confidence Game | Jeno

Cat and House | Haechan

Champagne and Sunshine | Jaemin

Knotted Strings | Chenle

Set on Fire in a Silver Dream | Jisung

Not Clickbait | NCT Dream | influencer au, best friends to lovers au

Do it for the views. Do it for your fans. But most importantly, do it for the gigantic secret crush you’ve been harboring on your best friend. Which boy will you complete tiktok’s “Today I tried to kiss my best friend” Challenge with? Oh, and make sure to like, comment, and subscribe!

Mark Lee Sucks at Technology | Mark

The Internet Made Me Do It | Renjun

Today I Tried to Kiss My Best Friend | Jeno

I Turned My Best Friend into an E-Boy (And Kissed Him!!) | Haechan

Doing the BF Tag with My BF | Jaemin

Haha, What if We Kissed? (LOL JK... Unless?) | Chenle

Renegade or Whatever | Jisung

For Those Who... | NCT Dream | bullet scenarios, high school au

Are in love with someone they can’t have | Renjun

Have been cheated on | Jeno

Are in unrequited love | Jaemin

Are in love with an old flame | Chenle

Are dealing with a breakup | Jisung

Master of All Elements | NCT Dream 00-line | avatar au

You are a Waterbender of the Northern Water Tribe who has been named the new Avatar. You must master all of elements in order to keep the peace between the four nations. Which path will you choose first?

The Element of Change | Jaemin

The Element of Substance | Jeno

The Element of Power | Renjun

The Element of Freedom | Haechan

Weishen University | WayV | social media au, college au

The Muse | Xiaojun

The Lab Partner | Yangyang

The Librarian | Lucas

Wingless | WayV | cyberpunk au

In a world where freedom is nothing but a figment of your imagination, and conformity to the absolute is the key for survival, it is pointless to wish for something that can help you escape from the hellhole you call home. Then one day, you are somehow whisked into the lives of a young rebel group who could be your one-way ticket to the paradise you’ve always dreamed of.

Jet Set | Kun

Stranger | Ten

Drone Racer | Winwin

Biker | Lucas

Romanticist | Xiaojun

Posh | Hendery

Racer | Yangyang

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hexonthepeach · 28 days

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 27: wild

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [26: fallen]

wc: 7.3k

warnings: action violence, mild omega slander

recommended listening: box - nct dream (truly enjoying this ep)

Your face is buried in a strange texture, the scent even more unimaginable. Dirt–real and rich as a forest floor, scattered with dead leaves and flakes of bark. Rot and green and something carbonized as well, a scent map that transports you back a decade and a half, hundreds of clicks due north on the 127th meridian.

Home.

It can’t be. This dream is too real–trees rising on either side, the chittering of insects and birds echoing from their tops, the moon centered above beyond a green haze of aurora–

No, you think. That shifting light is too distinct in its pattern, too geometrical to be a natural phenomenon. Your head throbs as you slowly register the familiar bright rectangles of color visible through the leafy canopy, the sound-dampened rumble of voices.

“Welcome back to the main event. As our guests return to their seats from the intermission let’s set the scene. Tonight we have a very special stage, a little corner of the Wild carefully transplanted for your entertainment.”

The announcement through a speaker sounds underwater, but Key’s voice is unmistakeable.

You’re back in the arena. But that’s also impossible–there’s no way the breadth of this space could fit even in that huge room. This is something different. A botanical garden? A zoo? Enclosed, you think, much warmer and damper than the Neo Seoul night you’d shivered against earlier on the rooftop.

“For the safety of our esteemed guests we have transported our participants in tonight’s death match to a confidential location, to demonstrate the resources granted to us by our newest corporate sponsor, Zhirafa Technical Manufacturing.”

Zhirafa? The name has no meaning to you.

“This display of our Park clan ally’s newest offerings for private and public security celebrate their new investiture to our NSMP response teams. Let’s hear a few words from our sponsors.”

You pick yourself up, tripping on the ridiculous train of your gown, shaking a small storm of leaf litter free. Your slippers are gone, feet deadened by cold and inactivity, coming back to life with your pacing around the opening in the forest.

“Help!” you shout.

You hear your voice echo in the vast structure beneath the music of some distant advertisement, muffled by the dense trees. Based on the autocar-thickness of the trunks and their building-tall height this isn't new growth–this must have been here for years. That the treetops haven’t broken through whatever is containing them overhead is a testament to how well-architected it is against it.

“The classic Savannah line has been modernized for Neo Seoul’s most prescient threat: the cyber-fitted feral alpha. Tonight’s demonstration is proof that in the war of organic and robotic, the apex predator will always be the one that can’t be killed.”

The music swells above you, scored to a video you can’t see.

This is where real fear finds you, remembering anthems played in the distance over speakers. The constant chatter of gunfire, the arc of rockets overhead. You taste metal and gunpowder just the same. Kicking at the ground with your bare feet displaces weathered shell casings and bits of exploded plastic beneath the leaves.

There’s no way you’ve been transported North. It would take days, not minutes. They don’t even know you’re gone if this stupid game was proceeding with you at its heart.

No, it dawns on you. This must be an NSMR training ground.

You knew them best from the melos, places where new recruits from Seoul had trained to fight against Neo-Manchukoan guerilla forces, acting out their deaths before inevitably meeting them in the Wild.

You have to alert the audience somehow–get out before the event begins. Even if you don’t have a mic and tracker there’s the familiar low-register buzz of drones overhead, you just have to get the attention of one.

“Is anyone out there?” Your voice echoes a little less, the artificiality of the soundscape revealed in how the birdsong and insects continue unphased.

There is something–though–the rustle of leaves nearby that makes you twist around. Your ears swivel towards the noise, hunching low out of instinct and searching for something to use as a weapon.

“No more surprises, please,” you speak without saying, backing away from the unnatural gleam of blue-white in the thicket.

[Present identification, citizen.]

The voice is electronic and uncanny, different from your kidnapper’s in being devoid of any humanity at all.

“I’m not a citizen,” you say, calmly, “I’m Lee ____, born–”

There’s a metal-on-metal sound, pneumatics hissing as the thing breaks free of the bushes, four-legged and bristling with attachments of dull chrome.

The robotic construct is built like and yet unlike any large cat you’ve ever witnessed–larger than Johnny in his original form. It’s surprisingly smooth in its movements despite its clunky profile, its metal claws and chain-like tail just as ridiculous additions as the grenade launcher fixed to its back.

[Scanning] the drone says, giving you the grace of a few moments to keep searching for a weapon as a white net of light is projected from the thin rectangle of its eyeline.

You think for a moment you might have made it before the scanner pulses from white to red, metal jaw opening wide, fangs sharp past the light.

[Level 3 security protocol in effect. Unknown intruder detected. Countdown T-10 to detainment. Do not attempt to flee.]

Terror rushes through you, animal brain screaming to bolt while your rational self tells you to hold, to not give the drone a reason to chase you. It’s absurd, treating an artificial creature as having an instinct but a step to the side is answered by a mirror-like movement.

“Is there anyone there?” you plead. “I was abducted here. Get me out.”

[6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . .] the impartial countdown continues.

“Nine hells,” you mutter, ripping off your outer robe and approximating the stance of a matador with an angry bull as you begin to back away.

You don’t have experience with these kinds of machines but you understand programmed intelligence–the limitations are cartoonishly absurd no matter how many years of advancement have tried to make them as reactive as a human mind.

[ 3 . . . 2 . . . Engaging protocol.]

You wait until the drone lunges at you, wait longer to watch it break to slam its stun-paneled flank sparking from conduced energy, before throwing the swatch of weighted fabric towards it.

You have seconds of its head and body being covered to turn and bolt, path of retreat already erratic before you glimpse a red-shaded observation camera in front of you, the blink of another–

It’s visible for an instant ahead of colliding with cold metal and 50,000 volts pulsing through you in a heartbeat.

You can’t even scream.

Your body seizes and rolls across the ground–stunned. Heavy thuds hit the earth around you as the drones close in, mechanisms grinding and whirring. One of those wicked three-pronged paws bears down on your chest before you can curl away, pinning you to the earth.

[Cease resisting, citizen.] the drone’s pre-programmed voice is oddly calm. [Further resistance will be met with deadly force, comply until additional units can be engaged.]

“Fuck . . . you . . .” you wheeze with the remaining air from your lungs, screaming once you’re able to pull in air. “Get OFF OF ME!”

Something–someone–rumbles overhead, guttural and loud.

The drones attention on you breaks, met with a flash of chrome as the unoccupied Savannah Panther darts up the side of the nearest tree. It’s absurd watching that stupid thing claw the wood uselessly, unable to fight the pull of gravity on its dense chassis.

The shadow above takes advantage of its struggle, attacking as the drone is sliding down, before its hind paws can hit earth again.

The impact shakes the ground, metal screeching as black furred arms tear the drone’s jaw from its skull with barely any give, a fluid movement stabbing the jagged metal deep into its visor. Sparks fly from the downed Panther, unable to see but further assaulted by that shard pulled out and dug into its neck.

Your own Panther makes the choice between continuing to hold you down and dealing with the more obvious threat–suddenly you’re free. You twist in the soil against the awful pain in your chest, struggling to get up and finding the exposed back of the predator creeping towards your savior.

Without thinking you pounce, climbing on the back of that wretched thing.

You have to hold on for dear life as the drone drops and rolls you both, limbs and head rotating to try and dislodge you. You grasp the cannon-like protuberance from its back, claws digging into the exposed pneumatics at its base to disable its hindquarters before several hundred kilos of angry robot can buck you off.

“Why don’t you just self-destruct–” you hiss, tearing your hands raw hooking into the gaps of its plating for its more-fragile innards. A rotor dies, the cat stumbling as you feel the launcher under your chest whir into life.

[PleaaAAAse comp comp comp–]

The electronic voice jitters into intelligible speech as you rip another cable or hose–some snakelike thing spewing gas in your hand, the entire forest floor blinking red from the malfunctioning unit as the launcher fires.

You brace yourself against an explosion–realizing that the cannon lacks compression and ignition when there’s a pop and the grenade rolls to the ground, barely out of range. The sight of that palm-sized canister makes your entire body go cold, fear breaking your fight into flashes of horror.

Faded green writing on a metal can, leaves in a circle. Biotechnica.

“It’s a bomb, eomma?” you ask.

“Spring,” your mother corrects. “Bom, not bomb. But yes, a bomb.”

She pulls the seedling blooming from the torn canister, showing you the remaining markings in English.

“Nothing is burning. Where did everyone go?”

You’d looked around you at the new growth, strange for it being in the middle of what had once been a bustling refugee market. No people remain–wrecked stalls enveloped in fresh herbs and blooms out of season, bamboo and fruit trees bursting through the cracked pavement of the train station.

“A long time ago someone predicted the planet would go silent, if we kept destroying and polluting it.” Your mother says. “Men made this to try and stop it.”

You accidentally kick something at your feet–a dense twisting of vines and mushrooms that appears to be vaguely human-shaped, like someone curled onto their side. Spores rise up into the cold winter light, like specks of gold.

“When you see this, don’t touch it, don’t even move towards it, ____, just . . .”

“RUN!” you scream your order, looking up to see that dark-furred hybrid bash its opponent drone a final time into the shuddering, splintered remains of a tree trunk.

You can make it, you can get out of here, both of you–

Crunch.

The sound is more horrible than the pain with the adrenaline rushing through you, metal jaws closed on the back of your thigh gripping you in place and pulling you facedown into the dirt.

You fight against the stuttering hold, feeling cloth and muscle shred between twin fangs, crawling towards the protector who’d taken your instruction literally, but towards you, not away–kicking something just past your head–

The explosion compresses the air inward before blowing it out, the force of its blast throwing you free and against the nearest tree.

You know it’s not an incendiary grenade. There’s no red flash or the heat of fire–no sound except the ringing in your ears from the sonic boom.

Your vision streaks with green-yellow, a swirl of dust washing over you and that familiar smell . . . something like the rain after a drought. It's burning so deep with each lungful you can only cough as the scent fills your lungs and nostrils, trying to get it out.

Through misty eyes you see the thing beside you, booting back to life, cat-like jaw working beneath its blinded visual sensor. The battered Panther drone picks itself up from newly-formed moss and plant-life, red lights blinking on its chassis casting the newly grown meadow in shades of horror. You claw weakly at the grass, cringing away from the metal claws.

And then, a roar–

–not from the drone, but him.

He’s so real and loud it breaks past the damaged muffle of the explosion to resonate within you, that black belly and the ghost of its weight over you so familiar it hurts more than the oozing, aching awfulness in your leg or the internal damage from your pathetic fight.

You’re back in that abandoned building, terrified and dying as Taeil and Yuta try to keep you amongst the living, your unlikely savior a thing with no resemblance of the man buried within.

It’s not an easy fight for him, at least, not with the Panther drone recognizing the threat of 1500 PSI of bite force in the jaw closing around its armored neck. The cats rise in a two-legged, clawing grapple, the earth drumming beneath you with each stomp of claws beside your face, metal and organic, dirt and contagion blinding you as you shrink away.

Not a thing, no. Your mate.

“Youngho,” you whisper, realizing too late it's the wrong time–the jaguar pausing for a moment in its battle to twist around towards you, yowling when metal claws rake across his thick black hide.

“Left side,” you gasp. “Wires, left side.”

The jaguar hears you, at least in the backwards turn of those gold-dusted ears. He uses the unbalanced weight of the construct against it, climbing atop it the way you had, but much more elegantly, rolled with less visible damage.

Sparks fly as he tests each weakness with yellow-white teeth embedding in the metal and synth plating, ripping chunks free until the repeating electronic scream of that thing dies, the grenade launcher in its back unable to fire with the critical point of information cut clean.

It drops to the shifting ground, just so much scrap. Leaves twine around it, growing slowly at least, shoots erupting through a metal carcass.

The flesh-and-blood cat roars over its frame, triumphant, clawing and kicking roots over its destroyed corpse. He’s unaware of the danger, only visible to you as the self-destruct cycle begins, numbers streaking across the lit visor screen where its eyes should be.

“Run,” you say, having already given up, cheek pressed into the familiar scent of home.

Jaws close on your back, snagged in the fabric, picking you up as he drags you away like just another kill. You make it as far as the brush, leaves ripping at your face, before the world explodes again.

This time in fire.

Everything about this entire ceremony-turned-circus has been sucking him down into the last point of control but this is the final straw on the camel’s back. Mark is incensed, claws out without any conscious control to hide them.

He’s starting to understand what Johnny had said about it hurting every time, that after a while the pain of them piercing the skin barely registers. The constant burn in his ears and his spine is more worrisome.

“We need to speak to the Crown Prince,” he says, shoving Haechan back when he slithers up beside him. The younger Canid is on a warpath, having already chucked the last Kim attache’s tablet into his face so hard it knocked him unconscious.

“Against the rules.” The servant seems to be enjoying the experience of saying no to their ragtag Nyctos contingent–all four of them with Renjun limping beside him, supported by Taeil. Yangyang had already been transported to one of the medical centers, unable to be roused from the stun that had crashed his system while Yuta went to security to investigate the feeds.

The man’s eyes keep flicking up between a personal roster of wagers and the modified stage behind them with its ghostly phantoms of trees and lights in the 360 degree model of the next arena.

The fight should have already started a long time ago, but Key has stopped announcing anything besides advertisements, agitated murmurs in the crowd revealing that something is deeply wrong beyond the obvious absence.

This ends now, Mark thinks. If they want their bets and bloodsport it can wait.

“Tell him the Princess Consort has been kidnapped,” he finds himself saying, earning the immediate attention of the men–no, the buzzards–flocking around his cousin and pack leader. They look down on them from the vantage of their booth, Choi Siwon laughing.

“Impossible,” Elder Bang says, leaning over the edge as he pokes slowly at his agent. “This building is secure.”

“We were attacked by an unknown assailant, a solo,” Renjun reports, tail whipping behind him. “Check the security footage in the west side service corridors.”

“Did you see her taken?” That gray-haired old doctor makes his way down, AR glasses scrolling with information. Mark’s nose wrinkles at the lavender-like scent of the tobacco on him, something oily and metallic underneath.

“No,” Renjun says. “They knocked me out before I could go after her–”

“Contusions, skull fracture–” he assesses the fox, signaling to Duke Kim to call for additional medical support and security.

“We’ll send a team to the site and investigate,” he says to the Duke. “Quietly. We don’t want anyone panicking.”

“We can’t track her without an agent or a biochip,” Mark says. “We’ll need to check all exits–”

“First and foremost, keep quiet, we don’t need to raise an alarm,” Duke Kim says. “Is the Tenth Prince secure?”

Mark gestures towards the illuminated royal box, frustrated already with the lack of response. “Does it look like he’s missing?”

“Check yourself, Lee.” His uncle-by-law threatens, fixating on Renjun with a measured look of disgust. “You’ll watch your tongue or we'll let this fall on your heads.”

Mark immediately feels the surge of anger that’s been so quick to strike aflame these past few days–the recognition that another is attempting to dominate his Alpha.

“This is on your security, not mine,” he warns, eyes flashing up past the crowded entrance to the booth. “I will speak with our pack lead–”

“He’s occupied,” Elder Park joins them on the stairwell, looking entirely unsurprised by the news. “You’ll report to me.”

Mark takes one look at his smug, modded face and makes the decision to breach the fifteen-foot gap between the outer arena floor and the heavily-decorated exterior of the Syndicate booth, fuck formality.

He’s been itching to use his new claws–wishes he had a tail to make scaling the wall less awkward.

The Syndicate’s security response is immediate in the barrels of several guns aimed at him by the time he peers over the ledge, teeth gritted against the ache deep in his shoulder as his boots skid on carved wood.

“What in nine hells,” Taeyong stands along with a number of Syndicate guests, disrupting an entire table of drinks, credit chips scattering.

Mark is grateful when he reaches out to take his arm, sheathing the claws digging into Taeyong’s red military jacket as he pulls him over. “What are you doing?”

“____ is missing,” Mark hisses, heart pounding in his chest, turning between the multiple barrels pointed at them both, moving to guard his cousin despite knowing they’re treating him as the threat. “They almost killed Liu, too.”

“Stand down.” The Crown Prince is–mostly–himself, though he’s slurring heavily and reeking of liquor. He looks down at Duke Kim, brows lowered, until the elder gestures dismissively for security to lower their weapons.

“We’ve already deployed a team to search for her–”

“And I’ve got our NSMP representative on it. The whole building should be put on lockdown–” Mark begins.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Choi asks, moving to Taeyong’s side. “We don’t need Ten–the Imperial contingent finding out.”

“Relax,” Elder Bang adds. “That one is still safe in his box with his guards.”

“Right,” Park agrees. “She’s probably still in the building. Best to continue with the event and track her down before that freak can find out she’s given him the slip. We’d never hear the end of it.”

Duke Kim sidles over to their meeting, tablet in hand. “Entrance scans are negative. She’s still in the building. Reinholdt will find her.”

“See?” Taeyong pats Mark on the shoulder, handing him a drink that hasn’t been overturned. “Our Princess will be fine. We were just celebrating the good news, you should join us.”

There’s a familiar drumbeat on his shoulder as his cousin and pack leader embraces him one-armed, as the Syndicate heads and their entourage of cronies and Lottery escorts raise their glasses in a toast Mark refuses to participate in.

Mark doesn’t even realize he’s being signaled, distracted by the sheer number of recognizable enemies in this booth–-cold eyes fixated on him. Faces his mother had made him memorize, when they’d first been taken hostage.

“Such a smart boy,” she’d said, inspecting his homework, the artificial breeze of the Dome ruffling the pages in her manicured hands. “You still have so much trouble with your English spelling. Your father did, too.”

It had struck him that it was a lie, even then at twelve years old, with the books he’d grown up with in multiple languages in his father’s study–the ones his mother never seemed to want to read for herself or him besides Scripture. None of them, here, now in the Palace.

“You don’t have to learn any of that nonsense, precious child. Just learn the codes. Learn how to speak the language of the enemy,” she’d said.

O-K-A-S, is what Taeyong is saying in code. Okay, wait. Over and over again.

"Our clan finally has a 4th gen representative," Taeyong says aloud, proudly. "Reinholdt will do a determination of the hereditary profile once we've wrapped."

Mark pulls away from that repeated tap on his shoulder, letting his real anger out.

“Is that all you care about? Would it kill you to show some concern for her?”

He ignores the familiar bark of Haechan arguing with a guard below to maintain eye contact, watching Taeyong’s ruddy eyes blink at him, a lazy smile sliding across his mouth.

“C’mon Mark. Don’t be like that,” the Vulpine says, leaning in to whisper loudly in his ear. “Even if you didn't get a chance the kit's still your family–”

Mark grabs him by his jacket front, surprised by how easy it is to handle his cousin, realizing too late how drunk he is. Doyoung’s absence is worse than he’d ever imagined.

“She was raped,” he spits out.

Taeyong laughs in his face, quickly joined by the rest of the booth. Choi moves to intervene, waved off by the Crown Prince.

“That’s just omegas, right?” Taeyong drawls. “Always asking for it.”

More laughter. He knows his cousin isn’t like this–doesn’t believe any of the lies about his own designation–but it still makes him sick to acknowledge the words coming out of his mouth. For the first time in his entire life, the brother he’s chosen, the one he’d risked his life and limb for, is unrecognizably ugly.

“Did you take advantage of her, too?” Mark asks, tone deadly.

“She begged me for it.” Taeyong says with a shrug, earning more of a response from the corpos and their escorts. Mark lets him go, disgusted.

Taeyong turns to their audience, lifting his glass. “You’ll forgive my cousin, he’s never had the pleasure–”

“Fuck you,” Mark says, waiting only as long as it takes for Taeyong to turn back to wink at him before punching him across the jaw.

Fresh shoots spring from the ground, stringy tendrils catching at your skin and blossoming into flowers crushed under your weight as you’re dragged away.

Buried deep–a part of you kicks and screams and fights to return to it, to be enveloped within the decomposition of the environment and recreated as something new. Only your fox would remain, flesh melted down to the bones, the human side of you disappearing into the new forest.

But, no. You have to fight back. Those despicable bastards had brought the Wild to Neo Seoul.

Not just the aesthetic sensibility of it but the bioterrorist weapons used in the war, the bombs that melted human flesh into raw organic material, feeding new life. You’d been exposed before–thankfully never close enough to alter you fully.

It wouldn’t kill you–no, but contamination would pull you back to the animal you are. You might not be able to shift, not with your therapy, but you'd be in jimseung.

Even now your fox twists and lashes out with her claws, rending flesh, feeling it in your chest—your neck–as you’re dropped to the earth.

The rage makes you incandescent, fur rippling ruddy and black across your arms as you sneeze and paw at your face, half-expecting to find the fox’s snout where your nose remains as human as ever.

You’re far enough away from the strike zone, you hope. You might be able to fight the influence of the contaminant but an Alpha without anti-shift doesn’t stand a chance.

Indeed, Johnny has reverted past the point of communication, the jaguar’s movements purely animal. You try to drag yourself away as he circles you, chin pulled in with a display of dominance. His mouth is open wide, giant teeth exposed as he tastes your scent.

You bare your own canines and growl a warning. Back off.

The jaguar vocalizes in answer, a chuff almost like a laugh. Then he’s rolling you with his massive head and paws as he greets you with unadulterated excitement. When you mewl out in pain he freezes, tongue mid-swipe over your face, dropping down to sniff at your chest and the bloody wound on your thigh.

You yelp when he rips at the torn skirt with his teeth, having a moment of panic at the thought of him deciding you taste good enough to eat and pushing back on the cat’s heavy brow. His orange eyes flick up at you, gently cleaning away the drying blood and dirt as he blinks slowly at you.

At least he doesn’t seem to think you’re food. You’re being treated like a kit, pushed down by a paw when you try to get back up, all so he can continue grooming you. You roll on your back in submission, breath sucking in at the pain in your chest.

“You still in there?” you ask, weakly.

If the Syndicate is watching it would be dangerous to order him again but you know if you don’t he’s going to lick the top layers of your dermis off trying to treat the bone-deep wound.

He rumbles like an engine in answer.

“Come out,” you whisper your order.

You feel him change back, heat and moisture roiling over you from the release of mass and energy. He lifts up from your legs in a daze, eyes still bright with his cat.

“You’re safe,” he says, lisping a bit with the lingering changes to his teeth.

“Neither of us are safe here, you fool,” you scold him, coughing at the dryness in your throat. “You most of all. You were supposed to run away, not into it.”

You roll to your side to spit out pollen-yellow saliva, trying to ignore the bloom of fungal spores and ground cover from the thick wad.

“Don’t even get a ‘thanks’,” Johnny retches a little, coughing up his own lungful of goo. “What in the hell is this stuff–?”

“Spring gas. Jimseung poison,” you say. Of course he’d never encountered these bombs, as far as you knew he’d never made it that far North. “They must have wanted you to fight feral.”

“How are we–”

“We were lucky,” you say, tiredly, testing your leg and crumpling back to the ground. Somehow he’s managed to catch you by the ankle, the both of you wheezing as you succumb to the effects, unable to fight against him as he pulls himself over you.

“It’s old ammo–probably degraded,” you explain to distract yourself from the press of his body. “High enough heat can burn it off–”

“You’re here.” The way he whispers the words tugs on your heart, all dreamy and wistful.

You don’t acknowledge it. “Yes, I’m here. I can keep you out of jimseung, I think. We’d have to stay together–”

“You’re here,” he repeats, forehead pressing yours as he rubs his nose against yours. “My precious little kit.”

You push on his shoulder where the echo of his rosettes are burnt black into his golden skin, muddying his re-emerging tattoos.

“Don’t you get it, you idiot? You’re in danger, they want to kill you–”

“So I should be thanking you,” he says, drowsily, looking down at you with unfiltered affection. “For saving me.”

Johnny is mostly human–eyes dilated so wide only a thin ring of honey-colored iris remains. His ears and hands have remained changed, tail swatting at the air beyond the clean lines of his naked body, fur still visible where his hair grows naturally.

You know he’s struggling against his cat, a feeling like fire racing over his skin as he finds the only therapy available. You’re lifted up bodily with a cry, going limp as his face buries in your neck and rapid breaths douse your shoulder. Claws prick and unprick through your clothing where he’s wrapped completely around you, nuzzling against your racing pulse.

“God, I missed you,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

He folds down with you still at his mercy, heartbeat slowing marginally as your pheromones bring him to a calmer state.

“Stop making that godawful noise,” you protest, wriggling in his grasp.

“You don’t like it?” That only spurs him on more, licking at your neck as you cry out, fists uselessly pressed to his bare chest. Johnny rumbles in contentment as he rubs his cheek over and over again against you protectively. As much as you try to wrest free he holds on to you tighter, unable to get enough. He's warm and tender–all things unwelcome in this place.

“Get off of me, you pig!” you bark. You can’t order him here, can’t reveal anything that might compromise you both, but you can still try to extricate yourself from what feels like a more dangerous situation than the one you’ve just fled. This isn’t the time or place for an intimate moment.

Johnny lets you go. You only make it a few inches, pushed down face-first into the soft leaf litter and further assailed by searching hands over your leg. His touch sparks a new flame through the ache, your fox desperate for him to continue comforting you physically.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Feel like I was hit by a truck,” you groan, inhaling sharp when his tongue traces your oozing wounds again. “Stop, please.”

“You do taste different,” he murmurs, idiot’s grin in his voice. “Sweeter, like candy.”

“If you don’t stop this nonsense I’ll make it so you can’t speak, again,” you say over your shoulder. You can’t let this continue, not with your body’s reaction to this much-longed-for care.

The unspoken threat carries through–he eases off of you, still straddling you. He leans down to nudge the side of your face with his nose. The intimacy has you more dizzy than the contamination, body surging up unwillingly as your tail swats between you.

“Even with everything I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, lips trailing over the side of your face. Your heart is racing, the world blurring beyond as you avoid kissing him back, eyes clenched shut against his attention.

“My beautiful little kit,” he murmurs. “When we get out of here I'll take care of you so good. Make you a nest just right for you to–”

“How much blood did you lose?” you ask, too aware of the hot drip of it from his side.

“‘M fine,” he says, licking at your ear. “Felt like dying not knowing you were alright.”

You are most certainly not alright. You struggle to turn over beneath him, meeting him with your mouth against his jawline.

“Johnny,” you say. “We’re being watched.”

“They know who you belong to.” He’s high as a kite, you realize–probably more on pheromones than the gas. It’s so incredibly stupid considering the circumstances but then so is everything about this trial. He seems to realize it as well as something passes over him, a moment of consciousness.

“Was this part of your plan?”

“No! What plan?!” you put a hand to his mouth as he smirks down at you.

“Someone dumped me here to complicate this knowing you'd be dosed,” you whisper as quietly as you can, shoving at the blanket of his wide shoulders. “But it's good. If I wasn’t . . .”

You both know he wouldn’t be here at all–just the jaguar. You think the smallest push would send him reeling back into his true form, without even a sliver of the humanity he’d spent years learning how to keep surfaced while in full shift.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “We'll get you to safety, we can’t risk any harm to–”

“We can’t risk them seeing you feral, or fully shifted,” you deflect. “We just need to find Jae–”

Johnny hisses, not as comical as it should be with the rage you can see twisting his expression. You instinctively snarl back, scratching at his shoulder. It snaps him out of it, retreating in an instant, looking as hurt as if you’d yanked his tail.

“Control yourself,” you say, scuttling back, testing your injured leg. “He’s not your enemy. Who knows how many more of those things are out there. We need to work together.”

“He’s not taking you. Over my dead body,” Johnny says. It’s really a wasted effort to try to speak to him with the Alpha in charge, his body movements whiplike as he listens for a threat, nose twitching against the thick smoke from the embers of the explosion drifting in your direction.

“You’re mine, I told him you were mine–”

You try a different tactic, placing your palm in his wild hair to calm him. It works like a charm, his shoulders rounding as he leans into the touch and butts his head against your chest.

“Of course I’m yours,” you soothe.

He looks up at you warily, tail stilling. At least he’s smart enough to know your words don't match your intent.

You push your luck a little more, bringing his head against your breast and massaging his scalp behind his velvety ears. The Alpha quivers with excitement, making a sound deep in his chest as he rubs his human face into your belly instead.

Though you cringe at the gesture there’s a trace inside of pure peace, especially when he reaches around you to hold you again like his life depends on it. That motor-like attempt at purr is back, loud and vibrating you in a way that makes your resolve melt.

Whatever compulsion he’s feeling, the only thing motivating him is ensuring his mate is safe. It makes him brainless but it’s also endearing–and your fox is no wiser. She’s never been more satisfied with herself–you’d be rolling in the dirt in pleasure if you weren’t fighting to stay alert.

“If you want to protect us you’ll do what I say, won’t you, Youngho?” you ask, feeling him nod as a whine-like noise comes out instead of words.

“I can only trust you if you stay in control. You need to stay in control.”

Only enough to be believable, you think. You can’t forget your audience, after all, as sweet as this might appear to an outside observer, his tendency to submit to you can only be considered a weakness. No, there has to be a limit.

“We’re going to find Yuno,” you begin, carefully enunciating the other’s birth name while pulling away. “He can help us get out of here–”

He manages at least two seconds before he stiffens and breaks, rising up over you. Your fox is submitting immediately, unabashedly aroused by this display of dominance.

“Not. Him.” he says between clenched teeth, fangs pushing into his swollen lips. “You can't trust him in jimseung. He doesn’t care about you the same way I–”

“Snap out of it,” you say, struggling away from him. “None of us are making it out of here if we don't work together.”

“You want him more than me?” He looks just as baleful as before, panting. “You want to make me kill him?”

“I want you to protect us,” you yell. “He’s your pack–”

“No one can take you,” he repeats, nostrils flaring as he crouches over you. “You’re mine.”

You can hear something stalking towards you from the darkness–unnoticed by Johnny in his cresting anger.

“Fine. Prove yourself and kill those things. Kill all of them,” you order, reaching mentally inward and snapping the thin thread of control you can feel keeping you from becoming your animal. His eyes blaze yellow, startled as the change begins.

It's just in time for the Panther drone to attack.

Johnny whips around, instantly more beast than himself, claws raking metal as the scent of fresh blood overtakes the perfumed air. You take the chance to run, hunted down by another of the drones bursting from the brush.

Climb, you think, stumbling towards the nearest tree. It’s only pure instinct and adrenaline that gets you up the first branch, hearing the snap of a metal jaw inches from your ankle. You cling to the limb above you with all your hybrid’s strength, unable to pull yourself higher–

Your perch dips down. For a moment you’re afraid that you’re being pulled by the awful thing snapping at your heels before you recognize the tension is in your clothing, snatched up by the back of your underdress.

It’s just in time as something explodes beneath you, heat searing your skin and nearly shaking you both out of the tree you’re being bodily swung up into.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, you lament–seized around the middle and dragged upward by clawed hands.

This time, at least, the Alpha who has captured you is still human.

Boom.

The projection in the middle of the arena is scattershot with fireworks, sparks flying and shrieking beneath the opaque grid as the returning audience rushes in to see what’s going on. Mark’s blood goes cold seeing the shadows of trees lit bright by another grenade burst, some deep fear response unlocked by the sound of bombs.

Across the box, Taeyong ducks instinctively, ears pulled back as he fights out of the circle of the other Alphas keeping him separated, his drawn face scanning the room for threats.

“They haven’t announced the match start yet, I haven’t finished my calls–” Bang stands up, only one of many whose attention is turned to the screens above the open interior of the stadium as they flash to black from displaying the usual wash of corporate advertisements.

A series of bright green digits and flashes preface the hacked signal, cohesing into one principal symbol: a circle with an unbroken horizontal line beneath it.

He knows it well–too well. The unbroken omega.

[Respected members of the Syndicate,] a modulated voice invades the speakers, stilling the room. [Your attempts to set the terms of this tribunal have revealed your greed, stupidity, and most of all–your hand.]

Footage plays of a fight he never expected to see. You and what looks to be Johnny struggling against a pair of Savannah Panthers, no weapons or resources except your claws and teeth. He’s most surprised by the sight of you rushing head-first into the fray, as if you could do anything against those nightmare creations.

Somehow, you both gain the upper hand–at least until the grenades are fired. The fight ends with a flash of green, dead and broken Zhirafa drones swallowed up by a nightmare explosion of plant-life bursting forth from the radius of the strike point.

“What the fuck is that?” Choi barks. “We didn’t clear using–”

“Kill the feed,” Duke Kim hisses, order ignored as the attache beside him struggles with his agent.

“We don’t have a way–production says they lost communication with the control crew entirely–”

[Let’s make a wager without the house having advantage. Your greatest prize is contained within the field before you, trapped with your entire illegal stockpile of biological weaponry and the Alphas you’ve consigned to die by it.]

Bang’s tablet slips from his fingers, clattering against bottles of imported liquor. Shrieks and shouts follow, as those witnessing the show realize this isn’t just entertainment.

[You have one, simple step to fulfill, to regain your investment. Proceed with the trials and execution of the son and heir of Lee Taeri, one Lee Taeyong, for his father's crimes against our kind and for the millions of innocent souls whose blood stains your Council's hands.]

[Then, and only then, will we release your so-called prize.]

Mark looks up at Taeyong, seeing genuine shock on his elder’s bruised face. The Vulpine turns to him, instinctively, shaking his head with his lips parted.

He didn’t know. It makes Mark even more angry at being left in the dark on whatever Taeyong had planned, all of it blown open with their blindness to this unanticipated weak point.

[Open the field and die with them. Alter the rules of the game and you will be subjected to the same carnage inflicted upon you as handed down in your judgment. May your punishment match the crime.]

The feed goes dark, projection still flashing with burning trees and the reports of gunfire before the hologram disappears. The arena floor is blank but for a simple reminder of the message: a taegeuk rotating on the field, under the watchful eyes of that monstrous xiezhi statue over the royal box.

A royal box, he sees, is now completely vacated.

In the strangled silence that follows the end of the message, chaos erupts. Half of the audience is fleeing, turned back at the door by security guards waiting for an order. Mark forgets himself to move towards his cousin, crowded back by the hulking guards that had been assigned to keep him seated as the clan Elders dealt with the ongoing crisis.

“The entire control suite is offline,” Kim stutters. “No in or out, we’re working on retaking the signal but–”

“Sokolov wants the demonstration canceled or they pull sponsorship,” Park says. “We need to make sure nothing happens to the . . .”

He drifts off as he realizes what’s happening beside him, Taeyong moving across the crowded space to close on Mark with the same aggression they’d been separated from earlier.

“Did you know they’d take her?” he accuses, tail bristling behind him.

“What, no?!” Mark yells.

“It was your recruits who last had her. And this–”

One small gesture at the screen burnt with a symbol of a movement his father hadn’t started but had been responsible for in the end–the very same reason Fourth Prince had faced execution when the Exodus forces were brought to heel.

North and south, all over again, he realizes, far too late. This time he’s tight in the clutches of the enemy, no ally in sight with Haechan and Taeil taking care of the wounded and Yuta investigating the crime.

“This is a set-up,” he argues. “We have to find them first, make sure they can get out without being kill–”

“We finish this,” Taeyong says, rounding on the other members of the Syndicate Council. “Tell Key we can expedite the final match.”

He doesn’t understand this game Taeyong is playing, and doesn't even think he’s in control of it with how shaken the Vulpine looks before he turns his back on him.

“Where did you take our enforcers?” Mark’s words are for Duke Kim, who’s leaving the box as if he doesn’t want to see the outcome, scurrying away from his responsibilities as always. “We need to get down there before they try to get out–”

“No. You come with us,” Choi says, raising a flashy chrome pistol at Mark’s face. Park and the others don’t move to stop him, Taeyong regarding him over his shoulder with a dismissive look.

“We proceed with the trials, cousin,” Taeyong says, expression grim, and resigned. “We’ll let the heavens decide which of us deserves to walk out of here alive.”

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hexonthepeach · 9 months

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a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 0: prologue

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate's clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3]

It was always your mother's plan to escape the Dome when flood season began.

You think, maybe, the heavens had taken her prayers far too literally.

The rain had begun the moment you'd stepped foot on your commandeered fishing boat–forced to steer into the mist towards the neon skies so far off, away from the slums built up against the Dome’s seawall.

She’d guided your control on the craft rather than steer, barking orders at you over the buffet of waves. Over and over again she's told you the plan–the destination. The standard issue wrist agent with your seasonal background blinks with the coordinates she'd encrypted into it.

It hadn't been the first indication that she knew she might have to abandon you.

You wanted to be home. In two days you were supposed to attend your confirmation–the Imperial robes laid out in ceremony in your quarters, adjustments made up until the end.

They'd taken special care to incorporate your grandmother's engagement gown into the design, hand-embroidering yards of silk and transparent tulle to mimic the tail you had yet to fully grow. Your ears were just beginning to migrate, covered in hair in the awkward transition from the side of your skull to where a fox's should be.

This was supposed to be your moment. You were to be a Queen, finally allowed the freedom and company you’d been promised for so long.

Instead of a debut you're faced with a century’s storm, your hands torn to bleeding from hanging onto the rust-and-barnacle coated bars of an ancient fire escape as gale force winds try to tear you off.

A new gust of wind blasts you weightless as an NSMR autodyne explodes into view. Its searchlight darts from the abandoned boat smashed by the waves below to skitter across the decimated side of a neighboring building, swinging inevitably towards your mother’s feet as they disappear above.

"Hurry!" You hear her shout.

"Wait!" you scream out but it may as well be a whisper. Adrenaline propels you up–up–up–light cutting through the horizontal sheet of rain towards you, just as you're gripped and pulled into the nearest broken window.

"Down," your mother yells, pushing you to the floor. You lay prone against broken glass and debris, clinging to her arm as the bluish eye of the aircraft appears outside.

Mannequins are illuminated a ghostly white, green lasers criss-crossing their eyeless faces. When the searchlight passes, you both flatten against the wall, eyes shut against the dust from the tail rotor.

It feels like an eternity before the thunder of the aerodyne's blades recede, the ancient department store dark once more.

"We can't stop moving," your mother says, checking the sky before dragging your exhausted body up to your feet. "They'll be back soon."

"Where can we go?" you shout, terror making you combative. "We're trapped here. We should just turn ourselves–"

Her hand strikes your cheek hard, ringing your head. "If you go back, you die," she repeats for the thousandth time. "No matter what happens, you run."

And then she's rushing off again, leaving you nodding at her back as she heads deeper into the abandoned floor, a blur even after you've wiped the tears into your soaked windbreaker.

Deeper inside the building the screaming winds are replaced by the echo of water streaming down from points above, into an open space where escalators disappear into the darkness below. The grid is offline, but solar powered striplights outline the floors, shadowed by nature overtaking them. The central atrium is a veritable jungle, waterfalls from the leaking roof splashing on dinner-plate size leaves and hanging vines.

It's strange to consider that this place was once inhabited and purposeful; now it's a neglected cemetery stripped of everything valuable. The signs have been extinguished for half a century. Eerily dark storefronts like caverns encircle a central tunnel leading to the flooded waterline below.

"Do you hear that?" Your mother tilts her head, and your fox ears follow suit, perking forward. You grip the railing to peer into the chasm, seeing nothing but a deep void surrounded by concentric rings of blue fading into purple.

"It sounds like a river," you say.

"It's an old subway station.” She ignores your querying look, bringing up a map on her agent. “We're elevated enough to access a line that's not submerged. It's dangerous, but it's safer than being out there. We just need to find an emergency exit–"

"Wait," you interrupt, tilting your chin up as you look out from under your hood. A pulsing sound, like a heartbeat, grows louder, approaching. For a moment, you fail to understand the change in texture on the ceiling, a lightening of the green-black like the sun has emerged.

Then the thick, translucent layer fractures like ice, caving in.

The flooded rooftop's water appears to freeze in midair, refracting into a million rainbows from the searchlight of the autodyne hovering above it.

The illusion shatters as the break widens, a sinkhole in the sky.

There's no escape this close to the deluge of water and debris collapsing from two floors above. You're thrust against the guardrail as it buckles, plummeting into the darkness below with a scream that's engulfed by the roaring water long before you reach the bottom.

Breaking the surface is surreal. Your eyes remain open as you're plunged deep into the black depths feet-first, twisting your body to land with as little surface area as possible, immediately fighting to find up once the shock recedes.

A horrible cascade of broken sections of rooftop sink around you, trails leading from the silver plane above. You follow, lungs burning, almost losing your entire breath at the whump of impact as something huge and heavy hits, pushing you down.

Every muscle burns as you swim, swim, swim to the edge of the concrete block–climbing up and over until it's beneath you. The vacuum left in its wake sucks you down, but you keep kicking until you're free, finding the remains of an escalator to cling to and pull yourself up, using the thick roots entwined around its broken handrail.

You’re out of the worst here–just the patter of water broken by plantlife filling your mouth and nose as you cry out for your mother.

She's nowhere to be seen, or heard.

Something else answers your call.

A white light appears overhead, shadows scattering. The gusts from the hovering autodyne blow down, blinding you as the water is pulled into heavy chop.

"This is a NSMR rescue, stay where you are–" A robotic voice orders, distorted by the chamber.

You duck down underwater. This time you can see the horrible debris field beneath you, lit stark by the slanting rays of light.

The mossy bottom is closer than you imagined, brought near by a fresh layer of translucent plasticine and concrete. Air bubbles roil up, and you scan any of them for her–

–there, amidst the moon-like rubble, a white hand emerges along with a fall of dark hair.

You don't think, you act–taking a deep breath and diving back down. You’re tugged by an underwater current sucking you into it until you can grab onto a length of rebar from the section of roof keeping your mother trapped in the deep.

What you thought was just her hair is also a ruddy cloud seeping from a laceration across her forehead. Her mouth is ajar, spewing bubbles.

You have hope still, seeing that blood flow and that air.

All you need to do is get her out and force the water out of her lungs. She’s all you have left in this world, and though you’d resented her for ripping you from the comfort of your life you can’t imagine returning to it without her.

And so you work to free her, the seconds ticking down in your mind. There’s no give when you pull her arm. You crawl beside her, using your back and burning legs to push with all your might against the slab pinning her body.

You feel the slightest movement behind you, adrenaline powering your efforts to widen the gap as you readjust and push again, tugging on her clothing to try and loosen her.

It’s such a struggle that you don’t register the shadow of death falling over you both.

Suddenly there's something–someone–in the water, between you and the light.

You turn to see nothing that makes sense, darkness smothering you as an arm wraps around your neck and arm and pulls you up. You have to stifle the urge to scream, instead fighting back–clawing and twisting like a dying fish as your rescuer struggles to hold onto you.

Your immature frame is no match for an adult, male captor–not as you're pulled free and dragged towards the surface, hand splayed towards the blurring image of your mother's dying body.

There's only animal instinct driving you when you let water gush into your mouth, opening it underwater to bite, hard, into the pale flash of wrist encircling your chest.

Your teeth are sharper than most, your hybrid's jaw even stronger. You can feel the bone crunch as you choke.

You have a moment of blissful relief, suspended, before your oxygen-starved brain tries to breathe in one last time. The delicious taste on your tongue is washed away by brick-heavy, icy water.

And then you drown.

Dying feels strangely calm, in the face of everything else. Your vision goes red-to-black as you're swept deeper, that riptide current of an underground river dragging you away.

One last glimpse of your mother is captured in your mind's eye, as if a hallucination: her arm outstretched towards you, eyes open and unreflecting, beckoning you into the dark.

And beside her, something inhuman–monstrous–reaching to embrace you in her stead.

Blue-violet light seeps between your eyelids, your ears muffled.

You're drowning again–this time in air as you vomit up the fluid in your lungs. Your body is wracked again, and again, by its will to survive.

Gloved hands hold your face to the side, tugging wet strands of hair away and pressing against your pulled-back ears. It takes you a long time to realize that you’re being soothed like you were a child, this time by a stranger.

You can't help but cry, disoriented.

"Eomma, eomma," you repeat when you can speak, voice burnt away from choking.

"She's alive," someone says, handheld light arcing over your blinking eyes. “Good, less paperwork.”

“Shut up,” the person holding you says, voice bitter. “I need you on patrol in case he comes back.”

“He was fine before you shot at him–”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Your chest hurts so much, cold and stabbing with each breath. Your mouth tastes like you've sucked mud from a copper coin. Something other than bile burns your nostrils. It's a new scent–not the mildew and construction smell of the mall but frighteningly natural.

You've only recently come into your designation, you have yet to build your canid scent memory, but this is something utterly alien to you–green and citrus and–

"She'll make it,” the other man says.

The man holding you cradles you, rubbing your back as you splutter up what feels like another lungful. "Can you hear me, ____?"

At the sound of your name you twitch against his hold, kicking until he lets you go.

Run, she’d said. She’d told you to run.

You scramble in a layer of loam and dead leaves until you’re at the edge of the light, at the lip of the moss-coated pit. The water has already receded a few feet below, dark and calm.

"She's gone," the man grabs onto your shoulders to keep you from throwing yourself back in. "I'm sorry. We'll bring her home too, I promise."

You sob wordlessly, body folding into a circle as reality crashes down on you again along with the fierce pain flaring in your right shoulder, radiating into your skull and spine.

"I need to treat her. Arm with boosters and stay alert."

"He couldn't have attacked her. He did life support. It had to be an accident–" The man standing over you has a scratchy voice, deeper and more threatening as he protests the accusation.

"I don't care. If the kid doesn't bleed out she's at risk for bacterial infection. I have to treat her. You keep an eye out for Suh and dose him again on sight or I'll–"

"Or what, Moon? Last time I checked, Lee was in charge."

The man holding you trembles with rage. "Or I report this incident."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You know what the penalty is for going feral. And no anti-shift? At all? Just shut up and follow orders for once."

The other man goes silent, dropping the light to the ground and moving away from you both.

Your rescuer gently repositions you in his lap, exposing your neck and face to his scrutiny. At this angle you can see he has a serious but kind face, military haircut and NSMR name badge visible in the floodlight. Moon.

"Am I dying?" you croak out, raising your hand up to grip his vest as he rummages through a field kit.

"Not even close. But I need you to be a good girl and hold still. It's going to hurt."

"No," you say, eyes welling with tears. "Just let me go. I can't go back."

"Be strong for me, alright?" He holds your hand with his left in a textured glove, pouring something on your cheek. Suddenly you're burning alive from the outside in.

Even with your ruined voice, you're able to shriek.

The sound pierces the building, echoes disappearing into the static of flowing water. The fire in your skin rages with each new wash of antiseptic, the bottle emptied over you.

"Good girl," Moon soothes, his hand still in yours as he dabs away what feels like pure flame. He carefully unloosens your vise-like grip, setting you down to pull more supplies out.

"The worst part is over. We're going to bandage you up now. I may have to do stitches but I'll give you something for the pain first, okay? You're very brave–"

Tick-tick-tick.

You barely register his words, ears flicking towards the source of the sound–something rumbling overhead. Your gaze follows a moment too late as the shadow falls down from the thick foliage, shaking the ground when it hits.

"Fuck, Na–" Moon lets out a muffled yell as something huge descends on you both.

"No!" You croak, watching the medic swept bodily into the brush.

Bright flashes illuminate something terrifyingly large, moving at an otherworldly speed as it disappears into the leaves. More shots are fired, from another angle–somewhere overhead. The underbrush explodes with the return of the monster.

If the attacking creature was angry before now it's frenzied, rushing forward to swipe over you at the other man. You can't help but curl into a ball, afraid of the white flash of teeth and claws passing by overhead. Loam peppers your raised arms as you protect your fragile body.

And then, quiet. The breathing of the creature is inches from your nose–ribs expanding under an ocean of dark fur, as it stalks forward.

You brace for your end, knowing you can't stay quiet if he attacks you next.

"Stop. It's me." The other man shouts, voice changing pitch as he moves back. The gun clatters from his hand against a hard floor. "We're helping her."

The monster doesn't follow, crouched over you and snarling. You can see the flattened ears and broad-skulled profile of a large cat–not some jimseung hybrid form like in the war archive footage but fully animal, eyes slitted in rage.

The red tufts of tranquilizer darts emerge from its heaving side and neck. It doesn't appear to be going down anytime soon, roaring a final warning before turning its attention to its true prey.

You.

Instinct has you frozen, whimpering softly as that giant skull bends down to push your shoulder–testing if you're alive. You stay limp, shivering involuntarily. There's a hot chuff of breath on your exposed neck, and then the horrible sandpaper rasp of a tongue dragged across it, revealing wounds you hadn't even known were there.

There’s no way to stop from crying out at the new sting, the sound weak with the lack of energy left in your body.

Miraculously, the predator pulls away, giant form cringing. Through the slits in your closed eyes you watch it favor its right paw, licking at something shining in the LED’s glow.

"Dose him again." Moon's voice is a croak, the brush swaying a few meters away. You can’t help but be grateful he’s still alive.

“It could kill him.”

"I don't care." Moon says, exhausted. You hear a louder rustle as he drags himself back, the clicks of an ammo check and the cocking of a gun making your anxiety spike.

The cat snarls in his direction, collapsing beside you.

"Look. He's not hurting her," Na says. "He's protecting her."

You have no idea what's happening but the cat has settled beside you, choosing to lick your exposed forearm guarding your head. That warmth seeps into your frozen skin, threading deep into your pain-wracked limbs.

For reasons yet unknown to you, your body relaxes, tension easing by degrees as the animal that is your true self realizes there's no danger. Something else is making you act against any rational instinct, a hazily recognized similarity infusing your senses.

Protection. Home. Safety.

That green scent, bright with each rattling inhalation.

It's coming from him.

Agony and grief fade away, just background noise, as you move carefully to look up. The huge cat stills, mouth open. His amber eyes are mostly pupil with the infusion of drugs, unreactive to the bright glow of the lamp.

That alien gaze looks into you, something recognizable trapped within. You raise your hand, nails black with dirt and blood, quivering with the effort to stay calm.

His inky nose twitches forward, sniffing.

It feels like the answer to a question you hadn’t even asked when he pushes forward to rub against your offered touch, whiskers scratching your open palm.

The cat’s face rolls against your hand, dragging a hot lip and the edge of a thumb-sized fang to your wrist. You trace the dense fur over his dry nose up to the ridge of his forehead. Here the hide is softer, lighter and a different shade of black where rosette spots emerge.

You watch his eyes close in a vaguely human expression of pleasure. He makes a deep sound, that same rumble you’d heard before, minus aggression.

"Careful–" Moon warns.

"I'm fine," you say–knowing by the hollowness in your heart that you aren't, will never be.

At least this is within your control. Like a vignette from one of your leather-bound fairy tale books: the maid and the beast who’d decided it was better to serve her than eat her by some enchantment.

What enchantment? Something your mother had instructed in all those obtuse lessons about their methods of control–an easy thing that seems so hard to grasp with the pain and fear thundering within you.

When everything else fails, put them to sleep.

"You can sleep now, okay? Please sleep,” you urge the cat.

His purr seems to be an affirmation; he collapses in slow-motion, swaying a little as if fighting to the end. His head comes to rest beside yours, steam rising in the light with his breath–each more shallow than the last.

"Did you see that?"

The cat wakes at the voice, lip curling to expose yellow-white teeth again. A slow blink meets you eye to eye as you stroke his browline, soothing him into quiescence with the lightest of touches.

"We have a much bigger problem," Moon says, suddenly behind you. "I'm sorry, princess."

Something sharp pierces your neck, but you’re too tired to fight–too focused on staying quiet so the beast doesn’t stir.

There's a snarl but no movement besides the twitch of a paw, claws extending.

"Please . . ."

"What?" You have a glimpse of Moon's bloodied face. By the stinging in your own jaw you're a casualty of this encounter, too.

"Please . . . don't hurt him," you plead.

"No," Moon says, glancing at the body beside you. "We won't hurt anyone."

The other man appears over his shoulder, blurred by the sedative–eyes reflecting green in the dim.

"If you want to protect him, you'll keep quiet." The stranger says.

"Stop–" Moon says.

"You tell anyone and he dies, do you understand?" You know he's speaking to you, something flaring inside your belly. You can’t let anything happen to him–not your beast.

Your beast.

You nod, tears streaming from your cracked eyelids.

"Good girl," he says.

Movement in the corner of your eye surprises you, distantly aware of a rush of heat in the chill of the dank space. Your head lolls to the side, unable to register what you’re seeing–a drastic change in the hulking form before the floodlight is snuffed out.

His profile is burnt into your vision like an old photo negative, human shoulder dipping with each exhale, and a hand that was once a paw curled next to your own, as if reaching to hold it.

[next]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct 127 imagines #nct fic #nct imagines

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hexonthepeach · 8 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 13: shock

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security] [9: secret] [10: prisoner] [11: gambit] [12: haze]

wc: 5.3k

chapter warnings: torture, dubcon explicit sexual content

recommended listening: chrome arts - onlyoneof

Everything inside you is agony. Your heart aches, your body throbbing relentlessly, cramping with the need to be filled by your Alpha. You hadn’t thought it wouldn't feel right–that you'd feel worse rather than relieved. Your fox keens, not accepting the encounter as anything but a brief distraction, starving for the real thing.

Haechan is inside you still, knot barely deflating, occasionally bubbling back to consciousness only to drop back down into the hole you knew so well with a muttered word or a weak sob.

You'd accidentally overdosed him–an easy mistake with your tolerance and his complete lack of it. He'll live, but it’s doubtful you’ll ever get his trust back, not after what you'd subjected him to. It had to be done, you think. It had to.

Haechan's agent blinks on his wrist, pressed against his face where he's shielded his eyes from the overstimulating light from the screen.

A call, of course–Mark checking in. You have to think fast, a little clearer with the warmth inside you and Haechan's taste in your mouth. You seize his wrist and angle it so it captures your weeping face as you answer the call.

"What the hell–are you alright?"

"I made a mistake," you babble. "Please don't be mad at me, please don't hurt him."

"Calm down," Mark says. It's obvious he's in transit, Yuta saying something you can barely hear.

"Where's Taeil?"

"I had to sedate them. Both of them. They couldn't help it. They both tried to . . . They're fine but I'm scared. You said you wouldn't leave me alone . . . "

"Stay where you are," he shouts, the screen flickering as he runs. You hang up,

"Monster." Haechan says, pushing at you weakly. "Get off of me."

"Sleep," you order. It's effortless to push him into unconsciousness, feeling him finally slip out of you. He looks pathetically undone. It makes your chest ache to see his soft lips parted, the memory of them still a warm phantom against your own.

You’ve been awash in his misery since the bite but it didn't change how you felt about him–like he was someone to be cherished and cared for. If anything it’s worse. After all, he’s yours now. Your first, hopefully not your last.

You push his hair back into place and fix his clothing, restoring some of his decency. It's the least you can do.

This would have all been so much easier if you weren't up against Johnny's order. It had to be the reason they'd resisted and would continue to resist instinct–you had to find a workaround.

You clean up quickly, showering to get rid of the disgusting mess of spend and slick and worse drying on your thighs. If you cry again, no one has to know it’s not because of the pain and fire wracking through you.

You don't feel changed, like they said it would–of course you wouldn't, without a bite mark administered to you. That’s what Taeil must have meant when he said that it wouldn’t be enough: you needed a real mating, not this farce.

All those missives in the Academy’s intimacy training and books about it being a sacred, beautiful union were lies, you knew–methods to get you to accept the Alpha boot on your neck. But maybe if you were more careful you’d get one of them to agree to help you before the fire ate you up inside and burnt away your last shreds of control.

But who?

There are only two options left.

You get dressed quickly, pulling on one of your nicer sets of clothing–something unassuming and modest for your next target.

You make it only as far as the doorway, the doors hissing open to reveal the smiling face of not your first choice.

Jungwoo is dressed casually in dark streetwear, but he's still armed, nightstick prodding you in the chest as he closes in.

"Going somewhere?"

"I thought you were off duty?" You say, raising your hands.

"I was, but you caused such a scene." He shakes his head, tsking. "You really have a knack for getting into trouble."

Your heart sinks, skin flaring hot.

"You saw?"

"This room isn't private, you know. You did a good job getting the cameras. Well, most of them." Jungwoo chuckles at the sight of Haechan sprawled out, sniffing the air in a way that has you clenching your thighs together. "They really didn't stand a chance, did they?"

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"It's more fun this way.” He turns to cock his head, admiring you. “I don't think I've ever seen someone dig their own grave so deeply they kept going all the way to Hell."

"Are you going to tell Mark?"

"Tell me what?"

You'd heard his footsteps down the hallway, never more grateful to see his face and Yuta's as they flank in around the taller man threatening you.

Before you can come up with a well-crafted response, Yuta answers for you.

"Taeil sent me a message about getting you out to clear your head," he admits to Mark, crossing his arms. "Thought the old dog just wanted some privacy with his favorite patient.”

He smiles at you, nose wrinkling. "But it was you, wasn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" Mark asks.

"Princess here has a lot of hidden talents. Hacking agents, shutting down security," Jungwoo says, thoroughly pleased. "Using Moon's credentials to send encrypted messages to the Dome."

Your heart is no longer in your stomach, it's in freefall. You'd known the risks, but you'd had to.

"I think it's safe to say she's not just an ordinary little omega. But none of that is even the most interesting, is it, Princess?"

You don't answer, unconsciously moving between them and the man passed out behind you.

"The brat found out the hard way," Jungwoo says.

"I didn't think he had it in him," Yuta laughs.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Mark flares into anger, rounding on the two. "This is serious. Be serious. What did you do to them?"

The question is directed at you, rage controlled in his features as he approaches you.

"I just wanted to make it stop hurting," you say, meekly, not lying in the slightest. "But I got scared . . ."

Unlike before Mark seems wholly uninterested in your theatrics, eyes darting to the couch. His eyes widen as he seems to put two and two together.

"Did you . . .?"

"You can't smell that?" Jungwoo stifles a laugh.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he says, a little more softly but twice as dangerous as he stands over you. You could lie and pretend to be afraid, you could simper and break down. But the pain makes you angry, quick to let all the bottled rage within pour out as you hold your ground.

"Why don’t we start with you telling Taeil to put me in a coma," you say, glaring up at him.

Mark sputters a little, hand running over his head to tug at his hair. "For your safety!"��

"For yours!" You hiss, tail swatting behind you. “I was right, you’re all cowards. A whole pack of useless degenerates and not one of you can do your gods-granted function. I should never have come here."

Mark's confusion quickly transforms into ready-action.

"No. You shouldn’t have. Down."

His order rolls off you with the wild rush of jimseung tearing through you. You adopt a defensive stance, hunched to spring.

Mark grabs you by the shoulders, surprised when you flow into the motion rather than against it, seizing him by the wrists so hard your nails sink into his forearms, teeth snapping inches from his collarbone. He knees you in the gut, the targeted attack making you scream in anguish.

It breaks your hold long enough for him to pin you to his chest, feeling the threat of cold metal against your temple and the click of a safety.

"Little kitten has claws after all." you mock him, twisting so your spittle flecks his face. He’s so close you can see his jaw clench. "Not such a nice guy, are you?"

He shakes you off, baring his teeth.

"Johnny was right about you," he says, tone bitter. The words hit like targeted strikes through the feverish haze of your anger, finding your heart.

"Coward,” you repeat.

He doesn't take his eyes off you, shoving you at Yuta.

"I should have listened to Taeil. She can spend the rest of her stay in Containment."

Mark watches the collar snap around your neck with finality, the muzzle over your nose and mouth already constricting. Yuta checks the fit, pinching your ear when he's done.

You sit in silence, eyes locked on Haechan asleep in the hospital bed across the room, elevated to keep from accidentally choking on his own vomit. As much as it hurts to be reminded of your sins, you feel like it's a necessity to stay fixed on him.

You need to protect your new claim.

It hadn't taken long for Mark to check the security footage, or to find the evidence of your worser crimes. He looks at you with disgust now, clearly uncomfortable even being in the same room but keeping you under careful watch.

"I’m calling Doyoung," Mark says. "We need to get a plan started for sending her back to the Syndicate."

"Good luck,” Yuta responds. “You heard her little story about the guy she marked in the Palace. It explains what happened to Johnny."

"Neither claimed her the way he did. They'll get over it.” Mark doesn’t believe his own words, tasting you more clearly than he had in the last few days. Johnny hadn’t been hyperbolic when he’d said something about feeling like God was in the room with him when you were near. You’re omnipresent, that lotus scent permeating everything.

"They’re not going to want to give her up. Taeyong especially. Even if she wasn’t a liability, you’re going to have a hard time separating them," Jungwoo adds, scrolling through files on Taeil's station.

"Three of us in a few days, four if you count Johnny. She's more pack than most of us," Yuta says.

"Never." Mark can’t imagine you ever being accepted. Not after this.

"Can't fight biology," Jungwoo says, looking over his shoulder at you. "Impressive, isn't it?"

You stare at him blankly, walled off.

"The thing I don't get is why?" Mark says. "What would be the benefit of sacrificing a potential Queen or even that valuable of an agent just to fuck with us?"

"Would you want that thing running the Imperial Palace?" Yuta shrugs. “Seems like a good set-up to get us to execute her and take the fall for it.”

"There's something off about all of this." Mark sighs. "I need Doyoung to advise on it. And we need to bring the whole pack together for a tribunal."

"Good luck. He's probably balls deep in Taeyong right now," Jungwoo says, so casually you wonder if you'd heard him right. "If it isn't Johnny's turn."

“Watch it." Mark snaps.

"It's natural." Jungwoo returns to scrolling, eye flicking to where you're trying to stay composed. "You'll know if you ever catch a rut."

"I said shut up." Mark's hand reaches for his gun unconsciously, checking himself. Perspiration has appeared on his jawline, and he swipes it away with his upper arm as he takes over Jungwoo's place at the monitor bank.

"Feeling hot under the collar, Mark? Need a booster?" Jungwoo winks at you over the other man’s head.

"Just get her out of here," he snaps back. "I'd rather not deal with her if Johnny picks up."

You're desperate to hear the conversation but Yuta lifts you by your elbow, zip tie cuffs digging into your wrists.

"We'll be back in a few. Try not to jerk off to the security footage."

Mark flashes him his middle finger, still focused on the pulsing screen in front of him, call accepting as the doors whoosh shut.

"He's so uptight," Jungwoo comments, falling into step beside you. "It's too bad she hasn't pushed him out of puberty yet."

"You start the feed?" Yuta asks.

"T-minus 5 minutes to account for a slow walk to solitary. I'm not too worried, though. You know Doyoung, he'll keep him on that call for at least half an hour."

"And Jaehyun?"

"He's doing a deep run to intercept the dove she sent past our ice. Very nice work on that, would have slipped past us if we weren't trying to flush you out in the first place." Jungwoo's voice is soft, the sentiment genuine as he ruffles your ears over the muzzle’s straps.

"Should we take her to her cell first, get some better footage with her new accessory?" His gloved fingers trace over your collar and the nape of your neck, making you flinch.

"And wake up the white knight?" Yuta asks, dripping sarcasm. "No. Let's get in as much time as we can with her."

You have no idea what they mean but things quickly become more real the moment you're steered towards the living quarters versus your future prison. You pause, dragged a little as Yuta's hand tightens on your arm to pull you along with Jungwoo's help.

"Just a little trip to your new bedroom, precious. Nothing to be afraid of." Yuta's easy cadence has you actually feeling fear, now.

You shake your head, resisting with your bare heels dug into the cold floor.

"You know what's wonderful about these collars?" Jungwoo taps the thick strip of metal mesh. "A tiny bit of coding and you can get whatever level of control you want over an Alpha. Well, at least they're meant for Alphas who need taming. Never needed to use one on an omega before. Orange."

At the word you hear a beep and feel a tingle in your skin on the back of your neck, right before your eyesight flashes white and your legs give out from under you.

"Now we have to carry her, dumbass."

"Had to be sure it worked," Jungwoo says, catching your slow-motion fall. There's no sedation, you realize, just temporary paralysis from the spinal shock. It's painless but the worst part is that you are completely and utterly helpless.

You can't even scream with the muzzle on, the sounds trapped behind your closed lips as they haul you towards the hollow doorway of Johnny's residence.

"Love what you've done with the place," Yuta comments acerbically as you pass by familiar wreckage, carried up to the second floor between them. "Didn’t Mark give you clean-up duty?"

"Why should I be responsible for his messes?" Jungwoo pouts, kicking a shattered partition down to cascade over the black tile below. "I fed his turtles at least."

"I forgot about his stupid fucking turtles," Yuta says, tossing you on the bed. Johnny's room has been destroyed and put back together in the strangest manner possible, couch cushions fortressing a bed piled high with blankets and pillows and items of clothing.

Of course they’d built you a nest, or at least a mockery of one.

"I took the liberty of making the place more comfortable for you." Jungwoo confirms his hand in it. He props you up to cut your zip tie cuffs off, swaying back when you swipe at him with your freed hand.

"Yellow." Yuta says.

They both laugh as you keel over onto a pile of bedding, breath captured in your lungs until the muscles can work again.

It takes a few seconds to pass, Johnny's deep scent easing you back to earth and washing away the bitterness of Yuta and Jungwoo's evergreen and citrus pheromones. You feel clearer now than before, almost soothed by the invisible presence of your Alpha. If only it didn’t hurt twice as worse to remember that you’ve been abandoned.

Jungwoo sits next to you as Yuta crouches down to eye level, sharp features softened with a deadly smile.

"So, Princess–"

"–we have a few questions." Jungwoo interrupts, picking strands of hair away from your eyes with gentle movements. There’s something sinister about the fact that they’re both gloved–as if they need to conceal the evidence of whatever they’re going to do to you.

You shiver a bit, turning away.

Yuta shoots him a look. "You don't need to talk, just nod or shake your head when you're supposed to. We'll play nice if you do."

You don’t move, neck still twitching from the stimulation.

"First off. Did you plan on infiltrating our organization?"

You shake your head, eyes narrowing as your ears flatten.

Jungwoo pulls you up by your collar, tongue lapping at the moisture collected under your ear.

"Tastes like lying to me."

"Not a good start," Yuta intones. "Orange."

You wince as the command takes, inhaling sharply through your nose before the wind can be knocked out of you again. There's no way to get used to it: your autonomic systems flare into alarm with each minor jolt to your heart, adrenaline making you tremble.

There was no way this was a light treatment even for an alpha–clearly they didn’t care what your physiology could handle. Sweat soaks your skin, mingling with the tears.

"Do you have a handler in the Syndicate? Someone who gives you instructions?"

You shake your head limply, not bothering to sit up.

"I think she might be telling the truth." Jungwoo says, hand back on your cheek. "Interesting."

Yuta’s posture stiffens as he contemplates the next question. "Did you put the bounty on Johnny?"

His head angles as he watches your response, your panting breaths stilling as the words sink in.

Bounty? Johnny? Icy shock numbs you. You blink at the Felid, shaking your head more violently.

"She didn't know?" Jungwoo whistles a bit. "Thought that one was common knowledge."

You sit up, woozily, not breaking eye contact with your captor.

I didn’t know, you channel, eyebrows knitted together. They seem to understand, whether or not they believe you is another matter entirely.

Yuta lifts his shirt and pulls down his belt a bit to show you a scar distorting one of his many tattoos at the crease near his hip, the tissue puckered.

"The first time we got flagged on the dark networks was after your little stunt at the debut. Three different attempts, all highly paid and well chosen. Almost got us."

You know it can’t be an understatement. Any wound that large and healed without shifting should have killed him.

"You owe me a kidney," he says, with that wry, jocular tone you know so well. This time you know he's serious.

Your mind races. Even if you had the resources, even wanting to be free of them, you would never broker their lives for your peace. How could you with Johnny at the other end of so many links in the chain tying you to them? Panic has you desperate, shaking your bowed head with added submission.

You make a garbled sound in your throat: no, no. Not me.

"Fooled me," Yuta says. "What do you think?"

"Aside from the fact she’s turned on by the idea of killing us right now, she seems remarkably not guilty." Jungwoo says. He seems to be proud of your reaction, stroking your head as a wave of cramps begins again, a whimper leaving your throat.

You curl up on the bed, holding yourself against the deep ache accompanying a sudden rush of slick. You're nauseated by the pain and the fact that you have zero control, immersed in your Alpha's scent and losing the sliver of relief Haechan had given you. Worse is the way your heat makes even the proximity of these beasts more arousing than terrifying.

“Well,” Yuta continues. “If you didn’t do it, I’m sure there are plenty of others who could orchestrate a hit like that on your behalf.”

“She’s definitely hiding something,” Jungwoo agrees. “Or someone.”

"Be a good girl and tell us who you are working for, then," Yuta says. "Who would start a war with us for you?"

You glare at him over the knees tucked to your chin, channeling your annoyance at being asked to speak with your mouth clamped shut. It was almost flattering how much credit they were giving you when you were just as much a hostage in the Dome as you were here.

"Take it off," Yuta instructs Jungwoo, rocking back on his heels. "Don't bother screaming, no one can hear you."

With the muzzle removed you rub your face, soothing your cramped jaw.

“I didn’t put a bounty on anyone.” Your voice is a croak. “I don’t have that kind of power.”

“But you know who could, don’t you? Who did you tell?” There’s a second layer to Yuta’s purred question, words of a threat drifting up from years ago.

"If you want to protect him, you'll keep quiet. You tell anyone and he dies, do you understand?"

Those green, slitted eyes are just as cold now.

"You're the ones who lied and told the Syndicate the Alpha who marked me was dead,” you hiss. "Of course they'd want to finish the job."

"If it was the Syndicate there would be a smoking pile of rubble where this building used to be," Yuta says. "Try again."

"One of your Tekhne Princes, maybe?" Jungwoo asks.

"I've never even met them." It was true–you'd been completely isolated from the heirs, lest they be influenced by you. But from what you knew of Tekhne they were harmless: uselessly spoiled heirs to the Choi clancorps.

"Family, then." Yuta remarks.

You don’t have a response for that, glaring at them.

"Oh now there's something," Jungwoo murmurs, nose pressed to your temple. "Do you know you smell like pink pepper when you're distressed? So spicy . . ."

"You idiot," you deflect. "I'm related to half of Old Seoul."

“That’s a lot of options. Feel free to narrow it down.”

“I only have my brother. And Taeyong,” you begin, quickly stopping. “There’s no one else.”

"Little liar, aren’t you? I thought you’d be better at this. Yell-" Jungwoo says. You curse him mentally as your body anticipates the shock, pulse pounding erratically in your ears. The second syllable doesn't land, and you blink up wetly at him.

"You know who it is, don't you?" He licks his lips, searching your eyes. He’s satisfied with what he finds, nodding at Yuta.

"Please. No, I don't." Your voice is tinny in your ears.

"You want to protect them?" The Felid asks. He smirks, watching you hesitate. “A stupid little thing like you? Who’d benefit from your protection?”

You shake your head, almost agreeing. "I don't know."

“They must be special to you,” Jungwoo adds, hoisting you up. “Who else would kill for you?”

“No one,” you say, mouth gaping. “There’s no one–”

"Crimson." Yuta says.

This time it's excruciating–you bite your tongue as your muscles spasm in jerks and twitches, as your heart beats like a bird against your rib cage once it’s started again. The seizure has you wrenching in Jungwoo's hold as he elevates your head. Tears stream down your face, but without a single working muscle you can't even blink.

Hatred and resignation animate you long before the myoclonic shock wears off. You breathe shallowly through your nose, torching Yuta with your gaze.

He smiles at you, lazily.

"The next words out of your mouth better be a name," he says.

You sit up, shakily, relying on Jungwoo’s support as you lean forward, like you're going to tell them both a secret.

You spit, instead. Blood-tinged foam splatters across Yuta’s face.

You challenge him, expecting another punishment. Instead he dabs at the red with his fingers, wholly unfazed, as Jungwoo collapses into laughter.

"Well that's good enough for now," Yuta says. "We don’t need to talk anymore, do we?”

You struggle as you're forced back into the leather and metal cage of the muzzle, swallowing blood.

"Positive reinforcement?" Jungwoo asks.

"Go ahead. Give her a taste."

You squirm as you realize what's happening, pulled into Jungwoo's embrace. He murmurs placations, none of them assuring you the moment he spreads your legs for Yuta to see the damp spot in the soft fabric of your pants, slick oozing from you.

You toss your head, jamming the hard lines of your mask into his chest in terror.

"Relax," Jungwoo finally orders, voice soothing.

"You think we'd take you against your will? Like you did to the kid? Claim you even?" Yuta cleans a spot of blood from the back of his hand with his tongue. "Neither of us are that stupid."

“We just want to take care of you,” Jungwoo says.

His gloved fingers sink under your shirt, drifting over your breasts through the fabric of your simple bra. Immediately you groan and push away, unable to move far enough to escape. He trails circles around your twitching stomach, dipping lower the more you respond.

“Even if you are trying to kill us,” he continues. “It’s not your fault you’re not trained.”

You buck, protesting his words more than the constant touches.

Yuta chuckles, kneading your thighs with his thumbs where he’s knelt beside the low bed. “Did you know that Johnny said he'd kill the fool who fucked you? Too bad for the brat."

Haechan. You come up from the compulsion, kicking against the sheets. Yuta registers your will to fight, holding you down with barely any effort.

"Oh don’t worry. Johnny won't have the heart to cull his favorite. But he'll have to punish him or the whole pack hierarchy breaks. Maybe take a hand for touching you? Or the whole arm?”

He blows a hot breath across your legs, “Would that please you, princess?"

No, no, no. You whine, trying to break loose, subdued by Jungwoo's hand moving into your pants, slipping into your heat.

You can’t help your fox’s response; you bend into the foreign touch without resistance. Your tail crushed between you is wagging, unwilling to admit to yourself that this is what you wanted all along–your physical needs attended to, the lack of control only enabling your animal side to sink into long-awaited stimulation.

"I thought that's what you wanted?" Yuta's voice is raspier, lowered. “Alphas killing each other for your prized little pussy not good enough?"

He makes firm eye contact as he tugs down your ruined leggings by inches, exposing you to the cool air and their view. You blink tears away–more relieved than upset.

"You have to admit it's very nice," Jungwoo purrs. "Prettiest I've ever tasted."

Yuta's nose wrinkles, gloved hand tracing up your thigh through cooling drips. "All I smell right now is that dog's cum."

"Why don't we clean her up a bit? Get her ready for her mate."

Yuta nods, giving the Canid the green light.

A shriek bubbles up in your throat as Jungwoo's fingers broach your entrance, soreness and embarrassment melting away into relief. Your fox forgets fear, tasting pleasure again without the haze of ketamine and human emotion dulling the experience.

"You’re wound so tight. Did that boy leave you wanting more?" Jungwoo asks. His breath is hot on your neck, hand holding your legs open as he pulls you against him with each pump into you.

"All of us and you choose the virgin to sacrifice," Yuta sneers.

Like everything it’s not enough, at all, your body protesting in quakes as his fingers slowly dip in and out, squelching sounds louder than your muffled cries. Jungwoo adds another digit, knuckles pushing into your walls. You can feel yourself twitch and seize, tightening.

"Poor thing, sucking on nothing. Should we give her something more substantial to come on?" Yuta asks.

You shake your head weakly in answer, abdomen fluttering each time the heel of Jungwoo's presses into your mound. It's so good–so right–you're moaning when he pulls out of you, wishing you could find a way to break the tangle of pain and pleasure under your skin.

"You could have had your toy," Jungwoo says. He rubs his fingers on the mesh of your muzzle, letting the thick drops fall onto your closed lips.

"She could have had a real knot. If only you'd kept your teeth to yourself," Yuta says. "Hold her steady."

Your eyes fly open as you realize the thing pressing at your entrance is thick and rubbery but cold, awkwardly shaped in comparison to what you need–too straight and solid. A handle. The familiar nightstick–telescopic side away from you–disappears between your legs and you buck off the bed, trying to avoid the intrusion at all costs.

"Relax, or it will hurt more. You don't need me to make you, do you?" Yuta warns.

The shape is wrong, the artificiality of it making your animal break down in terror. The only comfort is that the size is right–stretching you full, reaching deeper inside you than fingers. It feels strange, the sensation diluting some of the sharpness in your belly.

Yuta twists the handle to coat it in your slick as he pushes it in as deep as it can go. You cling to the man behind you to pull away, only held tighter, tears splashing on his exposed forearms.

"You're gonna be a good little omega and take what we can give you, aren't you?" Jungwoo says.

You nod, letting sobs rack you as Yuta fucks you slowly with the weapon, opening you up. Jungwoo is especially gentle with you now, tactile gloves soaking slick into your clothing as he brushes your nipples into peaks. You stop fighting, carried into bliss in the rhythm of their combined movements.

"That's right, such a good pet for us, so pretty and soft.” He strokes you leisurely, one of his hands slipping to the sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs, drawing circles around it in a way that has you shaking.

“Now you're ready to be bred. But you don't get a knot, yet. You have to earn it."

There's a growing pressure inside of you, rattled each time Yuta's hand thrusts forward. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, sustained and perfect build making even this debauchment something worth enduring.

You let it take up every conscious thought or instinct, finally boneless and willing. Both notice the change, Yuta's movements slowing, Jungwoo's noise of approval as he presses the expanse of skin between your hips. It makes the penetration feel so much deeper and you arch into it, hating yourself for how easily you’ve folded.

"You're close, aren't you precious?"

You make an approximation of an mmhmm, teeth gritting. You have no idea what it means to be close but if this is it, you never want it to end. The little shocks you’re feeling in your lower half are consuming you like the collar’s effects had, erasing everything painful and ugly about this moment.

"You want Yuta to make you come?"

You whine eagerly, grinding against the thing inside of you, trying to make the bubble burst like you had with your toy earlier, before Haechan had interrupted and then refused to play with you. Your fox doesn’t understand why they won’t just reach out and take an offered morsel, why they insist on holding back.

"Do you think she's earned it?" Jungwoo teases.

"No," Yuta says.

Your eyes fly open, pleading at the man between your legs. You see his lips crack open into a toothy smile, fangs exposed.

"She can wait."

You plead in so many garbled sounds, hands reaching for him–for the length slid out of your body and tossed aside. You're shoved back into the softness of the pile with a knee in your back, weeping silently as you're restrained again.

"Such a nasty little thing. You'll fit in perfectly, once you know your place." Yuta finishes restraining you, wrists bound to your ankle cuffs behind you so you can only move awkwardly, buried deeper in ripped-apart pillows.

"Mark’s asking where we are," Jungwoo says, tapping his wrist. "Take her to Containment?"

"No, I think you're right: Johnny can clean up his own mess,” Yuta says, voice monotone. “Kill the fake feed. We'll leave her here.”

He leans down to wipe his slicked glove across your exposed chest, distaste mingling with the arousal illuminating his handsome features.

“It’s where she belongs."

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hexonthepeach · 6 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 20: clinical

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [19: burial]

wc: 6k

chapter warnings: gross misuse of medical terminology (don't correct me, taeil is just tired) and some smut under the pretense of medical care (pelvic massage), mentions of vomiting

recommended listening: love is a beauty - nct 127

Moon Taeil [Nyctereutes procyonoides α] - magna cum lauda Imperial Academy of Medicine Physician, 2nd rank

>>> patient 1 recovering, expected rate for non-developed hybrid form Felid. sustained fx, inj. are as follows: >>>> gross injury to levator scapulae, supraspinatus, teres major and minor >>>> humerus luxation treated with closed reduction w/o sx intervention, possible crush injury to humeral head, imaging negative >>>> clavicle and scapula injuries healing w/o sx fixation, blood flow to right arm inhibited by subclavian artery and thyrocervical branch closure, recommend amputation if unable to restore bloodflow to lower extremities >>>> wounds to scalp from forcible claw damage, penetrating, inc. possible puncture of sphenoid bone. temporal skull fissures healing without leakage, no artificial grafts available for outer ear, treated with amputation of dead tissue and cauterization >>>> platelet levels depleted, multiple donations made including from known genetic rejection variants >>>> sx intervention to insure subclavian artery reformation, rapidity of healing within 2-3 hours. may be grafts, or donated plasma. a full genetic spectrum analysis is rendering, delayed by recombination, captured >>>> abn variant detected on scan, will need confirm by biopsy if deep tissue or contam. suspect contam, due to multiple sx performed under non-sterile non-quarantine procedures. patient 0 is recovering from sternum, mult. rib fx from chest compressions, deep tissue calcaneal tendon refixture, performed with local anesthetics only, report to follow

To say Taeil is exhausted is an understatement. Spiritually, emotionally, and especially physically–he feels much older than his age.

When he's caught a break to shower he's scrubbed blood off that’s no longer there, still smelling and feeling it's tacky, flaking texture on his skin. The last time he's truly slept was when he’d shoved your dose of ketamine into his cephalic vein, woken up to a nightmare that hopefully, mostly, has come to an end.

Performing surgeries better suited to specialists with one amateur combat medic and a decades-old TraumaTeam surgical bot wasn’t easy, but he's managed it. It was the only solution while in lockdown. Yuta had clapped him on the shoulder with his forearm after they’d performed the first round of Mark's intervention, blood smeared on the Felid's face from wiping sweat and hair from his forehead.

"Just like the old days," he'd said, smiling ruefully. Battlefield humor never ceased in Nyctos, not for the old guard.

It hadn't been as funny when they'd been tasked with treating Jaehyun, or you.

Now that he could feel you, knew you, he understood how much you'd kept locked away. It penetrated past every defense he'd trained into as a war medic, as a physician treating young and old, alike.

For the first time in a decade of being a physician he'd heaved up the non-existent contents of his stomach. If it weren't for an IV after that, and maybe a careful injection of sedation and caffeine, he wouldn't still be standing.

But he had to be, for his most important patient.

Mark's recovery had begun without the accelerated genetics of a fully designated hybrid. From what Taeil knew of Mark’s childhood he’d received twice as much anti-shift therapy as someone like Jaehyun–treatment for an accident on base when he was a teen had almost ended his life. It had delayed his development so long everyone had assumed he’d never present, not as he neared his 25th year without the markers.

But all that had changed overnight. Mark’s ancestral genetics had returned with a vengeance. If human healing was a problem, so was rapid cell reconstruction without a stable network for tissue to form or the biological materials to build it out of.

Johnny, Jungwoo, and Haechan had managed the night mission to obtain grafts, replacement cartilage and bone scaffolding while the other Felids donated plasma. It had taken another 4 hours in surgery to make sure there was no long term damage, this time with surprisingly efficient results–Taeil had watched as muscle tissue and skin reconnected, the only visible sign of injury in the shiny, faint scars on Mark's neck and torso and claw marks on the shaved side of his head.

The little cat would be fine, given enough time.

He's sure nothing can prepare Mark for the burden of healing from what he'd been through, emotionally, but he has hope for that, too. Jaehyun had stayed most of the night under the guise of wanting to donate more blood if needed, but he'd recognized the same impulse in him that had kept you holding Mark's hand the first day: survivor's guilt. All three of you seemed to be connected by it.

From an outside observation, it felt almost intrusive to see the two Felids together. The older Alpha slept folded over Mark's legs as if he could keep him fixed to this plane of existence. Perhaps it was the deep rumble of Jaehyun's breathing, or the way Mark's hands occasionally dug into the sheets with the delicate, white claws he'd begun expressing after the first twelve hours. More than that, their scents had combined in a tell-tale way, a little like meadowgrass warmed under the sun.

He doesn't want to chase down the possibility of a claim caused by injury–he still has never heard of any made that way that didn't involve you–but he's also a scientist. Phenomena observed once are an anomaly, multiple times a basis for a hypothesis.

Whatever occurred, Taeyong and Doyoung had agreed to keep the reports of Mark's condition as quiet as possible. They didn't need Third Princess Lee Eunchae finding out about her son's brush with death by any means, especially second-hand.

Taeil knows he'd be the first to suffer her wrath, Taeyong and Doyoung would follow. The Princesses' late-life vows as an Allfaiths nun did not preclude her from rending him or the former Crown Prince to pieces. He's sure once she sees Mark's scars she'll do it with words, alone.

Thankfully Mark would be able to relay the news, personally, now that he was conscious. The would-be Prince of Goryeo is currently experiencing his first real painkiller and sedative cocktail, his forkful of melon dripping into the sheets as he attempts to referee Yuta and Haechan's card game.

"Is it poker? Man. You can't play poker with two people. Where's the pot?" he laughs, feet kicking beneath the sheets. “Deal me in.”

"Go fish," Haechan says, throwing a Jack of Hearts on the pile that's begun to slide off the overbed table.

"Koi koi," Yuta answers, picking up another card to add to his hand from the stack.

A goofy smile appears on Mark's face as he tries to parse the rules Taeil knows they're making up on the fly just to fuck with him. It's good his friends are here for him. Johnny would join them once he was back from the lower levels–Taeil had messaged the prime the moment his ward came to.

He busies himself checking the supplies in his field kit, unable to escape the scrutiny of the three others in the room.

"Doctor, are you going somewhere special looking that good?" Mark slurs. The other two share a laugh, but not at Mark.

"He's got a date," Yuta says, picking up the discards to shuffle. Haechan snorts, laying down his hand.

"Dinner with the queen," Haechan says, eyes darting up full of spite.

Taeil ignores it, checking himself in the mirror over the handwashing station.

"Just a housecall," he says. He adjusts the slim tie he's knotted over his dress shirt, the tightness on his neck reminding him of a noose. Black on black: for his own funeral, he supposes.

"____ really made it, huh." Mark has already heard a few words to relay the current situation but it's never broached past a general sense of your condition–as if the details would be too much for him.

"She's fine," Haechan says, lightly. "I saw her this morning. Looked good as new. Maybe a little . . . peckish."

"Princess has an appetite," Yuta says. Haechan snickers at it, folding back in his chair, as Mark takes small bites of his fruit salad contemplatively. Taeil watches him for a bit, unable to anticipate the younger man's response to the news or the lewd jokes the twin devils at his bedside are exchanging in a tone they know he can hear.

"She’s doing surprisingly well," Taeil says, voice level. "For being dead for a minute and a half."

The hum of equipment is the only sound in the wake of his statement. He expects Yuta or Haechan to say something glib, but they just look at him expecting him to continue–their faces masked.

"It felt a lot longer." Taeil adds, palm spreading over his shirtfront. His chest still aches with the memory of the broken breastbone and ribs you'd sustained during chest compressions. “I hope you never have to feel what that’s like.”

Taeil feels badly that Mark looks deathly ill, again, but at least so do the others.

He waves his hand over the door control. "I'll be back before midnight. If there's another emergency, I want to be the last to know."

Being off-duty after a double shift has always made him giddy (he's joking with himself, in a way–he hasn't been off-duty in his entire adult life) but it does feel like he’s back in the early days of his training doing days-long shifts, looking forward to the long break.

Even if it's with you, in your . . . state. Your perfume has saturated the entirety of the executive floor, perceivable at the lower levels.

Based on the interesting nature of his dreams when he’d managed a brief nap last night, as well as the scent on Johnny that morning when he’d checked in on Mark, you weren’t adhering to the appropriate schedule for rehab.

He doesn't blame you for breaking your fast with what you need, but he's also riddled with anxiety over how soon you've begun your descent into the next dip in your cycle. You're back on bio-monitoring and the expected hormonal spikes are, just as he imagined, off the charts.

Back when he'd been in the Imperial College a favorite pastime of his dorm mates had involved a contraband bottle of ginseng wine and dramatic readings from the private journals of the old Imperatrix's personal doctor (and rumored lover). Not one to indulge, they'd been burnt into his memory ever since.

Subject appears to be in a constant state of estrus. Diestrus is non-existent in this particular line of vulpes vulpes forma amicus. Breeding her has surpassed the abilities of a mere mortal. She is described as having the stamina of a dozen of her kind wrapped up in one. During the second ceremonial mating ritual a team was quietly dispatched to resuscitate the Imperator and administer numerous fluid IVs, as well as a recommended reprieve from additional intercourse. The Imperial palace was almost burnt down for the first time since it was last sacked in the 16th century. Perhaps we have made a mistake in our calculations of Vulpine appetite.

You're at least burning nothing but candles, and certainly not the meal you'd prepared for him, when he enters the suite. Your shoulders are relaxed as you work in Taeyong's kitchen, listening to what he thinks might be 20th century music, tail keeping time with the fits and starts of a piano recorded a few centuries ago.

You look over your shoulder at him, coquettishly, adding green onions to a clay pot of samgyetang.

"I asked Doyoung your preference of foods, if you don't mind," you say, looking up at him with a hint of slyness on your lips. "Samgyeoupsal?"

It could just be white rice served a grain at a time for all he cares but Taeil nods, smiling a little in return.

"I was surprised when I got your message about dinner. I thought I was just checking your ankle," he says. "How does it feel?"

He doesn't have to ask, distant throbbing in his heel, but he knows your language now better than anyone, sees the way your black-and-orange ears fold back with a touch of shyness and delight. You do love being cared for, but even more, listened to.

"Much better, thanks to you," you reply, half-curtseying so your robe pools on the floor. He thinks it must be one of Taeyong's many embroidered silk luxuries, so long it almost trips you. What’s more notable is the way you've wrapped the sleeves back, tie criss-crossed over your torso in an ancient fashion.

"How about your dreams?" he asks. He feels like a fool the moment the words slip from his mouth, moreso when you look at him with concern.

"I mean, did you sleep well?" He course-corrects.

"Very well," you say. "Most of the day, actually. When I wasn't learning how to make kimchi."

Your eyes do look irritated, but he thinks it might not be from onion or garlic. He drops his bag to help you bring dishes to the table, mouth watering not just for the spread on the ancient wood table.

After he catches himself staring for the hundredth time he realizes now he's never seen you with your hair drawn back from your face. You've always made an effort to hide your scars.

He's never once entertained the thought of running his finger down them without your permission but he can't stop his hand from raising unconscious, wanting to touch them.

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, rubbing at your cheek with your sleeve.

Damn his rut, and damn his awkwardness as he flounders. You're looking at him with amusement, intuiting his emotions easily.

"Oh, no." he says. "Sorry. It's been a long day." Days.

"Of course," you say, dipping your head. "Please, eat. I have a selection of drinks for you, as well."

He refuses your offering of alcohol with the excuse of being on duty, too sure he'll stumble again. He regrets it immediately, watching the artful way you pour your own glass of soju.

"Don't worry, I won't poison you," you say wryly, expression going sad as you sit down beside him. He understands where your emotions are taking you, stopping it firmly with a hand on your head, stroking your ear absentmindedly until the movements of your tail warn him off.

"Thank you for treating me to such a nice meal. It's a very nice gesture," he says.

It's strange being on the receiving end of a home-cooked dinner, after all the ones he's prepared for the pack. He has to stop himself from over-indulging after days of convenience store fare, picking choice bites of spring chicken from the samgyetang and letting the broth and sweet rice heal his queasy stomach.

You continue to serve him, taking charge of the electric grill like you're in one of the old pop-ups he's used to frequenting, conversing while your eyes dart up to him. You talk about the weather, ask about the news. It feels comfortable in a way he's completely unused to–to the point that he can barely hear what you're saying until you ask about Mark.

"Oh," he says, choking on too much lettuce and ssamjang in his last mouthful of velvety pork belly. "He's doing well. Awake. He might still need a few more transfusions but he’s recovering much more quickly than we expected."

"He needs blood?" you ask, drawing up. "Could I–?"

"No. No," he says a little too forcefully. "He'll survive. The other Felids are more suitable donors, anyway."

Too close of a genetic match, too likely a rejection of the grafts he's received, he thinks, but it's better left unsaid. Your scent has changed, mournful chrysanthemum as present as when you'd lain beside Mark the day before–the same he thinks Jaehyun smells like, now.

“You should go visit him once you’re feeling up to it,” he says. “Although . . . I think we’ll have time tomorrow.”

Another message had been fed through the internal network, pushed to all parties–well, not the recruits, but they'd enjoy the leftovers, if there were any. You'd crafted a beautiful invitation in the style of Old Seoul's etiquette, individual messages written in brush strokes of digital ink.

Dearest Doctor . . .

He'd barely registered the words after that, just that you'd planned a formal dinner, early, to recognize the pack's tribunal. And, he thinks, your likely departure.

“Yes,” you nod, poking at a piece of garlic skittering on the hot plate. “I asked Taeyong if I could prepare another meal. For the whole pack. As a way to give thanks, I suppose. My mother taught me that when one doesn't have much to offer they can at least find a means to ease another's burden."

"That reminds me," he says, "I think this might be the first time we've eaten together. Unless you count cup ramen."

You nod, laughing a little dourly at the memory. "One of the many benefits to having Doyoung and Taeyong back is that the grocery deliveries are more suited for an Imperial palette."

You look up at him, smiling. It's the first time he's realized you're wearing cosmetics–nothing immediately discernible but your lips are shaded rouge, your eyes circled in black making the orange in them that much brighter.

"Could I ask you something personal?"

You wait for him to respond, fingering your untouched glass.

"It depends," he says. "Shoot."

"Are you still . . . ?" Your voice drifts off, husky.

He feels his ears burn at the implied question. He must be addled from lack of sleep if he's letting a simple matter of biology embarrass him, but then you'd put a damper on his professional facade the moment you'd put teeth in his wrist.

"It doesn't matter." Taeil waves you off, stealing your drink to take half of it in one quaff. The liquor is sweet on his tongue, tasting a little like you.

"Why do you ask?"

You play with the ties on your robe, black-tipped claws tugging the satin.

"I need your help," you say, beginning to ramble. "I know that you'll probably say no–not that I don't think you like me enough just that–it's a great deak to ask. I hope I can convince you of the urgency of the situation–"

He's been wondering if this dinner was a gambit again, a way to make him comfortable. But a good physician is always prepared.

"You don't need my permission to have intercourse with Johnny," he says, at a much slower cadence. "While I can advise against it, especially so quickly after your injuries, your body is your own."

You look disturbed for only an instant before gasping out a curse under your breath, your uncomfortable laughter growing into peals as you fold over your knees.

"I was going to ask you if you–" you say, wiping away tears, laughing again when you see his droll expression. "–if you could help me cook. Tomorrow."

You pour yourself another glass of soju, pushing it towards him after a moment.

"I hope you don't think I'm laughing at you," you say, hiccuping a bit. "Just at the absurdity of this situation. Thank you for the approval."

"Of course I'll help you," he says, loosening his tie, reaching to turn off the grill. "What are you planning?"

"You'll find out," you muse. "Let's not focus on plans right now. I think you should relax."

Relax?

Taeil measures the way your hand reaches out to him but doesn't respond as your fingers encircle his tie and tug on it, softly. If his body follows, it's just to save himself from being strangled.

"Now that I have one favor do you think you can grant me another?" you ask, the fall of your lashes dark in the light from the chandelier. He can see you fight the smirk of knowing whatever response he gives he'll be completely at your disposal.

"I value my life enough not to fuck you," he says, words distant. "Anything but that."

"You really are an old dog," you tease, claws pricking through his shirt when you drop the tie to run your hand down the line of buttons.

"The favor isn't related to that. Although we can kill two birds with one stone here if you'd like to give me the blessing to consummate with Taeyong. No one's told me what that will entail and I'm a bit tired of feeling foolish–"

"Oh," Taeil says, backing up quickly. "I would just need to do another exam. I admit, I didn't bring anything for that–"

"We can start with the exam. But like I asked before . . . it would be nice to have some instruction. Just a physical demonstration, of course."

You're having so much fun at his expense, flustering him, but worse is the crackling heat of your arousal, as if having a cold metal instrument shoved inside you would be something to look forward to.

"Why don't I send you a few papers on omega male physiology, and come back tomorrow once you've had a bit more time to recover. And read."

Once I have enough time to remind myself why I played anesthesiologist on my own vein rather than spend another moment alone with you, he thinks.

"Do I scare you?" you ask. Your hands move lazily as you begin to undress in front of him. There's not much to remove, though thankfully you're wearing something under the robe, just a blur as he focuses on your face to keep from running for the door.

"No," he says. Yes, he thinks.

You're not a patient anymore, not off-duty. But you are his prime's mate. Johnny hadn't even bothered to get his agreement in the farce of his pack order, confident as an elder and a healer he'd follow the correct and righteous path in the face of an omega in heat.

"Truth be told," Taeil begins, "Suh hasn't been himself lately. I would like to avoid getting on his bad side."

"Noted," you say. "I'll be honest as well. I'm actively trying to get on it."

There's that Vulpine deviousness and playfulness again–which any sane person would run at the sight of. You do look different when your eyes are narrowed and your fangs are bared. It's enough to make him dizzy, feeling you preen a little at the thought of malice towards your mate.

"Have you considered another target than the one person who can treat mortal injuries in this pack," he says.

"Of course," you demur, leaving your robe open as you climb on to the table from your chair. "But what excuse would he have for mistreating you if you were simply performing your duty as a physician?"

Taeil's breath hitches in his throat, paralyzed at the sight of you pulling your underwear off, kicking it from your foot into his lap. You don't remove your robe but you lean back against the table, legs opening so the dim light catches on the shimmer of your slick.

"Where are you going?" you ask, when he immediately gets up and turns away.

"I need–"

"Instruments? Gloves?" you ask.

"To wash my hands."

He feels himself crumbling like a sun-crisped leaf, maintaining a facade that neither of you are fooled by as he puts his glasses back on, rolls up his sleeves, and spends more time than necessary scrubbing under his fingernails with the soap at the sink. Knowing Doyoung, it's antibacterial.

"Before I do this I'd like you to swear you won't play around. I would like you to take this seriously," he says from a safe distance.

You smooth the crimp in your mouth, eyes dancing. "Of course, doctor. No orders, no games. No biting."

All your rules seem to be a joke, your tail swishing. "Well, I won't. You're welcome to. It's only fair."

He gives you an exasperated sigh as he attempts to clear the table with his forearms, preoccupied with the thought of you ending up sloshed in cold broth. "Hands and teeth to yourself, this time."

"Shh," you say, pulling on his tie again until his hips cage yours. "I'll be a good patient."

"Then why don't you be a good patient and get into position," he says, leveling your attempt at dominance with as much seriousness as he can muster.

You scoot to a clear part of the table, feet placed flat once you've kicked them free of the silk beneath you. You know the drill, have probably been forced into this position from the time you came into breedable age, expected to continue to live permanently in it when you bore pups.

He's performed and watched thousands of exams, but it's remarkably different when it's with you. You're spread before him, physically unremarkable, nothing he hasn't seen before. It's only the first time again for the way you look at him now, hair pooled against the rings of dark wood as your head rolls against the table, your ears folded back with curiosity.

He digs in his bag for sanitizer, gloves. He hadn't even thought to bring a speculum, but he thinks it's not right to involve a device, considering the last time he'd subjected you to it. He finds gloves, at least. He doesn't need that scent under his fingernails.

"All the doctors I knew from the Palace treated me like just another test subject. But you never have, have you?"

"No," Taeil says, pulling you by the legs, helping you slide to the edge of the table with your knees relaxed, fabric falling beneath. "I've never seen you that way."

"How do you see me?" you ask, tail moving more inquisitively now that it's between your legs.

"You're going to feel a little pressure. Just relax."

His left hand rests on your twitching belly as his right hand gently pushes in. He's never done this without the safety of a clinic setting. He doesn't have to tell you to breathe after that initial inhale, your next breaths transmitted through your belly as you focus on relaxing for him.

The rough patches of scab tissue are no longer present, but you gasp all the same when he palpates your walls to check for any remaining soreness, slick oozing warm around his fingers the longer he stays embedded inside of you.

"Everything check out?" you ask, breath hitching when he presses firmly on the dip below your navel, fingers curling up inside. He is trying to perform the examination with as much efficacy as possible and you seem to be trying to hold it together as well, muffling each spontaneous cry out into your shoulder.

This angle affords him a view of your ecstasy, smelling it so deeply that he knows it will linger regardless of his efforts to wash it away.

"Any pain?" he asks, voice a croak.

Your answer is inaudible as well, face towards the ceiling as you swallow whatever else you have to say.

There's no way that Johnny mated you; the only lubrication is the copious amounts of slick you're producing. You'll need another IV, he thinks. He gently curls his fingers into the rough patch of your silky insides, well below his other hand and feels a wisp of delight in the back of his mind as your hips rise up from the table.

"You know–you know where it hurts," you shoot back between caged breaths. "Is there anything else wrong with me?"

"Nothing, unless you count being an incorrigible little vixen," he mutters.

He sees your indignation disappear the moment you realize he's horrified at his own words.

"I'm sorry, that–it really has been a long day." He breathes shallowly through his nose at the first squeeze of your laughter around his fingers. In another strike against his professionalism he's as hard as a rock, trying to keep from crushing himself against the table.

"Doctor, I didn't know you had it in you," you say.

You're so accepting that he forgets the context of his penetrating you, his collar much too tight, exhales sharp as he stays buried. You sit up a little, elbows bent back and just as out-of-breath.

"Are you alright?" you ask. Your mouth is agape, expression lit from within with unchecked arousal. From the look on your face you're about to dare him to continue.

He's not going to be able to maintain that distance. Not when you can read him like a book, making micromovements to bring him deeper inside.

You're a furnace radiating warmth on a winter's night, opening up for him, as he finds himself pushing into you in soft strokes that have absolutely nothing to do with medical care and everything to do with observing you come undone.

"This–" you gasp, moaning a bit. "This isn't standard protoc–fuck."

"What was that about being a good patient?" He keeps his voice steady, his own erection throbbing in sync with the little spasms inside you as you're stimulated exactly right. "Want me to stop?"

You throw your head back, shaking it.

"Consider this a part of your treatment," he says.

It's not unprecedented–some of the best passages in those old notes had to do with the various ways to cure omega hysteria, although he knows there's no cure for yours. Not one he can provide, at least.

He digs in a little more, hand spreading over your core, thumb lowering to the dip of your folds. Clinically, of course.

"Thank you, thank you," you mumble, biting your lip. "Please don't stop, please keep going."

"Open up your legs for me, relax," he says, decisively. When you've stopped fighting him he adds a third finger to better stretch you, the impact of it felt palpably in his hand pressed over your pubic bone. Your cervix is right there against his fingertips, body adjusting to take him.

Wouldn't that be nice? He knows it would be easy. If he let himself he'd be knotted in you until this expensive dinner table would need to be burnt from how much slick you spilled on it.

"Don't stop, please, please don't stop," you beg, taking his hand so well. "Please."

He leans forward to curl his hand around your nape, holding you by the scruff like they'd been trained to keep your kind from squirming. You're arms brace behind you to hold yourself up, unsure of your position until he pulls you forward to rest your head against his shoulder, making you watch his fingers disappear inside of you.

You're a whimpering, desperate mess, robe hanging off your shoulder, hair coming loose. It's even more lovely inside of you, walls tensing around him with each spasm of your pelvic floor muscles, a light brush of his thumb against your clit with each thrust propelling you forward into your climax.

He's not much better, rocking against your limp leg and the sharp table's edge. He can hold it together even as you lose yourself. You come on his hand with a sharp little sound, music to his Alpha's ears as he closes his eyes to ride the same tremor ghosting through his groin.

"Good girl," he murmurs, movements easing in time with the lengthening period between each contraction.

His hand is cramping by the time he releases you, webs of slick between his flexed fingers wiped on your robe, as saturated as it already is. He removes his gloves, discarding them without much concern for where they land, not when you're still pressed into his chest.

"You'll probably want to get one of those every few hours, until you decide to break your heat," he says, back to himself. "You have options."

You lean against him, breathing hard.

"Please don't leave me," you say in a tiny voice, legs wrapping around his hips. He lets you hold him for a little while longer–there's no reason not to enjoy being immersed in the satisfaction he's given you, or to provide you with the comfort you both crave.

"You can just say it's treating me. It doesn't have to be anything else if you don't like me that way."

Anger trickles down his neck, sullying the glow he's feeling having you against him. He's never thought of himself as a jealous or dominating person, content to be the one others came to for help or guidance even if he wasn't prime, but the thought of you underestimating his feelings and your own worth, again, has him livid.

You feel it, eyes widening as you peer up at him.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"What ever gave you the impression that I would use you?" he asks. "Or that you're not important to me?"

"I marked you against your will–"

"You have a bad habit of giving into your animal urges. But you're also fully capable of defending yourself when you need to," he says, brushing a sweat-pinned strand of hair from your forehead. "I was . . . angry. I still should be. I just don't blame you for it."

Something Doyoung had said a few days ago had stuck with him, unneeded advice offered as he drank bitterly strong coffee and indulged in a vaporizer pen for the first time since residency.

"It's not any consolation, I know, but if she chose you, it means she trusts you."

"I knew you were a good choice." You look up at him, eyes glazed over with something impenetrable. He catches himself before he can lean in to kiss you.

"I think that's as far as we go before we cross a threshold I'm not sure you can come back from," he says.

It's too early to feel anything real with you but there's a tiny corner of his mind that can't help but be occupied by the hope you'd look at him as fondly as the others. That you wouldn't take for granted his feelings when you were overwhelmed by your own or of the more vocal members of the pack.

You nuzzle into his chest, scent-marking him even more with the side of your mouth, nipping slightly at the pocket of his shirt.

"I know you think I'm compromised because of the heat but I don't feel that way with you. I want to take care of you, like you take care of me."

You look up at him, blinking wetly. "You deserve to be treated well. It's the least I can do."

Physician, heal thyself.

"As sweet as your offer is–" he begins to laugh, changing tack when he sees that you're serious. "I would prefer it not be under the obligation of us both needing physical relief."

You don't seem to understand what he means in his rambling, a twinge of embarrassment passing through him. He lets his guard down for a bit, petting the back of your neck and shoulders to make himself more comfortable, closing his eyes and imagining what he wants in a way more easily communicated than with words. If his dog growls a little, at least you don't laugh at him for it.

"You're worried I don't like you for who are," you state, voice breaking. "That you're not someone I would have chosen."

"I . . . I think we have a long time and different circumstances before you reasonably could care about any of us."

"Because I might have to leave?" you sigh.

"Because you're not just a convenient remedy for an Alpha's needs. And some of us . . . well, I don't want to have a purely physical relationship with you," he says. "I could have that with anyone."

"Anyone?" you ask. You look intrigued, lips curling in an amused smile.

"Poor choice of words. I've had my share of beta companions. Not every relationship we have is communal here, you know."

"Is that a backhanded way of calling me shared property?" you flirt, not helped by your core dripping against his pants. "Or are you calling me a whore?"

You drop into bliss again when he adjusts so you can press into his thigh. Johnny is going to kill him if he doesn't find a way to extract himself from your clutches.

"You're neither of those things," he corrects. "I just mean I don't think your biology would allow you to be satisfied with one of us."

"No," you admit. "But I have a choice in who I want to mate. I chose you."

Somehow that admission feels more genuine than he can allow himself to accept. "I'm flattered. But you're far too important for me to take advantage of."

"And you're much too polite for your own good." You lean up to nose his jaw, lips pressing to his throat. "You should accept that this is a perfectly reasonable way to start to get to know each other."

"You don't know what my rut is like." He swallows, keeping still as your tongue darts out to taste him. Everything about being held by you feels indecent, overstepping. Which is ridiculous considering he'd just finger-fucked you.

"Who better to teach me how to take care of Taeyong than someone I trust?" you ask. "Someone I already know can treat me well . . . with experience . . ."

You angle his head with a tug on his hair, kissing his neck with a little more tongue and teeth than he expects. This close to the gland has him reeling–the Alpha inside of him waking up from its slumber as starved as he knows he's felt for the past few days.

"A favor for a favor, then," he says, pulse thundering in his ears. If he's damned either way, he may as well enjoy it.

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hexonthepeach · 9 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 1: escape, again

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate's clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue]

wc: 3.5k

chapter warnings: multi idol au incoming

recommended listening: take me home - ateez

The searchlight penetrates the dark water, illuminating the reefs growing over long-submerged buildings, the occasional eel or octopus darting into a broken window. Beneath the small fishing boat lies the horror of the flooded city, a place you were more familiar with in your nightmares.

You have to turn away, sickness twisting your gut with each lungful of the sea air. Focused meditation is the only thing keeping you from the panic attack threatening to bubble up and break the surface of your manufactured calm.

You know you won't be traveling anywhere near where you'd watched your mother drown, but here on the water all ghosts feel close enough to touch.

"You alright?" The navigator beside you on the bow is a tall man with a quiet demeanor, a bulky older model bionic hand and arm hidden under his trench jacket. He lets the spotlight rest in order to move closer to you, earning your flinch.

You nod, afraid to speak.

You'd expected your escorts to have little to say to you. Instead you'd been welcomed by familiar faces–a pack you knew from the lower clans, some of their faces more familiar than the others.

The big Alpha is just as nervous as you–scent spiking every time he makes eye contact, even when he sneaks looks at you from the corner of his vision.

He smells like clean sage and grapefruit . . . and canine. Mostly wolf, a rarity with the diversification initiative of your parent's generation. He must be soldier stock, you think.

"It's not too far," he assures you. "Just have to get out of the city."

"Mingi," says a deep voice over his crackling radio. "Keep up the sweep past the container ship graveyard, they've got rigs installed for salvage I'd like to avoid."

"Sorry," he says, shyly.

He returns to his work, angling the blue-white beam to reveal new scaffolding rising up from the water and the old wrecks.

The boat changes course to avoid it, putting you closer to the first of the many towers that had survived the seawall break, foundations reinforced and reclaimed as small islands in the bay. They're slums but well-maintained, with connecting bridges and sprawling docks at their bases, bright signs advertising ports for a quick drink or trade.

Further on, the color and light grow in intensity, where the megacity of Neo Seoul emerges from the water, rising up past the mountain peaks to pierce the iridescent cloud cover.

If the crowded depths beneath you are a horror then so are the skies, threat carried by long-distance drones buzzing overhead along with the occasional aerodyne. The airspace over the city is much more trafficked than over the water, white illuminated lanes marking routes in three-dimensional space.

You're waiting for your nightmare to come true, you think–a second waking experience to make your paranoia permanent.

But no one is coming for you, yet.

They won't know you're missing for a few days, assuming you were in your personal cryochamber undergoing the latest resurfacing procedure on your scar tissue. Garam had been kind enough to take your place; just one of many arrangements for your long-planned flight.

You weren't running towards Neo Seoul, of course. There was nowhere to hide from the clancorps there, no matter how good your new identity was crafted.

No, your path leads East towards the darkness of the Wild, past the industrial parks and factory ships to where the old rivers meet in mudflats and estuaries few have settled in.

And beyond that, to the decimated Old Zones, where the War's aftereffects remain in radiation hotspots and unexploded ordnance. The contamination fromcarpet bombing is the worst risk your kind can face there, unable to stop hybrid DNA from manifesting, sometimes irreversibly.

To most it's a hell better left avoided. But to you, it's your real home.

Boom.

Another AV breaks through the low hanging marine layer so close you can feel the heat from its fission engines as you flatten on the deck. You duck to hide behind one of the many cargo boxes, heart racing, but the aircraft idles on at a lower altitude in the direction of Old Seoul, matte black against the green-tinged Dome.

"Watch it, asshole," you hear someone shout from the aft deck.

You're gently pulled up from the slippery wood by another of the crew. Your breath catches in your throat, face going hot under the scarf wrapped around it.

Ever since the rendezvous point you'd kept a polite distance from this Alpha, quiet in his company. Now his hand is wrapped under your elbow and all you can think of is how much bigger he is than when you'd last seen him in the Dome.

Jeong Yunho, the target of your childhood affection, now your human trafficker.

Fate always had a funny sense of humor with you.

"Careful," he says. You quiver under his gaze, trying not to react too obviously. He has a polite kindness to his mannerisms that seems antithetical to your memory of him laying out two adult guards of a Choi heir during a sanctioned duel.

Still the same gentle face and eyes.

You're not sure if he's this pack's prime, but surely Yunho is in charge of this mission. He'd introduced himself at your rendezvous with no attempt to hide his celebrity. There'd even seemed to be the subtle implication that you should recognize him as a Lost Prince.

It had taken all of your skill in presence and manners to deny him that.

There was no way he could recognize you in turn. You'd been hidden behind veils and screens your entire life, kept a safe distance away from your cohort. Few had scented you and even if the suppression of the Dome did not apply here you had medical means, aided by the neutralizing odor of the sea.

It's too bad that isn't all you hide. You feel the breeze in your fur and panic.

Yunho clears his throat as you lift your hood back up, quickly but not quickly enough to hide the red-and-black ears tufting from your hair.

"Are those . . .?"

"Biomods. A debut gift." Your carefully practiced explanation sounds false, said so rushedly. You glance up to see him nod, cheek indented as he chews a pink lip.

"Fox," he affirms. "Unusual color."

"Calico." You explain, face kept smooth by years of practice. "All the rage right now with the lesser branches."

To your relief he quickly changes the subject, watching you discard your gloves in your pocket–now smelling vaguely of fish guts. You weren't typically boatsick, but the higher doses of suppressants had a nauseating effect.

"You'll have to tell me what it's like on the inside. Haven't been back since . . . well, you know."

"Are you an Abdicated?" you ask, feigning surprise.

"Yes," he says with an edge of humor.

"I didn't know you were a Lee."

"Mother's side," he shrugs, lying in turn.

You know better. Like many of the other Lost Princes he'd publicly expressed his distaste with the outdated system, choosing exile from Old Seoul rather than compete in the political theater and power plays required for succession.

A choice you'd never been offered, but were making all the same.

You'd been present at Inner Court for his formal renunciation, had even cried silently under your veil with the patheticness of a child losing their favorite toy. In this case, your favorite potential mate. It didn't matter that he'd never spoken to you.

"You're lucky then. You could leave," you say.

He smiles. It doesn't extend to his eyes, giving his soft face a hardness.

"Why don't we go inside the cabin. Get you out of this wind."

You let him lead you, his large hand remaining on your jacketed arm as he cages you from behind. It takes concentration to bring the alarm singing in your head down to background noise. Strategy is your fallback; you remind yourself that there's no incentive for him to return you even if he finds you out.

You pass the wheelhouse, Yunho nodding to the smaller man at the helm. He's barely visible in the low light of the digital console and sonar screen but you quickly recognize Kang Yeosang. Another of Yunho's cohort from the Royal Academy, along with Jeong Wooyoung.

You can't help but wonder what other strays he's collected. They were always bound to be a pack, and you'd secretly fantasized about being chosen by them. How silly to think of, now.

You’re shepherded into the cluttered but cozy interior of the fishing boat. Spare tech is piled up between floats and crustacean traps, a single table and bunks filling most of the space.

By the looks of it the craft is probably used for illegal salvage more than honest work, but at least it seems safe. There's a space heater and an electric appliance station which spits out lukewarm, powdery tea when Yunho jams his finger against the display enough times.

"Sorry we can't afford better hospitality," Yunho says.

You sip at your insulated mug, cringing at the bitter taste but not the warmth that spreads through you.

"I'm–my family is paying for discretion, not luxury," you answer politely. "As long as you can get me to District Nine, I have no complaints."

"Right," Yunho props up his legs on one of the fixed chairs, still bundled tight in his peacoat. "Care to enlighten me why we're headed out there?"

You sink under the Prince's gaze, deliberating on what to tell him. You settle for the truth. "I'm looking for my brother."

He sits up, booted feet thudding to the floor as he leans forward in curiosity.

"In District Nine?" Yunho's head is cocked to the side, a sight that would make you smile under any other circumstances. His underlying scent is subtle, clean–pleasing in the way Canids always are to you.

"He left the Dome a long time ago," you say. "That's the last place we heard he'd been spotted."

Yunho was always such a calm and reserved Alpha when you were younger–a rarity, attributable to the use of domesticated canine genetics by his clan. He's uneasy and fidgety now, slender fingers drumming on the plastic tabletop.

"Is he designated?"

The question is inevitable. You'd lied about your own status, buried in a massive dosage of suppressants that made you weak and tired and sick but at least kept your true nature locked away.

"Yes," you say. "Never in line for succession, of course. But he left to join a free pack. Like you, I suppose?"

"I see," he says. "Do you know which one? We might be able to help–"

You shake your head, politely. "No. I'm not worried. Once I'm there, I will find him."

You quickly pretend to be interested in the news, with the tiniest flicker of dread that you'll see your face revealed to the world along with your escape.

Of course that's impossible–they'd kept you hidden since you were thirteen. If not for the scars than for your comms-team-constructed persona of chastity, purity, piety and of course, mourning.

No, the only imagery of you that exists are the traditional portrait commissions circulated amongst the Syndicate for approval of your future marriage contract. As soon as the bells rung to indicate the three years allotted to mourn the Imperatrix were over, the official succession vote would take place, the harem arranged well in advance.

102 days from now, you think.

There's no audio coming from the Betafax feed on the wall monitors but captions in five languages are displayed over footage of a firefight on one of the main air lanes, already suppressed by NSMR forces. Other scrolls and alerts notify of dangers in various districts, spot-hired security and armed triage teams responding while media hounds vie for live, up close coverage.

"Is it always like that out here?" you ask. Your exposure has been entirely through Betafax news feeds, typically scrubbed by Imperial censors. Occasionally a flash of the violence would make it through.

"The war didn't end out here," he remarks, laughing when he sees your expression twist a bit. "Well, not in there, either, but at least there's no lethal weapons allowed."

"They'll just kill you with words," you agree.

Yunho nods sympathetically.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. "We don't have much but–"

"I could hear her stomach growling over the engine." Someone says behind you. You turn with composure only to gag, hand flying to your face.

You smell the catch before you see it, a plastic bucket of crabs and a still limply flopping fish dropped on the table beside you. For a moment you think you can fight the involuntary nausea but in a second you've rushed past them and out the plastic sheeting over the door, retching up the meager contents of your stomach into the water below.

"You couldn't clean those outside?" Yunho asks. "Conversation was too interesting," the other man responds acerbically. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

You're surprised more by the hand on your back than the intimate term, acid-burned nostrils overwhelmed with the telltale musk of another fox.

It would be a relief, but you know better than to trust the creature patting at you like your kin.

Wooyoung, just as notorious. Discriminated against like you, for similar but separate reasons. He's only a little taller than you, sharp eyes narrowed in the blue glow of a nearby port.

"Seasick, huh?" He cackles, somehow not unkindly.

"Yeah." You nod, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. "Ever since I was a kid."

He swipes a hand over his black ears, looking bashful. "You alright with a seafood dinner?"

Your continued retching is enough of an answer.

Wooyoung cooks a different kind of stew–rehydrating strips of artificial meat in a broth that tastes nothing like you've had before, mixed with root vegetables. With the added flavor of freedom, you feel like it might be the best meal you've ever had.

Thankfully the boat ride is swift, adrenaline pumping through your system well after the shoreline begins to darken. Lights dwindle where the old river-running highways appear, whole sections obliterated by a century of disaster. You know autocars and AVs can still come out here but they don't—not with the fears of automated turrets.

According to what your mother had told you growing up in the Wild, most of the stories about what lay beyond was myth. The bigger threat was being tracked going out without clearance, strictly penalized by the Syndicate.

It adds a feeling of finality to your journey as you reach a lone dock in the neverending swamp.

The antique light post at its head contrasts with the cool headlights of an old ground vehicle, military grade and scarred by shrapnel.

Four other men wait on the shore, signaling with a hend-held LED in a code you don't understand. What you can read when you disembark is that one of the men is pointing a heavily tricked gun at you, its carbon shell glowing red when it lifts to your face.

"Welcome," the stranger says, voice a rasp.

You freeze, rucksack dropping to the planks with a thud.

"That's unnecessary, Captain." Yunho says behind you. "We checked her back at the Old Wall."

"I'll decide what's necessary." The leader says. He gestures to the shadow beside him. "Let's have a look."

The light is lifted over you, blinding you between glimpses of a cold face and cat-like eyes. This one is a Felid, claws scraping over your scalp as they rip the hood from your head.

You figure this half of the crew must have been in the Wild longer–affected by jimseung on a noticeable level.

"The color profile matches." The Felid's voice is deeper than you expected. Your scarf is removed next, and you see the silhouette of an angled head as he inspects the faint mesh of scars leading down your jaw to your neck.

"Interesting," the Captain remarks.

The Felid is gentler when he reaches for your coat, black-tipped fingers splaying in front of your face to show his claws are retracted before he reaches down to lift the long trench.

"Check her a little more thoroughly," The Captain says. Behind him, someone laughs.

You whip around to look at Yunho, suddenly desperate. "What is the meaning of this treatment? Didn't you tell them I was clear?"

He shakes his head, breeze ruffling the dark hair across his forehead, and that's when you understand which emotion is coloring his expression: pity.

"You knew?"

You understood it would only be a matter of time before they found out but you'd hoped it would be after you were well on your way.

Not from the start.

"They sell cheap knock-offs of your scent profile in department stores," Wooyoung says lightly, approaching with a slinking posture. "Popular among the omega proxies, of course."

He snatches your bag away, earning your snarl. The Captain chuckles behind you as the fox proceeds to rummage through your clothing for valuables.

"Your blockers are good," Yunho says. "But not that good."

You'd once collected his pictures and planned in detail the words you'd say during ritual courtship. You regret it. The illusion is shattered with his next words.

"Show us, please," he says, in the tell-tale rumble of an order.

The Alpha's compulsion is immediate, your only form of control or choice in how you do what you're bidden. You hold him with your glare as you reach down to unstrap the appendage from the back of your leg, pulling it out of your coat where they can all see it, black and silver-tipped and half your body length.

Unlike a biomod your tail has a mind of its own, signaling your very real aggression by twitching out of your grasp. Your breath steams in the light as your energy spikes, the tickle of fur threatening to grow out of you as you round on the men behind you.

"Like what you see?" you growl.

The gun-wielding Captain lowers his aim, laughing with a manic energy.

"Oh that's rich. A few dozen prized omega females in all of Old Seoul and we're hitched with the only one the Syndicate would trade them all for."

"Your final payment won't be transferred until I'm–" you begin.

"You have more money than the Syndicate? Doubtful," the Captain says. He has a devilish expression. "Luckily for you we have a strict policy on taking jobs from those bastards."

"We're not going to send you back," Yunho echoes.

You relax a bit, pulse still thudding in your ears.

"I don't understand." Mingi steps forward, crouching down to scent the top of your head. You think he's probably been fighting the instinct since the boat. "Who is she?"

"A Queen." Wooyoung answers, zipping the bag up. He returns it to your feet, tentatively, moving to touch your tail when you don't snap at him. You're not surprised when he buries his face in it, shoulders relaxing in pleasure.

"Nothing like it in the world."

You see Yunho reach out to place a hand on Yeosang's shoulder, stopping him from moving any closer.

It was convenient that your pheromones had a soporific effect, less so that they tended to draw other designated like an invisible string tugging at their animal brains.

"She's just a Princess Consort." Yunho says. "For now. You’re standing in front of the future Imperatrix of New Goryeo, Daughter of Heaven and the East Sea, the Lotus Princess Lee ____."

You shudder at the sound of the official title. Every word of it was anathema to you.

"A royal pain in the ass," the Captain jokes. "But a valuable one."

"So what?" you ask, ignoring the effect you're having on his hounds. "Ransom me to the Syndicate? You might as well kill me."

"Halatus has a reputation to maintain." The Felid answers before anyone else, tugging Wooyoung off of you with a distinct look of disgust on his handsome features.

"That's right," the Captain continues, stepping forward to snatch the necklace from your neck before you can respond. Yunho has to grab you from behind, ordering you to stop before you can rip at any skin you can reach with your bared, partially-transformed teeth.

"There's still some honor amongst thieves and liars, after all," he says, inspecting the thick metal chain and the tiny gems inlaid in the links, your mother's last gift to you.

"We'll take you to the end of the line. And you’ll pay extra, with insurance. Princess."

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