#22nd Dynasty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hexonthepeach · 6 months

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a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 21: confrontation

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] [20: clinical]

wc: 7k

warnings: brief mentions of smut inc. anal fingering, oral, handjob

recommended listening: she loves me, she loves me not - taemin

For the first time in a very long time, Johnny might actually be drunk. It hadn't been difficult to overindulge past the limit of his accelerated metabolism. His equally miserable company had kept pace with him, spurring him on.

Yuta had checked in on them in the executive lounge, after Mark had gone back to sleep, almost breaking down with laughter. Then he'd poured his own beer from one of the maintained taps behind the old bar, joining them in one of the rickety antique seats.

Their little drinking party is lined up like targets in a shooting gallery, not a word passing between them as each of them stare ahead. Their new company respects the unspoken agreement for as long as it takes him to finish half his draft, finally getting bored.

"You could at least play some music in here," Yuta says.

"Shh. We're having a very important conversation," Haechan says, lifting his head from his arms. By the redness on his exposed neck he's almost at his limit, too.

Jaehyun nods in agreement, emptying his can of an import, cracking another one ready beside it.

"At least tell me who's wake it is?" Yuta says.

"Mass funeral," Johnny says, raising his glass. The whiskey burns his tongue, but he savors the fact that it wipes out your scent lingering in the air. Blockers weren't going to do much for the two on either side of him, or even himself. "For our collective dignity."

"I'll cheers to that," Doyoung says, lifting a cocktail glass. Unlike the others he's stretched out in one of the low chairs, feet on the table next to a fake lantern, the artificial flame inside flickering convincingly.

The decor in this place is peak 22nd century kitsch, some Lee elder's poor taste rendered in a godawful colonial outpost hunting lodge motif, the centerpiece a heavy stone and black iron fireplace that takes up the center of the room. Old hunting trophy mounts collecting dust are packed over the walls, and crouched in corners, dozens of glass eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Johnny had always wanted Taeyong to dip into the pack resources to remodel the place, but he supposes its fitting being stared down by the stuffed wolf occupying the center of the bar's massive mirror, flanked by an impressive but dwindling collection of bottles.

"Fuck!" Haechan shouts so loudly and suddenly that Doyoung almost falls out of his chair. The younger kicks the wood in front of him, claws rending the scarred bartop. "I told you we should have gone out."

"No one is going out," Doyoung says, blandly. “Lockdown, remember?”

Johnny doesn't have to ask what has him riled, Jaehyun staring into space with the same shell-shocked impression. Johnny feels it, muscling past the overwhelming sensation with another swig of bourbon.

"Is there a gas leak in here?" Yuta asks, sitting back against the bar to engage with Doyoung.

Doyoung turns on the fire, and thankfully, some soft music–probably in an attempt to soothe the savage beasts.

"Just a matter of a particularly strong entanglement," he says, amused.

Neither of the three Alphas currently experiencing said bond react to the explanation, the effects apparent in the transformed scent profiles competing under the overwhelming burn of methane. Biology is a bitch, Johnny thinks.

"We're all in agreement Taeil's earned this one," Doyoung says. "Mark wouldn't be alive without him."

"Just need to perform life-saving surgery to get all-inclusive omega access, got it," Haechan says. "Clearly we picked the wrong career path–"

Johnny turns to him, slowly, not needing to change his expression to shut him down.

"What's the count?" Yuta asks.

Jaehyun lifts his hand, two fingers raised.

"Three, actually." Johnny slurs.

"Didn't know the tanuki had it in him." Yuta cheers, eyes raising to the floors above. "Set a record, old dog."

"Don't." Johnny is still bristling, that shiver running through his entire body making him feel even more compromised than the liquor. His dick is half-hard, twitching as he leans over to pour Jaehyun another shot.

He watches the other man's lips twist, dimple appearing in the part of his cheek exposed under the pulled-up hood of his sweatshirt. He'd been the first here for Johnny to find, drinking alone. The younger Alpha rarely showed signs of intoxication outside of bloodshot eyes and even less reactivity than usual–not until it was too late.

The Canid on his left is not as lucky.

"You want something stronger?" he asks Haechan, nudging the bottle towards him. The youngest is already clearing a glass of soju, about to drink another when Doyoung intervenes to take it from him and drink it, himself.

"Don't encourage him," Doyoung warns. The Lepid is watching over them, he knows–but he shouldn't be concerned. Whatever internal war is going on between animal brain and human rationality is on pause, along with any external conflict. A temporary truce to acknowledge their shared affliction.

"You all going to make it until date night is over?" Yuta asks.

Jaehyun stands up, stool chair tumbling in his wake. He ignores it, spilling some of the whiskey as he toasts a taxidermied fox at the end of the bar someone had added a jaunty little hat to years ago.

"To ____. For putting me through Hell. And taking me out of it." He throws the empty glass down when he's done, stumbling away from the bar so quickly they don't have time to intervene.

"I'll take care of him," Doyoung says, looking meaningfully at Johnny before he races after him. "Try not to destroy any furniture."

"What's got into him?" Yuta asks, as if there weren't more reasons than he could count on his fingers was wrong with the other Felid.

"Deeprun almost fried him," Haechan says. "Jungwoo said she helped pull him out."

Johnny had heard the story but his mind still can't wrap around it, doesn't want to think about you knowing how to fuck with their security even more than you have. Doyoung had little to add on that matter, speaking in that formal, cagey way that suggests Taeyong was investigating through Syndicate contacts, or some other protected party.

He didn't have to be included on any of it, but he still feels the odd man out. Just the hired muscle, the dope holding the dumb end of the tape, shouting down orders.

"Where do you think he's headed?" Yuta asks.

"To jerk off," Haechan says, hiccupping. "Maybe Doyoung'll let him back in the nest now . . ."

He doesn't finish the sentence, a little bit of bile in the air as he swallows whatever's come back up again.

"Fascinating," Yuta says. He grabs Jaehyun's unfinished beer, heading off with both hands full now that the company has been severely reduced in both numbers and goodwill. "See you all tomorrow at the real send-off. Gotta find a suit to wear for my own funeral."

Johnny doesn't bother acknowledging his exit, finding himself surprisingly comfortable left alone with the youngest and most emotionally compromised of his pack-mates. Whatever storm was going on in the kid's head it's mostly snuffed out right now. His tan fingers twist the cap of the empty soju bottle into a jagged shape.

"You want to talk about it?" Johnny asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Not particularly," Haechan says.

Johnny nods a bit, inspecting the labels on the dusty bottles on the top shelves.

"You think I'm mad at you–" he begins.

"Aish. This is where you say you're just disappointed. Feel like I'm back with my appa." Haechan shakes his head, but he doesn't flee like the others. Clearly he needs this time just as much as Johnny feels he needs it, too.

Johnny shakes his head. "The only person I'm disappointed in is myself."

"Wish I could relate." Haechan finally takes the whiskey, cringing at the intense scent of it before pushing it back.

"I don't like making rules," Johnny says. He reaches across the bar to pluck another bottle of soju from the haphazard collection on the other side.

"You just enforce 'em, I know." The younger is back sprawled on the wood, the white of his eye visible as he glances over. "You're a little mad, though. I know I am. Can feel it every time you're in a room."

"Can't hide it," Johnny says. It's just as true for anything related to his Alpha: there's control and then there isn't. Jimseung not being a problem when you were within range didn't mean he didn't feel those demonic urges pass through him, possessed as he is by the animal he'd been integrated with before he was born.

"It doesn't mean I'm mad at you. Love makes you do stupid, crazy shit, kid." He feels ridiculous saying it aloud, but he's also probably going to forget this by the morning. He hopes the Canid forgets it, too.

"I don't–" Haechan stops mid-sentence, realizing after a few beats that Johnny is speaking for himself. "I didn't even know you liked her."

"Against my better judgment." Johnny pours him a shot. "I think you did, too, though–didn't you?"

The younger flicks the cap, glass pinging as it connects with a bottle. He's fuming, Johnny knows, but there's something familiar in that profile, his eyes downcast and distant.

"I thought I did," Haechan admits.

"Puppy love," Johnny blurts out, mouth crooking into a wry grin.

"Whatever."

Johnny feels a bit like a bull in a china shop for how quickly his attempts to lighten the conversation are making Haechan's hackles raise more–typical cat-on-dog violence he thinks, trying to adopt a more serious tone.

"I know it doesn't mean much considering tomorrow, but I just want to–fuck." Johnny is relaxed enough he doesn't hide his reaction like he did before when the ghost of warm pleasure occupies his body, his usually slow and steady heartbeat kicking into third gear.

"Yeah, fuck." Haechan turns away, curled into his lap. It takes a bit longer this time for them to overcome the effects, sharing another shot as tradition entailed. It's not a remedy for the painful ache in his belly, or his pride as he's edged beyond the point of being able to think about much besides your fur stroking his forehead as he buried his face in your slick.

No amount of whiskey is going to chase that taste from his mouth.

"To one more night," Haechan says, still hiccupping.

"One more night," Johnny agrees, though he's distantly not sure why. "You could always go down to the barracks."

It was common for the younger Alpha to spend time with his friends in the recruit corps, a safe reprieve from the constant drain of pack dynamics. He realizes it's a dumb idea by the disgust and horror that screws up the younger's face.

"Sure, right. Subject myself to everyone's jokes about smelling like the pack's new live-in fucktoy." He affects a voice Johnny is sure is Na's by the fry in it. "'Congratulations Haechan, you finally experience the touch of a woman–?'"

Johnny stops him before he can toss his bottle down the bar at the offending stuffed fox, other hand coming to rest on his neck. The Canid doesn't fight it, hunched down, vibrating a bit. It's not just rage, Johnny thinks, the tangled layers of Haechan's response apparent in the way he leans into Johnny's thumb stroking behind his ear.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" Johnny says. He feels like he's charting dangerous territory but if he knows the effects of your claim there's a relief he can provide beyond just being prime or a mentor.

"It was the worst experience of my life, let's leave it at that." Haechan says, face hidden in his crossed arms.

"I don't know, but I think I know," he finds himself stumbling.

"No, you don't."

"A decade of living with the psychotic urge to kidnap the most famous omega in Korea doesn't count?"

Haechan barks a laugh into the tabletop, further movements of his body too much like sobs.

Johnny awkwardly moves to give him space, immediately freezing when he hears a pleading whine. His hand moves up to Haechan's head, scratching the place where his ears might be if he had them. He can't even blame the alcohol for his willingness to provide physical comfort, it's as natural as breathing where the more submissive pack members are concerned.

"Are you really gonna choose her over us?" Haechan's voice is muffled, a little thick with unshed tears.

"I know it seems that way," he says. "But no. That was never the plan, either."

What had been the plan, really? Even with his thoughts blurring together he'd never forgotten his duty–to the pack, you–striking that careful balance of planning for their future while being dependent on Taeyong's own designs for Nyctos and the leader's obligation to his clan. It's enough to make him dizzy, but at the center of it all is his conviction that if he's failed to keep you or the others safe he won't let it happen again.

"We’ll make it work,” he says. “It’s not a choice now. I can’t not be with her.”

“I get it," Haechan says, sighing. "She's gonna need someone to protect her where she's going."

The whiskey makes the blow a little softer, but he still pulls his hand back to keep the newly-formed claws from raking through Haechan's mussed hair.

"What do you mean, 'where she's going'?" he asks. It takes all his remaining sobriety to keep the question neutral; internally he's roaring.

Haechan looks up at him, reddened eyes blinking. "She didn't tell you?"

Johnny stares down the younger, Alpha surfacing as he pushes away from the bar, standing tall against the spinning of the room.

"No."

Instruction from Master Moon is not something you take for granted. Not, at least, until you're stuck beneath him, figuratively and literally.

You'd deferred to him the moment you'd seen him cave to your ask, helping him clean and preparing for tomorrow together as if you were two parts of an efficient machine, only snagged by the occasional brush against each other's bodies, the tension equally unresolved.

Throughout it he spoke on what he knew of your other mate's physiology–tone as dry as ever until you'd dropped to your knees and offered to relieve him of the erection he'd been pawing at since you'd come on his fingers.

You hoped he might accept your offer, but gentleman as ever, he'd declined, helping you onto the kitchen counter so he could give you a different kind of lesson.

"Male omegas are more sensitive to penetration, here," Taeil says, your legs wrapped over his shoulders as he traces the slick dripping down between your buttocks. "You might enjoy it, too."

"They said an Alpha might want to breed us–" You lose your train of thought, feeling him trace the ring of muscle. It feels different, obscene, but just as good as being touched where you need to be filled, your insides fluttering the same when his gloved fingers press into you.

"You'll have to relax, and remember to breathe," he repeats. "It's a tighter fit. It can be painful if you're not prepared for it."

You pant, nodding, as he penetrates you with a slick-saturated digit, not too far.

"Good girl," Taeil murmurs, other hand rubbing externally between your holes in a way that feels nicer than expected, making you relax back, propped against a sack of rice. You watch as he curls his finger a bit inside you. "Here. You'll want to feel for something a little rougher, like inside yourself. You can press there, and the outside, like this."

His demonstration involves a second finger, hooked into you, pressure translated to your aching sex through layers of muscle. You clench tight around nothing, squeezing his fingers.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes, please, yes," you say. "Do you think you could keep going?"

"As if I could stop," you hear him mutter, face lowering.

The penetrating massage is a foreign feeling but not the sensation of his mouth enveloping your sex, sucking lightly. You hear your own voice reflected off the empty apartment in repetitive moans, gaining volume as he loses a little control, bouncing you along the granite as your heels hit his back.

"I'm . . . so good, more, please, please more."

Taeil buries his face between your legs until you've melted over his head, climaxing a second time when he pulls you down to the floor to let you grind back against his length trapped in his pants as he stretches you wider, until you feel warmth bloom against you when he comes pressed into your fur.

He's right. You're insatiable. And also both a mess.

You cannot resist doing a little dance outside the closed master suite bathroom, ecstatic to be needed in this regard. You hear the water stop, the soft drip from the tap, but then nothing.

"Taeil?" you ask, opening the door when he doesn't answer.

Taeyong's bathing chambers aren't as impressive as yours back home with their artificial hot spring, but they're analogous in the enormous, pool-like stone tub. It looks like it could fit most of Nyctos, making the single occupant that much more ridiculous.

Pink peony petals float on the water, candles lit and bubbles speckling the surface, but the man you're waiting to invite you in is already drifting off, slipping beneath the surface as you watch, horrified, from the door.

You rush to pull him out, forearms wrapped beneath his armpits to ensure he doesn't slide down the side of the smooth stone again. Taeil wakes, drowsily, smiling at you when you pinch his bare chest.

"You really have had a long day, haven't you?"

“Days.” His answer is a mumble. You let him go to reach for the nearby basin of various bath oils and cleansers, deciding what to use on scent alone. Much of the offered fare are blockers, a reminder that Taeyong's toilette is another part of a carefully-constructed artifice.

It's probably best you didn't subject this poor man to ridicule, either.

You take your time fulfilling your half of the favor. As much as you want to slide in to relieve him of his own problem you know it's better to make sure he's able to finally be comfortable with you. You keep your robe on despite it getting more and more saturated, massaging rosemary-laced lemon oil into his shoulders.

"That's nice," he says, waking up a bit when your hands grasp his head, lathering spearmint-scented shampoo into his dark hair. This close you can see the gray in it, wiry follicles at his temples. You’re a little more careful with your claws, rubbing circles into his scalp and temples until he's just as boneless as before.

"I don't deserve you," he says, hand reaching back to grip your arm.

"Don’t you, though?" you ask.

Whatever you had to say is cut short as he pulls you down, not into the bath but into his open mouth as he kisses you, finally. Awkward as it is from this angle you make it your own, brushing his parted lips with yours, softly giving him the affection you know he needs the most.

“All right if I get in?”

You stand up before your descent, making him watch as you lower yourself, clothed, to encircle him again with your arms, your cheek pressed to his. In this position you can help him dunk his head beneath the water with the safety of your legs encircling him.

When he comes up for air you're ready, pulling on his abdomen to further draw him against you.

"I'm pretty sure I’m dreaming," he says.

"Hopefully this is more memorable." You punctuate your words by kissing his shoulder, your hand lowering to wrap around his length. The bathwater is hot but so is he, cock revealed in your hand better than you can imagine wrapping your lips around it.

"You were going to teach me," you whisper, gripping him tighter until he responds, audibly. His hand surrounds your own, holding your fingers to guide you.

"Ah," he releases a breath. "Yes. Please."

With the water the strokes seem more weightless, that silk-on-rigidity feeling of his skin more realized as his grip closes on yours, guiding you in the right way to flex your fingers at key points. It feels like it would be too much, too strong, but when he lets you go to rest his head against your shoulder you know he trusts you with it. You follow the sounds he makes, the shared tingling in your belly, to work him like putty between your fingers.

"Don't you want to be inside of me?" you ask into the shell of his ear. "Breed me?"

"Yes." He flounders in the water, reaching for your head to pull you closer. You press your lips into the firm connection of his trapezius to his neck, licking softly at the taste of the soap that's dripped down from his hairline.

Underneath that is his true scent: lychee and roasted chestnut flavored, like burnt sugar. You may have marked him but you haven't really claimed him, you know. Not yet. The next time will be when he's buried deep inside you the way you can feel he wants to be. Tonight, at least, coming undone with your hand on his cock is enough.

"It would be a waste if you came like this," you purr. "But I'll be ready for you when you can fill me like you want to. Imagine that for me."

You tighten your grip, other hand wrapping around his middle so you can sheathe his base where his knot is already thickened, the other on the end of his shaft. He sits up the closer he gets to coming, pushing you back without much thought.

"Kiss me." It feels like compulsion in the best way, fighting for his lips as he bucks into your hands. The claim has you feeling the build in his belly, the softness of his surrender into release. You know exactly how long to handle him past the point of his orgasm, his sensitivity transmitted to your core while your lips press into his.

"I think . . ." he mumbles. "I can understand choosing to die for this."

You kiss his cheeks and forehead, wrapping him tight in your slippery hold.

"You don't have to," you say, right before he passes out so deeply you have to check he's still on this plane.

The smell of an extinguished candle rouses you from your meditative state, water bubbling with your breaths as you sit up, arms aching.

Johnny stares down at you from the far edge of the tub, eyes almost yellow for how bloodshot the whites are. You're not sure how long he's been there but it doesn't matter to you how much or how little he’s seen.

"I guess I could use a little help here," you mutter. “Water's gone a little cold.”

"Did you make him sedate himself again?" he asks, tone matching the dark look in his hooded eyes. You reach back behind you to fumble for a bar of soap, throwing it. He ducks away a little too late–obviously impaired.

Even across the room you can smell he's been drinking, your nose wrinkling at the sharp smell.

"Checking in on me already?" you ask. "Worried I couldn't handle being alone with an Alpha in his rut?"

He grabs robes from the wall, and then a whole armful of towels when he thinks it through long enough to realize there's two people in need of them.

"I knew you weren't fucking him," Johnny says.

"Would it be any of your business if I was?" you ask.

He's silent after that, mouth set in a grim line.

Extracting an unconscious man out of a tub is no simple feat but Johnny manages it with ease, releasing you from Taeil’s dead weight. You stand up in the pool as it drains to remove your wet clothing, not bothering to hide yourself as he gets the unconscious doctor into a robe.

"You're not here to offer me any other form of assistance, are you?" you ask.

"What, four times not enough for you?"

"The best treatment I've had since I arrived here," you taunt him as you wring water out of your tail fur. "Granted there's not much for me to compare it to."

You yelp as you're lifted bodily out of the tub, squirming desperately but held fast as he pulls you against him, soaking his dark clothing.

"What are you doing?" you hiss. You know you won't disturb Taeil sleeping on the floor but you also find yourself pitching your voice low.

"Helping," Johnny slurs the word a bit, reaching around you to dry your batting tail, dragging the soft fabric up and over your head to your shoulders and the damp parts of your pinned-up hair. You lean against him, unable to do anything but relax into it, feeling every plane of his body against your bare chest and stomach through the thin layer of his wet shirt.

You break away before he can reach your legs, snatching away the towel to finish without the careful movements of his hands sweeping gently over your skin. Now you turn around, not wanting to feed him any satisfaction in reading your expression. It's unfortunate that the mirrors in the large room leave nothing unseen, including his eyes trailing down your nakedness.

"You can put Taeil in the bed and then you can leave," you say, willing yourself back to the zen state you'd felt drifting off in the bath.

“Wouldn’t that be nice for us both,” he says, dropping the other robe over your head. You peer out from beneath the plush fabric to watch him lift Taeil like he weighs nothing, carrying him to the other room. He doesn’t stop at Doyoung’s bed, instead moving out into the open living space and heading to the door.

"What are you doing?"

“He wants to talk to you first.” Johnny says before leaving, presumably to take Taeil back to his quarters.

You brace yourself for the possibility of a confrontation, unsure of who else is in the apartment until you see the outline of ears and a shock of faded red hair, breathing a little easier when Taeyong turns around on the couch, peering at you with dilated eyes and a pale complexion.

He seems just as nervous as you feel.

“I hoped you wouldn’t mind if I stayed here tonight,” he says. Your cousin's voice is fried from lack of sleep, or maybe too much of it.

“It would be ridiculous for me to bar you from your own residence," you say, keeping your tone light. "Truth be told I was a little worried you were avoiding me."

He smiles a bit, rocking forward over his bent knees and the tail wrapped around them as you join him. You choose to sit on the low, wide table beside the couch, giving him space if he really is as anxious as you smell him to be. Whatever state he's in he's exuding that chai spice undertone you'd picked up earlier, a nice contrast to the woodsy smell of him that reminds you so very much of your first home.

"I was, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking of," he demures, cocking his head. "I know it's been hard for you, too. I wish I were in a better state to handle this. Most days I can barely get out of bed."

You nod, understanding now too well how the lethargy comes and goes but that fever is always present, burning your eyes and winding your belly into pain. Not something one could just ignore, even under less tolerable circumstances.

"That's my responsibility, as well, isn't it?" You squeeze your hands in front of you, working out the wrinkles from soaking too long. "All of this could have been resolved a while ago, if I hadn't made things worse."

He shakes his head a bit, jaw tight. "There's no use in blaming each other. We'll settle the debts between us. I'm not here to talk about the tribunal, though."

"About the . . . treatment, then?" you venture. You wanted to make him feel at ease about it, he's been tortured enough from your bite.

Taeyong stutters a little, looking shy as he shakes his head. "No. That–that can wait, too. I'm here to talk about your confession."

His words evoke your memory of the awkward conversation with his mate the other night, a touch of ice forming in your center once again. You wait for him to speak, unable to anticipate where this is going.

"I haven't involved Johnny or any of the other pack members. Doyoung knows some, of course. He's the one person I can trust with my life–he shares the burden of my responsibilities in full. Sometimes I think he believes the Kim retainership contract is still in effect."

You laugh a little at that. They'd set up Garam as your second in that design only as a nod to tradition. Nowadays the roles of the two clans were very much reversed in power. Any remnants of that master-servant binding only propped up the Kim's standing in the Syndicate as the Lee clan's hostage keepers.

"I hope you can trust him, in time. He's a good person. A little long-winded but–"

"He's well-intentioned, and kind," you say. "I can tell you chose your packmates well. Even if we may have crossed each other."

Taeyong scowls a little, sitting up straighter. "I would say they're not usually like that but I think you would know it's a lie. Yuta has no interest in adhering to hierarchy, Jungwoo resents it. Despite being our closest relation, Mark doesn't want anything to do with the clan, he's just here for his own protection. Jaehyun, too–he was abandoned before he was even born."

Your ears twitch a bit at the admission.

"And Haechan feels abandoned by ours," you add. It's a bit of an investigatory statement but he nods all the same.

"That's not even the lower ranks. You're lucky if you never meet those mongrels." Taeyong shudders a bit. "Anyway, you can see why Nyctos requires a firmer hand than mine."

You reach out to place your fingers over his, loosely.

"If there's one silver lining in having spent time here," you say, "It's that I was offered a glimpse of how fragile this is. If you'll allow me to apologize for anything, it's threatening that order."

Taeyong stares at you, rosy lips thinning. You can sense he has something to say on it, but he saves it.

"Nothing can undo the original crime we committed, though," he says, fingers tightening around yours and squeezing.

His palm is damp but you don't pull away, fighting the urge to avert your gaze as submission warrants. You sense he doesn't mind being met as an equal. That first talk in the warm embrace of the conservatory is a distant memory but just as important in the sense that you've always felt drawn to him, comforted by his familiar presence.

Now he's crying again, large eyes glassy with tears. It's making your fox panic, seeing him emotionally compromised.

"If we hadn't intervened that first time, you'd still have your mother," he says. "I wasn't on the ground that night, but I was in the AV."

You swallow a knot in your throat that will never be undone.

"It was an accident," you hear yourself speak, distantly.

"No," he says, ducking his head and wiping his face. "I would have found a way to save you. Both of you. If I'd known we were pursuing you, why you were running, I would have found a way to cover your escape. I can't help but think that's why the Syndicate sent us after you again, under similar circumstances."

It feels like a blow to your chest, the quiet of the empty room loud with your own heartbeats. Taeyong's is rapid, as well, grief apparent in the steady slide of tears down his cheeks, past that scar.

Something that had been nagging at you for so long sinks its teeth in now, the pain inside you a ready defense. A bounty placed in your name by proxy, the decision to release you only for the Syndicate to pull you back. Sending Nyctos, knowing Johnny had claimed you.

"Someone wanted us to be enemies."

"Exactly," Taeyong says, pulling himself together. "I'm afraid it worked."

"It's only a failure if we're no longer allies," you say. "We are family, first. We have each other in that regard, right?"

When you are with him you can't ignore the ghosts of your fathers and mothers, your aunts and uncles, and most of all your grandfather. Both tyrants and martyrs. All those ancestors, preserved, in an intimate moment between two children lost in the dark.

At least if you were a much smaller clan and usurped of all power, you would be stronger together.

"Absolutely," he nods, tiredly. "I don't regret taking on your protection. But there's a lot more at stake for both of us than I realized. I asked you to join us without knowing what the consequences were for you, what you were running from."

You sigh a little, hands gripping your knees.

"Running towards," he corrects, wiping his nose on his shoulder until you press the sleeve wrapped over your free hand to his face to dry it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't trust you with that information," you say. You can feel Taeyong's tears as if they were your own on your cheeks, far from crying yourself. "If I don't survive this at least you know where to send my body."

"Not free even in death," Taeyong repeats your own words.

"No," you smile a bit, morbidly amused.

Taeyong's arms encircle your shoulders, pulling you to him. It's most likely more for his comfort than yours but you don't mind, curling into his chest. You stroke his tail, absentmindedly, surprised at how coarse his fur is compared to yours, though not unpleasantly so.

"I came to tell you I'll respect your decision to leave. Where you've asked to be sent," he adds, emphasizing your request. "But when we do, we will find a way to get you there alive.”

You peer up at his face, hope burning inside you. "You'd do that for me?"

"It may take time, but it's only right. Truth is, Doyoung has already been investigating how to get you out of the country, if it came down to it."

“I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me that badly,” you jest. Taeyong has a moment to look a little sad before his head whips up, both of you registering the other presence in the room by the next words spoken.

“It was my idea.”

Johnny is in the darkness of the hallway, watching you as intently as before. You’re unable to read him, but Taeyong’s reaction is enough–ears flattened, adjusting his posture so he’s facing the Felid head on.

"Don't," Taeyong warns.

You place a hand on the other Vulpine’s shoulder, standing up rather than shrinking. Johnny is still enraged, you think, but unlike his other episodes it’s directionless, more dangerous for the lack of a target.

You'll give him one.

“You were going to send me away? Was I going to have a say in the matter?”

“No,” he admits.

You may as well be mirroring him for the intensity of the anger that flows through you at the thought of being shipped off to some other destination, removed like an inconvenience.

“We were thinking of your safety,” Taeyong intercedes. "I'm sorry for–"

“You were also thinking of your own,” you say, not looking back. “Which is only fair. You have other people under your protection."

You continue to stare down Johnny, approaching him with the stalking movement of something much bigger, more dangerous, gauging his reaction.

"You were right, I am a threat," you say. "It's only a matter of time before whoever in the Syndicate has been trying to kill you on my behalf tries again. It's the only option, isn't it?"

"You're not leaving," he declares.

Another decision made for you.

"That's what you wanted before. What's the difference now?" Your voice cracks a bit, keeping your eyes locked with his to continue the fight for dominance. He has to hunch over to look down at you, now, not ceding his position. You're bathed in smoky bourbon with the orange peel spike of an upset cat.

"You are not leaving. Not now. Not ever. And absolutely not to the Winter Palace."

Your eyes widen, clenching your fists.

"Over my dead body," he adds, practically spitting.

"Did you tell him?" You finally look back at Taeyong but he's just as surprised, shaking his head slightly.

"How did you find out?"

Johnny's anxiety worms its way through the bond, again. You realize he's swaying, not able to stand upright with his usual grace. He should have a tail to balance him but he's holding back. Even tipping over internally into jimseung he doesn't want to scare you.

"I didn't," he says. "Haechan did."

"What?" you ask.

You realize it even as he gestures loosely at his agent. You'd written those words for him and him alone but you're not surprised Haechan had shared them. Anything to dig in the knife a little deeper, you supposed.

"'A thousand clicks away by spring', isn't that what you said? Even if you were exaggerating, that's a lot further than any District. And you were headed north past Strictland. It wasn't hard to guess."

You relax, no longer ready to fight but still livid.

"I've already made my choice," you say. "And so has your pack. If a single person rejects me or has to be cut out because of me then the natural solution is for my self-exile. It's no different than before."

Johnny's nostrils flare as he leans in, eyes darting to your lips and scanning across your face. He looks up over your head at Taeyong, who has approached to back you up. Johnny stops him in his tracks with a flash of teeth.

You don't balk at the display of aggression, letting that emotion wash over you. It was good to let him show his true nature, to see him without the mask of civility.

"You marked half of my pack and now you think you can just fuck off to somewhere no one has ever come back alive from!?" His voice grows louder as he speaks, blasting you both. "You're going to abandon us?"

You feel strangely flushed, hearing the implication there.

"You don't need me," you say. "You didn't even want me."

He angles his head, leaning in over you until he's close enough for his body heat to meld with yours.

"You don't sound very sure about that," he says.

His hands raise to ghost your shoulders, up to your face. It's without contact but you're immediately overwhelmed by the desire to fold into his touch again, to clutch him tight and never let him go.

Of course you didn't want to leave them. But it was only right if it came at that high of a cost.

You feel yourself begin to shake, all the fight in you willed back to the surface, trying to remember those defenses he'd subjected you to: claws in your skin, self-loathing in your craw. It's enough to pull you back, perhaps a little too far, as you hold yourself against the chill in the room.

"It's the right thing to do," you say, closing your eyes.

"You said you'd accept me."

Johnny's tone is pleading now. It makes you feel wretched.

"I did. But I never said I'd stay," you correct.

You feel when he grabs at you, stopping his clawed fingers before they can wrap around your arm. Taeyong lets out a low growl of warning, seizing you and bringing you away from him.

"Leave her alone, Youngho. This can wait."

Johnny laughs, harshly. "I thought we were in this together. You chose her, agreed to protect her. For what, a one-way ticket to a tomb?"

"It's not as simple as that," Taeyong says. "Go. Sleep it off, at least."

"I'm not going anywhere. Not if you're claiming my mate just so you can help her leave," Johnny says, standing to his full height. "And you know I'm fine."

"If I lit a match your breath would be on fire," Taeyong says, disgusted.

You turn away from the man at your back, unable to face him any longer.

"He can stay, if he stays shifted," you say. "I'm tired of hearing his voice."

You feel Johnny flinch at the harshness of your words, moving past you before he begins removing his clothes, right there.

"Do you have any sense?" Taeyong groans.

"You think she hasn't seen this before?" He pulls his shirt over his head and you have to turn away, again, having caught a glimpse of the same expanse of flexing muscle you'd touched the night before. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the vibrant ink in his skin, the shapes clearer in the light. Floral greens and yellows grace his chest and arms, a garden just for you, forbidden from touch.

"Afraid you won't be able to resist?" He asks, undoing his belt.

"Be the beast you are," you say, adding the bite of a command. By the sound of fabric ripping and an angry snarl you know it's worked. He thuds to the floor, the all-too human hair on your body and fur raising at the sensation of being watched by a predator's eyes.

You don't bother looking back, arm encircling Taeyong as you head for the bedroom, feeling wretched at guiding him from a more comfortable destination when you feel his shuffling steps pulled towards his nest.

"Sleep it off," you tell the jaguar pacing behind you, dragging the remnants of his clothing. "I don't want to hear another word from you until tomorrow."

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