Alpha Soap x Omega Reader
Ch.3-Moving Day
Masterlist
Warnings: Omegaverse, panic attacks, dehumanization, talks of injury, alphas being jerks, injury, violence
_________________________________________________
“Nice furniture at least.” Kyle pants as he pushes the couch across the room, doing his best not to scratch the floor. Just a few feet away John is doing the same thing to a chair.
The furniture had all come with the house, covered in plastic when they had first arrived that morning. Everything was covered in a thin film of decenter, completely erasing any trace of the previous family that lived there.
“Yeah, the military likes to cater to packs with Omegas.” John huffs, wiping the seat from his brow, dropping into the chair now bathed in sunlight. No doubt he would claim it for himself once they were settled.
“They reason that if they have nicer accommodations it’ll lead to an easier environment and more pups down the road. Alpha and Omega pairings have a higher chance of producing Alphas after all, and when they’re raised in the military are more likely to join when they get older.”
Kyle's face sours at the thought, glad they wouldn’t have to worry about it in their own pack. They had enough of their own issues, and bringing pups into the mix was just asking for trouble.
Joining John, he squeezes himself into the chair, legs tossed over the side as they relax, both panting and warm from the exertion of moving furniture from room to room, up and down stairs. Johnny’s gone to pick up their newest addition, and Simon has busied himself upstairs, leaving them alone.
Outside they could hear the sound of their neighbors flowing in through the open window. The shouts of parents and the rustling trees. A far cry from the constant thumping of boots and shouts of rowdy recruits as they found whatever they could to entertain themselves between rotations. It was peaceful.
“You think this was the right thing to do?”
The question takes Kyle by surprise, watching as John stares off into space, mind no doubt racing with all the possibilities their new living situation brought. It was odd to see the confident Alpha questioning himself, though that may have been a bit of a strong word. More so pondering the thought.
Firm hands wrapped around his shoulder, gently bringing his mate closer, scenting the stubborn man as he spoke.
“Have a bit more faith in Johnny, yeah? You said it yourself, they needed our help.” Kyle’s thumb stroked his knuckles, humming while John’s body continued to slacken. He was practically putty by this point, equal parts thanks to the plush hold of the chair and his own touch. It was the first time in years they didn’t have to worry about others intruding on the space, only their own scents hanging in the air.
Soon enough there would be another.
“Enough slacking. I want a proper place to sleep tonight. That was the deal for all this.” Simon’s entrance was met with half-lidded glances, already tired from earlier and thinking about the work still ahead making them more exhausted.
With great difficulty they managed to get up, lumbering out of the room and getting to work on their nesting spot. Not a proper nest without an Omega, but still what they chose to call it. A space where they could all sleep together and relax after a rough day, basking in the presence of their pack when they didn’t want to stay in their own rooms across the hall, Simon and Johnny in one room with Kyle and John in the other. Space when they needed it, or a banishment from the others when they acted up.
“Johnny will be back soon, and I want everything in place.” Simon grumbled, grabbing the edge of the mattress and flipping it a few feet away like it was nothing. Pushing it with the others, he quickly tossed the blankets and sheets over top.
It was nice to have a space so big, just for themselves. Their own personal touches lingered in the room, the most filled of any space in the house thanks to them starting to move everything the day before. Everything else could wait in favor of a restful sleep.
It was almost criminal for the government to keep mattresses like this tucked away, airy layers of memory foam covered in silken sheets with thread counts that spanned four numbers found in every linen closet of the floor and reserved for the pack Omega housing, but that was the draw after all.
In any case, it was at their disposal now to do what they wanted with the numerous sheets, even setting aside a few for the Omega arriving soon. They were the reason they had access to it after all, so it was only fair. A step in the right direction to an easy cohabitation. Hopefully they had similar hopes of a peaceful existence. ______________________________
The neighborhood is surprisingly spacious, a decent amount of spacing between the houses. Much more than the ones you drove past earlier, which had been nearly stacked on top of one another with little more than a fence separating them. Not even tall enough to keep the neighbors from peaking into each other’s yards.
Thankfully Johnny’s driving had tempered down a bit in the residential area, going the speed limit for the first time and allowing you to finally release your grip on the door handle though they still remained firmly gripped together in front of you. The further you drive the more spaced out they grow, and they turn from single stories to two, the fences higher and yards bigger.
The clock on the dash passes around forty-five minutes before you reach your destination.
Pulling up to the house, it’s innocent enough, though that doesn’t mean it will stay that way. The worst secrets hide behind pristine paint jobs and shiny windows with curtains drawn.
Two stories, light gray siding framing white windows, with a door the same stark color as it stood ajar. There’s no garage, one car already parked in the driveway as you pull into the spot next to it. A moving truck sits just out front along the pavement, the back door open revealing the half empty interior still stacked with a number of boxes.
The sheer amount took you by surprise, not expecting so much from a military man. They were supposed to be tidy and all that stuff, right? Always moving around and sharing spaces with others. Where had he kept all this stuff before now?
The car jerks to a stop and Johnny is quick to climb out, staring at you through the window. Expectant.
The previously innocent building now seems daunting. This is where you’ll be spending the next ten months, stuck with a man you hardly even know but are now forced to rely upon. Hopefully he won’t be around too much, though with no previous experience with the military there was no way to know how often that would be.
In any case, it’s better than the Institute. Something you chant like a mantra as you hesitantly open the door, trying not to let it slam behind you. Johnny rounds the front of the car, hand heavy as he grabs your shoulder.
It’s not hard but still makes you jump at the contact, the constriction knocking the wind from your lungs. Frozen. Unable to move around the fear that grips you. Memories of rough, cold hands and bruises resurface like a diver from the dark depths, leaving you gasping all the same.
Johnny’s brows furrow for a moment, looking almost hurt, before a realization flashes. Understanding. You want to apologize, to assure him it's not his fault, but he simply turns, gesturing you to follow.
“Everything is being moved in now, but I can show you around and we can get you situated.”
Nodding, you trail him into the house, swallowing your nerves and focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
Reaching the front steps, there’s dirt trialing through the doorway. He must have hired movers, judging from the open door and number of different footprints you spot in the mess, their prints crossing over each other like an abstract pattern. A series of scents swirl through the space in a similar fashion, telling of how long they had been there. You do your best to block them out even as they tickle the back of your mind, itching in a familiar way that has you puzzled.
Boxes are piled high in every corner, various states of empty as their contents cover the floor and tables in a sea of paper and wrappings. The inside is just as innocuous as exterior, a relatively open floor plan that allows you to see almost the entire first floor upon entry. All beige walls and hardwood floors, the ceiling a textured bone white.
The living room is just beyond the stoop, bleeding right into the kitchen to the left and beyond a set of couches is a large sliding glass door that leads to the back yard. To the left is a short hallway, and upon further investigation you discover it to be a decently sized bathroom and bedroom with an office across the hall. What comes as a surprise is the stairs, a set going both up and down revealing a basement.
“Most of the rooms are upstairs, so you don’t have to worry about sharing.” Johnny assures you, already heading up and taking the steps two at a time. The upstairs consists of one main hall that creaks as you walk, a few of what you assume are rooms and bathrooms lining the sides.
The further you get the more you can see and hear, voices floating from down the hall and making you pause. It must be the movers, you surmise as Johnny’s pace quickens towards the source as the sound of what you assume is furniture being set down thumps. With every intention to follow, your attention is caught by a flash of color, pausing mid step to peer through the crack.
Looking back down the hall Johnny has already disappeared, the voices growing loud at his appearance with a few choice words legible. He seemed to be doing well enough, and there was no reason for you to have to talk with them, right? It’s not your stuff being moved around. Besides, you weren’t in the mood to be meeting with new people, already looking forward to crashing in a bed that didn’t have thin blankets and a lumpy mattress.
The door is surprisingly heavy, taking more than a light shove to open, not even creaking as it reveals the room beyond.
Stepping inside, you’re surprised by the number of blankets decorating the area, scattered over a few mattresses pushed together on the floor, standing about a foot off the ground with some risers. The master bedroom if you had to guess by the size, a door on the side revealing a bathroom with, from where you stood peering in, what looked like a tub. It faced the backyard, large windows allowing in sunlight dappled from the tree just beyond.
It was nice, the best room is the house, and already claimed it seemed. The nest was rather impressive, if a bit large for one person. Odd that it was already set up when the rest of the house was still in such disarray. Johnny seemed the type to have a nest even without an Omega, a comfort for the kind Alpha who had a rough job, so it was no surprise even if it made you a bit miffed that he had already claimed spaces without asking. But that was his right as an Alpha, wasn’t it. To take what he wanted without thought.
Unmalicious, but annoying.
Fine. If he wanted the big room he could have it, as long as he was alright with sharing the tub, the only one you had seen so far. There were plenty of other rooms to choose from in the hall so there was bound to be at least one you liked. But along with the reassurance the oddity of it struck you.
Three floors. Multiple bathrooms and bedrooms. Even the kitchen had more chairs than anyone you had ever had over for dinner.
Why was there so much space?
There were only two of you, supposedly courting. One of the smaller houses you saw earlier would have been more than enough space, two bedrooms even generous. Maybe they had more money over here? He had mentioned something about specialty housing since you were an Omega on the way over. The military loved Alpha-Omega couples, a truth that seemed to follow no matter where you went. But even this seemed to be a bit extravagant. What if-
Your adrenaline spikes, flooding your system with hackles rising before you even know what’s happening. The previously serene scene now foreboding, unease settling in your bones as a chill erupts across your skin.
Fear wasn’t a new emotion to you, acting as a guiding force in your life and essential to your successful assumptions so far, hardly ever clouding instead of guiding. And right now it was screaming at you to run, so loud it drowned out every other sense, frozen in place. Prey already in the jaws of a predator. Never had it hit this quick, this unyielding as it ran away with any common sense.
There was no time to react as the crushing grip pulled you back, fingers laced so tight around your nape a soft pop escaped from under their grip. A small gasp escaped as you were torn out of the room, picked up like an unruly kitten, feet barely touching the ground before you were tossed back out into the hall. Bone met drywall as your skull bounced off the wall, sure to leave a dent in its place as pain left you paralyzed.
Hopefully you didn’t have to pay a security deposit for this place.
The hardwood floor is the only thing to catch you as you land in a heap, a small chirp of pain escaping as your still-sore body crumples on impact, wrist twisting at an odd angle trying to catch yourself. The blinding pain is nothing compared to the smell though. Sharp and burning, eyes watering as you cover your nose in an attempt to block it out. It carries the scent of crackling ozone, the promise of lightning that tears you apart with its brutal strike.
Still it persists like a rabid dog with its jaws locked, attacking your senses and leaving you vulnerable to the thundering footsteps that follow. It reminds you of the camp counselors, always upset about one thing or another, and their scents similarly so as they stomped around without a care in the world. As if they weren’t the ones enacting hell on their charges.
A figure, little more than a dark blur thanks to the tears that crowd your waterline and try to flush the burning scent away, stands like a sentry before you. Deep, rumbling growls cut the air, only sending you into even more of a panic as every fiber screams to get away. But as you attempt to scramble back your attacker moves in a flash, snatching both your wrists in one hand and twisting them behind your back in one deft movement, forcing your face to the floor in one easy flip as they pinned you.
“What the hell is going on here?”
A voice, vaguely familiar, shouts over the growls coming from the person behind you. A wheezing snarl is all you can manage, trying to squirm out of their grip but to no avail as blunted nails scratch any skin in reach. Their own sharper, longer, deadlier, dig back in response, threatening to pull a yelp held behind clenched teeth. As a last ditch effort you throw your heel back, managing to clip their side with a solid thud. It does nothing to move them, the only reaction being to increase the bone crushing pressure.
Fuck. It hurts. Not the kind of pain that gives a boost of rage induced strength but the type that erases any hope of triumph.
On the verge of snapping, the weight is lifted. In a flash you’re up, back to the wall as you spin to face your attacker.
Dark eyes meet your own, just as scathing even from his position under Johnny, who is currently holding him in a headlock. His chest heaves, huffing as he tries to escape the hold. Sandy hair sticks to pale skin, stuck with sweat thanks to the heat of the house and his current struggles. Despite the mask covering the lower half of his face you can clearly picture the snarl beneath, teeth barred like knives. Each time he moves to get out Johnny tightens his legs, muscle corded legs keeping his arms pinned to his sides as the two men struggle, grunting in a fight for control.
Movement draws your attention, eyes flicking up to meet two others that stand just beyond the tangle of limbs.
Price.
Owlish, you stare back at the man, not having expected to ever see him again after your last visit. He’s out of the military uniform, though that doesn't take away from his cutting figure, glaring down at the two men grappling on the floor. Despite the displeasure that carries in every inch of his posture he seems less intimidating than before thanks to the soft light coming in from the window just behind him, his hair out of place and face flushed.
His hands rest on his hips, elbow nearly knocking into the person next to him. An easy touch between the two already standing so close. A Beta, telling by the way his jaw is set. The extra set of canines they have on their lower jaws gives it a distinct shape.
Instead of watching the current MMA match he’s instead focused on you, brows furrowed as they scan your form, calculating. They’re sharp in their movements yet lack the predatory glint of the other. Focused but not scathing. They zero in on your side and he’s quick to move, stepping over the two on the floor and carefully making his way over to where you remained frozen.
“You’re hurt.” His voice is low and smooth with that subtle beta lithe, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the thudding struggles. It could be the potential concussion or the warmth he emits, but you can only stare back in confusion. He gestures to your side, careful to keep his hands in view. Hesitant you follow the gesture, trying not to puke at the movement. A dark stain can be seen blooming across the soft fabric, side pulsing as it grows along with the crimson petals. A new wave of nausea takes over, feeling sick as you huff.
“I thought it was healed enough.” He snorts, head shaking.
“We have some bandages around here somewhere. Stick around long enough and you’ll learn these guys are always hurting themselves.”
Posture stiffening, his words echo. What did he mean by stick around? You were courting Johnny. He was, should be, the only one you had to deal with. The only one you had mentally prepared yourself to deal with. Maybe they were just good friends. Price mentioned before that they were on a team, so maybe they just hung out a lot. Would that mean you had to constantly be on edge whenever he invited them around, or could they go to one of their places?
Before you can question it too much, Price is barking out orders, just as he had the first time you met him.
“Everyone, downstairs now!”
Johnny breaks away from his wrestling partner with a growl, quickly picking himself up off the ground with a huff and stomping over to where you stood. Despite the anger radiating off him, he’s gentle as he takes you by the arm, guiding you back downstairs and settling on the couch.
“Stay here.” Is all he says before going off towards a stack of boxes, digging through their contents as they clatter to the ground with growing intensity. A jumble of unfamiliar curses, or what you assume are, laid heavy by his accent.
You’re not alone for long, the brief shouting of voices from upstairs followed by muffled footsteps as they descend. First is the one who grabbed you, looking just as angry as he had while being pinned. His jaw is clenched so hard the veins of his neck stand out as he fixes you with a piercing glare. Leaning against the wall, he makes space for the others to enter as Johnny turns back around. A bottle of peroxide and a few adhesive bandages rest in his hands, taking you by surprise. There had never been more than a few small bandages for the occasional papercut in your own apartment, yet he seemed to find the supplies for your sizable healing wounds easy enough.
‘Stick around long enough and you’ll learn these guys are already hurting themselves.’
The words come back to you, making you wonder just how often they fought with each other in order to have such supplies on hand. Before he can sit down you snatch the supplies, quickly moving to stop the spread before it can bleed onto the couch. With the tension in the air, there’s no reason to cause another fight.
For a moment Johnny looks like he wants to argue, a trill of protest with lips parting in protest only to pause as you quickly begin tending to the wound yourself. Instead he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, silently watching as Price and the Beta filter in, taking residence in the remaining spots. The only place left is between you and Johnny, but from the way you’re being glared at like it could set you on fire, there’s not much worry that it’ll be occupied.
They’re silent as you work, the silent gathering watching as you dab at the wound with the peroxide. Chemicals burn from the soaked cotton as it bites at the open wound, latching on to the pain to avoid the awkward stares. The stitches had only just come out, healing prolonged by your malnourished state. Despite escaping your captors it seemed their influence reached out even now, continuing to make your life as difficult as possible for as long as they could. Weeks of healing and being the utmost careful not to reopen them, only to have it ruined by an Alpha with a bad attitude. He doesn’t have to say itl for you to know, the distinct scent and pure entitlement are more truthful than any words.
The first set of bandages goes on without issue, but as you try to reach around and apply them to your side the angle is just right to send a jolt of pain, making you jump and unable to suppress the small groan of frustration. The blond in the corner scoffs, earning a glare as a low growl rumbles in your throat. He hadn’t said a word. Didn’t need to for you to hate him.
“Here, let me help with that.” The Beta approaches, kneeling next to the couch and holding his hand out for the bandage. You eye the limb wearily, knowing it’ll be near impossible to wrap the bandages without help, and not without a whole lot of pain and woe. As embarrassing as it was to have to rely on yet another person for help, the prospect of continuing to struggle further in front of the four men was just as bad. Best to rip off the band aid, or in this case put it on.
He takes the bandages with a small smile, quickly inspecting the wound before soothing the adhesive cotton over and staunching the trickle of blood. His hands are soft, so light you can hardly feel them as they glide over the edges to make sure it's secure. This close, and no longer in a state of panic, you get a better look at him.
His eyes are a comforting brown, like the earth just after it rained. They hold a warmth like Johnny’s despite their tone being more akin to glare from before. He’s cute, in a rugged way, clearly younger than the others even if the light shadow along his jaw makes him look older. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you were the same age, maybe even younger. It was too easy to imagine him as a coworker or classmate, joining you on the way out of the building to discuss your weekend plans.
His skin is smooth, light lines barely visible marring the surface unlike the way they hang heavy on Price’s own face. His hair is cropped short. Everything about him is neat and tidy, giving him an air of competence. Not threatening but trustworthy. Dog tags peek from under his shirt, the gap allowing you to catch the words etched onto their silver surface.
Kyle Gerrick.
A name for a face, taking away a level of uncertainty around him.
This close, as he leans around you to check that everything is in place, his scent is inescapable. Nowhere near as strong as the Alphas that populate the room, but all the more reassuring in its subdued tone. It’s a small reassurance to have him here, far more comfortable than if it had just been you and the others and is the only thing ground you to keep from snapping. Sweet citrus tickles your senses, unintentionally taking a deeper whiff of the smell to drown out the others' competing presence. It’s strong but not overbearing, distinct enough to jog a memory from the back of your mind.
Kyle startles as you pull away, eyes snapping around the room to fully take in the objects that lay scattered about. Once so seemingly innocent, random even, no fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. One you didn’t like the picture of.
A number of jackets are tossed over chairs and on the rack, some folded while others lie in a crumpled heap. Running shoes remain piled by the door, all different sizes and styles. Open cabinets are filled with mugs and plates of every color, chipped from years of wear. Too many for one, even two people. All easy to overlook at first glance and nothing any normal person would give a second thought.
What’s not so easy to ignore is the picture frame, still in the box and now only visible as it sat by your feet, mocking your oblivious ignorance.
Four men standing in front of a helicopter, their weapons casually dangling at their sides while leaning on each other in a way that spoke of a comfortable familiarity. A dependence even. They look different than now, dressed in the heavy layers of military clothes and gadgets filling out their bulk, but it's easy to recognize them.
Johnny is the most recognizable as he beams back at the camera, Price’s face shaded by a fisherman hat against the heavy sun with a content pull bringing up the corner of his lips. Kyle is sandwiched between them, a baseball cap and sunglasses covering his face but not obscuring the easy smile he wears. On the other side of Johnny is a man obscured by a mask, a dull white skull covering the upper portion and contrasting the black fabric below. Maybe a bit funny looking on any other, like a highschooler trying to seem dark and mysterious, but his demeanor helped sell the look into something truly threatening. The mask makes his eyes look far too sunken in giving him a ghoulish gaze, the only thing you could see.
While it's impossible to compare his face it isn’t a far jump to assume it is the figure currently standing across the room, still seething as the scent of his anger pollutes the air. A far cry from the relaxed postures he takes in the photo, easily leaning on the others, an arm thrown around their shoulders possessively. It's closer, more intimate than any would get with their teammates. The way their hands rested on each other, head tilted and bodies turned as if to soak up as much of each other’s presence as possible.
Risking another look into the box there’s stacks of other photos peeking out from beneath carefully placed packing paper. Each depicts them in different situations, from blazing deserts to a rocky looking boat, but all telling the same story.
They were close. Very close.
“What are you doing?” Kyle jumps, pulling back as you yank the fabric of his collar away from his neck as the threads stretch and shout in protest at the treatment. His hands catch yours, firm and strong, but you’ve already seen enough. A slight scarring on his shoulder, three marks all overlapping one another. The mark of a mated Beta.
The sight is enough to have you flinching back as if burned, like his mere proximity is enough to cause pain, quickly turning on your next target. Johnny doesn’t have time to move beyond a brow raise, shoulders stiffening as you give him the same treatment while fingers dig frantically at the fabric all the while praying your hunch is wrong. That he wouldn’t be stupid enough to not mention such an important detail.
Beta and Alpha bites, located on their shoulders, were always less obvious than Omega markings. Evolution made it nearly impossible to bite hard enough to leave a proper mating mark on their necks without killing them, the skin tougher thanks to generations of fighting and tearing out each other's throats. As a result they adapted them to be lower, working the same way and easier to hide and protect. Lighter in color, just like the same ones staring back at you from Johnny’s skin.
“You’re mated.” It’s a simple statement, carrying all the weight of a loaded gun as you fire the words into the silence of the room, shattering the tension.
Stupid. Fucking. Stupid. Of course you should have expected something like this. The universe couldn’t do a single thing that wasn’t some elaborate joke, practically foaming at the mouth to pull the rug and leave you sore from the tumble.
“Of course he is.” The blond snaps, snarling as he pushes off the wall. “And you’re the Omega pushing their way into our pack.” Stalking closer, his face contorts as he approaches, hostility evident as you realize you’re practically straddling Johnny with his shirt still in hand. His mate.
Before he can get halfway across the room Price is moving, a wall of stone as he stands between you, arms crossed and chin raised. They’re both growling, like the sound of distant thunder despite the clear sky outside as they stand toe-to-toe. One breath away from a fight. Muscles clenched, you're ready to make a break for the front door the moment they move.
“That’s enough Simon. Stand down.” His voice is rough, carrying the tone of command that has your skin itching to obey. He’s not as tall as the other Alpha, but his shoulders remain squared under the pressure weighing the air.
Despite the anger and pheromones that flood the room your mind quickly connects the dots. The room upstairs wasn’t Johnny’s, but all theirs, set up while he was gone just as they were doing the rest of their house. Their home, which you were intruding upon. Simon’s reaction made sense now, even if you still found it rude. If anyone intruded in your nest, your place of safety, it would be cause for anger, if not a swift nip to get them moving along.
It makes sense now. How the approval had come so quickly and with little issue. Even if Johnny was a prime candidate there still should have been at least a little push back, some questioning on if he alone would be able to handle someone with your history when he was gone for long stretches of time. This was the answer. A full pack of trained military personnel, all ready and capable of handling any issues.
One alone would have been sufficient, enough to handle whatever predicted temper tantrums or escape attempts you had planned, but four? Overkill.
The military must have been just as eager to get an Omega with an established pack, remembering a few coworkers who had family in the service talking about some of the regulations that they had begun pushing for all across the world. It wasn’t uncommon for a group to become packs when they spent so much time together in stressing circumstances and was even encouraged.
One of your roommates in college, a meek Beta with a talent for writing papers the night before they were due, had been getting their master's in psychology, their area of study being on pack bonding in relation to trauma and how those bonds stood against those forged in differing circumstances to assess long-term health. If whole pack therapy should be considered as more of an approach, and if they did more harm than good.
Getting Omegas in the mix was a bit trickier considering they were barred from any branch, and the last you heard there was a sign on incentive for Omegas willing to be assigned to packs. A nice signing bonus that would inevitably go to whoever they were given to.
It was a delicate and intricate process of selection and placement. Bonds already forged and new ones being woven in, careful not to step on any tails as each person took their time coming to understand what being part of a pack rather than a mated pair meant, preparation given ahead of time. Scent soaked clothing and courting gifts exchanges, slow introduction of each pack member in a controlled environment. Even then the rate of rejection hovered around forty percent for the average pack.
For some forsaken reason, Johnny hadn’t seemed to consider this important enough to bring up. Call it a blind positivity or blissful ignorance. It was a bit late for scolding, especially when you had been the one so desperate for his help, not even thinking twice about asking any contextual questions and simply happy with the fact he was willing to do so. Not all the blame could be placed on him, though a sizable portion could be attributed.
In any case it was time for damage control before things got too out of hand.
Standing, you move around Price, squeezing between him and the coffee table to face the angry Alpha on the other side. Here you’re under the influence of his full presence, flinching back only to realize Price form is caging you between them. No room for escape.
Deep breaths. In, out.
“I didn’t know he had a pack.” You level your gaze with Simon’s, refusing to back down even as he inches closer. Another wave of musk hits, a low growl coming from Price. A warning.
“I didn’t even know he had a mate. Or rather, mates.”
Simon is silent, eyes narrowed, sliding over to where Johnny rested on the couch. Looking for confirmation if you had to guess, which he must receive as his brow quirks.
“If I had known I wouldn’t have asked. I would have tried to find someone else.” Despite the horror of the Institute, the prospect and now reality of living with three Alphas and a Beta was easily just as dangerous. A lot harder to fight back against in any case. Institutes were still government monitored, and even if they broke you down they couldn’t kill you. These men, from what you knew, could make you disappear with little question. Hide your body and claim for years that they just wanted to keep their Omega secure. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, especially in the military.
“That so?” Simon scoffs. His posture slackens but doesn’t relax even as the tension eases just a fraction. Smothering instead of strangling.
Nodding, you flinch as he huffs in annoyance, a hand coming to scratch at his neck as his claws leave light lines behind. The sound is quickly followed by a sharp smack and that of Johnny yelping. Turning back, you see Kyle standing behind him, arms crossed and glaring as Johnny rubs the back of his head.
“You didn’t feel like that was important information?” Kyle’s tone conveyed the same annoyance you felt. A sense of satisfaction fills you at the fact that you’re not the only one upset about the information.
“She seemed a bit desperate at the time. Since it wasn’t a real courting, I didn’t think it mattered that much. Like taking on a roommate.”
“How would you feel about being sent out on a mission blind? Be real shit wouldn’t it.” Price chastises him, all attention now focused on Johnny who squirms under their combined glares.
“I…I guess.” He mumbles. Despite the situation you can't help but feel bad for him. There didn’t seem to be malicious intent behind his actions, just a lack of thought at the consequences. Not only that, but he’s your closest ally so far and you still owe him for taking the chance.
Their raised voices and harsh tones are grating, and a feeling of dread builds like water against a dam. Not because of their words. No, you had heard far worse before, muttered in corners and tossed right in your face, always talked about as if you weren’t there. An unsightly painting hung by an eclectic collector. You could hardly give a damn about what they thought about the situation, but the revelations and disagreement was enough to sprout a new line of thought.
What if they decided to cut the agreement off?
Being returned so quickly would raise even more suspicion at the fact that not even a full pack could handle you. Enough that they might decide to add more time onto your sentence to ensure a full reformation, months not doing enough. Maybe even years. After that they could declare you incapable and be appointed an overseer who would make all your decisions, and everyone knew what happened to Omegas after that.
“In any case, we’re stuck with each other now.” Cutting in, you attempt to keep your panic from showing as you clear your throat. “We’re all getting something out of this. I apologize for my behavior earlier,” Not entirely true, but an apology that seemed to pass the test as Simon’s posture relaxed for just a breath, no longer clutching his arms across his chest as if it were the only thing keeping him from sinking his nails into you. “,but now that everything's out in the open we can adjust as needed.”
Taking a moment to glance at each man, you push every ounce of sincerity you can. Playing the part of the meek Omega.
“I’m looking to intrude on your lives. You don’t even have to act like I’m here. Johnny is the only one that I have to talk with for things and I’ll do my best to keep out of the way.” It would be no different than before, going about life, gaining as little attention as possible while doing your best to live peacefully and to the fullest.
“Please.” Head downcast, it's impossible to face them with dignity as you all but beg, pleading for understanding you refuse to voice even as your tone quivers. “I can’t go back. Not until it's over.”
They’re silent, and it’s even worse than when they had been yelling. A judgment that weighed without proclamation as your mind buzzed with uncertainty.
“We’re not sending you back.” It was Johnny who spoke, getting up to approach. His hand was heavy, grounding you once more as he gripped your shoulder. An anchor in the storm of swirling thoughts and scents. “I made a promise, and I’d be daft to break it.”
“Not your fault he’s a bit thick in the head.” Price cuts in. “One to many concussions on that one.”
There’s a truth to his tone, but it does enough to ease the remaining tension in the room. Enough so that even you find yourself laughing along with the others as Johnny sputters out a defense.
“Thank you.” Smiling, you watch as they move, stretching and heading back towards the stairs. Going to follow, you’re stopped by Kyle.
“We can get started on bringing your stuff in. I’m sure you’d like to get settled.”
“I’ll help ya’. Don’t want to spend all day dragging everything in.” Johnny heads for the door, a teasing tilt to his tone as he takes a swipe for the keys only to have Kyle snatch them away. Pushing the man towards the stairs with a firm shove, he twirls the metallic ring around his own fingers.
“I’ve had enough of putting things together and moving furniture. Time for you to do some heavy lifting while I help our friend here.”
It looks like he wants to argue but is interrupted as Simon’s voice carries down, calling him up. Defeated, he hikes up the stairs, making his displeasure known with each heavy step. It’s odd to see him follow orders after having him as a carefully constructed figure in your mind, independent and headstrong. At least there’s somebody who can reign him in.
“Keep him on a tight leash, don’t you?”
“We have to. Otherwise we'd get too many calls about him from the other squads. Though we do release him on the newbies every once in a while. Let him get some enrichment.”
His grin mirrors your own, feeling lighter as you walk back out to the vehicle. It’s odd after so long, face hurting at the unfamiliar stretch.
While Kyle heads to the back you round the front to the side door, quickly popping it open and grabbing your bag from the back seat, buried under the cans and stray shoes that had migrated during the drive. Just as you slam the door shut Kyle has managed to open the trunk, blinking at the empty space.
“Is that it?” He eyes the bag, half-full on your shoulder.
“Yeah. Not much they let me keep from before. I asked about getting some of my things from back home but they said it had been put in storage already and without somebody to sign for it I couldn’t get anything shipped.” Shrugging, you ignore the way the strap scratches your skin, wishing it was heavy enough to be a burden, to feel the weight of material possessions. At least that would mean you had a few more items of your own instead of your entire life being on lease, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
“I’ll talk with Johnny about it later.” Kyle stares a moment longer at the mess, debating, before slamming the trunk. “Maybe for the best. Not sure you would have been able to fit anything in that monstrosity he calls a car.”
Heading back inside past the shoes and other items that now stand out like red flags, you head back to the stairs in time to see Simon coming up from the basement. He eyes you briefly, flicking to the bag you carry, before addressing Kyle.
“Everythings all set up.” Is all he says before quickly turning and heading back up. Not a word to you or even an acknowledgement of your presence. Fine. One less Alpha to deal with.
Best to stay as far away as possible from all of them so that eliminated the rooms upstairs. That left the first floor, which would thankfully be less subjected to their scent. A blessing.
Peering around the corner, you notice the bed from the room before is gone, the desk and dresser left behind. A few boxes stand in its place with the words office scribbled along the side.
“Oh.”
You turn back to Kyle, head tilted, and who grows sheepish. He instead turns back, heading down the steps and pointedly avoiding looking back.
“Sorry. It was one of the conditions of this whole thing. If you want I can talk to John and-”
“No. It’s alright.” You smile, watching as he reaches out alone the dark wall, hand searching for the switch as the light blinks on. There’s only one, the bright white fluorescent bulb hanging in the middle of the room without so much as a cover.
As far as basements go there could be worse. It’s not big, the bed pushed to the corner and taking up a large portion of the space, but there’s still plenty of room to navigate. It’s finished thankfully, though a few decades out of date if the wood paneling along the walls and stained carpet are anything to go by. Across the room is another door which leads to the electric panel and boiler, as Kyle explains. The only other feature is a small window on the far wall, wider than it is tall and debatable on if you could even fit through in an emergency. Light seeped in around the bushes planted directly outside, their evergreen branches so thick it’s near impossible to see through. At least privacy won’t be a concern, though a stray possum might give you a scare.
The lingering scent of ozone hangs like an omen, a subtle burning and telling of who had ordered the move. Not that it would have been a hard guess.
A few blankets sit folded at the end of the bed, the same bland colors of creams and tans you had grown accustomed to by now. At least they were better than the ones at the hospital, feeling like silk under your touch but no thicker than any other, and a whine of displeasure curled at your throat. Hopefully there was decent heating down here.
“I’ll let you get settled then?”
Turning back you find Kyle still standing by the stairs, remaining on the last step as if the floor were lava and it took a moment for you to realize it was his own way of respecting your space, as informal as it was. The consideration after months of every boundary and personal line being crossed was enough to endear the Beta to your heart, as if he had built the house himself.
Nodding, he turns to leave as you call out.
“Thank you, Kyle. For everything.”
His stance softened, creases of his brow smoothing.
“Of course. We’re just upstairs so call if you need anything.” With that he’s gone, heading back up and leaving you alone in the room. Your room.
The process of putting everything away is quick, the few clothes in your possessions finding a home in the dresser shoved in the corner along with the only pair of shoes you had, given by the nurses just before you left, were set neatly in front. The entire process took only a few minutes even as you meticulously folded each item, making sure they wouldn’t suffer from a single wrinkle and placed like fine dishware in color order. The bag itself was folded and placed alongside the other items, taking up more space than the clothes themselves.
The bed is nice enough. A queen size, bigger than any you had before and feeling like clouds as you flop back onto the top once the sheets are in place. There’s only one pillow, the cotton casing making you wish for the silk ones you once slept on. A gift to yourself one Christmas, the tree looking sad without anything underneath, roommates gone home or with friends for the holidays and leaving you all alone in the small apartment.
It wasn’t too bad. Work offered overtime for the holidays and you were quick to jump on the offer, justifying the few gifts you had gotten yourself with the extra money and the thought that your dedication towards the job would be enough to convince them you were ready for a higher position. Work was all you needed after all. To do well and prove you could do better than any other despite the snide comments and looks thrown your way, grinding your fangs together and keeping you scent blockers applied in thick layers as you worked late into the evening.
Two months later a Beta who had been there for a year less had gotten the position your manager had assured you was yours.
Now it was like starting all over again, back in the cheapest apartment you could find that would allow you to sign without a mate with nothing but a grocery bag of clothes, conveniently located in the less desirable side of town. But if five locks and bars on the window weren't enough to deter you then a bland room that had a constant chill with a ceiling that creaked wouldn’t now.
You would be fine. You had to be fine. There was no other option.
Sleep must have claimed you at some point, the mattress forming around your body like a hug and making you feel less alone. By the time you woke it was darker out, with the light from the window little more than an orange glow, the main source of light coming from the fluorescent light above and making you cringe. Its white glow was sterile, reminding you of the hospital and its empty echoes at night. That would have to be the first thing changed.
Steps, light thumps only signified as anything but normal house creaking by the cry of the wood under them in a rhythmic pattern, drew your attention to the doorway. Johnny appeared around the corner, leaning against the frame and staying on the last step just as Kyle had. Apparently the Beta had given him a lesson in manners.
“Food ’s here. Figured you want to eat since we didn’t have lunch today.”
Despite the instinct to brush off the favor, you could already feel the hunger scratching at your insides, warning of the protest it would unleash soon enough. Months of starvation prompted your movements, the promise of food tempting and the unknown of a next meal striking prompting a wave of unease. The hospital had brought food but how were you expected to feed yourself here? Were you expected to do the grocery shopping even if you didn’t have a car? Before the work had been split between your roommates, cabinets and the fridge marked off in sections like feuding countries.
Hopping off the silken sheets, Johnny seems relieved at the accepted invitation as you head upstairs, careful to keep a respectable distance between you as the sounds of the rest of the house reach you.
The living room was more setup than before, though still housing a large number of boxes and littered with wrapping and tape. In the few short hours spent downstairs they had finished moving the furniture around, placing a few pictures and apparently hooking the TV up, a football game blasting on screen.
Price sat in the recliner, feet kicked up with a takeout container placed on a box beside him. Two more containers sat on the coffee table with Kyle eating from one, the other you assumed to be Johnny’s based on the empty seat beside him. They were still steaming, the smell drawing you closer.
Movement in your peripherals, looking just in time to see Simon pulling his mask back up, seated in his own cushioned chair while a plate sat balanced on his lap. One hand held a cup of tea judging from the string that hung off the side, a fork tightly clenched in the other. No doubt the utensils would find a new home if you ventured too close judging by the way he craned his neck to glare as you passed.
“We weren’t sure what you would like and didn’t want to wake you, so I hope it’s alright.” He dug a container from the plastic bags littering the counter, passing it on. “We can switch if you want.”
The warmth of the box seeped out through the thick paper, hardly caring about the contents as you popped the top off. The smell was like heaven, mouthwatering at the prospect of something not boiled or raw. Not bothering to even sit, you dug into the food with enthusiasm, lifting a forkful to your mouth and nearly stabbing yourself in the process. It was hot, forcing you to pant around the bite before swallowing, a content hum escaping even as the roof of your mouth burned.
“Much better than hospital food.”
The comment drew a laugh from the others, attention turned away from the ads that flashed across the screen. The air was warm, a comfort in the unfamiliar space.
“Don’t get used to it.” Price took a swig of his drink, careful not to spill any as he placed it on the flimsy cardboard that acted as a table. “You’ll be begging for their food by the time you get a taste of what we live on.”
“I’m sure I’ve had worse. As long as it’s warm and won’t kill me I’ve got no complaints.”
It was all too easy for the memories of college to come back. The taste of microwave cooked white rice and unseasoned black beans from a can dented for discounts of course, lingered like a paste on the tongue. Not bad once in a while, but after the third week in a row of nothing but was enough for just the thought to prompt a gag. The dorms didn’t have a kitchen, and your cooking skills had only gotten a margin better afterwards. Not much beyond the basics and a few fancy tricks from the food network.
“Don’t suppose you had much room to be picky with your…captivity, and all.” Like a vortex, the barb sucked all of the warmth of the air in a flash. Kyle choked on his food midbite, coughing as Price passed him his glass.
It was a tasteless comment, each syllable loaded with a sharp edge aimed to cut as deep as possible. Simon, content to ignore the looks from the others, sat peacefully in his seat, twirling his fork.
He had yet to take another bite or even sip of his drink, mask staying firmly in place while his gaze remained straight ahead at the screen.
He had to take it off at some point, right? From the half-finished food it was evident he had been eating before, so it must have been your presence that kept him from doing so.
Instead of taking the bait, falling to anger and snapping back, you simply shrugged and allowed the words to roll off. He wasn’t the first Alpha annoyed at your presence and he wouldn’t be the last. His ego was most likely just bruised at the fact his mate took another, an Omega, even if it was just a ruse.
Shifts in pack dynamics always had people on edge before settling into a new routine. It had taken months to adjust whenever a new roommate moved in through the revolving door of tenants in the complex you lived in before.
Hopefully there will be a time you could live without being at each other’s throats, but until then you’re well practiced dealing with men like him. Confidence that blurred with arrogance, steps heavy and shoulder set wide everywhere they went. Maybe none as big and capable of killing, but the same nonetheless.
“I found it wasn’t that bad with the right company.” Refusing to back down, you padded across the cool wood floors of the living room, maintaining eye contact with each step, his eyes following while his head remains turned away. A direct challenge, both refusing to back down as his chest puffed up even as he remained seated.
Stopping just out of reach, your head cocked to the side, glancing from him to the container in your hands. A brief thought, the vivid image of dumping the piping hot mess in his lap, flashed through your mind, though quickly pushed away. No need to waste good food. Free food. With how empty the cabinets were it would be a long wait until morning on an empty stomach.
A silent, empty threat, but a threat no less.
“I think I’ll enjoy this in my room.” Placing emphasis on the last word, it was difficult to keep your face neutral. “Wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite.”
Heavily, as if a chore, Simon’s head rolls to face you.
He looked ready to jump, eyes narrow as the spinning fork slowed to a stop. The intensity of his gaze grew, laying heavily as dark eyes carried the weight of lead. Just as ready to crush as the hands clenching around metal, the thin strip deforming between his fingers.
His claws were long, nearly digging into his own skin, and another curse was placed upon whoever allowed the regulations to state a minimum length for service members. Another thing to watch out for, to worry about those claws turning on you in the dead of the night to exact a satisfying revenge.
You were teetering on the edge, both itching for the next chance to throw a jab. Unfortunately there were more than a few weight classes between you, but your mother had always scolded that you didn’t know when to stop.
A cough broke the tension, drawing Simon’s pinning stare away long enough to allow a quick retreat to the sanctuary of the basement with bounding steps. Despite the lack of doors and corners, the depth was enough to muffle the noise that chased you as voices rose, little more than rumbles as you settled at the end of the bed.
Fingers itching for your phone once taken and never returned, now with little to entertain yourself other than the thoughts of what the others were doing upstairs. It was like a game, guessing who was who based on their walk as the floors creaked above while you finished off the food. It was tempting to save enough to avoid breakfast but it was gone before you could even begin to think about portioning, devouring each bite until you were licking the last of it for the utensils and wishing for more.
The food wasn’t very seasoned but it could have been boiled and still more flavorful than the slop you normally had. It hadn’t been an exaggeration when you told John about your less than exciting flavor profile in recent times. The hospital food almost had you wishing for the food of the camp, at least which had been forged from the surrounding area and flavored with whatever you could find.
Wild dill, rosemary, and even the occasional mint patch. Maybe there was enough space to start a small garden somewhere around here. It would take time and money, only the earlier of which you had, but at least it would be something to do.
As the empty container stared back, your mind drifted to Simon’s words. They had been delivered with the intention of damaging, but they weren’t untrue, reminding you of your place in the new pecking order.
A captive. No longer held by government bodies or militant groups but still contained all the same. Bonds of iron were changed for that of cloth, less heavy, their presence laying lightly, but still restricting all the same. Ones that you had reluctantly slipped on when you had asked Johnny for help, hoping they would be easier to snap than the endless wearing down of the others.
Within the groups of Omegas you had at least some standing, turned to for answers and reassurance. Always the first to step up when something needed to be done. To them you were strong, confident in a way that was normally beaten out of Omegas since their presentation. But here you were nothing. Could do nothing. Not without permission.
They could act as kindly as they wanted to, pretend like they were all smiles and gentle words, but Simon was the reminder of what they could be. What they would be, when driven to the point of frustration. Power was a fickle thing, and never did it go without abuse to make the lives of the wielders easier even at the detriment of others.
You weren’t equal in the eyes of anyone in any aspect, no matter how many fallacies were exposed and proven. It was only hoping that their kindness was greater than their temper. The others regarded you with pity, like a wounded dog that needed to be taken care of as their eyes regarded you with the same demeaning shine you had stared back at your entire life. Like something to be pitied. Simon instead saw you as a stray, taken off the street and just as ready to toss you the moment you nipped. It was nice to have the truth seen, even if it felt painfully raw. Like the first breath of winter air, a shock that cleared the system and locked it at the same time.
All you could hope was that they didn’t decide to put a collar on you.
Despite your earlier nap your eyes still felt heavy, drooping with the weight of a full stomach and the exhaustion of the day's events, mind still struggling to catch up and process everything. Not even the heavy footsteps above could keep you awake, curling into the sheets and seeking an ounce of warmth within. Hopefully you could get more materials soon, even if you doubted you would feel the urge to properly nest. Not with mister dark-and-stormy thundering around, though thankfully his scent had faded enough from earlier to ignore, allowing you to slip under the grasp of sleep.
So deep you fell, that not even the subtle scent of pine woke you, instead invading your slumber and bringing about dreams of sweeping forest and camping trips. Filled with laughter and food, clear lakes and warm sun. If only you could stay there forever instead of facing your new reality.
