#Also yuta is so shady I’m nervous at what things an alpha out there may do to me

[theworld-accordingtocasey]

Yuta uses a robe off the shelf to mop away the blood and flecks of bone and brain from your skin. 

THE WHAT AND WHAT OF HUH AND EXCUSE ME!?????

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 6: gift

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] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home]

wc: 5k

chapter warnings: mild au sexual harassment, graphic violence, yuta is a bit of a menace (affectionate)

recommended listening: dead man runnin' - seulgi, easy - key

The emergency meeting takes place with you locked back in the medical bay, Taeil unconcerned as he eats his leftover supper. When you give him a pathetic enough look he feeds you bites of ramen from his chopsticks, unable to stop you from stealing the whole bowl as you go back to hiding at his feet.

The monitor in front of him has multiple live feeds, each keyed in on the nine members of the pack where they've ensconced themselves. 

Or rather, eight. The ninth was nowhere to be found–having clawed out of his chambers by breaking down the door to disappear into an abandoned section of the building.

"You shouldn't have let her in there," a dry voice speaks, angular face lit in green infrared as he navigates what looks like an unfinished office–the exposed ceiling trailing cut wires. "Scents all the way down here on 97."

A sneeze answers from another cam.

"It's awful." You recognize Mark's fricative voice, his large eyes filling the screen as he wipes at his nose. "You could have at least given us some warning."

"We didn't have enough notice to change the air filtration units," Doyoung sighs, pulling back into pillows with his glasses on his head. You can see Taeyong's ears just out of frame, twitching occasionally in his medicated sleep. "It wasn't deliberate." 

"Why not evacuate them both?" Jungwoo asks.

"We only have one safehouse. We could probably sneak Taeyong into one of the nicer rut hotels but that's just asking for trouble," Doyoung says. "We'd be vulnerable."

"Are you volunteering to run that op? Or do we pull in the recruits?" Jungwoo asks, distracted by something on another screen. 

"You know they aren't ready for that," Mark bites back. “This is pack business, not corps.”

"____ stays here," Taeil finally speaks, finishing his deliberation as he side-eyes you licking the bowl clean. "We'll need a schedule for guard duty. One shift per day, and then three when they cycle."

There's a collective groan across the speakers, and your ears perk at a rich laugh from Jungwoo's monitor.

"I'm going to Containment," someone says. "Wake me up when this nightmare is over."

You lift yourself tentatively onto the console, peering into the black space behind Jungwoo's shoulder for the familiar voice. 

"What's Containment?" You ask, looking back at Taeil.

He smiles wryly. "Quarantine."

"Why don't we just stick her in there and let her sweat it out until it's over," Mark says. You look up at his video feed and smile at him, baring your teeth intentionally. It's funny how he startles, like the image is horrifying. 

"That won't preclude her from needing medical attention and care," Taeil says. "Solitary confinement is not an option."

"What, your security operation can't handle one little omega?" Haechan asks, shoving his hair back from his forehead as he appears on his screen. "Hi, Princess."

You smile at him, too, crouching over the keyboard with your tail on full display. "You’ll watch over me, won't you?" 

Haechan turns away from the monitor, making a stifled sound that sounds suspiciously like a groan. "Alright, maybe you have a point."

"Well isn't that convenient," Doyoung says. "I'll put you first, Lee."

"No," someone says. "I'll escort the first shift. We can discuss evacuation offline." 

You look up to see Yuta staring directly at you through the screen, eyes green discs in the night vision. You don't smile this time.

"Team F will do lockdown preparations, Team C will handle our guest until," Taeil checks the readouts from his personal screen, "four hours, give or take."

"She peaking that fast, Doc?" Jungwoo asks.

"Surprisingly, no." Taeil says. "It's Taeyong's hormones that are spiking. Who knows what his reaction will be to someone with her pheromone profile. He might fuck her. Or he might kill her. Better avoid that risk altogether."

You paw at the screen with cupped fingers, pressed into the raised light over Taeyong's sleeping profile. He looks peaceful, in contrast. You still have half-moons of blood under your fingernails from the scratch marks you'd made in his skin. 

"I really didn't mean to hurt him." 

"I don't care. The next time you lay a claw on him you'll get like for like," Doyoung warns through the screen. He changes tack just as quickly, back to cold efficiency. "Let's get Taeyong moved to the penthouse, then. Any luck, Yuta?"

"Suh is somewhere in the old NeoTech quarters."

You perk at the name but make an effort to hide your interest, sinking back down with your nose at desk level. 

"I'll go get him," Taeil says, resignation in his voice. "Yuta, I'll need that escort."

You wait until the conversation is over to speak again, jumping at the sound of the disconnect.

"Are they angry with me?" you whisper, eyes meeting Taeil's. 

"More annoyed," he confirms. The half-hearted attempt to soften the blow does little to soothe you as you feel a wave of regret. 

You'd harmed your mate. Even if he hadn't bonded you yet he'd offered you his trust and you'd torn it to pieces, literally. You begin to sob, quietly, wrapping your arms around your knees. 

"How maudlin," Doyoung sighs, apparently still on the call. "Do you think you can hold down the fort while we're gone?" 

Taeil places a hand on your head, soothing you within a few strokes across your delicate ears. You burrow into his thigh over his lab coat. 

"We'll survive," he says, amused. "Hopefully with our dignity still intact. It would probably be best to assume that someone is going to be subjected to her who doesn't have Taeyong's self control."

"The kids," Doyoung sighs. "Well if they want to get it out of their system, let them. Just keep you-know-who isolated."

"Who would you like for security?" 

"I'm leaving both Mark and Yuta with your team. Mark is uninterested and Yuta has experience. Jungwoo should be useful, too. We can handle ourselves."

"Fine. But let me know if there's any issue with the rut."

"Do you expect there to be?" Doyoung's voice cracks with a mild surprise. 

"It might not be as effective, under the circumstances," Taeil says. "Keep an eye out for any of the signs of a hormonal storm. We'll have to administer more serious treatment in that case, and it won't be acceptable long term."

"I'll act like I know what any of that means if you'll just send me clear instructions on what to check and when." Doyoung places a hand on Taeyong's forehead, testing his temperature. 

"I'll get him ready," he says. "Let's be out of here by 22:00."

You watch the rectangle disappear as the call ends, nudging Taeil to get him to keep petting you. 

"Try not to be too much trouble," he says, ruffling your hair.

The lanky Felid seems nice enough, arms crossed as he stares down at your attempt to untie one of the laces on his combat boots. You drop the string, worrying at your torn sweater instead, waiting for him to say something–anything.

He doesn’t say a word.

You crouch on the cold floor, tail tucked between your legs, unsure how to act. Cats are rancid creatures to you physiologically speaking, but you don't taste that sourness now.

“Princess," Yuta finally acknowledges, sealing the door shut behind him. Now that you can see him clearly, so close, you find him fascinating–angular, sly features crooking under a mop of fawn-colored hair. He smirks at you, amused at the way you observe him from your crouched position.

You sniff at his legs, catching rare floral signatures and pine. Memory tugs at you, at the way his scent mingles with the richer tones of a different cat. 

Of course, the third man. Johnny's partner. You'd met before, under circumstances that register distantly with the sedation you're under. Just something that happened to a girl, the animal that's replaced her uninterested in treading that path.

These late stage dosages are woefully nothing compared to the vixen surfacing in your behavior. She has a knack for thievery, just usually not so blatant. It's easy to blame the drugs for reduced inhibitions as you search him. He doesn’t appear to react, amused. 

You find something hard in his belt loop and dig it out, not offered any protest, the Felid's hands still behind his back.

"Hmm," you say, opening the telescoping shaft out to its farthest point. "What does this do?"

"Let's not find out," Yuta says, leaning in to pluck it from your fingers. 

He deposits something else in your grasp–a huge swath of dark gray fabric that smells incredible. 

Your joy at receiving a gift is soured realizing how careless you'd been with the first clothes you'd been given, shredded through and hanging off your antiseptic-dotted shoulder.

Scratches from Taeyong criss-cross your belly, more itching beneath the remains of your pants where he'd kicked at your legs with bare feet. Taeil hadn’t checked you there, and you didn't expect Yuta to after what you'd done.

"Don't look," you say, shyness returning. "Turn around."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says. You sniff and turn away, feeling him watch in detached interest as you strip in front of him. 

When you struggle to find your way out of the fabric he pulls the overly large garment over your stinging arms. It hits your knees, sleeves flopping over your wrists, ridiculousness maximized as the hood is pulled up over your head to fall over your eyes. 

"Keep that up," he says. "We're going out."

You feel a bit dumbstruck, wrapped up in the warm wood and orange peel scent of the sweatshirt. "Going out?"

He rubs your head, freeing your face a bit but pulling the collar up and over your mouth, cords pulled taut over your nose "You're going to need a few more clothing options."

More gifts, you think. Delight makes you feel weightless as you shuffle for the autocar in your overlarge slippers.

"And shoes," he remarks. "Not that way. We're going down to the lower levels." He pulls you away from the carport.

You follow him, fascinated, back to the central atrium. You hadn't even noticed the elevator suite hidden under the stairwell up to the resident blocks, following him into the capsule. Its thick mirrored glass is pockmarked with age and cracked in parts, but you're immediately exposed to a view of the city that gives you vertigo. 

"Lower floors are off limits without an escort," he warns, placing his hand against the touchscreen and stroking it to select the desired floor number: 88. 

"That's still so high up," you say, heart leaping into your throat as the elevator drops you, fast, cheery music playing on the climb down.

"We don't usually use this one, but the observation deck is the hub for lower floors," he explains. The door slides open to reveal a bustling space, awash in the same orange light of the evening sun from floor-to-ceiling windows stretching out in either direction. 

Most people in the vast space ignore you but a small handful turn to look at you in slack-jawed surprise, halted mid-task from behind counters and in front of stacks of tech. 

The floor looks like an old-fashioned street stall market separated into clusters centrally around multiple elevator banks. Lounge stations for drinks and pods of gambling consoles line the edges, set against the busy skyline. 

A strange clicking noise prompts you to look up at the tech overhead, a series of turrets that deactivate when the elevator doors hiss shut behind you.

"Like I said, we don't use those very often." Yuta jokes. "Hey, Hendery." 

You follow his eyeline to a man half-asleep in a large kiosk immediately beside the elevator, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you. You watch him drop his digital readout as if your presence is worth an exaggerated reaction.

"Well, well, Nakamoto." Hendery's expression panics as you come up to his counter and lean into it to look at the wares, each perfectly lined in LED lights to maximize the impact of their presentation.

"I don't want clothes, I want one of these," you say, pointing at a modified pistol highlighted pink. The turrets inside the caged space follow your hand, green laser sights trailing your gestures threateningly until Yuta pulls you back by your hood, tamping it down when you're back on your feet. 

"Who is she?" Hendery asks, plucking at the front of his tropical-themed shirt to air it out. You sniff experimentally, pleased to find his scent is a mixture of beta and whatever ramen he'd spilled on it, container abandoned on the scorched countertop.

"The Princess Consort of the Third Dynasty of New Goryeo," Yuta says. "She doesn't need a gun."

"Body armor, maybe?" Hendery asks, hopefully. "We just got the newest Militech exports, specially designed for exec gigs."

"We're here for something a little more subtle," Yuta says. 

Hendery seems to understand, nodding sagely as he presses a button to change out the displays, panels flipping with a pneumatic hiss to reveal an assortment of non-lethal gear. You recognize the nightstick you'd held in your hands earlier, its wrist loop dangling. 

"Good," Yuta says. "Two Horang-Hi collars and a muzzle if you have one. For her."

"Two, huh." Hendery's eyebrows raise, obviously uncomfortable as he watches you grasp onto Yuta's patterned jacket, hard nails sinking into the fabric. "The muzzle will have to be custom. Gonna need a leash?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea. Retractable preferably," Yuta says, disattaching you with a hand wrapped around your clawing fingers so he can swipe on his wrist display. "Send it up when you've got it all on hand, along with this."

He swipes over a much more comprehensive list, visible for an instant projected in the air in red text as Hendery reads through it on his display, nodding. 

"You used all of these munitions recently? You didn't give them too much trouble, did you Princess?" he asks, tone light in spite of the curious way he leans forward, winking at you. You feel yourself flush a little.  

"What's your favorite brand?" you ask, pointing lazily at the cups lined up next to his reinforced monitor.

"Oh, well, for loyal customers it's on the house," he says, handing you a paper container wrapped in a rainbow design, font almost illegible. You squint at the incomprehensible text, immediately transported back to your failed foreign language instruction.

"Water at 363 Kelvin, no longer than 150 seconds," he advises. You catch him grinning at you fully, flashing white teeth. "Hasn't this loser fed you the real thing?"

"Real thing?" You look up at your shopping partner, clutching your first prize to your chest.

"Sho-sho's. Three floors down," he says. 

Yuta sighs, heavily. 

"Can you order me a delivery? I'm just filling in, you know," Hendery bats his eyelashes, reminding you of one of those omega caricatures from a beta channel melodrama.

"You're going to be on night duty if you don't watch it, Hwang." Yuta says, something indecipherable in his expression. "Send me your order, and keep me filled in."

"Got it, boss," Hendery faux salutes, making you laugh far longer than you should as you're escorted away.

"I liked him," you say. 

"He works for us," Yuta explains. "An operative. Too bad he's lazy."

"Oh," you say, distractedly examining the constant stream of merchandise, aware that the vendors don't approach you or your companion, preferring nods or stoic acknowledgement. You catch much more of the traffic watching you, eyes boring into your back. 

You dance around for a moment, trying to see if your tail is visible under your sweatshirt, before Yuta stops you with a hand on your head.

"Stop bringing attention to yourself," he warns under his breath, pulling you into his hard chest as he brings you close. "If you're good we'll dine out."

"Promise?" you ask, voice wispy with delight.

He gives you a hint of catlike grin, letting you melt into his side. "You're so easy to please, Princess. Might want to watch it, or people will think you're an easy mark."

"Mark?" you ask. "Is that like–?"

"Quiet," he orders, before the word can slip out.

Your mouth is sealed shut by Alpha command as he pulls you down the wide corridor of the nearest stairwell. Discarded cans and bottles scatter as you're dragged, losing your shoe. 

You stumble into him when you try to hop, satisfied by his grunt of annoyance.

He carefully lets you go, retrieving your dirty slipper and lifting your knee to place it on your equally grime-stained foot. You hide the disgust long before he can look back up at you, letting a closed-lip smile take its place.

"Outside of base you should be careful with what you say," he explains, still hunched down. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Your lip curls, but you refuse to reply.

"Cat got your tongue?" he jokes. "I said quiet, not silent."

"Same difference," you murmur, finding your words. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" he answers. "Watch out for you?"

You shudder a little when you realize he's toying with you. It's not the kind of Alpha behavior you're prepared for; your tactics will have to change.

"Do they have aestheticians here? I could use a tune before trying on clothing." To make your point you lift your leg, inspecting it for non-existent hair growth.

"Little fuzz never hurt anyone," he remarks, sliding his half-gloved palms up your calf as he stands. The feeling is electric, your body buzzing with the contact. 

"You're not trying on anything," he says.

"What?" You ask, deflated.  

"Pretty girl, you are a ticking time bomb with a scent trail that tastes like heaven. Betas are the norm here but there are other Alphas in this building. You going to fight them off yourself?"

"Thought that was your job," you say.

He laughs, harsh. "Only if you're paying. You have a credit chip with a few million hidden somewhere?"

That shuts you up organically. Everything you'd had was now in the possession of Halatus, including your mother's necklace. The drug-hazed realization that you'd never gotten it back makes your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

If Yuta notices, he doesn't acknowledge it, leading you downstairs.

"In and out, necessities only. If you're really good, dinner will be my treat."

That spurs you to action, and a little more compliance. 

You find your ways of making him suffer, if only because your fascination with the amenities provided in the seemingly endless floors distracts you every few steps. Soon he's loaded down with bags in an assortment of shapes and sizes, playing referee for your fashion choices in a way that becomes a game for you, alone. 

He's clearly exhausted by the time you reach the final stop–a lingerie store advertising a variety of scandalous options, including biomod accommodations. 

"No," he protests, lamely. 

Five minutes later he's slumped in a velvet couch with all the appearance of being asleep under a set of dark-lensed AR glasses. The shopgirl eyes you from where she's shoving scraps of fabric into an industrial UV decontaminator, judging your unkempt appearance.

"Customs are non-returnable." She says in a bored tone as you swipe at the air, using the responsive mirror to try on options at lightning speed. 

"Can I help you?"

You're surprised that she's asked, finally, but then you realize she's addressing the trio of men crowding the entrance, one of them zeroing on you right as the reek hits your nose.

Wolf. Mangy and stale, matching the physical state of the Alpha with his lank hair and grimy clothing. 

"Looking for a nice perfume for my girl," he says, yellow eyes locking with yours after glancing at the stylized catgirl avatar on the screen. 

"Body sprays are over there." She points, oblivious to what's actually going on. You sidle towards Yuta, reaching to shake him awake. Surely he's asleep. 

"Here, kitty kitty," one of the other men beckons from across a rack of latex bodysuits, sporting a sparse green mohawk. You can tell the other two are betas, unable to smell them outside of their similar lack of hygiene.

"She's a fox, moron." His tattooed partner says, nodding at the tip of your tail peeking out from under your clothing. You hide it, turning away only to remember there’s a mirror behind you. "Expensive mods, too."

"Probably some rich corpos little project," Mohawk sneers. 

The Alpha has been deadly quiet during their exchange but you haven't taken your eyes off him yet, your animal circling to put Yuta between you. The Felid still hasn't moved, except to raise a gloved hand and tap an unseen display in the direction of the ceiling.

"This your input?" Tattoo asks. 

"Nope," Yuta says, still unconcerned. The betas laugh, Mohawk slapping a mannequin so hard it almost falls to the floor.

"Not yours?" The wolf Alpha’s voice is a growl. He comes around the couch to get a better view, making you cower nearer to your useless escort. If you weren't panicking at the threat of being discovered his hand would have already been stuck in your teeth.

"I just met her today," Yuta says, lips curving to expose sharp canines as he waves at all your bags. "You know how proxies are, though. Make you work for it."

"Bleeding you dry, huh?" Mohawk says. "We can take her off your hands if she's playing you."

"Oh I think she'll put out," Yuta says, finally pulling down his sunglasses to give you a smug look. You toss your head, kicking his booted foot with your new sneaker to show your displeasure.

"We can pay you a lot more than you put in," Tattoo says. "Our buddy here is kind of stuck in a rut, if you know what I mean."

You startle, visibly. The Alpha hasn't stopped moving, and you're left with the option of backing into the mirror or climbing over Yuta and past the two betas to make a run for it.

"Not likely," Yuta says. He pulls his jacket back to reveal his wristband agent, raising it to show a green projected display you only catch a glimpse of. NSMR NCT, along with a series of numbers.

Whatever effect you'd expected it isn't the two betas immediately backing away, a heavy crash coming from Tattoo as he overturns a clothing rack.

"Fuck, sorry man—we didn't mean to bother you," Mohawk says, hands in the air.

"Why don't you grab your buddy here before he makes a scene," Yuta says over the sound of the shop girl cursing at the two men. 

Five seconds later she's screaming. 

The first few seconds, burned into your memory, involve you watching in horrific slow motion as the Alpha lunges towards you–eyes orange with the clear burn of jimseung. 

There's a pop that feels like the air has compressed outward very quickly and into a wet mist, the glass spider-webbing beside your head when the bullet buries in it. 

You can't understand what's happened until the Alpha's body follows its original velocity, pinning you against the mirror before slumping awkwardly on to your new, now red shoes. It's missing half its head, most of which has now ended up on you.

You're still processing what you've seen as the panicked shrieks follow the two betas out into the mall corridor. Yuta stands up with the same amount of nonchalance as before to re-holster his handgun, speaking into his agent.

"YTNKMT127 Reporting a feral incident and takedown at NeoTech floor 84, west quadrant. Transmitting the store security feed now."  

"Dispatch a squad to intercept witnesses. Recommend interrogation of beta parties for suspicious activity. Oh and send a clean-up crew. You can take it out of the bounty."

"I don't need to tell you to stay calm, do I, pretty girl?" Yuta uses a robe off the shelf to mop away the blood and flecks of bone and brain from your skin. 

You shake your head, trembling, feeling like your consciousness is glitching at the same frequency as the digital mirror in the corner of your vision. Even when your face is clean the blood in your nose chokes out everything else.

"That's good," he says. "First one is on the house. Lucky you, he had an outstanding warrant. Next time I'm afraid you'll be in debt. I'm sure the Syndicate won't be eager to pick up the check."     

Once he's done he picks up the bags, throwing the mass over his shoulder and giving you a bright smile. "Now you've earned your treat–"

He sucks his breath through his teeth at your response. 

"Didn’t think I’d have to tell you not to puke on the crime scene."