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httpknjoon · 9 hours ago

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The Late, Late Show Take-Over | myg

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

plot | that time in december where popstar!yn takes over the late, late show along with her band to celebrate her ep's release. (alternative plot: that time yn interviewed her bassist, yoongi live)

w.c | 5.2K

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader, a little harry styles x popstar!reader there hehe

genre | fluff, enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist

note | set in december, so a lot of holiday references there. also, think of the show as a mix of every American talk show haha i'll be mixing up segments.

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

@.harryspotted: harry is seen by some fans in a cafe in nyc

@.harryfan1: i think the rumors are true! harry might be guesting on the late late show tonight

@.harryfan2: omg new ynharry content after nine years????

@.ynthepopicon: @.YNOfficial please confirm don’t give us false hopes queen

YN cannot help but smile at the posts she reads on Twitter as she runs on the treadmill for a quick morning workout before her busy day. After two weeks of working on it, today is the day she will be releasing her anticipated holiday EP. And along with that, YN will be taking over The Late Late Show to create more buzz.

So after her last show in Philly, she went straight to her ride to New York and immediately sent into a quick one-hour meeting with the producers and writers of the show. It was hectic. YN admittedly didn't remember anything after that meeting and was just glad to be back on a bed in her hotel room at 1:00 AM.

Then she got up at six for her morning routine, which included this little workout.

"Thought Harry is still in LA at this time?" you turned to Cal, who was running next to you.

"I thought so too. I guess he's excited to see you again." she teased while heaving.

You chuckled, shaking your head. It was never confirmed if you and Harry Styles ever had a romantic relationship. But back in your younger years, you two were often photographed together at various events and places. He was still in a boyband at that time while you were just a starting artist. The photographs and clips lasted for only a few months and were never brought publicly by you or Harry. Some fans think that maybe you two really had a thing, but a few believe it's probably just something PR for your then-small career.

You were enjoying the tweets of anticipation for your show tonight when a few tweets made you stop scrolling. Turning to Cal once again, you tapped her arm and made her read the tweets.

@.ynfan123: i think we should petition for a yoongi interview tonight. even a very short one

@.ynfan456: we need to hear his voice atp

@.ynfan789: he's the only one in the band who wont get into ig live

@.ynisontour: WE!!! NEED!!! YOONGI!!! TO!!! SAY!!! SOMETHING!!!

“So have yourself a merry little Christmas now…”

Singing the last line of the song she will be performing later, YN finds herself laying her back down on the stage of The Late Late Show studio. It’s only nine in the morning and she is already thinking of her hotel bed and comfy weighted blanket wrapped around her. She has been rehearsing for her hosting stint for tonight for almost two hours now, wanting to make sure everything will be perfect later.

You were so ready to give up on the heaviness of your eyelids when you felt Cal’s shadow hovering over you. You squint your eyes.

“Is a break possible?” the tired singer asked.

Your assistant and also manager offered her hand, helping you get up, “Of course. But you need to get back in an hour for a meeting with Paul to finalize your wardrobe."

"Okay, thank you. I need to get coffee or maybe just take some air outside." you sighed.

Luckily, one of the band members heard you. Noah joined your and Cal's conversation.

"We're getting coffee too. Fred's taking us to his favorite cafe here, you should join!" He grinned.

You smiled and turned to Cal as if she were your mother and you were asking for permission. Normally, just to be careful, she will come with you or make you have your own bodyguard, especially since you're currently in the Big Apple. But knowing that you have the band around you, Cal nodded her head. You smiled even wider as Noah pulled you along with him after you got your small bag.

“I swear, you’ll thank me the moment you get a sip of their latte.”

Fred was in the middle of telling Akio something when you and Noah joined them, waiting for an elevator. Yoongi was quiet next to them, in his usual blank expression. He didn’t even say anything when you stood next to him, never a small talker. Crossing your arms over your chest, you pursed your lips, contemplating if you should greet him or something. Because it felt like there was this big ice in this a foot of distance between you and Yoongi. It’s weird as if you haven’t slept on his bed nights ago or stayed up all night making music together.

“Oops, I’m sorry.”

The silence was broken down when Noah cleared his throat and accidentally hit your sides with his hips, making you lose balance and fall into your bassist who was quick to catch you. Instinctively, his hands were on your waist while you turned your head to him with wide eyes from surprise at Noah’s action. You looked up at Yoongi, not realizing how close his face was to yours. For a moment, Fred and Akio’s chatter faded into an inaudible muffle and everything in the background was blurry and his face was the only thing that was sharp in your sight. Your breath hitched, there was something in your throat when your eyes met. Yours was still surprised while he was calm. Everything felt like a slo-mo.

“You okay?”

And Yoongi was the first to talk. You wished you were as relaxed as him in everything. The moment you realized you were staring, you immediately got back to your feet and removed his hands from your waist, which made Yoongi raise his brow and step back.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” You cut him off, still panicking with that quick but also slow feeling you felt. What the fuck is that? “I-I think I’m just having a long morning.”

You’re stuttering and you don’t like it. As you question yourself internally, all Yoongi can see is you looking away with a confused look on your face. Your eyebrows are scrunched together while chewing on your lower lip, it’s turning white. He looked away, smiling at something else.

Suddenly, there is a high-pitched ‘ding’ when the elevator finally arrives empty. You don’t know what the fuck happened because you ended up behind Fred, Akio, and Noah while Yoongi stood next to you. They seemed like walls, hiding you and your bassist, as they chatted about something. You gulped, feeling obligated now to break the silence between you and Yoongi.

“So… is this your first late-night show gig?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Nope.” he replied, popping that ‘p’ with his answer. “You?”

“Oh, uhm… Not my first time, I guest on them every time I’m promoting something. But this is my first time hosting.” you replied with a tight smile at the end.

He hummed, nodding. He seemed uninterested, you thought. So you just hummed too, looking away. The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. It’s still not your floor, but another smaller group gets in, making your human walls make more space for the others while you step closer to Yoongi. Was it too close? Because his crisp, earthy fragrance smells so good and you wanted to ask what perfume is it, but it will just probably feed his ego. You hate it– not the scent. But the way you’ve been feeling right now. You’re probably just tired. You nodded at that. Yeah, that’s probably the only right answer to why are you feeling this weird around him.

“I think there are paparazzi outside,” Akio said, looking back to you, when you finally got out of the elevator and were about to walk out the building.

You sighed, “Of course, there are. It’s fine. How about you guys? You’re okay with being papped?”

There’s a collective ‘it’s fine’ and ‘I don’t care’ from the band, making you smile. Without talking about it, Akio and Noah stood on each of your sides. While Yoongi and Fred talked in front of you. This way, your band acted like a great wall around you. Yes, the paparazzi still caught you in your matching large sweatshirt and pants. But they only got small glimpses of you having conversations with your friends. You waved at some fans outside the building, waiting for their tickets for tonight’s show. But didn’t stop for any photo.

“Oh my god! Is it true? Harry’s guesting?” a fan asked and squealed when you simply winked at her direction.

As you and your group walked away, Noah asked, “Were you and Harry really a thing?”

You chuckled, “Maybe you’ll know later.”

“Oh my god, I cannot believe I’ll see him up close later. I used to be like the biggest Directioner in my whole class in eighth grade.” Akio fangirled.

“Yoongi used to work with him! Aren’t you?” Fred brought up, nudging him.

“Yep, for his first two albums,” he replied casually.

“Wasn’t there a rumor that few of his songs in his first album were about YN?!” Akio giggled. “Is that true?”

Oh, you know about those rumors and you definitely heard the songs, even those from their band’s last album. You don’t know if Yoongi worked on them too. But the moment you two locked eyes for a few seconds after Akio asked that, you figured maybe he does know something about that, even though he’s a little hard to read.

But he simply shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t know you were seeing my mate, Yoongi, like that.”

After rehearsing and meetings, you still found time to catch up with an old friend. You sat across him in one of the coziest and lowkey restaurants in the city. You two were already past the greetings and had been enjoying your lunch for almost twenty minutes when he brought that up.

Your head tilted slightly, “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, H.”

Harry chuckled, a dimple appearing on his cheek, before showing you a screenshot of an article on his phone, “It’s all over the internet. A friend sent me this earlier because they know I worked with Yoongi and I’m in New York for your show.”

The article was just a malicious rumor based on the paparazzi photos taken earlier today when you were getting coffee with the band.

“’M just messin’ with you, angel. I think I’m usually the first one to know if something’s just a rumor.” Harry laughed.

With how many relationships he had, real and fake, you know Harry would be the first one to recognize a rumor. He basically grew up in the industry and even though you two broke up years ago, Harry is usually the first one to contact you every time he sees crazy, untrue news about you just to tease you about it.

“But you do seem a bit flustered being linked with him,” he whispered before sipping his red wine.

“What?! No, I’m not– We actually hate each other.” you exhaled. Your voice unconsciously got higher when you said that.

He still has the stupid smirk on his face when he puts down his glass, “Easy there, angel. No need to get all fiery. Your nose is doing that little flare thing again.”

You paused as your hands held your nose as if it would do anything, “What?”

“I’ve mentioned before, haven’t I? When you’re fibbing, your cute nose gives you away,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone like everyone knows that. “Quit with the pout, angel. You’re far too cute to pull that off.”

He winked with a cheeky grin, making you roll your eyes. You two were always flirty with each other just for funsies, so you don’t really mind his little nickname for you that started when you two were dating or even the little teasings. Just like now, when he reached out just to pinch your nose softly.

“I’m just worried about being linked to him, H. I don’t want any more drama in my life.” you shared.

“What are you worried about, angel? I know Yoongi, he’s a good guy. Unlike that idiot you dated for–”

“Not that! I’m not saying I am interested in dating him. I’m just worried about being linked to him because– Isn’t he dating anyone?” you asked him as Yoongi mentioned his fiancee a couple of times ago.

“I don’t know.” his voice trailed off as he thinks. “But I was really keen to have him on my last tour, but his fiancee was not a fan of a long-distance thing.”

“See?! That’s why I hate being linked to him like that. Don’t want to be labeled as a homewrecker like that.”

This time, you took a subtle jab at him before sipping in your glass just to hide the small smile. You see him squint his eyes at you, picking up that small reference you made with one of his recent relationships.

“Alright, angel. No need to air out my dirty laundry… Moving on!”

The rest of your day got more hectic. More rehearsals, more meetings, and you even filmed more promotional materials for social media alone and with your guests: two for Harry and a few with the band. There was an online poll posted online for whom band member your audience wants you to interview and of course, your co-producer of your recent EP. The other band members were relieved to hear that as they were really rooting for Yoongi to be the one to take it for the team.

“Go on. You are the spokesperson of the band.” Akio encouraged him as they stayed in their dressing room.

“Since when?” Yoongi asked, and the rest of the band laughed. “I am the quietest one here. It will make more sense if Noah shows up.”

“No, you are the fan favorite, so you need to show up!” Noah laughed, enjoying the moment.

Fred joins in, “Plus you are a producer in her EP. So it will make more sense if you talk tonight.”

Yoongi knew they were right, so he begrudgingly said yes when the producers asked him for his appearance tonight as your second guest. They told him that it would only be a ten-minute interview, making Yoongi wonder what you two could talk about since you two were pretty awkward earlier while waiting for the elevator. It’s ironic to have him on a talk show when he does not really talk much. He doesn’t think he is as interesting as your other guest.

At exactly 11:30 PM, the show began. A pre-recorded skit earlier was shown on television screens as your cold open. You were seen hailing a famous New York yellow cab, in your off-shoulder, fur-hemmed, velvet, red mini dress with matching long gloves. Bringing out your compact mirror, you swiped your red lipstick over your lips. The cab driver’s eyes were shot looking at you through the rearview mirror and then to the road. Back and forth.

You looked back at him, “Eyes on the road, please! Got a schedule to catch on here, sir.”

Flustered, the cab driver, an actor, nodded. Then suddenly, the cab unexpectedly stopped because of the long, noisy traffic ahead of you. You looked at the camera and rolled your eyes.

“Of course, it’s my [redacted] worst enemy. [redacted] traffic,” you spoke. The curse words were redacted hilariously, making your audience laugh. You poked your head outside the open car window, “Can we go one, please?! I have a show to host tonight!”

The next scene is you running into the building. A guard stops you for an ID, but you don’t get one.

“I’m taking over Max River’s show tonight! I’m YN.”

The guard was unbothered. In his deep voice, he says, “Yeah, sure, and I’m Marcello Hernandez. Whatever. Please leave the building if you cannot bring out any identification card, ma’am.”

You bit your lower lip as you felt helpless and hurried, looking around. That’s when someone showed up to distract the guard. Your studio audience screamed when they recognized who it was.

“Oh, hey, Johnny!” Harry greeted the guard, pulling him in for a bro hug.

You took the opportunity and ran away. The elevator dinged and you immediately speed-walk in the long carpeted hallway of the floor. Various crew members greet you, fist-bumping you, and instructing you until you stand in front of the high curtains.

A familiar crew of the show handed you your microphone, “Good luck, YN.”

The live studio audience applauds as the curtain slowly opens, showing you in the same red dress. The band began playing the instrumentals for one of your new songs. You sang A Nonsense Christmas with your dancers in the background. After that, your audience cheered as you moved to the short monologue.

“Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the Late, Late Show– Or dare I say, Welcome to the Late, Late Holiday Show with yours truly.” you smiled as your fans clapped. "Also, The Roots are on their holiday break. So, please welcome my amazing band! Akio on keyboards! Noah on guitar! Fred on drums! And of course, Yoongi on bass guitar!" The audience cheered on every member you introduced and of course, someone got a noticeable, louder cheers. “How are we feeling tonight?”

“So… Max Rivers really thought it was a festive idea to make me his holiday episode’s host. He probably hasn’t seen my shows recently.”

The audience laughed, knowing that you were talking about the negative reviews you’ve been getting from conservatives who saw some short clips from your show. Some people just won’t stop complaining about how your concert shows are not “family-friendly” and “too sexual”, as if you promoted it that way. You didn’t. You were literally wearing an almost-lingerie in your photoshoot for the tour as part of the concept you were aiming for.

“Anyway, my holiday EP, Midnight Mistletoe, was just released last night.” you grinned at the positive response. “And let’s be honest, I am here to plug it and make sure you all will hear about it all night.” They laughed. You turned to the other camera. “Midnight Mistletoe, out now. Available in whatever your streaming app is.” You winked as they laughed harder.

“Christmas is in a few days and all I can feel is everyone’s holiday joy. And this season is all about giving, isn’t it?” your audience agreed. “So lemme give the internet a lot to talk about tonight.”

Smirking, you continued, “Yes, it’s true. I am single.” your fans cheered. “Critics and some of my fans say it’s the best holiday miracle they’ve seen these last few years.” the audience laughed, letting everyone know that you are aware of your fans’ negative feelings about your ex back then you were still dating him on and off.

“Speaking of miracles, it’s a miracle that I’m still here, considering the amount of accidents I had in my tour these last few months.” On cue, the screens show a quick compilation of your mini slips and falls during your shows. “Looking like a little reindeer on ice over there.” The audience laughed.

“But hey, if I can survive a breakup, go on tour, and release a holiday EP, maybe I can be a great host for you guys tonight. Am I right?” everyone cheered. “So, buckle up! Grab your eggnog, and let’s make this night something festive to remember!”

After a five-minute commercial, the show is back and you are now sitting at the iconic late-night show desk, ready to introduce your first guest, “So our first guest for tonight is a three-time Grammy Award winner and a member of one of the most successful bands in the world. He is no stranger to generating headlines and making everyone’s hearts race with his voice and looks. He’s one of my best friends in the world, the one and only, Harry Styles!”

The fans’ reactions were loud, eating up the jazzy instrumental of ‘As It Was’ your band was playing. You stood up to greet your friend, who‘s wearing a green Gucci suit, as he walked out the curtains, running straight to your open arms. Unexpectedly, he picked you up and spun you around. You laughed, holding down the back of your dress’s skirt.

“Hello, everyone.” he waved at the audience, whose response was roaring in the studio. He sat on the sofa while you sat back on your chair. “Hi, YN.”

“Hello, Harry. Welcome to the show!” you smiled even though tonight’s conversation felt a little less casual with how you two don’t address each other with your nicknames. “It’s so nice to finally see you again after our break up ten years ago.”

Caught off guard, he choked, then laughed along with the audience at your sarcastic statement, “I know, it’s been so long. It was so hard to look you in the eye again after our long and tumultuous one-month affair.”

He was quick to join you in your sarcasm. In public, they only knew about you and Harry going out for a month. But only a few people around you know that the public caught up late and you went out for almost a year after a paparazzi caught you two leaving the hotel his band was staying at during their show in LA years ago.

“Glad you moved on from me, bud.” you patted his shoulders and he nodded, chuckling.

The audience laughed, loving the chemistry between you and Harry. The conversation went on as you asked him about his plans and preparations for the holidays. He talked about going back home to celebrate with his mother and you shared a memory you have with his mom, subtly letting people know that you met his family before. You asked him about his next album, which he coyly dodged since he still hasn’t shared anything about it. You called him on that, making him laugh.

After the interview segment and another commercial break, you and Harry sat across each other with a round table in between. Five couples of shot glasses on it, each filled with identical liquids, but definitely have a different taste.

“So this game is basically, a person will pick two identical-looking drinks here and choose what to give the other. Then, we will pick a card that would have a question that we need to answer. If the other person refuses to answer, they would have to take a shot or sip of their drink. For example, this one might be a shot of vodka or vinegar.” you pointed out to some glasses. Your audience reacted enthusiastically.

You turned to Harry, “Are you ready?”

He rubbed his hands together, “I sure am.”

“Okay, let’s start.”

You picked out the creamy white liquids you had your eyes on, putting one of the shot glasses in front of him. The band plays some thrilling music before you read the question, laughing.

“Each of the members of your group, One Direction, has released their solo music. Rank each album from–”

You didn’t even have to finish the question as Harry immediately reached for the shot glass and took a shot from it. He grimaced after putting it down, “Bloody hell! What is that?”

“The producers are saying that it’s tartar sauce.” you laughed while your audience shared their disgusted reaction. “The other one is a milkshake.”

Harry wiped his tongue and reached for the glass of water before picking your drinks. He picked the clear liquids, which you hope to be just tequila rather than vinegar.

“Okay, I like this question.” he chuckled as he read the cards. “Almost every show of your tour, you invite one of your band members on stage for a quick cameo on one of your performances. Who is your least favorite among them?”

You looked back at your band like you were really thinking about the answer. The band playfully waved at you except Yoongi who just gave you a single nod. He knew that he was probably the answer, but he didn’t really care. But you surprised him when you turned around to Harry and took a shot of what ended up to be– Thankfully, tequila. Based on your reaction, Harry immediately handed you a plate of sliced lime to mellow out the burn in your throat.

“Thank you,” you replied, making the audience laugh at your hoarse voice. After drinking some water, you spoke again, “Whoo! That was good.”

During the commercial break, Yoongi was asked to go backstage to prepare for his appearance. His more subtle and all-black outfit was changed into a more formal light brown suit from Valentino that Paul pulled for him. He was instructed on how the segment would go, but it all sounded mixed up to him with how hectic everything was. How do you even do this?

A staff member assisted him behind the curtains, “Five, four, three, two, one. Okay. Good luck, come out the curtains!”

Yoongi followed, immediately feeling the spotlight on him. His eyebrows shoot up with the unexpected reaction he got from the audience, he cannot even hear what song the band is playing. He almost froze on the spot until you showed up, smiling before pulling in for a simple cheek-to-cheek, strangely relaxing at the familiar scent of your perfume. He felt like walking on clouds as he made his way to the sofa.

“Hello, Yoongi. Glad to have you here on the show.” you began and that was the nicest thing you ever said to him, he thinks.

“Thank you, so excited to be here,” he said, trying to match the energy.

“That’s nice. So, it’s been a wild year for you, isn’t it? You mentioned before that it’s your first time going on tour. How is the experience now that you are part of the live band?”

“Uhm, it’s been pretty great. I like going around places and Fred, who’s right there, really knows a lot of places to eat to. So I’m glad I joined in.” he replied.

Without any thinking, you let your mouth speak, “And what it’s like working with me?”

The audience laughed, thinking that you were just in character as a proud boss, but you were really curious and didn’t think about it. As soon as you realized that, you played it off, saying, “You know, working with one of the greatest popstars like me?”

He smirked, “It’s actually great too, except when you’re feeling moody. But we make a great team, I guess.”

There’s a small banter forming and the audience laughs it off, enjoying what’s happening.

“A great team that we managed to work together for this EP alone! I really thought we would strangle each other at some point in making these songs.” you sarcastically said, making everyone laugh even Yoongi. “Moving on… Was it true that you gained almost a million followers after joining the tour?"

"Yep." Yoongi nodded. “In my first show, I got almost a hundred thousand new followers and I panicked seeing it.”

"I can imagine. I, too, will be scared if I see my notifications like that. Social media is scary.” you chuckled. “And what did your girlfriend say about it? I mean, it must have been crazy to think your partner suddenly became famous like that."

Yoongi stopped like he was trying to process your question. He thought you knew. But knowing this is national television, he has to clear up that fact for the sake of himself and his ex who is now pregnant and getting married to someone else.

"Actually, I am single, YN," he admitted, lips forming into a tight smile.

Oh. Did they break up? You wondered as you felt yourself sinking to your seat while blood came rushing to your cheeks. Okay, this is awkward. You looked at the camera, too embarrassed to look at your bass guitarist.

"Okay, you heard that, people. My bass guitarist is currently on the market!" You played it off successfully. Your audience cheered. "His personal phone number is currently posted on your screens so you can call him with your thirstiest thoughts."

You were satisfied to see a hint of panic on his usual blank face, continuing, "No, of course, I'm kidding! Just send him a text, he hates calls. Classic introvert, am I right?"

The audience and even the band laughed and you mentally pat yourself on the back for saving what could have been an awkward scenario. You went on asking him about his involvement with your EP and brought up his past collaboration with your first guest. For the first time ever, you heard him speak about his past works, mentioning how creative and kind Harry is. Then, there was a very short game.

“Okay, this is the box of questions.” you tapped your nails rhythmically to the metallic blue box you got under the table. “Our studio audience wrote out some questions for me and you.”

“Will there be punishments?” Yoongi asked.

You grinned, “No, but I can ask the producers to bring back the drinks we had earlier.”

The audience laughed. Yoongi shook his head, and you giggled, “Don’t worry, we will pick out just three easy ones.”

You were the first one to read, “Okay, for the band, what is your favorite song to perform on the tour with YN.”

The rest of the band members are in their spots with their own microphones. Noah replied with Juno, even teasing a pose, which made the audience cheer. Akio answered Bed Chem and Fred chose Greedy. Yoongi replied with Juno too.

“I think we know why,” you winked, teasing him.

Yoongi looked away and drew out a question. He smirked when he read it, “YN, who’s your favorite band member and why is it Yoongi?”

The audience screamed in delight as your eyes widened, “Does it say that? I don’t have favorites!”

Yoongi laughs as he shows you the paper, proving that he is not lying. You turned to the band, “I don’t play favorites, right? I’ve been very fair.”

Seeing your flustered reaction, the band enjoyed it and replied almost in unison that the audience laughed. “You do!”

The show ended with another performance from a song that is in Midnight Mistletoe. Harry Styles showed up once again in the end, standing next to you. The band also stood on the other side, with Yoongi being nearest to you. You began your closing remarks,

“Thank you so much to Max Rivers, the crew, and the staff of The Late, Late Show for letting me host tonight! Thank you to my special guest, Harry Styles…” you turned to him and he squeezed you in for a side hug. “And my lovely bassist, Yoongi!” he smiled. “And to my wonderful band, Akio, Fred, and Noah. Also, to my dancers. Thank you so, so much.”

“And to you guys, for watching the show, thank you so much.” you were so happy and grateful, you felt like crying. “The holidays are always about love, joy, and laughter. I hope I delivered that tonight. Happy holidays! Good night!”

Fake snow falls from above as you waved goodbye. While the credits rolled in, you were seen hugging Harry once again before moving to Yoongi, who hugged you back. It was quick but fans still managed to notice it. You moved to the band members while Yoongi and Harry were seen shaking hands and chatting before the screen dimmed down.

note | was crying because i accidentally deleted half of this drabble and can't recover it. but thankfully, still had the energy to rewrite it. thank you so much to those who sent in their questions, sorry I didn't get to put them all :(( thank u so much for reading! hope you loved it as much as I did. there will be an after-party btw ;)

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fozmeadows · 1 month ago

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there is no ethical consumption under capitalism

Years ago now, I remember seeing the rape prevention advice so frequently given to young women - things like dressing sensibly, not going out late, never being alone, always watching your drink - reframed as meaning, essentially, "make sure he rapes the other girl." This struck a powerful chord with me, because it cuts right to the heart of the matter: that telling someone how to lower their own chances of victimhood doesn't stop perpetrators from existing. Instead, it treats the existence of perpetrators as a foregone conclusion, such that the only thing anyone can do is try, by their own actions, to be a less appealing or more difficult victim.

And the thing is, ever since the assassination of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, I've kept on thinking about how, in this day and age, CEOs of big companies often have an equal or greater impact on the day to day lives of regular people than our elected officials, and yet we have almost no legal way to redress any grievances against them - even when their actions, as in the case of Thompson's stewardship of UHC, arguably see them perpetrating manslaughter at scale through tactics like claims denial. That this is a real, recurring thing that happens makes the American healthcare insurance industry a particularly pernicious example, but it's far from being the only one. Because the original premise of the free market - the idea that we effectively "vote" for or against businesses with our dollars, thereby causing them to sink or swim on their individual merits - is utterly broken, and has been for decades, assuming it was ever true at all. In this age of megacorporations and global supply chains, the vast majority of people are dependent on corporations for necessities such as gas, electricity, internet access, water, food, housing and medical care, which means the consumer base is, to all intents and purposes, a captive market. We might not have to buy a specific brand, but we have to buy a brand, and as businesses are constantly competing with one another to bring in profits, not just for the company and its workers, but for C-suites and shareholders - profits that increasingly come at the expense of workers and consumers alike - the greediest, most inhumane corporations set the financial yardstick against which all others are then, of necessity, measured. Which means that, while businesses are not obliged to be greedy and inhumane in order to exist, overwhelmingly, they become greedy and humane in order to compete, because capitalism encourages it, and because there are precious few legal restrictions to stop them from doing so. At the same time, a handful of megacorporations own so many market-dominating brands that, without both significant personal wealth and the time and resources to find viable alternatives, it's all but impossible to avoid them, while the ubiquity of the global supply chain means that, even if you can keep track of which company owns which brand, it's much, much harder to establish which suppliers provide the components that are used in the products bearing their labels. Consider, for instance, how many mainstream American brands are functionally run on sweatshop labour in other parts of the world: places where these big corporations have outsourced their workforce to skirt the already minimal labour and wage protections they'd be obliged to adhere to in the US, all to produce (say) electronics whose elevated sticker price passes a profit on to the company, but without resulting in higher wages for either the sweatshop workers overseas or the American employees selling the products in branded US stores.

When basically every major electronics corporation is engaged in similar business practices, there is no "vote" our money can bring that causes the industry itself to be better regulated - and as wealthy, powerful lobbyists from these industries continue to pay exorbitant sums of money to politicians to keep government regulation at a minimum, even our actual votes can do little to effect any sort of change. But even in those rare instances where new regulations are passed, for multinational corporations, laws passed in one country overwhelmingly don't prevent them from acting abusively overseas, exploiting more desperate populations and cash-poor governments to the same greedy, inhumane ends. And where the ultimate legal penalty for proven transgressions is, more often than not, a fine - which is to say, a fee; which is to say, an amount which, while astronomical by the standards of regular people, still frequently costs the company less than the profits earned through their unethical practices, and which is paid from corporate coffers rather than the bank accounts of the CEOs who made the decisions - big corporations are, in essence, free to act as badly as they can afford to; which is to say, very. Contrary to the promise of the free market, therefore, we as consumers cannot meaningfully "vote" with our dollars in a way that causes "good" businesses to rise to the top, because everything is too interconnected. Our choices under global capitalism are meaningless, because there is no other system we can financially support that stands in opposition to it, and while there are still small businesses and companies who try to operate ethically, both their comparative smallness and their interdependent reliance on the global supply chain means that, even if we feel better about our choices, we're not exerting any meaningful pressure on the system we're trying to change. Which means that, under the free market, trying to be an ethical consumer is functionally equivalent to a young woman dressing modestly, not going out alone and minding her drink at parties in order to avoid being raped. We're not preventing corporate predation or sending a message to corporate predators: we're just making sure they screw other worker, the other consumer, the other guy.

All of which is to say: while I'd prefer not to live in a world where shooting someone dead in the street is considered a valid means of redressing grievances, what the murder of Brian Thompson has shown is that, if you provide no meaningful recourse for justice against abusive, exploitative members of the 1%, then violence done to those people will have the feel of justice, because it fills the void left by the lack of consequences for their actions. It's the same reason why people had little sympathy for the jackass OceanGate CEO who killed himself in his imploding sub, or anyone whose yacht has been attacked by orcas - it's just intensified here, because where the OceanGate CEO was felled by hubris and the yachts were random casualties, whoever killed Thomspon did so deliberately, because of what he did. It was direct action against a man whose policies very arguably constituted manslaughter at scale; a crime which ought to be a crime, but which has, to date, been permitted under the law. And if the law wouldn't stop him, can anyone be surprised that someone might act outside the law in retaliation - or that regular people would cheer for them when they did?

#UHC #capitalism #brian thompson #luigi mangione #deny defend depose #late stage capitalism

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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

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I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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