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“What the fuck did you do?”
Though neither the growl nor the caustic glare are directed your way, there’s no helping the instincts that have you cringing back against Oikawa’s broad chest.
A pissed off alpha bodes well for no one.
Three pissed off alphas…
“Don’t be rude, Iwa,” he chides, curling a protective (possessive, your mind supplies) arm around your front. “You’ll scare her off.”
If only.
Tension thrums in the air; a living, breathing entity. Your eyes dart warily from a scowling Iwaizumi to the other two alphas in the room, yet to speak.
Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei. Makki and Mattsun.
No need for an introduction – the house in San Juan is filled with mementos and pictures, rooms for each of them, faint traces of their scents lingering despite the months since they’d last set foot there. Before he changed it to you, the photo on his lock screen was the four of them in tuxes for one of their fancy awards nights, posed 007 style with their fingers like guns; it’s now his home screen.
Oikawa’s never kept his pack a secret from you.
“You bit a beta. You bonded a beta, and you didn’t think that was worth a damn phone call?” he seethes. Jaw pulled tight, hands fisted at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back from throttling him, pissed off might be an understatement.
And while none of it is directed at you per se, you can’t help but feel like a scolded child, dragged before your parents for playing in the mud and ruining your nice clothes. Although, you suppose in this scenario, you’re less the child and more the mud they tracked in.
“I bit our beta,” Oikawa corrects, not sounding particularly repentant.
“When?” Mattsun, the tallest of the four, arms folded across his chest, stares back at you with an inscrutable expression. Well, not staring at you so much as the still stinging bite mark on your neck, and you could forgive the confusion – it looks new because it is.
There’s plenty of others hidden beneath the sweater and skirt he’d picked for you, but the bite mark on your neck’s the only one he makes the effort to top up. A fresh claim torn into the fading scar of the old one, a nice, tangible reminder of the first time he savaged you.
If you had a voice in any of this, you’d lie through your teeth. Tell them it was a momentary lapse of judgement on Oikawa’s part, an accident he didn’t know how to deal with the consequences of. Easier then to walk it all back and convince them to cut it clean.
But, of course–
“The night we won against Ferro, a few months back.”
– Oikawa doesn’t lie to his packmates. Nothing beyond a few harmless omissions, anyway.
Makki curses and the vein on Iwa’s forehead pops, but it’s the intensity of Mattsun’s gaze, bearing down on you that has you blurting out, “The bonding’s only temporary. I–I’m a beta so it’s not… not a permanent thing.”
Down that very temporary bond, irritation cuts into you, sharp and bitter.
A warning.
If you were smart, you’d pay heed to it, shut your mouth and let the alphas argue it out like a good, unassuming beta, but neither common sense nor the tensing of the muscles in the arm locked around you – itching to haul you closer, stall your flight before it can be set in motion – stop you from trying to push your luck. “I– the hotel. I can go back to the hotel i-if you guys need the space to… figure this out.”
Please. You’ll get on your hands and knees and beg if you have to.
“Not a chance,” Oikawa huffs, the beginnings of a growl building in his chest, but he isn’t the one you’re paying attention to. Not Makki, nor Mattsun.
In place of their compromised pack alpha, Iwa’s the voice of reason.
They don’t want you here and you don’t want to be here, it’s a win-win. The first taste of freedom you’ve had in months dangles in front of you, and you want it so desperately you’ll–
“No.”
A single, blunt syllable, and that fragile dream crumbles to dust. It feels like a gut-punch.
Reluctantly, like the words are being dragged out of him, he continues, “Betas get bond sick too. You’re not gonna put yourself through that just ‘cause this asshole can’t keep his teeth to himself.”
You want to argue that it’s not the same. Betas get bond sick, yes, but not like omegas do – you’ll get feverish, a bit weak and disoriented; you won’t wither away and die – but Makki, quiet up ‘til that point, cuts in first. “That’s fine and great and all – what about Kana? We’re supposed to be having dinner tonight. We’re supposed to be introducing her to our pack alpha.”
Your heart leaps. “I can stay here–”
“What about her?” Iwa shrugs, effectively shutting you down for the second time in as many minutes. “Shittykawa wants the beta to be part of our pack so bad, he can bring her along,”
—
The second he gets a taste of omega pussy, he’s gonna toss you out like the gutter whore you are. Don’t you fucking dare come crawling back when he does!
The parting words from your fiancé’s last voicemail ring in your ears as the hostess shows you to one of the restaurant’s private rooms. You’d cried for two whole days when Oikawa finally gave your phone back, every insult spat out another knife to your chest, with no one to comfort you but the one who’d so thoughtfully sent him the video of you together in the first place.
Now, you hold onto those words like a mantra. Your way through this.
Blithely ignorant to the pointed grumbling of his packmates, Oikawa ushers you into the middle seat, stealing your left. With a less than impressed Iwa taking the seat on your other side, and Makki and Mattsun settling across from each of them, leaving the seat between – the one directly opposite yours – free for the omega, you realise the game he’s playing.
What you’re less clear on is why his packmates are seemingly going along with it. Unhappily, sure, but going along all the same.
Nevertheless, you try to muster up a smile when the waitress slips into the room with a bottle of water for the table and order a drink after the others do. “So, uh, how does it work with an omega?” you ask once she steps out, more to fill the uncomfortable silence than out of any real desire for an answer.
“Need us to explain knots and heats for you, princess?” Makki winks.
Heat stains your cheeks as the alphas snicker. Assholes.
“I meant logistically,” you mutter before Oikawa can make whatever unwarranted comment is undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue. “You guys live here, Tooru’s got his whole life in San Juan. Don’t you think that’s kind of rough on an omega?” You don’t envy the proverbial woman for a multitude of reasons, but not least of which is a future tied to a pack split across two continents.
Bond sickness might knock you around some. Omegas can – and do – die.
You glance back at Oikawa, “Unless… you’re planning on moving back?”
The edge of his lip lifts in a smirk. Sliding his hand across the table to take ahold of yours he says, “We’re not relocating any time soon, pretty girl, but you’re probably going to have to get used to a bit of jet-setting,” he leans in close, voice dropping to a whisper, “at least, you will if they get their teeth into you. Otherwise you’re all mine.”
You don’t honestly know which thought unnerves you more, but as if summoned by your desperate desire to suddenly change the subject, a light knock sounds and the sliding door rickets open – not the waitress with your drinks.
The scent of warm, sticky cherries, much, much stronger than yours floats into the room, and as you get your fist glimpse of their would be omega, all you feel is sick.
Kana is every bit as beautiful as you expected. Maybe more so. Dark, hypnotic eyes, shining curls cascading down her shoulders and a perfect, willowy figure. She’s smiling, eyes sparkling with such genuine excitement – until she catches sight of you.
At first, it’s confusion. A slight furrowing in her brow as her brain plays catch up, processing the unexpected hitch in what you’re sure was the vision she had of the evening.
You can’t blame her for that, or the way the glimmering light in her expression shutters and fades when she notices the bite on your neck.
That, and the tight grip Oikawa keeps of your hand.
“You… have a beta,” she deduces in a strangled attempt at a laugh. Makki winces. “You didn’t mention that.”
And there might be a way to salvage the night and smooth things over, except the smile Oikawa gives her lacks any of his usual charm or warmth.
“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over. She isn’t here for you.”
—
In spite of the toll the day’s taken, sleep evades you.
Oikawa hardly stirs when you gently extricate yourself from his grip with a wince – grumbling something unintelligible into his pillow and out like a light by the time you disappear through the door with his phone.
The living room would be the logical place to head, except the living room’s downstairs, and the stairs creak. Rather than risk it, you steal into the empty room two doors down from Oikawa’s, quietly shutting the door behind you before you flick on the lights and fiddle with the thermostat.
Huh.
For a nesting space, you sort of expected… more. Blankets and decorative pillows and candles – soft, pretty things for their future omega to lavish in. Instead, you’re met with a bed that takes up the majority of the floor space and not much else.
Bare-bones, unfurnished, unclaimed, yet you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re trespassing here. Gingerly, you sit on the very edge of the mattress, tucking your feet up beneath you, and type in Oikawa’s passcode.
He’s never bothered keeping it a secret. While you’d be thrilled and delighted to uncover a secret OmegaFans account or explicit DM exchange with one of his legion of fans, you don’t bother looking.
Fighting off a yawn, you open up a new page and settle yourself in.
You scroll through what feels like endless pages of results, nibbling absentmindedly on your bottom lip. Each time you shift to adjust your position – still so careful not to take up too much space, leave too large an imprint in this big, empty room – a twinge of pain stabs at your lower half, but you ignore it as best you can. Nothing you haven’t become accustomed to.
Time slips away from you quicker than you’d like. So absorbed in your search that you almost miss the tread of footsteps coming down the hall.
Almost, but not quite.
Exiting out of your search, one quick tap of a finger and your browsing history disappears – just as the door swings open, unannounced.
You expect Oikawa, coming to grumpily drag you back to bed. Instead, you’re met with a sleep mussed Iwa, shirtless and frowning at you.
“I’m not trying to move in, promise,” you tell him, hands rising in a pacifying gesture. Oikawa’s phone lies on the bed beside you, and you watch as Iwaizumi clocks it, eyes narrowing a fraction before they return to you. You force a weak smile, “I couldn’t sleep. Jetlag, I guess. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” Realising that his presence at the door likely indicates you failed on that front, you add, “Sorry.”
Iwa’s quiet for a beat. “I could smell you.”
He could smell you?
“Oh, uh… sorry? It’s usually pretty subtle.” A summer thunderstorm, your ex once described it. Petrichor and the crackle of ozone. Most people don’t mind it, a few even find your scent pleasant, but alphas have stronger noses than betas and you suppose in the room meant for their omega they’d find it offensive no matter what. “I can wash the sheets before I go.”
Satisfied that you’re not trying to make yourself at home in the nest – or in his pack – you expect him to stomp off back to bed. When he doesn’t, you figure it’s marching orders and push yourself upwards, a tiny hiss escaping at the twinge of pain as you do.
His nostrils flare, scenting the air. “You’re bleeding.”
Nothing a soak with epsom salt won’t ease.
“Beta, remember? Don’t worry about it.”
In the tiny silk slip Oikawa gave you, there’s more of your skin bared than you’d like. More of his bites on show. You watch Iwa’s eyes rove across them, something like a growl building in the back of his throat.
He’s still blocking the doorway, muscular frame all puffed up and tense, an odd glint shining in those olive eyes. Angry alpha, a voice whispers in your head. But it’s just instincts, in the same way the twist in your stomach and the prickling of hair on the nape of your neck are. He isn’t angry at you, he’s pissed his packmate turned you into a chew toy.
“Did he tell you how this began?” you ask when he makes no move to allow you past.
He shakes his head.
“My family moved to Argentina when I was seventeen. Met a nice beta guy my first year at university and moved to San Juan with him when we graduated – his parents own a huge vineyard up there. We had our own villa on the property, separate from the main house, and he worked with his dad on the business side of it. Right from the start told me I wouldn’t have to work if I didn’t want to, he’d support us both, but when he proposed, I decided I wanted to contribute on my own. A part time job, just ‘til the wedding.”
His eyes flick to your left hand; bare, as it has been for months.
Swallowing down the lump forming in your throat, you continue, “The club hired me as an equipment assistant. Mostly behind the scenes stuff, I wasn’t really supposed to interact with the team unless they asked for something specific.” Seen and not heard – the classic beta creed. “When Tooru first started seeking me out, I figured it was ‘cause I was from Japan too. Someone who spoke the same language he did, a small piece of home halfway ‘round the world, that kind of thing. He even pushed to bring me along for away games, but management shot it down. Wasn’t part of my contract.”
Can he hear the bitterness tinging your voice? Back then, you hadn’t minded the quasi-friendship you’d struck up with the setter, and so long as it didn’t interfere with you doing your job – and Oikawa delivering on his – your bosses didn’t take issue either.
Blind, stupid fool.
Through all of this, Iwa hasn’t said a word. Any signs of sleepiness eradicated, his eyes track your every movement while he stands, preternaturally still, no doubt waiting for you to get to the point.
Context probably doesn’t matter much to him, but it does to you. He should know how his packmate systematically tore through your life, the mess you’ll be left with when he inevitably tosses you aside – if not for Kana, then whichever omega comes next.
“The night they beat Ferro, there was an afterparty. I can’t remember why exactly, one of his teammate’s birthdays or something. Staff don’t usually go to those things but Tooru roped me into it. My fiancé was out of town that night and I was only going to stay for an hour or so.” Your voice quavers, fingers trembling as you fidget and twist them around the silk hem of your slip. Dropping your gaze, you take a breath and say, “I don’t remember what happened that night. I don’t remember how I got from the bar to his place or what he did to me. I just remember waking up the next morning naked in his bed with his bite on my neck.”
You found out about the video afterwards. Trapped on his knot, Oikawa nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he’d laid out his phone and made you watch it with him, cooing in your ear and providing commentary on his favourite bits.
Then came the email, and the release and NDA you had to sign. Argentina holds to the old ways – once bitten, you’re pack, subject to the authority of your alphas. Not only do they refuse to lift a finger to help, they’ll intercede if you try and leave.
You’re stuck with him until he stops biting and lets the bond fade.
“I want to go home,” you mumble, refusing to look up. “Just let me–”
In an instant, Iwaizumi’s in front of you, one hand clamped around your wrist. You lock up, a deer in headlights, frozen in place as the huge alpha looms over you. His thumb sweeps over your pulse, chest swelling as he drags a greedy lungful of your scent in through his nose. For a split second, your heartrate goes haywire, certain he’s about to lunge and sink his teeth into you like Oikawa had, helpless to do a thing to stop him–
A firm tug, and he pulls your hand free from where you’re worrying at your slip. “Go to bed, omega,” he rasps.
His words are a bucket of ice dumped over your head. You stiffen, flinching back as far as his hold allows, a cold, clammy sweat breaking over your skin.
In the pit of your stomach, something deeply unpleasant stirs.
“I-I’m not–”
“Bed,” he repeats, his voice like chipped flint. “now. You need sleep.”
Releasing your wrist, he steps back only enough to allow you to scamper past like a frightened bunny, leaving the phone behind.
—
A heavy arm slings itself over your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. “Where are you off to, beta?” Matsukawa drawls.
Silly you for thinking you could just walk out without a written permission slip. Wriggling out from under him, you huff, “Saitama. I’ll be back later.”
You slept late this morning, woken only briefly by Oikawa on his way out. Iwa was taking him to a meeting, or a meet and greet – a something – leaving you behind to rest up, and with the two of them gone, you intend on making the most of the reprieve.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got my phone and some money,” a child-locked phone and petty cash you’d found stuffed and forgotten in a pocket of Oikawa’s suitcase – enough to buy your ticket there and back, “I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.”
If anything, you’d think they’d be glad of the excuse to be rid of you for a few hours.
Hanamaki, watching from the other side of the kitchen counter, grins, lifting a black card between his fingers – one of Oikawa’s, probably. “We got it covered, princess.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need baby sitters.”
“Think of it as a bonding experience,” Mattsun says, moving to blocking your path again when you try to side-step him.
Like a lit match to gasoline, you explode.
Your palms come up, shoving at the behemoth of an alpha, who doesn’t budge an inch, barely lifts an eyebrow – and god does that fan the flames, indignation boiling through your blood ‘til you’re practically shaking with it.
“We don’t need to bond!” you snarl. “This whole thing is temporary, I’m not pack, I’m some girl your friend sunk his teeth into, and suddenly you all seem to think that means I can’t spend a minute to myself without an alpha breathing down my neck! I need space! I need a few goddamn hours to myself, I need–” your voice cracks. An ugly hitch accompanied by the sting of tears you have to blink furiously to keep at bay.
As quickly as it’d come, your anger deserts you, leaving something hollow and aching in its place. “I need a break. Please, just– Please.”
Let me go home.
For a long, drawn out moment, neither of them say anything. The only sound in the room is your ragged breathing.
The hand that comes to rest on your shoulder startles you so violently you jerk, but Mattsun’s fingers only flex, digging in under the guise of commiseration.
“Look, so long as you’re wearing one of our bites, this is real. You are pack. Our beta, which means you can either accept that you’re not leaving without us, or we can hang here for the day, watch some movies or something. Those are your options, sweetheart.”
Bitterness threatens to swallow you whole. “… Fine. Let’s go then.”
“Attagirl. Makki’s driving.”
—
If either alpha’s perturbed by the suffocating silence in the car, they don’t show it.
Matsukawa stares out the window, idly tapping a rhythm against the armrest, and beyond a few amused looks via the rearview mirror, Makki keeps his opinions to himself.
Oikawa wouldn’t give you that grace. The silent treatment’s only ever taken as a challenge with your alpha. In that sense, the gulf of distance between Mattsun’s splayed legs and your own is a welcome relief. Let them dismiss you, mock and snicker. Let them treat you like a poorly trained pet Oikawa’s foisted upon them, incapable of looking after itself.
You don’t care anymore.
You don’t.
As the car passes the outer city limits, Makki finally breaks the stilted atmosphere to ask where you want him to drive.
“There’s a restaurant we used to eat at growing up. It’s near the west exit of the station.”
His eyebrow lifts. “You’re from Saitama?”
You don’t bother answering, you would’ve thought that was obvious.
Makki manages to find parking just ‘round the corner from the restaurant, yet while they’d given some measure of space in the car, the moment your feet hit the ground the two alphas close in on either side, flanking you like overgrown bodyguards.
You’d roll your eyes, only some part of you settles, a loosening in your chest as the sign out front comes into view.
“It’s this one, c’mon.”
The feeling grows when you step inside, the beginnings of a smile you’re quick to smother taking shape. You haven’t set foot in here in years, and it hasn’t changed at all. The same delicious aromas in the air, the same layout, the same artwork hanging in the same places.
When the girl at the front tells you to take a seat wherever, you let them usher you into a corner booth, Makki sliding in after you. You can’t bring yourself to be bothered that he sits close enough that his thigh brushes yours, or that Mattsun’s eyes keep slipping down to your bite, because over his shoulder, through the gap in the kitchen pass, you see him.
For the second time this morning, it feels like you might burst into tears.
“You alright, princess?”
Shit.
“Hm?” You force your attention away, blinking like you’re shaking yourself free of a daze. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking about food. We should get some gyozas with lunch, they used to be really good here.”
They share a look between them, but Makki just shrugs, slinging his arm over the back of the booth behind you, “Sure, Oikawa’s paying.”
Tucked away in your pocket, your phone buzzes with an incoming message. Oikawa’s already sent you two this morning, and another in the car on the ride over.
You pretend to consider the menu Hanamaki slides closer, though you’ve ordered the same thing here since you were twelve. It’s an effort to keep your knee from bouncing, from fiddling with the skirt of your dress or gnawing at your lip – the anxious energy inside of you itching for physical release – while they mull over what they’re going to order.
And from the corner of your eye, whenever you think you can get away with it, you seek him out.
The last time you saw Ryota was two days before your family left Japan. He’s a little bigger than you remember, but the smile’s the same. The same haircut, same uniform. The years have done him well, you think.
You weren’t close exactly, the seven year difference between you–
Another buzz. You ignore it.
– a bigger gap to bridge when you were younger. He was always around, always friendly, just not a friend. There’s a niggling feeling in your stomach that warns you’re betting too much on this, but what choice do you have?
“Y’know your scent gets stronger when you’re all wound up?”
Cheek lazily propped up on the heel of his palm, Matsukawa could almost pass for bored. The sharp glint in his eyes tells another story.
He’s making quite a habit of it – watching you.
Not with idle curiosity, and you can’t imagine it’s with desire. The best comparison you can think of is a house cat staring down the mouse it’s too lazy to kill – maybe not hungry, but predatory all the same.
“I miss it,” you tell him simply. Not a lie. “I didn’t realise how much.”
“Good gyoza?” he quips.
“Sure.”
Makki chuckles. “You know, you could probably convince Oikawa to let you stay here with us a while after he goes back to Argentina. Maybe not without a bite, but…” he trails off, leaving the rest unspoken as Mattsun flags a waiter down.
You find yourself oddly relieved that you don’t recognise him. He doesn’t pay you any mind either, busy jotting down the order Mattsun rattles off, Makki chiming in.
The latter’s arm slips from behind your booth, the back of his knuckles grazing along your side. Your skin prickles at the contact.
It’s an alpha thing. A proprietary thing, less about you and more a point made to everyone else; the same reason they left you alone in the car and then stuck to you like glue on the walk over. Makki and Mattsun don’t necessarily like you, but their pack alpha’s claimed you as his mate and loyalty to him wins out in the end.
So long as you’re bonded with Oikawa, you’ll have to deal with this, too.
Shoulders hunched, you find yourself glancing back to the pass window to distract yourself.
Only this time, Ryota looks up. Meets your gaze head on.
Recognition sparks, a visceral thread between you pulling taut. And he doesn’t give you some perfunctory nod or wave like you expected, he comes alive with it, beaming from ear to ear. It does a strange thing to your insides, like a moment of free-fall. Your cheeks flood with warmth, nerves, or maybe butterflies, fluttering away in your belly.
“Anything else?”
You snap back to attention in time to see Makki shake his head. “That’s all, man.”
Guess your input wasn’t required.
The waiter leaves and both of them seem to lose some of the tension in their shoulders, relaxing back into their seats. Alphas. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t still reeling.
“Let me out,” you say to Makki, half rising to your feet. “I’m going to use the bathroom before the food gets here.”
The asshole’s probably tempted to make you crawl to get past him. He doesn’t though, sliding on out to let you past, but not before one of their phones chimes.
Mattsun reaches for his just as you brush past Makki, frowning when he reads whatever’s on his screen. “You keep ignoring Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and it’s not gonna go well for you, sweetheart.”
You shrug. “I’m a grown woman.” Not their fucking pet.
You walk off before either one of them can respond and pray they don’t notice the slight jitter in your steps. The bathrooms are down a little corridor behind the kitchens.
A tiny jerk of your chin as you walk past is all you risk.
It does the job. Out of sight, tucked around the corner, you lean against the wall and start a silent count. You make it all the way to forty-three before a worried looking Ryota rounds the corner.
You’ve got minutes with him at best before Makki and Mattsun come looking.
In your pocket, there’s a torn scrap of paper with a list of advocacy groups and pack law firms you’d found last night hastily scrawled from memory. You spent the drive over running through countless versions of what you’d say to him, how you’d convince him to help you.
You don’t have time.
And yet the first thing he does upon seeing you is open his arms – and your feet move without thought, carrying you into them. His chin rests atop your head, your face smushed against his shoulder. He smells just like the kitchen, fire and smoke and rich aromatics, his own scent nearly indistinguishable, and you don’t care.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs. “Tell me how I can help. You’re shaking.”
You are.
“Is it the guys you were with?” he prods when you fail to summon the words to explain. “The alphas? I… I saw the bite.”
Of course he did. Short of turtlenecks and scarves, there’s no hiding it. Swallowing tightly, you ease yourself back enough to look him in the eye. “We have to be quick. I dont–”
“What the fuck?!”
Large hands grip you by the shoulders, harshly ripping you back.
Before you can stumble and trip over your own feet trying to right yourself, Makki’s there to catch you, wiry arms locking around your waist, dragging you both a few steps back as Mattsun launches himself at Ryota with a roar.
“No! Don’t–”
Too late.
The fleshy thwack of his fist driving into the latter’s face has your stomach threatening to upheave, but as you struggle in Makki’s arms, crying out, Mattsun hits him again, and again, and again, each blow sounding messier than the last.
“Stop!” you shriek. “Please!! He’s a family friend, that’s all! It wasn’t–”
Makki’s hand clamps over your mouth, cutting you off. “Princess,” he whispers lowly, teeth at your ear. “Now really isn’t the time. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
A tooth flies, blood and spittle spraying over the floor, but Mattsun’s frame blocks you from seeing the worst of the damage he’s inflicting with brutal, heavy fists. You’re left to scream, crying against Makki’s palm while he watches on, unmoved.
“Don’t kill him,” is all he offers.
The wet, gurgling groans tear at you, but it isn’t until Mattsun settles back on his heels, broad chest heaving and turns to look at you that you realise what Makki meant.
There’s no white left in his eyes.
Matsukawa’s in a rut.
Oh no. No, no, no, no–
“Not here,” Makki says when he rises and steps over Ryota’s body, coming towards you. “We’re not doing this here. We’re not sharing her with anybody.”
A newfound sense of terror grips you as Makki steps back, hands raised clear.
You’re a beta, you’re not built to survive this sort of claiming. A knot’s one thing, a rut is another beast entirely – he’ll rip right through you!
“Makki– Makki, please!” you beg, as the bigger alpha grabs you tightly by the arm and starts hauling you towards the fire escape door.
Hanamaki, following behind, grins unrepentantly, “I won’t let him hurt you too bad, but you made this bed, little beta. Hope you’re ready to lie in it.”
Every flinch, every stumbling step is met with a tightening grip and a growl. Your arm throbs as bones grind together. You’re wheezing for breath through thick, hot tears and shaking like a fawn, and no one cares. Strangers part, crossing the road to give the frenzied alpha a wide berth, people avoid your eye.
They don’t care that you’re scared, that you’re a beta, that you’re begging for help.
“We had money on this, y’know,” Makki tells you as the car comes into view. “I thought for sure it’d be Iwa, especially after the way he came stomping down the stairs this morning.” He fishes the keys from his pocket, fixing you a wry look. “I don’t know what you did, but you really got him worked up.”
The car unlocks, and Mattsun nearly tears the door off its hinges ripping it open to toss you in the backseat.
You sprawl, landing on your stomach with a grunt and immediately try to claw your way forward, only for Mattsun to grab you by your waist and haul you back with a guttural growl.
His scent swells, pouring off of him in waves.
You hear his belt buckle clink, the hiss of a zipper and your dress is shoved out of the way.
“Please, please, please don’t do this,” you sob. “You don’t want me, I’m a beta. I’m a beta, I can’t–” your words falter as he rips through your stockings. There isn’t enough room in the backseat, the air’s thick with his scent, too warm from the body heat he’s generating. You’re crying, choking on sobs, still squirming as he crawls in behind you, one hand on the small of your back between your shoulders to keep you down while he lifts your hips, baring your pussy for him.
You hardly hear the other door open, register Makki’s presence sliding in. Not until he pets at your hair. “Do you want me to help?” he asks when your wide, frightened eyes meet his.
You want to say yes.
You try to, but Mattsun chooses that moment to force his thick length inside of you, and all you can do is wail like a wounded animal.
Mattsun makes a sound halfway between a snarl and groan, collapsing forward to drive his cock deeper into you. There’s no omega slick to help him along, you aren’t prepped, and it’s agony. Burning, fiery agony.
And then he starts to pull out, and that’s even worse.
If he knots you, you’ll die. You’re sure of it.
You squeeze your eyes shut, bitter tears leaking out, and nod.
“We’re gonna take good care of you, beta,” he tells you, but it’s hard to focus on his words – on anything other than the panting alpha behind you and the stabbing pain that accompanies every thrust. “But you’ve gotta be good for us too.”
Something wordless passes between them, and you’re abruptly hoisted up between his thighs, your back to his chest, his bear paw hands falling to encircle your waist. It’s easier then for Makki to inch his way closer, eyes cautiously flickering between you both.
“Let me make it better,” he says, reaching a hand to where you’re stretched and squirming around his packmate’s cock. “Let me help.”
The first brush of his fingers against your clit sends a burning jolt of electricity rocketing through you. Your whole body shudders with it, a soundless cry wrenching from your lips.
Makki doesn’t give you a respite.
Mattsun doesn’t either.
The alpha behind you curses, hips snapping upwards in a savage pace while Makki does his best to draw humiliating noises from you – none of which actually distract from the battering of your insides. You’re dizzy, overwhelmed. Sore and split open, shaking with every stroke of his fingers.
You whine and he chuckles, Mattsun’s tongue dragging along the sweat-slicked skin of your neck.
“Mine,” he rasps. “Mine.”
And distantly, you feel the beginnings of his knot starting to grow. Starting to catch on your already overstuffed cunt, but the minute it clicks and realisation settles in, quickly followed by blind panic, Mattsun’s mouth finds a home along your collarbone.
Trapped between the two alphas with nowhere to run, your skin gives way, cutting like butter beneath his teeth.
A mating bite.
His knot swells, sealing you two together as a flood of hot cum fills you up, and Makki presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.
“See? Nothing you couldn’t handle, princess.”