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The next morning, Konig lingered in Price’s office, maps and plans scattered across the desk as he went over mob tactics with quiet focus. The house hummed with distant laughter and movement, but here it was still—a fortress of strategy and silent anticipation.

The Omega circled the desk slowly, her voice hesitant, almost a whisper. “There’s three floating around in here,” she said, hand resting gently on her belly.

Konig didn’t look up at first, eyes fixed on the blueprints, but his posture stiffened. Finally, he met her gaze—blond hair tousled, green eyes steady and sharp like a blade.

“I never thought I’d be a mom,” she admitted softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Always the funny aunt, you know? Now look at me.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, then flickered back up. “Does this... bother you?” Her voice faltered slightly. “Me being pregnant—with their babies.”

She didn’t mean it to be cruel, but there was fear there—a raw, trembling fear. Would he be jealous? Would he resent the children pattering around the house? Could he bear the thought of his omega carrying the offspring of other alphas he despised?

Konig exhaled deeply, the breath he’d been holding finally escaping. “No,” he said firmly. “Those children are a part of you. I could never hate anything attached to you.”

His voice softened, almost reverent. “They’re extensions of you. I’d lay down my life for them. I wasn’t religious before—but it feels like God added to the one I took away.”

The words hung heavy between them. Omega tensed—her worst nightmare flickering to life: the torture, the missing fingers on her left hand, the unbearable loss of her first child. That raw wound beneath her ribs, still aching beneath the surface.

The timing, the danger—everything about bringing life into the world right now in the middle of mob business felt like a reckless gamble. She had only been five weeks pregnant then, barely enough time to fully feel the bond before heartbreak. She hadn’t yet fully opened herself to the triplets, despite the constant reassurances, the fierce protection, the relentless security—and even with Konig, the threat turned ally, standing guard by her side.

Still, the fear lingered. The gnawing dread that something could go wrong again.

Konig felt the hesitancy through their bond—the silent tremor beneath her words, the quiet longing in her eyes.

He had seen it all: the way she lingered, staring at her hand as if searching for something lost. The long, tense nights spent poring over mob plans at Price’s desk, only to hear her screams echoing from upstairs, one of the alphas rushing out to tend to her.

He’d witnessed the grief flicker in her gaze—and then the fierce flame reigniting with each touch, each reassurance from one of the three alphas.

His voice was low, steady, a vow forged in unbreakable steel. “Your pups are safe. I will destroy the world if anything ever happens to you or the pups. I vow it.”

She nodded, trembling but resolute, and quietly exited the room.

Konig stood motionless for a moment, then turned back to the maps and plans before him, diving once again into the cold logic of mob business.

Outside, the Omega found Soap, leaning against the stone wall of the estate, the evening breeze tugging gently at his hair.

Without hesitation, she clung to him.

“Hey, Bonnie, what’s wrong?” Soap’s voice was gentle, concern threading every word as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Nothing,” she whispered, voice small and raw. “Just… hold me?”

“Of course, hen. Of course,” he said softly, pulling her closer.

"I’ve never been gentle," rasped Konig.

“Then start learning, Niklaus,” the omega panted, voice breathless and low.

Days before, Soap had been devouring her like it was his last meal. Her hands tangled fiercely in his Mohawk, her five-month belly pushing against him, but nothing could stop the fire between them. When she finally climaxed, the world went white—she was left utterly boneless.

Soap shifted above her, lips pressing reverently to her belly, then her breast, before nuzzling her neck and softly nibbling at his bite mark. The omega purred in response, completely undone.

Johnny had discovered a rare and uncanny way to calm their omega. She was heavier now—triplets thriving, growing faster than the charts predicted. Ghost and Price exchanged smug glances when the doctor advised to expect big, healthy babies. “All thanks to your alphas,” the doctor had smiled.

She groaned lightly at their preening, rolling her eyes. But the nightmares still lingered. The torture. The constant shadow of mob business put her on edge some days. Even with four ex-military alphas at her side, the fear that something could break through was always there.

So Johnny took a different approach—he made sure she felt so good she couldn’t think of anything else. Literally nothing bad could touch her when he was making her feel that way. Omega would drift to sleep satiated and exhausted from powerful orgasms, waking up in a better mood each time. Johnny was finally proud that his tongue was finding its true calling.

Meanwhile, Price’s stress only grew. The kidnapping of their omega had sent a clear message: their empire—seemingly impenetrable—had weaknesses. Price was putting out more fires than lighting them lately.

Kyle, stressed but loyal, manned comms and intel, working tirelessly to strike first before threats reached their doorstep again. Ghost, meanwhile, had unleashed a personal kill list over the last few months. The name “Ghost” struck fear in their enemies once more—but it still wasn’t enough.

One day, Konig sat down—imposing and resolute.

“We need to send a message. Squash the rebellion now. Before your pups arrive in this world, ja?”

Price’s eyes narrowed, voice harsh. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing, Konig? You started this. I’m the one who has to deal with it.”

Ghost tensed in the corner, muscles coiled like a predator. The room filled with raw, primal alpha energy—Ghost’s senses flared, smelling the violence about to erupt.

Soap entered the room, followed by a tired-looking Kyle. “What’s going on?” Soap asked, his eyes flicking between the tense faces.

Price snapped back, voice booming with frustration, “Konig wants to provide some critique on how we’re managing our fucking business?”

Konig didn’t flinch. “If it keeps our Omega safe, I have all the words in the world for you. Under my orders, my men took your fucking Omega right from underneath you. You didn’t even rescue her. I gave her back to you by admitting her to a hospital. You.did.not.win.”

His voice dropped, cold and cutting. “Price, if the bond hadn’t come through, I would have delivered you a dead Omega to your doorstep—and taken over this whole operation.”

Kyle tried to release a calming scent, hoping to diffuse the tension in the room, but it was futile. Before Price could say another word, Ghost landed a sharp blow to Konig’s face. The table flipped in the chaos.

Konig retaliated with a brutal headbutt to Ghost. Soap quickly jumped in, prying Konig’s arm away from Ghost’s neck, while Price unleashed a flurry of punches on Konig’s face, venting all his anger on the Austrian.

“Damn it!” Kyle bellowed, but wisely stayed in the corner, not risking getting caught in the brawl.

The four alphas didn’t seem to stop until they caught sight of a wide-eyed, sleepy-faced Omega standing at the doorway, watching them confused.

“Um… okay… I thought this would’ve happened way earlier, by the way,” she shakily chuckled, then turned and made her way toward the kitchen.

The heavy scent of angry alphas made her nauseous; she needed to get away.

Kyle met her outside with a worried, concerned look as she stepped into the fresh air.

“It’s fine, Ky—really. I mean, this is like the Breakfast Club, except nobody likes each other even after detention’s over. I’ve been... waiting for this.”

Kyle looked at her slowly. “And how do you feel about that?”

Omega smirked slightly. “I feel like it’s necessary. A lot of shit has gone down. I wasn’t expecting them to be all happy-dory. You told me they didn’t even like each other during their military days...”

Kyle nodded. “Soap told me there was a fight between Konig and Ghost once that almost made them fall off a mountain. Neither cared, as long as they got the final punch.”

“See?” Omega sighed. “I don’t know how this all works, but maybe duking it out is their way of a therapy session?”

“I think so. Konig wants a say on how we keep you and those pups safe. Price has always been the leader—everyone, including me, has followed him into battle with just a word. He failed. The consequence? Losing you.”

“But they didn’t fail. Not that way. If I can say one thing—Konig is good at being the big bad.”

Her tone sharpened with anger. “His intention was to make them scramble, doubt themselves. I’m a weakness, and Konig took advantage of that.”

Kyle nodded grimly. “Seems like fate is handing him the same kind of karma now.”

“Fuck yes it is,” the omega said firmly. “I know everyone’s afraid of me dropping again—but I’ve seen how stressed Price’s been, turning into a total workaholic. I’ve watched you drive out of here at 3 AM, Kyle. Ghost doesn’t clean under his fingertips as well as he thinks—I literally thought he was painting his nails for a minute there.” She breathed out, hands drifting subconsciously to her bump. “I don’t want these pups to come into this.”

She whined slightly. Kyle stepped closer, draping a shoulder over hers. “They won’t—the knot-headed alphas just have to agree on something first.”

Back in the office, Konig sat harshly panting, face bloody and dripping. He pushed up his shirt to wipe the blood from his eyes. Ghost shrugged his shoulders as he sank into the loveseat behind him. Price paced the front of the room.

“Use me,” Konig said quietly. “Let us show your enemies that we are united. Any threat, any sniffling person who thinks they can break this—we will prove them wrong. I am at the mercy and grace of our omega. I am in your debt. I caused this. Let me fucking fix it.”

Price growled—not at Konig, but at the bitter logic behind his words. Ever since the kidnapping, wolves had been sniffing around, trying to overthrow him. Petty gangsters were hitting more and more of their places, taunting and teasing. Price had barely slept since.

Use him, his inner alpha urged pointedly. Now’s not the time for ego. He will keep Omega safe. Omega and pups must be kept safe.

“Get rid of the Lorenzo family first—they’re causing the most problems,” Price muttered.

“Price,” Ghost said sharply, “it’s one thing to let him linger, but to make him part of this? Fuck no. We’re handling the threats just fine. He did his part—he should have disappeared into whatever hole we found him in after the kidnapping.”

“You want him around 24/7, around our omega, the pups? We’re really placing our bets on the Austrian who almost destroyed us?” Soap’s voice was harsh, bitter.

Kaia sat beside him, staring out the frosty window, her fingers twitching with leftover adrenaline. Lady Lyanna Mormont had agreed to send her men north. A massive win. She allowed herself a smug little smile.

"You know," she said, nudging Jon Snow with her boot, "if I hadn’t come today, House Mormont wouldn’t have pledged at all."

Jon, seated across from them, gave her a look. "That’s not exactly true. Davos was getting close before you and your brother—"

"But it was us who got the yes," she interrupted, grinning.

Jon leaned forward slightly, the weight of his name pressing on his chest. "It won’t always be like this, Kaia. And... it’s better if people don’t know I’m your father."

Kaia's smile faded. Her brow furrowed in quiet confusion and hurt. "Why? You are my dad. So is Tyrion. And the Hound was basically a stepdad when we lived on the Quiet Isle—"

"It’s not about what’s true," Jon said, his voice tight. "It’s about what’s safe. If people knew you were my daughter... they would use that. To hurt you. To break me. Your mother and I—we can't bear that risk."

Kaia stared at him, eyes sharp and hollow. Her voice dropped, eerily calm. "So... you don’t want me?"

Jon’s mouth opened, but the words came slow. "Of course I want you. Gods, Kaia—"

“Fine,” she snapped, yanking open the carriage door.

"Kaia!" Jon lunged forward, too late. She’d already leapt into the snow.

Samwell let out a long snore, rolled off the seat, and landed in Jon’s lap with a thud.

Jon groaned.

Samwell rubbed his eyes blearily and patted Jon’s knee. “She’ll be okay. She’s mad, not stupid.”

[Inside Winterfell – Kitchen]

Kaia burst into the warmth, cheeks flushed and steaming. A scullery maid blinked, startled, before wordlessly guiding her to the fire and pressing a mug of hot tea into her hands.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, child.”

[Dining Hall – Chaos, as usual]

“You’re not the bloody boss of me, woman!” Sandor bellowed across the table.

Kali stood, arms crossed like a storm wrapped in silk. “I’ve carried three of your children, you miserable mutt.”

“Any whore can get knocked up.”

CRASH.

A glass chalice flew. Sandor ducked too late—cracked across the cheek, splitting the skin.

“You bitch!”

He lunged.

Kali was already on the table, dagger in hand. “You dog! I nearly died pushing out your whelps!"

She slashed. Sandor caught it on his forearm, howling, then swept her legs. The table overturned, dumping them both to the stone floor in a tangle of limbs and fury.

The hall was divided—half the room watched in horror, the other half just sipped their soup like this was Tuesday.

“Have you seen Kaia?” Jon barked as he entered, snow-dusted and breathless.

Kali rolled off Sandor and stood with elegance despite the carnage. “Wasn’t she with you?”

“She jumped from the bloody carriage.”

Kali’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll find her.”

She scooped up Samwell—now wobbling into the hall—without breaking stride.

Sandor sat up, groaning. “Fucking hell.”

“Nothing,” Sandor grumbled, dabbing his bleeding face with a stolen napkin.

“You get more men?”

“Amazingly, yes,” Jon muttered, sitting down across from him. “Thanks to Kaia and Samwell. With Daenerys on our side, we might have a shot.”

“Good. It’s freezing balls, which means that ice prick’s getting closer.”

“You’ll stay and fight?”

“Got nowhere better. And...” He shrugged. “Kids are safer here. I told Kali that, but the woman’s all claws and no sense.”

“She’s scared. Her kids are everything.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sandor snapped. “You think I don’t look at those little monsters and want to gut anyone who’d harm them? I may be a bastard, but I’m not heartless.”

He kicked the broken table leg. “She wants me to flee south with them. It’s suicidal. If we don’t stop the Night King here, no one’s safe—north or south.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “I know. And I don’t like asking children to pick up swords... but we don’t have a choice anymore.”

[Kitchen – Kali & Kaia]

When Kali appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying Samwell on her hip like a warrior queen cradling a lion cub, the staff scattered like rats.

“Kaia.”

The girl looked up, eyes glassy.

“Jon doesn’t want me.”

Kali inhaled through her nose. She’d already bloodied Sandor today—looked like Jon was next.

“What did he say?”

“He doesn’t want people to know he’s my dad.”

“I agree with him, little lion.”

Kaia blinked, betrayed. “You too?”

Kali sighed and crossed the hearth, her leather boots silent. “Jon is noble. And noble men are, unfortunately, very stupid. Come here.”

Kaia obeyed. Kali kept one arm around her, Samwell nestled on the other side, dozing peacefully.

“If you’re going to be angry, be angry at me. I chose this. I chose to let Tyrion give you his name. Because the world is full of vipers, and they will strike where it hurts most.”

Kaia lowered her head, silent.

“Speak,” Kali ordered softly.

“They’d use me. To hurt him. Or make him do what they want.”

“Exactly. And your father, being the noble idiot he is, would surrender without blinking. I’ve seen it. He’d burn down the world for you, Kaia. And Tyrion—he gave you his name. He’s your father too. That name shields you.”

“But why can’t I be all of them?” Kaia whispered. “A Snow. A Stark. A Lannister.”

Kali smiled, fierce and proud. “You are, Kaia. You’re all three. You’re a lion, a wolf, and the storm that walks between. But we cannot let the wrong eyes see all your power just yet.”

She knelt, meeting her daughter’s eyes. “Because if they do, I will have to kill every last one of them. And Mommy’s really trying not to kill too many people this year.”

Kaia snorted, then laughed, snuggling into her mother’s side.

Samwell, still half-asleep, muttered, “I like when you threaten people.”

Kali grinned. “Me too, little lion. Me too.”

Later That Night — Winterfell

Kali closed the door gently behind her, Kaia and Samwell finally asleep, curled around each other like wolf pups. She lingered for a moment in the dim candlelight, letting the warmth and quiet settle in her bones.

Then she turned—and collided with a wall of man.

Sandor Clegane.

The two stared at each other in the corridor, moonlight pooling between them.

“I’m done fighting tonight,” Kali muttered, brushing past him.

His hand shot out, catching her arm.

“I’m not.”

Before she could bark a warning, Sandor hauled her up by her shoulders and kissed her hard—pressing her back against the stone wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

“You absolute bastard,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lower lip.

“I said I’m not done, woman.”

Sandor’s Room

Moonlight bathed the room in silver. He kicked the door shut behind them and dropped her unceremoniously on the bedframe. Armor clattered as he peeled it off, then the chainmail.

Kali let out a grunt, but didn’t complain. Her hands moved to her shirt, fingers working the buttons slowly.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said, eyes drifting toward the window.

Sandor climbed over her, heat radiating off his body. “When aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just kept unbuttoning.

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I wanted you,” he growled, “That’s all.”

He bent and suckled one of her breasts, and was rewarded with a little gasp—and milk.

“This changes nothing,” Kali hissed, tugging his hair harshly.

Sandor grunted, mouth still busy. “Oh, I know. But I’ll take my fill while I can.”

Earlier That Night – Dining Hall Aftermath

After Jon scuttled off, Sandor downed the last of his ale. His face still stung from the chalice Kali had launched, but the bleeding had stopped. Shallow cut. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him too bad. Maybe she did care.

He’d caught a glimpse of her with Kaia and Samwell after, and a strange relief settled in his gut. Those kids—Kali’s brats—they’d crawled under his skin same way the Stark girls had. The thought of Kaia hurt or missing... it washed the rage right out of him.

He made his way upstairs to check on the triplets. The firelight flickered in their nursery, and to his surprise, Sansa Stark was already there—cradling one of the girls in her arms.

Sansa froze when she saw him. Then relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “She was fussing. I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s fine. They wake up every godsdamned minute anyway,” he said, quietly shutting the door behind him to block the chill.

He checked on the other two—both out cold—and then dropped into the chair by the hearth.

“I heard you fought with Kali again,” Sansa said, amused.

“Always about the same fucking thing,” he muttered.

Sansa glanced down at the baby. “Yet somehow, these three sleep through it all. No fear. No pain. No Night King. Sometimes I envy them.”

Sandor looked over at her. No longer a little bird. No longer scared. She held his child with calm hands and faraway eyes. He’d heard whispers of her life—Bolton, betrayals, blood. And still she stood.

“They got a few years yet,” he grumbled.

“You’re welcome to stay here. As long as I have a say,” she said after a beat.

“That right? You’re Lady of Winterfell again.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at the child. “And I decide who stays and who goes.”

“And you want me here?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes. You and Kali—and the children. I’ve grown... fond.”

Sandor blinked. “You do know who their real father is?”

Sansa nodded. “Kaia told me. Jon confirmed it. I was surprised, yes. But... I see Jon in her.”

Sandor smirked. “Surprised your noble brother ended up in bed with that wild beast?”

To his surprise, Sansa chuckled. “More surprised they ended up having a child together. But she respects him. He listens to her. It’s strange, but it works. She came here, and he didn’t execute her. That’s... something.”

Sansa stood and adjusted the baby in her arms. “I’ll admit, I’m not surprised you ended up with her, though.”

He looked away toward the fire. “She’s annoying. But the sex is great.”

Lie.

Kali Lannister was a pain in his ass—but she was more than that. On the Quiet Isle, they had started over. He’d seen a side of her no one else got to witness. Vulnerable. Soft. She mended his clothes, cooked his meals—badly—and raised their children like a lioness.

He had promised her he wouldn’t leave. But he had. And Tyrion, her husband, had been alive this whole time and hadn’t sent so much as a raven. She had every right to be angry.

“You’re a million miles away,” Sansa said gently.

Sandor stood and glanced at the other two cribs. “Don’t stay too long, little bird.”

Then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Sandor’s Room – After

The first round left them both breathless, damp with sweat and tangled in each other.

Kali laid back, heart racing. Half of Winterfell probably knew exactly who she’d been screaming for tonight.

Sandor’s head rested on her chest, arm lazily draped over her waist.

“You’re still thick, woman,” he mumbled into her skin.

Kali smacked the side of his head, lightly. “Try birthing five kids and see what you look like.”

She meant it as a joke, but a tiny shadow crossed her eyes. The curves she’d gained—the new softness—had left her uneasy in her skin. She hadn’t let anyone touch her for a while, not like this.

Sandor, in typical fashion, said exactly what he felt. “Not complaining. My fault anyway.”

“You’re being soft,” Kali teased, raking her fingers through his hair.

He grunted. “Shut up.”

But his hand curled tighter around her waist, and his lips pressed to the warm skin above her heart.

"She’s just an omega trying to watch over her best friend — a vessel for the world’s most feared curse.

He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, with eyes that see everything… and a bond she never wanted.

And lurking beneath it all is the King of Curses himself — ancient, ruthless, and tied to her soul across lifetimes."

The story follows an American omega reader, childhood best friend to Yuji Itadori, who reconnects with him in Japan amid the dangerous world of sorcery. Yuji harbors a dark secret: he is the vessel for Sukuna, the ancient King of Curses, whose malevolent presence threatens to consume him.

Unbeknownst to most, the reader is the reincarnated wife of Sukuna from a past life, bound to the king of curses by a thousand-year-old curse that ensures their souls keep crossing paths. Yet, she remains fiercely protective of Yuji, refusing to be pulled into the fate dictated by sorcery or by Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer and alpha.

When Gojo discovers that the reader is his true mate—the destined carrier of the legendary Six Eyes—he does not immediately claim her or their bond. Instead, the reader’s resistance and fierce independence create tension between them, even as their paths repeatedly intersect. She insists her priority is watching over Yuji, not embracing a fated destiny she never asked for.

As sorcery politics tighten their grip and Gojo faces imprisonment in the Prison Realm, the reader’s role grows ever more crucial. She discovers she is pregnant with Gojo’s children—triplets who will inherit the Six Eyes legacy.

The reader is a military brat and met Yuji when her family was stationed in Japan.

Reluctance on Gojo's side to have a true mate. ChatGPT formulated the section below when I was drafting the story idea, and I love the idea of Six Eyes being inherited down from the last person, but they die or have already died before it pops up again in the bloodline. ChatGPT also summarized my story idea after several painful rewrites. I also like the idea of Sakuna becoming more unhinged and obsessed with Megumi in regards of taking his power as well.

If anyone wants to take a crack at writing a full story, please go ahead. Been using ChatGPT and Grammarly for drafting the idea for all the stories lately, but lose a considerable amount of steam when it comes to grammar, punctuation, and overall sentence structure.

"Gojo exhaled, sharp and dry.

“My true mate.”

The words tasted like betrayal. Not because they were wrong, but because they were real.

All his life, he’d been the strongest. The blessed one. Untouchable. Worshipped. Feared. The Gojo clan’s prized miracle, bearer of the Six Eyes—the rarest gift, the double-edged crown that only appeared once in a generation, if that.

And now?

Now, the end had a date.

It was never spoken aloud, but he knew it. The moment he saw her—his mate—fate began tallying the years, the months, the breaths he had left.

Because that’s how it went. Every time. Six Eyes appeared. A mate surfaced. A child was born.

And the bearer died.

Sometimes young. Sometimes barely a few years after the heir was born. But it always happened. The clan elders whispered about it in reverent tones. A sacred cycle. A noble sacrifice. Tradition.

The Omega's intrusive thoughts were winning in that very moment. Every terrible thing she had ever thought about herself seemed to be coming true—worthless, pathetic, undeserving.

König’s honest rebuttal had stripped something raw and tender inside her. The bond she had clung to so desperately, prayed for—was it just that? A duty? A cruel tether? She was a burden.

Without this bond that tied all five of them together, what would have become of her?

Soap—just a charming gentleman who might’ve walked her home out of chivalry and nothing more after that first night. He would’ve returned to his two Chosen mates without a second thought about the American girl rescued by his rowdy sisters.

Price—still yielding strength and leadership as a mob boss, not constantly forced to fend off enemies clawing at the chink in his armor. Not weakened by vulnerability.

Ghost—he wouldn’t have spent months in quiet torment, feeling as though he were losing everything in a gust of smoke thanks to a tether between strangers.

König—he would have likely set his sights on another empire. Too cautious to move against the Price syndicate. No blind spot. No weakness to exploit.

And her? The Omega would have continued living as an awkward, love-lorn Beta. Worked. Lived. Died. Forgotten like so many others.

Now? The bond dictated every minute of her life. Every lingering touch, passionate kiss, each strand of what had once felt like love and safety—it all felt like a lie. A performance.

Did they even like her? She looked down at her belly, where the triplets rolled and shifted.

Another mistake. A byproduct. Not something planned. Not something wanted.

Numbness bled through her. Toes to fingertips. Her gaze went distant.

No one likes you. Much less loves you. This is all duty, not sincerity. Remember that, you idiot.

The thoughts hissed inside her like smoke through cracks in the foundation.

Why the fuck had she yearned for this? Why had she prayed so sadly to present as an Omega? Why had she believed in love at first sight?

She slumped to the ground and exhaled—a long breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding.

There was no point to her.

Ghost smelled her distress before the others. He tore down the hallway, senses screaming. When he reached her, she didn’t even flinch as he knelt and shook her gently. The bond pulsed faintly.

“Omega, hey—listen to me,” he said, voice tight with panic. She was dropping.

Dropping was a death sentence for an Omega if not intervened. It only occurred during the worst-case scenarios. Their bodies shut down under unbearable distress—exhaustion, fear, abandonment.

She was cocktailing all of it.

Soap, Price, and König flanked Ghost. Price barked a command using his Alpha voice, hoping to shock her back. She only blinked slowly.

Ghost lifted her into his arms and sprinted to the bathroom. Cold water blasted from the shower. He stepped in fully clothed, pulling her under the spray.

She gasped sharply, body shivering.

Soap slipped in behind her and bit harshly into the mating bond on the right side of her neck. Desperate. Determined.

He needed her to remember. The bond was more than fate—it was a choice.

Flashes of laughter in dim pub lights, reverent kisses, touches that made him feel whole. The ache of guilt, of betraying Simon by loving her this much. The joy of heat shared—of a bond deepening through more than obligation.

The freezing water. The bite. Blood washed down her neck.

She shuddered.

Then sobbed—loud and desperate—as though coming up from deep water. Her knees buckled. Ghost caught her, guiding them both to the shower floor, his lips pressed to her temple.

König dropped to his knees and gently took her hand, the same one he had shaken loose hours ago.

“I will protect you and the pups with my life. Whether they are mine or not. I will die before I let another harm you. And if you never forgive me, I’ll still spend the rest of my days proving I was worth the bond fate gave me.”

Her lip trembled. Her scent spiked—confusion, pain, and something gentler beneath it.

Still kneeling, König added—

“You deserve to be spoiled. Loved. Worshipped. And I will do all of it. With your permission.”

She exhaled shakily, trembling hands pressing over her stomach. She whimpered—and nodded.

An hour later, Price stood beneath the now-lukewarm spray, arms wrapped tightly around her. She stared ahead, hollow and silent.

Ghost crouched nearby, phone pressed to his ear as he relayed updates to the medics. The pups still fluttered beneath her skin. Her temperature hadn’t dropped again.

The fire crackled low in the mountain cottage’s living room, casting soft gold light across Price’s features as he lounged on the armchair like it was a throne. Legs spread. One arm slung over the back. A tumbler of scotch in hand.

Omega paced in front of him, visibly pregnant, radiant and fuming—an unfair combination, really.

“All I’m saying,” she huffed, hand on her hip, “is that you can’t reasonably lose your mind if one of our pups grows up and falls in love with someone like you.”

Price raised a brow. “Someone like me?”

“Yes. Criminal. Mob-adjacent. Emotionally constipated—”

He sipped his scotch.

“—and British.”

He gave a slow smirk. “Careful, love. That accent got you knocked up.”

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it midair, smug.

“I’m serious,” she continued, pacing. “What if it’s our daughter? What if she brings home the love of her life and he’s a bit… you know… stabby? What are you gonna do then?”

“Turn him away,” Price said without missing a beat.

She gawked. “Jonathan Price, you hypocrite.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So let me get this straight—our daughter walks in, eyes full of stars, saying, ‘Daddy, I love him. He’s my fated. Isn’t that how you met Mom?’ And your response is to—what—threaten to put him in the ground?”

“Correct.”

“What if she cries? What if she’s like, ‘He understands me, Daddy. He was shot in the head and has trauma, just like Papa Johnny—’”

Price stood slowly, setting the glass aside.

“What if,” she pressed, lips curling into a wicked grin, “she says, ‘Daddy, he even smells like gunpowder and heartbreak—just like Mom said you did!’”

He stalked up to her, smug as hell, towering. Hands going to her hips.

“Then I will look our beautiful daughter in the eye,” he said, nose brushing hers, “who takes after her beautiful mother…”

She shivered.

“…and I will tell her with every ounce of fatherly authority: Do as I say, not as I do.”

She burst into laughter, smacking his chest.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep letting me knock you up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m hormonal and horny.”

He bent down and kissed her throat, voice dark with promise. “Lucky would be one pup, love. But you’re giving me three.”

“Remind me to punish you for that later.”

The Omega had been quiet lately. Snappish, withdrawn. But it was Simon who saw through the facade.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, love?” he asked gently, settling into the couch across from her.

She didn’t look at him. “It’s not just the meds. Or having to take the meds,” she muttered. “There’s this Bible quote that sums me up to a fuckin’ T. ‘For you are like whitewashed tombs, which appear beautiful outwardly, but inside are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.’”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I’m not even beautiful outwardly, but it’s the whole idea—you think I’m witty or funny or kind, when I know I’m this fucking ugly, disgusting piece of shit on the inside. The inside doesn’t match the outside. And I don’t think it ever will. I’m not— I’m not deserving.”

Her voice went flat. Her eyes fixed on the floor instead of the massive Alpha across from her.

“You’re leaving a bit out of that quote, Bonnie,” came Soap’s voice quietly from the doorway. He’d been listening, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” he recited softly. “For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness. So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.”

A beat passed.

“Several years of Catholic school’ll hammer that into you,” he added with a small, sad shrug.

Simon was still staring at her—this brilliant, bruised creature who somehow thought she was undeserving of even basic love. She had no blood on her hands. No bodies trailing behind her. And yet she believed she was too broken to be loved.

But Simon? He knew that feeling intimately. Too intimately.

Her words stuck with him long after that day. Even when the meds started working, when her laugh returned, when the light came back in her eyes—those words lingered.

Because that’s how Simon felt too.

But the difference was—he had the proof. Tommy. Anna. His nephew. The people he failed. The people he killed. All on the orders of a government that treated him like a tool and nothing more.

Before the loyalty of Price. Before the grace and patience of Soap.

Before this Omega.

When Kyle came back to the manor, red-eyed and one Omega short, Soap winced.

“She pepper-sprayed you?” he asked in disbelief.

Kyle just nodded and said, “Dead in the face.”

Ghost stood abruptly. His jaw clenched as he turned toward the door.

“Simon,” Price said, warning in his tone.

But Ghost didn’t stop. He was already pulling on his jacket.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Kyle called after him, still blinking the burn from his eyes.

Ghost didn’t respond. He barely heard Soap and Price shout for him as he roared off on his motorcycle.

The tracker—Price’s idea, naturally—led Ghost to a quiet countryside diner just off the motorway. The parking lot was nearly empty, the afternoon light beginning to fade into dusk.

It was hard not to notice a 6'5" Alpha getting off a thunderous black motorcycle, leather jacket creaking, boots hitting pavement like war drums.

Their Omega looked up from where she sat on a curb outside the diner, wrapped up in her own arms.

Ghost approached carefully, releasing a soft, calming scent as he stepped into her field of view.

“Wait—please don’t run,” he said, pulling off his mask.

She froze, eyes wide as she stared up at him, taking in his face for the first time. Touseled, short blond hair. Brown eyes that were somehow kind and haunted all at once.

Then she whimpered.

The Alpha dropped to one knee beside her in the parking lot, careful not to crowd her.

In his thick Manchester accent, low and rough, Ghost spoke the truth quietly—what both of them were already thinking.

“This is a lot, I know.”

She said nothing, but didn’t move away.

“Soap and Price have been goin’ on about you since the day they met you. I didn’t get it—didn’t understand what all this meant—until yesterday. When I smelled you.”

The Omega kept her head down, staring hard at her sneakers instead of the Alpha kneeling beside her.

“We were in the military,” Ghost continued. “Got burned. Left for dead.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and concern.

“We don’t deal drugs. Or traffick people. Or any of the dark shit. But we are good at what we do. We keep the evil at bay.”

His voice softened.

“I promise you—none of this will touch you. You’ll be safe.”

She exhaled shakily, arms curled tighter around herself.

“This is all gonna take time,” Ghost murmured. “But you have that. Time, I mean. To get used to us.”

She bit her lip and looked away. “I’m worried—”

“We will never hurt you.”

Her voice broke when she spoke again. “What—what do you want from me? I got to know Price and Soap over the past few months, but you— I didn’t know about you. I’m not a homewrecker. I could feel the tension sometimes when we hung out, but they never said anything. And you—you don’t have to want me. If this is too much, I can leave. Leave all of this.”

She was rambling now, tears stinging her eyes.

Ghost cut her off gently.

“I don’t know why we were thrown together. But it’s gonna be real hard to get rid of the three of us, especially with our bite on your neck, love.”

He said it softly. Not possessive—factual.

“We don’t abandon what’s ours.”

He shifted a little closer.

“I rarely listen to my Alpha instincts,” he admitted. “But right now, it’s screaming at me to keep you safe. Protected. Spoiled. And I can’t find it in me to disagree.”

His next words were quieter. Honest. Painful.

“For what it’s worth... if I’d felt like I was in the way, I would’ve taken the hit. Walked away. If it meant their happiness.”

That made her look at him properly.

She blinked fast and pouted—stubborn and soft and still scared.

“You were here first. I would’ve taken myself out of the equation. Went back to the States. Got some dumb job. Pined over…” She waved her hand vaguely between them. “This.”

Her voice cracked. “I wouldn’t destroy something that’s lasted this long.”

Ghost looked at her hard for a beat, then huffed a soft laugh and stood to his full, towering height.

“Looks like we’re both stubborn, then,” he said lightly. “Up you get. It’s getting dark. Let me take you back.”

She looked toward the end of the lot and visibly blanched.

“I—uh, I don’t do motorcycles.”

“Then we take your car.”

She blinked. “What about your bike?”

“Trust me,” he said, smirking slightly. “No one’s gonna steal it. I’ll come back for it.”

Ghost drove her car—comically oversized for his frame—through the dusky roads like a professional. They stopped to get fast food, and once her stomach was full and her heart rate normal, she began interrogating him in rapid-fire.

“So. How old are you? How old is Price? When did you guys bond? How tall are you? Where’s your accent from? Do you like girls? Do you like Black girls? Have you seen Johnny without a mohawk? What is Johnny even saying half the time? Who the hell is Bonnie? And what the fuck is a bawbag?!”

Ghost raised an eyebrow mid-bite of his burger. “You finished?”

She shook her head, chewing. “No. I’m pacing myself.”

So they adapted.

Price built something from the ashes. Not quite a gang. Not quite a family. Something in between—darker. Smuggling, protection, arms deals. But there were rules. There was loyalty.

They weren’t soldiers anymore. They were wolves. Unleashed.

When the betrayal hit, it was Ghost and Soap who clawed their way back from death—shot, buried, and left behind. Price had been scattered, cut off from his men, left to rot by the very nation he once died for.

Miraculously, Price found them again—barely alive. The government responded by dishonorably discharging them, pinning the corruption on the 141. That was the final blow.

So Price turned to contract work—less red tape, no bureaucrats, just blood and money. He built a network with contacts from the shadows. The missions paid well. They also satisfied a certain bloodlust.

Soap couldn’t remember when things shifted from mercenary jobs to the mafia. One day he was fighting in the tundra. The next, he was running a nightclub that funneled clean money for dirty work.

Within a few years, Price was a name whispered across the underworld. Simon "Ghost" Riley was his enforcer. Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, the charming frontman for their growing empire. No one could touch them. Former elite soldiers were no match for petty mobsters.

Johnny hadn’t expected to meet his future mate at a pub.

He was only there because his mother had begged him to check on his four sisters. The youngest was heading off to uni soon, and when the McTavish girls got together, chaos usually followed.

He showed up late to find three of them crowded around a pitcher of beer, chattering excitedly.

“We rescued this poor American girl from some creeps,” one said.

“She’s in the loo with Ness right now,” another added. “Don’t scare her off.”

“We told her you’re gay—just in case.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. He did have two male Alpha mates. But he considered himself bi, not that it mattered. What did matter was the woman who returned from the restroom.

One look, and his Alpha nearly roared: Omega. Mine.

She was beautiful—dark skin, loose bun, warm brown eyes that widened when they met his. His mind went blank. Her name was spoken, but he barely heard it.

Only one thing stood out: she introduced herself as a Beta.

"The only reason I got the job at the embassy was probably because I’m a beta," she said with a shrug. "Less time off, no heat cycles. It’s stupid, but it worked out for me."

Soap sat in stunned silence.

Two of his sisters mouthed at him across the table: What the fuck is going on with you?

Later, while getting more beers, he cornered Nessa.

“You can smell her, right?” he hissed. “She’s an Omega. What’s this beta talk?”

Nessa frowned. “Johnny, you good? She’s a beta. What are you on about?”

A cold sweat broke over him. His mate… was a late-presenting Omega. And somehow, only he could smell it.

He gave her every number he owned. Made plans to see her again. Then went straight home and told Price.

Price listened with caution. He and Ghost had been bonded with Soap for years—a taboo, once, but now their reality. Still, adding an Omega? That was different.

Ghost was off on a solo mission. Price and Soap spoke in hushed tones about what it might mean.

Then, a few months later, Price met her by accident.

He was handling business upstairs at one of their clubs when her scent hit him like a wave. His Alpha stirred immediately—Mine. Ours.

She’d been dragged there by coworkers from the embassy. They’d promptly abandoned her the second a better offer came along.

When Price saw her fighting her way toward the exit, he moved before he thought.

They talked. They flirted. She was charming, sharp. Unaware of the chaos she was stirring in the Alpha in front of her.

When she asked for his name, Price replied plainly: “John Price.”

She blinked. “Seriously? That’s your fake name? You could’ve gone with something less basic.”

“Love,” he said with a small grin, “that’s my real name.”

She stared in disbelief. “John William Price,” she muttered after he flashed his ID. “You poor thing. That’s so unfortunate.”

Still, she let him buy her another Coke. They talked for hours. And for the first time in years, Price felt like a teenager again.

When he got home, Soap was grinning.

“Fucking fate, mate.”

They had one problem left: convincing Ghost.

Simon “Ghost” Riley didn’t believe in fate. Or mates.

A childhood of trauma had burned those ideas out of him. An abusive Alpha father. A battered Omega mother. He ran straight into the military and never looked back.

Bonding with Price and Soap had been a miracle. One he never expected. One he never felt he deserved.

What if they got tired of him? What if they wanted something more—something he couldn’t give? An Omega. A pup.

So when they told him about her—about their mate—his reaction was cold, sharp, defensive.

Before Soap could finish explaining, Ghost was gone again, vanishing into another solo mission, another escape.

But they couldn’t stay away.

They met the Omega for pub nights, little talks, lingering touches. She still believed they were just charming ex-military types with mysterious money.

Soap had a reckless idea: What if Simon met her? He’d know. He’d feel it.

So they planned a dinner.

When the Omega walked through their front door, she looked around the lavish home with suspicion. “All this from ‘owning a few businesses’?”

She didn’t know. Not really. She hadn’t seen the way people froze when Price entered a room. Or how doors opened before Soap even knocked.

That night, Ghost came home—unmasked.

He saw the unfamiliar car in the driveway. Heard her laughter through the door.

He stormed in, furious.

And then her scent hit him.

Everything stopped.

Soap stepped forward, hands up. “This was the only way to convince you, Si. Just don’t—”

But then she appeared.

Ghost stood frozen. Pupils blown wide.

“Simon,” Price said. Both a warning and an introduction.

Didn’t matter.

She walked up, eyes fixed on him. Her hand touched his face like it belonged there. And then— They were kissing. Desperately. Wildly. Claiming.

Her presentation hit like a bomb. The Omega had finally emerged.

And their world cracked open.

She had woken up sore. Bitten. Claimed. Understandably, she was freaking the fuck out.

Wrapped in a white sheet like a makeshift toga, the Omega paced the luxurious master bedroom, thoughts spiraling.

This wasn’t how last night was supposed to go.

She had just been excited for dinner with the two men she’d struck up an easy friendship with. She had fallen hard—fast—but stomped down any romantic thoughts the second she realized they were clearly a couple. All hot people are already taken. Of course, she’d thought bitterly.

Still, their friendship meant something. She had only been in the UK a month. It was scary. Lonely. But these men? They made her feel safe. Seen. She could actually enjoy London’s nightlife without fear of being groped—or murdered—on her walk home. She never considered herself particularly attractive. Her insecurities—especially as a dark-skinned Black woman—always followed her like a shadow. But around them? She felt… wanted.

Or at least she thought it was just friendship.

Now she wasn’t sure of anything.

She stopped pacing just long enough to shoot a look at Price, who was sitting shirtless in bed, trying to reach for her with those big, calloused hands.

“Love, can you sit down? We can explain everything,” he said, voice gruff but soft.

She dodged his hand. “No—was this your plan?”

Price blinked. “What?”

Soap—hair a chaotic mess, looking like he’d rolled through a blender—perked up. “What?”

“Do you guys just make it a habit of befriending people to bring them into your… your bed for super sex? ’Cause, like, I am NOT the person—”

Soap snorted, but Price’s face hardened with offense.

“Absolutely not,” Price said, firm and deadly serious. “We sensed you were an Omega. Our Omega, to be exact. This all went in the wrong order, yeah—but we’ve wanted you from the day we met. When we realized you were late-presenting—”

“I’m a late-presenting Omega?” she cut him off, raising a hand. “Isn’t that something I would, you know, know?”

“Absolutely not,” Price said firmly, sitting up straighter. “We sensed you were an Omega. Our Omega, to be exact. This went in the wrong order, yeah—but we’ve wanted you since the day we met. When we realized you were a late-presenting Omega—”

“Stop. Stop.” She held up a finger, eyes wide. “I’m a late-presenting Omega?”

“Yes,” Ghost said from the corner, silent until now. He watched her pace like a cat tracking prey. “It can be missed. Looks to be the case for you.”

She turned to him, wild-eyed. “But—I’m sorry—I don’t even know your full name and we did—” She waved her hands in frantic little circles to represent all the very adult things they’d done.

“Simon Riley,” he said bluntly.

Her mouth dropped open. Then shut. Then opened again.

“Your name is Simon Fucking Riley?”

“Yes?”

“…That’s a great name,” she chirped, then immediately tried to recenter. “No. No. Focus.”

“I—I’m going to lose my job. Oh my God. The only reason I even got the position was because I was a Beta. Now they’re going to think I lied—I mean, how do I explain this?!”

Price stood from the bed—thankfully wearing pajama pants—and crossed toward her slowly.

“You don’t have to worry about your job, love. Or your apartment. We’ll take care of it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Jonathan.”

“Yes?”

“What do you do for a living? You said ex-military, but—”

Soap cut in, unhelpfully helpful. “We also do logistics! Own some businesses—”

She stared at him flatly. “Johnny. I’ve seen The Godfather. Are you guys mobsters? Is that why people stare at us when we go to the pub?”

“I can’t do this.” She whimpered. “I’m on a visa. I’m a Beta. You’re mated—to each other!”

Then she spotted her phone across the room.

She ran, grabbed it, locked herself in the en suite bathroom.

She checked the time.

11:00 AM. On a Tuesday. “Shit,” she hissed. “I’m missing work!”

Panic rose like bile in her throat. She opened her browser and typed quickly: John Price.

Ten thousand results. British generals. Cricketers. Retired dentists.

She narrowed it. John MacTavish. Simon Riley. London, UK.

Her screen lit up with articles, grainy photos, and red flags. Discharged soldiers. Weapon smuggling. Local authorities "unable to comment." Her stomach dropped.

She thought of Johnny—his easy smile, the jagged scar trailing from his temple to the back of his head. She’d never asked. Figured it was from the military. Figured asking would be rude.

Price had seemed almost offended when she didn’t recognize his name that first night. And her coworkers—who had ditched her at that godforsaken club to flirt with strangers—had been eerily quiet after she returned to work. Too quiet.

Then, something inside her stirred. A voice, ancient and unfamiliar, whispered with chilling certainty:

The Alphas will not hurt us. We are safe with the Alphas.

She slapped the phone down.

“Nope. Nope nope nope.”

She unlocked the door, bolted to grab her clothes, and locked herself back in the bathroom.

When she opened the door, all three Alphas stood waiting. Silent. Steady. Patient.

“I— I need water,” she blurted. Then turned and ran.

Down the stairs. Out the front door. Into her car.

So, Fuck Elena Gilbert. Just for a sec-

If a reboot is needed, it would be a revision of The Vampire Diaries. Have Miss Bonnie Bennett have her WHOLE story line edited.

In the books, I found that Bonnie and Damon are actually soulmates?! I have been waiting for the theme of soulmates to dominate like Vampires, Werewolves, 80's nostalgia, and dystopian societies. But it hasn't happened. yet.

This time around, Bonnie gets versatile hairstyles, awesome love triangles, and Main character energy. The privilege of calling out shitty friends while also stubbornly and toxically coming to their aid and rescue at any chance.

Also, add in a toxic but sexy love story between Bonnie and none other than Klaus Michaelson. The power imbalance, the vulnerability, the powerplay....

You got a new fan base and a better story.

Also added songs that could be added to certain episodes circa 2011 like to punch up the agnst and storyline.

Stupid but interesting crossover idea.

Hughie stumbles into a support group run by Jaskier for Male Omegas. A rare designation in this day and age, Stiles, Jaskier, Deku (mid-20s and a professor), and Hughie bond over their shared designation and budding crushes, as well as the emotionally constipated alphas they are in love with.

Each Wednesday delves deeper into the relationships of each omega and their woes.

Jaskier and Stiles are already in established brooding relationships with their alphas, respectively. The two bond over the similarities of their angst-ridden Alpha's.

Kiribaku x telekinetic reader

I love the idea of a new student coming mid-year into class. She has a shrouded past with Aizawa (used to date her mother back in the day, was almost an honorary stepfather until her mother got killed working as an underground hero). Reader's quirk- telekinesis. she can control things up to a five-minute interval. The class is impressed. Bakugou is sour. The two become fast enemies. The reader spends most of her time riling up Bakugou and making him do odd body movements to the hilarity of the class. She becomes fast friends with Kirishima and develops a HUGE crush, but he is currently dating Mina at the time. (In this story, Mina and Kiri have known each other since middle school and started dating then)

In this story, everyone usually becomes their designation by their 16th birthday. Kiri presents as an Alpha, so does Katsuki, which doesn't surprise anyone.

Mina presents as an Omega shortly after. The rest of the class presents as well, except the reader.

As the reader gets closer to the self-proclaimed Bakusquad, the rivalry between Bakugou and rthe eader lessens.

She presents days after her birthday as an omega and finds out that her true alpha mates are none other than Kirishima AND Bakugou.

“The little prince went back to look at the roses again. "You're not at all like my rose. You're nothing at all yet," he told them. "No one has tamed you and you haven't tamed anyone. You're the way my fox was. He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others. But I've made him my friend, and now he's the only fox in all the world." And the roses were humbled. "You're lovely, but you're empty," he went on. "One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies.) Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.”― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"You're lovely, but you're empty,"

Since I read those words ages ago, I have always thought it was the most romantic thing ever. I didn't even finish reading the rest of that book.

Another stupid story idea.

This one involves the king of curses falling in love. Not all humans are the same as they appear.

Story Idea.

Hughie calls in a favor from an old college friend when trying to help the boys track down and find more info on Soldier boy. Old College friend is well-versed in all things Soldier boy. She did spend half her college career writing her dissertation on him. ( A la "why the world doesn't need Superman" sorta feel) When the Boys leave a newly awakened Soldier Boy to be babysat at her place, she freaks. Ironically enough, Solider boy and her accidentally become bonded after having sex in the short time of being holed up together. Ben believes she's an uptight Bitch. She thinks she was correct in ascertaining that he is a major asshole.

Story idea.

Price and John falling for a pretty black woman from the records department on base. This takes place after Soap dies. The two men seek solace for different reasons from the woman, but she oddly reminds them of soap for one reason or another.

Add a far too independent woman who has to get use to having two big scary men at her beck and call.