#alpha!joel miller x omega!f!reader

[absurdthirst]

Claimed {Alpha!Joel Miller x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.1k

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, mentions of bonding/claiming, heats, suppressants, threats of death, cannon violence, fingering, begging, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting, pregnancy, biting, oral sex (female receiving)

Comments: Saved by an alpha and his young charge in Kansas City, you are worried about the basic needs of your body when your suppressants run out. Leaving you to need an alpha, your alpha to claim you.

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia. 

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You’re shaking when the flashlight shines in your face. Your hiding place is now discovered by people you can’t even see due to the bright light. “Please. Please don’t hurt me.” You plead, you haven’t eaten for a few days, too scared to move since you came down into the tunnels. Since Katherine wanted you dead for your part in her brother’s death, you have been on the run. It’s been terrifying. Being alone since you separated from Sam and Henry. You had turned in Katherine’s brother to get the meds you so desperately need but that backfired since KC fell to the rebellion.

You smell them, sensing an alpha, two betas and a scent you’ve never smelled before, making your brow furrow. You’re terrified of the alpha hurting you, maybe the betas will harm you until you hear your name. “Henry?” You gasp, recognizing your friend's voice. 

“It’s me. Me and Sam.” He tells you and the light is moved so you can see the group, and you struggle as you stumble to your feet.

Joel grips the gun even tighter, shaking his head half a motion before he catches himself. There’s something about your scent, or distinct lack thereof, that’s making him hesitate pulling the trigger. “Stay still.” He growls at you, watching in disbelief as Henry and Sam rush towards you as if you aren’t a threat. Why are you down here? Are you infected, are you hiding?”

“I- Sam! Henry! You’re okay!” You are relieved as you wrap your arms around your friend. “Thank God.” You sigh and stroke Sam’s cheek, glad he’s safe. You sign to him that you missed him, glad Henry had taught you some signs.

Sam beams and Joel growls, “are you fuckin’ infected?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“No. No. I’m not infected. I was hiding here from Katherine. Henry and I- she wants us dead. I got separated from them so I came down here, knowing it was Henry’s plan to come to the tunnels.” You explain, still shaking from exhaustion. You haven’t slept, too scared that you’d be found by Katherine’s men.

“Fuck, lighten up old man.” Ellie rolls her eyes at the alpha who is in charge of her protection. She moves forward to greet the new woman that has appeared in front of her, it’s been awhile since she’s been able to talk to another woman. “I’m Ellie.” She greets you, jerking her head back towards Joel. “He’s Joel, he’s okay. He’s an alpha but he’s not one of those alphas.” She wants you to feel comfortable, given the uneasy expression on your face.

You’re confused by her scent, a mixture of alpha, beta and omega. Like nothing you’ve ever smelled before. “I-” You swallow harshly, throat dry, before you introduce yourself. Glancing over her shoulder to see Joel lower his weapon, his dark eyes on yours. You lick your lips, “I’m - I’m an omega but I’m on meds. Well, until they run out.” You confess, knowing it’s risky to introduce yourself like this but you need him to understand you, especially if you are to get out of Kansas City alive.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, looking away from you in exasperation because he knows you being an omega is a complication he doesn’t need. It’s risky, traveling with an unbonded omega, when you run out of meds, any alpha for miles will smell you in heat. 

“She comes with us.” Henry immediately demands, making him roll his eyes and sigh after a long moment. 

“Are you hungry?” Joel asks you begrudgingly. He might not like it, but he won't starve you.

“Starving. I- I ran out of food a few days ago.” You admit and he sighs, reaching into his pack to toss the jerky he has left over to you. You moan when you bite into it, uncaring of chewiness when it’s something to eat. 

“She’s coming with us.” Henry repeats when he sees the look in Joel’s eyes. 

It takes him a moment, but he nods once, “let’s get moving.” He says and you lift your backpack onto your shoulder, following the group through the tunnel you collapsed down in when the exhaustion becomes too much.

Stumbling upon the abandoned, underground housing seems like a godsend and Joel agrees to stop until nightfall. You look exhausted and you probably need some water. It irritates him that he’s even thinking along those lines but the alpha instinct to protect and care for an omega is strong with you for some reason. He grunts as you collapse into a chair, having polished off the jerky and shoves a water bottle into your hand. “You don’t need to fall behind later on.” He warns you. “I will leave you.”

You nod, knowing how harsh alphas have become in this new world. You know it's dog eat dog and your omega nature makes it harder to survive. A lot of your peers are under the thumb of an alpha, unable to survive alone. You are trying to be different and look how it's worked out so far. You gulp down some water and your eyes are struggling to stay open. "Sleep." Joel orders and you shift to stand, gathering the bean bags to create a safe area for you to sleep, surrounded and you feel safe with the alpha watching over you.

“She’s good.” Henri leans forward in his chair and promises Joel. “She’s a good person, a good omega.” He pauses for a second. “She doesn’t need to be treated badly, there was enough of that under FEDRA here.” He looks over at you, already asleep and then over at where Ellie and Sam are giggling together. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that sound.” He tells Joel, making the alpha glance over at the kids with a sense of melancholy. 

Glancing back over at you before looking down at his hands, Joel sighs. There was a time when being around omegas was easier, when he was less abrasive, but that died the day he failed to protect his baby girl. The little girl who had just presented as an omega right before the world had gone to shit. “Once we get out of the city, what you do is up to you.” He tells Henry, frowning slightly at his own words. The smell of comfort and peace drifts from your little nest of beanbags and he wonders when the last time you exuded that scent was.

Henry sighs, telling Joel about Katherine's brother. "Sam had leukemia and I- I had to get him the medicine he needed. FEDRA wanted more. So I gave them Katherine's brother. He was a good man, a great man. She - she needed her meds to suppress her scent and she backed up my story. Katherine wants us both dead. Still think I'm the good guy?" Henry scoffs, crossing his arms.

Joel can’t answer that. Not realistically. Not when he knows he would have done anything to keep Sarah safe and healthy. Has already killed to protect Ellie. His eyes slide away from Henry’s guiltily and he taps his finger on the table. “We should go.” He huffs after a moment, watching as you continue to sleep. “We now have to sneak an omega out of the city too.”

You whimper when someone shakes you gently to wake you up. You look up to see Ellie standing there, her eyes soft and comforting enough that you aren't scared. "We are leaving." She says and you nod, sitting up. You feel rested despite the short amount of time you've been asleep. "Let's go." You say as you swing your pack over your shoulder. Joel swings the door open, walking ahead and you follow, trying to keep quiet.

Joel’s hackles are raised, eyes cautious for any sense of danger. Overly protective now that an omega is in the group. He huffs to himself, keeping himself closer to you and Ellie, naturally puffing up slightly. “How many pills do you have left?” Joel asks, knowing that his own rut is long overdue and if you are close to running out, he needs to get away from you as soon as possible.

You bite your lip as you stay close to him, instinct driving you to be with him. “About three months. I managed to ration them, cut them in half so my scent isn’t completely concealed but it keeps my heat at bay.” You reveal and Joel nods, knowing that it won’t last forever and eventually, you’ll have every damn alpha in the Midwest after you. You eventually come to the end of the tunnel and Henry is cocky as he says his plan worked…until the bullets start to fly.

“Get down!” Joel grabs you and Ellie, pulling you towards the abandoned cars for cover. Henry starts to freak out, taking Sam and trying to run away. “What are you doing? Get down!” Joel shouts, pulling his gun out and looking over the hood of the car. Bullets spray around Henry's feet and they run back towards you and the safety of the car.

Your heart pounds in your ears as Joel tells Ellie the guy has shit aim and he’s gonna go take him out. You are shaking, knife in hand that you grabbed from your boot, and you watch Joel ask Ellie if she trusts him. The girl nods and you know you trust him too. You swallow harshly, terrified as the bullets keep flying…until they stop. When you hear the cars, you barely hear Joel shouting “run! Run!” and you sprint with Ellie’s hand in yours, Sam and Henry not too far behind you.

Joel keeps his eyes focused on you and Ellie as the group with Kathleen pulls up. Chambering another round and keeping it ready as she makes her way out of the truck and implores you and Henry to come out. The truck he had killed the driver in is on fire, making him aware that his options for getting Ellie out of this situation are slowly starting to dwindle. He growls, narrowing his eyes as he focuses on Kathleen’s head. He’ll kill her. Then they will scatter.

You huddle behind the car with Ellie and Sam, Henry standing up and you can’t let him sacrifice himself. “Wait!” You stand up, holding your hands up. “You can’t kill Henry. He has Sam. He can’t - he has family. If you’re going to kill someone, kill me.” You order and Kathleen’s finger hovers over the trigger. You brace yourself for the bullet, knowing that you have fared well for an omega in this world. Kathleen turns around when she hears the truck disappear into the ground and your eyes widen when the stalkers start to rush out. “Shit!” You shriek, running to grab Ellie and keep her safe.

Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, firing shot after shot, afraid that he might not be quick enough. The group of soldiers that are with Kathleen quickly turn their weapons on the rushing horde, but there are too many of them. All manner of infected leaping out of that pit as Joel keeps Ellie and you in his sights and takes out the dangers around you.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You curse when you see Ellie trapped in the car. You are trying to open the door while trying to fend off any stalkers that come at you and when you hear the growls, you spin and see them taken out by a bullet from above. “Ellie! Quick, take my hand.” You order when you manage to get the door open and you’re running only to see Henry and Sam under the car. You drag the stalker off of Henry, stabbing it quickly and you push the body aside, trying to get to Sam. “Quick. Quick. Run!” You order when Ellie manages to kill the stalker and the four of you run towards the bridge.

Joel meets up with the four of you, checking to make sure that Ellie is okay before he turns towards you and the Betas. “Are you okay?” He demands, making you nod quickly. He ignores the need to reassure you, hating that he feels that way and looks back towards the flickering light of the fires. “We need to get farther away.” He tucks the rifle up on his shoulder and starts to move quickly, knowing its best to put distance between you and the horde of infected in case some came this way instead of going into the city. Kansas City is about to fall.

“Stop!” Kathleen approaches and you move to step in front Ellie. Joel’s fingers twitch and you try to be brave. Ellie and Joel don’t deserve to pay for your mistakes. She doesn’t get a chance to continue when she’s jumped on and torn apart. “This way now! Move!” Joel shouts and your heart pounds as you run away from the massacre. 

****

You lean against the wall, exhaustion seeping into your bones while you listen to Ellie and Sam read the comic book together. Joel looks exhausted and Henry breaks the tension by asking “you think they’ll be okay?” 

Joel nods, “yeah, I think. It’s easier when you’re a kid anyway.” Joel looks over at you, swallowing harshly before he looks back at Henry, “you don’t have anybody else relying on you. That’s the hard part.” 

Henry nods, “well, I guess we’re doing a good job then.” 

Joel nods, glancing back at you, “what’s that comic book say? Endure and survive?” He asks and Henry confirms it. 

“That shit’s redundant.” You snort and Joel nods, “yeah, it’s not great.” 

The quiet huffing of amusement passes and Joel sighs, “look, I don’t know how I’m getting to Wyoming, I’m probably walkin’ but, you know, if you want to.” 

Henry nods, “yeah. Yeah. I think it’d be nice for Sam to have a friend.” 

You bite your lip, “what about me?”

Joel frowns as he stares at you for a moment. His jaw tightening when he smells the wave of apprehension and fear pouring out of you. He knows what an unbonded omega can expect out here. You would be abused, mistreated by any alpha that came across you. You are capable, he’s seen that, but you need an alpha to protect you. He sighs softly after a moment. “All three of you.” He tells you. “I won’t touch you. Don’t worry. I don’t- you’ll be safe with me, with us.” He snorts. “Or as safe as you can fucking get nowadays.”

You can’t deny that you’re relieved and you nod, offering him a soft smile, “thank you, alpha.” You address him formally, wanting him to know how much you appreciate it. 

“Get some sleep.” Joel says, his stomach twisting at hearing you call him ‘alpha’ and he watches as you lay down to curl up around yourself. 

****

You wake up to Ellie screaming, fumbling to sit up just as she comes running out of the bedroom with Sam trying to bite her. “No!” You cry, hating that Sam was infected and you see the look on Henry’s face. He fought so hard to protect his brother, he did what he had to do, and in the end, it’s all been for nothing. 

“Joel!” Ellie screams and Joel holds his hands up when Henry grabs the gun. Shooting the floor when Joel tries to help Ellie. 

“Henry! Please!” You beg, knowing what needs to be done. Henry shoots Sam seconds later and you choke on the sob, holding your hands up when Henry aims the gun at you and then at Joel, switching between you.

His heart pounding, Joel hates that he can’t do anything. Helpless as Henry sways slightly holding the gun, eyes frantic. “Henry, give me the gun.” He urges quietly, edging towards him. He’s seen that look too many times. “Give me the gun Henry. Just give it to me.” His hands are still up and he’s trying to keep his voice calm, betas don’t respond to commands like an omega would. 

“What have I done?” Henry asks, looking at you desperately, and Joel swallows. 

“Give me the gun.” Henry shakes his head and lifts the gun up. “Henry no!” Joel cries right as Henry pulls the trigger and Ellie cries out again, making Joel close his eyes in defeat, failing again at protecting people.

You feel sick, losing your close friends in a matter of seconds has you rushing across the room to throw up, hands shaking and you know Joel and Ellie are affected. "Oh my God. Oh my God." You keep muttering, in shock as you stand up and you watch Joel make sure Ellie is okay before he's crossing the room to grab your shoulders.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He asks and you shake your head, "I- I'm okay." You tell the alpha, his scent soothing you and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close so you can breathe him in.

Joel stiffens but he doesn’t pull away from you, knowing you need the comfort of his classification for the moment. Ellie is too shocked to smirk when he awkwardly puts his arm around you so he can rub your back. He feels guilty, wishing he had demanded that everyone be searched after the attacks, just in case. He could have talked Henry through the acceptance of losing Sam rather than the abrupt loss. “I’m sorry.” He manages, knowing they were your friends. “I- I’m going to bury them.” He promises, feeling the brothers deserve that at least.

You want to stay in his arms, feel that comfort that only an alpha can give you but he’s not your alpha, he’s stiff and awkward when you pull back. “Sorry.” You murmur and he clears his throat, turning towards Ellie to guide her out of the hotel room and away from the bodies. 

****

You sniff when you see Ellie place Sam’s board down on his grave with the word ‘sorry’ written on it. You glance back to see Joel waiting for you and you wipe your eyes, adjusting your backpack as you make your way across the country to Wyoming.

Joel walks silently for a long time, everyone lost in their own thoughts as the miles from the motel increase. He has questions, plenty of them, but he doesn’t voice them. Knowing that right now isn’t the time. Instead he glances around, looking for signs of game. There’s another mouth to feed and he wants to make sure that you have enough since it’s been a few days since you’ve had anything more than the jerky he had tossed you.

The walk is long and you try to keep up with your meds, rationing them to stretch them as long as possible but as the days turn into weeks, you’re starting to panic. The fall turns to winter and the snow is heavy this year, making you shiver under the coat Joel had given you. He found another coat but you love this one, how it smells like him, giving you comfort during the arduous journey. The relationship between you and Joel is tense, both of you fighting your instincts and trying to keep your composure for Ellie’s sake. It would be easy to give in but it would only lead to complications. The alpha is tough, emotionally stunted, and stubborn, but you see how he is with Ellie. The softness in his eyes for the girl. You can understand it, having grown affectionate for her. She is a wonder. Not alpha, not omega, not beta. She’s a perfect combination of all three. Her scent is muted and she bears the best of each status, like fire and ice. A juxtaposition in one little girl who plans on being the solution to all your problems. A cure to your status. A world where every person is equal regardless of their composition. It’s beautiful and you hope she’s right, that she could be their cure to a never ending biological battle.

“We need to find somewhere to shelter.” Joel grunts out, feeling the temperature dropping. There is a storm coming, he can feel the heavy ache in his knitted together knuckles at the joints that remind him how fucking old he is. Too old to be your alpha, as much as he craves it. Every day it’s getting harder to resist the lure of your scent, to stay away from you. You are kind and gentle, although there is a stiffness to your spine that he admires. You ensure and bear the hardship of this journey without complaint, and he hasn’t missed you slipping Ellie some of your own meal when there’s not enough to completely fill the girl’s stomach. He watches you, while you’re sleeping, hearing your whimpers and it makes him want to crawl into the sleeping bag he had given you. The pride of you curling into his scent and being comforted by it makes his need to care for you roar to life. “We need a fire. Snow’s coming in.”

You nod, glancing up at the sky. It’s been a long day, the wind has been brutal, hitting you in the face, and Joel is quick to find a cave near the river for you to settle in. You pull the coat closer around you, watching Joel start the fire, and you remember you need to take your meds. Pulling the last packet out, you curse, fumbling with the packet to find one last pill. “Shit. Shit.” You hiss and Ellie looks over at you, “fuck. I- I’ve run out.” You want to cry, certain that you had another week if you rationed and you know you’re screwed. In the middle of nowhere, without your meds, and you know you’re going to go into heat soon. “Shit.” You sob, knowing this is going to a hellish time.

Joel closes his eyes, knowing he needs to find better shelter for you than this cave. If you are out of meds, you will have a hellacious heat the first time. It would beckon any alpha for miles. An open cave is not where he wants you. “Heat up some snow for water.” He orders Ellie, picking up the gun again. You will need plenty of nutrients for the heat and he needs to see if there is anywhere around that would be better. “I’ll be back.” He raises his eyebrows at Ellie. “Get your gun out. Anyone but me comes, you shoot them.” He orders.

You cry, hating that you have run out of meds. You feel vulnerable and you know you’ll be surviving this heat alone. “I’m sorry.” Ellie says, holding her gun as she keeps watch while Joel heads out. 

“I- it’s okay. It’s just- I - I hate being an omega. I hate being this weak. I wish I could be stronger.” You feel sorry for yourself, knowing that you’ll need Joel’s sleeping bag and coat for his scent and you breathe it in from your coat, feeling a little calmer.

“What?” Ellie makes a face at you. “You aren’t weak. You are so strong.” She insists, turning towards you and cocking her head. “You have walked hundreds of miles with a strange alpha and even from the beginning, you trusted him. You take less food than you need when you think I’ll be hungry and you are not even a little irritated with me when I talk and talk and talk.” She rolls her eyes and grins at you. “Unlike him. But you are strong. You can’t help your heats, no more than alphas can help their ruts.”

Her words make your heart swell and you smile, “thank you, El.” You feel better from her words and you stand up, wanting to help by heating up the snow so you can have some water to drink. You pull Ellie in for a quick hug, “thank you, sweetheart.” You inhale her neutral scent and step back to get to work. “For the record, I think Joel likes your puns.” You tell her, making her smile and you are both quiet until Joel returns.

Joel has a pair of rabbits in his hand, holding them by the ears but there is something much more important. “Grab your packs.” He orders, immediately moving over to the fire to put it out. “I found a cabin. It’s- the roof is solid and the walls are thick.” He looks over at you with a knowing expression. “It has a bed and plenty of blankets.”

You want to kiss him in appreciation but you scramble to get your pack, Ellie following so you can make your way to the cabin. You can feel the tightness starting in your stomach and your clothes feel too tight, your brow starting to sweat as your heat starts to creep in, too long with too little medication has made it burn through your system. “We gotta go.” You rasp, needing to strip down and start nesting. “Now.” You tell Joel, knowing he can smell the change in you.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, nodding and picking up his pace through the snow as he treks back to the cabin he had found. He had already started a fire when he had checked it out, knowing it was perfect. The fireplace was in the middle of the cabin so it would keep the room you holed up for your heat warm. Now he just needs to get some food into you before you need to nest and he has to keep himself sane and try not to touch you. “Come on. It’s not far.”

You are feeling the ache, making it harder to walk, but you push yourself, knowing that you can’t just collapse in the damn snow. Joel’s back is rigid and you sigh in relief when you arrive at the cabin, entering and exhaling when the warmth of the fire immediately hits you. “I need to-” You shrug off his coat, working on stripping down to your t-shirt and leggings that you have on under your jeans. It’s still too many clothes but you can’t just strip off in front of Joel and Ellie.

“Ellie, go help her.” Joel urges, closing the door and barring it so he can get the food over the flames. You need to eat before it gets too bad. He knows he will have to go out to hunt often. For you, since you will require more food while you are nesting, and to keep from smelling your intoxicating pheromones all the time. “Get her ready. Take my sleeping bag too.”

Ellie is unsure of what to do but you are frantically pulling at your clothes until you’re in your underwear. Ellie grabs Joel’s sleeping bag and puts it down for you alongside your own on the bed. You grab the pillows, working fast to create a nest, grabbing Joel’s coat to put it in the nest. “I’ll be okay, El.” You promise, getting yourself comfortable.

“O-okay. I’m gonna- I’m gonna go out to Joel.” The younger girl is backing out of the room, unable to do anything more and she is wildly uncomfortable with the entire idea of a heat. Regular periods already suck, but she feels sorry for the pain you are going to go through. “I’ll get you water, too.”

As soon as the door is shut, you strip out of your underwear, your hand sliding between your folds to find you soaking wet and you can’t stop the moan of relief that escapes your lips when you rub your clit. Joel’s scent is surrounding you and while it’s not him, it’s enough for now. “Fuck.” You pant, rubbing your clit a little faster, wishing it was Joel, imagining his calloused fingers and his gruff voice telling you how good you are for him.

Ellie comes out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “She’s about to get bad.” She tells Joel, making him grunt as he turns the rabbits over the flames. He can smell the arousal and need pouring off of you, making his cock harden even as he tries to ignore the way that your scent is calling to him. He had promised you that he wouldn’t touch you and he meant it. Even if he had to go jerk off every hour, he wouldn’t touch you.

You bite your lip to smother your moan when you cum from rubbing your clit. The relief only soothes you for a few moments before the need flares to life again. You hear the knock on the door and you cover yourself up so Ellie can bring in the food. “Thank you. I- I need you to go into the room furthest away from this one. I don’t want you to hear me. I- I won’t be myself.” You tell her and she nods, setting the container of water down. As soon as she’s gone, you force yourself to eat, your hands shaking and your cunt dripping as the urge to touch yourself is almost overwhelming. The rabbit bones are pushed aside and you wipe your hands before your fingers push back into your pussy, a loud moan escaping your lips as you fuck yourself with your fingers, your skin is gleaming with sweat and you swear your heat has never been this intense.

Joel clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, hearing the needy moan coming from the room and his fists curl in on themselves. Blowing out a sigh, he takes a deep breath, pulling the air in from his mouth so he doesn’t smell your pheromones as strongly. You are already filling the cabin with your mouth watering scent. “Shit.” He hisses, feeling his cock twitch again, already straining at his jeans. “Fuck, I’ll be back.” He growls, standing and grabbing the rifle as he flees the cabin so he can find some relief.

Ellie decides to take her leave in one of the back rooms away from yours, not wanting to invade your privacy. You pant, curling your fingers but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You need an alpha. You need Joel. You whine, reminding yourself that it won’t happen but your mind runs wild, imagining him coming into your room, stripping off and sliding his cock inside of you, knotting you. “Oh fuck. Joel.” You choke as you cum around your fingers, unaware that he’s jerking off outside in the freezing cold, having hoped the cold would get rid of his erection but he is still hard even as his cum spills onto the snow. “Oh God.” You whine, rubbing your clit while your fingers are buried deep, using two hands in hopes of satiating the heat curling in your belly.

Joel growls as he tucks his still hard cock back into his pants. It hasn't helped much but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. Huffing from the cold, his breath shows in the air. He should hunt, but his instinct is to keep close to you so he stomps back into the cabin to shut the door and feed more logs onto the fire.

You’ve lost track of time. It could have been hours, maybe days. Ellie has brought you food and water, and cool rags to wipe yourself with, but the sweat still pools on your skin. You’re almost delirious with need, your hands aching and you can’t bring yourself to make yourself cum again. You need an alpha. You can’t deny it anymore. “Joel.” You call out, voice cracking. “Joel. Please. I need you.” You beg, needing to feel something, anything.

His chest puffing up in pleasure, Joel tries to deny that he had been anticipating this. He had melted more snow to bathe with, cleaning up for the omega in heat. Unknowingly preparing himself but still he shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You- you don’t mean that. It’s just the heat, omega. Be calm.” He orders you softly through the door, his fingers nearly digging into the wood as he stands there.

His words, his voice, soothe you for a moment until the ache flares. “No. No. Don’t go. Please. I- I need you. I need you so much Joel. Alpha, please. Please. I need you. My alpha.” You plead, thrashing in the nest you made as his scent lingers in the fabric.

Joel shudders, his entire body flooded with pleasure at being called your alpha. His control slips slightly and his hand moves down to the knob. “I- you don’t - you’re not thinking clearly.” He pants out, his heart pounding in his chest and his own pheromones flooding into the air. “I- I can’t- it’s been so long since I’ve had an omega.” He confesses, knowing he would never be able to pull out of you. He wants to knot you too badly, to fill your aching cunt with his seed.

“I know I need you. I need you now. Please alpha, it hurts. I can’t - nothing is working. My hands hurt.” You sob, growing more desperate for him by the second as you push your fingers back inside of you but your wrist aches, making it hurt. You know that Tess was an alpha, both of them taking their needs out on each other without the emotional danger. “Please Joel. Alpha. I need you.” You beg, smelling his pheromones and another wave of slick coats your hand as you try to make yourself cum.

His cock throbs in his jeans and his head hits the door with a thud. The sound of you whining is gorgeous, making him start to turn the handle but he stops. Turning around and making sure the cabin door is locked and barred takes precious few minutes but his entire body is primed, listening to the sounds of your fingers plunging into your cunt and your moans of his name. He grabs the water bottle and bursts through the door of your room.

When he enters the room, your entire body cries for him, aching and you keep pushing your fingers into your cunt as his scent floods the room. He slams the door behind him and tosses the water bottle down, striding over to the bed and he pulls your fingers out of your cunt, making you whine. When he replaces them with his own, you moan loud in relief, tossing your head back as you cry out, “yes! Alpha!”

Joel groans when he feels how wet you are, his fingers immediately soaked with you and squelch as he pumps them deep into your needy cunt. “I’m here, this what you need, omega? You need an alpha to take care of you? To fuck you until you scream?”

“Yes. Yes. I need you. I need you alpha. I can’t - it’s not enough. Never enough.” You whine, delirious as his fingers already make you feel better than you did before he came in the room. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” You whine, hips rolling up to meet his fingers as he pumps them faster. “I’m gonna - oh. Oh.” You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he makes you cum for the first time.

Joel hisses as your walls clamp down on his fingers. You’re so fucking tight, imagining that you’re going to feel even better when his cock is inside you. When his knot is inside you. “Give me another.” He demands, pulling his fingers almost completely out so he can add a third finger. “Give me one more and I’ll fuck you.” Joel promises, wanting to make sure you are nice and prepared for his cock, “be my good omega.” He coos, watching you whine and preen when he calls you his.

It’s too much and yet not enough, making you pant as his fingers stretch you out like you’ve desperately needed. “Alpha. Oh fuck.” You whine, reaching up to squeeze your own breasts when he presses his thumb to your clit, those thick digits twisting inside of you. “Yes!” You cry, almost sobbing as you clamp down on his fingers again, soaking his wrist with your slick.

“Good girl.” Joel growls, curling his fingers one last time before he pulls them out of your warm, wet cunt. “Can I enter your nest, omega?” He’s aware that you are calling for him, but this is your space, your comfort is priority. Most alpha snow didn’t observe the customs of pre-outbreak but he wanted you to control this. “Will you let me take care of you, sweet girl?”

You reach for him, hands shaking a little with the need still overwhelming you. Yes, he’s made you cum twice but it’s not enough. You need to feel him surrounding you, inside of you. “Please, alpha. I need you. Come here.” You beg, patting the pillows and blankets you have gathered around yourself, most of it with his scent but it’s nothing like the real thing. He strips off and you eagerly watch, his shirt coming off then his jeans and finally his threadbare boxers. You are all wearing worn clothing now, but when he’s naked, your mouth waters. “So - so beautiful.” You gasp in awe of the strong alpha Joel is. He’s a paradox. A strong man, capable, and yet he asked to enter your nest when most alphas would’ve already been pushing inside of you. He’s soft and caring yet fierce and unforgiving.

Joel climbs into the nest of blankets and pillows you’ve created, groaning at how you are already spreading your legs and inviting him inside you. “I cleaned up, omega.” He promises, knowing that some might not have taken the time, but he didn’t want to risk your health. Hovering over you with his cock hanging between you, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

You moan into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair to try and pull him closer. His cock is pressed against your thigh and it’s not close enough. His tongue slides against yours and you reach between you to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him.

“Stop.” He commands, his tone rough. He knows he will cum if you touch him too much. It’s been so long since he has filled someone, even longer since he had had an omega. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. “Let me take care of you, omega. You just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

You nod, letting go of his cock and he shuffles to kneel between your legs, gripping his cock to guide himself to your entrance. He slowly pushes into you, making you moan at the stretch, the connection is instantaneous but you don’t mention it, knowing he will withdraw from you, physically and emotionally. “Alpha.” You sigh in relief when he is fully inside of you.

Joel groans, closing his eyes and feeling the shift in your pheromones. You change from desperate and needy to pleased, the sweet scent of it filling your nest. “I’ve got you.” He promises. “I’ll take care of you.” He grinds his hips deeper before he starts to slowly withdraw. He knows you need to cum again, your heat demanding it. His hand slides down your thigh and he pulls it up onto his hip. “Such a good omega for me. Letting me take care of you.”

You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move inside of you. "Oh fuck, alpha. Joel." You pant, feeling the fire that threatened to consume you dampen a bit. The slow way he moves inside of you is tearing you apart, piece by piece, and you tilt your head so you can kiss along his jaw and down his neck, wanting him to feel the same way.

He knows that it’s been a long time since you’ve had a heat, since you’ve had sex, so he keeps the pace slow. Knowing that he could easily hurt you and he doesn’t want to do that. Too often omegas get caught up in the desperation and the alphas are uncaring and they injure the omegas they are supposed to be comforting. He had never understood that mentality, while he was harsh in many ways, he would never abuse an omega like that. “Good girl.” He coos in your ear, voice slipping into something smoother, lower pitched. “You’re going to take my knot and then feel so full, aren’t you? That what you want?”

His voice makes you shiver and you wrap your legs around him, trying to push him deeper. “Fuck. Yes alpha. That’s what I- I want. I need it. I need you to knot me.” Your voice is whiny, displaying the need you have for him. “I need it over and over again.” You pant, his hips pushing against yours when he buries himself deep on each thrust. Your stomach twists as he pushes you higher, slow grinds making you pant, and you eventually fall over the edge with a soft cry of his name, clamping down on his cock.

“Shit.” He hisses, leaning down and pressing his nose against your scent gland, inhaling the scent of your pleasure as he rocks into you. Working you through the first of many times you will fall apart on his cock before you are done with your heat. Often days are spent in the nest when a heat is on, the alpha caring for the omega and making sure that they are not neglecting  themselves. It’s been a long time since he has wanted to do that. Since his ex wife. He hadn’t bonded with her because they were so young and she had left him for another alpha shortly after Sarah had been born. He had never gotten attached to another omega since then. Until you.

You moan at how good it feels, the ache abading for a moment so you can properly breathe. "Fuck baby." You murmur, caressing his back, "alpha. Taking - taking such good care of me already." You sigh, burying your face in his neck to breathe him in. The smell of smoke and whiskey combined with the strength of Joel has you clenching around him, the need returning within a few moments of your orgasm. You won't be fully satisfied until he knots you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He moans, his tongue tracing your gland as he rolls his hips. Shifting onto his side so he can slide one hand between you. Finding your clit with the rough pads of his fingers to rub tight circles on the sensitive nub. “You’re doing so good. So good for me. Taking me perfectly. Gonna knot you, make you feel even better.” He rambles.

“Shit, I - I - fuck. Alpha.” You whine softly when he rubs your clit, making you clench around him, and you pant as he starts to rock into you once more, the new angle making him hit even deeper inside of you. “Oh God.” You moan, heels digging into his ass as you try to push him deeper with each rock of his hips, his hand trapped between you.

Turning his head, Joel kisses you. Absorbing your whines and mewls as his tongue slides into your mouth, loving how you are responding to him. A part of him had feared that he had changed too much, given up too much of his soul to be a good alpha for an omega. You are wonderfully pliant under him, giving him so much of yourself as he works his cock deeper and deeper, feeling the base of his cock starting to swell as he gets closer to knotting you.

You are getting close again, feeling his knot starting to catch inside of you, and you desperately want him to fill you up. Neither of you are thinking about the consequences of him fucking you raw like this but you can’t bring yourself to care, just needing him to fill you up. “Baby. Oh Alpha, I - I’m gonna -” You choke when he hits just right and makes you cum again, soaking him and making you throw your head back to expose your neck to him.

The urge to mark you, to bond you to him is nearly overwhelming. Making Joel growl as he picks up his pace. Instead of grinding into you, he starts thrusting harder, driving his cock deeper in an effort to push his expanding knot into your narrow passage and lock you together for the next hour. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” You pant, pushed through your orgasm as Joel starts to fuck you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Yes! Yes baby. Oh God. Alpha. Cum for me. Please, need you to fill me up.” You beg, closing your eyes as you are pushed over the edge again.

He knows the basic biology of this, knowing that in order to make your heat as comfortable as possible, your body demands his seed. Nothing but that would truly make you feel good. There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t fill you up, but he can’t pull out of you. Pushing harshly when the knot starts to swell, feeling it slip inside you with a groan of your name.

You feel the relief when his cum starts to paint your walls, knot catching to keep him inside of you as his cock pulses, a groan of your name and “omega” leaving his lips. “Fuck. Joel, alpha.” You murmur, pulling him close and you throw your head back again as you cum once more, triggered by his orgasm.

He cums forever, his cock pulsing and pumping you full of his seed. Knowing that his knot will be keeping you full and he will cum several more times before it goes down. “Good girl, oh take it.” He grunts, feeling better than he has in a long time. He kisses along your throat as you squeeze him tight again, shaking underneath him.

You want him to bite you, to claim you as his to every other alpha out there but you know it’s not possible. You pant, turning your head so you can kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth as his cock finishes twitching and you relax beneath him, legs lowering from his hips to cradle him on top of you.

Joel makes sure that he keeps his weight braces so he’s not too heavy on you, stroking your side and kissing along your shoulder. He feels a connection, one that should terrify him, but he just closes his eyes. Breathing you in with a soft sigh. “How are you feeling, omega?” He asks softly, opening his eyes as he pulls back to watch you.

“I’m feeling good, alpha.” You smile lazily, running your fingers through his hair. The need has been satiated for now and you are enjoying the feel of him surrounding you, his scent is comforting. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

“Good.” He hums, kissing your lips again before he slides his arms under you so he can roll you over on top of him. He can bear your weight better than you can his. Letting you sprawl out on top of him while he strokes your back. His knot is still firmly embedded inside you, so you aren’t going anywhere. “You can sleep, sweet girl. I know you are tired.”

You hum, closing your eyes as he caresses your back. You feel safe and satiated for the first time since you can’t even remember when. “Love you.” You murmur, falling asleep within moments of your soft confession.

****

“Fuck. Joel!” You squeal as he pounds into you from behind. He grips your hips and your body aches from the days of fucking but you are still needy for more. You need him to fill you up. “Fuck. Oh shit! Alpha!” You squeal, knowing that later on, you’ll cringe about the fact that Ellie is somewhere in the cabin, having to hear you, but you can’t stop yourself. He growls, jaw clenched and you look over your shoulder at the alpha pounding into you. “Yes. Yes. Yes!” You cry, falling forward onto your elbows.

“That’s it.” Joel hisses, feeling like he’s going to cum, but he needs you to cum first. You’re still so needy for him, and he’s doing his best to make sure you are looked after. Only leaving your nest a few times over the past few days to hunt and make sure Ellie is okay.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” You whine, clamping down on his cock as you cum, soaking him and your cheek presses into the blankets beneath you, the material permeated with your combined scents and it makes you shiver as his hands squeeze your flesh.

Every time he fucks you, he comes closer and closer to binding you to him, biting your gland and claiming you as his for everyone to know. Growling as he imagines it; he pushes his hips forward again, feeling his knot popping into your cunt as he starts to cum.

You whine when he starts to fill you up and you arch your back, loving the way his knot stretches you and his cum paints your walls. You moan his name followed by ‘alpha’ and you rest your cheek on the blankets, closing your eyes as you enjoy the feel of him filling you up. You’re not stupid, you know he’s likely gotten you pregnant during your heat with the amount of times he’s cum inside of you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Panting, Joel collapses against your back, closing his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. Soon the three of you will need to move. To continue on to look for Tommy. “My good omega.” He murmurs softly, caressing your hip. He knows he needs to find a safe place for you. Somewhere that you can thrive, somewhere where omegas are treated with respect.

****

When the dog sniffs Ellie, your heart pounds in your chest, and you are glancing at Joel’s back, knowing he must be freaking out. Helpless to do anything when the alphas surround you. You close your eyes, not wanting to hear Ellie torn apart. She’s not an omega or alpha or beta like the dog is trained to identify, wanting to weed out the alphas who threaten most of mankind. When the world fell because of the virus, you knew that alphas had taken advantage, some feeling it was their right to take the world as their own, to bring society back to the old ways where omegas were second class citizens. When Ellie giggles, you relax a little and you sense the relief in Joel, connected after your heat. You’ve never spoken about your confession of love, just continuing your journey to find Tommy.

Joel feels lightheaded, heart pounding and he doesn’t know how you don’t smell the fear and desperation on him. Terrified that he can’t protect you, or Ellie from this group. He’s relieved when two horses are brought for the three of you to ride and he insists that you sit ahead of him, wanting you close.

You breathe Joel in as you enter the compound, wanting the comfort only he can bring and soon the horse is coming to a stop as he shouts his brother’s name. “Tommy!” He yells and you glance at Ellie, shocked to have found Joel’s brother.

After introductions are made, you are escorted to the cafeteria where the three of you dig into your meal like you haven’t eaten for weeks which is half true. It’s been too long since you had a proper meal and you are moaning when you shove the food into your mouth, feeling Tommy’s eyes on you.

Joel hisses at Ellie for being so crass, but he can’t reprimand you for eating vigorously. He knows you need the nutrients after your heat. You haven’t been able to properly have more than almost half of a rabbit or bird, Joel giving up most of his portions between you and Ellie. He’s stunned when he hears Tommy is bonded to the alpha at the table, Marie. His brother was never really cut out for the alpha designation and he frowns slightly at the two of them.

You want to comfort Joel, knowing it must be hard to know that the brother he has nearly died while trying to find is alive and well, thriving in a beautiful community. You want to reach for his hand but you aren’t bonded and you don’t want to overstep. Maria is quick to ask you and Ellie if you want to shower and you look at Joel for guidance, he nods and you all leave the cafeteria while Maria gives you a tour of the town. “Like communists?” Joel asks and you smother you giggle when his brother seems shocked by the phrase. 

“Joel. Can we talk?” Tommy asks and Maria says “I can take them to clean up.” 

You look at Joel who nods, “go on, omega.” You are anxious but you follow Maria to the house, glancing over your shoulder to see Joel one last time.

They have a bar. An honest to god fucking bar. Joel rubs the shiny, slick wood and shakes his head in disbelief as Tommy ambles behind the bar to pour him a drink. “Been a long time since we’ve done this.” He reminisces, unable to believe that he’s about to have a drink in comfort with his brother. Almost as if nothing has ever happened and the world wasn’t destroyed around this little community. “Surprising to see you bonded to an alpha.” He begins.

“Surprising to see you with an omega. Doesn’t look like you’ve bonded with her yet.” He says and Joel looks down at the bar while his brother pours a glass of whiskey with ice. 

“It’s complicated.” Joel murmurs and Tommy sets the glass down in front of him. 

“When isn’t it complicated?”

“She was with a couple of Betas in Kansas City. They- uh, when they were gone, I couldn’t leave her out there by herself.” Joel rationalizes. “You know what would have happened to her.”

Tommy nods, knowing how hard this world is for omegas. He barely manages as a beta and Maria saved him from the wilderness. “I can’t just leave.” Tommy says when Joel mentions going to Colorado, “I- I’m going to be a dad.” He reveals and Joel’s heart sinks, reminded of Sarah and how he failed her.

“I guess we’ll see.” Joel grunts after Tommy expressed that he’s thinking he’ll be a good father and that pisses his brother off. “We’ll see? I’m sorry about Sarah but-“ Joel’s heart clenches and he can’t even hear the rest of Tommy’s comment before he pushes away from the bar and storms out. Worried because he’s already failed once and there’s no way he didn’t get you pregnant when he worked you through your heat nearly two months ago.

****

You stare at the test in your hand, waiting for the result. When you walked into the bedroom to find the menstrual cup, you are reminded that you haven’t had your period for two months. Time tends to blur when you’re in the wilderness and you lost track, but you know it’s been about two months since you and Joel fucked. “Shit.” You groan when the test shows positive. You’d asked Maria for a test and her eyebrows had raised but she’d quickly located one for you and now it’s positive. You have to tell Joel.

Walking around has nearly ripped his heart out. Having a panic attack and Tommy finding him after he had seen a woman who from behind made him think of Sarah had been soul crushing. His fear of failure pulls tears out of the alpha and he feels like his designation had been wrong, he’s not an alpha. He can’t protect anyone. Tommy had talked some sense into him during his breakdown and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks to the house that he had been told that you and Ellie are in. Drawn back to you, and wondering how you are finding this little commune.

You look up when you see Joel walking into the room, your face stained with tears and you hold the test in your hand. His eyes flick down to it and he immediately knows. “I- I’m so sorry, Joel. This is all my fault.” You choke, knowing he won’t be happy about it. You’ve ruined everything. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want connections and you just created the biggest connection of all.

Joel closes his eyes, reaching for you blindly to pull you into his arms. “It’s okay omega.” He growls softly, aware that you were always going to end up pregnant after that week in your nest. Even if he hadn’t touched you since, he had filled you with his seed more times than he could count. “We knew it would happen.” He tells you softly, knowing you thought about it too, even if you hadn’t talked about it.

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, and you let his scent comfort you. "I know but I - alpha. I know you didn't want connections." You murmur, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I'm so sorry baby." You choke, feeling guilty for making him fuck you during your heat when he tried so hard to leave you alone.

“I-“ Joel stops, thinking for a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m not.” He swallows harshly and reaches up, pulling your shirt down over your gland and rubbing his thumb over the skin. “Do you know how many times I wanted to mark you in your nest? Make you mine?” He asks softly. “You were desperate, needy for me, begging me to take care of you but I didn’t want to claim you when you were so desperate.”

Despite Joel being such a hard man, rough in so many ways, he’s soft underneath. His dark eyes meet yours and you cup his cheek, “I want you to make me yours. I’m not in my heat. If you want me, I’m yours, alpha.” You tell him, rubbing his jaw with your thumb.

His chest puffs up in pride, pleased with your answer even as he searches your eyes with a need to make sure you really want this. “I want you, omega.” He growls. “I want you to carry my mark, for everyone to know who planted their seed in your belly.” He inhales deeply. “Take me to the bedroom you claimed as yours.” He keeps the command out of his voice, giving you the choice to lead him to your room.

There isn’t a choice to make, you’ve been in love with him since before he marked you. You take his hand and guide him to the room you claimed as yours, down the hall from Ellie. He swallows harshly when you open the door and you turn towards him, wanting to be a good omega as you work on the buttons of his shirt, working on undressing him.

Joel lets you undress him, aware of what you are doing for him. What you are trying to show him. Watching you as every article of clothing falls to the floor, until you reach for your own shirt. Then he stops you. Wanting to undress you himself, he slowly lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. “My beautiful omega.” He groans, kneeling down and kissing your stomach before he starts to unbutton your jeans. “Took my seed and gave me hope.”

You look down as he kneels in front of you, pulling your jeans down, and you run your fingers through his hair, loving how he’s kissing your stomach. “My alpha. So strong. So brave.” You murmur, caressing his cheek and you step out of the jeans as he pulls them all the way down. “I love you, alpha.”

He leans into your touch, knowing that you won’t think him weak for taking comfort from you. Some alphas think that finding comfort in their omega beyond just physical is weak but he doesn’t. “I- I love you, omega.” He murmurs before he whispers your name. Peeling your panties down and he licks his lips. “Put your leg on my shoulder, omega.”

You follow his order, body shaking slightly from the overwhelming emotion surging through you, and you stumble slightly as you lift your leg onto his shoulder. His nose trails along your thigh, pressing kisses on the flesh and you sigh, pulling on his hair to get him to move faster. When his tongue slides through your folds, you throw your head back with a moan of his name.

The entire time he had been in your nest, there hadn’t been time for oral. You had been too needy for his cock, tongue and fingers unable to do the job that his knot did. Now, he groans at the tangy taste of your cunt, enjoying the fact that you’ve showered and are ready for him. His nose presses deep into your curls as his tongue pushes into your soaked walls.

You whimper, looking down at him, and his eyes are closed as his nose presses against your clit. “Oh fuck, Joel.” You pant, moaning as his tongue pushes deep. You love the way he groans into your flesh and your heart pounds in your chest. “Oh shit. I- I need you inside of me. Please.” You beg, wanting to feel him.

Joel can’t deny you, not when he desperately wants to be buried inside you again. Taking one last, long lick of your cunt, he pulls away reluctantly. “Go lay down on your bed, baby.” He grunts, smirking up at you. “I want to mark you in a bed, be inside you when I claim you as mine.” 

You nod, shifting to lay down on the bed. Settled against the pillows, you look up at him as he stands at the foot of the bed. “Do you want me on my hands and knees?” You ask, wondering if he wants you in the traditional claiming position.

His cock twitches, imagining taking you from behind as he bites into your scent gland, permanently bonding you to him. But he shakes his head, wanting to look at your face when you cum, watch your face as you realize that you are bound to him. “I want to take you on your back.” He tells you quietly, waiting for your reaction. 

You nod, keeping your eyes on him as you spread your legs to show him your dripping folds, wet with your arousal and his saliva. “Take me, alpha. I’m yours. In every way.” You promise, caressing your stomach.

“I am yours too.” He promises, knowing that even if he claims you, you hold a claim on him too. He doesn’t want to just possess you, he wants to be possessed by you. He crawls onto the bed and drops another kiss onto your stomach, and he looks up at you. “You are mine and I am yours.” It’s the closest that he would get to marriage now, the institution didn’t exactly exist anymore but he knows he will try to find you a ring to wear. Something beyond his marks. 

You smile, tears stinging in your eyes as you watch the man you love crawl up your body until his cock is sliding through your folds. “I love you.” You sigh and he starts to push into you, making you whimper and you caress his neck, pulling him close so you can press your lips to his.

You smile against his lips when he kisses you, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him closer, and you love how he pushes deeper inside of you. You feel safe, his scent making you feel protected and loved. “Oh God, Joel.” You moan when he shifts onto his elbows, adjusting the position so he’s pressing against your back wall.

He feels the way that you yield to him. The scent of your happiness unfurling around him as he starts to rock into you. He keeps the pace slow, aware that you are more sensitive now that you are carrying. He doesn’t want to hurt you or the baby for his own needs. “My beautiful omega. My love.” He moans, kissing along your neck, straying away from the scent gland. 

His words make you preen and you slide your leg along his, wanting to feel closer as he rocks into you. Your hands caress his back and you whine when he pushes deep, “baby. Oh baby.” You pant when the hairs at the base of his cock brush your clit.

“Hmm.” Joel smirks against your skin, happy he can make you breathless. “You like that don’t you? Like the way I take care of you?” His tongue presses against your gland and he licks the clean skin and groans at the way you taste. The burst of pleasure flooding from your pores. “Always gonna take care of you.” 

You whimper, loving his words, the comfort coming from his scent, and you love his accent seeping through as he gets lost in the pleasure. "Fuck. I- I love you." You moan, so close to your orgasm. The pregnancy has made you sensitive. "Fuck, I - I'm gonna - Joel." You moan as you clamp down around him, your cry going silent from the pleasure coursing through you.

Joel groans, closing his eyes and shuddering as you clamp down around him. “Perfect.” He hisses. “My perfect omega.” His hips rock forward more eagerly, chasing his own orgasm as he lets his teeth scrap over your gland.

"Do it." You beg breathlessly, "make me yours. I'm yours alpha. Show the world who I belong to." You want him to sink his teeth into your gland, to claim you as his forever because you already belong to him in every other way.

Joel growls, pulling his lips back and with a sharp snap of his hips, he buries his cock deep inside you. Sinking his teeth into your gland and breaking the skin to mark you as his. Filling you with his seed as he groans and the coppery taste of your blood hits his teeth.Joel growls, pulling his lips back and with a sharp snap of his hips, he buries his cock deep inside you. Sinking his teeth into your gland and breaking the skin to mark you as his. Filling you with his seed as he groans and the coppery taste of your blood hits his teeth.

You cum again at the feel of his teeth in your neck, claiming you as his. You whimper, clinging to him as his cock pulses inside of you, filling you up, and you know this is where you've always belonged. In his arms. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel safe, protected, and loved. Something you never imagined before you met Joel.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #a/b/o #a/b/o au #alpha!Joel Miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel tlou

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Slow Burn; Soft!Dom Joel; Sexual Inexperience; Small booby worship; FLUIDS — like lot’s of fluids forreal omg; Tummy Bulge; Heat Sex; Knotting; Biting; Mating; Blood Mention; Loss of Virginity; Squirting; Pussy Slapping; Breeding Kink; Size Difference; Size Kink; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Older and Experienced Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: It's raining here right now and feels really like a perfect morning to post this, I hope you like it.

Word Count: 12.4K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

When you make your way into the kitchen a while later – he’d left you with clear instructions of bathroom and teeth, thinking to give you some privacy to adjust to yourself once again after what you’d done together this morning – you’re nothing more than a little omegan mess. Hair a birds nest, his too big t-shirt sliding over one naked shoulder, and worst of all, almost bringing him to his goddamn knees, in the bright morning light shining in through the big bay windows, he can see the glossy mess of your slick smeared all down and along your pretty thighs, almost reaching your knees. 

Jesus fuck, but he’s in trouble. His teeth hurt, his gut aches, his cock – a mind of its own. It’s all starting, and he’s afraid and unprepared and too desperate to put into words. He wants it all now, he realizes, despite his fear, he can’t help himself but want it all. 

You step into the room primly, nose turning up in the air to sniff curiously at the smell of what he’s making you for breakfast, and when your eyes swing around the room to him, shy. Shy as if you’re remembering your modesty only after you’d let him finger your cunt and slicked his cock. The look makes him want to be gentle, a thing he often is not. And when his eyes move further down, something goes soft and shy within him as well: two of his too big socks, mismatched and sagging around your ankles. 

There’s something about you that’s impeccably vulnerable and honest, something he needs to guard fiercely. 

He blinks away, looking back at the cooking sausages he’s got sizzling in the pan. No one had ever cared for you before, not in any real and true way, and he’d received you here with nothing but promises of more uncaring gestures, threats to send you packing. The wrong foot indeed. He’s such an asshole. And he’d not seen to his responsibility properly last night, hadn’t made sure you’d had a rich and filling dinner, left you in bed alone and cold and without him, entirely unequipped for this little life that had suddenly been placed in his hands. But you’d also scared him last night, out on the cliff, more scared than he’d been at the simple notion of you, that of losing you, like with the letter, the bidding pool and the threat of you being given away, there was something wrongly terrifying about it all, the sudden possibility of you not being with him. Scared into want, into wakefulness, perhaps. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watches you tip toe into the living room, making your slow exploration around, to the big window where you pause to watch the outside world for a long moment, palm splayed against the glass as if you could reach out and touch it all, pluck the world into the cup of your hand. Then to the fireplace, bending in half to peer into the hearth and watch the flames pop, the sofa next, where he’d brought out another stack of blankets. You’d start nesting soon, and he needs to make sure you have the things you’ll want. 

He watches as you bring the corner of one of the quilts to your nose, smelling the scent of him that lingers there, rubbing it against your face, and then moving to the stack of his sweaters he’d left beside, you bend to bury your face in the soft, worn wool. His heart thumps and thumps and thumps within him. You pull one blanket first, laying it before the warm hearth in the spot of rug he’d cleared for just this. And then another and another, some pillows on either side, sweaters tucked and stuffed between, starting to build your nest. He’s hard, knot tight and hot and ready, and he has to take a few steadying breaths, force himself to look away and pull the biscuits he’d made from the oven, flipping the gas on the stove off and pulling the eggs and sausages from the heat, grabbing the bowl of oatmeal he’d readied for you as he moves towards the bar. 

“I made you some oatmeal, c’mere,” he calls, voice graveled with strangling want, but he appreciates the look of bright curiosity you swing his way. He’s coming to realize he finds everything about you, everything you do, devastatingly arousing, even just a simple look, the shift of your jaw. He pulses beneath his jeans as you approach, remembering the leak of your cunt against the throb of his cock from earlier and wanting more of it already. 

He hoists you onto the bar stool when you reach him, he’d draped a folded throw over the hard curve so you’d have something soft to sit your sore little cunt on, and turning you to face him, he slots you between his spread thighs on his own stool, close as he can get you. You stretch towards the spread of food, and give a little sniff, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. 

“Don’t gimme that face. Look, whatever you want–” He shows you the eggs and sausages and the oatmeal. He’d wanted to give you options. “I put honey and milk and cinnamon in it. Berries–” He pulls the bowl of blackberries closer. “You’re gonna be a good girl and eat all of it, and I’m gonna sit here and watch you do just that. C’mon, sweet thing, do as I say.” You look at him suspiciously, but with those words, as if your obedience were a foregone conclusion when he asks the right way, you start to eat. Slow little kitten licks and sips from the spoon of honey milked oats, and he has to force himself to turn and not burn you with the intensity of his gaze, piling his own plate high with biscuits and gravy and eggs and sausages, gut roiling with hunger not for food, he forces himself to eat, one palm still gripped at the back of your stool right up against your ass. He needs to feel you, to keep you close, it’s all starting now. 

“Do you eat meat?” He asks, taking a bite of the savory and fatty sausage. You scrunch your nose again, nothing but wide eyes and a bout of sweet timidity now that your greedy cunt had gotten what it needed. “No? You wanna try?” You shake your head no, shrug that bare and tempting shoulder, end on a nod, leaning forward to take a small nibble of the meat from his own fork. Plush blossom mouth opening to slick itself against the metal where his own mouth had just been – his cock leaks. You chew slowly, thinking, come back for more. He pulls you even closer, tugging the stool loudly against the hardwood floor, feeding you from his own plate and hand, watching the shift of your jaw, the bright of your eyes as you enjoy all the food he’s made just for you, until his plate is clear, and he’s so fucking hard he feels faint – all the blood that’s supposed to be in his brain pooling at his groin.

He could feed you forever. He will. 

Picking at the blackberries now, carefully choosing the fattest and shiniest one first, he presents it to you, watching your eyes shift from the berry to his eyes back and forth until you finally decide to humor him, plucking at his wrist with two tiny fingers, only a quarter of him in your grasp to pull him towards you, and opening your mouth so that he can place it on the dip of your tongue. Your mouth purses around it, they're sweet and tangy this time of year, and your nose scrunches again at the sour zing, and you’re so– he can’t help himself. Joel feels like a fucking animal, wholly himself. He yanks you towards him, up into his lap, head wrenched back and fucking eats at you, licking into you, tasting the fruit on your tongue, swallowing it down his own throat along with your spit. It’s disgusting only because it’s not enough, only because he wants more. And you– you respond to him immediately, little warbling song of a different sort of hunger in your throat, hitching higher in his lap, pressing closer, tugging and clawing at him. 

He feels insane. He feels insane. 

It’s a difficult thing to want so much, to be so confronted by the depth of your desire, your nature, to hold it within the palm of your hand as he is now. 

You climb over him, moving to straddle his lap, to rub that needy cunt over his lap, ravenous huffs as you push and pull him this way and that, kissing his face, his ears, his neck, smelling his hair. He has to plant his bare feet wide, steadying himself to hold the two of you upright as you lose control a little bit. It’s almost time, it’s so near. 

He lets you do as you need, grinding against him, marking him with your scent; your inexperience obvious in your desperation. For the life of him, he can’t fathom what his excuse is. 

His hands slide over your knees, “Look’t what you’ve done,” he tuts, passing a ghosting thumb over the skinned little cap, adventure wound from last night, up your thighs, beneath the hem of the t-shrit, no fucking panties, fuck, his fingers slip against your slick covered thighs to grip the meat of your ass, slippery, pulling your ass cheeks apart to feel all that glorious wet sliding everywhere. He needs to calm down, but he pulls you tight against the pulse of his cock, grinds and grinds and pants up into your own open mouth. 

You’re staring down at him now, wide eyed, and your frantic movements slow, hands on either side of his face, fingers clutching at the curls that wrap around his ears. He slides one hand lower to cup your sex, the smooth and bare little palm-full of it, the other sliding up your back, over your shoulder and down your arm to grip and squeeze your wrist tight, your eyes flash, and then he moves to cup your little tit, pinching and twisting the soft puffiness of your nipple, smiling up at your little gasp, and tucks the tip of his index finger inside of you, just a crook of the first knuckle, just to feel you tremble around him. You gasp, oh, and he wants to tie you up in strings and play with you, make you whatever he wants at that moment. Yeah? Just like that? He whispers up at you, and he wants you to give him so many things and everything, and suddenly, the possibilities of him are endless, so much potential to be born from you. He wants to fuck you full and breed you and keep you forever, and he feels insane and finally soothed. 

It’s the rut starting, he knows, and it should be considered a cruelty to want something so much, but you only feel like a gift. 

You sigh a shaky little exhale that makes his stomach clench with how sweet it sounds, lashes fluttering shut at the feel of him breaching you just this little bit. He bends his head to bite at your nipple over the worn cotton of his shirt, keeping his eyes on yours, on the shocked look you’re wearing. He gives one sharp tug with his mouth, and then shoots back up to press one more swift, hard kiss to your open mouth. When he pulls his finger from your leaking hole, he gives your pussy a gentle pat, right on the clit.

“We gotta calm down,” he says slow, can hear the sticky splash of your cunt against his patting fingers. You nod your head, but shift your hips side to side, trying to find friction. “Told you we gotta time it right – take our time. Didn’t I?” But his hand provokes you still, looking up at you with all the wonder of a man coming across something he’d searched for all his life and yet, at the final moment of discovery, is still shocked. 

“You need to eat too,” you say shyly, fingers still twined around his ears, one single tip laid flat against his right gland, applying soft pressure, pulling away, tapping twice, applying pressure again. Your shared want in a clicking language. 

You slide off his lap, back to your own stool, but keep your knees hooked over one of his own thighs, two little feet pressed against the other, fingers still shifting in his hair, petting him while he piles his plate again and digs in. You touch him everywhere you can reach, tugging on his ears, hand smoothing over the muscles in his arms, poking the soft of his belly, gripping his jaw on either side to count his chews, and then palm cupping his throat to feel his swallows.  

He feels suddenly, desperately impatient for the heat to start in full, to spread you wide on the ground and fuck into your slicked, open cunt, to pump it full of his semen and tie you to him with his knot. To own you in a way that only the thing you are and the thing he is would allow. 

You stare at him intently, focused concentration, like you’re reading his mind, brows furrowed and chin tipped. 

“Can I help you?” He crooks a brow at you. 

You shake your head, staring him down, chin to sternum. “No– You eat so much.”

“M’hungry,” he mumbles around a forkful of eggs, desperate to fill that hollow concaved feeling in his gut he knows is ravenous for something other than just food. But you nod solemnly, as if it were a thing of the utmost importance.

“I understand,” you say very seriously, still nodding. 

He swallows, tipping his head to look at you. And he realizes you’re right, in the obvious way of all such designated things, that you do understand him, and perhaps, for reasons other than just that mere designation. And on the tail end of that realization, another: he feels suddenly, starkly, like a victim. A victim in the same way you were, are, would have been, would no longer be. That same white box, that same perilous ledge, both of you trapped between precarious truth and free will. Both of you the same, and sitting here, side by side, now free, as well. Even despite your ties to each other. Of course you understand each other, you’re the same.

“How ‘bout we go down to the beach?” And your eyes go bright as that glowing comet, immediately throwing your arms around his neck and taking a bite at his ear, excited as a puppy. 

Oh, please, please, please, yes. Yes, let’s go, you squeal and strangle him, almost rip his hair out of his head, but it feels good. It makes him feel real. 

-

He’d dressed you in too many stupid, stifling layers, buttoned to the chin. Long thermals beneath your jeans, a sweater, a large puffer jacket, two pairs of socks, ridiculous, scarf wrapped around your throat you’re sure he’d use as a leash to stop you from galloping so far ahead of him across the wet sand if you gave him the chance.  

You want to run naked and reckless and free down the cold, battered shoreline. 

Everything is gray, everything is dark and cold and wet and so very unlike you. But you feel like it all allowed you to shed that blanket of shyness you’d donned at breakfast, after the kiss. All this: vast and endless and huge in a way you’ll never be. It makes you feel, for some reason, very steadfast in your smallness. Like, look how large the world is, look how unending, look how the sea crashes and prepares to strangle anything that would fall into it. What does it matter, my size in the world, my significance, when faced with all this? I might as well just be. 

You turn back to look at where he meanders slowly in the imprinted path of your bootprints, laughter in your throat you can’t help, holding the pail he’d brought down for you to collect treasures out of the sand. The sky is angry, and from this distance, lashed by the wind as he is, he looks as small as you feel. This is comforting; the two of you are the same.

You are the same. 

Standing still, you wait patiently for him to reach you, rolling the laugh like a stone over the surface of your tongue, enjoying the hurt of the saltspray, the biting wind that penetrates all the layers he’d insisted on. Soon there’ll be no part of you left unpierced. 

And when he finally reaches you, he pauses but two steps away, and God, he has eyes like mirrors, staring down at you from his great height, and silently puts the pail out for you to drop the new additions for your hoard, a sparkling shard of blue green sea glass, a two halved clamshell, the inside: a star hued lavender, cream and silver glow. Surely what the flesh of a dream must look like were it to come alive. 

Your thoughts turn suddenly, you spit the laugh out into the world and watch as it jars him, remembering how you’d read once, in all the many things you’d read in your many years of not life, that when a chest is split open during a traumatic emergency, that the procedure of splitting both halves of the sternum and ribs is called a clamshell thoracotomy. The process allows for access to both sides of the thoracic cavity – full exposure. 

And you can’t, for the life of you, explain why the thought comes into your mind now, staring at that little purple dream as you watch it fall from your sand wet fingertips into the pail he holds poised for you, but you’re sure that whatever the connection might be, it lies only with the idea that you’re prepared for him to do the same to you, that you’re ready for anything when it comes to him.  A splitting, a keeping – what more could be done to a creature used to only half measures? Half life, not life, half omega – not mated, full omega – mated. The intricacies of it all no longer matter, only the yes or no. 

“Will you still send me away?” He’d said he’d changed his mind, but you still ask anyways, voice sliding over the screaming of the sea, throwing him off kilter. You want to hear the words. It’ll storm soon, the waves tell of this by the way they throw themselves against the sea stacks. Poor things, you think, nothing but beaten. 

But you’re not like that. Let him say what he will, you feel buoyant and helpless and completely uncaring. 

And he’s very silent for a long moment, chewing on the possible rejection that you’ll spit right back at him if need be. But then: “Don’t you want your own life?” He asks, and his tone makes you pause, the look in his eyes makes you pause for the fear in it all, for the trepidation it’s made up of. You tilt your head at him this way and that, inspecting him very closely, reading him for all he’s worth. You wonder if he realizes how transparent he’s suddenly become to you. All his hurts, faults, strengths, nature, revealed to you with one question. 

Choice.

He’s asking you what you want. 

“Can’t I make a life here with you?” You counter. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see the world as only yourself?”

Further clarity – the marrow of all he is: afraid. 

You go very soft on the inside, all you are in light of all he is. “I already am myself, Joel.” The sea lashes and howls, his name off your tongue does the same. “Can’t you understand that? This is me, this is what I am.”

He frowns so darkly at that, “I do understand, but I–”

And you step to him, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands, size dwarfing you, fear not: “No. You don’t. But it’s okay, I’m going to show you,” and you turn to continue your path along the water, secure in your certainty now that he’ll follow regardless of anything else. 

Joel wants you to have choices. You’d failed to realize this before, you’d seen only his withholding. 

He moves alongside you after a while, after you’ve allowed him a moment of consideration, idling patiently while you dig through the sand, crouching down to hunt for shells and rocks and glass, fingers wriggling deep beneath the freezing cold sand to feel the burn of it. And after a distance longer, and with much bravery, you clasp two of his too big fingers in your sand crusted fist and hold his hand as you walk together, gently leading him down the path you choose, and he’s so grumpy, and you can’t help but be endeared. 

“I think that's the end of the world out there,” you say, pointing to that stopping point where your eyes won’t go any further.

 He looks out at the sea, eyes stopping as far as the world allows, swings back to your face. And you clutch at his arm, pressing your cheek against his bicep, taking in his scent which has deepened and swelled and grown a body within the last hours – the musked cardamom of him – staring out at all that immensity, personification of all you feel for him, this want that is violent and grown teeth, that exists as nature exists. This want that, yes, perhaps you did not choose, but is still what you want, is still what’s right. 

“The sea is so beautiful, and I’m so happy to be here.” No, you don’t want to go out and find another life. You want to find life here. 

You already have. 

When you turn your face up to his again, he’s staring down at you with that strange look from before, but changed now too. Devouring. No one has ever looked at you like this, and you don’t think anyone else besides him ever will. It’s only him, you see, with eyes like mirrors that reflect back your shared sameness. 

“Is that what you came out here for? To find the end of the world? To hide?” You don’t care if you shouldn't ask, you don’t care about any of the things you shouldn’t do, only about what you want in this moment here and now. 

Selfish, selfish, selfish. Yes.

“What does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “But it does.” It means everything.

He doesn’t respond, only more of that unfathomable look. You don’t care about this either, let him have his silence like a weapon or a punishment. 

“How old are you?” You ask now, realizing that no one had ever told you, that you’d never even cared to ask – bad of you. But not that it would have mattered or made a difference. 

“Too old. Old enough to be your father.” And this makes you angry, sparking angry. Your father – you’d had a father. A stranger father, but still yours. Joel is not that. So, this is anger like Leo’s. Anger at his offhandedness, anger at your own want, despite his words that sit like rust over your skin, anger at the violence of your own want. 

You fight to swallow it, roll your eyes at him. Insist: “How old?” 

“Forty eight.” And he says it like an admission of guilt, which you snort at blithely. 

You flash two held up fingers at him twice, mouthing the words, twenty two. 

His gaze is sad again, and you rub his arm gently, soothing. “I know.” 

And yes, you think, he surely knows so much, but not everything. “I’m not anything else but what I am, you know? What I want to be.”

“Too young–”

You ignore him, voice insistent, “And neither are you.” You turn to face him full on now, taking two steps away so you’re not forced to crane your neck up at him, he cants towards you as if he can’t bear the distance. Nature: he surges toward it hungrily, and just as quickly, surges away. The wind buffets his scent against you, washes you in it. “You can’t make me any of these things you’d thought I’d be. I’m only what I am, and you’re only what you are. Whatever the rest of it is you want to force, or the world wants to force, or the white box says I should be– I don't give a fig for any of that.” You swipe your hand in a cutting gesture through the salted air, and he looks like he might smile first, lands on a flinch instead. “I am not ornamental, Joel.” 

And he flinches again, jarred by his name, but then seems to remember himself, to be reminded of himself by the sound of it, and musters his strength, tightens his seams and says, “‘Nd I’m not here for you to impose yourself on. I’m going to make my own choices.”

“So will I,” you say slowly, and you suddenly want to cry. “So do I. This,” you, “Is my choice because I’m also an omega.” You suck in a tremulous breath. That truth, like a sea between the two of you. You’d thought he’d seen, understood, that he wouldn't have touched you as he had this morning, as no one else ever had, if he didn’t understand the gravity of that. “And if I’m not scared of that, you shouldn't be either.”

He swallows once, twice, devastated mask in place. He looks so forlorn, bearing a weight beyond his years on his shoulders. He turns out to face the water and asks it, “But what about what I want?” Not what he needs.

You close the two steps of distance, pressing against his side, circling his thick wrist in both of your hands, feeling the weight and strength of the bone beneath fevered skin. His sweater is thick, cable knit, soft and worn, a tiny fray at the edge of the sleeve, and a deep navy color, layered over a blue green flannel. No jacket again, he’d donned the colors of the sea instead, but you know now that he isn’t cold. It’s almost time. 

You’d felt so shy after this morning, as you’d walked out to face him in the light of day, sat in his lap and kissed him, newly made, newly minted. Now, you feel as if you know everything you could ever need to know about everything there is to know about you and him. 

“What about what you want? What do you want? Tell me,” you beg. “Say it out loud so we can both hear the truth of it no matter what it costs you.”

“Sweetheart, please,” he begs for mercy, looking down at you again, standing within the confines of your shackle, something further than devastation on his face now. Something like shedding years against your will, going back in time, stepping within a vehicle that would take you to the worst of it all, that point at the end of the world which he already stands on. 

The two of you feel, very much, like two unexploded bombs, existing with great care beside each other. 

The highs of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose are cold reddened, wind lashed, curls damp from the spray of the waves, burning with that dogged nature he fights and fights and fights. And he’s such a part of the world, standing here like this, tall and broad and vital. You want to be like that too, you think, large in a changing way. And he’s strong, strong in a way other creatures aren’t, strong in a way you aren’t. 

But weak in others. 

You release his wrist, forgo the shackle, remain in place. There’s a desperate plea coming from either of you, which though, you’re not entirely sure. 

And then suddenly, and you can’t even be sure from where it comes from because really, if you’re the most honest you can be, you know nothing of this thing. “Have you ever been in love?”

He goes so still that the sea seems to grow more violent in comparison, an offset to his freeze. “Yes. I have.”

“Will you–” swallow your fear, be the brave girl, “Will you ever love me?” You must ask. There’s no other recourse for you in this, you want all of it or nothing.

He bends to you suddenly, getting right in your face, cold nose to cold nose, teeth bared, animal. “I am selfish and jealous and cruel. And I will keep you in a strangle. Do you understand that? Can you even understand what it’ll mean to belong to me? To belong to a thing like this? Yes, I will love you.” So then there’s nothing else to care about. He spins away from you, paces, paces, “I’ve– I… fuck–” fights the dog fight – you wonder how long he’s waged it for, maybe his whole life – turns back to face you, and there’s the look of a boy now too, like Leo, lost and angry and faced with what he is in an insurmountable, unwinnable way. We are what we are, truth impossible to ignore. 

And then finally, fight lost, his face does a funny thing, a strange fracture and decision happening across the canvas of it, all at once. “I used to be a father. I used to have a daughter,” he tells you. 

Entirely unexpected. Entirely terrifying. “Used to?” You take an urgent step toward him, use an urgent tone, the memory of your aunt and of would-be parents flashes in your mind. You don’t want him to say what you know he’s about to say. “Where is she?” You aren’t so naive.

“Sarah,” and he says her name with so much love. “She died.”

You shake your head no, tears swept away with the wind, freezing salted on your lashes. “No,” you say again, louder. 

“When the outbreak happened – in the confusion. We were attacked ‘cause of what I was,” and he shakes his head once, hard and fast as if trying to jostle the confusion out of his mind, or perhaps knock it back into coherence, “Am,” voice limp at the end.

And then he’s the one coming to you, taking you up into his hold, cradling you more gently than the world could ever imagine a thing like him capable of. He finally understands what you are, you can feel it in the way he holds you. “Oh, no, Joel,” you cry into his neck, hugging him to yourself, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” Your poor alpha. Your poor alpha, he’d been so alone, so hurt and so afraid, and you realize now that you’ll have to be strong for the both of you, that you need to help him in ways only you can, that you need to be strong when he can't. And there’s only sameness here, of the most important sort. Both of you together, equal. When one could not, the other would. 

It’s obvious the way all truths are. 

“If I care for another thing…”

“I understand,” you tell him. It’s obvious the way all truths are: he’s afraid. 

You kiss his face, cup his ears to warm them, bring one of his too big, rough hands to your mouth, pressing your lips to his knuckles, letting him know you’re here now to protect him in the ways he’d never been and had always needed and would never want for again. 

-

He pulls you against himself in a hurt lock, tight enough he lifts you straight off your feet, face buried in your hair, teeth at your neck, biting hard enough you let out a bay of hurt. He can’t explain it, but there is so much care in the words you choose to wield against him, so much wisdom despite the innocent naivety, a clarity about the way you see him and all the rest of the world that sends him into such existential vertigo, makes him want to take a bite out of you so that he might swallow some of that innocence, some of that wisdom down for himself. An honesty about you that gives him no choice but to choose that which he knows he’s always wanted but has never let himself need. 

“I understand,” you’re whispering, letting him savage your throat as he needs. “But everything is going to be okay now–” a moan of pain, “–that we have each other, don’t you see that? We’ll take care of each other.”

He digs his teeth deeper at the fine tendon in your neck, and then slides his tongue up and over your gland, tasting the leak of pheromones there. It’s time now, he can feel it pulse and beat, glowing bright within you. He had been stupid and carelessly blind. He’d been a liar. “I see now – I see. It’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I’m alright now.” But you wrap your arms around his head, comfort and cradle him, and he has to have you with a desperation that brandishes teeth and boils. 

He shoves you back by your hips, keeping his grip on you steady, and turns to push you back down the beach the way in which you’d come. “Home. Now.” But you push back against him, rubbing your ass against the heft of his cock, presenting him with that cunt that belongs to him. 

“No. Here.” It’s a demand, you have an instinct for this. 

“Absolutely not,” but he’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise anyways, grinding against you, tension vibrating his too big body, as if he were actually considering it, taking you here and now. 

Please.

“You’d let me knot you right here on the beach with the whole ocean and God watchin’?”

“Yes. Yes, I don’t care.” You try and turn in his arms, head craning back, hungry mouth seeking his own lips.

The insanity of the fever. Now, omega, he rumbles, and there’s no mistake in the burr of his tone, his nature on display, loud and clear – an alpha ordering his omega back to her nest so that he might have her there. He shoves you forward gently, setting you on your way, and picks up your pail full of treasures to stalk after his own. He takes in the sparkle of seaspray like gems in your hair as he follows, the shiver of your frame beneath the too many ridiculous layers he’d forced you into, the stumbling of your feet as you turn back to spy him hunting after you.  There’s wet on your face, and he doesn’t know if it’s the salt of your tears or the salt of the sea, and he wonders if when he drags his tongue across it he’ll be able to tell the difference. He’s sure he will. 

Your scent like a leash leads him, stronger and fuller and warm enough to burn. His gut is tight and aching, cock so hard he feels he can barely stand up straight. He’s sure he can smell the pouring of your slick from your finally readied cunt, the bloom of it obvious in the air around you, juniper berries everywhere – something warmer, spiced vanilla, earth. It’s so good he wants to swallow it down like liquid, drink from your well. 

He follows and follows, and if you weren’t already at the end of the world, he’d follow you there too. Up the stone steps etched into the cliffside, the steep incline sending you to huff and puff in strain. He’d feed you more, make you strong, feed you his cock and fill your belly with his come like honey. His breaths are bullish, bursting out in white clouds of steam, his neck hot and damp, skin boiling beneath his clothes. 

You keep turning back nervously, your left hand stretching back as if to reach for him, and then speeding up again in agitation, going as fast as your much shorter legs can take you compared to his. But he measures himself, lets you get there in your own moment, and eventually, he’s pushing open the cabin’s front door and shoving you inside, forgetting to measure his strength, lost in his delirium as he is, so that you’re stumbling, being snapped back like a rubber band with his fist wrapped in the back of your jacket. 

He rips it down your arms, uncoils the scarf, pulls the sweater over your head, hair a mess, all disoriented and malleable, and yanks you back and into his chest, heaving you up into his arms so that he can clamp his teeth at your throat again, laving his tongue over your gland, slicking you in his spit, sucking hard at the patch of skin, the burst of flavor on his tongue now, bubbling, carbonated almost, so strong his knees buckle and his cock is surely leaking a stream of precum down his leg. So fucking sweet, he’s growling, murmuring like a madman, grinding his erection into the lush of your ass, fingers sneaking under your shirt to squeeze hard and tight at your little tits. Your belly is a ball of embering fire, like you’d swallowed a comet, and he presses down on it gently, hand low on your pelvis over where your little womb is, this place he’s about to fuck full of his spend. 

“The way you smell – your scent – I’ll go fucking crazy, I swear I will.” His voice sounds not his – coming from some source outside of his body, ringing hollowly in his head empty of everything else except you. 

It’s started, it’s started, it’s started. 

You’re full of glorious heat, and he soothes at the soft swell of your belly with gentle circles, hand sliding down to cup the little palm-full of your cunt, rubbing back and forth over your jeans, and then goes to his knees behind you, pawing at the button, ripping them down your legs along with the leggings he’d forced you into beneath them, panties and all; the popping of seams – his or the clothes he can’t be sure. He traps you in the tangle, leaving them around your ankles, boots still on and takes a too sharp, too aggressive bite of your ass cheek, leaving teeth marks, leaving Joel marks, enjoys the sound of your baying that ends on a shocked little squeak, a little ah, ah, ah. He grips your asscheeks too tightly and spreads them wide, watching the delicious little wink of your holes provoking him, and licks the broad flat of his tongue from cunt to asshole, finally, fucking finally tasting you. 

He’s entirely lost to his madness from that moment forward.

He licks your ass again, again, pushes you forward to deepen the arch of your spine to eat at you better, and you mewl, whine, Joel, I’ll fall, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Fall,” he tells you, “I’ll catch you.” But he spins you in his hands, fast and stumbling, trapped as you are, to face him on his knees before you as he is, as he should be, and you’re so small, morsel sized, perfect for swallowing whole, and open mouthed, he inhales at the mound of your cunt, tongue swiping out to find your clit swollen already. 

You smell like nothing he can describe, too delicious to allow him the choice of clear thought. He pulls you down to the ground, rips your boots and pants the rest of the way off, and right there on the floor by the front door, he spreads your legs wide and eats your cunt. 

Eats it. 

Nothing gentle or restrained about it as he probably should, this being your first time a man licks your pussy, small and innocent as it is, he fucks his tongue inside your shaky hole, sucks hard and sharp on yor clit, your first orgasm, sensitive as you are, trembling through you already. More, more, more, he wants more. He hunches over you like the beast he is, tiny thing, pulls you up, palm cupping your bottom, one knee knocking against his ear, the other leg splayed wide, sliding down his arm, so he can suck, suck, lick at your clit, a gentle kiss as a prize for taking it so well, and then his tongue is back into your cunt to taste the river of slick you’re spilling just for him. Your flavor, so musk heavy, sweet and thick like honey; he feels full and set to burst, no more hollow pit. And he wants more, to gorge and gorge like a glutton. You come again, a splash against his tongue, so wet you’re slipping and sliding in his grip. He can hear your high pitched cries and whines, your Joel, Joel, Joel’s he shushes, soothes with his tongue, little kiss to your little clit that pulses against his mouth. 

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” He lets you down, crawling over you, pushing your shirt up to get at your tits, sucking and biting hard enough to hurt. He wants you to feel it all for days after the heat’s over, to leave marks, to make sure he’s left in your skin forever. Forcing your jaw wide, he slicks his tongue along yours, feeds you the taste of your own cunt, salty, sweet, his, and you take it so well, half limp and yet still clinging to him weakly, two orgasms forced on your virgin pussy back to back. 

He scoops you up, belly to belly, spider limbs around his neck and waist, grabby hands yanking at his hair like you’re angry he’s not put you on his knot yet. His knees pop, his back aches something fierce as he heaves the two of you up, muscles in his thighs bulging to support you – he’s fucking old – and walks you over to your nest, setting you down on your back, spreading your knees wide, cunt ripe and blooming, so red, a wound of all the world says you’re meant to be.

Slicking his thumb over the soaked curve of it there’s a sticky string of omega drool that leaves him connected to you when he pulls back. He presses again at your swollen clit, thinks he can almost see the pulse of your rushing blood beat here at your spread cunt, slides down to the tiny winking hole and circles his finger there, giving you the slightest pressure, pressing in a tiny bit, up again to tease your clit. 

“I’m gonna fuck this soft little hole until it’s so full of my come I don’t fit inside no more. Would you like that, sweet baby?” He asks so gently, don’t spook the fawn, don’t spook the beast. 

Your eyes are fevered, face covered in a shine of sweat, your belly glows with heat, and you nod slowly, little smile playing tricks with him whispering across your face. His hands slide up, circle your waist, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze as if he could watch you burst, witness all that heat explode like a comet, then further up to your chest, two big hands covering two little tits.

“You’re so pretty, little omega.” And you preen, you glow, suffused with such vulnerable, honest pleasure. Joel has to be so careful, he has to be so good for you. He will be. You circle one of his wrists, tender little hand, fingers of vapor, he has to be so good for you, he has to be so careful. Again, remember, remember. He bends to press a soft kiss to the pretty tip of each nipple. 

“They’re too small,” you whisper in an even smaller voice. 

“No. No, baby, no.” He presses another kiss, drags his teeth over a peak, sucks on the other, switching back and forth. “They’re fucking perfect, so pretty and so soft. I love them– I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you.” He opens his jaw wide and takes the whole soft mound of it into his mouth, sucking on the whole thing of it. He probably shouldn’t say such things, he doesn’t give a fuck. “Look–” he says around the little globe, “Whole thing fits in my mouth.” He bites some more, kisses some more, sucks on them until you’re whining and pushing him away, until they’re sore and stinging and still he doesn't stop. He shows you just how obsessed he is.

He kisses you all over, your belly, your waist, the soft spot beneath your ribs, your thighs, and the pulse between your collarbones. Slow, slow. He has to be slow and gentle and patient for as long as his looming rut allows, he needs to ease you into this. Taking an ankle first in one hand, he presses a kiss to the gland just there on the inside of it, suckles a little, then the other, and watches as your cunt becomes more and more needy and swollen, red as a bloom, until you’re so desperate for it you’re writhing around wantonly in the nest of blankets, almost entirely lost to your fevered delirium, but not just yet, not just yet. 

“Will you– will you put your big thing inside me now?” You slur innocently.

And he laughs gently, a tenderness pinching his heart which if he was less lost to himself, he might cry for. “My big thing?”

Oh, please. “Please, I– I think– please, I think I really need it now.” You twist this way and that, pulling the blankets up to your face to hide yourself away. 

“Almost, sweetheart. Almost.” But he feeds you two of his fingers then, playing in your slick, the sticky wound of softness, and crooks his fingers to wedge them just inside of you. “Like that– oh, isn’t that nice?” He croons, pressing a little further in, feeling the stretch of you around him. Your eyes go wide and shocked, your back arching in a taught curve, hips opening for him to sink deeper until he’s palm to cunt. He leans over you, watching the place where his hand disappears inside and hooks his fingers, petting at the textured little place at the front of you, so, so sensitive. You keen loudly, a warbled sound that’s all fucking his. His control is so close to snapping. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt suddenly, watches how it shudders while you screech at the loss, looking up to search for him with bleary eyes as he rips his shirt and sweater up over his head, and then he’s pressing his two fingers back inside, thrusting into you a little harder, the splash and slap of your cunt as he fucks in and out of your tight hole. “Perfect little thing that's all mine.” He has nothing but praise for you, his good girl, taking him so well. 

He pets and pets at that soft spot, molten heat pouring from your cunt, and when he starts to shake his hand, a little jiggle to knock your next orgasm loose inside of you, you give it up so, so nicely. Pussy going tight as a fucking fist, strangling his fingers, and then spilling loose and soaked, flooding his hand. When the contractions of your little womb have abated he stuffs a third finger in, forgoes some of that gentleness, and pressing a hand low on your pelvis, he shakes his hand hard and fast inside of you. “Want’cha to fuckin’ soak me,” he grits through clenched teeth, head slightly dizzy, slightly faint with want. And with pressure both from the inside and out, you do. Gush of come following your high pitched moan, tears soaking your hairline as much as your pussy just soaked the lap of his jeans. He pulls his fingers from your gaping hole, bends to lick through all that glorious omega slick and swipes his fingers through it from side to side, tapping on your clit harshly, slapping it a little, sucking on it again, fast, fast his fingers from side to side, forcing you into just one more little climax before he lets you rest. 

You’re all twisted in the blankets, face turned and buried in the pillows. He crawls up over you, contorted as you are, cunt splayed wide and pulsing, and unbuttons his jeans as he goes, finally, fucking finally letting his raging cock free. It hurts, it needs you so fucking badly, leaving a sloppy trail of drool slicked along the already wet curve of your belly as it drags heavily against you, bobbing obscenely from his open zipper. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and licking up the taste of you, sucking on your gland. 

“Please, please now. Please, now,” you keep mumbling into the blankets where you’re hiding. Please, now. Begging for his cock and his knot, so ready to take your first fucking like the perfect omega you are. 

“Not yet,” he soothes, petting your hair back from your steaming face, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hairline. Please, you whine high, and he lets his cock rest heavily against the curve of your red cunt, slicking it there, dragging it back and forth, giving you both the weight of what you’ll have so soon. You kick one leg out weakly. “Not yet, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he pitches his voice low, soothing, gathers you to himself. “Let’s rest a little. No, no – just for a little bit,” he says over your whines and cries. You cling to him weakly, hips rocking against him. “I know, baby. I know,” he hums, letting you rub your sticky, sore cunt against the wide head of his cock, nothing but a boneless little mass of omega, stuck to him with tears and slick and sweat. 

He rolls over with you on top of him, the brand of your cunt enveloping his erection between swollen lips, and his knot is ready to pop, it fucking hurts, his rut is near too. But he can tell you just need a little more time – a few more hours to soften and ripen just that little bit more, to lose yourself a little bit more so that he might fit himself inside of you, his too big body in your too little one. 

He gets up eventually, shucking his jeans, and getting a glass of water to force you to take, and leaves the large, cold glass near for when you’ll need it again with all the slick you’re producing. So much that it runs down your thighs, slides up your back and all over him and the blankets and everywhere; everything sticky and heady with your scent. This is, he thinks, right before he succumbs to sleep too, head and balls throbbing from not having come yet, the most singular way an omega claims ownership over an alpha. That scent like a shackle that would keep them together at all times, that scent that after long enough, is impossible to be without. He buries his face in your hair and breathes deep, letting your smell move through him like a tangible thing, a kaleidoscope through his mind until he finally falls asleep. 

-

Your hips move in a slow rocking swing over his belly, slicking the curve of it, making the hair covering him here clump sticky and soaked in this stuff that will not stop coming out of you. There’s so much, and you feel so empty, your head, your head is full of nothing but heat and bubbles and a throb that glows, and you don’t know why, but– oh, finally, he’s waking up. Yes, yes, alpha, wake up now. 

He shifts and rumbles deep in his chest, and you feel his big thing poke you in the butt; it’s so heavy and so thick and it smells so good. You’d sniffed it, and you’d tasted it a little too when you’d first woken up, but you need to make sure to remember to taste it more later again because it had been so yummy, and long too. You can’t understand how it’ll fit, but you’re sure you’ll make it somehow. And it has a funny soft bit of skin at the end, and thick veins that pulse under the warm, incredible softness that covers it. 

His left arm stretches out and over his head, he’s thick here too, big muscles under his skin that’s so burning hot it hurts to touch and feels good all at the same time. He has a dark vein that runs from his shoulder over the bulging muscle, and you’d tasted that too, then pressed your face into his hairy armpit to sniff him there also; gone all drunk and light headed at the scent.  You rock harder; the little nub at the front of your cunt – it belongs to him – it hurts and it’s swollen and when you press your fingers to it, it has a little tiny heartbeat that you’re sure beats to the sound of his name, Joel, alpha, Joel, alpha, and everything is so, so hot. 

You whine that sound you know he likes, the one that you know provokes him, rubbing your slippery cunt all over his stomach, grinding and sliding against him, trying to make the throb go deep and hard again like he’d made you do with his mouth. And oh, he’s so– he makes you so upset, and you feel big and little all at once, and that stretched soreness of your cunt, it’s all his fault, and the bruising around your nipples too, and he needs to put it inside. 

He stretches again, blinks open slowly, long lashes, dimple beside the corner of his mouth, and you dig your nails into the hard muscles of his chest, dragging your blunt edged fingernails down his skin as you slide lower, over his big cock – that’s what it’s called, and you love the sound of the word, think it sounds how you imagine it’ll feel, cock – and try to put it inside, shifting and rolling over it, trying to impale yourself on it. It’s so heavy, and you know the heaviness will make the hurt inside you, the bruised feeling inside you, go away, if only he’d just do it. 

You huff at him, cry a little, whine a lot, try and make it go inside again, slipping and sliding in all the slick that won’t stop coming out of you all while he blinks slow and patient at you, a little smile on his face, and he’s so pretty he makes you so, so upset. You bend forward suddenly and bite his nipple hard, yank on the hairs on his chest and thighs. Hard enough to hurt. He grunts, but lets you, only twinning his fingers in your hair tightly, letting you chew on him until you’ve released his skin on your own. 

“You upset with me ‘cause I haven’t fucked you yet? You gettin’ impatient with me?” You huff at him. “Think you’re ready, sweet thing?” Oh, please, please, please. 

You know that you’ve never been more ready for anything in your entire life. 

He rolls you over, spreading you wide to play with your cunt again, and you start crying for real. “It hurts, alpha, please. It hurts, and I glow.'' It's so hot everywhere. 

“You’re full in your heat now, baby. Don’t worry – knot’s gonna make you feel all better. You’re gonna be so full.” And his voice is so soft and deep and hard too, all at once. It floats away and it comes back, and he sounds like all the things and all the sounds that can have ever existed in the whole world, and also, just right enough to let you remember, only for a second, very calmly and in a moment of bright clarity, that you’d always known he’d come to fix it all. This is only the last part of that at last. 

“My brave girl,” and he pauses a beat above you, between your spread thighs, his cock hanging heavy, tip-slicked between his thighs, giving you a sticky kiss every time it bobs against your tummy. He drags the pad of his thumb at the hollow beneath your eye, catching fallen salt water there, only of desire, not the sad sort, you know the difference so very well by now. And his own eyes, they’re so dark, so full of all that heat that’s so chock full inside you too, but also different, something like cool and serene and full of knowing, full of patience. Eyes like mirrors. The two of you are the same. 

He wraps his big hand around his ever bigger cock, and smears the tip against your swollen, needy sex, pressing hard at the aching nub, sliding down and pressing hard at the bruised little hole. You growl an impatient quipping noise at him, but he returns it in kind, deeper, scarier, full of an order to settle. 

“We have to go slow,” he says, “It won’t fit just like that.”

But you rock your hips in hitching jerks anyways. “No, I’ll make it fit,” you promise, clawing at his chest to achor yourself, find the right angle, find relief. 

He shakes his head, continues to smear and press against you, and then oh, oh, oh, he’s just there, first a big stretch like from the morning, and it hurts, it burns, but not as bad as being without, and you make a sound like you’ve never made before, feeling a feeling you’ve never felt before and had waited your whole life and a year for. Inside, please, please, inside, alpha. He feeds you himself, makes the heat brighter, fans the flames and soothes them all at once, and oh, it really does hurt and feel so good. 

He’s panting like a bull above you, sweating and groaning, and the sounds he makes, the sounds he makes, rough and wounded, like you’re wounding him, like you have the power to wound a great thing like him. “Ain’t that so fucking good?” He coos and croons and pets at you, feeds you and feeds you and feeds you. It’s so big and it splits you, cleaves you wide and forces you into the place and thing you’d lived your whole life waiting to be. “Look at my girl,” he’s saying, “Look how well my little girl takes my big cock in her tiny cunt.”

He pushes a little more, touches a thing inside of you that is swollen and bruised and so sensitive, and, “Oh, you’re in my belly,” you gasp when he finally stops pushing in. You cup your hand over your tummy, pressing down. “I can feel you,” there are tears slipping form the corners of your eyes, and your cunt feels so full it’ll burst or swallow him whole or a little of both, “I can feel you from outside.” You press down harder, rub over the bulge of him inside you; a cock in your belly under your palm. 

So good, just like that, he’s murmuring and you close your eyes to better listen to the dip and hum of his voice. “I am. I am – gonna fill your little womb. And we’re gonna do it just like this for now,” he starts to move, “Just half so you’ll let me in all the way.”

“There’s so much,” you hitch, breath quivering, chin trembling, tears leaking, cunt leaking even more. 

I know, I know, he rubs your belly, soothes you so well, rocks and rocks and rocks, a cock rocking inside of you. He kisses your jaw and your shoulder and your breast, and then changes something, and you finally open your eyes. He touches something so raw inside of you, something that screams and sings and throbs, and there’s something going swollen inside. He’s so beautiful, silver streaked, creased, lines over his forehead, alongside his eyes, his whole life painted in roadmaps and metallic patterns across him. Other places slicked and wet, red and flushed and sun touched, and you make him look like this, and then he presses the swollen thing again, and it bursts. Your cunt flutters, goes so tight it hurts, forces more tears out of your eyes, you claw at him, your body feels not your own, only his. Oh, fuck yes. Good girl. Fucking come for me. For him, for him, for him. 

You shiver and shiver, there’s only hot air and the rocking cock in your belly, the heartbeat inside of you everywhere, and when he finally presses once more, finds the end of the world inside you, he’s all the way in, making a sound that you’ll have to force out of him for the rest of forever; a perfect sound. He tugs you up onto his thighs, sits up, belly to belly and heart to heart and glow to glow, and he fucks you like he said he would. Hard. You finally understand what it means. His cock punches the bruised thing that lives inside, that has you keening a wounded sort of noise, clawing at him, mouth searching for his gland, sliding across his clavicle, up his neck until it’s there, swollen and throbbing and it tastes so, so good you can’t help it when you sink your teeth into the softness of it, the salted rust of his blood sliding over your tongue, down your throat and into your belly like a promise. He makes that glorious sound again, and he fucks you so rough it hurts in only the way fucking a man so much larger than you can hurt. He splits your cunt wide and ruts into you like a beast, and you take it because you want it, because you were made for it, because it’s so right. And you suck on the pierced gland, swallow the taste of him and when a pressure worse than what you could have ever imagined starts to swell within your battered and bruised opening, he pulses and pulses and spills inside of you, filling your womb like he’d said he was going to also. 

Then there is his knot, finally, within you. “Again, baby. Come on my knot, sweetheart. You’ll feel so much better if you do.” And he’s right, as you shiver into it once more with only his command to prompt you, his knot swollen like a lock, connecting you together, it soothes the bruise and the heat from the inside out. He rips your teeth from his neck by your hair, swallows your protests, tasting his own blood on your tongue as he comes inside of you, fills you with a heat more potent than anything the glow had ever made you feel. 

When you fall together like felled weeds, knot tugging gently, mewl falling from your lips, he soothes you so patiently while he continues to spill inside of you, all plugged up as you are, belly set to burst full of semen. He suckles at your nipples, bites and pinches and makes them hurt, and you can do nothing but let him do as he pleases. And you don’t sleep this time, for the throbbing is so strong inside of you, his soft groans sometimes turned to whimpers so wonderful you need to be awake to listen to them forever.

 There’s nothing of the not life anymore, there’s only him here with you. 

He does sleep though, after a while, or he goes very still and very quiet. His lashes quiver and his eyes move beneath their lids as if he were watching a dream, and his body steams and shudders, but eventually, the knot softens enough that you can shift and wiggle over him, and his eyes flash open, predator gaze zeroing on the little omega trying to leave her trap, he presses a big hand down on your tailbone, grinding your cunt that feels raw and full and bruised and right against his pelvic bone. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Voice a deep burr. 

You give him a shy, appeasing look, nuzzling his belly, his thick pectoral and shift and shimmy up towards his face, feeling the heavy weight of him fall wetly from your bruised sex. It stings and flutters madly, clenching around the too large space he’d made inside you. Shuffling up on your knees, you peck at his chin, his mouth, suck on his lip. And when you look down between the two of you, there’s a puddle of thick white semen slowly drooling from between your legs onto his belly. 

You shuffle down now, licking up the mixture of slick and sweat and come, tasting the crease between his thigh and pelvis. You move lower, and resting your head on his thigh, you mouth at his cock, wet and slobbering, pressing a kiss, tasting the flavor of your cunt. 

“I feel so lovely,” you sigh dreamily, pressing another kiss.

He groans low, “A little more tongue– there you go. Oh, fuck– omega, that’s so good.” He threads his fingers through your hair. “It’s because you’re full of everything I just gave you. You’ll need more soon.”

You open your mouth wider, try to swallow him down, enjoying how his come slips out of you, making the tops of your thighs, your ankles you’re sitting on, all sticky wet. All mine, you mumble around his thick length, and his answering laugh is so vital, oh, everything really is so wonderful. He tugs you up by the roots of your hair, jaw hanging wide and spit slick so he can stick two big fingers in there and rub at the slimy surface of your tongue, grunts a hungry sound. 

-

He pushes you back, hand still fisted in your hair to spread you wide and inspect the wreckage he’d left between your thighs. “Lemme see–” he murmurs. “Look at how red and swollen you are, baby. Little cunt’s all fucked open.” He gently scoops his come back inside, smearing it along your cunt. 

Ah– Ah– You protest when he presses his fingers inside to feel the slip of his semen along your walls. Poor, baby, he coos. His cock stirs at your little sounds of hurt, soaked as it is, streaked with come and slick and a little pink tinge of blood. The sight makes him fully hard again. “You did so well, first time taking a knot. It’ll be easier next one.” You writhe and arch as he pets your cunt, spreading your legs wider despite your limp sounds of protest. Head rolling back against the blankets, you grip your tits in both hands and squeeze, whimpering at that too. 

When you lift your head to look down at them, lifting the two little handfuls in your palms to take in the sight of your chafed, swollen nipples your eyes go wide. “Look’t what you did to them – they hurt now.” And although he’s sure you intend to sound like you’re cross, the moan you end on, the way you’ve begun to rock your hips, tells of different things. 

“My poor girl, lemme kiss ‘em.” He stretches over you, taking your hands away to press a barely there kiss to the tip of each breast. “Poor little tits – poor little pussy too, all split open.” And he bends to kiss your blood tinged cunt, the flavor of lost innocence and come on his lips. 

He kisses you again, nibbles on your thighs, and your eyes are hazy, fever full, and you sigh a fluttering sound of oh, “Everything’s so lovely,” you say again. “And you’re so beautiful, alpha. We should eat green apples. I love green apples so much.” Delirious, a little nonsensical. 

“We will. We will– whatever you want,” he says, but he’s already mounting you again, wedging his fat cock into your tiny, battered hole, enjoying the sound of your half pleasure, half pained keen. And he doesn’t give you the grace of going slow, the rut is full on now – he fucks you into your nest hard, fucks against your womb until he’s filling it again. Only gentles once when you mumble into his ear, slurred and almost drooling, I want to watch it go in and out of me.

And despite his ferocity, the way he uses and abuses your cunt, he knows you need it from the way you open that little blossom mouth and try to swallow him whole, hungry thing. You yank at his beard and pull on his hair and scratch at his skin, bite his gland again and again, and he shocks himself by being nothing like afraid, nothing like uncertain. No, he only feels settled now. Joel only feels himself. 

He realizes that he had always needed this, but now, he wants it too. The distinction is stark and important beyond measure like some sort of primordial state of consciousness. He is only himself, dog fight lost and left victorious for it. 

You pass the days of your heat and his rut locked on his swollen knot, a steady stream of his come being pumped into you constantly. There’s no way he hasn’t bred you by now, and it makes something pleased and terrifyingly savage swell within him. 

He’s forced to shove an ice pack between your legs on the third day, between bouts on his knot, during a moment of clarity for the both of you while he feeds and waters you. But then later, after he’s given you one of the strawberry cream popsicles he’d made and frozen for you the day before you’d arrived, you sit, swollen cock buried deep, slowly rocking back and forth while he watches with an almost sick sort of rapt fascination as you eat the popsicle in little kitten licks, leaning back on his lap ever so often to bare your cunt to his gaze, slick and split wide, red as the strawberries in your sweet treat. 

“How is it?” He doesn’t specify which, the popsicle or the cock rocking inside of you, but you peer at him with the brightest and keenest sort of gaze, a look that tells him all he needs to know about himself, all that you see within him which is everything. You flash him a huge, cheesy grin, all the answer he’s getting, and you’ve got a tiny gap between your two front teeth that he finds so, so endearing, and his answering laugh is so vital, so alive, it’s like he steps into himself again after twelve years of vacancy. 

And with that bright light of clarity, a blink, blink, you seem to come fully awake for a moment. “Tell me of the things you like,” you order, taking a large bite of the iced treat and pressing your cold mouth to his, passing the flavor of strawberries onto his tongue.

He takes the moment and tastes it, pulls you close, “I like how the fire plays over your skin,” a palm ghosting down the slope of your naked back to the place where you’re connected. “How it makes shadows and shows me that glow inside.”

And as the fever fades, he switches to handling you with carefulness, gently stroking at your sensitive, come-filled pussy, careful of the stretched soreness of your little hole and the bruising around your nipples. With more awareness you remind him that he’s a big, stupid alpha with a big, stupid knot and that you hurt and want more.

But there’s still time and heat to take advantage of, and on the day he knows will be the last day of this animal lust, he stretches you out flat on your belly, his weight completely over your back, and he fucks you prone and immobilized, caged in by his bulging arms, telling you of how you own him now, how he belongs to you, how he’s going to keep you full and happy forever. “Make me come. Clench – good girl. Again,” he orders, and when his knot swells for what he knows will be the last time of this rut, relishing in the last whispers of your heat filled belly, he sniffs through the curtain of your hair and finding the still swollen gland at the nape of your neck, he slowly sinks his teeth into the vulnerable patch, binding your mating. 

-

Dawn peeks over the horizon like a faint suggestion, and you’re married on the cliffside one bitingly cold winter morning, the sea as your witness. Ellie and Dina are there, and they’re your friends now. You have friends, real friends, no more half life, no more half friend.You have friends, and you are important and significant and as vital and alive as Joel is. You’re real, and he helped make you so, yes, but really, you always had been. 

You wear flowers in your hair and a dress the color of the sky, and he has mirrors in his eyes, and the two of you are the same. Equal and only yourselves, and you love each other more than anything in only a very true way, nothing soft about it. 

When you know you’ll have a baby, he swallows your fear and your worry, marks your gland again as a reminder of all he is, all you are. And when you ask, for you can’t not share with him, “Will they come one day, to check if we did what we were supposed to? To see if we had a baby?”

He tells you, “Yes, they might,” very solemnly.

“What if–” a difficult thing to say out loud, now that you understand the thing you are and the way of the world so well, now that he’s shown you all there is to be shown, “What if they’re an omega like me – will they take them?” Give them their own white box and a not life to be nurtured by instead of a mother. 

But like all obvious things, he shares with you, always, only truths. “Never.” And the look in his eyes is so serious, eyes like mirrors, that you know his words are fact. “I’d never let that happen, I swear to you.” 

And the glow still comes, and the heat still takes you, but he’s always there now and nature is still an inescapable thing, but the perilous edge is no longer such a danger when you’re protecting each other. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us AU #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin masterlist

of rage and ruin - ongoing

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

also on ao3

series warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, forced proximity, non-con/dub-con (due to the nature of heats), canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, monster fucking, graphic violence, graphic depictions of injuries, suicidal ideation, gore, unprotected sex, oral, vaginal, heats, knotting, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, sexual assault/abuse by captors, mention of cordyceps, angst, hurt/comfort, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

reader notes: no y/n, no name, no description. reader is able-bodied and afab, uses she/her. joel can lift reader but he's a werewolf with superstrength so it's not indicative of body type. reader has no living family.

This is an omegaverse au. It contains typical and altered elements of a/b/o tropes.

You are responsible for the media you consume. Read at your own risk.

This story does not have a set publication schedule or a predetermined number of chapters.

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four: tba

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival

As always, if you'd like to read but have concerns about triggers/themes/deaths, my DMs are always open.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #a/b/o au #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #werewolf!joel miller #werewolf joel miller #the last of us fic #dead dove fic #fic: of rage and ruin

[jobean12-blog]

Nestled

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (A/B/O AU)

Word Count: 1,245

Summary: Joel's been away taking care of things and when he returns it's impossible to hide how much you've missed him.

Author's Note: This is my first ever A/B/O fic and it's for my lovely friend Suz's @targaryenvampireslayer Blind Date Writing Challenge! The trope I got was A/B/O and my dialogue prompt is bolded in the story! I want to give special thanks to my sweet friend Eva @biteofcherry for looking this over for me and helping me navigate this universe. She has the most amazing A/B/O AU with Ari that you can read HERE! Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the awesome @firefly-in-darkness thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: lots of soft sweet fluffiness, alpha!Joel has a dominant edge but he's soft and sexy for his omgea, finger-ing, ora-l (f rec)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The softness of his shirt feels perfect against your sensitive skin and as you cuddle the fabric you fall deeper into the cocoon of his scent, surrounded by the warmth of your blankets and pillows.

The dainty string of fairy lights glows softly against the backdrop of darkness that filters in through the large windows but even with their light the stars in the sky shine more brightly, twinkling like diamonds.

You sigh and fight the heavy feel of your eyelids as they press closed. He should be home soon and you want to be awake. Want to see him. Want to feel him. You need him.

With the last lingering thoughts of his touch your breathing starts to even out but just before you succumb to sleep your body starts to thrum with awareness and you know he’s back.

You sit up and stretch just as he appears in the doorway, filling the space with his broad shoulders.

“Joel,” you whisper.

He walks toward you with even and purposeful steps, stopping just outside your nesting space. He smiles with admiration and love at what you’ve created and when his eyes meet yours you see it there and it fills your heart up.

“Darlin’,” he coos before he bends down and climbs in next to you, taking note of his shirt draped over your otherwise bare skin with a pleased hum.

You curl into his embrace and purr as he nuzzles your neck and inhales your scent. He rubs his nose along your jaw, following with butterfly kisses until he finds your lips and seals them with his.

When he pulls away your eyes are still closed and your lips are curved into a satisfied smile.

“Look at me darlin’.”

Your eyelids slowly flutter open and meet his gaze.

“Have you been takin’ care of yourself while I was gone?”

You nod. “Mm hm. Just like you told me.”

He gives you an approving smile and cradles your cheek in one large hand, brushing his thumb gently across your skin.

“That’s my good girl.”

You preen under his praise, your skin heating and tingles running down your spine.

He cradles you against his chest as his hands slide over your curves and his fingers slip under the hem of his shirt.

You burrow to him, kissing his neck and loving the feel of the scruffy hair lining his skin and humming as his scent envelopes you in a feeling of safety and love. With your head resting against his shoulder you look up into the night sky and follow the path of a shooting star.

“They’re so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Hm?” he murmurs and you turn your face to his. He’s staring. At you.

“The stars…they’re beautiful.”

His eyes never move from your face.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he says quietly.

“I missed you Joel.”

His fingertips graze the soft skin of your stomach before sliding lower and teasing your thigh.

Your arousal spikes the air and he growls low and deep.

“I know,” he groans as your sweet scent wafts up to his nose.

He pushes you down until you’re spread out beneath him and with gentle hands he lifts his shirt up and off your body.

“I can’t wait to devour you my sweet omega. It’s all I could think about.”   

His dark eyes fall to your knees and he wedges his hand between them to spread you open. The heat of his skin matches yours as he skims his calloused fingers down the curve of your leg and his warm breath caresses your cheek.

“Mm…,” he hums. “Smell so good darlin.’ Sweet as sugar.”

Those long fingers move lower and brush through the slickness between your thighs. You shiver and squirm even at the lightest touch, clutching his thick wrist and urging him closer. When his lips ghost along the shell of your ear you whimper his name and arch your back, letting your legs fall open wider.

“You seem more sensitive than usual,” he murmurs, relishing the way you come alive beneath him.

“Missed you so much alpha. Need you. Please.”

His scent fills the space, strong and musky like the woods after a rain and you feel it everywhere. You thread your fingers through his dark curls as he rubs your noses together.

Your hands fumble to find the buttons of his shirt as you slide them along his chest but when his eyes meet yours you stop and heed the silent warning they hold.

“I’m going to give you what you need darlin.’ Everythin’ you need.”

Soft lips press to your neck, following the delicate curve before sweeping across your shoulder and leaving goosebumps all along your kissed skin.

His touch between your legs is still soft and teasing, making you shake with want.

“Please,” you beg.

A satisfied hum rumbles through his chest as he slips a single thick finger inside you, pumping it slowly in and out. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge and when your lips part and you plead for more he adds a second finger, stretching you just right.

“You’re dripping for me darlin’,” he growls. “I need to taste you.”

He moves lower and splays his free hand on your lower belly, pinning you down. The first sweep of his tongue is all it takes to have you choking on the scream in your throat.

Every lick and suck is deliberately torturous, sweet and languid, drawing out your bliss.

You chant his name and his silky hair slips through your fingers, gasping as the sensations become too much and you shatter apart.

He waits for your breathing to calm with tender kisses and soft licks then his hands move higher, his lips following until he’s cradling you protectively in his arms and whispering sweet praises in your ear.

You tilt your head back, stretching your throat out for the delicate nip of his teeth. He holds you down beneath him, your fingernails dancing over his taut skin as his muscles flex with his barely controlled restraint.

His nose skims along your skin then his lips soothe the spot on your neck where he previously nibbled before he does it all over again.

“Please alpha,” you whine, feeling a new wave of slickness coat your thighs.

He sinks his teeth into your throat and you let out a cry of pleasure, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping your legs around his waist.

His tongue slides over the bite and he rolls his hips, still fully clothed, and the friction between your thighs makes you purr in pleasure.

“You’re wearing too many clothes Joel.”

Your soft reprimand has him kissing you breathless and when he releases you for air he sits up and starts to unbutton his shirt.

With a gentle touch you stop the action. “Let me. Please?” you ask sweetly.

He relents and shifts so you can work your hands along the closed buttons, slowly revealing more of his warm skin.

“I love you,” he says just as your fingertips brush the fabric from his shoulders. “My omega. Mine. All mine.”

Your lips press to the spot over this heart, its beat steady and strong under your kiss. He wraps his hand around your wrist and lifts your fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tip of each before guiding you to the button of his jeans.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “And I’m yours. All yours.”

@blackwidownat2814 @lorilane33 @hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @lizette50 @kmc1989

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #alpha!joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #a/b/o au #suzsblinddatechallenge

[yeyinde]

navigation (of sorts)

about. faq. masterlists. recent posts. wips.

about.

LEVADA, LEV. EARLY 20s. MIXED | CREE (NDN, FN), WELSH

amateur writer • multifandom • poetry & mythology enthusiast • occasional gif maker • NECA/action figure collector • certified monster fucker

faq.

REQUESTS: tentatively open TAG LIST: i do not have a taglist TAGGING: you have my permission to tag me in stuff LINKS: PINTEREST ; KO-FI

masterlists

AO3 | known as Dachande

CALL OF DUTY | Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Rudy, Alejandro, Keegan YAUTJA SLASHERS | Thomas Hewitt/Leatherface, Ghostface (Danny Johnson, DBD), Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees MISC | Joel Miller (TLOU), Puppy (RUINER), Joe "Bear" Graves (SIX)

recent posts

alpha!Price x virgin omega!Reader size kink!King Simon Riley x virgin!reader the soft blue of a pale moon | Yautja x Reader dangle on the leash | Ghost x f!Reader (babytrap fic) when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader (babytrap fic)

wips | upcoming fics

Apsis | Yautja Smut Series (Shaman, Yeyinde, Tichinde) Skin to the Bone | Ghoap x f!Reader (amnesia/forced marriage au); teaser not a lot (just forever) | Mountain Man!Soap x F!Reader; teaser Devour What's Truly Yours | Priest!Price; teaser i, teaser ii Desolate Field | Sukuna x f!Reader; teaser

#faq #masterlist #about #general updates and stuff

[ghost--heart]

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Smut:

Better Than Shower Thoughts- Dad's Best Friend!Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Extra Credit- College Professor!Joel Miller x f!reader

Parent-Teacher Conference- Toji Fushiguro x f!teacher reader

Vinsmoke Sani Thigh Riding- Vinsmoke Sanji x f!reader

Tentacle Vacation Fun- Tentacle Monster x f!reader

"Good Is Ephemeral"- DILF!Miguel x f!reader

Experience- Könix x inexperienced virgin f!reader

Simon Riley x girly!innocent!reader

Alpha!Gojo x Omega!reader

Older Boyfriend!Ghost x Reader

Sweet Girl- Mentor!Nanami x student f!reader

Surprise!- Toji Fushiguro x f!reader ft. Gojo

Pornstar Au- Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Stepcest+Age gap- Simon Riley x f!reader

Older Boyfriend- Simon Riley x afab!f!reader

Little Red's Wolf- wolf!Soap x f!reader

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Fluff:

Much Too Kind- Astarion x f!reader

Ghost x Sick!Reader

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

#Kat's faves ♤ #smut

[ladyxskywalker]

OCT 2022 (part two)

fandoms featured on this list: triple frontier, pedro pascal characters, misc./multi. fandom

* coffee fund *

thank you to the amazing fic writers for sharing some wonderful stories with all of us ! & to the kind readers for their support. 💙

please assume that all works & the blogs they belong to are 18+ only

mature adult content will be marked with a double asterisk **

be sure to check all warnings & tags before reading, feel free to skip if something isn't for you

& of course, enjoy responsibly

all the love xo A ☕

hope you enjoy ! & happy reading ! 🤗

please send me things to read ! favorite fics or something you've written that you're proud of ! 💌

find more monthly fic recs over on my masterlist, Nov 2022 coming soon ! ✨

please let me know if you would like to be removed

✨ new authors & characters added for the first time !

✨ some authors are mentioned more than once throughout the list, check to see if your works are there !

PEDRO PASCAL

✨ Commandante Veracruz

Kinktober, Mirror Sex by @flightlessangelwings (f!reader) **

✨ Ezra (Prospect)

Kinktober, Outdoor Sex by @flightlessangelwings (f!reader) **

Overstimulation Kink by @magpie-to-the-morning (f!reader) **

✨ Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels

Howdy, Pumpkin by @magpie-to-the-morning (f!reader) **

✨ Javi Gutierrez

Breath Play by @chaoticgeminate (f!reader) **

✨ Javier Peña

Size Difference by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) **

✨ Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Kinktober, Morning Sex by @flightlessangelwings (f!reader) **

✨ Oberyn Martell

First Time by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) **

The Light in Your Eyes by @lightsinthedistancee *

Worth the Risk by @the-blind-assassin-12 (cw: blood, injuries, pain, angst)

✨ Pero Tovar

Body Worship by @clydesducktape (f!reader) **

Stripping by @clydesducktape (magical au) (witch!f!reader) **

The Halloween Hit by @absurdthirst & @storiesofthefandomlovers (cw: violence, infidelity, divorce, pregnancy, major character death) (f!reader) **

✨ Max Phillips

Guardian Vampire by @absurdthirst & @storiesofthefandomlovers (cw: vampirism, drugging, alcohol) (f!reader) **

✨ Misc. Pedro Pascal Characters

Pedrotober by @imtryingmybeskar (silva, a strange way of life, marcus pike, ezra, prospect, marcus moreno, pero tovar, zach wellison, javi g, jack daniels, frankie morales, din djarin, & more) (gn!reader)

Winktober by @oonajaeadira (soft kinktober) *

TRIPLE FRONTIER

✨ Benny Miller

Dry Humping by @clydesducktape (monster au) (f!reader) **

Kinktober, Floor Sex by @flightlessangelwings (afab!reader) **

✨ Frankie Catfish Morales

a/b/o by @clydesducktape (a/b/o dynamics) (alpha!frankie) (omega!gn!reader) **

Drunk Sex by @clydesducktape (monster au) (vampire!frankie) (f!reader) **

Love Bites/Marks by @clydesducktape (‘omega’!frankie) (assassin!f!reader) **

Thigh Riding by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) **

Witchy Woman by @movievillainess721 (plus size!f!reader) *

✨ Santiago Pope Garcia

Carving Contest by @dailyreverie

✨ Will Ironhead Miller

Breeding Kink by @clydesducktape (bodyguard au) (f!reader) **

Captain and the Siren by @rayslittlekitten (dad!will) (wife!f!reader) **

Making it Out Alive by @artemiseamoon (f!reader) *

MISC./MULTI. FANDOM

✨ The Amazing Spider Man (Andrew Garfield, Peter Parker)

Don’t Leave Me by @softtdaisy

✨ The Batman (Alfred Pennyworth)

Coming Up Roses by @saradika (f!reader) **

Slip into Your Skin by @stargirlfics (black!f!reader) **

✨ Bridgerton (Benedict Bridgerton)

Gentle Stroking of Cheeks While Kissing by @starryeyedstories

✨ Charlie Hunnam Characters

Jax Teller

Not All Leaves Turn in Autumn by @rayslittlekitten (ofc)

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword

Dirty Talk by @autumnleaves1991-blog (wife!f!reader) **

✨ Interview with the Vampire

like the bonfire that burns (that all words in the fight fell to) by dragonlqrd on ao3 (lestat x louis) **

like a heathen clung to the homily by dragonlqrd on ao3 (lestat x louis) **

the blood is rare and sweet by dragonlqrd on ao3 (lestat x f!reader) **

✨ Marvel (Valkyrie)

Toys by @flightlessangelwings (f!reader) **

✨️ The Originals / The Vampire Diaries

An Act That Brought You Joy (series) by Merontheshore on ao3 (elena gilbert x the originals) **

Bienvenue (series) by @Merontheshore on ao3 (klaus mikaelson x doppelganger ofc) **

Labyrinth: A Bonnie Bennett x Klaus Centric Universe (series) by @artemiseamoon (bonnie bennett x klaus mikaelson) *

** be sure to check out part one for more monthly fic recs including star wars, rogue one / andor, & moon knight

** if you are able, please donate to my little coffee fund link at the top of page ^^

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #the batman fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #interview with the vampire fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #the originals fanfiction #pxk monthly reading list 💌

[mikeisthricedeceased]

Pedro Characters

Current ~*~*~*~

On Hold | Active

Ask Prompts & Headcanons Masterlist

You’re My Home (Catfish x Juanita Moreno [OC]) - 18+, fluff, smut, eventual kink and sub!Frankie

AO3 | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 TBC

Ghost Stories (Mando x OC) - 18+, super slow burn

AO3 | Chapter 1 Chapter 2 TBC

When Hunter Becomes Prey (Mando x Riever [OC]) - 18+, CNC, sub!Din, hunter/prey, knife kink, AU of RieverVerse? - Snippet

AO3 | x Coming soon

Let Me Live / Let Me Die (Joel Miller x Ash [OC]) - 18+, violence, sub!Joel, dark

AO3 | This is Our Life Coming soon

Claiming Strangers (Mando x f!Reader, Omegaverse AU) - 18+, Alpha!reader, omega!Din - moodboard by @spoopyredacted

AO3 | Part 1 Part 2 TBC

This Man (Javier Gutierrez x f!Reader, Sugar Daddy AU) - 18+, Dom!Javi, he’s very bashful and sweet also

AO3 | x

A Few Quiet Moments (Mando x m!Reader) - 18+, sub!Din

AO3 | x

The Artist (Mando x Force sensitive!femReader)

AO3 | x

Liquor and Lawman (Agent Whiskey x Holli Day [OC]) - 18+, smut, kink, fluff, bisexual Agent Switchskey

AO3 | One Two

Big Shot (Maxwell Lord x Bethany Lancaster [OC]) - 18+, smut and kink, sub!Maxwell

AO3 | Part 1 Part 2

WIPs ~*~*~*~

Love’s Cost (Ezra x Reece [OC]) - tall lady, much pining, slow burn, sub!Ezra

Untitled (Marcus Pike x Callie Walker [OC]) - some unrequited pining for a bit, everyone is soft, Star is a cinnamon roll

Bathed in Red (Max Phillips x Caitlin Beck [OC]) - angst, enemies to lovers?, Max is a dick at first, the lady’s a witch! and very shy!

Untitled (Oberyn Martell x Mors Dayne [OC] x Ellaria Sand) - magic, poly, everyone is horny, ~mysterious~, cat?

~*~*~*~

Taglist

~ Mike

#catfish x oc #frankie morales x oc #mando x oc #mandalorian x oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x male reader #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #Javi Gutierrez x reader #javier Gutierrez x reader #agent whiskey x oc #maxwell lord x oc

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #dark fic #dead dove fic #a/b/o verse #fic: of rage and ruin #a/b/o au

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised,

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They were careful never to touch you. The exam you’d been given when they first brought you here was done with thick rubber gloves, and no one has touched you since. 

But there are plenty of ways to teach you compliance without touching you. 

Before they moved you, you didn’t see a soul for two days. No one delivered or removed the cloth strips, food, or water. No one woke you up with a loud buzzer or dragged you outside to hose you down. 

No one hurt you.

The first few hours, you sit and do nothing as usual. You don’t really notice.

After that, though, you start to wait. This deviation, this anomaly, was far more terrifying than the wretched routine. And with no meals, you’re bereft of a way to count the passing of time. There’s no sunlight down here, after all. 

To your deep relief, the lights still go off at night. Until you’re lying awake in the dark and realize they’re probably on a timer. So maybe all your captors are dead. Made a stupid mistake and got their asses handed to them by FEDRA.

Which would be nice, but also, you’d still fucking die. Because you’re trapped in this godforsaken grimy ass basement, and somewhere on the other side of it is the only other resident you know of. Him. 

So either you starve to death, or he eats you. Or both. 

You spend the next day hoping to see Cheryl’s smug bitch face. 

When someone finally comes for you, it’s not Cheryl. It’s not Jim, either, but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t like you, doesn’t like whatever Cheryl’s doing with you.

Not because he has any objections to the captivity or abuse. No, Jim’s been clear—you’re a waste of resources. 

Anyway, it’s fucking Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber who show up. They’re not real twins (you’re not even sure they’re brothers), but they’re a damn good argument for nurture over nature. Spending the apocalypse together has them moving in tandem, grunting and jerking their heads to one another in a language all their own. They’re built like oxen and about as polite. 

You don’t fight anymore, but they still tie you and drag you around. You haven’t so much as argued in weeks. You’ve heard that everyone breaks from torture eventually. You waved your flag from the start. 

You’re not made for this. 

They tie you up without touching your skin; hands layered in gloves just in case. They leave a length of rope from your wrists to pull you by, leaving the rope around your feet as it was. You had earned that six inches of slack, just enough to stand and walk to the makeshift toilet instead of crawling, after a solid week of good behavior. 

When you figure it out, though, you try to run. Every electric screaming nerve in your body says to go. Go where? Who fucking knows. Anywhere. Away. Run. 

The room they’ve brought to you is saturated in oaky musk, and you only need a glimpse of the little cage within before you’re jerking backward.

They must have gotten used to your compliance because the rope flies from Tweedle Dumb’s grasp. The three of you stand still for a moment, all shocked by the turn of events. 

You turn to run, but it’s too late already. One of them swept your fucking legs like this was an action movie, and bound as you are, that’s the end of the fight. You crash and earn yourself some new bruises, and they drag you into the room by the rope between your feet. 

One of them—you’ve forgotten who had which nickname in all the hubbub—snaps out a baton.

“Get in the fuckin’ cage, or I’ll break your ankles.”

It’s a strong argument that you have no desire to see if he’ll follow through on. Already hurt and humiliated, you crawl into the cage.

They lock it behind you and leave without another word. The lights go out with a buzz, casting everything you hadn’t taken in yet in total darkness. 

When the lights come back on, you wish they hadn’t. 

At first, you don’t even realize they’ve flickered to life, because what they’ve revealed isn’t real. 

It’s a big, brown Rorschach blob. It’s an oil spill. It’s moving, in a jerky, fluid way that should be impossible. The limbs have pointed bony joints, and you can only describe the way they crawl as spidery, though they’re thick and bulky. 

Jim is standing on the other side of the gate, holding onto a thick chain that rattles and creaks dangerously as the beast strains against the thick metal band around its neck. He looks bored, but he usually does. 

Cheryl, however. The way her lips are curled, eyes wide and bright… this must be him. 

“Don’t you know what happens to the others? The alphas?” she had teased the night of all the howling. She had laughed at the traitorously dumbfounded look on your face. 

You do now. 

A long pink tongue has unfurled from his massive jaw, flopped over far too many teeth, and dripping thick saliva onto the floor. The… fur, for lack of a better word, around his muzzle is matted with something dark that you can’t look at anymore. 

Jim yanks him by the chain, and the creature lets himself be pulled to the door, barely holding still while the padlock and chain are removed from his collar and the cuffs from his paws. 

He’s at the end of your cage before you realize he’s moved, and you scream, scrambling back as much as you can into the corner. The spaces between the bars are thin enough for just his… good god, are those fingers? They certainly aren’t canine toes. They’re tipped in thick, long claws packed with soil and detritus.

“Hey,” Jim barks, and the beast side-eyes him. “Remember what I fuckin’ told you. You break or eat her? That’s it. I’m not getting you another one.” 

Eat? Eat?  

Oh god.

Your stomach swoops and falls, abdomen clenching and drawing attention to your too-full bladder, unlocking a new fear that you’re going to piss yourself if he comes closer. 

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

That long, dark snout pushes against the cage, as if it could nudge through to reach you, pink tongue lapping against the air. The oak musk is so strong now that it lines your throat and makes you gag.

You choke back a retch-turned-sob and he rumbles, a strange vibration that rattles the bars where he’s pressed against them. He rises, stretching up up up on his hind legs until he towers over your little cube, enveloping you in his shadow, and you can’t help it. You start to cry. 

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough. 

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach. 

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re— 

You’re starting to cry again. 

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw. 

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries. 

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste. 

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing. 

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins. 

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears. 

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” 

“Help me,” you yell. 

I’m trying, the wolf howls. 

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new highs alongside your panic. 

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air. 

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper. 

But no one’s listening. 

The Wolf is listening. 

He prowls back and forth on all fours, which really, isn’t any more or less terrifying than when he rises up on his haunches. Neither image capitulates to your need to make it make sense. There is no sense, no logic, no reality that can hold him.

The wolf, for really, that’s what he is, isn’t he? God, you don’t want to say it. Unbidden, a memory works loose in your brain, slipping out of the crates of nonsense stored away in favor of survival, and rattles around.

I know what you are. But you won’t say it. 

Did you bring this upon yourself for reading trashy supernatural romance novels? Did you watch Underworld too many times? Did the shot actually put you in a coma, and you’re living in some kind of nightmare?

The wolf is watching you. There are no whites in his eyes, just pools of gasoline on muddy puddles. 

You close your eyes and pretend you can’t hear the way his claws click against the tile. 

While Laura had fed them stew, she told them about the trials. 

They had been the first. The first taken, before volunteers were called. Before they knew they’d need secure places to hold them, they had been gathered for observation in an old YMCA, packed in racketball courts so the doctors could stand outside the large wall of glass and watch them all at once.

They stood outside that glass and watched them change, in one way or another. The ones who turned, as she called it, went first. The ones who would become test group alpha. More than half of the overall subjects, who became suddenly, violently ill. 

They left them all in there with the rest, waiting, watching them cry out, watching them vomit and sweat and break impossible fevers. Temporal thermometers reading 105, 106, before they’d succumb to unconsciousness. 

If they woke, they were… inhuman. Something more. Something hungry. 

A lot of the first round of test data was lost when the subjects were eaten. But some were lost to the turn. Test group beta, Laura’s brother among them, didn’t survive the fever.

Laura’s husband turned but didn’t lose himself to the beast. Something in him stayed present, alert enough to protect his wife from the others. Or rather, something in her kept him that way. Something that had turned in her too, albeit without the violence, into something more than she’d ever been before. 

“They drove us out of the QZ,” she said, picking idly at a gouge in the table’s surface. “To shoot us where they could burn all the bodies and forget.”

“And what happened?” Tommy asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“We ate them.”

They come back for him that night but he’s not waiting for them. He’s sat with his big, furry back to you, close enough to the cage that you could pet him. The thought crosses your mind in a moment of delirium. You could stick your fingers through the little bars and feel the coarse hickory hair. You know, if you were clinically insane. 

You’re not about to offer him a little snack. 

He’d given up on reaching you a few hours ago, content to sit there unmoving once your tears dried up. It’s only slightly less terrifying.

But when they take him out, you only get to sit with the relief for a moment. Minutes pass in the dark and silent room, but you regret letting your guard down when footsteps echo through the cavernous halls beyond. 

The Idiot Twins are back, and they’re not taking chances with you this time. Oh, no. When they unlock the cage, you’re faced with the barrel of a handgun that doesn’t leave your temple as they pull you out by your bound hands.

They don’t bother to stand you up or give you a chance to move on your own, just dragging you out of the room and across the hall. You’re sprawled on your stomach across the frigid floor of the new room, with the door slamming shut behind you without so much as a word. 

The rusted pipes on the wall in the beast’s room make more sense now, once you take in your shadowy surroundings. This room has the same shitty tan tile over every inch, but the walls are lined with blue (or what used to be blue) lockers. Not a single one is intact, whether rusted or dented or doorless, but they’re unmistakably lockers. 

There are two lines of seamless benches, though half are rotted to oblivion. But it’ll be a better bed than the floor.

This is practically paradise. There’s a tray by the door that you don’t see for a while, but when you do, you almost cry again. Might have, if you hadn’t spent the day in tears. 

It’s just broth and water, long gone lukewarm and dusty, but you set upon it like a vampire upon a vein. Wait, no, you really don’t want to think about that right now. But it’s not your fault you’ve got monsters on the brain.

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises. 

The beast returns.

Oh, and he’s pissed that you’re gone, based on the fucking racket that brings you back to the waking world. 

“Oh, did you think you’d been good enough lately for a treat?” Cheryl taunts him. 

The steel doors between you aren’t enough to hide the sounds of his fury. 

“You’ll have her back when you’ve earned her,” she tells him amidst the cacophony of snarling and gnashing. 

It’s ten days before they return you to the cage. Ten days of poking around the abandoned lockers and finding nothing. Ten days of broth delivered at dawn and dusk. Ten days of your back no longer appreciating the bench to stretch out on. 

Ten days of listening to the nonstop scratching and growling and whining from across the hall. And worse. Oh, much worse. Wet squicks and splatters and harsh groans. You’re not sure if he’s eating or masturbating or what, but it sends shivers through your whole body each time. 

It also sends the weird, sticky slick pooling between your thighs, but you ignore that. It’s been happening since the shot, one of the weirder side effects, but it’s gotten downright fucking annoying since you got here.

You try not to think about it. 

It’s not long after they drag you back to the little cage that they drag him into his. For that’s what this room really is, you know that, even if it doesn’t make you feel better about being in there with him. He’s trapped, too, but you’re the one in danger.

They haven’t untied your wrists since the first time, which have blistered and bled and scabbed until the ropes rubbed the scabs raw and started the whole thing all over. 

He smells it before he sees it, any interest in the slippery sweetness on your thighs gone when he tastes the blood in the air. 

Hurt, he whines, though you can’t understand. Help.  

You don’t cry this time, don’t split the sour tang with salt, but the fear and pain and exhaustion are enough to center him. If he tries, if he could just focus…

And there it goes. You watch, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, as he shifts in front of you for the first time. He backs away while it happens until he’s on the other side of the room and sits his very bare ass on his bed. 

You watch the way his bones jerk and his body shakes and cracks and huffs out sharp, agonized grunts until he’s just a man. Just a man, nothing more. Just a beast masquerading. Worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you think, because you know he’s the wolf, but right now? 

He’s just a pathetic, broken human. Bruised and bloodied, though his marks are rapidly fading as the healing takes over, but his face is edged in nothing but pain and sorrow.

“M’not gonna hurt ya,” was the first thing he croaked out. 

You startle, rattling the cage a little, which makes you wince. 

But he stays on the other side of the room. He’s sitting on his mattress, legs bent up and crossed, as if he had anything left to hide. As if you hadn’t seen too much already.

He tries not to think about it, but jesus. It’s a fucking struggle. As he takes you in this way, unclouded by the hazy moon, it still punches him back. Your smell. 

Joel’s never really liked tart things. Too much of a secret sweet tooth, of a deep yearning for the char and depth of anything fresh from the grill. 

But even now, even nearly fully man , he’s salivating at your green apple tang. Of uncovering the sweet ‘n sour burst of you on his tongue. Of letting his sharp teeth fall sharper through the tough act you fail to wear right, too bruised and soft underneath. 

To feel the way you’d give beneath him. The way you’d spill down his chin. No. He has to get a fuckin’ handle on himself. He can’t even look at you, not now that he knows you can smell the salt of his own slick where his swollen cock sits sobbing, neglected and furious. 

“I’m not,” he protests against your silence. 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

But he doesn’t stay himself for long. Not after he thinks instead, suddenly, of autumn. Of the sweet smell of the orchard. Of taking Tommy’s truck up up up into the places where seasons meant something. 

The roads sprawled like veins and they followed them with no end just to see the way the trees curled overhead, branches reaching and burning with dying leaves—a sight so devastating that Joel considered leaving Texas behind for somewhere he could start to take this beauty for granted. 

Chasing the colors led them first to a field of corn, blustering amber in the setting sun. They had returned the next day, fresh from the motel with burnt coffee and warm flannels, parting with precious dollars for the privilege of picking pumpkins and apples and a little corn husk doll. 

He’d have paid every cent ten times over to see Sarah smile like that again. 

This is where the man breaks and bows out. Where the wolf at its weakest is still stronger than Joel. He gives in, gives into the grief, gives into the wolf, and shifts back. He stays curled up on his bed, though, and doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t speak to you again for a month.

next chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #fic: of rage and ruin #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter three

of rage and ruin series

chapter three

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you cannot escape the call of the moon.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised, menstruation, slow burn

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel knows he’s a coward. He knows he’s making your life harder by staying wolfed out. 

But the thing is, he just can’t be fucked to care. He wants to. He wants to want to, anyway. But he didn’t ask to suddenly be responsible for the emotional well-being of some random fucking omega.

He was pretty sure there was no right move, anyway. You’re scared of him; you’re scared of the wolf. You’re scared. 

As you should be.

Not of him, no, but of this life. This life that has been his reality for the last three years. Now it’s yours, too. 

And fuck, if that thought doesn’t make his stomach clench and his chest draw tight. You don’t deserve this. He, arguably, deserves some of it. But not you. 

No, not you. He can tell. He can tell you’re so soft, on the outside and the inside. Not soft in the way that you’d give easily beneath his teeth, though that’s true as well. But too fucking soft to have been living in the goddamn apocalypse, let alone here. With him.

Here, which, as far as he can tell, is an abandoned high school turned raider camp. There are a lot more of them than he ever sees. Certainly, they all know about the beast in the belly of their home, but it’s only ever the same small group that takes him out or comes down into the sublevel. 

They’ve taken you away again. After his failed attempt at playing human, you’d stayed curled and cold in your cage for a day, and then they swept you off again to the room across the hall.

He tries, oh, he tries to ignore you. To forget that you’re there, that you’re so close, that the concrete cannot keep your scent from him or the throb of your heart or the salt of your sweat from the air. 

He fails miserably, of course. Strokes his cock daily, sometimes twice, to the sweet smell of you, to the way your pulse races when you hear the wet, sloppy sounds of his seed splattering against the drain. The way your own slick spreads and leaves him salivating. 

Until, one day, it doesn’t. One day, as the moon lazily waxes, drawing more and more of the wolf out to play, he wakes up to a new wave of sharp metal, and your essence is cut with a flood of bitter salt, not unlike the time last winter when one of his molars cracked and the abscess burst and he had to let them pull it from his mouth without giving into the urge to snap down around the bony wrist and condemn himself to death by dental infection. 

You’re woken by your new least favorite sound—the haunting howl of your neighbor. The timbre usually fills you with terror, but today, oh fuck, today, you can’t fucking take it.

You groan, crawling out from where you’d been curled up under the bench that had been protecting you from the horrible fluorescent lights. It did nothing for the ache in your lower back, or the ache in your neck, or the ache, well, everywhere. 

And you feel it. Hot and sticky. Not that you’re surprised, given the state of the rest of your body. Before you can muster up the will to care, the room spins, the tug in your navel moves up, and last night’s broth ends up back in the bowl it came in. Mostly. 

The howl comes again, longer, seemingly endless. At least, until you groan again and mutter, “shut up.” 

He does.

You freeze.

“Can you hear me?” you say just as quietly.

There’s a quiet whine.

“Holy shit.” 

You feel a fresh gush of heat between your thighs, and he howls in a way you can only call mournful. 

You ignore him in favor of figuring something out. There’s no good option in this room. You pull down your soiled panties and set them on the ground to sit, leaning up against the frigid tile wall in a corner where, hopefully, some of your dignity will be maintained when they come in and out with food. 

He howls a little more insistently this time.

“Look, please stop. I have such a fucking migraine,” you whisper with your head in your hands. 

He falls quiet and stays that way for a while. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to put two and two together, but he whines or howls each time fresh blood leaks out.

When it hits you, you freeze, heart scattering as you first assume that his noises are hungry. Once you calm, though, you know, somehow, that isn’t the case. Something—and you really don’t want to think too hard about it—tells you it’s concern. 

“Can you smell it?” you ask hesitantly.

He whines again, and you hear just the slightest change in his pitch and inflection. 

You’ve got to be fucking losing your mind. You’re talking to a wolf. 

Only… you’re not, really. Right? Unless you hallucinated it in fear-borne delirium, he was a man for about ten minutes. 

A man who said he wouldn’t hurt you.

Yeah, right. 

He whines again softly, and you scowl.

“It’s my period,” you say, feeling stupider by the minute. 

But he makes a loud huff of a sigh, and then the room across the hall goes quiet.

When they bring you back to the cage, there’s no man. Not a hint of him. Only the wolf. And they’ve tired of acclimating you, of letting you cower in the corner of the cage. 

With delicate gloved hands (who the fuck manicures their nails in the apocalypse, Cheryl!?), your rope is swapped for a shiny pair of handcuffs, the chain of which is clipped to the front of the cage. You’re stuck on your knees, hands in front of you. 

You consider clasping them and praying to your new lunar goddess for mercy. But there won’t be any. She can’t control her change any more than he can control his. 

You’re all beholden to your nature, now. 

He notices immediately, stalking over on all fours, ambling with his back hunched and teeth bared.

You flinch and close your eyes just before he slobbers on your wrist.

When you force yourself to look, you find him crouched, snout shoved up to the bars, and the long coil of his tongue flopped out. He’s lapping at the raw rope burn, and even though it’s wet and thick and disgusting, you don’t hate it. 

There’s something almost soothing about it. His saliva is a cool balm on the inflamed flesh.

So you just stare. He doesn’t stare back, though. His murky eyes stay fixed on the wounds, and he growls in warning when you shift almost out of his reach. 

So you hold still, a tugging in your sternum urging you to sit. Stay. Obey. 

Later, you’d think about how unnaturally natural it all felt. The way he seemed to lasso you in with those big brown eyes and the way you fell silent when he growled. The way your body moved as if through water back into his reach. 

The way you sit still for hours and let a creature more monster than man taste you in a way that should not be intimate, and yet, the slick pooling between your legs seems to disagree. The rough slip of his tongue on your raw flesh, the pleasant tingle his saliva leaves behind—it sits just on the right side of painful, the slight sting and then cooling relief stirring feelings you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. 

His eyes go as black as a cove whose lighthouse has long burnt out. And as the smallest whimper of a moan slips from your lips, you dash yourself upon the rocky cliffside. 

There’s one moment where you think he’s going to follow you into the depths. One long, fertile moment that’s over in a flash despite the way it gives him time to chew you up and spit you out. 

He’s on the other side of the room before you know it, blinking stupidly with your mouth hanging open. 

Oh, god. You can’t even turn your back and hide your face, cuffed as you are. He takes pity and doesn’t look at you. 

Tommy Miller had seen a lot of shit in his life. Between his stint overseas, his tendency to stick his head into dangerous situations, and the fucking apocalypse, he’s seen—and done—terrifying and disturbing things. 

Watching his brother turn into a storybook monster? Well, that takes the spot of the second worst thing he’s ever had to remember. 

Laura, the woman in the woods, the woman he’d made a widow, had warned them. The turn, she said, would never be easy. But the first time? The first time would break anyone’s heart.

There was no way to know how he’d be. Some of the alphas, she’d whispered, lost themselves. The wolf was stronger and drowned the man. 

Tommy wasn’t worried about that. Not with Joel.

No, it would have been better, maybe. There was a chance he wouldn’t have remembered it, wouldn't have remembered the agony and fear, had he been buried in his own body for the night. 

They’d chained him up in Laura’s basement. Tess had gone back into the QZ, keeping up with deals they had to deliver on. So Tommy was alone in the mildew with his big brother manacled to the cement wall. 

That was hard enough. 

As the sun set and the moon rose, fat and ethereal, Joel whimpered. 

Tommy set down the shotgun to get up.

“Don’t,” Joel snapped. “Do not put down that fuckin’ gun.”

“Jesus,” Tommy sighed and sat back down. He should have known his martyr of a brother was about to go off on a self-sacrificing soliloquy, but somehow, he was still caught off guard when Joel spoke again.

“I mean it, Tommy. First sign this isn’t going to hold me, you shoot,” Joel was saying when Tommy realized what he was going on about.

“Oh, shut up, Joel,” he groaned.

Joel was not going to shut up, actually, until that choice was taken away from him. The first in a lifetime of so many choices that would fall away, slip from his grasp and leave him tethered to someone else’s will. 

Something snapped inside of him. It burned like a motherfucker, and he grunted. Tommy made to stand up again, brows creased, and a hand outstretched, but when Joel tried to scold him, the only sound was a snarl. Ferocious and rough, with teeth too big and a crinkling, stretching snout. 

Tommy’s scent spiked sharp, and Joel won. His instincts tamped down the wolf’s aggression. He may as well have been staked in the heart for putting that fear on his brother’s face. 

When his limbs were done stretching, his spine snapping, his—oh, lord— his hair growing, he settled on four legs. 

Mine, he thought vaguely when he looked at Tommy, blinking his shiny brown eyes at the small man and ignoring him. He was too distracted by the thunderous mutiny of his achingly empty stomach. His eyes flicked once again to Tommy, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not gonna be very tasty,” Tommy said wryly.

The monstrosity that was his brother, now, snorted and rolled its eyes. Tommy couldn’t stop it, couldn’t swallow down the laugh that bubbled up. It was a little unsteady, maybe, but he felt he was entitled to a little hysteria, given the circumstances.

“You can understand me,” he said. 

The creature stared at him blankly. It was like he could hear Joel saying no shit. 

Tommy scratched the back of his neck and took in the full, grotesque thing before him. “It’s fuckin’ weird, man.”

And that was it. It was that easy. 

As long as Tommy was around, Joel was still Joel, even when he was the Wolf. They were one symbiotic creature balanced on the pillar of their baby brother, guided by the inherent protective instincts that drove both man and beast. 

But he still wouldn’t return to Boston. Wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t play games with Tess’ life. He wished he could say it had been to protect all the innocent people around him, but he had long since been that kind of man and was even less so, now that he wasn’t really a man. (This was a sentiment Tommy took issue with, but Joel had always been his own worst critic.) 

It would have been easy, he thought, to slip into place at Laura’s. To fill the gap they left behind that night. To soak in her sweet scent and raise another man’s children as his own. But easy didn’t matter, and in the end, he returned to the little cabin in the woods where Tess and Tommy would cycle in and out with the ebb and flow of the trades. He kept to himself, he kept quiet, and he kept his killing to the creatures of the forest (okay, and the stray raider, but really, that wasn’t so different than his life before). 

And then they came for him.

When you are returned to the cell, your cage is missing. It’s gone. There’s just an empty rectangle of dirt outlining where it used to live, like a flag. An abandoned roadside sign. No safe haven.  

The lackey, a Jim Morrison lookalike—if Jim Morrison had survived the apocalypse, shaved his head, and never skipped leg day—shoves you into the room with no kindness, watching as you stumble and catch yourself on the wall. The door clangs and clicks, chased by the clunky thump of the heavy bolt, and you look around in bewilderment. 

It’s empty. For now. 

They didn’t even leave your little fucked up mattress, so the only place to sit that isn’t the dirty, broken floor is his bed. And there’s no way in hell. You’re not fucking stupid. He’s superpowered and something of a man, but he’s still a territorial creature. 

Also. With the amount that he jerks off, you can only imagine the mattress has the qualities of a saturated sponge and would ooze if you put pressure on it. Unfortunately, this mental image doesn’t trigger your gag reflex but instead a horrible intrusive thought. 

You want to roll around on it. You want to kneel down on his mattress with your ass in the air and your face pressed in to suffocate yourself with his rich scent. It gnaws at your spine like a dog with a bone. 

Ouch. Too apt a metaphor. You retreat to the corner that formerly held your cage and sit with your back against the wall and knees drawn up, like you’re still trying to fit in its invisible confines. 

When the door opens again, you stop breathing. But it’s not the monster that enters. 

It’s the man. 

His only response to what Cheryl is saying is a nasty sneer; his lip curled enough to expose a much blunter canine than you’re used to seeing him sport. He knows you’re there, of course. But he doesn’t look at you; just scrubs a hand over his beard as the door shuts behind him.

You resume drawing shallow breaths, as if afraid to startle him with too sharp a sound. But the tension in his corded muscles tells you he’s already on edge, waiting. Waiting for you to do something. Anything. 

It’s the first real look at him you have, terrified as you were before. His nose twitches like he’s about to sneeze, and you realize with no small horror that the sticky slick is leaking from your core again. 

Your traitorous body doesn’t care that he’s terrifying most of the time. Because right now? Oh, right now… 

He’s still dripping from being hosed off, his dark hair slicked back and eyes shining under the sickening fluorescent lights. His body is solid— heavy. You think about how it’d feel pressing down on you, and another gush of fluid has your cheeks burning. 

He’s thick and veiny and covered in hair—and you haven’t even looked at his cock, yet. There’s a soft layer of fat over his abdomen, betraying the relative safety he lives in despite the constant danger. You kind of want to lick it, to trace your tongue up the path of hair to his chest.

You very carefully do not look at his cock, but as you’re taking in the breadth of his meaty thighs, he turns just so, and you get an eyeful of it anyway.

You’d like to get more than an eyeful.

Oh, Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you?

He sits down on his ass on the mattress and pulls the sad excuse for a pillow over his lap. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he grunts. “Not used to havin’ a stranger around.”

You stare. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you, given how well it went last time. Why aren’t you more afraid? Why aren’t you hyperventilating, crying, pissing yourself in terror? 

Somehow, you believed him last time. And you do now, when he repeats it. 

“Ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he says quietly. 

And all you can do is stare. Finally, you wrench your gaze away and stare down at the ground. He’s staring at the wall, both of you trying to give the other a sense of privacy that simply does not exist here. 

You know his eyes lingered for just a moment on your breasts, where the frigid air of the sublevel has your nipples hardened and pushing against the thin sports bra. He dragged his eyes away like it hurt not to look.

“Okay,” you say after it becomes clear he’s waiting for a response. 

“Alright,” he says, just as gruffly. 

The silence is humid, sliding sticky across your skin. You try not to look at the naked man across the room, but you can’t quite keep your eyes to yourself. “So… what are you?” you finally ask, wincing as you do. What a dumb fucking thing to ask.

“I’m an alpha,” he says, like it was a dumb fucking thing to have been asked. 

“Cool,” you say quietly. “That clears up absolutely nothing,” you mutter, forgetting that he can apparently hear you across the hall and through two steel doors, so the little room isn’t likely to be an issue.

He raises an eyebrow. “Whoever bit you didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

“Whoever bit me? ” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, which you think is a little rude, actually. “Yeah, you know. With teeth.” He pauses. “Wait. You’re from one of the test groups, ain’t’cha?”

“You mean the vaccine tests? Yeah.” 

“Nobody told you what it means? Any of it?” 

“I’ve heard people say alpha before,” you say defensively, even though you know you’re defenseless. “And I’m an omega, or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” he said. He scratches his beard again and regards you. “Shit, so you really don’t know a damn thing, do ya?” 

You burn hot. “Guess not.” 

“Ain’t your fault,” he says with a lackadaisical wave of his hand. But he doesn’t offer any explanations, either. 

Great. Glad we had this talk. You keep your thoughts to yourself this time and clam up otherwise, resting your head where your arms are folded on your knees. The air is chilly where the slick is drying on your panties, and you shiver a little.

“You’re cold,” he says, his brows pinched together and disdain in his eyes.

“No shit,” you mutter.

He sighs. “Thought you’d run hot, too.”

“Thought you knew everything.”

He rolls his eyes and then heaves a weary sigh, as if your ignorance is a burden he must bear. “Fine. I’ll tell ya what I know. What do you want to know first?”

“How about your name?” You raise your eyebrow. 

His head jerks back a little, eyes widening by a few degrees, before relaxing almost imperceptibly. He takes a moment, an uncomfortably long moment, where his eyes narrow and one corner of his lips twists. Like it hurts him, somehow, to think about.

“It’s… Joel.” 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel #werewolf!joel miller #fic: of rage and ruin #omegaverse #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #dead dove fic

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin: preview

so, it has two chapters already and a full outline. I've accepted my fate.

won't be out until sometime early next year, as I really need to get more of it written first but

of rage and ruin

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x omega!f!reader

warnings: dark, non-con, dub-con, dead dove do not eat, captivity, torture, forced proximity, altered state of mind, werewolves, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, more to be added, omegaverse, a/b/o-type dynamics but just like my writing there are no betas

It's not traditional omegaverse (it's mostly a plot device for the werewolf shenanigans), and I make up shit about werewolves and cordyceps. And a lot of things.

here's a snippet:

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter.  “I dunno,” she’s saying when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.” The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself. When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost. Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee.  Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

tagging @janaispunk and @covetyou because you have to be held responsible for encouraging this madness

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #omegaverse #a/b/o verse #werewolf!Joel Miller #alpha!Joel Miller #alpha!Joel x omega!reader #dark!joel miller #the last of us fic #nobody ask how my work projects are going #they aren't #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #non con #dark fic

[corazondebeskar-reads]

keep it caged

werewolf!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 5 - rope burns | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 447

summary: They put you in a small cage within the beast's cage, as if it would be more than a minor inconvenience in his way.

This is technically another drabble for my upcoming series "of rage and ruin" following werewolf!Joel. It can be read as a standalone.

warnings: alpha/omega dynamics (one use of the word "omega"), captivity, abuse, genre-typical violence, canon-typical violence, restraints, description of injury

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough. 

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach. 

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re— 

You’re starting to cry again. 

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw. 

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries. 

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste. 

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing.

 

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins. 

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears. 

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” 

“Help me,” you yell. 

I’m trying, the wolf howls. 

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new heights alongside your panic. 

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air. 

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her. We aren’t gettin’ you another one.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper. 

But no one’s listening.

*title from "Monster" by Skillet

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel miller #alpha!joel x omega!reader #a/b/o dynamics #werewolf!joel miller #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday5

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us AU #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation. 

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange. 

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly. 

Each other. 

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps. 

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at. 

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you. 

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost. 

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way. 

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed. 

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you. 

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words. 

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do. 

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that. 

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.  

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no. 

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too. 

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead. 

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before. 

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks. 

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand. 

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows. 

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea. 

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you. 

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know. 

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing. 

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong. 

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest. 

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here. 

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath. 

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment. 

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already. 

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot. 

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating. 

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.” 

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign. 

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint. 

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed. 

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging. 

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here. 

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so. 

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–” 

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion. 

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you. 

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake. 

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child. 

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.  

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it. 

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger. 

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too. 

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin. 

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him. 

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be. 

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box. 

-

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not. 

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by. 

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is. 

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts. 

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable. 

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you. 

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you. 

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on. 

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive. 

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge. 

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge. 

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so. 

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now. 

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears. 

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him. 

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within. 

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.  

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give. 

He takes it all regardless. 

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided. 

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line. 

No, no. 

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that. 

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can. 

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one.  And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm. 

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts. 

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle. 

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up. 

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now. 

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking. 

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right. 

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell. 

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself. 

-

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye. 

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom. 

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer. 

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet. 

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now. 

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room. 

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled. 

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him. 

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back. 

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha. 

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side. 

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly. 

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it. 

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you. 

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell. 

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together. 

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right. 

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you. 

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again. 

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way. 

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs. 

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there. 

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words. 

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go. 

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible. 

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of. 

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him. 

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased. 

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else. 

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue. 

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat. 

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head. 

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all. 

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel. 

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much. 

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much. 

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower. 

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know. 

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun. 

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want. 

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows. 

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.” 

Want, not need. 

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.  

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #HSM fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us AU #pedro pascal characters

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine : Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Knotting; Heat Sex; Mating Rituals; Very Soft Joel; Enthusiastic Consent; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink; Breeding Kink; Brat Taming; Loss of Virginity; Not Safe to Read if Triggered by Pregnancy

Read on AO3

Genus: Tragedy

More Intelligent Than a Face

I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Teaser 1

Teaser 2

Teaser 3

Updates Blog

Tip Jar

#vic fic #HSM fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #Joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us AU