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charliemwrites · 4 months

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A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #polycule #poly 141 #misters steal your girl #get it? misters plural. because they all steal that girl

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netherfeildren · 4 months

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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

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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.

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daydreamingmia · 4 months

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ROADTRIP PART 2

Walker Scobell X Reader | Series | You Belong With Me🔱 Part 4

When you drive in the first thing you see is Buffalo. You take a couple pics and post them.

"Are you guys hungry?" Your mom asks

"YEESSSS!" everyone says in unison

"Alright look at the map and tell me what you wanna eat.

We decided on restaurant and drove there. Whe got a booth. I sat next to Walker and Leena sat next to me.

"I think I'm gonna have the fried chicken. What are you gonna have?" Walker asks me looking up from the menu at you

"Mac & Cheese" You said with a smile that Walker knew exactly what you were talking about

"Kraft Mac & Cheese if your parents don't buy it stop loving them" you recited

"Oh my God" Walker said rolling his eyes looking back down at his menu

When you leave the restaurant everyone is full. You go to your cabin and flop on the couch.

"I might explode" You groan

"Me too" Walker says as he lays down on the floor next to you. Making it kinda look like a crime scene.

"Oh no Walker's stupidity kill them both!" Lenna walks in with a smile

"Not yet!" You reply slightly lifting your head and putting it back down.

"Hey!" He said fake offended

Later that night everyone goes to the cabins campfire (I don't know if that is a thing. But pretend it it).

Everyone was making smores around the fire.

"Where is Walker?" You ask

"Boo!" Walker silently came up behind you and yelled in your ear. You scream and turn to see Walker laughing

"Walker! You almost made me drop my smore!" You yelled as you hit his shoulder.

He sat down next to you and made his own smore.

"Let's tell scary stories!" Walker said excited

"Noooo! I don't wanna have nightmares!" You complain

"Don't be chicken!" He reply and starts the story not listening to you.

"Years ago, a pack of ravenous wolves roamed these very woods, their eyes glowing fiercely in the moonlight. They were led by a massive alpha, whose howl could be heard for miles around. One night, a group of campers, much like them, set up camp in the same spot. Little did they know that they were being watched by the pack of wolves, their hunger growing with each passing minute. As the campers slept, the wolves attacked, their sharp teeth tearing through flesh and bone. The screams of the campers echoed through the woods, a haunting reminder of the horrors that lurked beneath the trees. To this day, it is said that the wolves still roam the woods, searching for prey. And on nights when the moon is full, their howls can still be heard, sending a shiver down the spines of anyone who dares to venture into their territory."

You hear a wolf howl and your eyes widen. You get closer to Walker.

"Alright let's go inside" Leena said seeing you were scared.

You looked at her with "Thank you!" Eyes and she nodded and smiled

Everyone got up and went inside to get ready for bed. You finished and went and sat on your bed and watched TV.

Your pajamas ⬆️

You were sharing a room with your sister and Leena. Walker across the hall.

Your sister was already asleep when Leena walked in.

"I thought you'd be asleep already." Leena said

"Not a hug fan on going to sleep right now." You said talking about the story

"Walker is annoying." she said

"Yeah" you nodded

"What are we watching?" she said hopping on your bed

"You don't have to stay up with me. I'll be fine." You said appreciating what she was trying to do

"You're my best friend and my stupid brother scared you. It is my duty to stay awake with you." She smiled

"What do you wanna watch?" You smiled

"Thor The Dark World!" She replied

You put it on with a smile and gave her the popcorn you had.

"Hey I know her!" Leena pointed to you on the screen

You both laughed

After about 2 hours you and Leena fell asleep.

You woke up in a sweat after dreaming about the wolves. You were scared. Leena said wake her up if she falls asleep and you have a nightmare. But you couldn't do that to her. There was someone who deserved being woken up. You got out of bed and Walker over to Walker's room. You knocked but there was no answer you slowly open the door and see Walker dead asleep.

"Walker!" You whisper yelled

Nothing

"Walker!" You said a little louder shaking him

"What?!" he groaned

"I had a nightmare" You pouted

"What about?" he asked still kinda out of it

"Your wolf story" you replied

"I'm sorry." He said actually compassionate "I didn't mean to scare you that much."

"Can I stay in here with you for a while?" You ask

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course." He said moving over

You laid down next to him and he hugged you. It was very comforting. He may be annoying sometimes but you knew he would protect you and would always be there if you needed him.

The next morning you woke up and saw it was 9 am.

"Walker" you said over your shoulder

"Hmm" He replied

"It's 9"

"So?"

"I'm hungry"

"Fine" He said letting go of you

You go to your room and change out of your pajamas.

Your outfit ⬆️ (you can change these outfits if you want)

You went to the kitchen where everyone is eating breakfast. Your mom made everyone French toast. It was delicious. After breakfast we all got in the van. We went to see Old Faithful which was beautiful then we went to the gift shop.

Do you like this?" Walker asked showing you a sweatshirt

The sweater Walker showed you⬆️

"Oooo! I love it! Why?" You asked

"No reason" He said casually and walking away

You look around and buy a few things. We all went back to the thevan and sat in our seats.

"Here" Walker said handing you a bag

You open the bag and see the sweatshirt that he showed you earlier

"Oh my gosh! Walker you didn't have to do that!" You said smiling holding it up looking at it

"Yes I did! It's repayment for scaring you last night." He replied happy you liked it

"Thank you!!" You said hugging him

"Of course!" He replied

You put it on as everyone drove back to the cabin.

You were reading on the couch and Walker was on his phone when your mom walked in the room

"Kids come look outside! It's snowing!" Your mom said

You and Walker both raced to the window to see blankets if white covering everything

"Oh my gosh it's so pretty!" You said admiring it's beauty

"Race you outside! Walker said running to the door and putting on his jacket.

You ran after him and put on your jacket and boots as fast as you could

"Walker?" You said stepping outside not seeing him anywhere. Then a snowball hit you right in the face.

"Bullseye!" He laughed

You guys had a snowball fight for at least 29 minutes then went back inside. Soaked. Especially Walker.

"I won!" You said with a smile

"Yeah right. I won!" Walker rolled his eyes

"Right Walker. Whatever you have to tell yourself." You said putting your hand on his shoulder

"You know what you're right..." He said clearly up to something

"I think the winner should get a hug" He said as you started running

"No! I wet enough as it is" You ran as fast as you could for about 2 minutes but you knew he was going to catch you eventually.

"Fine! You won! Happy?" You said turning around with your hands up

"Very" He said with a smile

We were now driving back home.

"It's so pretty here" Walker said looking out the window. You took a picture of him and posted it.

Then Taylor texted you

"I'm invited to the Grammys!" You exclaimed

"That's awesome! Congratulations!" Walker said hugging you

"Omg! That's amazing! Congratulations y/n!" Leena said very happy for you

"Thank you! I'm so excited!" You said smiling

When you got home it was midnight so you invited Walker and Leena to spend the night.

"That's sounds amazing! I'm so tired." Lenna said so happy

Leena would sleep in your room and Walker in the guest room.

"So, I got an email from my fashion designer and she gave me a couple options for the Grammys. Which one do you think I should pick?" You asked showing her your phone

"I think...that one" she said pointing to the one on the left

Your dress for the Grammys ⬆️

"That one it is!" You said emailing your fashion designer (Alexandria)

Couple days later

You were so excited!

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daichiduskdrop · 9 months

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 32

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: very slight mentions of unhealthy eating habits

Words: 3477

A/N: So sorry for a little posting-break! I've been quite busy. Also, this chapter is mostly Jimin centered, I hope that's okay :) lots of love!

Taglist:@thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashionstyle-blog @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragons-flare @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae @plexcaffeinate

(open)

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

The packmembers had a calm breakfast, with the packalpha carefully plating a dish for each of the still-sleeping ones.

You and Jimin gently cuddled into the lazy morning, the alpha pulling you closer to himself whenever any of the other packmates went to try and coax you to have breakfast.

Jimin had his sweet free day today, and he wanted to spend at least the majority of it with you, as he would have to go to a photoshoot later on. The morning would be kept with you, though.

The pack kept mostly quiet, seeing the soft whines coming from you whenever anyone went to turn on a sharp light, since it was still dark outside, even when it was soon to be 7.

The alpha that held you close, scenting you and pecking your cheek sleepily, didn't wait long to let out a deep rumble, coming from the very bottom of his chest as if to warn the alphas to put off the act of rustling you from your dreamland.

And so, when it was only a few minutes past 7 and the rest of the packmembers needed to go, each one went to you, gently scenting you, trying not to disturb you from your sleep too much.

„Alpha loves you, little cub... I'll see you later today, baby peaches." The eldest softly whispered the last, running his fingers through your hair one last time, before he too leaned back to go and get ready to leave.

Namjoon was quick to scent you over one last time, tucking you in closer to the alpha and folding the blanket around you tightly before he too went to the doors.

He already had his coat and boots on, but the packalpha felt the need to tell you one last goodbye and check on you before he would leave.

It wasn't like they would ever be truly unavailable for you to reach out to. Sure, they had some dance practices for their solos, and a few of them had to do some photoshoots and voice training today, but they would always make time for you.

By no means would they even put their phone on silent, probably too worried that you might need them sometime.

Still, the rest of the pack had to go, their work calling for them, and so they left you with the alpha that held you protectively while you both caught up on some well-deserved sleep.

You stayed cuddled up close for a good hour or two, Jimin waking up when he heard his phone ringing.

The still-drowsy Alpha sat up a little, his arms still pulling you close to his chest as he frowned, a soft scowl appearing on his face at the sudden disturbance.

You stayed asleep, only softly whimpering when the wild-haired alpha clumsily crawled from the bed, quickly shushing you.

„Sh-sh-sh princess, it's okay. Alpha is here." He mumbled softly, yawning as he carefully tucked you right back in, standing up fully and tiredly walking around to look for the phone.

It layed on the kitchen table still, along with a few well-served plates covered with plastic foil, making the young man smile at the thoughtfulness of his packmates.

It was Jungkook who was calling him. He didn't call often, and so Jimin was a little surprised but picked up nonetheless, surely only seconds away before the call would go into voice mail.

„Hey, Jimin, are you two awake now?” The younger man lightly laughed, his snicker easy to hear.

Jimin didn't doubt that he must have looked quite funny and silly this morning; maybe he even snored too. For sure, he or Taehyung have taken awkward-angle photos of him to tease him later.

„Kook, yes, gosh... What do you need?” He grumbled a little, hoping to stay to rest with you for a while longer. You looked so cuddly and soft...

„Do you remember Yuki? And Moonsik? From the mall, bunbun made friends with them earlier.”

„Yeah, of course I do. Do you think my memory is that bad?"

„I mean, considering how short you are, there can't be much space left for your head; it must be shrunken at least a bit too.”

„Jungkook! I'm your hyung! And Yoongi is the same height!” Jimin protested, an obvious annoyance going on as the youngest laughed loudly, happy to have done well with the teasing.

„Moonsik called me a few minutes ago; apparently Yuki really wants to go to the mall or something with Y/N, so...”

„Today?” the younger alpha asked, looking over his shoulder to the living room. He couldn't see you from here, but still, he could sense your presence thanks to your scent.

„Yeah, he asked if it would be okay, maybe later this afternoon... Yuki wouldn't stop asking him, so yeah." Jungkook said, easing Jimin into the situation.

The alpha wasn't so sure. He didn't mind Yuki or the beta; they were actually quite sweet and nice, but would you like to go?

„I'll ask Y/N, can you pass me the phone number? So I can get in touch with them?”

„You haven't saved it? Yeah, I'll send you the contact information.”

Jimin thanked the alpha, telling each other goodbyes with the promise to: take a nice photo of babybun when she is awake, or if you take her somewhere!

The young man sighed, opening up the texting app where Jungkook linked the phone number to Moonsik, the beta they had earlier met in the mall.

Jimin saved the contact to his phone and went back to the couch. Your small, now tightly curled-up form was cute for him to look at.

„Sweet princess, it's time to wake up now, precious." Jimin gently whispered, caressing your cheeks in a gentle gesture, his eyes soft and sweet.

Any of the annoyance from being roughly woken up from taking the sweet time to rest and sleep in with his omega was gone now, and his mood lifted once again.

Your eyes fluttered open, a soft whine like a whimper leaving you as you cuddled closer up to yourself.

The air around you was much colder than the well-warmed-up covers you were under, and it was far from tempting to leave.

Jimin leaned closer, carefully hooking his hands under your arms before he pulled you up, the heavy duvet flopping down, having you whine louder, your face scrunching up.

The alpha didn't take too long before he warmed you up again, this time placing you on his lap as he smoothed down your hair and softly caressed your cheeks and face.

„There, there, precious. How about some breakfast now?” He asked you gently, but seeing how your face chose to hide away in his neck instead, he could only softly chuckle.

Jimin stood up with you closely held to his chest, swaying you gently before he took you to the kitchen, carefully placing you on a chair.

You sat on a different seat this time, with the spot where the young alpha would usually sit next to you, gently pecking the top of your head before he stretched a little, taking the few plates and uncovering the foil.

There were a few neatly stacked up waffles that had a cute heart print on them; the eldest has recently purchased a new print for the waffle maker to do, in hopes you would have more appetite when seeing the cute fluffy food.

With other things like rice waiting in the rice cooker, being kept warm, and a few of the meals from the previous days, Jimin started heating everything up.

While the microwave was going, the alpha started boiling some eggs for you and him, seeing as there were no left-overs but raw ones in the fridge, waiting in a clean bowl.

„What would you like to drink, sweet precious?” He asked you softly, crouching on the ground, gently caressing your knee in soft motions.

You shrugged your shoulders, still too sleepy and tired to really react. Jimin could only smile softly, finding you too cute to truly resist. Cooing softly, the alpha was there to help you make a seemingly tough decision.

„How about some tea? Alpha can make a sweet cup for his sleepy 'mega; how does that sound?” He gently whispered, looking up at you with calm and caring eyes.

You nodded a little. A warm drink sounded nice. The pyjamas they bought for you did well in keeping you warm during the night, and since you got to sleep with the furnace-like alphas tonight, you were kept cuddly and soft.

Though the silk-like material felt a bit thin now that you were in the colder kitchen air where there weren't any heaters,

Most of the first floor of the modern house was left open, with the majority taken up by the living room space and kitchen, with the large windows bringing calm, natural light in.

You felt a slight shiver run down your spine, the alpha noticing immediately and jumping into action.

„Precious, you should have said, baby!” Jimin gasped, shrugging off his hoodie before he quickly pulled it over your form, tutting softly when you went to tell him you didn't need it.

He kissed your forehead repeatedly, his hands rubbing up and down your sides in an attempt to warm you up.

The microwave beeped soon enough, though, having the alpha quickly walk over and take out the first plate, the small, cute waffles right before you.

You thanked the man softly, having him only smile and tell you it's okay, handing you a few different topping options you might like to have.

There was a chocolate sauce, honey, cinnamon sugar, and vanilla sugar, but you chose the caramel sauce as the sweet topping, seemingly the tastiest.

And so, when Jimin helped you undo the stubborn plastic film, he then let you have the bottle and put on as much as you liked, while he went on to prepare you tea and himself a cup of coffee.

Even when he didn't have to sleep too much, he was quite wrecked and really wanted to stay in bed for another hour, but it was okay.

It was going to be nine soon, and that meant it was for sure time to rise and get up by now.

With you calmly munching on the still crispy but soft waffles, Jimin soon brought a simple white ceramic cup before you, taking a seat to your left as he himself warmed up a bit of the pork belly, and eggs with rice.

You both had a slow and sweet breakfast, with the alpha occasionally cutting you a small piece of the pork belly and the bacon he had also plated.

„Princess, have a bite, little baby. It's very tasty, hm? Alpha promises, you will like it a lot." and you didn't put up much of a fight, leaning in on instinct and letting the alpha feed you.

Jimin had a soft smile on his face, letting you have a bit of the still quite soft and liquid but warm yolk, the man claiming that „It's the best part precious, and my princess deserves only the very best.”

You thanked him whenever he fed you any more, the alpha in the end just pulling your plate to himself, cutting up the waffles, and feeding you fully himself, happy to fulfil his alpha instincts.

And so, after you both ate, Jimin carefully picked you up again, gently caressing you to his chest, the alpha carrying you back over to the couch.

The packmember went to get the still-hot cups of beverages, going to place them on the coffee table, when he noticed you on the couch.

You were carefully placing a blanket upon one another, cleaning up the rustled sheets, and throwing over pillows.

The nest you created quickly was much smaller than the one they got to so sweetly sleep in last night, but it looked cosy, and to Jimin, it seemed like a much-needed heaven.

When you looked back over to him, a soft whine left you as you patted the spot next to you, and he cooed loudly, carefully crawling over.

„Aigoo, of course, little princess. Alpha is right here." He said it softly, pulling you to his chest as he pecked your forehead sweetly.

You both settled between the soft, plushy blankets, and Jimin gently manoeuvred so you got to rest fully against him, carefully pulling you onto his lap.

You layed calmly, the man caressing and combing through your hair softly, occasionally rubbing his chin over the top of your head. You breathed in his scent calmly, happy to be held by him.

„Should we watch something precious?" He whispered softly, pecking the top of your head. You shrugged your shoulders, already very content with just being so closely held by him.

You learned over the few days you stayed with the alphas that you loved cuddling. You loved to be gently held and comforted, and you loved how little you had to worry about things.

It was everything, really. You didn't have to worry about your shoes finally breaking and the snow drenching your socks and you falling ill—no, now you had brand new boots, and you even got to choose which pair you wanted to wear everyday, as you had multiple pairs!

You felt special and very cared for, the warm feeling fluttering in your tummy. Now, you don't have to worry about the meals you'll have—or if you'll have any, for that matter.

The alphas took full care of your eating habits, always making sure whatever you got would be fully safe and wouldn't be a chance to disturb your soft body.

You didn't have to worry about getting lost in unfamiliar places like new shops, as they always took you with them, their warm hands always in yours.

All of the pack members took great care of you, always there to hold you and settle you whenever you were having a hard time. They didn't use you, not once even seemingly thinking about such a thing.

They kept you warm during the night and cared for you a lot, it seemed. It was very different from what you were used to, but the sudden change made you feel better than you ever felt.

You felt small tears spring up in your eyes, but you tried to blink them away as quickly as possible. Why have such thoughts made you emotional again?

Jimin noticed right away that something was wrong. He leaned over your shoulder, his hand tightening its grip on yours as he softly gasped.

„Princess no! What's wrong, little baby? Tell alpha... Oh, do you not want to watch a movie? It's okay, precious; we don't have to watch anything; Oppa doesn't mind."

He rambled on, turning you so your chest faced his. Before the alpha pulled you close to himself, your head caressed to stay nearest to his scent gland.

Jimin cradled you, worry clouding his mind. What has gone wrong? You looked so happy a few minutes ago; even when you were sleepy, what happened?

After a second or two, you didn't hold back for much longer, your arms going around the man's upper waist as you latched onto him, only small tears leaving you.

You didn't answer or tell him what had been on your mind; your gratitude was hard to explain in words. The alpha seemed to have understood to a certain level, pulling you close to himself.

„Oh princess... It's okay now; Alpha is right here... I got you, little baby; you don't have to worry about a thing now." He murmured calmly, his hand gently rubbing over the top of your head, his other palm keeping you close.

Your occasional sniffles scared him a little, and the man was slightly worried that maybe you missed the other alphas; the not really proper goodbyes you got this morning could for sure be the cause.

You were sleepy, though, when the packmembers left, and considering how Jimin shooed them off whenever they tried to wake you up, the alpha felt slightly at fault.

This wasn't fully the case, but you still missed the rest of the alphas, that was for sure. You didn't realise that you would have such a hard time when they were gone; their scents fading from you.

And so, after a few soft minutes of you being carefully held close and shushed sweetly, Jimin reached as discreetly as possible for one of the little lamb comfort plushies they got for you, the white one laying the closest.

You whined softly when the alpha pulled from you a little, but with the comfort companion in your arms, the packmembers scents clouded around you, your form fully settling.

„There you go, my princess. Alpha got you now." He gently whispered, keeping you nice and close.

Over the past few minutes, your grip has gotten looser, but whenever Jimin went to take a sip from his coffee or try and have you drink a bit of the herbal tea he made for you, you just hid further into his chest, the lamb held tightly under your arm.

In hopes of distracting you enough from your rain of thoughts, the man turned on the TV, choosing a simple channel that wouldn't do either of you any harm—a cooking show, a competition between chefs in baking.

„-really heating up in the kitchen! I'm here with our talented contestants, ready to witness their culinary magic." the host said, his voice happy and energetic. It was an American show, but Jimin didn't mind; the subtitles were easy to read.

„Now, let's reveal today's challenge! You'll have two hours to create your signature dessert, incorporating a surprise ingredient that I'm about to reveal. Get ready, folks, because today's twist will truly test your creativity!”

Gasps fill the room as the host holds up a silver cloche, building suspense.

„Today's secret ingredient is... (drumroll, please!)... lavender extract!”

The contestants exchange glances, some appearing thrilled while others wear expressions of uncertainty.

„O-Oppa? Can we-e also ba-bake something s-sometime?" Your soft voice broke the background noise, and the alpha turned to you immediately, his eyes as soft as ever.

„Of course we can, my precious! What would you like to make?” He asked you gently, not pressuring you into answering immediately, his eyes soft on your form.

„M-Maybe... Cup-cupcakes?” You were uncertain. You were used to cooking for yourself, but you were definitely not a great chef. You weren't terrible in the kitchen, but your clumsiness sometimes got the best of you.

But seeing how bright Jimin's smile got, the alpha for sure didn't mind. Oh, you were so cute!

„What a great choice, my princess! Do you want to make them right now my sweetest little 'mega?" He asked you gently, not resisting pecking your forehead.

You shrugged your shoulders. You really didn't know that much about baking, apart from knowing that the right measurements were very important. Would all of the ingredients be here?

The alpha smiled excitedly, happy. He was by no means an expert baker, but there was nothing a good recipe wouldn't solve. The man carefully picked you back up, holding you to his chest, as he slowly took you both over to the kitchen.

„Here, baby, you look up a recipe you like. Alpha will look around for what we have for the decorations.” He said gently, placing you so you sat on the counter, before he handed you his phone, the Google open.

You fumbled with yourself a little; the TV show, now forgotten, still playing. Eventually, as Jimin opened a few cupboards, pulling out different types of sprinkles, you carefully typed in 'Cupcake recipe'.

The number of choices you got freaked you out a little, but you clicked on one of the very first ones, seeing as it had very good reviews. Maybe it was going to be good. You hoped, at least...

„Look, princess, we have this tray too! That's perfect; we should use that for sure." The alpha said, showing you the silicone dark blue form.

You smiled softly, nodding happily. This was exciting! Jimin soon walked over to you again, looking over the website you looked up.

„Great job, princess! Let's get this started then, baby!” He said so happily, going over to where the few aprons were hung.

The alpha took one for himself and you, helping you down to the floor before he helped you tie a pretty bow in the back.

„C-Can we sur-surprise the o-others?” You asked timidly, your fingers squeezing one another in an uncomfortable pattern. Jimin couldn't help but coo loudly, kissing your temple, his cheek rubbing against it.

„Aigoo,.. my princess, well, of course! That's such a great idea, baby you are perfect! Alphas would love that, I'm very sure.” He laughed softly, hugging you gently.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

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suzukiblu · 8 months

Note

I haven’t seen your Cass (Cain) at all. I’d love to see her. I’d also LOVE to get to see some Chris and Lois (or more Kon and Lois)! Lois choosing to be a mother despite lacking most of the natural instincts, and having issues with her own parents, means so much to me!

I def have a few WIPs with parental!Lois ahead, mostly with Kon and Match, but since I don't think I've posted anything with Cass yet, have this scene.

Context: omega!Jason is high-key feral and compulsively nesting about it.

"What on earth are you doing in there, Todd?" Pup Brother asks, eyeing the crumpled blankets on the foyer floor. Quiet Sister is standing beside him and looks excited, leaning forward towards the doorway on her tiptoes. Jason didn't notice them coming, but he wasn't all that worried about listening for anyone either. Also, they're both very quiet when they move anyway.

"Nest," Jason says. He doesn't think he's being all that subtle here, but Pup Brother didn't get a traditional pack upbringing, he knows. At least, not the kind that allowed for nesting. That's not really how the League works.

Jason definitely never nested when he was with the League.

". . . nest?" Pup Brother asks, and looks just a little bit curious.

Does Pup Brother ever build nests, Jason wonders? He's an omega too. He should learn how, if he hasn't yet.

"Nest," he repeats firmly, then gestures beckoningly with a blanket that smells acceptably of packscent. Pup Brother frowns, looking confused.

Nest! Quiet Sister signs delightedly before giving Pup Brother an encouraging push into the living room. She doesn't come in herself, though. Which–Quiet Sister is an alpha, of course, so that makes sense. Jason just wasn't sure if she'd know the etiquette, all things considered.

"Er," Pup Brother says doubtfully, glancing between them. "Do you require . . . assistance, Todd?"

Jason dumps an armful of throw pillows on him, then starts demonstrating how to arrange them on the floor. Pup Brother frowns again, holding the unused pillows in his arms and observing the building process intently. Jason is pleased. Pup Brother should learn this. Pup Brother should learn this, so he's showing Pup Brother this. So he's being good! Very good. A good omega. Yes!

They're both being good.

So that's good.

Jason purrs some more. Quiet Sister flutters her hands happily, still waiting in the doorway. Jason wants to invite her in, but really needs to get the nest more established first.

He'll let her in the nest itself, he already knows. Once it's done, obviously. Quiet Sister probably hasn't really been in a nest before–Pup Brother is the only other omega in the pack, after all, and she doesn't have an omega mate or any omega friends, so when would she have?

. . . unless she's still courting that weird flirty omega from Little Brother's other pack, maybe? The sort-of-alien-sort-of-human one that makes cloud castles and almost drowned with her in a basement that one time or whatever. Whatever his name is.

Or . . . wait, was Little Brother the one courting him?

Hm.

Well, maybe they both were. Jason isn't really sure, come to think.

He'll ask later, he decides, and lays down some more throw pillows. Either way he's still inviting Quiet Sister into his nest once it's done. Quiet Sister deserves all the nests she can get.

Jason hopes she'll like his.

#jason todd #cass cain #damian wayne #batfamily #kiragecko #rinfic #omegaverse #not sfw #yes I remember when Kon and Cass almost died together and I still ship them for it #also the cloud castles #wip: jason goes home

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mrspasser · 2 months

Text

Never gonna give you up 5+1

I don't think I ever posted this fanfic here, so I'm here to fix that.

Never was too soon for a repeat of tonight’s experience, Derek decided as he braced himself against the sharp corner. The wheels of the Jeep skidded on the gravel, making the back of the car slide out. There was no need for them to drive this fast, not anymore. Leftover adrenaline made for a heavy foot on the gas, apparently. The engine whined as they cut free of the forest, trading gravel for blacktop. Gradually they reduced speed, until they were driving at a pace well within the limits.

“Think you can hit play for me, big guy?” Stiles asked in an upbeat tone. “Without getting blood all over my iPod, if you can.”

The look Derek sent him was cutting, but Stiles was long since immune for any angry stare he received from the werewolf. With all his energy going into healing, Derek decided it wasn’t worth it to get into it with Stiles over something so small. He pressed his left hand against the flap of skin that was only loosely covering his ribs on his right side and reached out with his free hand to the battered iPod crammed into the hole that used to house the radio of the Jeep. The radio was one of the car parts that fell victim to the crash with the Kanima and with some help of Boyd Stiles had hooked up his iPod directly to the car’s speakers.

The Alpha werewolf didn’t bother to check what playlist it was, he just hit the large button in the middle and settled back into his seat, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused.

The sounds of an eighties synthesizer filled the car, drums coming in alternately from the left and right speaker, immediately followed by a peal of laughter from the car’s owner. Derek bit through the agony and pushed forward again, cutting off the music abruptly just when the lyrics started. Stiles didn’t say anything, though it took a minute before he stopped chuckling quietly.

When they got to the loft, Stiles followed him inside, although Derek hadn’t asked him to. He hadn’t told him not to either, which was probably why the teen did it. Not that Stiles bothered with doing what people told him to, not when it came to Derek. The boy was pack in all the ways that counted, except for heeding his Alpha’s commands.

Derek let himself fall on the threadbare couch, still holding his skin more or less in the right place to knit itself together again. Behind him, Stiles rummaged around in the kitchen, emerging a little while later with two bottles of water and a couple of energy bars. He dropped the food and one of the bottles on the couch next to the werewolf, easily within reach. Then he sat down on the armrest furthest from Derek, twisting the cap of his own bottle and gulping the contents down eagerly. The werewolf watched the boy’s Adams apple bop with each swallow, his eyes catching on the long line of his throat.

Stiles wiped his mouth and looked down at Derek, intelligent eyes roaming over the werewolf’s bloodied torso. “You going to be okay?” he asked, not really sounding like he needed an answer, so Derek didn’t give him one. “Thought so,” the boy confirmed anyway, and patted Derek’s shin twice as he got up. “I’m gonna give Roscoe a wash. I think there are bits of skin stuck to the passenger seat. Gross!”

“Gonna have to walk a little slower, big guy,” Stiles complained, sounding a little winded as he picked his way through the undergrowth a few paces behind Derek. He grunted dismissively, though he held his step a little anyway.

Derek might have wondered why he was always the one stuck with Stiles on a stake out, if the math wasn’t so easy. Being human, the boy was the weakest of the pack, physically speaking at least. And with Derek as Alpha and therefore strongest, it was only logical that they paired up. Besides, it wasn’t like Derek had his pick of people to go on stakeout with tonight. There wasn’t a clear threat, this was just Derek acting on a hunch. ‘Being paranoid’, Scott had said. ‘I’m not messing up my nails in the woods tonight’, was Erica’s reaction. Boyd had only told him to call when there was trouble. Derek was fully prepared to go alone tonight. It was his idea after all and he was pretty sure he could handle whatever he would encounter. Yet Stiles hadn’t let him. He didn’t offer to tag along, he just did.

When asked, the werewolf would say he hated being alone with Stiles. The boy was never not moving and only silent when sleeping. Scratch that, even asleep Stiles wasn’t silent. He was a source of constant movement, night or day, always in the periphery of Derek’s attention. It was impossible not to watch Stiles, even more so when they were alone.

Walking through the woods at night and trying to keep a low profile was also pretty much impossible with Stiles, a fact proved when Derek grabbed the boy’s elbow not for the first time that night to keep him upright. If it were up to him, he would’ve gladly let him faceplant in the leaves, but they were making enough noise as it was already.

“Do you think you could be any louder?” he hissed, shoving Stiles along the path.

“Do you think you could be any rougher?” Stiles threw back in a low voice, rubbing his hand over where Derek had grabbed his arm. He wouldn’t bruise, Derek hadn’t grabbed him that hard; chances were he was just sour about missing out on game night with Scott. He’d heard them talking about it yesterday, Stiles lamenting about him and Scott needing a boy’s night with pizza, energy drinks and playing video games in their underwear. Derek didn’t understand why Stiles would choose a night in the woods with him over that.

“Now what?” Stiles stopped at the ridge, looking out into the forest on the hill below them.

“Now we wait,” Derek answered, dropping down into a crouch and tugging the boy down with him. Stiles fell to his butt with a grunt, but pulled his legs under him a moment later, jostling Derek’s shoulder when he came up to his knees.

“You see anything?” Derek didn’t answer that, nor the next question: “Hear anything?”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the werewolf’s lack of communication and then shrugged his backpack off. He pulled the bag in front of him and opened up the zipper. At first Derek ignored the apple that was presented to him, but Stiles only shook it in emphasis until he took it.

For a few minutes, Stiles was as quiet as he ever got. Which meant that the sounds of him chewing on his own apple mixed in with the sounds of the forest.

When the humming started, Derek shut him up at first. It helped for a few minutes, but not long. Because the wind was in their favour, Derek gave up on shushing Stiles: it was easier to just tune him out and concentrate on the sounds that reached him from the forest.

It took a good while before the words showed up in his mind. Bits and pieces of song lyrics just floating around his brain, easy to ignore. It wasn’t until he caught himself starting to hum the same tune that he rounded on the boy next to him. “Damn it, Stiles!”

Stiles simply laughed softly. “It’s quite the earworm, isn’t it?”

“Give me a second, I’m just gonna… Yeah, I’ve got it all right here,” Stiles said through the phone, clicking around on his computer. “Whole list of it, actually. I’ll send you an email right now.”

Derek hung up the phone and grabbed the laptop from the coffee table. It was a refurbished laptop that Stiles had made him buy a few weeks ago, claiming that ‘no self-respectable Alpha in the twenty first century could go without, especially if they don’t want to say goodbye to their frigging flip phone’.

The mockery of his phone by his pack was getting old. The device maybe wasn’t as up to date as the other phones, but it held up in a fight and that was something Derek valued more over the use of the latest social media apps. However, contrary to popular belief, Derek wasn’t completely unaware of pop culture, which was why he immediately recognised the video for what it was.

It was hidden in the list of websites Stiles sent him. Derek was working his way through the links one by one, working up a steady appreciation of Stiles' research skills, when his laptop suddenly started playing music after he clicked the fourth link on the list.

He almost called Stiles to tell him off, but settled for aggressively closing down the browser window.

The other links were all normal, providing him with the information he asked for and then some.

“You want anything, hon?” The waitress directed the question to Scott, who placed his order of a large breakfast spread with an equally large smile. She wasn’t placated by it and Derek resigned himself to giving her an extra big tip for putting up with his raucous pack on her early morning shift.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse,” Stiles said to the table at large, patting his stomach.

“Should’ve ordered something else than bacon then,” Isaac deadpanned from across from him.

Stiles smiled impishly. “My love for bacon is strong, I can’t help it.”

“Can you make bacon from horses?” Scott wondered out loud and that set off a whole discussion about the consummation of horse meat.

Derek let it all wash over him, leaning back in his chair. His pack was fine, all were whole, or whole again at least. Isaac was wearing a track shirt that Stiles had lying in the back of his Jeep, replacing his own shirt that was ripped to pieces. There was blood on his jeans still, Derek could smell it from across the table, but it wasn’t visible against the dark fabric and the wounds were all healed. Erica sported a similar situation, also with mostly invisible bloodstains on her dark clothes, as did Boyd. The blood wasn’t all theirs. Normally, Derek would have told them to go home, wash up, but this Denny’s was closer and growling stomachs had won over the urge to get cleaned up. Or rather, Stiles had strongarmed him into buying his pack breakfast, saying that it was good for bonding and empty stomachs alike.

Not bothering to get in on the conversation, Derek let his eyes glide over his pack members, ensuring himself once again that everyone was in one piece. He got stuck on Stiles, distracted by the way his T-shirt pulled taut when he moved his arms behind his back to stretch. Derek hadn’t seen the article of clothing before, it had been hidden underneath a grey striped hoodie; he guessed that was ruined too. It was a black T-shirt with a jumble of letters and symbols on the front. It looked like computer code, or something equally confusing. Undoubtedly it was some pop culture reference, or a bad pun. He didn’t care enough to ask for the meaning of it, yet his eyes kept returning to the text on the shirt, even after their food arrived.

He recognised a word in the top line from the abbreviations the pack used in their text messages; sometimes it was as if they were allergic to vowels. The letters ‘nvr’ probably spelled never. And below that, was the word ‘annog’, which could be a made up word or it was simply ‘gonna’ spelled backwards. Then it said ‘forgive’, subtract four, and on the bottom something with ‘me’, ‘you’ and ‘splitting soup’. It was complete nonsense, that’s what it was.

Eventually, Stiles caught him looking. “You like the shirt, big guy?” He took a bite of a strip of bacon, cocking his head as he waited for Derek to answer.

“It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t even make sense.”

Stiles grinned. “Sure it does. You just have to figure it out.”

Next to him, Boyd took a look at Stiles’ shirt and scoffed. “Isn’t that joke ancient by now?”

“Classics never go out of style,” Stiles argued, pointing the strip of bacon at Derek’s second. “Besides, I like it. It’s got meaning.”

“Like your stripper mom’s T-shirt?” Erica asked snidely. “Because that one’s just rubbish.”

“Nah,” Stiles smirked and then he winked at Derek. “This one has a better roll to it, doesn’t it, oh Alpha mine?”

It clicked for Derek in that moment and he let out a long suffering sigh. “I should rip your throat out…”

“With your teeth, I know,” Stiles finished for him, happily munching on another strip of bacon.

Up until now Derek had always thought that brownies were something to eat, not annoying little creatures to kill. Or, well, that’s not exactly true. He knew they were mythical creatures, but he’d thought they were just that. Mythical, not real. And how bad could they be if they ended up being real? Pretty damn annoying, it turned out. They didn’t look like much, but they had razor sharp teeth and equally sharp nails that cut through clothes and skin like miniature knives through butter. And like a wolf pack, their strength was in numbers. However, he refused to lose to something small and annoying, so, in the end, the wolf pack won.

Derek looked around at his pack, who were panting and bloody, but otherwise okay. Erica was frantically raking her fingers through her hair, cursing angrily at the loose hairs she brushed out with it. “Those fuckers cut a chunk of my hair!”

Boyd diligently looked at the problem area, declaring it wasn’t so bad. Erica huffed in disdain. “No offence, honey, but you haven’t got a hair on your head. What the hell do you pretend to know about it?”

She turned to the other available girl, Allison, and let the hunter fuss over her hair. Derek was long past the point of wondering how the hell that happened. His pack included a hunter, a banshee and a former kamina, he'd learned to not question it anymore.

He patted his pockets, routinely checking for his car keys. Those he found, though they threatened to fall through a tear in his jeans any minute. He came up short when feeling around for his phone. The pocket on that side was cut clean through, empty of its contents. Derek rumbled in annoyance, getting a quick inquiring glance from Boyd.

"Lost my phone," he explained quickly, already stalking back to the area where he'd been for most of the fight. It was where Stiles was sitting, sagged out against a tree and scrolling through something on his phone. The boy was holding the cuff of his sleeve pressed gingerly against a small cut above his lip, otherwise he seemed fine and Derek didn't have to worry about him.

Sniffing out his phone turned out to be harder than he thought. The ground was covered in quickly disintegrating brownie bodies and while he could appreciate the lack of clean up they would have to do, the smell of decay and blood covered up the other smells in the area.

Derek planted his hands on his hips with a huff, scanning the forest floor around him. His phone was black and pretty small: it could be anywhere. He glanced at the smartphone in Stiles' hand, with its shiny firetruck red cover. Obnoxious and flashy as it was, it would be pretty easy to find.

"What's up, big guy?" Stiles asked from his spot by the tree. "Looking for something?"

"Dropped my phone," Derek sighed, already making plans in his head to drop by the mall in the next town over to get a new phone. He wondered if they still sold flip phones.

"Oh wait, I'll call you so we can hear it ring," Stiles said, clambering to his feet and moving his fingers over his touch screen.

Sure enough, moments later there was a song playing, a few meters to his left. "That's not my ringtone," Derek said sharply, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline when he recognised the song.

“It is when I call,” Stiles answered gleefully, watching as Derek went off in the direction of the sound. The warm baritone of the singer was cut off when the werewolf bent down to retrieve his phone, buried half underneath a dead brownie. He wiped it on his jeans and then flipped it open.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Stiles called out.

“Figuring out how to delete this ringtone,” Derek bit out, tapping the keys forcefully.

“Hey, no, why would you do that?” Stiles ambled closer and for a moment Derek forgot to tune out his scent. It was a habit that his mother had taught him when he was young; with their keen sense of smell and hearing there was little privacy in a pack: it was common courtesy to try and tune the others out as much as possible in normal, day to day interactions. Derek did it with his own pack too, as much out of self-preservation as in consideration of their privacy. His pack consisted of teenagers, they were generally a whirlwind of strong emotions and unwarranted arousal. He would get whiplash if he’d be able to scent it all. Right now, Stiles smelled of disappointment and vague embarrassment.

Derek frowned. “Because it’s a cheesy song. A joke.”

The smell of embarrassment got a little stronger. “It’s our thing,” Stiles said with a shrug that wasn’t as casual as he probably hoped. “It’s our song, sourwolf” he tacked on with a smirk, also a bit strained.

“It’s a love song,” Derek said slowly, puzzled, his fingers stilling on the phone keys. It wasn’t like he knew how to change the ringtone anyway. Before now he didn’t even know you could add personalised ringtones to a caller.

“Yeah, well…” Stiles cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He was also getting quite red in the face, yet still Derek couldn’t look away from him. “It’s the sentiment that counts.”

“The sentiment,” Derek repeated, still confused by the situation.

“The sentiment, you know, the message? The idea the song conveys?”

“I know what sentiment means, Stiles,” he said, more gently than he usually was with the teen. “But still… a love song.”

“I know that,” said Stiles, still with red cheeks. “And I know that we,” he gestured with his hand between them, “are not… that.”

Derek pressed down on the sudden urge to ask what exactly they were, if not that.

“I just think that, it’s just,” Stiles floundered and then he shrugged somewhat defeated. “It’s something that you need to hear, every now and then.” A silence fell between them, one loaded with something Derek couldn’t quite figure out. Not yet.

Stiles took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Give me that, I’ll change it back to your normal, boring ringtone.”

Derek shook his head and put his phone in his jacket pocket, a pocket that was still in one piece. With a nudge to Stiles' shoulder he started to walk away, towards the spot where they parked their cars. Stiles followed him, smelling content and happy, with his lips pressed together to hide a smile.

Derek hadn’t known he had a first aid kit in his bathroom. Yet there it was, neatly tucked away in the cabinet underneath the sink. The rectangle box felt heavy, like it was stuffed full with all kinds of items a self-healing werewolf would never need.

“Why do I have this?” Derek asked as he walked back into the room, knowing for sure he never bought it, so someone else had to. Someone named Stiles, probably.

“Because you have humans in your pack,” Stiles answered from the sofa, making grabby hands at the kit before Derek was even close enough. He took the box, putting it in his lap and opening it immediately. “There should be ice packs in the fridge,” Stiles directed without looking up.

And indeed there were. Derek grabbed two and a towel, making his way back to Stiles. He carefully sat down by the foot that the boy had put up on the sofa. His sneaker was already off, but he still had his sock on. The werewolf carefully placed the ice packs on both sides of Stiles’ swollen ankle, wrapping them in place with the towel.

Meanwhile, Stiles was wrapping his arm up. It was his lower left arm, making it not too hard for him to do himself; the bandage was a little wonky, but it’d do for now. It was just a large scrape anyway, the bandage was mostly to keep the wound clean.

That left the cut on his eyebrow. Derek watched Stiles feeling around the cut with his fingers of his one hand, while holding a butterfly bandage with his other. It wouldn’t work, but he waited until Stiles grimaced and locked eyes with him, a crooked, bloody butterfly bandage still in hand.

Derek leaned forward and picked a clean bandage from the kit. “This one, right?”

Stiles nodded and kept his eyes on Derek when he scooted closer until he was seated next to the boy’s hip. The cut was already cleaned and disinfected, all that was left was to place the bandage. Maybe two, Derek thought, as he eyed the cut critically. Stiles had said it wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitches and he’d gotten hurt often enough to know, Derek presumed. It didn’t sit easy with him, though. He didn’t like to see his pack get hurt, especially the humans because they didn’t heal as quickly as the werewolves did. And, he didn’t like seeing Stiles get hurt.

Derek carefully placed the butterfly bandage across the cut. Stiles smelled of blood and pain, though the boy assured him the latter was mostly from his ankle. Spraining an ankle hurt, Derek knew from experience, even though for him the pain was always short lived. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek put a second bandage in place and covered them with a larger bandaid. “There, that should do it.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said softly as Derek put everything back in the kit and quickly tidied away the mess.

“Want to watch a movie?” The question came somewhat unexpected for Stiles, yet he smiled and nodded quickly. Derek tossed him the remote so he could select a movie from the streaming services the boy had set up himself a while back and went into the kitchen to grab them something to drink.

When he came back Stiles had a superhero movie lined up, one that Derek hadn’t seen yet but he knew Stiles had. He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa so Stiles could reach his drink and then sat down, carefully placing Stiles' injured foot in his lap. The boy’s heartbeat ticked up and his cheeks coloured red, yet he didn’t say anything. Derek nodded for him to press play on the movie and gently eased his hand a little ways up Stiles’ pant leg, just above the ice packs, to make skin contact and leach away his pain.

“Thanks for coming back,” Stiles said quietly over the sounds of the opening scene. “And taking care of me.”

Derek glanced at him, at the way Stiles held his eyes glued to the tv screen to avoid looking at him directly. He waited a beat for Stiles to take a sip of his soda. “That goes without saying, Stiles,” he emphasised then. “I wasn’t gonna run around and desert you.”

Stiles made a choking sound and sprayed his drink everywhere. Derek kept his foot in place while the boy flailed and laughed, wiping the soda from his face with his sleeve. “Damn it, Derek! It came out of my nose!”

You can also find this fic here on Wattpad or on A03.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #5 + 1 fic #fanfiction #ilse writes fanfiction #crack fic taken seriously #never gonna give you up #I'll never get tired of this song #derek x stiles #alpha derek hale #stiles is derek's number one supporter #derek has a flip phone

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minervadashwood · 1 month

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Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 32

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Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary: It's been a week or so since Glenn and T-Dog saved Rick. Now, your pack is getting settled in new place. Word count: 3K This chapter contains: Nesting, going into heat, firearms, smut.

Author's note: I am a little behind on posting chapters to tumblr. So I'll be trying to fix that in the next few days.

Nest.

It was all you could think about as you took water and soap to every surface in the kitchen. The other rooms had been cleaned, from top to bottom, including the loft and the basement. The loft had a low ceiling, but Ro and Merle had made their bed up there, using an air mattress and sleeping bags. Carl slept on the main floor, closest to the wood stove, while you, Rick, and Daryl had a makeshift bed in the basement. It was a far cry from your house, a home filled with Daryl’s handiwork, not to mention modern furniture. All that remained were some old, hand-made chairs and a small kitchen table.

This cabin, like the others around it, was old, from the 1850s, you’d guessed, based on the structure and style. In more recent years the land had been repossessed then abandoned. Before then, generations of Dixons had lived here, in their own version of Walton’s mountain, before the Great Depression.

Despite the bedding downstairs in the basement of this old, cozy cabin, your omega was desperate for safety, seclusion, and comfort.

As you cleaned, you were also looking after Carl. He sat at the table, still and focused as he drew pictures to give Lori and Shane when they arrived. He’d grown quiet over the last few days, since you left home.

You hoped, for his sake, that Lori and Shane would get here soon.

The past few days remained a chaotic whirlwind, made all the worse by your biological imperative. Soon after you met Glenn and T-Dog, your mates decided it was time to get out of town, before things got worse.

The next morning, you packed what you could: clothes, food, and supplies. When it came time to pack up the pillows and blankets from your nest, you sat frozen in your nest, trying not to cry. That’s how Daryl found you when it was almost time to go.

“C’mon, Bubbie,” he said, clearing space so he could sit next to you. “You’ll make a new one.”

“You built this for me,” you replied gesturing at the bed, then running your hand along the shelves behind it. “You made this a home. For us.”

Daryl gathered you in his arms. “Yer the one who made it a home. ‘Sides we’ll come back when it dies down.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think we will. The way Glenn describes the city…I don’t think this will be safe for a long time if the dead are migrating here.” You took a deep breath. “I know we have to go.”

“Don’ mean it’s easy,” he said, hugging you. After a moment, he got off the bed and opened one of the cherry wood chests he’d made for your nesting materials. He dumped out all the unused, pillows and blankets, still in their plastic wrapping.

What to take was your decision, but Daryl helped you, arranging everything in the chest, and packing it tightly.

Later, when it was time to go, Rick reassured you, too. “We’ll get you a place for your nest in time.”

“What if we have to move again, while I’m in heat?” you asked. “It will be soon.”

“I know. We both do. That’s why we’re goin’ now. And it’s why we need to stick together. Not just us, but the new guys, too.”

You nodded. Rick wrapped you up in a tight hug.

“We owe them. I owe them,” you said. “They brought you back to me.” Even in the short time you’d known Glenn and T, you knew them to be good people. T-Dog, an alpha, kept his distance from you; he must have known you were close to your heat, but you’d gotten to know Glenn a little. He had strategic way of thinking, and you thought maybe he was some sort of weekend warrior. But no, just a delivery driver.

Now, in the cabin, you gripped the edge of the sink, panic rising. Trying to control your breathing, you glanced at the wooden chest sitting by the basement door. Then, you stared at Carl’s back, as a sudden, unwelcome wave of frustration came over you. Your omega didn’t want him near your nest. In fact, it didn’t even want your mates near it, not yet.

Outside, Merle and Ro kept watch while your mates were clearing out other cabins, making them livable. T and Glenn took one, next to yours. You bristled at having strangers so close by when your heat was imminent, but you owed them.

The front door swung open, and you flinched, letting out a whimper of surprise. Despite the gust of cold wind from the door, you were too hot to even notice, but Carl shivered.

Daryl stepped in, quickly closing the door, and going to add logs to the wood stove.

He took one look at you, and whether it was your bond or Daryl’s keen eye, he seemed to know exactly what you needed. Jutting his chin toward the basement, he sat down next to Carl, distracting the boy while you went to make your nest.

The chest was too heavy for you to carry, and through your bond you felt Daryl’s impulse to help you. Rejecting it and putting up a mental wall, you grabbed armfuls of your blankets and pillows, making a few trips up and down the basement stairs. When you were done, you locked the door at the top of the steps and got to work.

The padded mats you cleaned earlier had dried. One still held hints of Daryl’s musk, pine, so you put it in the center foundation of your nest and started arranging everything around it. Nestled in the corner of the room, the nest began to grow. Releasing your perfume, you set about making the entire area yours. Blankets were piled on top of each other, pillows lined the walls. After hours of work, you were almost satisfied and crept back up the stairs to find the house empty except for Daryl and Rick, who were both pacing in the open-spaced living room and kitchen.

“Carl?” you said, still on edge, but in control of your anxiety for the moment.

“With Jesus.” Rick assured you.

“Whaddaya need from us, Bubbie?” Daryl asked, his voice low and soft.

“I need your clothes, something,” you said, your voice almost whiny. Your first heat had been so perfect. But this heat was different. You couldn’t be sure your pack would even be safe here, or how long you could stay in one place. Especially with Rick and Daryl unable to protect everyone like they had been.

Wasn’t it selfish of you to need them like you did? Not just one, but both? Yet how could you choose? Yes, you were more in sync with Daryl, but he’d claimed you and been with you for half a year now. You cared just as much for Rick, and soon you’d be bonded with him, too.

Daryl started striding across the room, but you backed away, shaking your head.

“Not yet.”

Rick shrugged out of his fur-lined deputy’s coat and untucked his shirt, unbuttoning it as you watched. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, his soft dusting of hair enticing. Your stomach clenched and all you wanted was to lay on top of him and let him ease the growing ache in your belly.

Meanwhile, Daryl froze in place, and, although it took you a moment, you finally realized what you’d inadvertently asked of him. Quickly, you opened your suitcase and started pulling out unwrapped Christmas presents. What a simpler time that had been, when your most pressing worry was dropped stitches and miscounted rows.

Setting some things on the kitchen table, you approached Daryl with his poncho, it was hooded, with two layers of thick wool.

“Trade for your coat?” you asked him.

He took it and brought it to his nose, sniffing deeply.

“Ya make this? Fer me?”

You nodded. “I did some research and it’s supposed to keep you warm while you use your crossbow.”

Your mate’s face was red, and he was blinking quickly as he stared down at the gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you said quietly. Daryl nodded without looking up, refusing to meet your eyes or Rick’s.

“I-I-I have more,” you stammered, unnerved by Daryl’s reaction. Why would he cry over a poncho? You gave Rick his wide scarf and matching gloves. Daryl had a pair of gloves, too, fingerless with rubber grips sewn on the underside—for driving his motorcycle.

“Bunny,” Rick breathed, still shirtless and sniffing his scarf. “These are amazing. And your scent is all over them.”

Daryl grunted, and got out of his coat, handing it to you, and putting on his poncho.

“’S real nice, ‘mega,” he said, adjusting the poncho on his shoulders then grabbing his crossbow from where it sat nearby.

Clutching Daryl’s coat and then grabbing Rick’s shirt, you said. “Soon. But --”

Daryl looked up. “Ya dun wan’ anyone in ‘ere but us.”

You nodded.

Rick said, “While your finishin’ up, we’ll get Carl settled in with Jesus. Already talked to him about your heat.”

“You did?”

“Carl knows that you’ll need me— us -- for a few days.”

Of course, children knew, vaguely what an omega in heat entailed. Not the actual mating, but the privacy, the duty of alphas to care for their partners.

“And the others?” you asked.

“Merle swore off drinkin’ an’ Ro’s good with the kid. Glenn and T helpin’ with keepin’ watch.”

Their reassurances consoled you. Besides, the betas in your pack knew what they needed to do, and you trusted them. But Carl…he had been taken from his mom and now his dad, too.

You pointed to two crocheted Woobles on the table. “These are for Carl.” Both were dinosaurs from his favorite cartoon.

“I’ll make sure he gets them,” Rick said.

“Go’n now,” Daryl told you, jutting his chin at the basement door. “Be dark soon, an’ cold.”

You nodded, renewed determination compelling you to tweak your nest until it was perfect and cozy for your alphas, for yourself, and for the days that followed.

Finally, your nest was as close to perfect as it was going to get. Surveying the pile of blankets and pillows, your omega was finally happy to have a place to share with your mates.

Despite the stress of the past few days, a glimmer of happiness bloomed. Rick could claim you. Daryl would make love to you. And the world outside would fall away.

Skin still hot, you left the basement in search of your men. You’d been cramping steadily for the past hour, nothing unmanageable but growing more intense as time went on.

Outside, you heard the rumble of engines, and a wave of tension hit you. Not your own, but Daryl’s

Grabbing your coat, you ran outside, finding Daryl on the porch and Rick standing in the worn path near the house. A little behind Rick were Merle and Ro; Merle with a shotgun pointed at the winding path that led to the cabins.

In the distance, three vehicles approached, a Jeep, a Cherokee, and an RV.

“That’s Shane and Lori,” Rick said, but his hand was on the butt of his revolver, you noticed.

You approached Daryl, standing next to him as he held his crossbow, lowered, but seemingly ready to aim at a moment’s notice.

“You said it was just them two,” Merle shouted. “Then explain the rest of ‘em.”

The cars continued to approach, Rick glanced around, his eyes landing on Merle, who had his rifle raised.

“Put that down, Merle,” Rick ordered.

“Ya gonna make me?”

Daryl gruffly shouted, “Merle!”

Merle shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. If y’all wanna risk it, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Glenn, from across the way, spoke up. “It’s all good. More people, yeah? Safer that way.”

You agreed with Glenn and Rick, at least on principle. Yet, right now, on the verge of your heat, the thought of strangers being near you or your nest, felt like a threat on your pack’s territory.

Just then, Carl ran out of the cabin next door, without a coat on. Merle lowered his gun even more at the sight of the pup, but you could still see the tension in his shoulders. Next to him, Ro was quiet and still, his hand at his side holding a gun.

The red Jeep barely came to a stop before Lori appeared, throwing herself out of the passenger side door and running to Carl. Shane got out, too, and you relaxed at that. If Rick trusted Shane enough to tell him about this place, then the people with Shane had to be trustworthy, too, right?

Shane’s scent didn’t alarm you, not like it had the first time you’d met him, but there were more alphas’ scents emanating as other people emerged from their vehicles. One alpha’s odor burnt in your nostrils; when a balding, scowling man looked your way, you knew it was him. In the same car were a thin woman and a cowering little girl, who was around Carl’s age.

The alpha stared at you, his eyes bulging, it seemed, making you gasp and hide behind Daryl. Daryl squared his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the crossbow as Rick took an intimidating step toward the strange alpha.

Still, the frightening man didn’t look away.

Rick’s voice sliced through your fog. “Inside. Now.”

Not a command, and not directed at you.

Daryl said, “Holler if—”

“I will,” Rick replied, keeping his eyes on the strangers.

Daryl took you by the arm and guided you back into the cabin. Inside the warm living room, you took off your outerwear as quickly as you donned it moments ago. Your body was at war with your mind. Cramps of need swept through your middle, beginning the incessant pulsing at your core. You reached for the kitchen table to steady yourself, but Daryl caught you, holding you tightly against him, your backside pressing against his front. Slick moistened your underwear, and Daryl’s reaction was nearly instantaneous as you felt him grow hard against you.

Glancing out the windows to see Rick shaking hands with the strangers, you trembled as Daryl let out a possessive growl and rubbed his scent on you. Melting against him with a whimper, you let your instincts take over, ignoring the activity outside. With a huff, Daryl let go of you for just a moment to shoulder his crossbow, then he practically shoved you to the basement door. Eagerly you obeyed, flying down the stairs and burrowing on top of your nest.

“Daryl,” you whined, stripping off your layers of warm clothing and gazing up at him.

He locked the door, and after placing his weapon nearby, Daryl laid next to you, pulling you against him and running his teeth along your neck.

“Fuck, Bubbie,” he groaned, and began kissing his mark. With his hand on your hip, he pulled you to him and threw a leg over you, kissing and fondling you onto your back. Ridding himself quickly of his clothes, Daryl lowered himself above you, his bare skin on yours as he settled between your legs and kissed you again.

Your core throbbed, clenching and unclenching, demanding more than kisses from the alpha on top of you. Daryl started pressing his cock to the apex of your thighs, just slowly grinding his hips against you as his mouth and hands worked you to a fever pitch. You grabbed at him, too, sinking your nails into his back, squeezing his upper arms, reaching for his ass to urge him closer. Daryl was frantic and somehow still gentle, knowing all your favorite places for his mouth and hands. The scent of your arousal only grew stronger, and Daryl groaned in response. Fumbling, he rearranged himself so he rested on one forearm while his other hand cupped your mound. Taking one breast into his mouth, Daryl sucked and nipped at your sensitive bud as he slipped a finger inside you.

“Yer so wet, ‘mega’” he told you, “Jus’ lettin’ me right in. Feel so good on my hand.”

Your belly fluttered at his praise. Raising your hips to meet his hand you moved slowly, then with more intensity as he added another finger. His hand knew just how to make you come unraveled.

“Yes, Daryl, please .” you begged, getting close.

Suddenly, Daryl’s fingers left you, and you cried out in protest. He silenced you with a kiss on your mouth, immediately breaching the seam of your lips with his tongue. At the same time, his cock slipped through your folds and found its home in your soaking, needy pussy.

“Ye-e-e-sss,” you moaned. His cock was so big and perfect, stretching you and filling you. When he started moving you hung onto him for dear life, savoring the feel of him inside you, of his mouth on yours, of his entire body caging you in.

In your soul, you felt Daryl too, his passion and his desire, crashing into you the more he worked your body. He paused his kisses and locked eyes with you, holding your face in his hands as he thrust, the steady movement of his cock inside you sending you over the edge.

“I love you, Daryl,” you moaned, pulsing around him and holding his gaze. His knot notched into place, and he came, filling you even more. Nuzzling your gland and his mark, Daryl kissed you gently, then his mouth moved, lightly kissing your jaw then your mouth. He collapsed on top of you then rolled you over so you could lay on his chest, his knot holding you together. Reaching beside you, you found one of your favorite knitted blankets and covered you both.

Still breathing heavily, Daryl cradled you in his arms, teeth teasing your earlobe as you sighed against him.

“I love ya, too, Bubbie,” he whispered, speaking the words aloud for the first time.

You wondered if he felt the fullness of your heart through the bond. He must have because he sighed and relaxed, whispering more sweet words in your ear.

“So perfect, my omega, so strong.”

Almost nothing else existed as Daryl held you in your makeshift nest. Only one piece was missing, and as you nestled into Daryl’s chest, you hoped that Rick would join you soon.

Next chapter.

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allwaswell16 · 8 months

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All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in September 2023. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #54 | ko-fi | fic recs

—Harry/Louis—

🍁 And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

🍂 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

🍁 Endgame by @brightgolden

(E, 38k, royal au) Where omega Crown Prince Harry Styles is trying and failing to get pregnant for four years, but all that is about to change when courtesan alpha Louis Tomlinson comes into the equation.

🍂 That Howling Infinite by @sweettartine

(E, 27k, uni) the one where Louis and Harry fall in love while reading Moby Dick.

🍁 Might've Took The Long Way by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(M, 21k, exes to lovers) Now Harry is back in town, and no matter how many times Louis tells himself they can't be together, they keep falling right back into each other.

🍂 Ace of Hearts by @allwaswell16

(E, 10k, historical) Louis Tomlinson, the alpha Duke of Yorkshire, had returned to England to stay now that he’d married and mated. But since his husband was also the omega he’d once held captive aboard his half-brother’s pirate ship, he held back from pushing Harry into parenthood. Part 3 of Ace of Spades

🍁 Feels Like Magic by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(M, 10k, Marcel) It's been two incredible years with the best boyfriend Marcel could ask for, but is his biggest fear starting to become a reality? Has it really all been too good to be true? Part 2 of Marcel

🍂 Light Up Any Room by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 10k, Marcel) Marcel is a little nervous about having to give a speech at the library’s annual charity gala, but thankfully he has Louis right by his side supporting him. And later that night, Louis shows Marcel just how proud of him he is. Part 3 of Marcel

🍁 In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 9k, famous/not famous) Online dating isn't exactly working for Harry. In fact, it couldn't really be going much worse. But then the door of the bar opens, and the pack of friends walking in parts and - that’s Louis Tomlinson.

🍂 Court Wine by @enchantedlandcoffee , red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 7k, a/b/o) after a misunderstanding during a scrabble game, Alpha Louis starts courting Omega Harry without the latter being aware of it.

🍁 I Remember (The Distances We Covered) by @lululawrence

(NR, 5k, famous/not famous) @ColleenisStylish: @LouisTomlinson my dad thinks he’s sat next to you on a train from Edinburgh right now, so if you could confirm that would be amazing. His name is Harry and he’s just had white wine and says you’re on red

🍂 U-Pop Truck Stop by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4k, truckers) After driving their big rigs all day, Harry and Louis park at the same truck stop.

🍁 Eyes so blue, Shorts so red by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(G, 2k, alien Harry) Alien Harry discovers poetry.

🍂 Tongue Tied by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 1k, roommates) “I wish that I could tell Harry that I love him, instead of getting all tongue tied and chickening out.” The Irishman winked. “You never know, your wish may just come true.”

🍁 Enemies to Lovers by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 1k, poem) There's something happening at Styles' place. Louis can sense it. He's good like that.

🍂 My Muse by skipper / @skipperxao3

(NR, 1k, older Harry/Louis) My love, my life, my everything. Until the day I die, you will never cease to be my muse.

🍁 The Lovers by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 1k, tarot cards) “Come inside,” an eerie voice seemed to echo from the darkness. “Come inside, and seek your destiny.”

🍂 Are We In the Clear by asphodelknox / @iamasphodelknox

(M, 1k, historical) Louis and Harry meet across a crowded court at a time when falling in love would mean their destruction. With help from a friend, they run for their freedom.

🍁 Gaydar Lessons by @homosociallyyours

(G, 1k, girl direction) While standing around after softball practice for the company's women's softball team, Harry gets caught (and caught up) in staring at Louis as she eats a ripe, juicy peach. If only she could be certain that Louis was into women.

—Rare Pairs—

🍂 You Are A Song by @lululawrence

(NR, 3k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) To Louis, Nick felt like poetry in motion. He was a bit of chaos surrounding Louis’ otherwise monotonous days, and Louis was quickly becoming addicted.

🍁 bet on it by @nouies

(E, 2k, Louis/OMC) a fic inspired by Louis at the barricade during AFHF

🍂 you are the magic in me by @beardyboyzx

(NR, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is eight when he meets the Prince for the first time. His dad is being knighted — the King has seen the way he fought to defend his village from the enemies of the Kingdom and has decided to gift him a piece of land and a title.

#28th appreciation #ficrec #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #trackinghome #ficsfor4am #tracksintheam #1dsource #hltracks

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jadewolf22 · 5 days

Text

Welcome to the Pack: Chapter 1

Summary: Zombie apocalypse AU with Gwendoline Christie’s characters x fem!reader x OC Character (Beth) Featuring: Phasma, Brienne, Larissa, Gwen (in Fabric), Lyme (Hunger Games), Jane, Jan, & Lady Jane (The Darkest Minds) with mentions of Miranda and Anna (Welcome to Marwen) based off of this post by @rippersz

TW: Apocalyptic world (?), OC is hit by vehicle, strong language, mentions of death/killing, mentions of PTSD/Trauma, implications of smut, implications of poly-amorous hierarchy/ poly-amorous relationships involving nine people, wolf pack-like environment (reader is referred to as “Alpha”), ext…

A/n: I apologize for the amount of Russian and French in here. I have Russian heritage and wanted to pay a little tribute to that here (ended up being a lot more than a little) and also just felt like it would be a nice little tribute to some of the people on here who aren’t native English speakers. I hope to use more languages in other fics for this same purpose. Reader is American but was taught fluent Russian by a close friend of hers.

Word Count: 8,073

No one truly knows where the virus came from. Some say the Chinese created it, others the Russians, still others claim that it wasn’t created at all but rather an effect of global warming or some kind of solar flare. All anyone could truly agree on was that it was dangerous and deadly. The Serix Virus, as scientists later called it, was a physically transmitted disease that transformed the infected into zombie-like creatures that were unable to feel pain with half-decayed, green skin and bloodshot, yellow eyes; you could shoot one and it wouldn’t go down until a bullet found its head.

Eurasia fell victim to it in the first month, with Africa and Australia not far behind. Three months later South America and Mexico followed. The survivors came flooding to North America, hoping for sanctuary, but none was received. Not even a month later the first cases were reported in North America and the rest of the world went to hell. People scrambled, turning on one another like gladiators in an arena. Fear took over and humanity crumbled, all in less than a year. Now, nearly three years later, the world remains black and dead. The “creatures” outnumber the human race twenty to one, if not more. They travel in packs just like most of the survivors-at least the survivors who were actually smart-shuffling through the remains of towns and cities, searching for their next meals of sweet human flesh; all too eager to taste blood in their mouths and skin in their teeth. To feast on people like Beth.

Beth was a small town woman of 29 from Luray, Virginia and the lone survivor of her hometown. Everyone, her friends, her family, were gone, having either been eaten or transfigured and she was, permanently, on the run. With no weapons other than a little glock with only one full mag left and almost no remaining food Beth knew her time was almost up. She was no survivalist; she had no impressive background or knew any kind of self defense other than her fairly good aim, which would do nothing to save her when her mag ran empty. With her hope fading as the days went by, Beth moved to camp beside a road, her last chance to find salvation-to get help.

She sat there on the side of the road for days, watching helplessly as the sun began to set at the end of her fourth day there and there was still no sign of help. Beth was about to give up and move on when something-a low rumble in the distance-caught her attention. She stood up and turned towards the sound, walking towards the curve in the road from where the noise was coming. It grew louder-the steady roar of a motor-and Beth’s heart leapt. She ran towards the curve, hoping to see the vehicle as it approached and catch the attention of its driver, but it was closer than she’d thought.

A large black blur came speeding around the corner, clipping Beth’s right side and sending her flying backwards across the road. Beth screamed as pain radiated through her. Her arm was on fire, her head throbbed, the world was spinning, and her legs ached. She didn’t dare move for fear that something had been broken.

Beth jumped a little when she heard car doors open and voices shouting at each other from inside the vehicle,

“-Are you out of your goddamn mind-?!”

“-Just leave her-!”

“-Not gonna leave her when it’s my fault! Now get your ass’s out there and help me!”

Footsteps came running towards Beth, two blurry figures kneeling beside her. She couldn’t see much but well enough to know that they were both pale, one with long black hair, the other with short blonde hair. Together they lifted her, Beth screaming in pain as her body protested the movement. They carried her up into the vehicle-a black mini bus, and laid her down across the seats, which had been turned to create two long benches along either side of the bus, leaving a wide space between them for boxes of supplies.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” a third person growled from the front of the bus as the other two took their seats, one person beside Beth and the other on the bench across from her.

Beth screamed as the bus jolted forward, grabbing hold of her arm as she began to slip in and out of consciousness from the pain.

“Gwen, you get to explain this to the Alpha when we get back,” the voice from the front of the bus growled. It was deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge to it. Beth couldn’t see its owner but could guess that whoever it was was not someone to fuck around with, “She’s made it clear that outsider’s aren’t welcome-”

“You know what, Phasma, foutre en l'air! I didn’t ask for your damn opinion!” another voice, this one softer, more melodic, almost haunty with a soft English edge to it, snapped, a low growl tearing from the throat of its owner, “I’m sure she’ll understand my reasoning-”

“Not fucking likely,” the deeper voice grumbled as the vehicle shook and swayed, causing Beth to whimper every other minute, “Last time one of us brought someone back, Alpha turned him into crawler food real quick.”

Crawler? Beth had heard the creatures called many things; flesh-eaters, zombies, the undead, but never Crawlers. The term was fitting, though. They did move at a crawling pace until they smelled food.

“Last time we brought someone back, it was a man,” the softer voice countered, sounding annoyed, “Alpha made it clear no men were permitted in the camp, she’s had no problem bringing in women. What about Miran-?”

“Enough Gwen, you made your point.” a third voice cut in, a commanding edge to their tone. This voice was quiet, crisp, and rather gritty. There were hints of an accent to it, but Beth could not place where exactly it was from- somewhere in Europe, if she had to guess, based on its resemblance to the other two, “This is not our mess to deal with. When we get home we’ll hand her over to Jane and Gwen will explain what happened to Alpha. If she’s lucky, the Alpha will let her stay.”

The other two grumbled in agreement, silence taking over the vehicle, allowing Beth to fully succumb to the hold of sleep. When she faded back to a semi consciousness, Beth was no longer in the bus but instead lying on some kind of cot, listening to a rather heated discussion between a large group of people,

“-Why would you bring her here?! We barely have enough food to go around as it is-!”

“Don’t try to pull one of those again. We all know there’s enough food here to last us years-!”

“That’s a rough estimate-!”

“It doesn’t matter if we have enough food or not! They’re injured, which makes them nothing but a hindrance to us! We should have left them where we found them-!”

“Not everyone here is as much of a hardass as you are, Phasma!! Forgive us for trying to have a little empathy-”

“Empathy isn’t going to help us survive!”

“Alright, доста́точно!!” Silence fell immediately. Beth didn’t know what the word ‘dostátočno’ meant, but it was clear that the others did, “That’s enough, all of you… While I appreciate the input, the decision is mine to make. Gwen… I want you to stay with her until she wakes up. When she does have Jane give her a quick lookover then bring her to me. We can figure out what to do from there… Everyone else просто позвольте этому быть. It’s not the end of the world-”

“No. That’s already happened…”

“Phasma, I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, Вы меня понимаете??!”

“... Yes, Alpha…”

“Thank you. Now, все возвращаются на работу…Phasma, Bri, I want that hole in the wall patched up by sundown.”

“We’re doing what we can, but there’s not enough materials to fortify it completely.”

“Then we’ll make another run, tomorrow. We cannot stand to let that wall have gaps in it. It’s too dangerous to-”

The rest of whatever the person had been saying faded away as Beth slipped back under sleep’s sweet spell. The second time she woke, Beth was fully conscious, opening her eyes for the first time in what felt like days. She was in some kind of large, stone room with high, intricately designed ceilings lying on what seemed to be an old-timey hospital bed. Her right arm was in a sling, both of her legs were wrapped in compression bandages from the knees down, and there was a thick gauze wrapping around her hairline. Every part of Beth’s body felt stiff, her broken arm felt full of pins and needles, and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

“It’s about time you woke up, petite souris,” came a voice to Beth’s left, causing her to jump.

Beth looked over to see who the voice belonged to, and found her breath taken by the beauty across from her. The woman was tall and incredibly pale, possessing a slender yet shapely figure, with graceful curves and a lustrous cascade of dyed black waves that fell in loose tendrils around her shoulders, framing her face like a dark halo. Her hair had a glossy sheen that caught the light streaming from the nearby windows, imbuing her with an almost supernatural radiance and her lips were full and painted with a deep, velvety shade of red. Steel blue eyes watched Beth closely, framed by thick lines of black eyeliner. She wore a fitted shirt with a black and white checkered pattern and with sheer, flared sleeves as well as black leather pants, a black choker and black, knee-high combat boots. There were two Ruger LCP’s holstered in a belt at her hips and an N4 short barreled rifle resting in her lap, her finger lying lazily over the trigger.

“Where am I?” Beth asked, wincing as she fought her way up to a sitting position.

“Home, for now, petite souris.” The woman purred in French and Beth recognized her soft, melodic, almost haunty voice with its soft English edge. She was one of the women from the bus, “Unless the Alpha decides otherwise.”

“The Alpha?” Beth repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. What kind of fucked up cult had she gotten herself into? “Who the fuck is The Alpha?”

“She’s our leader,” the woman explained, her voice hardening slightly at Beth’s confused, almost humored tone, “Our chef de file. The one who keeps us safe from those things crawling around outside… If you’re going to stay with us, you will need to learn to respect her, petite souris. Or she’ll throw you to the crawlers without a second glance.”

“Right… How long have I been here?”

“About a day-”

“Gwen, you were supposed to come and get me when she woke!”

Beth and the woman-Gwen, jumped in surprise, turning to see another woman walking their way. This woman was about the same height as Gwen, Beth assumed, if not half an inch or so taller, with soft alabaster skin, and a mane of natural raven hair pinned up into some sort of plaited crown around her head. She had a wiry, haunting figure with a regal bearing about her and a rigid posture, conveying an air of authority and severity. Her angular jawline and high cheekbones contributed to that sense of severity, while her piercing sky blue eyes seemed to scrutinize everything with an unwavering gaze. The woman’s face was free of makeup, but by far no less beautiful than Gwen’s, with a small scar adorning her upper lip; something she must have sustained before the virus. She was dressed in a black linen dress that brushed against her mid-thigh with tight sleeves, accessorized with a black and silver corset as well as black leggings and black knee-high boots. Fitting for a post-apocalyptic world yet still fashionable.

“Ouais, peu importe, salope.” Gwen muttered under her breath, giving the second woman a dark look, “She just woke up, Jane. Give me a little slack.”

“Alpha’s orders.” was all the other woman “Jane” responded, her voice cold with a cutting edge to it and a heavy English accent, turning her attention to Beth, “Consider yourself one lucky woman. It’s a rare thing for someone to be hit by a bus and walk away with only a broken arm, a minor laceration, and a few bruises.”

“Tell that to my aching joints.” Beth grumbled.

“Would you rather I say it to your corpse?” Jane asked, her tone anything but sarcastic. Clearly she was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of woman, “Up! I need to see you move.”

Groaning internally, Beth swung her legs off the cot and planted her feet firmly on the cold floor, hissing as her joints protested against her movements. She could feel both pairs of eyes on her, sweat gathering at the base of her neck as Beth pushed off the bed with her good arm, standing on wobbly legs. Jane had her walking back and forth along the edge of the bed for several minutes before having Beth try a few stretches that would, hopefully, help to relax the muscles in her legs.

“That’s as good as you’re going to get for now,” Jane said after a time, rewrapping Beth’s legs after inspecting the swelling, “I’m sure the Alpha’s getting impatient. She’s up on the balcony taking a smoke.” she addressed to Gwen, an indifferent look in her light, sharp eyes.

“Think you can handle stairs, petite souris?” Gwen asked, directing her attention at Beth and ignoring Jane as the imposing figure walked away.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Beth returned. Gwen shrugged, turning on her heel and heading out after Jane with Beth hobbling along behind her.

Beth couldn’t help but look around in awe as she followed Gwen. They were in some kind of gothic mansion, with tall stone walls and ceilings decorated with intricate patterns, statues and paintings, as well as mahogany accents in the doors and stairway railings. Clearly, this place had been some kind of retreat or something for those who basked in wealth. Everything was well constructed and detailed, too nice for something people of a lower class would have had the privilege of seeing.

With a little help from Gwen, Beth managed to make it up to the second floor of the building, hoping and praying that “the Alpha” was not on any of the upper floors. There was no way her legs were going to be able to make it up another flight. Relief filled Beth when Gwen began to lead her down a long hallway, away from the stairs. They passed many rooms, most of which were empty, but as they walked past one of the rooms on the far end of the hall, Beth caught a glimpse of a woman standing over a table inside but didn’t have time for a proper look before Gwen drew her attention away.

“She’ll be in here.” Gwen said, placing her hand on the doorknob of a large mahogany door at the very end of the hall. There was a golden plaque nailed to it which read “Principal Weems”. Apparently, this place had been some kind of school, “Whatever you do, petite souris, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And, if you want to have any chance of staying or staying alive, be respectful. If there’s one thing Alpha can’t stand, it’s someone who can’t respect their superiors, comprendre?”

Beth nodded, able to loosely translate the french word. The corner of Gwen’s lips twitched upward in a light smirk before her face went void of expression and she opened the door, beaconing Beth to follow her inside. The room was massive, with well used leather furniture and a large mahogany desk in front of a set of open french doors which led out to a spacious balcony. There was a large marble fireplace to the left of the doorway, carved to look like… medusa? At first the room smelled faintly of wine and must, and then a gentle breeze blew the scent of cigar smoke in through the open balcony doors, drawing Beth’s attention to the figure leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, facing in towards the room; You.

Beth didn’t know what she’d expected from someone who called themselves “the Alpha” but whatever it was was not what you were. When she and Gwen reached you and you rose to your full height you towerd over both of them like a fucking skyscraper with a broad, maculine body complete with soft ivory skin, thick meaty hands, prominent veins, and muscles that might as well have been chisled from stone. Short red hair cut in a 90’s bob framed a sharply defined, oval face allowing your deep green eyes with their frightful and unnerving gaze to stand to attention. You wore a loose-fitting bronze t-shirt tucked into black jeans decorated with custom-sewn pockets all down the legs with a brown and black flannel tied around your waist, a gold watch on your wrist glinted off the dying sunlight, and black, knee-high combat boots similar to Gwen’s adorned your feet; though yours had to be at least three sizes bigger. There were two Glock 19’s in a holster around your waist, a semi-auto .22LR slung across your back, and a knife as long as Beth’s forearm in a vertical sheath across the back of your holster; the many pockets of your jeans bulging with mags for the three guns.

“It’s about time you woke up, petite souris,” came a voice to Beth’s left, causing her to jump.

“Where am I?” Beth asked, wincing as she fought her way up to a sitting position.

“The Alpha?” Beth repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. What kind of fucked up cult had she gotten herself into? “Who the fuck is The Alpha?”

“Right… How long have I been here?”

“About a day-”

“Gwen, you were supposed to come and get me when she woke!”

“Ouais, peu importe, salope.” Gwen muttered under her breath, giving the second woman a dark look, “She just woke up, Jane. Give me a little slack.”

“Tell that to my aching joints.” Beth grumbled.

“Would you rather I say it to your corpse?” Jane asked, her tone anything but sarcastic. Clearly she was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of woman, “Up! I need to see you move.”

“Think you can handle stairs, petite souris?” Gwen asked, directing her attention at Beth and ignoring Jane as the imposing figure walked away.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Beth returned. Gwen shrugged, turning on her heel and heading out after Jane with Beth hobbling along behind her.

“Give us a moment, would you малыш,” you addressed to Gwen, taking a long drag from the joint between your fingers, continuing to speak as you released the smoke from your lips, your voice silky yet harsh with a tough, demanding and authoritative tone that matched the rest of your persona perfectly, “Why don’t you go see if you can help Jan with the mending? I’m sure she could use a second pair of hands. If not, tell Jane I told you to help her with supper.”

Gwen gave a small nod, turning and walking away without so much as a glance in Beth’s direction. Beth had caught the Russian word for ‘baby’ and realized that it was you who had been speaking the language earlier despite having a flawless American accent whenever you weren’t using Russian dialect.

“So, маленькая полевая мышь, I hear one of my girls hit you with the bus?” you spoke softly, eyeing Beth like someone would a confused child, “Tell me… why should I let you stay, hmm? What can you offer us?”

“I…” Beth paused, unsure how best to respond. She didn’t know what words would save her life and what words would end it, “I-I’m a fair shooter. I can hit a perfect bullseye four of five times-”

You chuckled, drawing her up short, “маленькая полевая мышь, I have four women who can hit a bullseye five times out of five shots. What need would I have of your skill when I already have others who are better at it?”

“I’m a forager.” she tried again, “I know what plants around here are safest to eat, which ones can be used as medicine, and which ones can end a life-”

Again, you cut her off, “And I have a woman who has a master’s degree in medicine and herbology.”

Damn it.

“I…” Beth was defeated. Shooting and foraging were her only helpful skills and you were right. What need would you have of her if there were already those who could do it better? “Those are the only things I can offer you…”

“Poor маленькая полевая мышь,” you purred with a small smile on your lips. You seemed to be enjoying watching Beth as she began to panic, “If you have nothing to offer me, why should I let you stay, hmm?”

“Please?!” she begged, ready to fall on her knees and plead at your feet, “I-I don’t need to stay forever. Just long enough to heal-Please-!”

“There is no need to beg, полевая мышь.” a low chuckle escaped your throat, sending a shiver down the back of Beth’s neck, “You are lucky Gwen seems to have taken a liking to you. If not for her, I would feed you to the crawlers… You may stay with us until you heal but, while you are here, you will conform to my rules. Break or refuse to follow one and I will cast you out with only the clothes on your back. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes… ma’am…” Beth mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“Good,” you purred again, your lips pulled up in a tight, almost fake smile, “Why don’t you come inside and take a seat while I go over the rules with you, hmm? I’m sure your legs must be killing you for standing for so long. When we’re done, I’ll give you a proper tour and introduce you to everyone.”

Beth nodded, her body visibly relaxing in relief as she followed you back inside. You sat down in the chair behind the desk, motioning for Beth to take one of the leather seats across from you.

“So,” you started as Beth sat down, looking down at her hands resting in her lap, “let’s get to it…?”

“Beth,” she answered when she realized you were silently asking for her name.

“Beth. Welcome to our little pack. I am y/n, but you will refer to me as Alpha. Calling me by my name is a privilege that must be earned. Is that understood?” “Yes.”

“Good. Now, in order to keep everyone safe and keep our pack from falling apart, I have set a few rules in place. Failure to conform to these rules will result in your immediate removal from the pack. Get caught breaking a rule and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth muttered, her eyes still trained on her hands.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, милый,” you reprimanded, smirking when Beth’s gaze shot up to your face, “Good. Now, our rules. One; you will obey every command I give you without question or complaint. As the alpha, it is my job to ensure that the pack remains safe. You must trust that my actions and commands are made with this in mind. Two; you must return to camp by nightfall every night and are not permitted to leave again until sunrise. Crawlers are most active at night, that is when we need to be the least active. Three; never leave the camp alone. Always in groups of three or more. Four; if you are injured, whether by a crawler or something else, you must tell someone. You cannot expect us to treat you as if you are injured if we do not know that you are. Am I clear so far?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“хорошая девочка. Rule five; in order to ensure that we have enough water for drinking and cooking, each of us are only permitted to use the showers three times a week unless given verbal permission from me. Six; everyone must use the gym at least two times a week. We need to keep our strength up. Once you heal enough I will have you working with one of my girls to build your muscles back up. Seven; never keep helpful supplies hidden for yourself. We share everything of great value with the pack. Less important things like jewelry and perfumes and such are fine. We have no severe need for them.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth repeated again, showing that she was still listening.

“Number eight; don’t bring men into the camp. They cannot be trusted, nor will I pretend to tolerate them. Nine; do not ever turn off the safety feature on your weapon. It must always be ready should another group attempt to raid us or a horde of crawlers find its way through our defenses. This also means that you must be extremely careful. No one has accidentally shot someone yet, but we have had one too many close calls in recent months. And finally, ten-this rule will not apply to you without my explicit permission which you are highly unlikely to receive; do not touch another one of the girls in an intimate sense without verbal permission from both the woman and myself. As the alpha, it is my job to attend to the needs of my pack, whether that be physical, mental, sexual, or otherwise. The others know they are not to touch themselves or each other without my permission and the same goes for you.”

A mildly disgusted look overtook Beth’s face as the realization of your words sunk in. You were fucking all of them?!

“Don’t worry, полевая мышь,” you laughed, the sound harsh and rich, “I have no intentions of mating with you. You are not a permanent part of the pack, not like my girls.”

“Is that how you became the alpha?” Beth asked before she could stop herself, “By fucking the rest of them into submission?”

A dark shadow filled your eye as a bemused look crossed your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk as you eyed Beth, running your tongue against the inside of your bottom lip.

“I’ll give you one pass since you are new, but if you ever speak to me like that again I will gut you. Do you understand, полевая мышь?” you hissed, your smile widening when Beth nodded, “Yes, мышь, that is how I became the alpha. Before me, it was the principal of this school. Fuck the right people in the right ways and they’ll give up everything to you… But don’t let that fool you into thinking I only fuck them to keep my position, oh no, I fuck them because I truely love them, and will do whatever I can to make them forget about what goes on outside these walls, even if it’s just for a night.”

Beth nodded again, her mind still reeling as it tried to process everything you had just told her.

“So, now that you know our rules and how our pack operates, would you like to stay? If not, we’ll give you back your things and send you on our way.”

She didn’t know what to say. Beth knew leaving now would inevitably result in her death, yet she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stay here. You were incredibly fucked up in the head, that was for certain. However, you did genuinely seem to mean what you said about protecting your ‘pack’. As much as Beth didn’t like either option, she ultimately decided that a month or so with you was better than being eaten alive by crawlers in a night.

“I’ll stay.” she muttered, “And I’ll do whatever I can to be of help while I’m here.”

“Good,” you cooed, clasping your hands together with another tight smile as you rose to your feet, “Come, let’s get you familiar with the camp and properly introduced to everyone, shall we?”

Beth nodded, pushing off of the chair, her legs shaking as she stood. You waited a moment, giving her legs a moment to adjust to carrying her weight again before you strode out of the room, walking slowly so that Beth could keep pace.

“This is our command center,” you said, leading her inside one of the rooms she’d passed earlier, “In here we keep our main radio as well as our maps, supply lists, and other things of that sort. And this is Larissa.”

The woman-Larissa looked up from the map she’d been studying and offered Beth a soft smile that had her weak in the knees. Like the others Beth had met, Larissa was tall. Taller than Gwen but not by much, with silvery-blonde hair done up in a complex updo half hidden in a silver headscarf, a shapely, feminine figure dressed in white pants and a silver blouse accentuated with a thick brown belt and brown ankle boots, skin like a porcelain dolls, and long-fingered hands tucked into white gloves. Her eyes were a brilliant, sapphire blue framed by thick mascara-coated lashes and her lips were soft-looking and full, stained a deep ruby red in color.

She was prestigious and well put together, seeming almost out of place in the modern world. Too gentle, too clean, too pure. But something was off. There was a weary look on her heart-shaped face as she eyed Beth, as well as a sense of falseness to her smile. To Beth, it seemed as if the woman was afraid, But afraid of what? You? Beth?

“Larissa, сладкий голубь, this is Beth,” you announced, smiling gently at Larissa, a comforting gleam in your eye, “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“You’re letting her stay?” Larissa questioned, her voice velvety and melodic, yet there was something enigmatic about it…

“Only because I don’t want to hear Gwen’s pouting for months.” you teased, momentarily drawing a true smile from the woman before it turned false again.

“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” the blonde concured, eyeing Beth again before returning her focus to the map on the table as you strode back out of the room, beaconing Beth to follow.

“You’ll have to excuse her demeanor. Larissa is not one to trust easily.” you said to Beth as the two of you descended down the stairs, “It will take her some time to warm up to you.”

Beth nodded, half-listening as you went on to tell her about what the school had been before the virus, following you into what at one point had been the school’s cafeteria. All of the tables but one were gone, leaving space for eight beds set in a circle in the middle of the room. There were hospital curtains on the sides and in front of each of the beds, allowing for some separation and privacy, though not very much. Also beside each bed was a small stand, on top of which lay an array of objects; hair brushes and hair ties, makeup products, jewelry, photographs, knives, gun magazines, notebooks, books, ect. Then at the foot of each bed was some kind of trunk Beth assumed was for storing larger possessions and clothing.

There was a large, clearly handmade, circular stone fireplace in the center of the circle of beds, surrounded by an array of well-used, mismatched chairs. Very homey, Beth thought, a sudden wave of homesickness overtaking her. It had been so long since she’d seen anything that even remotely resembled a normal home.

“This is our sleeping quarters and-for want of a better word-dining hall. We eat and sleep here as well as simply lounge around after curfew. I’ll have the twins help me bring down a cot for you later… My room is just past that door.” you pointed to a mahogany door on the far wall, not too far from the circle of beds but far enough to make it very clear you were separate from the others, “Should you need anything during the night or notice something off while you’re on watch, just knock. I’m a light sleeper.”

Beth nodded again. She wanted to make a comment about you sleeping separate from everyone else but that unnerving glint in your eye kept her at bay. You moved on, showing her the infirmary, makeshift gym, bathrooms and showers.

“How do you have running water?” She inquired as the two of you made your way outside. Without humans to run things, places like power plants, dams and such had ceased working. Very few places still had electricity and water, none of which were anywhere near your camp.

“We were able to create our own water system by connecting the plumbing to a river a ways up the mountain. By connecting it to a filtering system, we were able to obtain clean water for drinking and cooking.” you explained, “In order to do that we had to first shut off and drain the preexisting system, remove and close off several pipes from the upper floors, making it so that the plumbing would only run through the ground floor-not that we needed it for much else.”

“And the electricity?”

“Solar power. We raided a solar power plant not far from here about a year and a half ago and figured out how to use the panels we’d taken to power everything here, including the bus one of my girls hit you with.” you said, stepping outside.

The area you’d taken her to was a courtyard at what appeared to be the center of the mansion. Most of it was made of the same stone as the inside, the other part of a thick wrought iron fence, both of which were decorated with beautiful scrollwork designs. Intricate arches lead off to other parts of the school, while thin cobblestone paths weaved through the grass, which was luscious and oh so green compared to the rest of the world. Several tarps had been stitched together and hung over the entire courtyard, protecting it from the rain and sun. Stone benches lined the courtyard’s edge, there were several tables littered with supplies off to one side, as well as a makeshift shooting range, and a large sparring mat staked to the ground with tent spikes, where two more women were currently occupied.

The women on the mat were both broad and muscular, though the one facing away from the two of you had a much more haunty feel to her figure. Her short, snowy-white hair was slick with sweat and brushed against the nape of her neck.

“Phasma, lower your hands!” you shouted, causing Beth to jump, “You’re leaving your ribs exposed! Brienne, widen your stance! If she pushes you, you’re done for!”

The two paused, unfolding from their fighting stances and turning to you, Beth unable to keep her jaw from dropping when she caught sight of-who she assumed was Phasma-'s face. The woman was tall, standing about two inches shorter than you, and had a square face and prominent jaw with a clearly broken nose. A single icy blue eye glared at Beth coldly, the left side of her face marred by a burn scar accentuated with a pearly white eye; clearly the injury had left her blind. Intimidated by her gaze, Beth dropped her eyes to the rest of Phasma’s body. A ripped gray shirt clung to her broad chest and shoulders like a second skin, green cargo pants covered her legs, showing off the muscles there when she flexed them just right. When she shifted her stance a light clinking filled the air, drawing Beth’s attention to the chain of military tags around her neck.

“Come on ladies, you would think I wouldn’t need to tell you these sorts of things with your track records.” you scolded lightly as they approached you.

“Sorry, Alpha,” they muttered in unison, giving Beth a chance to look at the other one while their attention was trained on you.

The other woman was just as tall as Phasma, with the same square face and chiseled jaw, though her hair reached her shoulders and was the color of straw rather than snow. She had the same small, blue, almond-shaped eyes but hers were darker, more like the ocean, as well as the same porcelain skin. There was a large scar on her cheek; it looked rather like a human-made bite mark. It must have been something she sustained before the virus or she would not have been amongst the “living” now. The woman wore a dark blue tank top that showed off her pale, freckled shoulders tucked into brown cargo pants belted with a thick black belt around her broad hips. Both women were barefoot with linen strips wrapped around their hands, raw pink flesh peeking from beneath the strips.

“You’ve already met Phasma… in a sense,” you said to Beth, drawing her from her thoughts as you pointed to the one-eyed woman-Phasma, “This is her twin sister, Brienne. Ladies, this is Beth. She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

It was easy to note the similarities between the two sisters. As well as being similar in appearance the two women had the same posture and ora, and the exact same look on their faces as they eyed Beth like she was merely a piece of meat.

“You’re letting the rat stay?” Phasma practically growled, her voice deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge-the bus driver! Realizing Phasma was the one who’d hit her with the bus, Beth narrowed her eyes at the woman, shifting her stance ever so slightly in an attempt to appear stronger and more confident, though the bandages and sling did little to assist her, “Why?”

“Because, Phasma, I don’t think you want to hear Gwen whining for the next few months because we didn’t help her little field mouse any more than I do.” you answered, your voice firm and assertive, causing the frightful-looking blonde to go silent.

“Alpha,” the other sister-Brienne, stepped forward slightly. Her voice was gravelly and had a natural stentorian and authoritative feel to it, but when she spoke to you it was in the most submissive and respectful way, “our resources are spread thin as it is. Taking on another member… it is not something we can afford…”

“I understand your concerns, Brienne. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, but we will make it work.” you assured, “You both know I would never do anything without fully thinking it through-”

“If you had, the runt’s corpse would be halfway up the mountain by now.” Phasma muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, her sister going white beside her as you flushed scarlet.

“Phasma, то есть достаточно!” you roared, raising your hand as if to strike her before lowering it again with a deep breath, “As of now, Beth is a part of our pack. You will treat her with the same respect as the others… And if you ever speak to me like that again, you will be sleeping outside the walls. Is that understood?” The woman merely shrugged, cracking her knuckles as she shifted her gaze to Beth, the one blue eye narrowed dangerously. You sighed, clearly annoyed with the woman’s behavior.

“Finish your match,” you told them, “Once you’re done go ahead and begin evening procedures. I suspect Jane will have supper ready here soon.”

Phasma shrugged again, her gaze never leaving Beth, causing sweat to form at the base of her neck. Brienne put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear that caused Phasma to scoff, roughly shoving her sister away and turning and walking back onto the mat. Brienne shot you an apologetic look, nodding at you before following after her twin, ignoring Beth entirely.

“Ignore them,” you said to Beth, turning away from the sisters, “The twins have always been wound rather tightly, especially Phasma. Give them their space and they’ll give you yours. Just, whatever you do, try not to piss them off… If you couldn’t tell, they’re not afraid to break a couple of bones.”

“What happened to them?” you looked down at her, your head slightly tilted in question, “The scars…?”

“Those are stories for another time,” you said dismissively, moving towards the cluster of picnic tables where two figures were conversing on one of the benches along the edge of the yard, “Lyme, познакомься с нашим гостем!” you called as you and Beth approached the two.

The woman you’d addressed-Lyme stood up from her spot on one of the stone benches as you and Beth approached, Beth unable to keep from ogling at the goddess before her. The woman towerd over Beth, standing just shorter than the twins with a muscular and powerful, yet curvy build that suggested years of some kind of combative experience and flawless, ivory skin. Her face was strong and angular, free of makeup with chiseled features that conveyed determination and resilience, and eyes like pools of silver that had Beth struggling to breathe. Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a short, stylish pixie cut that kept it out of her face at all times. There was an air of confidence and authority to her, exuding a sense of quiet power and strength. She was dressed in a dingy white tank top that hugged every curve, dark acid wash jeans, a bloodstained jean jacket, a long silver chain hanging around her neck, and gray boots. There was a large AK-47 slung across her back and two knives sheathed at her hips.

The woman beside Lyme was a few inches shorter than her companion with that same authoritative presence and long, silky brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. She had flawless, sun-kissed skin, a strong, lean and almost cat-like figure and a soft round face void of makeup and splattered with the lightest freckles Beth had ever seen, accentuated with small, dusty blue eyes. There were several small tattoos on her fingers and more poking out from beneath the sleeves of her brown shirt which she’d paired with military-style pants and brown boots, accessorized with a western-style leather holster that housed a silver Glock 17. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and her eyes were narrowed as she eyed Beth up and down, stopping both ways when her eyes reached the sling around Beth’s arm, seeming to size her up. Clearly, she was as keen on having an injured stranger in their midst as Phasma and Brienne were.

“Beth, this is Lyme and Lady-” you introduced, gesturing to each woman as you said their name.

“Lady?” Beth asked, releasing a breathy laugh at the odd name which she instantly regretted when the brunette gave her a dangerous look that would have had Beth six feet under if looks were able to kill.

“Her real name is Jane, but we call her Lady to keep from confusing her with our other Jane.” you explained, stepping slightly in front of Beth as Lady’s hand twitched towards her Glock, “Lady, оставь пистолет в покое.”

The brunette grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as you gently steered Beth away from the two women.

“I’d watch your back around her,” you warned, “She’s the wild card around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to use you as target practice... At least for the first week or so.”

“Don’t think she’s the only one.” Beth mumbled, eyeing the twins sparring on the mat with a worried glint in her eye.

“Phasma and Brienne may want to put a bullet in your head, but they’d do it with good intentions-at least, Brienne would… You must understand, we haven’t had a new member in over a year and, well... it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?”

“...She died...” you answered, your voice soft, “We were all close with her, and her death shook us quite a bit. In truth, I think the others don’t want you here because they’re afraid of having that attachment again.”

You went silent for a few moments after that, leading Beth away. She longed to press, to learn what had happened, but it was clearly a touchy subject and she dreaded what would happen if she pushed too far. If she was being entirely honest with herself, Beth was afraid of you. Everything she’d heard, everything she’d seen gave her the impression that, though some of the others in your ‘pack’ were scary, you were the only one who she needed to be terrified of. Your authoritative demeanor, your commanding presence, the unnerving glint in your eye, the harsh edge to your voice all pointed to one simple fact; you were dangerous. In what way exactly, Beth did not know, but she was in no hurry to find out.

You lead her back inside to a new area of the first floor and into a room piled high with boxes of supplies and racks of clothing categorized by the item and sizes. She followed you through the maze of racks to the back of the room to where a figure was sitting, pointing as you spoke.

“Jan is who you will go to tomorrow to get fitted for proper clothing. Not only does she have the best sense of fashion, but whatever we don’t have, she can make. She’s quite handy with a needle and some thread.”

The woman you pointed to was like an angel in mortal form with a lean, angular body and pure white skin. A halo of platinum blonde hair fell to the base of her neck in waves framing a sharp, heart-shaped face with blood-red lips and dark eyeshadow with thick black eyeliner that accentuated cerulean blue eyes. Her black, five-inch platform boots seemed a little out of place given the world’s current predicament, but looked quite good with the flared red pants and ruffled white blouse. There was a box of clothing at her feet and a pincushion and several spools of thread on the desk beside her while she methodically stitched away at a shirt laying in her lap.

“Jan, мой павлин,” you practically cooed, drawing the angel’s attention away from her work, “Why don’t you put the mending away for a while and come meet our guest?”

Jan nodded, gently placing her work on the desk as she stood, her eyes flicking over Beth. Unlike the others, her gaze wasn’t disapproving or judgmental, but rather curious and intrigued. She walked closer, flicking her eyes between you and Beth as she drew near. Even with those boots on she was still an inch or so shorter than you, and as she came to a stop in front of Beth a sweet mixture of warm vanilla and cherry scents filled Beth’s nose.

“I’m Beth.” she offered, holding out her hand to the beauty standing before her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jan murmured, taking Beth’s hand in a dainty handshake. Her voice was like a breath of wind, angelic, crisp, and oh so silky. It would have been all too easy for Beth to get lost in its sweet spell. The woman’s skin was like satin against Beth’s coarse hands, deep ruby nails standing out against the pale flesh.

Beth went to say something, what exactly she was not sure, but the loud, deep ring of a bell cut her off. She released Jan’s hand, looking to you for an explanation as to what the bell was for.

“That’ll be the dinner bell,” you said to Beth, though your eyes were trained on Jan. To Beth, it seemed that you favored the platinum angel over the rest of your packmates, “Best we head to the dinning hall before Jane or Larissa have our heads for being late.”

Jan nodded, turning off the lamp beside the desk she’d been using before taking hold of your arm as you led her and Beth back out of the room. The three of you joined the others in the dining hall where you did a quick check to make sure everyone was accounted for, scowling when you noticed one member was missing.

“Where’s Phasma?” you half growled to Brienne, your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“She went to put the bus away,” Brienne shrugged, “Best bet is she’s still in the garage.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple before muttering, “You lot go ahead and get started. I’ll run out and grab her.”

You left without another word, leaving Beth alone with the remaining seven members of your pack. She stood back, staying out of the way while the others lined up to get food much like you would in a school cafetorium-which they were currently in-unable to keep her eyes from glancing over the strong, shapely figures standing about ten feet from her. As much as she wished to deny it, Beth could see why you would find it hard to choose only one of the women here; she was caught in the claws of these beauties… and no force on Earth would save her if she woke the beast…

A/n: This is the first fanfic I've written that was over 1,000 words so I apologize if it drags a little at times. Pt.2 should be released in a few weeks. Hope you enjoyed!! :)

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #jane murdstone #commander lyme #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #jan stevens #gwen in fabric #lady jane

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blouisparadise · 1 year

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Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis is an independent omega. If you enjoy our fic rec lists and want them to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

2) Night Out | Mature | 9741 words | Sequel

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

3) Where Do We Go Now | Explicit | 10617 words

Louis goes off to college ready to start a fresh life away from the oppressive alphas of his pack. The odds aren't in his favour when his new dorm mate turns out to be an alpha.

Louis hates alphas.

4) Overwhelming | Explicit | 13261 words

Louis is an omega attending university to get his degree and most definitely not waste his time with unimportant things such as finding a mate. Harry is the alpha who manages to unwittingly mess up that plan.

5) Just Let Me | Mature | 14714 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

6) I Still Crave It | Explicit | 16143 words

Louis is an independent omega, who doesn't need or want an alpha. When he becomes ill and meets alpha Harry, he agrees to let him take care of him and quickly gets addicted to his scent. Once he feels better though, he keeps making up lies so that the alpha continues scenting him.

7) With Love Comes Strange Currencies | Explicit | 16508 words

One day One Direction will be over and Louis won't be around Harry every waking moment. He'll be able to finally get some space, let their bond dissipate as it's bound to do, if they don't mess up again. He can move to Costa Rica and forget that Harry Styles popped his first knot inside him. Until then, he's going to have to deal with this.

8) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

9) I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) | Explicit | 20681 words

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

10) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25470 words

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another.

“Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”

11) Yours To Lose | Mature | 25742 words

“I think I know the person that matches your descriptions of your dream alpha.”

“Who? And oh not my dream alpha, god you’re making me sound like a teenage school girl. I’m a mum, H.” They laugh as they watch kids gather in front of the verandah, getting ready to go back to the orphanage.

“Well, you’re gonna have to find out.” Harry winks before standing up to start cleaning their spot.

12) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel

Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off.

Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it.

If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now.

As it is…Louis feels like shit.

13) These Hallowed Woods | Not Rated | 35535 words

Louis becomes Luna of the Tomlinson Pack after the untimely death of his father, the Pack Alpha. Saddled with his newfound responsibility and an unpleasantly demanding pack council, he finds secret respite in the arms of a rogue wolf that camps out just outside his territory. The only problem? The rogue has no idea who Louis actually is, and as Louis falls harder and harder for the man he escapes to every night, the weight of his lies steers him along a path of certain misery.

14) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42979 words

Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation.

Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world.

When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

15) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

16) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

17) Hold On To Your Heart | Explicit | 54183 words

The Proposal AU, where Louis is the no-nonsense editor in chief of one of the largest publishing houses in the country, and Harry is the unlucky assistant that gets roped into a fake engagement to prevent his boss from being deported. Things don't go as planned.

18) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared.

Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate.

‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand.

“Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

19) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words

As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

20) Mead Of Poetry | Explicit | 65053 words

Under the pressure of continuing the Styles viscountcy line now that he is getting older, Harry sets himself three rules to finally settle down and marry: firstly, the omega needs to be reasonably attractive, secondly, they must be of great mind, thirdly, they cannot be anyone he would ever fall in love with.

Enters Charlotte Tomlinson, the diamond of the first water of the upcoming season and seemingly the perfect candidate to the viscount’s plan, but her omega brother, Louis, is in Harry’s way. Louis only seeks to protect his sister and he sure is not going to let a rake play with her heart.

21) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

22) Swim in the Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

23) Billow and Breeze (Islands and Seas) | Explicit | 102506 words

It was bright; that was the first thing Louis could recall. With a groan, he winced at the throbbing behind the sockets of his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe the pain. Maybe he really did hit his head when he took his tumble. The omega squinted as he looked at the surrounding rolling hills and fog hanging over the countryside. As strange as it was, the world felt different, though it looked practically the same.

Disoriented and confused, Louis padded through the moss and listened for his husband. “Liam?” he croaked shakily.

Nothing but a symphony of woodland creatures met his ears. His footsteps were muted by mossy green grass beneath his feet and soil fragrant as he neared the crest of the hill. At the top, he froze, lips parted in horror and eyes widening at the expanse of empty farmland—not a soul in sight. It had only been less than ten minutes prior that he could see Inverness from the crest, but now there was nothing.

“Impossible,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief—his mind not quite able to make sense of it.

24) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words

A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

25) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind.

In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia.

Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #a/b/o #independent omega louis #blp

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loverboy-havocboy · 2 months

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Hi! From the WIP ask game, would you elaborate on / gives us a share of the "omegaverse pack" ? :D

i gave the gist of this one here - but i'm happy to expand on it (with what little i have haha)

~ 1 hour later ~

you sent me on a spiral, bestie. i opened this ask to answer it an hour ago and have been ironing out a real outline/first draft since then. so now you get more.

also, i think i forgot to mention on the first post that this was born in @babygirlbridger's dms and fed by her freak brain <3

outline snippet:

Boost sequesters them away, but Wolffe comes to their quarters to check on them and what he finds is the three of them curled up in one bunk in just their lower blacks. Boost is holding both of them against himself because the only thing he can really offer is skin-on-skin contact. There’s nothing he can do for their heats. But they’re in a shitty nest Boost made for them with their combined three pillows and blankets. Comet and Sinker look like hell - their skin is flushed and shining with sweat, their curls stick to their foreheads, and the strength of the omega scent in the air nearly knocks Wolffe on his ass as soon as he steps into the room. The situation he walks into has Wolffe’s scent flaring, his own hormones and instincts rushing to take over, but he holds himself back because as soon as Boost sees him he’s out from under his batchmates - standing between them and Wolffe. Wolffe is like a shark smelling blood in the water and Comet and Sinker immediately whimper when they hear him growling, "What's going on here?” Boost tries to block his view of them, but with the scent in the air it’s painfully obvious what’s going on - not to mention, as soon as Wolffe’s scent thickens, the omegas are whining and weakly pulling at their lowers, begging for the alpha to help them. Boost is cycling back and forth rapidly between snarling at Wolffe (“I’ve worked so hard to protect them and I’ve lost everything, I’m not losing them too. You’ll turn them in over my dead fucking body.”) and trying to calm Comet and SInker, telling them to be quiet and lay still. Boost’s protectiveness is in overdrive - he’s never felt this amped up in his life. He’s going to protect his batchmates even if it means fighting Wolffe off with his bare hands. He’s shaking with the effort of it. It’s engineered into his DNA to back down in the face of an alpha AND a commanding officer, and Wolffe is both, but Comet and Sinker are also written into his DNA and they’ll always win out over any other instinct, even if Wolffe’s scent flaring threatens to bring him to his knees.

He steps further into the room, but doesn’t go for Comet or Sinker. He stops at Boost - comes up so close he’s almost chest to chest, nose to nose with the man, and brings a hand up to his cheek. Boost can’t help but push into the touch with a choked whimper. Wolffe murmurs to him, “It’s alright. You can rest now, pup. I’m here, I’ll take care of you - all of you. Please trust me, Boost.” The thing is - Boost does trust Wolffe. He kept a level head while they were sitting ducks in a field of debris and bodies, he calmed all of them and helped them keep focused. He believes Wolffe will take care of them. That’s all it takes for him to finally fall to his knees, head on Wolffe’s thigh. Wolffe runs his fingers through Boost’s curls and shushes him gently, then looks over the two omegas whose eyes are glued to him. His instincts scream at him to take them - to fuck them and fill them and make them his. But he fights the urge because he knows they’re out of their minds with need. They can’t really know what they want - if they really want him to touch them or if they’re just desperate to be touched. But then Sinker finally manages to get his lowers off and fucking presents for him, thighs shining with an abundance of slick and shaking with the effort of holding himself up and fuck, that’s a sight. Pressure on his codpiece - torturous against his already hard cock - draws his attention downward, to where Boost is nosing at it tentatively. “Help them, sir, please,” he beseeches mournfully, “I can’t help them.” Comet and Sinker whimper in agreement.

draft snippet:

so. yeah. :)

@brokenphoenix99 @insertmeaningfulusername @babygirlbridger pspspsps

#wip #my works #cloneshipping #omegaverse #ask game #ask havoc

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thebigoblin · 1 year

Text

drive highways and byways to be there with you

A Post-Movie, Fix-It Fic, even though I haven't watched the movie and gleaned spoilers like a pride-hungry Achilles.

will post this on ao3 later, when i'm not in the classroom (it's a free period). for now:

Tags: Post-Movie Fix-It, Alpha Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Eli Calls Stiles 'Tata', Spark Stiles Stilinski

also, yes, the title comes from Niall's "This Town." Current fave.

"Do you think they'll believe this?"

"They will. They have to."

Stiles doesn't look sure, so Derek takes his hands in his — wincing at the movement because of the bullet wound that still hasn't healed; the Nogitsune's magic is gone from the wound and Derek himself, as it is from Allison, but some effects remain, because they're a part of them. Of their hurts and scars.

Nobody knows this better than Stiles, who still wakes up during the night to fight off a shadow that isn't there, and nobody knows it better than Derek himself, who calms Stiles down after, through calls and gentle voice most days and with firm hands when they're lucky enough to be together.

So, of course, Stiles notices the movement and his eyes shutters.

"No. Don't do that again. This wasn't your fault, okay?"

They're sitting face to face on the bed at a hotel in a random ass town, far away from Beacon Hills, far away from everything that could ruin them. And yet Stiles is broken at the meagre survival of what Derek has brought from that town.

Somedays, Derek wonders how he could have stayed there all these years. And then he remembers the way Stiles lights up when he talks to his dad, alive and doing well, all thanks to Derek keeping a close eye on him.

There's more than one reason he took up that consulting job at the Sheriff's Station.

"Stiles. It wasn't your fault. It was Scott's idea to give the jar to Liam and his new pack member, even after you told him no. You did what you could, and you know I did too. Do you blame me for it?"

Stiles cups his face, and Derek lets him. "No, never!"

Derek takes Stiles' hands in his again, kisses the tightly-gripped knuckles. "I love you," he tells his husband sincerely, "But sometimes you're an idiot. None of this was your fault, alright?"

Stiles smiles a little at that. Derek counts it as a win.

Stiles' voice, when he speaks, is soft and desperate. "They'll believe it?"

Derek isn't the biggest believer in the world, in anything, but he has trust in one person: Stiles Stilinski-Hale.

"It was your idea to fake my death. I don't know how exactly you did it, or roped Parrish into it, or even how much magic you used to make everyone see what you wanted to — but you did it. So, yes, my love, I know that they'll believe it."

Stiles laughs, watery and lovely, and Derek pulls him in his arms, kisses him and keeps kissing him until Stiles is pulling away, giggling and breathing out a, "Keep your hands away, Hale! It tickles!"

Derek just grins and leaps to tickle him more, and Stiles stays, because he knows the pain Derek is in and Stiles has never abandoned him anyways.

He won't start now.

Convincing Eli of the plan was the hardest part, given the fact that he had to see his dad burning even though that actually didn't happen, but now that Derek sees his pup and his husband cuddle up on the couch together like this, Eli's head on Stiles' lap and Stiles' eyes gazing down lovingly at their sleeping child, Derek decides this was worth it.

Lying to John, the pack, and staying away from Stiles was worth it, just for this moment, and the countless others they'll have moving forward.

A thought occurs to him, and he snorts. Stiles looks up at him, eyebrow raised, and he can't help but whisper:

"They really thought I'd let Scott and Allison raise my pup?" Having Eli wear Scott's jersey was more than enough. Eli hated it, he wanted to wear his Tata's jersey, but he's always been smart and he knew from young that his fathers have a secret that needs to be kept.

Eli really is Stiles' kid.

"They're idiots. They believed that I was too busy to come to my dad's rescue, so. And not to mention that they think I just abandoned Roscoe! Like, seriously, guys? And then they claim to be my best friends."

Stiles' increasing volume has Eli waking up, so Derek takes the place next to Stiles, Eli's legs on his own lap even as their pup's eyes flutter shut again to Stiles' polish lullaby.

"Hell, Lydia knew Eli knows Polish. I thought she'd figure us out soon, and nearly two decades later, she still hasn't."

"Yeah." Stiles gnaws on his lip, turns to look at him. "Let's not talk about them, okay? This is just us. Just us like it was always supposed to be, my heart."

Stiles leans in to kiss him, and he does too.

Eli wakes up in the middle of it, his fathers touching their foreheads and kissing each other in turns, and promptly decides to head out after flailing to be let out of their embrace.

"I'm taking the jeep!"

"You better be careful, then!" Stiles shouts, and Eli responds with a salute and disgusted face.

Derek laughs and laughs, and feels the most alive he's felt in a long, long time. Ironic, considering he's had to fake his death to achieve this.

Stiles pokes him in the stomach then, goads him with his eyes.

"Since we are alone now... and considering the last time I saw you was on that fake Mechanic Convention you made up exactly seven months ago..."

Derek's eyes are red and he's picked up Stiles before the sentence can be completed.

"GROSS! EW, EW, EW!"

"Get out of the hearing distance, kiddo," Derek whispers, and then there are no more words spoken. It's only him and Stiles, and one very recognizable screech from the jeep.

Eli better not be home soon.

Especially because...

"Oh, fuck, fuck. I love your alpha eyes, my Alpha. Can't believe they even missed this, the aura of power you give off — well, except Peter because he's —"

"Can we not talk about my uncle while I'm trying to fit my cock in you?"

"Right, right, right. I just- they're idiots. The real alpha was among them, and they still- whatever. I'm glad. You're mine, alright, only mine."

...he gets to watch Stiles come undone before him, like this, mouth open, eyes shut, face slack in pure bliss. He gets to hear Stiles call him his, he gets to claim Stiles as his own, watch his body as he loves and bites and worships Stiles' body, Stiles' existence.

He gets to be with Stiles.

The past fifteen years were rough and unbelieving, but he knows in the heart of his hearts that it was the last sacrifice he had to make.

In return, he gets this: Stiles in his arms, Eli's I'm watching a movie, be back as soon as it's clear, and John's you better be with Stiles right now, and Eli best be with you, Hale.

Well. Perhaps John wasn't fooled — he knew. But that's to be expected.

Stilinski’s are smart.

And he gets to have and love three generations of them.

He's lucky. He's extremely lucky.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf movie #teen wolf movie spoilers #*sterek fic recs #tw fix-it #i make my own canon #because the actual canon is stupid as fuck

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spnexploration · 11 months

Text

Pack chapter 22

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Chapter summary: The morning after your night alone.

Chapter warnings: reader self-conscious including about her body, but nothing particularly detailed

Word count: 2.6k (long one!)

A/N: I forgot to add the last chapter to the masterlist when I posted it, which I have now done. Sorry about that! Make sure you read it first.

This fulfils the nesting square of my 2023 SPN AU bingo.

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 21 <- -> Part 23

“Good morning Y/N, how’d you sleep?” Sam asked as I trudged into the kitchen.

I just groaned in response.

He chuckled, “You really are perfect for Dean. There's fresh coffee if you'd like some.” I nodded and he fetched me a cup.

I was halfway through before I thought of sharing my news. “Dean messaged me when he got to Claire, at like 3am.”

“Yeah, he messaged me too. He said he's going to work the case with her today, then decide if they stay for tomorrow. I think he realises she'll rebel even more if he dismisses her work.”

I nodded, focused back on my coffee.

“So what are we doing today?” I asked when I was feeling more awake.

“That’s up to you. We can do some more lore if you'd like, you can spend the day reading or watching TV, or you can put yourself in Madison's hands and let her go crazy keeping you entertained.”

I laughed. “Maybe we can do some lore and then I'll see if I'm up for Madi entertainment.”

“Good choice. Grab some breakfast and then meet me in the library. I'll fill Mads in when she's out of the shower.”

---

Sam had me try reading some lore myself and try to make sense of it, all related to the topics we'd covered yesterday. I didn't realise how complicated killing monsters was!

After a while I was feeling tired and run down, so I headed off to Dean's room for a nap. It was probably just the poor sleep I’d had last night without Dean around. I snuggled into his pillow and fell asleep instantly.

---

I woke later. I was not feeling better. I felt so cold, but I was drenched in sweat. My joints ached, it was hard to move them at all.

It took a lot of effort, but I made it to the door finally. I was going to call out for Sam and Madi, hope that they had medication for whatever illness must've struck me down.

I opened the door but felt out of breath with the effort of crossing the room. I had to get my breath back before I could call out.

Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps.

“Y/N?” Sam called, sounding worried. “We're coming.”

How did he know I needed him?

He rounded the corner a few seconds later, Madison hot on his heels.

“I think I'm sick,” I wheezed out.

“Omega, you're in heat,” he said gently. “I smelt it as soon as you opened the door.”

“But this feels- I've never felt like I was dying before!” I started to fall as I used up all my energy complaining. Sam quickly caught me and carried me back to Dean's bed. Now that he said it, I could feel slick gathering between my legs, but given how much sweat I was covered in, I hadn't really noticed before.

His phone started ringing. It said 'Claire Novak’ on the caller ID.

He answered and put it on speaker, “Hey Claire.”

“Sam! Dean just went into a rut and he is fucking mental! What the hell do I do?!”

I thanked my lucky stars that my body had settled on Dean, that our cycles had aligned. But now I just had to get to him, to be claimed. I shivered. What if my heat finished before I got to him?

“First, tell him Y/N is in heat,” Sam said to Claire. “It will reassure him some.”

“Sam says Y/N is in heat,” she said slightly muffled, like she'd turned the phone away. “He's growling, hang on.”

There were some strange noises and then Dean’s voice, much lower than normal, “Omega?”

“I'm here Alpha,” I managed.

“You... ok?” he sounded like speaking was hard for him.

“Yeah, I'll be ok.” I didn't want to tell him how unwell I felt.

Sam gave me a knowing look and said, “Alpha, can you put Claire back on? I'm going to work with her to get you two together.” Dean growled slightly throughout, but the sounds of the phone passing happened again.

“Sam?” Claire asked. “He didn't say anything, he just gave me the phone back.”

“Ok,” Sam continued, “The next thing you do is that you submit to him. If you start challenging him when he is in an unfilled rut, away from the Omega he is yet to claim, he is going to go feral. I recommend calling him 'Alpha’ and barring your neck if he gets antsy.”

“Great,” she deadpanned. The teenage sass was practically dripping.

“And then you get him back here, as fast as you can.”

“What about the case?” she asked petulantly.

“Claire, I promise, we will help you on this case. But this is literally the second time he has gone into a rut after finding his mate, their mating has already been threatened by factors outside their control. They cannot miss this opportunity. Plus I’ve got an Omega here who’s about to go through the worst heat of her life, she needs him.”

I gulped at Sam’s words.

“Ok, I get it. Sorry. I’ll get him back.”

“Thanks Claire.”

“Bye.”

Sam hung up and turned to me. “It's gonna be a while before they can get here, so we need to get you comfortable.”

“What- what if he doesn’t?”

“That's not going to happen. You've only just gone into heat, and even your normal heat probably lasts longer than one day?” I nodded. “This one is likely to be longer, and worse. Dean got to Claire in about half a day. There is plenty of time, Omega.”

I sniffled and he stroked my hair gently.

“How about we get you some painkillers and a cool bath or shower to try and drop this fever a bit, and then Madi can stay with you. I don't think you're going to want to be around another Alpha too much, but I'll help with the cooling down because I don't think you can hold yourself up right now. Does that sound ok?”

I nodded, too tired and achey to reply.

“I'm going to take off some of your clothes, ok?” I half-heartedly nodded. “Omega, I need your words. I'm not going to do anything you don't consent to.”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Ok, thank you.” He started to pull Dean's flannel off me and I whined. “I know, I know, we’ll get back to Dean’s scent as soon as we can. Now, bath or shower?”

I shrugged. He kept gently removing my clothes until I was in just my underwear. I wished he was Dean. Partway through Madi had brought me painkillers and water, but I didn't feel any better yet. Everything ached and every so often I shivered, although Sam assured me I was actually hot.

“I'm going to carry you to the bathroom, ok?” I nodded and he lifted me up bridal style. I leant my head on his shoulder and, whilst he smelled reassuringly like Pack, I just wanted Dean. I started to cry.

“I know, I know,” he murmured reassuringly. “We’re gonna get Dean back as fast as we can, ok? And you're gonna feel a bit better soon. You're gonna be ok.”

He made it to the bathroom where Madi was standing next to the full bath. “Ready?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

He went to his knees and lowered me into the water. It felt strange at first and I clung to Sam's neck, but after a few moments it felt better and I let go of him.

“Now, ordinarily we'd leave you alone, but I don't think you're well enough for that right now.”

I nodded. I felt too weak to do much more, which was probably Sam's point.

Madi wet a face washer and put it on my forehead. I lay back and closed my eyes. I was starting to feel a little bit better. My joints weren't aching quite as much.

I relaxed.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, tapping my face. I didn't know how much time had passed. “No falling asleep in the bath.” I blearily opened my eyes and tried to glare at him. He chuckled, “I'm not about to let you drown in our own house.”

I started to get uncomfortable, trying to find a way to position myself. And the water was starting to feel cold. Sam must've noticed my fidgeting as he said, “How about we get you out?” I nodded. “You wanna try standing up?” I nodded again and he reached in, lifting me out and gently placing me on my feet on the mat. Madi wrapped me in a towel.

I was still too sore to do much other than whimper as Madi dried me off. It was like having the worst case of flu ever.

Slick flooded out of me into my wet undies and down my legs. I saw Sam's nostrils flare as he smelled it, and he swallowed thickly.

“Are- are you ok?” I asked him, suddenly worried that he might be unable to control his reactions.

“Yes, sorry I scared you. I'm not going to hurt you. The scent of Omega in heat is just a bit, uh, overwhelming to Alpha senses. But it's fine,” he said with a reassuring smile.

I felt like I knew what he meant. His Alpha smell was starting to get overpowering. I scrunched my nose up a little as I smelled him and he chuckled.

“I think you're entering the horny phase of heat,” Madi observed wryly. “Let's get you back to your room and we can kick Sam out before you start scratching him for getting too close to you.” Sam laughed.

“Huh?”

“I might have clawed Dean when he came into the kitchen and surprised me when I was in heat one time,” she said with a smirk. “He was literally just walking past but I, uh, reacted with claws before my brain engaged. Anyway, enough about me, I think you're dry enough.”

“Are you ok if I pick you up again?” Sam asked me.

I was still feeling weak and shaky, so I nodded. He lifted me into his arms and my skin started to crawl. I didn't like Sam touching me, he was wrong, wrong!

“It's ok, I'm going to put you down and leave in just a sec,” he murmured. I was holding myself tense, probably having my facial expressions tell the story of my discomfort.

I suddenly realised I was starting to growl.

I couldn't stop.

He placed me on Dean's bed and hastily backed away. I grabbed Dean's flannel and rubbed it over my face, utterly enthralled with its scent.

“Message me if you need anything,” he said to Madi. “I'll keep you in the loop if I hear anything from Claire or Dean.”

He left. I stopped growling.

“Alright, let's get you out of those wet things,” Madi said.

I tried to reach behind me to unclasp my bra, but my arms were too weak to undo it. I started to cry, scared and annoyed about what was happening to me.

Madi sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my back. “I promise, it'll get better. I think you're feeling rubbish right now partly because of your massive fever, and partly because you're away from your mate. When Dean gets here, I promise it will get better.”

“Omega biology sucks.”

“Oh, so much! Ruts look way easier to get through than the shit we have to put up with.”

“Was it like this for you? I didn't expect to feel this much like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“No, I had Sam with me. So whilst I felt bad when it started, we pretty quickly got to dealing with it. And it sucks you don't have Dean, but he is on his way. You just gotta hang in there for a bit longer.”

I sniffled. More slick flooded out of me, for no apparent reason, and I felt weirdly like my skin was missing something. I started to fidget, trying to work out what I was feeling.

“Ok, ok, before you get all antsy, let's get you in fresh clothes.” I’d almost forgotten my bra and undies were wet from the bath, so distracted by the various painful and strange sensations from my body. I let Madi help me out of them and into a pair of summer pyjamas.

I grabbed Dean's flannel again, rubbing it over me. Then I smelled his pillow, bringing that to me too. I tried to wrap them around me, whining when it wouldn't work.

“You ever built a nest before, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“I think you’re trying to nest. Hang on,” she pulled out her phone and tapped away at it.

I couldn't focus on what she was doing, I was too busy trying to work out what to do with Dean's things. I'd positioned myself over his side of the bed, throwing back the covers so I could smell it better. I kept moving his pillow and his flannel around, but it just wouldn't do what I wanted. I was starting to shiver again, and Madison held her hand to my forehead.

“Fuck,” she muttered, “you're burning up again.”

A few moments later there was a knock at the door and Sam pushed a laundry basket of clothes in. I growled at him. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't help it. He quickly shut the door.

I finally smelt the clothes, now that Sam's wrongness had gone. Dean!! I reached out weakly to the basket and Madi picked it up and brought it to me.

“I asked Sam to get all of the clothes out of the hamper that were yours or Dean's and smelled like Dean. I thought you might like to use them in your nest.”

I purred at her and set about arranging the clothes. I don't think I've ever purred in my life.

I had to admit, now that I was putting things where they felt most right, I was clearly making a nest on the bed. I was surrounding myself in Dean's scent, picking up each item and carefully deciding where exactly to put it.

Once it was done, I tried to position myself in it. It wasn't big enough. It wasn't quite right. I wanted Dean!! I whined.

My skin was feeling strange again. I tried to scratch it to make myself feel better. But it wasn't quite itchy? It was something else. I rubbed it. Yes, that was better. But it still wasn't right.

I moved my hands around on my body. It felt a bit better. But not enough. Now I was getting frustrated that it wasn't feeling better enough.

I whined again.

“Where are your toys?” Madi asked me.

“What toys?”

“Sex toys. Can't you tell you’re getting super horny?”

Oh. Maybe that's why my skin felt weird. And why it didn't feel like the right touching. It didn't feel like normal arousal, and I’d been so distracted by everything else, I hadn't even recognised it.

I moved my hands lower. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my shorts and approached my clit. Fuck it was sensitive right now!

I tried to get Dean's scent. I tried to find the best way to be in my nest. I tried to rub myself, but it felt like trying to tickle yourself. I wasn’t getting anywhere. My skin was crawling again and my joints were aching. I was so annoyed!

Madi appeared in front of me. I had forgotten all about her. She held out her hand.

“Try this,” she said as she handed me a vibrator. “Trust me.”

Taglist:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

@muhahaha303

@globetrotter28

@deans-spinster-witch

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@tristanrosspada-ackles

@the-family-business67

@babygirl-one-and-only

@leila22rogers

@supernatural--whore

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

#alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester x reader #a/b/o #protective!dean winchester #protective!sam winchester #alpha!sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn a/b/o #dean winchester hurt/comfort #sam winchester hurt/comfort #alpha!claire novak #claire novak

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