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apollyonsdarksecrets · 2 months ago

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The Suppressants

Alpha!Joel Miller X Omega!Afab!Reader

Summary: What do you do when you run out of heat suppressants? You turn to the only person who can possibly get you more medication; even if it means airing your biggest secret. But when Joel doesn’t have what you need you must travel together to meet another dealer. Surely you’ll get more medicine score your heat starts… right?

Warnings: post-apocalyptic world. A/B/O alternative universe, (A/B/O dynamics including: Scenting, Marking, Knotting, Heats) age gap (Reader is 26, Joel is late 40s), reader has been on suppressant most of her life, Joel teaches reader about guns, parental lost (not depicted on page), future smut, he falls first, angst(?), let me know if I missed anything for this part!

A/N: what? Who? Apollyon didn’t disappear off the face of the earth after all?! Yes, hello, I live! I’ve been working on 7 different WIPs and this is the first one I finally finished!!! 🤣 All I can think about is a nice, warm, rough Alpha Joel lately and so here you go!

Part One, Part two vvv (tumbler is acting so weird with this story and not letting me link the parts together!))

https://www.tumblr.com/apollyonsdarksecrets/766831444801863680/the-suppressants-alpha-joel-miller-x

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Staring at the scratched orange bottle in your hands you suck in an uneven breath.

Eleven little green pills rattle in their plastic container, signifying that your time to find help has dwindled down to a little over a week.

You closer your eyes, tapping the bottle against your forehead as you come to your forced conclusion. You know what you have to do, you know that there is no longer another option. No one else to turn to.

It’s the panic seizing your heart that makes it feel impossible to ask.

The secret you harbored, that these little pills kept under control, would have to come to light, if rumors hadn’t already spread. The thought alone makes your empty stomach lurch with nausea.

You hadn’t been neglectful. No. You had tried desperately to find more medication before time ran out. You had gone to six different shady dealers. Six different people who all worked for the same boss.

It was inevitable he would find out one way or the other. Maybe it would be best coming from you.

Steeling yourself, you hold your breath, forcing your brain to focus on the slow burn building in your lungs, until you are no longer trembling. Only then do you let loose a deep sigh.

You go for the brown messenger bag you keep by the door, slinging it on the kitchen counter before stuffing the main pocket with ration cards. the slips of paper crinkle loudly, taunting you even, as if they know they came from selling your furniture. As if they knew you had to stoop so low that all you have to your name is a mattress and torn up blankets.

Next is a thick brick of bakers chocolate, a gift from your elderly neighbor after you had fixed her small space heater. You examine the brick, no expiration or best by date can be found before you shove it into the side pouch. All you can hope for is that it isn’t too far gone.

You frown, the bag still half empty, and you glance around your kitchen to see if there is anything else to be added. To make what you are about to ask for a bit more reasonable. Coming up empty handed you snatch the bag and leave.

Your destination is only two floors above you, and you wonder if he can sense something is coming his way, as you start down the hall, like the crackle of a close storm in the air.

The nauseous feeling grows stronger as you recite the scripture you’ve created in your mind of what to say. But your legs feel as though you’ve been shackled with heavy balls and chains, making your feet drag over the dirty, curling carpet of the hall.

It would be a lie if you said you hadn’t thought of turning tail and hiding. Of slinking off to some hidden, far away place where hopefully none of your problems would attract consequences. The only thing that is stopping you is the thought of your mother.

You can practically see the shame that would have dimmed her blue eyes, the curl of her lip as she realized her daughter was nothing more than a coward.

Less of an Omega and more of a pussy-cat.

You take the stairs up, up, up, slowly; hand gripping the railing so hard your skin is white across your knuckles. You rationalize your predicament in the back of your mind, arguing that you never thought you would live to see the day your medication would run out. That every day you survived after the loss of your mother was a gift, having been so cruelly hindered by your own biology. Having to depend of medication just to survive the only true horror of the world ending. Humans.

Too soon you are ascending the next set of steps, finding yourself standing in front of a faded green door, the imprint of the long missing metal numbers your only indication you are at the right place.

That you are at his door.

The man on the other side is the only reason you had made it thus far, you should feel confident that he will help, that he would accept the truth without faulting you or your mother for never trusting him enough to bare it. But then again…

You stare at the door, your chest tightening, turning your breath into shallow pants. Your limbs suddenly feel numb, the tips of your fingers tingling and it spreads through your palms and up your arms. Trying to swallow against your dry throat you lift your knuckles to the door, forcing your body to go through with the motion. The wood sounds hallow under the weight of your fist, your eyes growing marginally larger, as if you hadn’t full expected to make contact.

Before you can decide to turn and run, or stay rooted to your spot, the choice is made for you.

Joel Miller, with his ever watchful gaze and scowling features, is suddenly towering over you from what feels like the top of the door frame. His deep brown eyes lighten, the pinch between his brow softening as he realizes who’s at his door. Checking the hallway his rigid posture relaxes, leaning his shoulder into the frame. “What brings ya here, darlin’?”

Unexpected tears well up in your eyes at the innocent question, and you’re helpless to stop them as they roll down your cheeks. Before you know it you’re sobbing, throwing your hands into the air with defeat as you try and fail to form words around the constricting sobs.

Joel’s eyes go wide, a chorus of emotions pelting him at your sudden display of emotion. Having known you for so long to be a level headed woman, every warning bell is going off for Joel as he stiffens, reaching for you. “Woah, woah, honey what is the-“

You shake your head, cutting him off as you push past into his apartment. You sling your bag around to your front, fighting with the buckles. Joel shuts the door quickly with another backwards glance, watching bewildered as you struggle with your shaking hands.

“I-I have all of this, and I know-know that this is how people pay you.” You manage to get out, flipping your bag over and dumping the cards onto the table. His eyebrows shoot to his curling hairline, watching the different colored slips spill across the wood, some floating to the floor. You struggle with something else in your bag, yanking and tugging and he steps forward to possibly offer you help when you snap. “God damnit!” Finally ripping the chocolate free, you slam it down, the brick cracking in half audibly. “Chocolate… everyone loves chocolate… I just…” When you turn to look at him with such wild, desperate eyes Joel can only think that the worst has happened. “I need your help.”

Joel steps closer, his hands raised like your some skittish animal ready to dart. “Darlin’. Let’s calm down, you know you ain’t gotta do all of this. Just tell me what it is you need.” And he’s right, you’ve never had to pay him for anything, an agreement made when your mom and Joel worked together all those years ago.

Her knowledge of pharmaceuticals mixed with his innate abilities to smuggle any kind of contraband into the QZ made them the best business partners. Your mother had given him her knowledge willingly as long as he agreed to her terms; use what you can to help those around you, and should anything happen to her, watch over her only daughter.

A fresh wave of pained tears rush forward, letting Joel close the distance between you. He grips your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into your tense muscles as you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold onto any semblance of your dignity. “It’s bad… That… That’s why I brought all of this.”

His heart starts to thunder in his chest, your words spiking his own anxiety. ‘Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be-‘

“I need heat suppressants. I only have eleven left before I run out completely.”

Joel pulls back like you had suddenly slapped him, shock and denial playing across his features. “You… What?” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, running a hand through his greying hair when you flinch. You don’t answer him, instead turning your eyes to the dirt stricken floor below your feet. Joel paces away, turning back to inspect you, his eyes tracing over your smaller figure. He’d known your mother was an Omega, but seeing as you had given off no smell or any signs he chalked it up to you having struck gold and been born a Beta. Never once did it cross his mind that you were on suppressants.

Passing a hand over his face, he turns away, afraid to witness the devastation about to wreck your face. “I don’t have any.”

Your insides lurch, the nausea from earlier hitting you like a punch to the gut, making you grip the back of a kitchen chair. “What?” You squeak, face turning pale as you stare at the side of Joel’s face. “Joel, please… Please I have all of this, there has to be someone! If I go into heat every Alpha in the QZ will be after me like I’m- I’m some kind of prize!” And in a sick, demented way, you’re telling the truth.

Omega numbers were already dropping before the start of the outbreak, causing Alpha’s who couldn’t control their instincts to become possessive, and unruly. That same reason is why there are so few Omegas to count now, most new Alphas becoming rogue with the need to mate, leaving those of us left in constant fear.

“Please,” You whisper brokenly, pressing your hands to your chest. “Everyone said you were who I needed to go to. There has to be something.”

Joel cusses under his breath, turning to look at you and the sight alone is enough to break his heart, hearing you plead is only driving a stake through it. “Look… It’s a bit of a long shot but there is someone I know. It may take me a few days to get in touch with him but if he does have any suppressants it’ll be about a weeks journey.”

“You… You mean leave the QZ?” You haven’t stepped foot outside of these metal walls since you were brought here as a young teenager, nearly 13 years ago. The thought alone is enough to make you want to back out, throw in the towel and hide somewhere where no one can find you. Joel sees your hesitation and splays his hands.

“Yes, but you know I’ve been out there hundreds of times now. I know this route like the back of my hand. If you don’t come with me there will be no way for you to get the medication in time for your…” Joel trails off, a soft rosy color surfacing on his tan cheeks. “You’re gonna have to come with me.”

You glance away, gnawing on your lower lip. With a curt nod you agree, knowing that there isn’t another choice.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It takes two agonizing days before Joel is showing up at your door, telling you he’s heard from a Beta named Mark; the dealer you’ll be meeting with. With Joel is a well worn map, the paper soft under your fingers as Joel shows you exactly the route he and you will be taking to the next town just north of here. You listen to him intensely as you both lean against the kitchen counter, mentally noting everything he tells you as he explains what dangers you could potentially face.

Next is for him to show you what needs to be packed. Joel notices the furniture and other necessities your apartment lacks as he goes through your cupboards and then your clothes, all of it explaining how you had secured so many ration cards.

After Joel is sure you’re packed to the extent that you can carry, he takes the next few hours before night fall to teach you the ends and outs of the pistol you’ll be carrying. He shows you how to dismantle it, then how to build it back, explaining each part in detail as you watch in fascination how nimbly his large hands move over the small parts. Once everything is in place, he spins the unloaded gun around, holding out the handle.

Though you’ve been around enforcers the majority of your life, you knew very little about guns. Your mother had kept you away from the more violent parts of the QZ, her high statues ensuring you had more mundane jobs on your rolls. All of that being said the first thing that comes to mind when you think pistols is the only movie you had in your apartment. You spin around, pointing the barrel at the little white refrigerator with one hand cocked sideways. The same way you’d seen Samuel L. Jackson’s character do in the movie Pulp Fiction.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Joel snaps incredulously, stepping up behind you.

“What? I’ve only seen Pulp Fiction, this is how they do it.” You argue back, dropping your arm to your side as you turn to look up at Joel.

He glares down at you before he steps closer, his chest pressing against your back. “You ain’t no Sam Jackson, woman, now pay attention.” His hand grips your wrist and he guides you to bring the gun back up. You try to pay attention, you truly do, as he instructs you on where to place your palms on the hilt, how your fingers should over lap the others and squeeze; but the heat radiating off of his body makes it nearly impossible. Joel curls around you slightly to get to your level, holding your hands steady between his own, and everywhere that his skin touches yours sends electricity crackling across every nerve.

If he feels even a fraction of what you do, he hides it well as you turn your head to look. You trace the outline of his face, the small sun spots across his Castilian nose, down to the frown of his lips; completely forgetting what he is showing you. His eyes flicker to yours, hardened with concentration , “You never put yer finger on the trigger unless you are absolutely certain yer ready to shoot.” His voice is rough and firm, searching your eyes as you dip your head in agreement. “Good girl. Now, pay attention.”

It’s easier said than done as his hands correct your shoulders, his boot nudging your feet apart to widen your stance, or when he finally steeps away how you can feel his gaze burning into your flesh. You try to hold the gun steady, aiming down the sights at the litter of ABC magnets that adorn your fridge but your arms begin to shake from the weight.

“This feels wrong.”

“You’ll get use to it.” Joel mutters with a shrug as you hand the gun over. “When we get far enough away we’ll find an area where we wont draw too much attention to ourselves, and you can practice.”

You nod, fallowing Joel’s lead as he takes a seat on the once grey carpet, watching how he loads the magazine. You pick at a stray thread on your jeans, watching how his fingers move. After a few moments of silence you shift around. “Thank you… for doing all of this.”

Joel sighs through his nose, looking over at you, trying to peek at your down turned face. “I just wish you’d a come to me sooner.” You rest your cheek on your knee, eyebrows pinching in the center. “You use to come to me for a lot, I know this is well… Different, but it don’t change the fact that it’s just me.”

“It’s just,” You suck in a deep breath, “I’ve been asking around for a few months now… It was just the thought of coming to you directly was… embarrassing? I thought that if you knew I was an Omega you would start to treat me differently… I don’t want that.” You pull the strings free before rolling it into a little ball and flicking it somewhere across the room.

Joel is silent for a moment, rolling a bullet back and forth across his palm. “Sure it ain’t got something to do with me being an Alpha?” The question is weighted, and even though you don’t say anything he can see the blush spreading across your cheeks. He stretches his leg out, nudging your calf with the toe of his boot. “Hey. It’s alright. I understand, I ain’t blind to how things are now. I wont treat you no differently than I have before, darlin’. Swear it.”

You glance up at him, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips as you stare at each other in the dim light of your living room. You nod once.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been extremely unnerving how easily the two of you had slipped from between the metal walls under the blanket of a starless sky. How the patrolling officers didn’t so much as catch a glimpse of your slinking forms as you dashed across the bare field for the crop of trees. Even though your body is riddled with anxiety, you can’t help but marvel at life outside of the city. You can take your first full breath of air, no longer chocking under the overpowering stench of human and trash.

When you both slow in a clearing you are able to look up and see the blue-black sky beginning to change colors as dawn crept in. There’s no haze, no smog, or dust. Just the sun painting the leaves in beautiful shades of golds, purples, and reds. You close your eyes, letting the light warm your face as you take it all in, your shoulders relaxing, your chest no longer feeling taught.

And Joel is there, watching you from a short distance away as your skin is cast in a thousand shades of morning. You’re glowing, and for a brief moment Joel wonders how you would have thrived in a normal world; a better world.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Your voice floats across the space between you, soft so as not to disturb the birds waking. He startles slightly, knowing he’s been caught staring at you and he adverts his eyes to the sky. He’s seen it a million times, his mind and body roughened by the losses he’s endured; the brunt of the world chipping away at him. He knows the dangers, the risks, the things that lurk just out of sight; but… as he stares at the sky, then back to you, the amazement playing across your face…

“Yeah… it sure is.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Now, just squeeze the trigger.”

You suck in a deep breath, arms tensing as you exhale, flinching when you pull the trigger. The pistol kicks back, jarring your joints and sending pain through your wrists. The bullet wizzes well off to the side of the can set on the old wooden post.

Your lips tug down, turning to look at Joel so he can correct where you went wrong. He smiles at the pout you throw his way, pulling away from the tree he has been leaning against.

“Good try. Let’s give it another go. This time keep your wrists locked, you need to hold through the kick. You need to get use to the sound and the feel of it, otherwise you’re gonna flinch and miss each time.”

You follow his instructions, digging your heels into the earth as you aim. The soup can catches the light, almost mocking you as you squeeze the trigger once more and miss.

“It doesn’t feel right.” You complain, switching the safety off and shoving the gun back into the holster on your hip. Joel scoffs and you roll your eyes, lifting your empty hand and pretending to shoot the same way Jules does in the movie.

Joel laughs, scooping his bag and riffle off the ground. “I’m telling you, ya ain’t gonna shoot nothing like that. Will only manage to break your wrist.”

“And what if I do?” You snip, turning to face him your glare unmatched to his own.

“You won’t.” He replies more firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as you step closer, raising your chin in defiance.

“What if I do though? Huh?” You poke his arm, a smile growing as you see the frustration rising in his face.

“Fine. You get something like that and you get to say a one liner. Alright?”

He has to look away as your grin grows to an infectious smile. “Deal.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Over the next several days you both trek through deserted roads and isolated woods, slowly working your way towards the safe house. The trip was filled with things you never imagined, trees growing straight through the road, houses and building over run with ivy vines with critters living amongst them. Even though the cause of it all was so horrendous you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it all.

Though you were moving slower than Joel was use to, he felt like it was worth it, watching how you came to life. You asked every question that popped into your head without hesitation, and he found himself enjoying answering you, recalling how the world used to work. It didn’t occur to him how easy he would find it, opening up to you, talking about this or that. He just knew that he hadn’t found peace like this in a long time with another person.

The sun is peaking high over the tree tops, making it easy to see all around in the sparsely wooded area you have stopped at for lunch. You’re lying on your stomach, head resting on your folded arm as you swish your hand through a small creek, watching how the water swirls around your palm and passes through your fingers. It’s cold and soothing, your thoughts racing away, wondering what it must be like to swim in lakes, or see the ocean for the first time. Feats you’re sure you will never accomplish, but dreams you can have as you close your eyes.

Joel can’t force himself to look away from you, you’ve captivated him completely. He knows he should stop it, kill the thought before it leads him down a path he can’t change. But it’s instinctual, every Omega brings it out in an Alpha. That sense of home. Maybe it was because he’d never spent much time with you over the years, your mother keeping you away.

But the longer Joel was around you, watching, listening, talking. He could feel it, the calmness that even a drug couldn’t smoother, of an Omegas presence…

Coughing slightly he stands from the stump he’s been perched on, “We need to get moving if we want to make it before night fall.” When you turn to look at him over your shoulder he curses wildly in his mind. Your face is soft and your eyes warm as you nod, and he knows he’s doomed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The light, joyful feeling you had through most of your trip abandons you entirely the moment the small town comes into view. A deep sense of wrong and sorrow settles into your bones as you step foot onto the streets, surrounded by haggard, foreboding buildings that remind you of monsters from old story books; ready to spring at any moment.

Riffle in hand, Joel shifts entirely before your eyes. His shoulders are tight, head on a swivel as he surveys the surrounding areas. Each step is thought out three moves ahead, a practice skill you admire as you follow behind, covering him from the back. You carry the pistol just how he has shown you, finger resting away from the trigger, your grip firm on the handle. But you wonder what good it will do should something, or someone, appear.

Fear and anxiety is a sticky concoction making it impossible to do anything but breath as you travel farther into the heart of the city.

A few more desolate streets over and Joel abruptly stops, holding his hand out for you to do the same. Your heart kicks into double time, your gaze frantically shifting from one spot to the next trying to see what he does as he draws his riffle up, looking through the scope.

You wait, body tensing preparing to hear his gun go off, before he lowers it once more. “Alright. Ya see that blue building over there?”

You look down the street and nod at the simple one story home, smaller than the rest of the houses on this street. “Teal, but yes.”

Joel gives you a sideways look that heats your cheeks. “Well the teal house is it. It’s supposed to be locked up, but that doesn’t mean a thing. You will follow me and do exactly as I do, stay quiet, and keep your eyes open. Do I make myself clear?”

Joel holds your stare as you nod, your throat working as you swallow. “Yes, okay.”

Making it across the street on quick feet Joel ascends the steps of the dilapidated white porch as you scan the streets. A moment later Joel is back, a small silver key in hand. He leads you around the house, making sure each window and the back door are firmly locked and boarded over before heading back to the front door. Once standing in a deserted living room Joel instructs you to stay by the door as he ventures deeper into the small house, his foot steps nearly indecipherable as you wait tersely, your fingers shaking around your gun.

You visibly relax when he comes out of the hallway, gun slung over his shoulder. You drop your pack to the floor, sitting down hard beside it with a sigh. “How long do you think it will be until Mark gets here?”

“Mmm… Hard to say, probably in the morning. He’s got a day longer trip than we had. How many pills ya got?” Joel leans against the window seal, squinting through the slats of wood as the sun sets in the horizon.

“Uh, just one more after tonight.” No matter how good natured you’d been there is still anxiety festering in your blood, bespite being at the halfway mark there is still so much that can go wrong from here. “Did he… did he say how much he was bringing?”

“‘Bout three months worth.”

You know that it is probably all he could get his hands on, but the dread of having to do this all over again weighs heavily on your chest.

“What did he ask for them?” You glance at your pack where the ration cards are all shoved into the side pocket, knowing that it can’t nearly be enough.

“I’ve got a gun I don’t use.” Joel comes over, groaning as he sits down next to you, happily taking the water bottle you offer.

“That… That is kind of a lot though… isn’t it?” Guilt eats away at you and Joel can hear it in your voice. He catches your eye, and there’s something in the depths of his that makes a warmth spread through your veins, soothing your worries, if only slightly.

“Ain’t too much for you.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The sounds of birds echo through the empty living room with the first break of dawn, the light filling the space casting everything in its amber glow. You shuffle in your sleeping bag, groaning softly at the slight ache in your hip. The floor was unforgiving, and you wondered how Joel faired through the night.

Joel.

Your eyes fly open and you jolt up right. The room smells of dust and mildew, underneath it all the faintest smell of Joel’s scent. It should be stronger. Why isn’t it stronger? Your heart begins to thunder as you scramble out of your bag, panic setting into your bones. Where could he be? What happened to him?

You grab for your bag, ripping the zipper open to grab your gun when suddenly the front door opens. You nearly scream, falling back on your ass only to find Joel standing in the door way. Three dead rabbits clutched in one hand, his riffle slung over his back.

“You okay?” He steps in, closing and locking the door as you gape up at him.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me?” You demand as he walks over to the small fireplace, tossing the rabbits onto the floor with a wet thud.

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he turns away, placing his gun against the wall. “I woke you up, said I was going for food and you answered me, darlin’.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your ears turning red as you stutter. “What?”

He turns, his smile growing and growing as he folds his arms across his chest. “You said, ‘Alright. Be safe.’ Ain’t my fault you fell back to sleep.” Sheepishly you glance away, taking a deep breath before you answer. Not only has Joel brought in the smell of the dirt and earth, the smell of drying blood and wet fur; but his sent encompasses it all. It soothes your panic, settles your racing heart beat and your shoulders slouch as your muscles relax.

“I’m sorry… Maybe next time make sure I’m really awake before you walk out…”

His boots thump against the floor as he walks over, he leans down, ruffling your hair with a big hand. “You worried about me, honey?” The heat leeches its way into your cheeks, embarrassed and feeling silly about the entire thing, you shrug. Joel chuckles, straightening up as he shucks off his jacket and throws it onto his sleeping bag.

“Come on now. I’ll teach you how to skin a critter while we wait. Sound good?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For all of my other stories, please refer to:

The Complete Collection: Apollyons Master List

XOXO

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months ago

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of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

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

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

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

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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

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

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

No one hurt you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not made for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do now.

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

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

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

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

Eat? Eat?

Oh god.

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

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re starting to cry again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help me,” you yell.

I’m trying, the wolf howls.

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

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

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

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

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

But no one’s listening.

The Wolf is listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We ate them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises.

The beast returns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try not to think about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

next chapter

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

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