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2019-05-01
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The Way of the World

Summary:

An alpha woman trying to reach her uncles safe house during the apocalypse finds an omega and takes him under her care - by force. She's rough around the edges, especially after the hordes of undead have hardened her cold shell, but it's nothing having a soft and supple omega to warm her up can't fix. Unfortunately for her, the omega doesn't like being captured and mated against his will. But maybe their journey will change his mind. Maybe being fucked full of pups by a gorgeous alpha isn't the worst outcome for an omega like him.

Plus, Zombies.

Notes:

Yes, I have actually updated this work, It's not a dream. updates will be slow-going since lately, I've been needing to find my will to write (and will to live)...

Here's what you need to know about the A/B/O in this universe: https://archiveofourown.to/works/25367398/chapters/61508554
Also: this chapter is third person, but I'll be playing with POV throughout the chapters after this.
Read tags. They double as warnings to anyone who feels the content of this fic is personally triggering.
Unbeta'd

Chapter 1: Prologue Part 1

Chapter Text

The world went to shit long enough ago that just about everything Sasha laid eyes on looked like crap - except for her sweet omega, of course. Yet each building in the rundown town they were passing through had her dejected. Nothing there was alive or lived in, there was nowhere safe or stable enough for shelter. Besides that, there was a rising fog surrounding everything that would only get thicker with time. 

The windows of the abandoned shops were broken and haggardly, caked in grime, and sprinkled in webbed cracks from bullets fired seemingly ages before. Sasha could see every inch of the wear and tear from her position waiting on the sidewalk. Her companion, Maple, was panting from the exertion of their long trek. Both of them perspired from the weather as he attempted to catch his breath leaning up against a brick wall.

The woman looked at the panting man, his hair mussed and one rebellious lock curling over his forehead. She wanted to stop for a while, to touch and hold him and let him know they were safe. That he would always be safe while she was there, whether he believed that or not. But she knew that the fog would only get thicker and they would be caught in this town if they stayed too long. Movement is their best option if they wanted to be safe.

So she grabbed Maples elbow with one hand, lifting him off the chipped brick wall, and used the other to rub loving circles near his shoulder blade. It was a sort of semi-hug as she looked him over, from his tired and frowning brown eyes to the lines shaping the creases of his forehead, completing his utterly worn look of exhaustion.

Walking long distances came with the other pitfalls of a post-apocalyptic hellhole, and it made life all the more difficult for maple and his quickly bruising feet. Each step felt like toeing across a line of thumbtacks or pin needles, and every hard pebble or dip in the road his arches molded across exacerbated his pain. He loathed imagining the site of his poor feet after the day was through.

The running shoes Sasha had scavenged for him weeks ago provided little protection from the unforgiving ground in their beat up state. The small tears, jagged laces, and scuffed tips mirrored the haggard appearance of their current owner, while the dirtied comfort soles inside tried their damnedest to soften the sore impact of the weathered concrete under his feet.

But the omega didn't have time to worry over his appearance. Sasha let her lips plant themselves curtly on his temple, before pulling away and moving to the middle of the street, continuing her direction north-west. Her stride both renewed and determined.

"We need to keep moving, Maple" Sasha called out, already several feet ahead of him. Her voice was softer in an attempt to soothe and encourage him, but it felt wrong to him. Her demeanor was nothing but cautious as she tried to implore him to continue through the pain yet it came across so disingenuous when paired with the use of the new name the alpha had picked out for him. After all this time, a part of him wishes he was used to it.

"I don't want us caught in the fog, and the further we are from here, the better. You can nest when we find a proper place for the night" 

In moments like these, she was sweet and caring, but the omega knew it was an act to get him to comply. He knew if he didn't she'd try again, before passing up the act and commanding him with her alpha voice instead. He, the stereotypical powerless omega he felt like more and more these days, would be hard-pressed to ignore her - and walk until his feet bled if that's what the alpha wanted. Whatever the alpha wanted.

Evading an alpha command was not impossible, but it required more energy than he could find in himself at the moment. His body wasn't feeling up to the challenge; not when his breasts ached with the weight of being full. Now just didn't feel like the appropriate situation to butt heads with his alpha.

"Mistress," Maple called weakly. She stops - turning just a quarter in his direction. Maple felt his resolve slipping, briefly wondering if the humiliation of relying on this stone age knot-head was worth the outcome.

"Before I... nest," he swallowed thickly, the blood rushing to his cheeks creating a tingling feeling along his skin, "I need... I need to be..." tears sprung to his eyes, collecting right on his lower lid, and he resisted the urge to wipe them away roughly with the tattered and dusty ends of his sleeves. She liked it when he was shy and unsure, and it was much easier to convince her to do something for him when he acted out her fantasy of a timid and docile omega to shield and control.

But even knowing that, it was always hard for him to give up his confidence and dignity. Sometimes he wished he really was that T.V omega. The one with the cinched waist and doe eyes, waiting hand and foot on the alpha of their dreams with only adoration and lust in their eyes, not a hint of malice to be seen. Maybe then asking for his swollen breasts to be milked would be less shameful to him.

In reality, he was never that omega. Even with his new life being laid out for him, with the promise of protection in the much more dangerous world they're living in, he could never bat his eyes at his alpha and still love himself after the fact. Every time he does, a piece of himself falls away, disintegrates into dust swept off the edge of his cheekbone by the brush of his lashes - Which is why he dreams every night of the earth devouring him whole, breasts full of milk, slowly rounding belly, and all. Just one big gulp and he'd be lost to the dirt and soil, never to see this awful woman again.

Truthfully, only one part of himself wishes that. One other part desires to push his swollen tits into his alpha mouth and have her drain him as if her life depends on it. And in instances like these he's glad that part exists, so he can let it take over - let it take a piece of the shame off his shoulders for a second. Until the moment comes and he gets what he asks for.

That always grounds him, reminds him what a mistake he's made by letting this happen to him. He can only hate himself for allowing it to come to this, for allowing an alpha to knot him and claim him - letting one put their scent all over him; dominating and owning Maples body. If only he fought harder, begged harder, or covered his neck, let her bite her way through flesh till she reached the bone. If only he did everything he could, short of throwing himself out a window to his death, maybe he wouldn't be bonded to her. Maybe his body wouldn't be the property of someone else: a vessel for the cargo he was carrying.

Sasha pulled him from his thoughts, urging him to continue, though she must've already known what he was going to ask. "What does my omega need from me?" she was baiting him, looking too fondly and hiding an oncoming smirk.

She likes this , Maple reminded himself.  Just ask, just ask,  he inwardly chanted. Maple hangs his head down, eyes cast to the ground so he wouldn't have to see her perverse glee. He licked his lips and ignored his inner monologue just long enough to build up the courage. 

"May you please milk me, mistress." He mumbles. He knows she couldn't hear him, so he gains just a little more confidence. "Mistress I need my breasts to be milked, please"

He sniffles a small and meek sound, rubbing his burning cheeks with his sleeve, and battles his tears by blinking. "Tonight" he clarifies, unnecessarily. 

There's a pause almost as pregnant as Maple. At that moment, he thinks she'll say no, so she can watch him desperately struggle to relieve himself this night like she has before. Or maybe she's waiting for him to beg her with his "pretty tears". Either way, he wants to take his words back.

"you don't ha-"

"Since you asked so nicely, sure; I'll milk you tonight," Sasha interjects, "but you have to nest first"

Maple blows a soft sigh from his lips, careful not to have her hear it. When he glances up she's already continued walking. He scurries after Sasha, trying to remain an ample amount of space behind her, but not too far behind, just like she taught him. Sometimes he hates how easily he conformed; other times he recognizes he didn't have much of a choice. 

The woman always seemed like a force of nature to him. Her punishments were nowhere near as harsh or vile as he knew they could be, but they were still horrible to endure in a way only she could manage. She knew when she first met him what kind of omega he'd be, and she preyed on that knowledge every time he slipped up. Sasha wasn't exactly merciful; Their first heat together saw the alpha taking what she wanted from him in his vulnerable state without a hint of remorse.

Images of bedraggled sheets merged with sweat, slick, and various other bodily fluids filter through Maples mind, and he shivers at the thought of the first nest Sasha mated him in. He spent three whole days scavenging as many safe places as possible to amass his collection of soft material. His heat turned him into a furnace that entire week despite the cold weather, yet he still managed to focus long enough to make one damn amazing nest.

The spread was so huge he was able to make mock snow-angel impressions in the middle of the piles of materials. He even shaped the protective walls into a square, something he'd never had the talent nor material to do during previous heats. The nest was a modern masterpiece in his eyes. Made of every possible cushiony and soft thing in probably the entire town he was camped in. 

There were illustrious throws and intricate quilts, two that were fitted with long-expired cold packs and light weights - most likely belonging to another omega out there somewhere - pillows of every fabric, a pile of them made out of jeans, which he promptly threw under the nest for extra padding, furs both real and faux, silk and satin dresses raided from the closets of middle-class moms and yoga pants from wine aunts. One orange trap blanket even had the omegas name, Candy, stitched onto the front in off white. That one had been his favorite.

Back in the pre-apocalypse world, omega specific nesting material didn't come cheap. Maple knew those omegas, whoever they were, were cared for deeply by their alphas, whoever they were too. When Sasha found him, she didn't even try not to wreck everything. It quickly became a mess, and Maple had to spend the rest of his heat being fucked into dried cum, blood, sweat, and egg ejaculate. He cried when she spilled his blood over the orange blanket and cried again when she refused to let him hide by wrapping himself in the weighted throw, then cried once more when all was said and done and the nest wasn't the only thing ruined by her.

He couldn't walk for a day after the mating and had to let her help him clean up. Pain and humiliation bonded him that night too, and they were as tied to him as Sasha was.

After their rude introduction, they abandoned the dusty hideout. It was only just a little bit of solace being removed from the scene of the crime. Everything was packed in order of importance, so when Mistress let him keep one blanket, he took his favorite. 

In the present, Maple is eager to take out that same blanket and cover himself in it. To read the note tailored into the bottom corner a thousand times before silently crying himself to sleep, just like he did yesterday.

Yesterday. 

Maple shivers at the memory of yesterday.

"Are you cold, omega?"

Of course Mistress noticed. Mistress always notices.

 


 

The next twelve miles they journeyed in silence. Maple didn't know how far they'd really gone, but it felt like he'd walked halfway across the U.S before they'd gotten anywhere halfway decent. He actively tried not to pay any mind to where they were going and the places they had to pass to get there. The last time Maple went site seeing it didn't go over well with his alpha and he desperately did not want a repeat of those events.

There wasn't really a point to running anymore. The omega learned the hard way that it was more trouble than it was worth. He valued the freedom he used to have, however it was peanuts compared to the value of protection. He might not have liked this alpha, but she stood by him and provided like she promised she would.

By the time Sasha had scoped out a nice house to crash for the night, Maple was tired enough to sleep standing. He sluggishly followed Sasha to the doorstep of a small residence littered with broken yard decorations. The grass was much taller than the homeowners association would normally allow, standing as visual evidence of how long it's been abandoned - how long it's been since the apocalypse started. The grey stone was painfully average, blending in perfectly with the other painfully average homes save for one choice art piece.

Graffiti somehow survived the apocalypse, as evidenced by the words 'condemned, just like you' tagged in thick red letters on the yellowed paneling of the deck. Some punks must have figured it was free real-estate, considering there were no old-timers left to run them off the lawn. How people like that lasted was a mystery to Maple, but considering his current state and how long he's been here still, it probably shouldn't be. At the very least the penmanship was topnotch. 

The omegas' attention was drawn to the alpha as Sasha rather loudly attempted removing the door blocking entry to the house. Sasha's first hard kick rattled the front door, her second one made the doorway give and splinter where the lock had stayed place in the latch. With that she barreled her shoulder into the red door, making it hit with a hard thwack into the wall once it budged. 

Inside the house, the air was stale - all of the windows latched tight. Making sure the living room they entered was clear, Sasha left her pack near the door and put her hand on the gun resting snug in her black holster. She motioned to Maple to stay quiet and stay put before heading up the stairs between the dining room and living space.

After a few minutes, she re-enters the living room and nods at Maple, passing him while exploring the rest of the house. Maple immediately knew what to do without being told, carrying himself to each window in the cleared room to open them as mistress checked the closed kitchen and first-floor bathroom, leaving the basement and what horrors could be down there to itself.

When he was done his tasks, he sat next to the fireplace staring up at the mantle in surprise and awe. On proud display were several framed family photos. Three of which were lined next to each other to make one big photograph, showcasing a family of at least 70 pups, their two parents, and what appeared to be the nanny staff. It was in black and white, and in front of what looked like a mansion. Obviously an old photo and not an accurate depiction of the people who used to live in this house - may be a childhood picture.

Maple entertained himself trying to guess which of those pups grew up to live in this house. But his game was cut short by Sasha placing a plastic box of her findings on the floor next to him, bending down to pull out a lighter. She looks where he's looking, "That's probably the one picture they all got to take together." She comments. After getting a confused glance from Maple she elaborates. "Families that big in this state can't keep all of them. Too much work."

She looks away from the photo, occupying her hands by setting up the fireplace. "Judging by how old that photo is, the alpha kids were more than likely shipped to military nurseries," the room glows a burning orange as the wood begins to crackle with the spark of life. It casts as much warmth in the room as it does color.

"It's all clear, by the way." Maple rolls his eyes at that. "Close the door."

The omega swiftly does as commanded and the sounds of the night dampen behind the strong wood. He feels an ache in his feet moving even just that small distance and groans at the effort. A mix of boredom and exhaustion has him grabbing one of the smaller images and sitting next to Sashas shoes on the floor with it.

"Someday, we'll have a pack that big." She announces with pride. 

It takes biting his lip for the omega to keep from bursting in anger. He wants to get indignant with her, but he can't do anything to deny it when his current state is proof she can do what she wants. Considering how fertile he is, it wouldn't be hard for her to knock him up again in his next heat - she could have as many kids as she wanted. Maple doesn't know exactly how many pups he wants, but he knows it's nowhere near the amount in those pictures. The omega realizes that that doesn't matter.

Sasha comes to a stop before him on her way to the kitchen again, scanning him up and down with a smirk, "Maybe even bigger."

Maple barely acknowledges the threat, eyes still glued to the happy yet stiff-looking father and the mother trying to hold her smile despite her drawn and watery eyes giving away her misery. Most of their children look completely oblivious to the situation - mostly toothy smiles and awkward poses. The older ones look more serious, with a few not smiling at all. He can tell the black sheep immediately when his eyes land on him. A short pup with feathers and flowers in his long braided hair.

In spite of the underlying sadness, the pictures bring a small smile to Maples face. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like in the past, and he finds himself hoping that all the pups turned out alright. His parents never talked much about their childhoods or the many years before his birth, which left the omega without a frame of reference for how the world used to operate - making Sashas words seem odd to him.

Maples curiosity gets the better of him. "What happened to the others?" He asks.

The alpha pauses, thinking back to what she learned in school all those years ago. "I imagine some might have been put into boarding schools, and a few of the omegas into training centers. Maybe a few of the older looking ones were already married off. I don't really know about the rest, but the alphas were definitely sent away."

"Can't have dissent in a family that big." She mumbles.

Sasha nods at the box she left on the floor, "Pick what you want tonight. I'll let you nest after dinner." Without another word, she exits into the kitchen.

Let you , maple stews over the words.  Force you to,  is what he hears. But there's nothing he can do about it. Everything is up to her. He's almost surprised that what they're going to eat tonight isn't up to her too.

Clanking sounds can be heard in the kitchen as Sasha rummages around the cupboards and cabinets. He hears the slide of the drawers as they're pulled out of the counters, then pushed back in. He knows the order in which she's searching and what she is searching for, memorized it to a T. He figured it would matter when - if  - he ran away and had to hide from her. It didn't.

Maple hears the soft clink of her gathering two glass cups into a pan. Then he throws a glance at the box, seeing a small collection of cans and decides she's stacking them in a pot actually. She always brought everything out at once, abhorring constant trips back and forth. Around the time his stomach growls something furious is when he chooses to scour the box and find something he won't hurl up after he nests and she-... and she-

Needless to say, he didn't want to think about what was coming afterward. Although he asked, it was only out of necessity - but now there's some fear that the woman might mate with him when she's finished. The sex was absolutely unwelcomed, especially with how harsh she could be. Sasha liked fast and rough for the first round, then slow and methodical for the second. The third round could go any kind of way. As long it ended with Maple sore and sensitive. Sometimes spent, sometimes dying to cum and trying not to show it.

"When you whelp," Sasha's voice rings from the kitchen, all sultry and snake-like, heard over the shuffle of her boots across the wooden matte. "we get to keep them all. Just one of the few benefits to this ordeal, I guess" She huffs something like a chuckle. It's dark and sarcastic, and Maple doesn't like it.

The woman continues collecting things, unworried - her next comment spoken giddily "I can bitch you again if you'd like." Maple knows she's not really asking him though. 

There's the sound of pottery clattering together as Sasha puts one bowl into another, just as Maple picks out some cans of chili. He places aside the can of kidney beans touting itself as full of vitamins. It's some omega brand specifically for nursing omegas that coats food staples in fat puree. He knows it's just Sashas way of gloating because he can clearly see the expiration date on the label, and he knows she can too.

He could do without the alpha constantly shoving what kind of state he's occupying in his face. Maple just wanted to survive the world. He didn't want to be bitched and he doesn't want to whelp either now that he has to. Under other circumstances - meaning when the world was normal - he would have gladly hoped for a litter. Now though? He could have easily taken a vow of abstinence if it meant none of his pups would know a world like this. But he didn't get to choose.

His shoulders hunch as he tries to keep his mind from wandering down a dark path again. Still, he loved the little ones growing in his belly.  Probably the size of one of those kidney beans,  he thinks. A small smile graces his face.

Then he realizes his hand is splayed on his stomach, and Sasha's in the living room now, carrying more than just the pot and dining items.

In one hand she's got the corner of a vacuum-sealed bag clutched by the fingers in her left hand, while her fore-finger and thumb pinch a thin parchment between themselves. She glances at Maple, who just stares blankly, before reading the note.

"Follow the bones. Signed, the Dog Pack." Her eyes squint in suspicion as she mumbles the last bit of the note, "P.S, enjoy the peaches."

Neither of them moves or speaks at first, weirded into silence by the unexpected message. Most survivor groups didn't give away hints to their hideout locations as if they were easter eggs - even less part with a precious food item as a show of faith or something. It seemed a tad ominous to the omega, but to the alpha, it sounded like something worth investigating at least tangentially. Maybe they've come across her uncle and could point her in the right direction. Maybe her uncle had stayed with some like-minded folk.

She couldn't really see him inviting a bunch of strangers to his place - not during a time like this - so her hopes were pretty guarded, but there was always the possibility...

The omega before her shifted a little, waiting for the alpha to say something.

Sasha fakes a calming smile, putting on a display of casualness. "So, what's for diner?"

Maple doesn't seem up to talking anymore though, and he silently points to the cans on the floor. "Ah, I see," she responds.

The omega grabs a chocolate-colored footstool and sets it before the fire as Sasha watches him with a gleam in her eye. After she puts down the items and two extra cloths, maple gets to work arranging things the way he knows she likes, while Sasha inspects the bag. She's already seated by the time her mind strays to all the scenarios she could think of involving this 'Dog Pack'.  

As far as she's concerned, there are two risks: Either they're a dangerous group waiting to trap someone, or they're a naive group just waiting to be trapped by someone. Neither one sounds appealing.

They obviously had resources to spare, and she certainly didn't mind leeching off of them if it meant her omega would be well-fed. He hasn't seen consistent meals in weeks - hearing his stomach growl had set her ears ablaze every time. There'd be shelter - probably - and plenty of people there to help keep an eye on her runaway. There might even be other omegas present if they're lucky.

But a group also offered its own set of problems as well as solutions. A Dog Pack doesn't exactly sound friendly, so she can only wonder what kind of people would be part of that crowd. It could just be a rouse; maybe someone had already found them and raided them. Perhaps there wasn't anything or anyone left. Even worse if it was filled with Alphas just waiting to steal her omega away. 

Sasha doesn't want to think about it anymore - focusing on the good omega obeying her orders before her. 

"Shame they didn't leave nesting materials," she says, "Or a breast pump."

Maple pales.

 

Chapter 2: Prologue part 2

Summary:

Maple finally gets his milk expressed, but not before a silent meal and a good nesting.

Notes:

Two things I'll discuss quickly, since I don't intend to talk about it in the story(too much exposition kills the writer AND the fun):

Sexuality: The majority of any reference to sexual preferences will be A/B/O specific and mainly have to do with secondary gender/designation, e.x alphas who prefer betas, betas who prefer omegas, etc.

The Outbreak: Overpopulation helped the spread of the disease which very quickly wiped out societies. The undead have incredibly weak motor skills but can run and chase. however, they can die of starvation which leads to their numbers dwindling.

Also, WARNING, casual discussion of rape in the beginning of this chapter. It isn't treated nicely, just frankly, and will be a prominent part of this universe going forward. The societal outlook surrounding the crime will be very different from ours since this is an A/B/O universe and biology is different. I obviously do not endorse rape, and wish anyone with traumas relating to it nothing but the best in life.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Oh, don't look so sour" Mistress cooed. "You're going to be good during your milking, aren't you?"

Fire licked up the edges of my cheeks, coiling towards the center of my face, attracting attention to the curve of my nose, lighting it up like a bright beacon. I couldn't pull myself to show any more affirmation than a non-committal shrug. The full weight of it slumping my shoulders, making them feel heavier after the rise and fall. I bowed my head, looking through my eyelashes-fluttering them even-in a bid for a more bashful appearance. The more contrite, the better.

It seemed to be enough for Mistress, like I knew it would be.

"Brighten up, frowning is bad for the pups"

At that I snort derisively.

"What about the walking we just did? isn't that bad too?"

"Not as bad as staying somewhere unsafe. Besides, I let you walk at a leisurely pace anyway"

"Let me? It's not like you could force me to run."

"No, not run. I could've made you walk faster. Would've too, but there's just something so endearing about that little pregnant waddle you do. It made you so cute. God, you should've been pupped a long, long time ago" she looked pensive for a second, "Well before the disaster"

"I guess that's supposed to mean you lucked out" I mumble

"I did."

There's a brief pause, long enough for me to worry she'll punish me, before she speaks again.

"You lucked out too, you know. If I were some burly no one with a chip on the shoulder you'd be bent over every surface in this house."

I swallow thickly.

"But I'd rather you naturally came to an understanding that you're the bitch with my pups and I'm you're alpha. That my dominance is indisputable and there's nothing you could say or do to change that."

She looks at me long and hard.

"Something tells me you already know that. Deep down. You know I won't treat you like anything other than my omega, don't you, Maple?"

It was a question that didn't need an answer. It hung loud in the air between us, making me duck my head at the implications.

She was speaking the truth. Any other alpha would've done more than bitch and breed me. Would've shared me with their friends, covered me in piss, branded me, muted me, remove my teeth and fed me a diet of their seed and only their seed. I've seen the worst of alphas in passing, practically had a birds eye view when everything went down. I've been witness to more crimes than I could ever testify against in the court of law. Even the legal practices were carried out in an illegal manner.

Mistress wasn't free from some crimes herself, and I wouldn't say she was the best of the bunch, but she didn't follow her states stereotype. She was nothing like that Rick Ordeson alpha from the string of hurt-porn miniseries that were popular before the world devolved drastically. Raping omegas was probably all she knew, the true definitive way to conquer and put them in their place. Shortly after she bit me, I tried to reason with her, tell her that it was wrong and it hurt me. But she never acknowledged what I said and eventually I gave up.

To many alphas, rape was standard procedure in mating an omega and ensuring their loyalty and submission, but the brutality of a post apocalyptic bitching was an anomaly in widespread practice.

Before the end of society, forty-eight of the fifty states banned wild matings, stating the improper and unhygienic conditions of the outside environment, the stress from panic and unfamiliarity, as well as the lack of handling and battling of alpha attentions, harmed omegas mental and physical health to an undesirable and unreasonable extent.

Bitching was to be indoors and occurring under carefully controlled circumstances, applying at least moderate care for an omegas instinctual needs. An omegas family was given full authority over their heats, pups, and body, which would be passed to the omegas mate after bonding, resulting in the facilitation of modern arranged marriages. A large half of "civil" breedings, as they were called, were even consensual.

After the disaster, all caution was out the window, and all active regulations that could possibly help omegas were out with it. Wild breedings and matings were common all over again, and the pint up aggression mixed with opportunistic alpha varieties led to forced bonding in the streets. Most alphas were crazed with the unchecked power, attacking each other over omegas, or for no reason at all. My mistress was comparably cool-headed, comfortable in her own skin. It's because she was use to the behavior, having lived in one of the two states that still allowed feral displays publicly.

Mistress was becoming impatient, her lips a hard line as she stared holes through my eyes.

"Well? You wanna eat don't you?" Mistress said, motioning with a springy jut of her chin to the cans I laid out. Her hair swung in one solid jerky movement, the coal tendrils curling as it landed in bunches at her shoulder. I wanted to pull on it.

 

Instead, I set about pouring the cans into the pot and finding the metal rack to place it on over the fire, meanwhile Mistress gathered fabrics from around the house, first raiding the linen closet for scraps. I check the pot, stirring it a bit, then pick a comfortable spot on the floor to wait for the food to finish cooking. The wooden floor is cold and unyielding, and for a second I wanted to grab a cushion from the couch to lie on top of, but I know she would mistake it for eagerness to nest, and I want to avoid the experience as much as possible. Still, my fingers itched, the desire all too strong.

If she came back to me starting to nest she'd push me into the floorboard and fuck me. I don't want her cock in my ass; or her lewd words littering my eardrums, tumbling down into my brain like garbage down a trash chute.

 

She's overbearing for sure. Demanding. There's no doubt she's alpha, no one with enough common sense and intelligence in a hundred miles radius could deny that. She walks like one, over confident and with the pride of someone who owns the world. And acts like one, keeping watch in the latest hours of the night, losing sleep if she has to, throwing herself in front of me at the first sign of danger, bossing me around, humiliating me.

She keeps one arm over me while she sleeps, controls when I use the bathroom, where, and even bathed me the first few times after she fucked and scruffed me so hard I could barely move.

Now she scavenges for me, hand feeds me on the occasion, rubs my back, and expresses the milk from my breasts when I'm too full. I'd almost think she's sweet on me if it wasn't for our circumstances and the fact she forced herself on me.

Maybe in a different world, one that didn't end like this, she would have dated me first, convinced me she was a caring alpha and capable of giving me and my pups a loving home. Then ask my parents for claiming rights.

My parents were the good kind, they never saw me as anything other than their son, omega or not. They would have demanded she allow me to finish college if she wanted to claim me. They might've even arranged a whole ceremony, paid for it too, with a spectation just to make sure she doesn't harm me in the bonding process. But that's just speculation. I will never know for sure what could've been.

I mean, I do know they would've been amazing grand parents. I'd have to take my pups to see them constantly. I can just imagine myself smiling at the way Mama introduces herself to the litter, pinching their chubby cheeks and appointing them nick names, each one foreign and meaningful. She'd look at me, stare right into the pools of brown that reflected hers, and with a knowing grin, ask me when the next are due.

There would be a giant meal on the table, in the dinning room. The small silver chandelier lighting up my children's little gazes. the glow bouncing off the beige dry wall, casting a shine on the polished oak table and floors, the silverware gleaming. The table cloth runs to the floor, a size too big for the surface it's stretched on. A soft cascade leading down into a pool of soft fabric, from one end to the other. Fathers hand gliding over my shoulder, guiding me to the chair next to his, asking me how I've been, how's the studies, how's the mate.

I can almost feel the warmth of their smiles, real in my memories. But something brings me back to reality. The pop of the chili as it boiled over bringing my attention to the present. I'm faced with the fact the warmth I felt wasn't there, it was the fire, in the cold stone sweep of someone elses house, causing that feeling. I grip onto the handle of the pot, placing it on the rug. the steam rises from the dish, heating up my face, as I lean over it to set out the bowls.

 

Mistress walks in, a contented grin on her face, happy by the wonderful bounty in her arms. There's so many big blankets that her entire body is dwarfed behind the material. She has to lean her head to the side just to see where she's walking. A small, creme colored comforter drags behind her, like the train of a particularly fashionable red carpet dress, wiping clean the dust from the floor. Now a clean streak of hardwood leads from the stairs through the dining room to the living room.

Her smile is aimed right at me, and I tense, returning it with a slight quirk of the corner of my lips. She seems to accept it, and moves to pile the threads near the couch, returning to me when she's finished. By then, I've already poured the contents of the pot into the bowls she scavenged. She took her seat on a stool she pulled in from the kitchen area, and I lift up one of the dish towels, a greyed and feathered thing, and lay it across her legs.

She shows her appreciation of the gesture by carding her fingers through my hair in one quick stroke, smoothing down a few tufts of chocolate strands in the process, and it feels better than it should coming from her. A tingle from the top of my scalp, where she started, to the middle of the back of my neck. like fireworks dancing on my skin. Affection from ones mate will always feel heavenly, and I haven't decided whether I hate that or not.

I'm used to setting up our meals like this, arranging the cloth over her and making sure Mistress is comfortable before I go about preparing myself. I even poured her bowl first out of habit.

The one time I was so hungry I dug into the food without preparation or waiting for permission I surely regretted it, and so did my ass. The tiny scratches from where the plastic table she bent me over scraped against my hip are just now fading. There used to be bruises on my knees from kneeling for so long while she force fed me her cock.

I didn't want her to do that to me ever again. So I learned better. I learned to be civil, and to let Mistress eat first, to test whether it's safe to consume or not. In a way, she was only looking out for me. Or at least, that''s what she told me.

I settle myself down next to her, my rear end situated on the balls of my feet. I'm seated at her boots, like a dog at heel, and for a moment I can just see myself; looking the ever studious omega she shaped me into. But I ignore that in favor of the hunger in my belly.

There's been a gnawing pain in my stomach since early this morning that hours of traveling seems to have made worse. So I bow my head in deference to her and our dinner commences.

She lifts her spoon first, taking the first bite and swallow like she does with every meal, and I wait patiently for her just as I was taught. She blows lightly on the utensil pushing the steam away with the force of her own warm breath, then glides the silver right in past the raspberry red of her chapped lips. She appears to push around the sustenance in her mouth a bit, making extra sure it's edible, then, one audible gulp later, gives me the affirmation I needed to chow down:

"Eat, Omega"

And I oblige her enthusiastically.

The next half hour is spent enjoying a, very rare, good meal in silence. The smacking of my lips and the scraping of our spoons against the bottom of our bowls are possibly the only sounds for miles outside the distant chirps of crickets.

The quiet makes time pass quicker. Before I know it, I've reached the bottom of my bowl and Mistress has just put aside hers. She wipes her hands thoroughly with the dish cloth and folds it up, then covers the bowls with it, like we're at a fancy restaurant and not some elderly couples abandoned household during the apocalypse.

I just stare numbly, entranced by the actions.

she gives me a once over, takes in my haggard appearance. The clothes on my back are plastered in dirt and sweat, beyond recovery fashion-wise. It's all I have in the way of clothing currently. Mistress found a department store a town back, but it was out in the open with nowhere to hide me. She didn't want to take the risk of bringing me in there if the dead were in there too.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to wash today" An honestly apologetic look flashes over her face "Next stop, I promise"

I nod at that.

"Okay"

"Would you like to get started now?" Mistress asks.

My heart skips a beat. Then my eyes shift across the living room, trying to catch a glimpse of any possible conversation starter to prolong the inevitable. Gazing wildly over furniture, from chairs to rugs, I spot it, gleaming right at me, succulent and high yellow. Perfect!

"Are the peaches any good" I motion my head towards the bag in question.

Her eyes follow my gesture to the offending item.

"I'm not entirely sure" She rubs at the corner of her jaw with a curled pointer finger, assessing the goods, and then assessing me "Do you like them? do you want them?"

I manage a "Yes".

I've gotten a sweet tooth these past few months and the odd bits of candy here and there wasn't cutting it. Plus, if I chew slow enough, I can buy myself around ten minutes more before my nesting.

So mistress picks up the ziploc, inspects the outside for holes, then opens the bag to take a look inside. Plucking up one solid peach chunk with both pointer, thumb, and middle finger, she lays it neatly on her tongue, retracting the appendage into her mouth and squishing around with her teeth. I can see the swish back in forth through the set of her jaw, and the hollow then puff of her cheeks.

She swallows softly.

Her smirk grows twice its size(if even possible), and she takes another pinch into the bag, this time holding out a chunk for me.

My tongue makes first contact with her fingers and the fruit, then my lips follow suit. She lets out a tiny grumble from deep in her chest, barely audible even in the short distance between us. It tastes like summer. Like the peach trees my neighbor grew when I was a child. The syrup texture of the juice slides down my throat just right.

Mistress feeds me another one after I've finished and the burst of sweetness on my tongue takes my memories back through time.


 

An orange sun coat, the neighbors daughter, Tina, a beta, laughing maniacally, a bed of flowers, my mothers hair, thinning at the roots, a smile on her own face, her own baby blue button up a few inches oversized. Tina and I are watering tulips, and I was bored, so I told her a joke. I remember.


Mistress rubs the inside of her wrist over my cheek, and I catch a strong whiff of her Cherry and Lime alpha scent. I didn't even notice that I leaned my head against her lap, but she seems to like the close contact, and it's not harming me, so I don't pull away.

Time passed while I was caught up in my memory, and I finished the entire bag of peaches without remembering doing so.

My mouth was sticky, and the drool coming from the corning of my lips felt like molasses spilling out of me and pooling at small part at the hip of mistresses dark green pants. I silently hoped she didn't notice.

And she didn't, too preoccupied with the tiny baggy in her hands.

"What's that?" I ask

Her eyes flicker towards me for a brief moment.

"Another note" she replies

"What does it say?"

She doesn't answer that question, only moves to wipe the peach juice off the bag and onto the dish rag from dinner. It's easier for me to see the folded piece of parchment when the baggy is clean. There's colors and lines all across it, and I think it might be a map.

Her face scrunches up in consternation, lines forming over her black, pointed brows, pulling her features into a frown. She's deep in thought, her jaw clenched and foot tapping lightly against the polish. I almost want to catch her attention, to ask again, because she only gets this way when there's a possibility of danger. But something in her face, makes me think twice. Instead I sit quietly, hoping she'll forget all about the milking, despite how my breasts hang full and uncomfortable on my chest.

 

Throbbing in tandem with my breasts, my ass and calves start to pinch up, my legs falling asleep slowly beneath me. I move slightly, adjusting my bottom on the floor, and shifting my feet from under me. The rug scratches me a bit as I lay my bare forearms on it. I'm reclined across the floor, almost ready to close my eyes and sleep soundly, when Mistress clears her throat, the noise keeping me from my slumber.

"Get up" she tells me. "It's time for you to nest. No more stalling"

I'm filled with dread at the announcement, obviously, but I'm not surprised she knew what I was doing. I never was good at stalling.

Dejectedly, I remove the cushions from the brown suede couch and lay them together in the center of the rug, scooting aside the foot stool. Mistress took this time to barricade the door with a collection of dining chairs from the adjacent dining area. It's not the most effective against other survivors but it would be helpful against the undead. Their motor skills were moot so just about any barricade would do.

I look over at the pile of fabrics Mistress found and hesitantly pull them apart, searching for the perfect cover for the bottom couch pieces. I find a large bed sheet, bright orange and wool, perfect for warmth, and wrap it around and under the base of the nest.

The two pillows she brought from upstairs were small. Both the length of my forearm and two hands wide. They were memory foam however, so I decided I'd use them to complete the base, but they weren't enough to cover the bottom layer. I stop right in my tracks, eyes wild, panicked

I can't finish a nest without an innerlay, and I can't make an innerlay without a proper top base. If I can't finish the nest, I'll be punished, and I don't want to be punished. My ass throbs with the thought of a rough and calloused hand impacting heavily with my backside, leaving a bright pink impression and a flash of biting pain. My palms start to moisten, sweat beginning to form, and my heartbeat quickens.

 

For a moment, I think about making a run for it and dashing into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the wood cracks down the middle. I'd curl up under the sink, trying and failing to shield my entire body from her. Maybe she'd break down the door in one kick and drag me out by the nape of my neck, pliant, and force me to continue the nest. Or she'd let me hide until I fell asleep, then slip her arms under and around me, lifting me into the living room and laying her body across mine like a human weight blanket.

But I can't will my legs to move, or my feet to run. I can't turn away from her or disobey her without facing serious consequences that I'd really rather not be subjected to. My bodies reaction is preprogrammed, letting off wafts of stale cigarette and lemon scented air to alert my alpha of my current state. It's natures way of requesting help without my input.

Instinctively, I looked towards Mistress for help, before realizing my mistake. Now she's going to go puffing her chest with pride at the opportunity to help her 'darling distressed omega' with the domesticity of nesting like a proper brood mother. She's the one who caused my panic in the first place, but she'll ignore that fact for sure.

Mistress leans over to me, with that smug smirk running miles up her face, pronouncing her cheekbones. Her hand goes straight for my hair, gripping it lightly.

"Shh, it's okay." she soothes, "It doesn't have to be perfect. Just use what you can."

Her fingers let go of me with a slide through my locks first. I think she's trying to be encouraging, but it's hard to tell over my nervousness.

Nevertheless, I want this over with, and the only way to be done with this is to be done with this. So I continue constructing the nest. I take two linen sheets, hold them together, then fold them into a large square.

I strip the couch of it's two throw pillows and one circle pillow, and put it under the folded linen square, completing the top base. the bottom base still peaks out a bit, bight orange contrasting against bright white, but I figure I'll fix that later. It's not as comfy as it could be, but there's no purpose in dwelling on it.

Next comes the walls of the nest, and since the last time I did something fancy with nest walls was part of a tainted memory, like always these days, I went with an utterly plain low wall circle structure. I twisted two throws around the base first, then twisted the large creme comforter around the throws, tying the wall tight with two child size blankets wrapped like twine around the piece.

It was becoming clearer and clearer that what I was creating was the Frankensteins monster of nests. Messy, mismatched, and cheap. But there was nothing else I could do. Mistress only allowed me to sleep upstairs in houses she was sure were absolutely safe from any danger. As such, I've only gotten the privilege of sleeping in a bedroom four times since she mated me.

Occasionally she would bring down a smaller Mattress if the house had one, and whenever there was a futon with an accompanying Omega layout she'd let me sleep on it. But there was no such luck in this house. Even if there were, I know Mistress is determined for me to nest anyway. She practically gets off on it.

Which is why It's better to finish as fast as possible, instead of wasting my time admiring the unfinished product.

I get to work covering the top base with all the cotton materials left in the pile, all of which where long scarves, tacking them across vertically in colorful lines. It was a tragic scene of ugliness but one that was quickly topped with folded blankets. I molded a folded blanket into every crevice and spot, but they were of varying materials and felt weird when I ran my hand over them. I rolled up the last piece of material, a linen pillowcase, and stuffed it into the space where the bottom base peaked out, covering it as much as I could.

 

My nest was finally built. Hasty, lopsided, and all different shades and fabrics, but built. There was nothing else to do except ask for a cover. Sometimes my Mistress let me sleep with my favorite trap blanket. Other times she would have me bare and naked in the nest, with nothing to bundle myself in. I'm at my most vulnerable when I'm like that, at my Mistress mercy, and reliant on her for safety.

Which is why it's a no-brainer that she refuses my request for my trap blanket, and orders me inside my nest instead. She comes towards me and kneels right where I had been a second ago. At eye level I can see the flecks of gold in her green iris, shimmering glow cast by the fire burning right in front of us. There's this look in her eyes, glossy, pleased.

"Look at my beautiful Omega! so resourceful!" She praises me.

I preen at that, accepting the praise without really wanting to. Her hands raise up, fingers extending towards me, but stopping just a hairsbreadth away, tips almost caressing my cheeks. She moves them down, ghosting lightly across my skin, trailing towards my neck. The skin there is soft and sensitive, warm, temperature rising just a bit from the warmth radiating from Mistress. She clasps the side of my nape and immediately my head lolls to the right, offering better access to my bond mark and displaying my instinctual submission.

Her face brightens as she leans closer to me, "Good boy".

 

Tingles and spikes of pleasure rack my body, making me shake, as she slides her fingertips up and down the back of my neck. I can feel blood rush to my cock as she continues the movement, doing it over and over again. I feel the twitch of my cock as it desperately tries to fatten up without my Mistresses hand to guide it. Before the mating, getting a stiffy and getting rid of it was easy business on my own. Now, my Mistress controls my cock. Every inch is fine tuned to her.

"It's okay, I'll take care of you. Why don't you take that bra off and let me take a look at those swollen tits, hm?"

Mindlessly, I attempt to nod my head, but her fingers on that spot of my neck make it impossible. She doesn't seem to notice, and rubs with a bit more persistence. My lips move together, trying to speak, but all that escapes is a low moan.

"I know, baby. The sooner I can milk you the better" her eyes rove over me, assessing and eager, hungry. "You look so lovely all bred up with my pups. I'm going to keep you bred, just like this, constantly fat with my litters."

A tear almost leaks down my face then. I don't wanna be filled up with her seed, especially not the way she'd prefer to fill me up. I know that's my life in the near future: barefoot and pregnant, belly hanging low over a caged and weeping cock, my back aching as my last litter toddles away, shoving everything they can find into their mouths, and my new litter mewling to drink from my breasts, one by one, until they're drained. She'd come home from a hard day of scavenging with meat and fur on her belt, and salvageables in her pack. All twenty-four hours of every day would be devoted to cooking, cleaning, breastfeeding, nesting, mothering, and presenting.

Litter after litter would be pumped into me, and if what she said was true, I'll have to raise all of them. The pups in my belly now are beholden to me, but I don't like the idea of having another litter. At-least not right away. But Mistress gets what she wants, and what she wants is a large pack-family. She wants me well bitched and whelping till I'm loose, slaving over stoves to cook what she provides, eating from her hands, caught hanging off her knot, and feeding an unnaturally large family from the taps of my breast.

"Come now" She speaks into my ear, "I'll help you".

With that, she proceeds to tug at the hem of my shirt, lifting it into my face. She instructs me to lift my arms up, and I numbly follow. My bra joins my shirt soon after, both discarded next to the nest.

 

My chest feels the warmth of the fire immediately. The caress making my nipples stiffen. One of Mistress hands cups my bra, squeezing it hard enough to illicit a sharp gasp from my lips. She's rough alternating between moving the mound around in circles, squeezing, and pressing it flat. My breasts are being treated like bread dough in the presence of a particularly determined baker. The pressure begins to tighten, my breasts gearing up to feed babes that have not yet arrived. My mistress takes notice as one of her hands slipped under the wire bra to message one nipple, using a fingertip to nudge the growing bud around and wetting her finger in the process.

My cock was near straining now, perked to attention thanks to her ministrations. I think the head might be purple, the shaft red and engorged, but I don't want to look and confirm. Couldn't even if I did want to. Being made to wait was beginning to cause a dull pain. My balls seemed to flex up as my dick only got harder and harder. I want nothing more than to touch myself and rub one out, but I'm not supposed to. Mistress tells me I am to take only what she gives me. I hate it, but there's nothing I can do. There's no rebellion I could hatch against her, no stretch of land I could cross that she couldn't.

Already I'm too tired to even argue, the dopamine rush from her teasing my scruff earlier still flows through my veins, and I am more pliant than I usually am. I need to relax in my nest and settle my pups. But I can't do that without releasing this pent up milk aggravating my breasts. If I have to endure a little bit of edging to have my needs met, then so be it.

 

Thankfully, my mistress is just as eager, though for a completely different reason.

"I'm going to go wash the bottle, don't touch your breasts." She turns around, practically skipping across the small space, and takes the glass coke bottle, along with a small bottle of warm water, out of the backpack and quickly stores herself in the kitchen to clean it.

Meanwhile, I disobey her completely and squeeze both of my breasts furiously with my hands. They're small enough to still fit in my big palms. It's almost painful how stuffed my tits are. The ducts are clogged with milk that just won't come out no matter how much pressure I exert. I start letting out mewls soft enough my mistress won't hear them. I'm trying my damnedest to get just some milk out, preparing myself to tug at my nipples until they cartoonishly extend to my belly button like stretched taffy.

Bravely, I move two fingers right over my nipple, and twist as if opening a bottle cap. I inhale sharply as pain rings through my newly forming mammary glands, rippling like a particularly hard wave. It burns, and then it pinches, like pins striking themselves straight through me and piercing me. Tears spring to the corner of my eyes, and I have to bite my lip and will myself not to call out. It's a minute of smothering and griping before I can't handle it anymore and I pull my hands away quick, as if they zapped me with lightning, just as Mistress re-enters the room.

 

I shove my arms to my sides, attempting to put a front. Gritting my teeth against the lingering pain, I curl my lip up into a smile. It must have looked a bit constipated and unconvincing because she gives me an incredulous stare, one eyebrow neatly perked up, clearly disbelieving my feign of innocence ash she struts right over to me.

"Naughty, aren't you?" she tsks at me. "I bet it hurt."

She knows full well that it did.

Divest of any remaining preamble her hands are on me, roving up my abdomen then gliding over my left nipple. She pulls the bottle up to height, glass warm against my dark pink areola, and then kneads my mound with her whole hand, rhythmically gripping and releasing, extracting my milk. One thin stream of sugary smelling white liquid leaves a short trail of heat as it drips into the neck of the container at my breast.

I release a heavy sigh of relief, the throb of my breasts coming down easily. The pressure lets up enough for me to be content with the pace, rather than impatient from pain. I almost close my eyes but I'm too entranced by the look on mistress face and the river of milk coming from me. I see Mistress's eyes track the steady flow as it slips down into the container, pooling enough to cover the bottom.

"You like that, huh?" She's looking at me.

I absentmindedly nod.

Without warning, she bunches up my breasts and compresses, hard. The stream splits in two and combusts a flood of milk, spraying everything. Hosing down Mistress's hands and part of her shirt, splashing into my lap, and running over my stomach in thick rivulets. She plugs the glass by pushing my nipple into it, causing it to suction. The milk shoots into the dish, filling quickly. The fast pitter patter of liquid hitting liquid reminds of the sound of water draining from a faucet and rushing into a cup.

It should've been painful, I should be yowling, but all I can do is sigh even deeper as the pressure completely vanishes within two minutes. By the time Mistress pulls my nipple out of there, the bottle is already half full. Her eyes glitter as she looks at me, then swishes the contents of the glass side to side. The milk crashes against the walls of the glass, creating a plop every time the liquid rises and falls.

"Look at all this milk. Such a good boy, producing all of this before the pups have even gotten here" She caresses my cheek for a second, "Good omega". My cock twitches at the praise.

 

Mistress shifts to the side and the same exact process is done to my other breast: The clutching and the pressing, and even the surprise squeeze, timed differently. When she's satisfied by the amount she's amassed in the bottle and is confidant I've been thoroughly confiscated of all breast milk, she leans down and licks one solid strip across each nipple. My cock yanks up against my underwear, weeping to be let out, while the cooling saliva erects both teats. I don't want to fuck though, and it seems that my Mistress doesn't either as she lifts herself off the floor and plops down into the arm chair, taking her post for the night.

I curl myself down into the nest, snuggling into the fabrics and rearranging myself to be as comfortable as possible, trying to ignore the stickiness of the drying sustenance covering my chest. My hands rub over the skin of my belly, soothing the pups inside and reassuring me they are safe, warm, and fed. Though my stomach has not yet fully distended, I feel all the physical weight of a pregnant omega deep in my bones. In truth, it would be hard to tell, visually, that I am pregnant until the next month, when the bump juts further out from body than my breasts currently do.

As I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me, knowing Mistress will lay my blanket over me later, my peaceful last few thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bottle full of my milk being swung up to a pair of lips. There's the wet splurch of one swig and swallow. I need nothing else to convince me to turn around and sleep with my back facing my mistress instead. I briefly forget about my toplessness that exposes the full sight of my bond bite, but am of course rudely reminded by a short whistle and a breathily commented "What a view.".

Notes:

Here's all you need to know about sex and pregnancy in this universe: https://archiveofourown.to/works/25367398/chapters/61508554

It comes into play next chapter.

Chapter 3: Chapter One: Wandering Nowhere

Summary:

before Sasha found Maple

Notes:

Smut in the next chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I'm closed to being pissed off, so damn close, but somehow not there yet.

The group I'm with has been walking since sunrise, towards no particular direction but north. I've asked before where our destination was, but Kellan, the leader, always changed his story. One minute we're going to Bozeman, the next to Helena, and the minute after that, Great Falls. The cold nipped at my nose and fingertips as I trudged through the fresh lay of snow at my feet, and the pistol in my holster lit up my flank with an almost glacial chill.

The mated thruple in front of me were also dissatisfied with Kellans decisive indecisiveness. Betas Trevor and Elliot, and their omega, Coco, were shivering through the frosty air and hard ground. Elliot and Coco were wrapped on either side of Trevor, huddled for body heat, and hanging on for dear life. They were heading for Elliots family plot near the Canadian border. They didn't care which direction they took to get there as long as they did. To them it seemed Kellan was creating a goose trail to keep the pack together, but they were too cautious to attempt braving their destination by their selves as two betas with an omega.

The lone beta sharing the back of the line with me was a short and humorous woman who went by the name Nantucket - apparently, something having to do with a movie or something - but we just call her Tucker. She wasn't really going anywhere if you asked her. She'd say she was meant for the road; that the apocalypse made her fully realize her inner vagabond or something else kinda hippy.

Of the six of us, four are betas. Meaning I could stick out with this group the remainder of the apocalypse without alpha disputes over rut pheromones. The only one vaguely affected would be Coco, but I had no intention of messing with him or his betas. In fact, I had no intentions of continuing with this pack after we get close enough to Idaho state lines for me to make the rest of my journey alone safely.

None of the group knew, except for Tucker, who claimed she had an unearthly ability to predict when some one was as non-committed as she was. She had a list of people she flaked on, for one reason or another. From what I could tell, she was kept in the group simply as an extra pair of hands- as was I. And rightfully so.

Those two betas were right to be cautious. Even having three betas gave them better protection for their omega than two. I had my hold-ups about the posse when I first came across them- read: when they first came across me- but seeing Cocos round face and curious eyes hidden behind his big glasses pretty much settled it for me. I had to make sure they made at least some of their trip in safe company. My alphahood enabled me to offer better protection than anyone else in the group, especially Trevor and Elliot.

It disturbs me in a way I would never express, to their faces at least, that the beta couple would let an unmated alpha near their omega in a beta pack that doesn't appear to know the first thing about dynamic safety.

Coco's neck was bare as day under his scarf. No claiming mark or bond collar to protect the side of his precious neck. He was open for the taking by me, or any other alpha with a working knot. Sure, Trevor was gruff enough to intimidate most from making a move, and with Elliot to back him up he was never just talk. Yet that wouldn't be enough to ward off sex-starved alphas from battling to the death if need be just to try and get one taste of their omega.

 

Beside me there's a small hum.

"I bet I could guess what you did before all of this" Tucker pipes up.

I look to her, curious and bored enough to play along.

"Alright. Guess." My breath billows a cloud of white smoke visible in the cold.

"Little league soccer coach?"

I huff out a bark of laughter, incredulous. It wasn't the worst guess someone has made about my life before the shit-storm, but the mental image of me commanding a bunch of scraggly little tykes with mud-caked cleats and pouts was quite something. I simply don't have the attitude to coach children, and according to reliable sources, I'm much more likely to cheer them on then toughen them up.

I don't disagree with the perceptions of my kindness - I'd rather a nice image than a mean one. However, unfortunately, those perceptions came prepackaged with other assumptions. Not that there weren't benefits to being underestimated, but being an alpha sometimes, many times these days, required being stern and bullish. Cheery is the exact opposite of that and it incites questions of ones alpha-hood. Though I'm secure in my alpha-hood just fine, when other alphas doubt me, challenges are inevitable.

The promise of a fight has never deterred me, and shedding my light-hearted attitude for attack mode has become second nature at this point in time. I'm skilled enough to protect myself, and anyone else who might need my protecting. Yet I can't help but think about worst case scenarios. They keep me up at night, away from my good dreams about good times. All I do is imagine.

I Imagine I find the perfect Omega: he or she is all coy and soft and trusting of their alpha. Everything is finally right in the world. Then, a true monster; not one who ambles around the streets, kicking up a trail of dust and decay and clacking its maws in search of flesh and blood - but a true human monster: a carnivorous being who feeds on happiness and love itself, and sucks the light from others lives; not for need of it but for lack of anything better to do- comes from the woodwork of the very society that fell only months ago, though remained a rotting carcass for years before that.

That true human monster bullies its way into my bond- a bond so perfect it could light the stars on fire- and extinguishes all possibility of hope and love and melts my entire world to the ground, maybe even without laying a hand on me. One challenge bite to the neck of my omega, and my world shatters to pieces I could never put back together, even with the strongest gorilla glue made of kinetic gold or duck tape made from strands of Supermans hair.

Outside of my mind, where things are more Lovecraftian rather than Shakespearean, my silence stretched long enough to make Tucker laugh awkwardly.

"So is that a no?" she asks with an upward tug of her lips.

"Is what?" I answer dumbly

"Mini-me FIFA coaching"

I offer her a humorous smile, "That's a no."

"I thought for sure you would play soccer"

"why's that?"

"Those toned calves of yours. You look like you could kick the head clean off a zombie and score a touchdown!"

That earns her a chuckle. "Now you're talking about football"

"Same-difference across the pond" she shrugs, "okay, next guess! were you a..." it takes her a minute "Librarian?"

"I managed books sometimes, but I wasn't a librarian."

"Damn. An accountant then?"

My face scrunches up, appalled at the notion, "Oh god, no!"

Tucker stops walking then, and I turn to look at her utterly offended expression.

"I was an accountant."

I can't help the surprised "Really?!" that escapes me. Looking at her dejected form I feel too bad not to apologize. In fact, it's when I'm one second from doing so when she suddenly perks back up, with a shit-eating grin, and calmly says,

"No"

She hides a laugh in the palm of her hand, while I cluck my teeth, holding back a chuckle I grudgingly don't want her to have. I nudge her and both of us began walking again.

"You almost had me there"

She giggles a bit more, swaying on her feet a bit from her little fit, before her laughter starts to slowly die down. She looks thoughtful again and I know she's gearing up for a good guess this time.

"How about secretary?"

That gives me pause.

I didn't think she'd actually guess it right. I never exuded the kind of demurity associated with secretaries. in fact it was hard to, given that I was an alpha and the majority of people surrounding me in the field were betas. Occasionally, there were super rich clients who had two secretaries; one of which would be an omega specifically employed to greet people. Sometimes rich business folk just hired omegas as a sign of class, no matter the position.

The work just wasn't very alpha-like. Something about concerning yourself with improving and catering someone else's work instead of your own just didn't sit right with most alpha ideals. It was regarded as a servants job, and modern alphas weren't meant to serve. Even after my 'promotion', not many alphas would consider the job I had with any interest, envy, or admiration. It was more likely for them to be surprised I "debased" myself for the lengthy paycheck.

Tucker leans into me, still upbeat, and whispers playfully, "Don't worry, I can keep a secret, Tiger."

"I got it written all over me, don't I?"

"No, actually," She huffs, "I guessed"

 

The motion of Coco falling to the snow in front of us captures my attention.

The little omega chuffed, small bits of snow flying off of his nose. He's lifted up by the arm-pits and straightened out by Trevor roving his hands down the front of his winter jacket, disheveling the snow. The omega gives off a tangy orange smell of embarrassment, seemingly unable to control his scent due to the extremely cold weather. They ran out of his scent suppressants a few miles back and the darling doe had to contain his smell on sheer will alone.

He doesn't look too happy to be covered in cold, more flustered than anything over the caring hands patting him down, muttering under his breath something illegible. Elliot leans in, looks him over then gives him a light kiss on the forehead that makes Coco's cheeks ruddy.

We're given a lovely view of the whole show from the back of the line. The sight made something inside of my chest tighten, like someones hand has a grip on my heart and wants to squeeze the desire out of it like juice from a pomegranate. There's a niggling thought at the back of my mind, some part of my inner instincts trying to grab my focus. It tells me that I need that. That I need an omega to pamper and cuddle and kiss. One to carry on my arm and devout my life to.

I've been mateless and packless, since before this nightmare. Before all the blood, violence, and hopelessness, I was just lost as we are now. The apocalypse only exacerbated the problem, illuminated it - like drawing a large red circle around a chasm and an arrow pointed towards it.

Back in the civilized world, resources didn't come cheap. Drooling over the bosses important work, however unappealing to my nature, continued to put a steady supply of food on my table. Life as a secretary gave me the provisions I needed for just myself and I was content for the first year of my work, but my ambitious nature won out eventually, driving me into a coffee-fueled over-time, over-achieving streak that pushed me up the ladder towards a 'promotion': Assistants assistant.

Being the yes-man accompaniment to the big bosses right-hand yes-man paid way more than I expected. Granted it wasn't the most prestigious position, yet it provided more food for my lonely table. On the downside, it left me with less free time to procure a mate or continue my services at the local omega pound. Thus the great dilemma; I worked so hard to provide for a mate, but I worked so hard I never found one.

Living on my own was harder than I expected. It wasn't the weight of my work or responsibilities or the bills I had to pay that really did the number on me; it was the coldness of my empty apartment, without any omega or pups to liven it up.

It's not that I didn't have any family at all. They existed, but they where distant. My parents were travelers, as my uncle described them. They were salesmen by trade, marketing home security systems internationally. If they were lucky - like extra lucky - they would be on some foreign island with a low population and fewer ways for the infection to reach them.

My uncle, the man who raised me, was a tough son of a bitch who was probably taking out hordes like a one man army. He was a real life action hero sometimes, tried to make me just like him too. As an alpha, he could've had his own kids, and plenty of them. But when my parents desperately needed his help taking care of me, he took on the role of father, and mother when need be, like a pro. To him, the line between niece and daughter blurred. I was his pack and he was mine. It hurt to turn away from him in pursuit of my own pack.

 

I remember the sadness making the crows feet around his pronounced as he squinted, attempting to hold back tears his alpha pride wouldn't allow him to shed. He didn't know I saw him lose that battle, sitting at the kitchen table, through the window outside the kitchen. He wanted me to be strong and happy, but he didn't want me to grow up.

When I settled in the city, I called him everyday. For the first week, he didn't answer. His voicemail greeting me reminded how much I missed his voice, and I always wondered if he missed mine too. So I made my messages as long as I could, which was only five minutes. I talked to his cold machine about anything I could think of; the weather, the highrises, the people, the vantage points, and the street performers. I told him all about the emergency routes throughout the subway and the interstate, the closest hardware stores and storage spaces, the prevalence of first responders, every hospital in the area, all the survivalist stuff he's taught me to pay attention to.

Halfway into the second week, uncle gives up the cold shoulder and picks up the phone on the first ring. There's no sound but our breathing perhaps for a full minute before either of us speak. We build up the courage at the same time and our words jumble together. Uncle goes first the next try. He stumbles his way through an apology that doesn't really sound real but I don't care. Hearing his voice again makes the world brighter.

I smile so hard through the entire conversation my cheeks went numb. I didn't quite find the bravery to tell him why I left or if I was ever coming back, and he never asked. I called him every weekend for two years after that, and he always picked up. We didn't talk about much important.

Then things came to a head. The alerts warned everyone to stay indoors, and almost instantaneously people packed up and prepared to run. For the first time since the move to the city, my uncle called me. It was a day before evacuations for the average citizens.

The government moved out the elderly and children to secured locations a week prior to the spread. People on social media sent tweets and emails inquiring their safety. The army quickly launched a shoddy website with long group photos and names and locations for parents to ensure their children were safe. But no news reached about the elderly.

The order for my city to evacuate the omega institutes came out two days late. Many were tackled around, being crammed into armored trucks, and the older ones given temporary sanctuary in common homes at the edge of city. Security was loose because of the mad scramble to get as many out as possible. 

My uncle had a friend in the national guard that he called in a favor from. My status as an experienced volunteer at omega shelters allowed me to stow away on the cargo plane more efficiently. I coached Omegas through panic attacks and spread calming pheromones for the lip-locked ones experiencing Daze syndrome when they were squeezed together in every corner of the plane. Some were unlucky enough to be compacted into steel cages stacked on top of each other.

The whines and the soft sobs for their omega mommas, trainers, or anyone they cared about, drove my alpha instincts up the wall. I couldn't comfort all of them. Only the worsts cases had my undivided attention. I and two other alphas working at different corners of the plane were the only ones keeping those poor babies from going catatonic.

On the ground, pedestrians ran wildly, leaving dust in their wake. The omegas were rushed to camps where formal trainers were available, and I split from the congregation with help from uncles friend. He thanked me for my service, leaving me briefly flattered and stunned, before showing me to the nearest civilian airport.

It was full to the brim almost bursting with people. Getting inside, never mind finding a flight, was a daunting and unachievable task. With my mind made up, I pickpocketed the nearest bystander for their keys and spent a full ten minutes wandering around the parking lot like a child lost in a supermarket.

I tried to make it as far as possible but the inevitable unfixable car trouble struck me half way to the border and I ditched after sleeping in the backseat for the night.

Somewhere on my travels I came across two other groups prior to this one. One group of three college age alphas, who split from me when they changed their minds and decided to go to Utah, and a beta married couple who bailed on me in the middle of the night.

When Kellan saw me fending off zombies in an alleyway, he offered for me to join their merry little gang. I remember four sets of eyes staring intently at me, waiting for my response with baited breaths. I was close to refusing, but I suddenly found myself looking into the soulful and curious gaze of a shy omega peeking out from behind Elliot and Trevor, who stood side by side like a shield.

He didn't look scared. Just curious. Obviously, he trusted his group to protect him. In my mind, if they were worthy enough of an omegas trust then they were at least a little worthy of mine too.

That's the short answer for how I came to be here, for two months traversing across this frozen tundra formerly known as Montana with a ragtag group of four betas and an omega. Now, watching as Trevor gives little licks to the side of Cocos face, warming it from the snow, I'm feeling a little sordid about the disaster. Not happy that it happened, of course, but hopeful that a beautiful thing can still come from this world. And yet, still pissed at the same time.

 

Ahead of the group, Kellan calls back to us, "There's a diner coming up here! we can stop for the day."

Coco turns away from Trevor and begins stomping towards Kellans direction, Elliot hot on his heels. Tucker picks her feet up and waves for me to follow.

 


 

 

Settling down at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, I take off my coat and boots slowly. My socks are drenched- in what I believe to be sweat- so I put them on the edge of the booth to dry. My eyes do a quick sweep of the space, keeping stock of the exits and the closest weapon besides my gun- which is a tiny fire hatchet encased next to the kitchen entry. I also keep tabs on the omega of the group, sure that if anything goes down I can bring him to safety first.

The beta-omega family are on the floor near the little open space at the counter. Trevor and Elliot have already divested themselves of coats and have layered them over Coco, who looks grateful for the extra warmth.

Meanwhile Kellan is checking the diner for a backup generator, and Tucker is scavenging for non-perishables.

Trevor steps away from his little family and positions himself right across from me. A sigh leaves his lips and he cards his fingers through his hair, ruffling it. The smell of snow and dirty laundry wafts over to me, familiar in a way I wish it wasn't. Out of the group, I was the one who made the most effort to stay clean, even despite the harsh weather. I only wish my companions did the same.

His contemplation is palpable. I can almost physically feel the edge and the worry from whatever it is he's waiting to say. It only serves to make my patience wear thinner.

"Hello, Trevor" I greet him only with kindness.

"That gun you have... have you ever used it? on a person, I mean"

The question comes out of nowhere, totally unexpected. His cool eyes try to bore into mine, but I don't pay him much outward attention as I reach for my Holster to pull out the weapon. It's a Smith & Wesson, silver with a black grip, a gift from my uncle. I had a rifle too, but I had to leave it behind since it would have been much harder to sneak that around with me.

"Yes. Twice."

"Why"

"The first person I used it on was attacking an omega. I tried to stop her but I was too late. The omega was already dead. Bled out from a gaping wound in their neck."

Trevors face contorts briefly, a look of disgust passing his features before he schooled them back to normal. I hear the leather of the booth crumple as he repositions himself slightly. If I remember correctly, I've heard him mention being a pretty hard going omega rights activist previously. I never aligned myself with them personally, nor supported their demands. Activists seemed to primarily consist of betas, and that much made sense. Caring for them and entering a bond was much different than a beta-beta relationship.

Betas who were attracted to omegas indulged in the sex and knew the ins and outs of heats, sure, but the other aspects of an omega - their sexuality and disposition, their need for restraint, training, and cravings for touch - were all foreign to a lot of betas. Even the ones rallying for their freedom didn't fully comprehend an omegas need to be controlled and properly handled - or else they wouldn't have been activists.

Trevor slouches, attempting to get more comfortable despite the question he proposed and the morbid answers he would receive.

"The second one was an elderly woman. She was already bitten and wanted to join her dead wife before she could completely lose herself."

He takes a second to process my words.

"how about you?" I ask, "ever shot someone?"

Upon hearing my words Coco looks over at us, Elliot too busy laying out a blanket from their bag to notice his omegas attention wandering or hear what I asked his beta partner. Trevor shakes his head, the corners of his lips quirking downward as he lifts up his shoulders to shrug. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be convincing. The omega goes back to shivering in his alphas big coat, curiosity satisfied.

Over the course of the month and a half I've known Trevor, we spoke to each other only sparsely. He was more of a silent communicator and I, friendly as ever, allowed him to be quiet without much interference. Tucker would try to get him out of his shell sometimes, each time being rebuffed. My approach was to not approach.

I sat back instead, and observed him when he did speak. The way he interacted with his husband and his omega. At this point, I was pretty confidant I could identify some of his tells, the true meanings behind his glances and his posture, the way he corrected his scent, if he let his scent go. Of course I didn't know him well. Nowhere near as well as his loved ones. But I knew well enough about the tense of his shoulders. He answer wasn't a no.

Reclining in the booth, I wave my hand in front of me in a sort of 'continue on' type gesture, wanting to hear what he really wanted to talk about. He throws an anticipatory glance in Kellans direction, unable to actually see him yet anxious of his return. Trevor leans in, his smell becoming stronger the closer to my face he gets. Sensing his need for secrecy, I lean closer as well.

"How safe are you?"

I can't help the way my brow quirks up in confusion.

Trevors tongue darts out across the cracks of his pale lip, barely wetting it, glancing again at the kitchen door, before reiterating, "How safe are you? Can I trust you around our omega?"

At that I bristle. My hands clench into a fist, nails biting into my palms. I put off an aggressive scent without meaning to, burning charcoal filling my nose and spreading across the small space. He stills, catching the scent. I think he realizes he's insulted my alphahood and is waiting for my reaction. I don't intend to lash out at him, violently or otherwise.

He tips his head to the side, not averting his gaze however, and lays his palms upwards on the table, exposing the inside of his wrists. Apologizing non-verbally. My surprise staunches the scent I was giving off just a second ago. Mostly, non-verbal omegas apologize that way for small offenses, letting the person see their most vulnerable places to show sincerity. For a beta, only the neck was particularly vulnerable, which made his show of wrists very different. It was a learnt behavior for anyone outside of the omega designation. He must have learned it from his omega, or maybe his birther.

Either way, he takes my shocked silence as an invitation to speak again. "I guess not."

"I haven't done anything untrustworthy, so why ask?" I bite out.

"Because you're an alpha. I know how it is." He licks his lips again. They're more chapped than they were yesterday, dry from him giving half his water rations to Coco. "I want your word. Can I trust you?"

It's Trevors turn to look intense, his jaw set. His words rattle around in my brain for a little.

"You can trust me with anything." It's stern, just stern enough to make him visibly relax, his jaw loosening. He nods, attention temporarily shifting over to his omega currently nestled into Elliots chest.

"Now that that's settled," I have half the mind to act laid back, contorting my body oddly to hike my sore feet on the dented booth table. There isn't enough space between the seating and the surface for me to actually lay both of my legs straight so my left foot rests on the cold ground while my right sits pretty, bent at the knee, on the table top. My small switchblade gleams, strapped to my calf. His eyes meet the knife before recentering on me. "What was the real question?"

By this time I'm already annoyed by Trevors flightiness. Years of dazzling snobbish clientele with smiles and adapting to my bosses critical nature with a kind, albeit stiff, disposition has trained me in the art of patience. Or a least in the art of feigning patience. Instead of huffing or egging him on, I decide to wait, each second of him swallowing back his initial question becoming agony.

I'm starting to discern things I hadn't cared much to notice before - like The tattered and dirty checkered strip of fabric he keeps around his wrist. It looks like it used to be cool grey with light red but its covered in enough substances to the point of darkening fifty shades over.

The room has once again gone silent, chilled. It honestly feels like time is at a standstill, like I'm waiting for a shoe to drop, rather than any actual words to come out of his mouth. Whatever it is, he has difficulty confiding in me over it.

I knock him out of limbo by being the first to speak, "If you're going to kill Kellan, I'm not in."

His eyes widen a bit, a tempered swallow, followed by another swipe of his tongue. He really needs to find some chapstick

"I'm sorry?" He questions, "No, that's not- wait.... why not?"

"Safer to have more people, isn't it? He's the one getting us to safety too, and I trust he'll get us there eventually."

"So, you won't be interested in what I was actually going to ask, I take it?"

"Well dear, that depends. What were you going to ask?"

His mouth opens and I briefly think it's going to close again. "I don't think Kellan is leading us to the border anymore. I want my family to have a home and be safe, and that can only happen if we get to the border."

Trevors suspicions are not totally unfounded. Kellans mixing up of our destinations seems more purposeful than the few other times he legitimately got us lost. Now we're lost a lot more often than we were before. We're practically lost everyday. It's to the point he doesn't let anyone see the map, claiming it'd break his progress if he heard our input.

It didn't bother me so much as long as the general direction was still towards Idaho. Tucker was of course nonplussed for other reasons. I had just assumed that the little beta family hadn't voiced their dissent because they trusted Kellen. Now I know differently.

"As an alpha, you're our best bet for protection. I was going to ask you to come along with us."

"And you want my answer right now?"

"I want your answer whenever you have one"

I fix him with a stare, trying to assess whether he's honest or not. I have no clue how he's planning to sneak away, or how I'll be treated once they reach their destination. He already insulted me, and seems to be pretty skeptical of alphas. I understand the caution, but then, there's no purpose asking me to tag along if I make them that antsy and uncomfortable.

Maybe I should be the one exercising caution around him. The way he was eying that door, the nerves he was working up just talking to me about leaving, something between him and Kellan was bound to happen. I solidly wanted no part of it. However, for the protection of their omega...

Truly, Coco, as well as most omegas, was a weakness of mine. Though I don't care much for his betas, the sweet little thing deserved to be safe, and despite not knowing him as well as I'd like to, I felt like I owed him just a little protection. I'm already offering that by staying with this group as long as I have. I wouldn't have joined if it weren't for those quizzical beady eyes.

Yet I have no real obligations to the omega or his betas, or even this group itself. My destination and theirs are not the same. Our journey together was always meant to be brief and it will remain that way. I would have told Trevor as much if it weren't for the flickering buzz of the over headlights in the dinner.

The spell broke, my stare faltering. The small space was cascaded in yellow reflecting off of any surface it could reach. The napkin dispensers and the silver trim on the dining chairs glimmered. Out of the kitchen doors walked Kellan, a smirk on his face.

"Back-up generator!" he announces, waltzing over to a panel near the diner entryway and flipping one of the switches down. And just like that, the glow disappeared like it was never there as the lights cut off.

Conversation over, Trevor rejoins his little family on the floor, accepting Elliots hand rubbing his arm by resting his fingers over it, while Kellan goes back behind the service counter to rummage around.

Seeking out the ratty heater I spotted earlier I slide out of the red leather booth and move to drape my socks over it to dry faster. I had to swipe the inch of dust layered on the grey heater, beating its heart out to produce warmth. The poor machine was shaking like a leaf, making terrible little bumping sounds akin to a tiny jackhammer going to town on a particularly troublesome slab of concrete.

The ceiling fans are still on, kicking up more dust around the place. The smell of old coffee and expired bacon permeates thanks to the air being picked up and traveling. I'm bored enough to want something to do, but I don't want to get in another conversation with anyone other than Tucker at the moment. Since she's still busy in the back, I decide to inspect the rest of the diner.

I already know where the first two exits are. One is placed squarely at the front of the store; the other, labeled by the big red letters plastered on the glass, is across from the bathroom in the small nook at the right hand corner of the establishment. The walls inside the building are red all around - an old cherry color slightly weathered from wear and tear. The tiles are crooked and white, with dirt compacted into the grouts. Some were cracked, resin splitting to reveal the rough inside of the material. One particular crack spread from the last booth all the way to the bathroom door. It was like an aerial view of the grand canyon, but gross and less exciting.

The restroom door was slightly ajar, leading to a surprisingly clean all-gender bathroom. It smelled faintly of pine-sol and strongly of weed, probably from workers sneaking off to light up during break or after work. There were names carved into the wall near the mirror. Some were written in red pen and thick black marker. A typical public lavatory in a dingy diner the middle of nowhere, Montana.

In the space between the restroom door and the exit, there was a wall with a large board smack in the middle. It was littered with 'missing' posters - both concerning animals and humans. A sweet looking Burmese mountain dog named Rufus pinned to the upper-most right corner, a scruffy chihuahua named pinky below it, a green eyed girl, six years old, right next to them. She wasn't the only kid up there. Papers were stacked tightly onto each other, pins hold them precariously. Briefly, I wondered how it was even possible to pin up half an inch of paper.

The six-year-old, Mikayla, was tacked on to nine other pages, each the same age as her. She was in a studio, one hand gripping a low pole and the other extended gracefully. Pink covered most of the picture, from the walls to her duffel sat in front of her, down to her ballet outfit with the little white tulle wrapped around her hips. Two children with hair platinum, thin, and long, just like hers, lingered near the edge of the picture. Wanting to be in the photo but not wanting to take her spotlight. Her smile was gap toothed and young, unaware that she was gone. Unaware that her missing paper was sitting here collecting dust in front of so many others.

Considering where the board is located, I highly doubt anybody spared a second glance at her or anyone else posted. No one else was looking for her, and maybe her family didn't make it. Maybe they weren't looking for her either. There's also the possibility that she wasn't even alive.

My mood significantly soured. A fog was building in my thoughts, blocking out my surroundings temporarily. This small child was a victim of this unforgiving and cruel world, as was everyone. It's hard to feel hopeful knowing that I could very well end up like her: lost, dead, or worst of all, alone. It occurred to me then that there might not be many children still left on this earth. There might not be many people still left on this earth.

When hordes started to form in major cities, the army dropped bombs. None deadly enough to level the cities but still big enough to turn the streets into piles of rubble and grilled flesh. They gathered infected into small gated areas then threw grenades, rounded up the sick and barely dead yet and injected them with cyanide. I stayed at one camp all of one day, till the groans of the infected and the cries of survivors wore me down. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. It was hard to swallow, water tasting stale and warm, almost chalky.

After I left, I felt my resolve strengthening. I wasn't going to let this disaster change me. Yeah, even now I had my moments when my mind slipped and the reality of the world set in. The fears would keep me up sometimes. I'm scared of finishing this hellish road trip only to find my uncle isn't at the safe house. That he's somewhere out there, infected or bleeding to death, calling out my name one last time, without me to hear him.

But I decided then and there, that through it all I was going to be the toughest son of a bitch I know. If this world remained the same then I would simply keep surviving in it. I'm not going to let it eat me whole, nor will I let it keep me from desires. If anything, it made me hunger for it more. It doesn't matter if I have to scour the earth for the last omega left. I'm going to reach my uncle and I'm going to find myself an omega. Whichever came first.

I'm not going to end up like those people on the bulletin board. The board I hadn't realize was stripped of a few papers by Kellan; who I also hadn't realized was standing next to me.

Kellan doesn't say anything at first, studying the tall model looking brunette in his hand. An omega last seen volunteering near the Lewis and Clark park in Bozeman. Whoever was looking for her spread their wings out far. I couldn't blame them. She appeared the perfect omega, one I would have gladly challenged for when I was younger and more impulsive. I hadn't noticed it first, too distracted by her full lips and bright face framed by tight curls, but the omega was listed as missing a month before the earliest report of the outbreak. The description below last seen was heartbreaking.

 

Likes: Cuddles, frogs, clementines, bed time stories, petting, plushies

Dislikes: Thunderstorms, moths, being alone

 

Nasiya is a non-verbal omega with high anxiety and asthma. She cannot speak

or fend for herself, but can write and understands written

word. As of 9/27 she is one month pregnant and has begun nesting. If you have

seen her, please contact the number below. If you have her, please make sure she

has her inhaler and return her to me at the address below. please bring her back so she can birth my pups home where she belongs

 

Kellan let out a breath he'd been holding in, a soft sigh escaping him. There was no doubt in my mind this omega was stolen. It probably didn't matter how much her alpha pleaded, he likely never got her back. Somewhere out there was an omega who desperately needed her alpha and yet didn't have them.

"I've seen posters like this a million times even before the outbreak." His voice is quiet and caring "You'd think at some point you'd run out of sympathy. And for others I have. But not for the omegas," His eyes divert to the poster I was observing earlier - Mikayla. "Not for the kids either"

Something dark flashes in his eyes, like a memory ghosts over his face and casts shadows on it. He looks hurt and lost. He looks like someone who's picture should be up there too. But the expression is shook off carelessly, the moment coming and passing. Kellan brightens up, pinning the papers back to the board. He turns to me.

"Tucker found enough to make soup."

I happily accept the abrupt change of subject, "Finally, something edible."

 


 

 

The diner is significantly warmer than when we first entered it by the time food is ready. Kellan managed to find enough wood to actually start a fire, but due to the nature of the establishment, what with all the fire alarms and sprinklers, the food had to be cooked outside. Tucker really gave it her best shot, measuring out what spices were left behind trying to make a simple rice, bean, tomato, powdered cheese and corn mush into some kind of gourmet, and adding melted snow for volume. I commended her for her efforts; we all did.

Coco was offered to help, but Elliot refused for him, preferring his omega to be inside and warm. Coco didn't like that, judging by the scrunch of his nose and the bright red starting to light up the tips of his ears. There was nothing he could really do about his betas decision though, unless he attempted to defy him.

Despite my passiveness and general lack of meddling in the beta family's lives, I wouldn't have allowed him to lash out in front of me, an Alpha. I couldn't care less if he offended his betas, but insulting me by showing his aggression in my presence would not be tolerated. Luckily, it didn't come to that. The omega glanced my way just once and tightened his lip, keeping his head down as a way to temper himself.

The exchange went unnoticed to the beta audience busy laying out their bags and getting comfortable before the food was finished.

A few minutes later and the cloth over my knees, warm bowl of food in my hand, and the odd sound of Tuckers laugh- like a DJs record scratch on repeat- as she told an old thanksgiving story, put me at ease. This moment right here was one of few so far in the apocalypse that was good. A good memory I'll cherish just like the ones before the outbreak.

One hour into dinner and every ones bowls are delightfully empty - their bellies delightfully full. My dish is resting on my table, cloth inside, neat as always. Even though it's gotten later outside, the entire group is still up just shooting the shit. we're supposed to be up at sunrise to move early but I suspect that won't happen tomorrow. I still intend to wake up an early bird however and position myself to sleep at my booth.

Tucker has a sudden look of realization on her face and decides to rush into the kitchen. There's a clanking noise and a few seconds later she comes back out with a small sealed glass jar in her hand. She extends it out to Coco.

"Its Tallow. They still had some in the cabinets" She explains, "I thought you might like some."

The omegas eyes go round, transfixed with the treat, he looks to Elliot, pleading silently. Elliot just huffs a short half-hearted chuckle. "That's usually for pregnant omegas, Coco". The omega just looks at him harder, verbally pleading now.

I'm close to closing my eyes, almost sure Elliot will refuse. Then I overhear it:

"Please" he says, then whispers, as if I wouldn't be able to catch it, "Please, alpha"

To my surprise(not really), Elliot gives in and allows his omega to have the treat. Of course, he takes his sweet time eating too. Logically, I know he's just trying to savor the taste, not knowing if he'll get another treat like this again. Yet I couldn't help mentally complaining to pass the time. It was all I could to let out a grumbled moan of exhaustion

Patience, I tell myself, when you get your own omega you're going to need patience

Eventually I hear a soft mewl - likely Coco - followed by a soft awe - likely Tucker. Even though he isn't my omega, I can't help the smile that graces my face as I listen to his breathing. Within the next five minutes, he's soundly unconscious, and two minutes after him, so am I.

 

The next morning there's a quiet contentedness among the group. The night before was one of our best. Somehow the unexpected desertion scheme Trevor was plotting didn't ruin the light atmosphere and neither did the bulletin board of misery.

Most of the group is already dressed and putting away their items back into their bags. I decide to stuff my holster and gun into my bag - the metal had a way of freezing my leg to the bone when cold. On second consideration I decide to throw my switchblade in too.

Walking over to the heater I find my socks have not only dried but have become exceptionally warm and cozy and...

They shrunk.

I notice, while Kellans in the back shutting off the power for others to use, and Trevor is out scouting around the diner for any infected, Tucker and Elliot are chatting softly at the end of the diner, leaving Coco to fold up the blanket he had been using alone. I approached him, both socks in hand, and knelt eye level. Naturally, he looked at the tip of my nose rather than directly into my eyes.

He let off his greeting scent, a marshmellow type smell, very sweet on the tongue. Sucking in a quick lungful, satisfied with his manners, I smile.

"These won't fit me anymore" I hold out the pair for him to take, "wear them."

It was a soft command, just barely a command actually, making the omega oblige. He removed his shoes stuffing each foot into an individual sock. The cold would make my smell on him dampen, practically imperceptible to any other designation than alphas or omegas. His betas wouldn't fuss and he'd get to have warm feet; win-win.

 

By the time everybody is ready to leave, the sun has already set itself high as a bird in the sky. It was a new day, and it was probably going to be a good one, if the clean crisp air and the warmth were anything to go by.

Notes:

Clearly I know nothing about Montana, and geographical accuracy was not something I thought I would be writing for fun. But I did my best.

Comments always welcome.

Chapter 4: Chapter Two: The Rude Introduction

Summary:

When Sasha meets Maple

Notes:

Would've gotten this finished a week earlier but had WiFi problems and my phone is not the best keyboard. First time writing lemony smut like this. Mind the third person POV switch after the first line break.
More tags coming with this chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I did the math in my head, several times over. Counting from the day I joined Kellan and the gang onward, it should have only taken me two months at maximum to reach my uncle. Even including the week we spent legitimately lost and the two days I spent sick and alone in between groups, we're way off schedule. I should be a day out from my uncle, but somehow we're barely a town over from the diner we left yesterday.

So I did the math again, accounting for every possible variable, outlier, and inconvenience. Coco required an extra hour of sleep between traveling, the group took breaks for the occasional hunt, Kellan screws up the map every two days like clockwork, squatting from small hordes which only takes about half an hour at a time, then the winter making our stays longer...

But it still doesn't add up. We've been moving for more than a month now and yet the progress is minimal. Considering where we started from, more than a two day variance between estimated arrival and actual arrival shouldn't even be a possibility. It's like I haven't even started traveling yet.

Bozeman was my check point for the other half of my journey. The first part was my exit from Michigan, then the flight from the base camp to Montana. The second part, the one currently undergoing a slew of complications, was departing from Bozeman to Nordman, Idaho. I expected the journey to be long, a little arduous, but no where had my initial calculations anticipate being as slowed down by a group and it's sneaky leader as I am now.

Some of the blame would be unfair to place on my companions, I know. Coco couldn't help being an Omega and his Betas aren't obligated to put him at risk just to appease me and my eagerness to be on time. Even my own inconvenience to myself, my temporary sickness, could not have been avoided.

If I ride it out with them until I reach Nordman, if I even reach there, I might be too late. My uncle isn't one to flake on me or anyone. Every time the school bell rang I trusted him to be right outside, illegally parked in the blue line, leaning on his red truck waiting to greet me with open arms. Whenever I needed him to be there, he was there; no exceptions or excuses. But in the event that he experienced any interruption in the plans we laid out last we talked then I wouldn't bet his life on staying in one place, unprotected and alone.

His safe house was stacked up the ass and back. Since day one he was prepared. I'm not scared of him starving and wasting away. Yet I am scared of him being overpowered. Being hurt or worrying if I'm hurt. I'm scared of him missing me. Most of all I'm scared of him thinking I'm dead and giving up on me, or worse; thinking I've given up on him.

Sitting with my back ram-rod straight, chin held high in the mini circle, I survey the bodies spread across the repair shop floor like butter across toast. The air is musty, like most places these day. A thin layer of grease and oil and gasoline radiates from every corner, joined by the smell of candy mints, grandmother perfume, and cheap leather, like a reminder of what this place was. A bustling venue for cars and customers, now a temporary hide out for seemingly the only survivors in Montana.

To the left of my peripherals, Tucker has commandeered three chairs and shoveled herself into them. Mostly only the top of her head was visible to my position but I could see her legs were through the hoops of the arms of the second chair, braced by them. She'd have a stiff back and her knees would likely be all wobbly in the morning for sure. I briefly wondered if she'd panic waking up and probably flip out of the chair with her legs still trapped.

Kellan is occupying the space directly in front of her, and would get a chair leg straight to the face if she did freak. His snoring was drowning out the sound of Tuckers light breathing, his own chest continuing a stuttering rise and fall, shaky like a car down a gravel road. Black hair mussed and greasy, eyes closed, and actually peaceful. Under normal circumstances, just from appearances alone, I wouldn't have so easily guessed he was untrustworthy.

The room was too dark where they were to get the details of the Beta families sleeping forms on the right side of the room. Unlike the diner there was no accessible back up generator. We weren't even sure if there was a generator to begin with as the majority of the shop had been locked up, save for the waiting area and an office filled to the brim with boxes of paperwork. It didn't matter anyway because the only person up at the moment was me, the self designated first watch. The group has already gotten used to sleeping in the dark by now.

Of what little I could make out of them, it seemed Coco was wedged in a fetal position between Trevor and Elliot, with Trevors back being the one facing me. Elliot was a heavy breather. Every time he exhaled the hair on the back of Cocos head fanned out, like a peacocks tail made of chocolate brown locks. It didn't disturb Cocos rest though, meaning the omega was accustomed to it. He must have also been accustomed to the added weight of Trevors leg being hiked up over his pair of lovers.

It might've been some small attempt to make his omega feel secure and strapped down as they often like, or it could just be habit. Either way, it disgusted me. Just a little bit. Most modern betas naturally wouldn't know a whole lot about dynamic manners or the handling of omegas. An Alpha and Omegas instincts ran side by side biologically. Alphas had a deep rooted understanding of an Omegas needs that Betas would be incapable of fully experiencing. Sure, betas had their own set of instincts- even a few involving omegas- but they weren't fine tuned to the other designation.

Trevor and Elliot curling around their Omega, and their Omega snuggling into them, like a blanket on a cold winter night(which it was), is picturesque and cute in a hallmark or Omega romance channel kind of way, but the gesture is instinctually meaningless. Coco most likely didn't feel any relief or security by that alone, and shielding an omega in a currently safe environment probably didn't give either of the Betas the rush it might give Alphas. And yet they, and Kellan and Tucker, still lay sound and unaware of the thoughts running through my head; the ones telling me now is the time to leave.

Seeing this journey through to the end with them was a future getting harder and harder to imagine the more time is wasted on Kellans antics. Each hour I spent away from Uncle I felt like I was selfishly failing him. I wanted to like Kellan, wanted to trust him too, but reaching my uncle is more important than the whole "friends I've made along the way" shtick. Normally, I'm a loyal person. I've had friends in school who I stuck it out with through all the popularity contests. However, once the apocalypse rained down, none of that mattered. The worlds enduring more than a popularity contest right now. My uncle is enduring more than that right now. There has yet to be anyone on this earth I'm more loyal to than my own uncle.

I know I can still trust Tucker with what little information she knows about me and with where I'm heading. I gave her the exact address, coordinates and all as a matter of fact, because I want her to make it in this world too. She and I had a budding friendship before it came to this and I'd love to continue it, I'd love for her to join my uncle and me when she's ready for commitment- whenever she comes around to it. I don't quite hold out hope she will, but Tucker surprises me in a good way.

Nevertheless, this group is not compromised entirely of people with the same character as Tucker. I liked the omega. His beady and inquisitive eyes, the angel shape face so common among his designation, even the spitfire attitude he drops in a second when faced with so much as an Alphas reproachful gaze. He gets these moments where he has a burst of bravery regarding defiance and sometimes danger. His Betas deal with his personality fine enough, but his instincts, especially during heat, probably put them through a whirlwind. Although, around me he seems more timid- mindful of the sharp boundaries and clear power imbalance between our designations.

There were moments I would study him and he would he catch me in the act. I was shameless and didn't apologize, but I didn't need to. Omegas should be viewed; they were Beautiful. Or at least most were. Good Omegas specifically deserved to be showered with attention. I wouldn't call Coco bad- he was a quiet spitfire though. I liked to see the blush wind up his features when I regarded him too long. My intentions weren't to tease him- I just found it to be a pretty picture. His smell especially reminded me of all the things I wanted in life: an Omega and a large pack of pups- three or more litters if I could manage- nibbling at my uncles heels.

Simply having the Omega exist in my presence, without doing anything except look at me the way he does, was one of the only good things this group has done with my time. Omegas always have that affect on Alphas, even ones they aren't bonded to. They exude-rather their scents exude- an innocent calm and tranquility that washes over the nerves like standing underneath a small waterfall. Many smell like common comforts and sweets. Fruits and spices and various botanicals are among the popular variety of aromas. Coco in particular smelled just as his name suggest: like coco powder and chocolate milk, all rich and creamy.

The impact Omegan aromas had on people is the reason the scent business and high-end staff Omegas were trending before the fall. The designations all have different common smells, and different odors they could release depending on emotion or intention. Anger scents, Happy scents, friendly scents, greeting scents, etc. I loved his marshmallow greeting scent and I'd painfully miss it.

Though Coco is sweet, his Betas I feel less love for. Elliot wasn't like his husband; never harsh or mean or brash. Hell, Elliot was hardly anything. In terms of our tiny acquaintance: there wasn't one. He saw right through my false joviality, most likely having had a career that required it as well. He never bothered me and I never found him interesting enough to try bothering. A boring man, but one who kept to himself instead of stirring the pot. His partner the opposite.

For whatever reason, Trevor gets antsy when he hasn't argued with someone in a bit. The man was harmless to people he deemed harmless, of which I'm sure now that I'm one of those people. Still, he was intent on pushing every matter he could, and every button he could to go with. Recent discussions - of which involved him pleading for my help in ways that did not include the word 'please'; a personal pet peeve of mine - has also revealed that he is a schemer. I have no reason to believe he's a faithful ally.

Not that I'm allowed to pass judgement so quickly. Unbeknownst to anyone here, during the night-when the stretch of ground beside me starts to feel particularly cold, I entertained the fantasy of stealing away his Omega for myself, convincing myself he doesn't deserve him. I'd never do it, of course - too worried about karma and how I'd feel if some one tried taking the one I loved dearly for themselves. But if Trevor saw my thoughts, could read them easily like the first page of a Dr. Suess book, he'd be quick to judge too.

I'm not trying to ignore that they're human, but both him and Kellan have worked hard to make this group the easiest one to leave. And Tucker and Coco have exerted no effort at all to make it one of the easiest ones to stay with. I'd gladly take them both if I could.

Yet it wasn't ultimately my decision where they went or how they got there. What was up to me was how long I would allow my time and energy to be wasted. My uncle needed me- still needs me. I can't deny him his only niece, of which he considers his own progeny. The ways in which he occupied his time now must be limited. Day after day he goes without the distractions and minutia that enabled him to handle my absence. Now he must be counting down the days of my arrival- calculating each and every possible inconvenience and explanation for my tardiness. Over and over again just like I have.

Either that or something more sorrowful; he might be soaking up every last memory of our time together. Grieving eyes trying to physically cast the image of my gap toothed smile, big after catching my first trout, onto the too bare walls of his hideout, like a video projector.

My mind was made up. I'd go to Bozeman alone. I'd likely make the rest of the trip to Nordman alone too. For the next two months I may just never see another soul. Or might come across the most unfortunate of folks. The future is very uncertain, everything is a blur of confusion and desolation, but there's a glimmer of hope yet. I know there is.

Not wanting to waste anymore of the scant five hours I had before Tucker woke for her shift, I grabbed my pack from one of the corners, throwing it onto my shoulder. Kellans bag was beside mine, unassuming. It took me less than a second to decide to slide a hand in and nick his compass right out of the pouch. Quietly I crept to the edge of the room, moving slowly. I looked back once, only once, my eyes drifting over Cocos form, his scent still stuck in my nose, gentle and warming, before stepping out into the cruel freezing night air. He looked just like a baby, snug and careless, depending and trusting on the two men swearing to protect him.

I remembered that image, burned it into my skull for a rainy day. With the sound of old snow crunching under my feet heralding the true beginning of my journey, I slipped into the night, pulling out the nabbed compass and heading in the only direction that mattered: North.

 


 

 

Four days. All it took was four days of walking, hiding and scavenging to reach Bozeman. Sashas tenacity was strong but it couldn't move time. Whatever it was afflicting Kellan's ability to let go, she hoped it got better. But she was still pissed. Being taken advantage of by some beta wasn't pleasant, and if it wasn't for being held back she likely would have reached her uncle by now. With each mile of progress she made she was more and more glad to have left.

Sasha wanted to give Kellan the benefit of a doubt- maybe he just wasn't bright enough to properly read a map- but ruminating on the subject only served to highlight flaws in her previous group. Every lie and misdirect was falling apart at the seams. To be fair, they were shoddy to begin with. Trevors plotting made her realize something; she didn't stay because the entire group had earned her friendship, nor did she stay out of an inability to find her own way to Nordman. She stayed for the companionship. Tucker was easy going and chatty, someone she got along with well. Coco was an Omega; something she cherished and longed for.

Though she was thrilled to meet her first checkpoint, she continued past with a heavy heart. Attaching herself so quickly was foolish and bizarre, but lonely people do strange things. Sasha might not have considered it hard to get where she was right now, however that's only because there was nothing and no-one to impede her. But being slowed down by Kellans deceptive ineptitude, and being slowed down by a trailing Omega and their sleepy eyes in the middle of the day were two different things that evoked two different feelings.

Resigning from the group also meant leaving behind yet another earthly comfort in short supply. Omegas weren't just wildly in the woods somewhere, and it's not like she'd happen upon one every mile. The city was mostly empty - excluding one man sat with a loaded sniper above a worn out pizzeria. She hadn't seen another soul until reaching the edge. some groups were passing through in working vehicles, ones she briefly contemplated stealing, and other groups were holing up for the day. They were all small - the largest one being four people full. None she could smell from the distance she was keeping appeared to be Omega.

Finding her way back to her uncle was a single minded goal of hers at the moment, but even the goal she held onto like a vice didn't stop the aching for companionship. The purpose of her move to Michigan was to experience life in the city, among swells of people, and to catch a mate. She got the first objective, yet not the second.

 

While on the move, she had avoided many of the perils that came with her venture; from the shambling and hungry monsters clicking their teeth, to the occasional rabid survivor. It wasn't entirely luck that had garnered her safety yet she thanked her lucky stars anyway. She kept her head low, passed tiny checkpoints, and made each step after another count. But once she had successfully worked through to the end of the broken maze the city had mutated into, she decided to take a break.

The long walks took more of a toll on her than she'd like to admit. Her toes cramp, the tendons in her ankles felt taut, and her shoulders were frozen tense from all of the shivering and edginess. A short respite was much needed. Locating a place to rest though, was increasingly difficult. Out in the middle of nowhere had less places and therefore less fuss over where to sleep for the night because it wasn't like there were many choices. At the outside of the city it felt very vulnerable, like an open sore.

Hordes were known to roam urban areas. Not out of anything instinctual, as far as Sasha knew, but because many zombies were in military imposed no-go zones. Many streets were blocked with white boards, scrawled warnings marring them. Built up blockades eventually broke every now and then, and when they did, masses of zombies came loose. The city was only safe if you knew how to hide yourself- which was the tricky part since there weren't many good spots to hide.

It also didn't help that most places were left in dirty roach infested ruins. Some where too far shot to hell or bloodied to identify what they originally were supposed to be - post office or meat plant? Decrepit buildings stood stock still in time- at night, looming shadows like scornful figures- staring down the worst of humanity. They stood giants, monuments to what man used to be, now derelict just like man too. Instead of staring in awe at the highrises like she used to, she saved all of her energy for a brisk tour of the borough- searching for some place close enough to scavenge, but far enough to feel safe.

Strolling through, checking windows enabled her to fully dissect her surroundings. It was amazing all the little things ignored or taken for granted in daily life. Peeling floor tiles and aging grime in a tiny studio sized startup companies office space would have been cleaned and restored in swift fashion. The blood spatters covering the floor of the firehouse wiped and the overturned fire truck corrected. Police stations and emergency rooms reeked of death and decay, while cafe's and convenience stores were utterly vacant. Every crevice and corner safe to scavenge was raided of all possible items, not a scrap or morsel left for Sasha.

Grocers, home improvement outlets, department stores, even toy stores: left in shambles. Product lay strewn, covering the cheap linoleum like fallen leaves in autumn. The acrid stench of gasoline and gunpowder stitched into the walls just like the bullet holes, sickly rotten smell of old maggots curling up around every nose in a mile, like a giant olfactory toxicity sign. Mold grew up shipping containers and broken refrigerators, like vines on a garden wall, and discarded food wore mold like an expensive fur coat. Some things had rotted so badly the slightest puff of air blew it into tiny particles. The canned food isle was bare; predictably so. One can of tomato soup, 2 years expired, lay alone, teetering on the edge of a shelf.

Each store told a similar story. One exception was a little mom and pop organic grocery right on the edge where she was. Most of the food worth any thing was gone, but the non perishable baked goods and a few Omega items were left untouched.

The first hardware place she decided to venture was relatively clean- relatively meaning not crawling with bugs and foul stenches. The air inside Chuckees Home Lot was made out of sawdus: Stiff and course. She choked in the entryway, her mouth coated in tiny little chips, eyes watering and nose burning up, preparing for a minute long sneezing fit. Nothing was filtered, due to the lack of working ventilation systems. The entire store was wrapped in a light sheen of dust. Racks were just as empty there, as well as the other two stores she checked. It was spacious though, and the back office was unlocked. It was a great back up choice if she couldn't find something decent, so she memorized the location.

Surprisingly, there was a designer clothing center. The windows were smashed in, a giant hole square in the middle of the display. It was modest, barely bigger than a two bedroom apartment, and clandestine. Little bursts of color generated from the abstract art on the walls in the all white and sandy wood floored retailer.

Sasha picked what garments were left from off the display hooks, ripping articles too small to wear into little strips of makeshift bandages. A light blue pair of jeans and a long sleeved silk shirt was pulled over her skin. The clean clothe smell made her release a sigh of gratefulness. Light and smooth fabric stretched across her arms just the right way, reminding her of life before. She was always primped- though not as lavishly as the wealthy folks she worked with.

A toy store was the last place she expected to be ransacked. The smiling cartoon faces plastered in pastel bright colors across the space was giving her eerie vibes- like walking inside of a real life creepy-pasta picture. The smell of stale cigarettes - like the can of old buds a coworker of hers used to keep under her desk - and an abandoned brown car carrier waiting in the middle of the deserted bike isle only added to the atmosphere. She stayed a minute longer, thinking there might still be something of worth there, before realizing there truly wasn't.

It isn't complicated to understand how the streets and the stores came to look this way. Families ran scared in the first days, loading up on whatever they could whether they thought they'd needed those supplies or not. Alphas, and indirectly Omegas, were partially why most places were vacant. Alphas wanted as many resources as possible to be better mates or potential mates, and Omegas required quite a bit of modern commodities for their heats.

A good majority of all the wreckage came from the first press release about the disease. Stores swarmed mass crowds of people larger than the ones seen even on black Friday. It was to be expected. The fear got to people and all they wanted to do was secure themselves. People pushed people, ran over them, stole from them. Neighbor against neighbor, fighting for resources. Those same people would have to face each other after the world gets back on its feet. They'll have to look each other in the eyes, filled with remorse, or hate and anger, and accept what happened - what kind of people everything turned them into. Until then, they'll continue their ways.

 

Descending through the pallor streets to the outer limits gifted Sasha a small sense of tranquility. Where she was, sun beginning to set, passing survivors had long since gone. Stone buildings and sparse grass littered her vision. A building, two stories large and the only one made of bricks, caught her attention. The mottly charred red was like a beacon, leading her to it. There were very few great qualities about it, but it was a unique place to stop, maybe snoop around and see if maybe there was something of worth hidden inside.

The interior was hard and cold and desolate, as far as the first floor was concerned. Chips in the ground and in the walls itself looked like markers. Either counting the days or leaving behind a message. Other dents just seemed like random scrapes, perhaps caused by, or in the middle of, a scuffle. The air was spotty and old but otherwise clear, likely because of the open window that Sasha had used as an entrance.

The structure was tall, abandonment evident by the poles and plank platforms conforming around a half finished set of stairs that lead to the second floor. Each step looked bowed, curving like the hull of a boat. The distinct smell of rust and light mold informed her that the wood and the metal had seen better days. The building didn't seem fortified against rain and therefore had been succeptable to the melted snow.

Sasha ventured further, the sounds of chirping crickets quieting as she moved away from the window. They prattled on and on, communicating with each other at the expense of her annoyance.  Soon their conversations became muffled by the barrier of bricks she was encompassed in. However, the died noises did not mean the beginning of silence - instead, it highlighted a much fainter sound; one coming from the second floor.

A humming crackle barred by distance piquing Sashas interest. By her first estimate, the place was empty - but perhaps she had missed something. Perhaps that was only the case for the ground level. Making her way to the steps increased the noise, defining it with an occasional pop. There was a bit of a constant whoosh sound, like heavy wind flying past a speeding cars cracked window.

It wasn't until she was crawling precuriously up the stairs, attempting to keep her full standing weight from completely breaking them, that she could successfully identify the hum as a fire. The immediate shift in temperture, from icy to a light sheen of warmth, gave it away. Her senses had not previously picked up on the noise or the smell of burning wood now drowning her nose.

There wasn't a drastic difference between the appearance of the first floor and the second one. It was all still sparse; no chairs or desks, like one would expect an office to be decorated with. Nor were there any beds and dressers like the comfort an apartment would offer. Instead there was a barrel, green and scraggly and hobo-ish, obviously from out an alley somewhere.

The warmth and the noise of the fire had come from there, the beaten up metal crate doing it's best to keep the place warm and lit with the raging heat clawing up its sides, cracking like a whip against stone. It had been going long, judging by the red glow starting to skirt around the rim. The fire was likely started by a lighter- being reset whenever it fizzled out.

Less innocuous next to the bin was a hastily erected little tent. A plain blanket, thin and white laid over top metal cords and pitchs, like skin placed loftily over bone. Some poor attempt at privacy or warmth, who knows? But the shivering silhouette, perched down like a block in the wreath of its makeshift cove, was appearing the worst for wear already- not that much was visible through the covering. Before Sasha has even laid eyes on them she feels pity.

Alone in the cold and the quiet, freezing to death despite every best effort to heat up. They must be in pain, thinking of their last breath - maybe their last day on earth. It could be sobering up behind those curtains, accepting their fate. Every wrong and every right flashing before them, memories like a reel showing all the high and low lights. 

The fire at their back - or maybe front, it was hard to tell - was the only thing keeping this person company. It whispered sweet nothings, soothing the atmosphere with its calming voice. 

Fire. Safety. It said.

But still, the form kept shivering. In fact, more than it should be even in these less than desirable conditions. Snow hasn't fallen on her journey since the second day prior to her abrupt departure from her group. This was far from the coldest day she's experienced in or outside of Montana.

Despite her newly acquired clothes and her trusty winter coat, she could still feel a light warmth from the makeshift heater - and she was all the way across the room! Something wasn't quite right. It prickled at her skin to watch the mysterious figure any longer. The more her gaze hovered the more she suspected that shivering was writhing, that the shake of that head and those shoulders could be a contort.

She didn't have to make it up in her head what the beginning of a change looked like. In her conversation with Trevor she was being honest. That old woman really did get bit and really did ask for help. It was impossible to forget the burst of her irises, leaking like paint spilling down a canvas. Her gums had grayed and shriveled as her candy cane smile pointed right towards Sasha, the lady doing her best to assure her it was the good thing to do. End it all. Cancel the elders transformation from a person to a gaunt and aggressive creature of decay.

If it was the good thing to do - or if one could convince her it was the good thing to do- Sasha wouldn't spare more than 3 merciful seconds to do it. And she didn't then. Gunpowder and death stunk the air, twisting her lungs into knots. She heaved, but she hadn't eaten enough for anything to come up. Regrouping with those college kids felt like stepping back into a bubble. One of them, some blond tall jock type- Brady- had the gall to look happy over a loot of hard cider. She drunk it all while they slept, and cared enough only to flip him off when he complained the next day.

Sasha wasn't herself then - not for the rest of that next morning. Yet she found a way to bring herself up again, holding on with an iron grip to the happiness from her childhood, the practiced collectiveness and jovial personality that got her through the most pressing days of work. Every banana split shared with her uncle after an aced test, every horrible client her boss demanded recieved courtesy, every good client that slid her a tip or a compliment, each of those things seemes like they were meant to serve this purpose; to uplift her after falling into the dark parts of the new world.

Though the happy thoughts got her out of a drought, none of them could erase the memory of that smell. That smell she couldn't find here. Yet her skin still flailed, goose bumps rising like anthills covering a dirt road. This prompted her to take a sniff, a small one that caught the char of the wood kindling, and the salt of a sweatsoaked body. But no rot was there, no creeping of death. The person lay unaware and unencumbered

So she took another one - big this time. Nostrils flaired and lungs expanded to full capacity moments after. Breath dragging in the air around her, sifting through. When she found what she was looking for - the wrongness- she startled. She understood the problem - not that it was a problem. Her skin was vibrating, a million little ants skittering across flesh underneath. She felt full to bursting with some kind of relief or pride or happiness. How could she not with her lungs at mast, full of a scent so sweet she was sure to get a sugar rush just standing there.

Pancakes fresh off the stove, cooked with fresh buttermilk and confectioners powder. whipped cream - light and frothy and melting on the tongue. Then cream cheese spread, given a dash of nutmeg for taste, scraped thin on the plate. But the most intoxicating scent - the one so delicious it had her silently discarding her bag at the stairs and unbuttoning her coat without a care for the cold - Maple syrup.

Saccharin and thick, glassy and honey like. Theres the sweetness of honey, but also the tang of maple wood and crisp fall leaves. It's far beyond simply smell now - the scent has cloyed through to her mouth. Drool pools at her front teeth, incisors drenched with her alpha claim and prepared. Sappy and heavy and akin to tea, like it's own kind of candy, molasses rolls right off the top of her tongue - delicious.

It completes the arrangement - breakfast in the morning. Home and hearth, blankets rolling in that scent. Whole house rolling in that scent. Cooked with love and delight, the end of summer. A doe eyed sweetheart fattening up their alpha with their smell alone, inticing the alpha to be kind and gentle. Her inscisors were itching, waiting to bite into the first pancake. To lick up each of the ingredients and swallow them.

She was one booted foot closer without even realizing it, unable to stop herself from attempting to indulge in the desires of her instincts. The world was beginning to burn up around her, the fur of her winter coat becoming scratchy. She was shedding it along the way - even the weather couldnt keep her from this treasure; from this omega.

Because that's what was behind the shoddy drapes, shaking like a leaf. An omega, ripe and heady with fertility, searching for an alpha. More or less, their body searching for an alpha. Mentally, that omega could be anywhere. It could hate alphas, it could be scared of them - it could be queer and more interested in other omegas. Wherever it may  be on the inside didn't matter. It wouldnt even register until well after the heat.

The fact that it was at any point conscious or capable of putting together the makeshift for privacy was inconceivable at that moment. Sasha had held herself up a second, worrying that she was encroaching upon someone elses property. Originally she had passed it off for a warmth canopy, but if the omega was in heat it was already hot to the touch. The salt she smelt earlier told her the omega had sweat enought for two people despite the cold, so obviously the sheet was for hiding. 

A quick scan of the area that she could see had confirmed that it was alone, one measly can of food discarded with no company a few inches from the fire. Strategies appeared to have been implemented to keep itself here relatively undetected. They weren't good strategies, but she wouldn't complain. It left the darling doe open for her to take, smell untainted by any other claim. In the short amount of time she's known about this omegas existance - and the shorter amount of time she knew it was omega - she latched onto its scent completely. The world is better than it ever was with this smell in the air.

An omega this sweet smelling during estrus was experiencing it's most fertile cycle of the year. It probably ached enough to attempt relieving itself - which would explain the shivers. Poor little fingers trying and failing to fill up and satisfy the way a knot would. The omega wasn't alert, too preoccupied with it's bodies longing to breed to notice the other person creeping towards them. Sasha only had the best intentions on her mind as she approached, though some very loud betas and maybe alphas would disagree.

Omegas in their deepest state of distress and breeding frenzy were highly liable to manipulation and/or coercion. It was unclear on olfactory alone how long the omega had been in estrus. Sound would be a much better implicator, but that wouldn't do much good here. Normally there would be little yowls and moans, calling out to any alpha in hearing distance that it's ready to procreate. 

This one was quiet as a mouse. If Sasha listened really hard, just past the crackling fire, she could detect ragged breathing. Stutters and slightly less faint exhales were the only sounds she could use to confirm her suspicions. It could be silently chewing through its nest, stifling themself, or it could be a non-verbal omega, already unused to creating a racket.

Sasha wasn't going to roll the dice when she could easily figure out herself which was true just by announcing her presence to it. The creature was scared enough to silence itself, build a scrapbook tent, and repeatedly light a fire to disguise their scent. No good alpha would leave it that way; terrified and possibly agonized from the lack of knot.

Questions of morality and alphahood aside, she wasn't sure she could walk away if she tried. Her feet were determined to carry her to that scent, turning to lead every time she thought of walking away. And she thought about walking away at least once.

She wasn't invincible to her insecurities involving omegas. Providing for and protecting one would be even more difficult for her now than it would have been beforehand. It wasn't just other alphas and thieves any more - there were undead roaming the earth. Finding shelter and food, avoiding hordes, fending off the infected and the uglier of survivors all posed complications to taking care of an omega. 

Pre-apocalypse, simply getting time off work was hard enough to accomplish. Before her Promotion, putting food for two on the table would have been a struggle. The odds have truly stacked against her and every other omega/family-orientated alpha survivor. The omegas themselves would have just as bad an experience when it came to trying to care for their pups, and she loathed to think of all the alpha-less lost bred omegas. Scared and alone. No omega should ever be like that.

This one could have a different life - Sasha could still try her best to give it a good one. Close to the tent and remaining undetected, she second guessed opening the sheets to reveal what's inside. One last consideration kept her back: her uncle.

Sashas uncle wanted nothing but happiness for her. She also knew that during this period on earth he'd love nothing more than to have her there with him, at his side. And she would love to be there too. Taking this omega with her would impede her progress significantly. She couldn't even be sure she would have enough time between stops or during the travel to train it properly while their relationship was fledgling. Acquiring omega specific supplies for them would mean more scavenging then she usually had the energy for. And on such scavenging trips they would be left unprotected especially since she had no other trusted friend to look after it. She wouldn't give up on her mission, but she didn't want to give up on this omega either.

The scent wafting from behind the sheets was re-released with more vigor - the omega giving itself a soft climax, low grunt audible from outside. It was almost unfair the way that scent begged and pleaded with her to come and complete it, to wrap it up with her own scent and cradle the omega. Blood rushed through her like the world's fastest river current, making her fingers prickle as if she stuck them on a spinning wheel. The stream reached down into her, curdling her stomach, giving her butterflies. 

Her body knew what her decision was; it made up it's mind before she did - secondary ovarian duct lubricating itself and opening for her penis to begin swelling, ready to peek out it's head. She clenched her fist, fighting it back at first. Sasha did want an omega - she's wanted one her whole life. A starry eyed doe to sit on her lap while she lavished it with affection, a good cook to fill her full of food and love, and a wonderful hen to which she could give many pups. Now that she was being handed that very opportunity on a silver platter, like a cowering beta facing a mountain of an alpha; she hesitates. 

A dream is nice and all, yet there was no assurances that a perfect bitch was hidden in those curtains. Was she really lonely enough to tie herself to an omega she didn't know? Was an anchor on her travels worth it? When all was said and done, would she love it no matter what? 

The answer was yes.

Taking in a deep breath, one that allowed that syrupy scent to entrench every crevice of her lungs - and soul. She wasted no preamble pushing back the drape to drink in the sight of her treasure. All encompassing hopes and passions were being realized here, coming to life right in front of her. As soon as the omega was unveiled the image of a rounded belly, stubby legs of a toddler pup wrapped around it, flashed in her mind.

Similar to opening ones eyes to the sky on a sunny day, the omegas greatness was blinding. Certainly, her expectations for this omega were already high, but somehow he still managed to surpass them in every way in well under a minute.

Nothing could have readied her for the giant Square nest - mix-matched materials creating a collage of pastels and sepia and earth tones - with the lithe figure sprawled smack in the middle, pointer and middle finger jabbing as far into his hole as possible, slick pouring from his entrance like melted ice cream down a cone and covering the backs of his thighs in the fragrance of candy. Copious amounts of his body's own natural lubricant were spread over his hands and lower half, wetting him with it.

Nimble digits bunched roughly over the shape of his member - which was limp and weeping in his lap. He was jerking at it hesitantly with random pulls and tugs that looked more painful than pleasurable. His eyes were closed, lids hiding every emotion from Sasha, but small streaks of salinity had slid out of the corners. Small lines adorned his forehead as he appeared to be concentrating on reaching that pleasure spot inside himself. Like a fresh picked apple, his entire body, face included was bright red. Shade from the tent and light from the fire only served to make him look more rouge and anguished.

As wrecked as he was, it's a wonder he wasn't on deaths bed, gasping for water to replenish the fluids his body was easily dispensing. There wasn't much in the tent from what she could see, except a pile of clothes at the far end. Beside the tent was a large and empty water jug, explaining away the lack of dehydration. Little perspiration drops in the bottle evidence of water.

Up close, his breathing was easier to discern - mini hitches in the flow of his inhales and exhales. That wasn't his first orgasm of the day. It couldn't possibly be, judging by not just the sound but also the redness of his parts. The squelching of his fingers scissoring himself ardently seemed to have rung out in the open after she pulled apart the curtains. She recounts making jam in the summer with her uncle and the spulching of the berries being squished. The noise was obscene and arousing, but altogether disheartening; the omega was suffering through this, desperate to achieve relief.

His actions slowed, lethargic as he tried to pull his soaked digits out of his puffy anus. The rim had gripped him tight, searching for something to hold on to; something like a knot. Tugging them free left it slightly agape, hungry and leaking juice. Maple leaves and fresh pancakes seeped into Sashes bones, steamrolling over her like the vapors in a sauna. Tantalising tingles drove around her senses, lighting up her nostrils, making her mouth salivate. She wanted to feel the plushness of his skin on hers, wanted to put his hands aside and work him open herself. Logically she wouldn't need to - by the looks of it he was slicked up enough to slide a rocket in smoothly.

Sasha had been so enthralled by the display of his wet ass that she failed to notice the shiny pair of eyes, wide and trained directly on her. She was inching in towards him unconsciously, attention glued to his pert rear. 

A squeak of alarm snapped her out of orbit as the omega kicked out his legs, scrambling to the other end of his nest. The alpha had found herself boring into the frightened golden gaze of this breeding doe. 

The doe himself found his heart beating out of his chest, ready to cry after locking eyes with this complete stranger who looked a second away from snatching him up and railing him till oblivion came for them both.

 


 

First to break was the hen. His nest was compromised and an alpha was imposing upon his heat. He wasn't naive; there were no good or sparing alphas out there. This one would like nothing more than to rape him while he's in season, just like any other. He was weaker than he normally was in this state, vulnerable and by extension malleable, but no less aware. What he needed much more than a knot right now was to get to safety, far from the slobbering heathen staring him dead.

One hand shielding his genitals and the other shoving at the ground for momentum he tore through the back of his tent, curtains whooshing behind him. The surprise stalled the alpha long enough for him to get half way to the stairs. Wind swept his hair, cooling his cheeks, as he put all his energy towards making his escape.

Feet hit stubbled cement floor in quick succession, a pitter patter following. Those few moments he felt like he was flying faster than even the top Olympic sprinter. His sight had narrowed down to the rickety wood steps, his second to last hope of escaping this situation. Out running an alpha wasn't impossible, though it was unlikely. He didn't care about his chances; all he cared about was making it.

But just like that, as quick as he ran, the alpha caught up with him. Black strands whipped around an angled face and strong arms stretched out to intercept him. A body as solid as the concrete he was running on stood between him and his freedom. Foolishly, he believed he could knock the stranger off her balance and topple her.

Boots planted - like a tree - she was prepared for the full impact of him ramming into her, trying to dislodge her. She didn't budge. Rooted to the spot and affronted by his flightiness, she growled - or he thought it was a growl, it didn't seem like she put all too much effort in it. Traditionally, omegas who failed at successfully fleeing would accept defeat and present - not push back. His little shove indicated that he was refusing her and her alphahood, which was true - he was.

Seeing that there was no way around the alpha blocking his only safe exit, he backed as far away from her as the space would allow. The dawning reality made him feel faint; this alpha was drawing closer than what would ever make him comfortable. She was throwing off aggressive pheromones, stinking up his oxygen with gasoline and an unspoken demand for submission.

The alpha licked her lips - mouth wide and nostrils flared. Her shoulders were hunched, an age old instinct to deter him from attempting to run again. Visually, it was intimidating - a confident and toned alpha, jaw sharp as steel. She wasn't exactly muscle-bound, but she was a head taller. His shoulder twinged from colliding hard with her midriff. She was built out of stone, heavy and unyielding.

When his back hit the farthest wall, he began to tremble. He was stuck. A determined alpha sniffed him out and was keeping him from leaving. If he couldn't think himself out of this, he knew what would happen next. Without his approval, his hole gushed more slick at the idea. He grimaced at the slimy feeling of it dripping down his passage. 

The alpha smellt it, taking in as much of the aroma as she could. There was a renewed vigor as she took large strides in his direction, probably hoping to corner him. He lept to the side immediately, plastering himself to the wall across from one of the many windows, ready to launch straight out the frosted plexiglass if needed.

That made the stranger pause, sensing the situation was too tense for her to strong arm her way into getting what she wanted. Her gaze softened as she tried to school her features into a practiced friendliness. She placed both hands in front of her in a placating gesture. The omega was rather late to show any reaction, busy maintaining distance from the intruder.

"Hey, calm down sweetheart."

Feathery and approachable was the only way he could describe her voice. He wasn't sure if that was part of the act or authentic.

"You look like you need some help there." She unhelpfully commented. "I can help you."

"No, thank you." He croaked, throat dry and scratchy from disuse.

She laughed half hearted - whether at him or at the predicament was hard to tell. Her teeth were lined neatly, dental work obvious. Oddly enough, they were still pristine white instead of the decayed yellows and mild greens he associated with the average survivor. Her cheekbones took centerpiece of her face, standing out like two polished rice balls.

Personally, he failed to see the humor in this. Since the beginning, his worst fear was some feral burly knothead deciding they needed to own him so they could stuff him with seed. To many, an omegas body was free to be handled however an alpha wished - even beaten. He's heard alphas talk about it, and the news has shown him alphas who've gotten away with it. Some played the heat card, others the pup one, and a few the protective one. Whether it was heat delirium, their instincts to sire just their blood, or their instincts to mark, it was all bullshit.

"Still got a bit of moxxy, huh? Good boy." The omega bristled at the praise, already put off by the alphas insistence to help. "How long have you been in heat?"

He stiffened, looking to the window. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it would do worlds of damage to his legs if he landed badly. That didn't mean he couldn't try to drag himself away if things went south. Even if he landed right he'd get hurt, and limping wouldn't lead to a swift getaway. Ultimately, he'd never get that far.

Stranger danger woman must've known his train of thought because she took a step back, keeping her hands out. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

Replacing the stench of her aggression was the fragrance of pinecones and clean linen. Under regular circumstances it would be a soothing scent, one given out by a caring alpha trying to coddle an omega. All the scent did was churn his stomach - just as rancid as the gasoline. Maybe it would have worked if the alpha wasn't some nobody looking to take advantage of him.

It was his first cycle since everything went down, and his first out of the year thanks to the supply of his suppressors running out. He was nervous and nauseous, rightfully so, and no amount of unfamiliar alpha scents were going to make him feel better. Yet the woman kept releasing them anyway.

"How about something easier to answer? How long ago did you run out of water?"

"Why? Why do you wanna know?"

"Easy, sweetheart. Like I said: I just want to help" she pointed to her pack, dark green and half empty, resting beside the staircase. "I've got a days worth of water. You can have some, you just need to tell me when your heat started."

It was the wrong moment for his mouth to remind him how dry it was. He depleted his jug too fast and, naturally, was worried about the night trip he would eventually have to embark on to get more. Some treacherous part of his brain was glad there was someone now capable of retrieving it for him. 

He still wasn't up to trusting her though. "That isn't enough."

"I can get more. Answer me and I'll give you what I have."

The omega considered her words, mulling them over. Making the trip himself was dangerous, but so was staying here as was apparent by the unwelcome alpha offering him water. Her getting the water gave him an opportunity to run before she got back, but running meant he wouldn't have any water for who knows how long. Either option was negligible, yet he wasn't ready to admit that. 

As he contemplated his decision, the woman lowered her hands. The scent that was eminating from her thankfully dulled. He didn't think for a second that she was going to let him go or be truly kind to him. No, not when she had the perfect scenario playing out right before her: an omega in peak fertility, trapped without another alpha to challenge her or anyone to defend him. From the alpha view of things, only the most obtuse would pass on a chance like this.

Months ago, it would have baffled him that in the midst of everything anybody would have time to claim an omega. When the initial chaos had quieted and the rampage stopped, it made sense that the first desire was to rebuild their lives and re-introduce the structure that they had enjoyed before the outbreak. Unfortunately, that included the family structure and the dynamic structure. Some survivors prioritized repopulating more than government or military.

With this alpha it was hard to get a read on which type she was. She wasn't above trying to appease him by softening up and staying her distance. Yet she also was here for her own gain and likely won't leave until she's had him. It didn't look like she was armed to the nines like the rough and tough alphas he'd seen passing his establishment, but she still felt durable as they looked. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest example of who she might be as a person, but they were made of soft materials - something alphas weren't known for wearing.

All of that information left him with nothing. He remained unsure of the best long term way to proceed that didn't involve him bending over for her. So he took the temporarily easy route, answering her questions instead.

"Around nine hours"

She looked confused as to what he was referring, prompting him to clarify. "I ran out of water nine hours ago."

Instantaneously, she brightened. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He could feel his eyes itch with the urge to roll. "Now what about your heat?"

"What about my heat."

"You look thirsty, you know. Nine hours is a long time to go without water when you're sweating like that."

Manipulative. It was the first real thing he knew about this new alpha. He released a short sigh - one he was holding in from the moment she opened her mouth. Things were going to go her way and she'd make sure of it. If only that attitude was diverted to literally anything other than copulating with an unwilling omega then the world would be a better place.

"Yesterday night" it was impossible to hold the forlorness of his tone at bay.

"Good boy. Let's get you some water," she eased herself backwards, focus maintaining on the omega even as she fished out the water bottle from her bag. "Sadly, it's warm."

Alpha lady inched across the floor, walking directly over to him, assuming she had won his trust when that couldn't have been farther from the truth. Around the point where she was close enough he could smell her hair - faded artificial lavender - is when he scooted over to the window, a foot nearer than he was a second ago. Honestly, he didn't want to have to jump. He just wanted the alpha to leave so he could go back to being miserable in heat.

The threat was made very clear to the tall woman. She stopped her approach, distending the bottle for him to take. It looked unmarred, the paper tag still wrapped around it. But he was too wary to actually take it from her. Sensing this, she looked for an alternative.

"It's alright. I'll set it down, okay."

And she did - placed the item in the middle of the concrete, close to neither him nor her. Dust had been scuffed when they first tusled and had continued to fall. There was a sheet of it still covering the ground and his bare feet was dirtied by it. The bottle stood like a lone statue, or like a bridge connecting them from their sides of the room. It looked even more alone than he was.

Despite her efforts to assauge him, he remained pressed to the ruby red bricks behind him - cautious. He doubts she poisoned her own water supply since she probably hadn't even known he was there until a few minutes. She was fast though - speedy in preventing his departure. As she stood, crowding the exit, he saw the stiffness of her body language: simultaneously stock still - ready to block - and loose footed - ready to chase.

Their divide wasn't sufficient. Everything made his hackles raise, even his own breathing. But his tongue was dry enough to chaffe the roof of his gums when it moved. His teeth felt awkward in his own face - sucking moisture from him like tiny magnets. He was leery but his thirst won out. That one leg forward was the most he's gone near her since their showdown.

Plucking the bottle up in his hand hurriedly, he scurried back against his wall, like a coy little mouse stealing cheese. Popping the cap off and getting just one whiff of the slightly chlorinated water made his knees wobble. The water was surprisingly tepid for something that was out in the cold so long. It smelled earthy and tasted earthy as it flooded his mouth. He was surely dramatic, yet those nine hours felt like he was being fried in the desert. The feeling of the water plumping up his shriveled tongue was glorious. Hydration was one of those things he took for granted before the outbreak, but never again.

While he was consumed with swallowing as much as he could, the woman was at liberty to speak. "My name is Sasha." She announced. Her words were dutifully ignored.

He took a small break for air before chugging the rest, getting lost in the sensation. There was just a small bit left but he drank with abandon, eyes closing involuntarily. Like releasing a dam over dried out lake, his maw was cool again. Even so he crushed the bottle up in his hands, trying to squeeze out the last molecule. His mind was at ease for the moment. Or was until he felt one balmy mitt strangling his bicep.

Simply put; he wasn't particularly smart during estrus, no matter his opinion. Omegas had a damsel in distress reputation for a reason. It was incredibly facile for him to become encompassed by his perceptions, leaving a blind spot for an alpha to gain control of him or the situation. Which is exactly what she did.

Shocked, he attempted to rip his arm from the iron grip. Being touched by the alpha made his skin scald. She held fast though, and his weak attempt was thwarted. Rather than her grip loosening like he hoped, it tightened.

"Let go of me!" He yelped, "let me go!"

She only pulled him closer, her breath billowing down his face. "Calm down." She tried shushing him but it didn't work.

"You're hurting me! I'll give you whatever you want, just let go!"

"No. your body needs this" 

He was fully aware how naked he was. The alpha had full access to any part of him she wanted to touch. He was a glazed roast on a gold plate and she a royal excited to dine. Any peice of him was fair game. Tears sprung to his eyes, his heart thundering in his chest a million beats a minute. He quivered, his lip quivered, and a blush rode up his body like a rollercoaster. 

White noise incessantly rang in his ears, blocking out the bigger sounds and honing on the minutia; the slide of her silk shirt on her shoulders, the creasing of her jeans as she moved. He wasn't wearing any clothes that ruffled and creaked - tore them off hours ago when his heat christened. All he had were the jerky breathes he was releasing in order to hold back from crying. 

"You can't do this to me. I didn't do anything to deserve this!"

"I'm not punishing you; I'm helping." She twisted him to the side, grabbing on to his other arm. His back was to her chest and he couldn't see her eyes. He could feel the mounds of her breast squished amidst his shoulder blades that rose and fell shakily. 

The clamor of her boots as she widened her stance was deafening. She used them to kick open his legs while asserting her weight on him, bending him at the waist. Her nose drifted up the curve of his neck, leaving a trail of fire and raised hair. He's seen alphas do things like this in the movies; hold omegas down by their scruff and scent them. Usually it resulted in the omegas getting slick and falling hopelessly in love with alphas that spent the rest of the film acting stoic and aloof.

In real life it was the least romantic experience he's had since his seventh grade school dance. Lucas Greenes sweaty palms and nauseating body spray aroma were far more preferable to this.

He couldn't ask what she was intending to do, too scared that if he said anything she'd shove his head aside and bite into his bonding gland, tying him to her. Instead he stood still; allowing her what she wanted until her mouth was far enough away from his neck that he could move without risking his most sensitive area. It was agonizingly slow how long it took her to finally pass it, nose halting frequently. By the time she was on to new things he could feel the thick tip of her cock straining against her zipper. It uncomfortablely scratched at one of his cheeks.

Unbelievably he felt embarrassed for allowing this alphas treatment of him. Bent like a broodmare and handled like a ragdoll by a petty intruder who seized him in his mere second of weakness. The ensuing bitching was the only thing that would yield more shame, save for a picture of commemoration. Having his legs apart made he feel that he was every bit the slab of fuckmeat alphas always accused omegas of being. It was demoralizing and the alpha was savoring it.

Tickling at the surface of his mind was the voice telling him to fight back - commanding him to fight back. His parents wouldn't have wanted to see him like this; their only son, reseigning himselve to the assaults of a stranger. They always looked at him proudly - he could do no wrong in their eyes. In all his life he has never wanted to curl up in his mothers hearth more than now. This alpha was going to sweep away the last vestiges of his mommas little boy if he didn't do something.

Spirit not yet crushed by the brute, he tapped into his adrenaline, igniting a short spark of strength. His head is heavy, dull thud poking at his brain. The ache makes it feel like kinetic sand slipping through his fingers - unstable while he holds it up but free and knitted together nicely when it collects on the ground. His body was already complicit, if the increased production of slick easing down pass his ankle was anything to go by. However, his mind previously operated under his wishes and none else. 

Even that was deteriorating the longer he stayed in position, waiting for the alpha to peel off her jeans and penetrate. The vitriol remained though. It coursed through his veins like an electric current. He held onto that, let it power him up. One burst of energy was all it took for him to wriggle out of her hold. His legs regained autonomy as he bolted to the window. By this point he's had to have amassed scabs on his feet. The soles were feeling rubbed raw as they thumped on the porous flooring.

His energy came with a rush of slick slipping from him like sap out of a tree spout. Later he would be told he tasted just like sap too. But during the spike of endurance he paid no attention to the patters of slick drops leading behind him or the sticky clashing of his backside. When he was sure he was out of eyesight of the alpha he would tend to the mess.

However that objective never came to fruition. Just as quickly as the power washed over him it washed through him. His steps slowed and his last thought wandered somewhere bitter before the inevitable rough hands that held him a second ago grabbed him yet again. Unlike last time he couldn't even get halfway to his destination. He was pinned on the ground, face down, beside the brick wall section under the window within the next second, gasoline smell coming back full force. A sob wracked his throat as the situation came to a head. 

"Stop running." She ordered, voice passing through clenched teeth, one hand reaching into his hair to grab at his roots. The other hand ran down the side of his ribcage, checking for wounds. She couldn't properly breed him if he was severely injured.

With each league of skin her calloused fingers pawed over he felt more angry and more broken. It was difficult to stifle the pain of being captured by an alpha - one that he'd only just met maybe ten minutes prior. It was second nature to eminate his distress signal: the smell of singed dough - like a pan of bread left in the oven too long. Most people had a protective reaction to omegas in distress. Some were completely capable of ignoring it and carrying on just fine.

She didn't appreciate that perfume, opting to huff it out of her lungs with a concerned noise attached. "Are you hurt?"

Explaining to her precisely how devastated he was by the actions sure to proceed would take the rest of the year. She'd probably tire in the middle of his rant and go to town on him anyway. He chose the convenient option of making himself heard; blubbering.

His body was taut like a bowstring, tensing because of the alpha at his back - poised.

"I can't, I can't! You have to let me go." He pleaded, whinging his words.

"Shhh, omega. You can't what?" Associating that steady tone with the aggression roiling off her in waves was a mind boggling affair.

"I can't breed! Because I'm infertile." His lie rang desperate. "I'm begging you. I'll give you all of my stuff if you get up now and leave."

"You smell so ripe," she hummed, "A good alpha would never abandon such a pretty little thing like you."

Throat constricting, he listened as the alpha told him not to move. His face lit red like a Christmas light, illuminating the tears starting a new. They drowsily glided down his rounded cheeks, picking up dust as they went. Still, he continued. 

"Please don't rape me. I can't," he sucked in a breathe he nearly choked on. "My family's waiting for me. Please let me go,"

"You're an omega; they'll understand. Besides - we can make our own family"

Her hands roved him more thoroughly and with a rhythm, driving over the slopes and dips of his form. They moved unhurriedly, genuine concern for his wellbeing navigating her actions. He was smooth and slippery due to his estrus, the salt of his sweat perhaps the fourth most prominent aroma in the atmosphere. She prodded fingers into his sides and what she could reach of his chest, asking if it hurt while he kept murmuring. Her hands didn't skip a single area - grazing the mating gland with a resilient exercise of self control so as not to irritate it.

Massaging the muscle of his inner thighs, she decided he was unharmed and began the process of examining his genitalia. First thing she did was reach low between his legs and along his crack. She caressed the raised line decorating his taint, mesmerized with the omegas parts. It wasn't a long slit or a short one. It was uninteresting, and technically useless until a week before labor when it would dissect for birthing. 

Satisfied with her findings she swiped up, encountering his swollen hole. It was sopping with slick, practically turning into a puddle of maple scented natural lubricant. Four digits flattened over it and rubbed deeply at a snails pace. The stimulation wrenched an agitated moan from him as his pleads gained fervor. His sphincter pinkened like virginal fruit, appearing equally luscious. The digits divided, two venturing in to the depths barely making progress as the passage latched on to any intrusion. Angered whimpers interspersed through his string of words with every new touch at his entrance. It looked healthy, if not a bit sad from emptiness.

His sac was simpler to visually assess than his prick currently lying between him and the concrete. In the back of her mind she made plans to move him back into his nest, not wanting to scrape him up during mating. Slick from his hole was smeared of his balls as they were rolled in her palms like spongy marbles. They were small, like most male omegas junk tended to be, and weren't full yet. Presumably, he expended his impuissant omega seed masturbating himself throughout the day.

The limp cocklet smushed to the ground was far more under the weather than rest of the body it was attached to. It was a gradually purplish color, similar to a blooming bruise. Undoubtedly chafed and feeble according to the utter deflation of his sac. The more she discovered about the shuttering heap estrus left him, the more she was glad she stuck around to help. 

A motly mushroomed head was only half covered by the omega. Sodium musk was the lone smell wafting off his rod, meaning he intentionally left it dry of his slick. Micro beads of spunk dotted his yawning slit, resting atop the cut instead of spilling down. Sasha used her pointer to stroke lightly under the flared ridge of the head, checking for bumps. His body was flawless - kept exceptionally groomed considering the lack of resources.

Curiosity got the best of the alpha as she moved her finger to the thin whip at his top. She tapped on it, substance molding to the grooves of her prints. Lifting it up pulled at the rest of the droplets nestled away in the cavity. Beneath her the omega breathed rapidly, bemoaned cries at the sensation sending a beeline of arousal to her own fully unsheathed cock. She was generous not to torture him by playing with it, wiping the sparse glob back onto his slit, short nail rapping at it as she did so - soliciting a harrowed grunt.

The doe had expressed pained keens while she perused his privates, humiliated by her intimately seeking touches. He valued his purity, and she had violated him with ease. He knew she was gearing to violate him again, this time aiming to get inside of him and claim him as her property - her bitch. Her exploration lingers on his hide, making him feel small.

Each inch she skimmed blazed, shame adding salt to the wound. Omegas were inspected regularly, sometimes by professionals and sometimes by their alphas, but he never had it happen to him. From what little he remembers from sex ed, doing so before mating wasn't unusual. A few cultures had omegas stand on podiums as they were searched, crowds assembling to watch. Centuries past it was customary for an alphas own birther to frisk the prospective mate.

A peice of him broke thinking of all the other omegas who've experienced this injustice. The ones bawling themselves to sleep, cowering in their duvets or large clothing - assuming all of them were even permitted those things. Already he wanted to dig himself a hole in the ground he'd never leave. He wanted to burn everything she fondled. And the worse was yet to come; she wouldn't have spared the time to check if she didn't intend to rape him.

"I don't want this..."

"You did so well staying put. Beautiful."

"Please don't do this! I'm sorry for running but please just let me go,"

"I accept your apology," That same iron grip wrapped around his bicep again, "Keep being good for me, will you sweetheart."

Rising to her height, and hauling him up with her, she trots over to her bag where she left it. The omega had half the mind to make a mad dash down the rickety flights and bust out the Building, but he was on the other side if her. She could grab him again or trip him if he tried. Alphas weren't the forgiving type from what he's seen. He knows the more evasive he becomes the more aggressive she'll react.

The temptation is there and gone in the same second when the alpha squeezes his arm. While he was contemplating his escape, she was rummaging through her bag for something to prevent it. Her weapon of choice were a few long strips of fabric, a foot and a half each, that honestly looked way too comfortable to do anything to him. He really wasn't into bondage but he supposed it was another in a long list of changes he was going to have to get used to.

The woman rushed him nearer to his vacated hide out, holding up the material for him to view. "You know what I'm going to do with this?" He nods. "If you can look me in the eye and tell me you won't run - and mean it - I won't tie you up."

His reply came readily, before he could take it back "Fuck you!". Miserable red eyes and stained cheeks made it the most unthreatening comment he's ever said, but he said it - and meant it.

To his surprise, her response wasn't immediate. She blinked once, unused to rude omegas but not fazed. However, this was about to be her omega. Tolerance for his impudent outbursts were preset to an all time low even prior to the bite.

"Eager, sweety? Maybe I should tie your mouth too. Maybe I should knot it fir-"

"No!" The panic written all on his face was too vivid for her to deride any humor from it. An unappealing smell was beginning to varnish the place, tacked on to her next intake like a sticky note reading disgust, terror! She'd need to work on that when the time came for a blowie. In the moment, her attention was centered on binding the omega.

Cool and impassive, Sasha forcibly spun him forward, snatching his wrist into her possession. She bent his arms backward, clasping hands together behind him, tying wrist to wrist and elbow to elbow. Fabric was knitted in between the initial restraints for extra security. Roughly, she tightened each bound, making sure they wouldn't come loose while also keeping them from cutting off circulation. Silk impeded the omegas dexterity, soft but durable.

She really had pondered gifting him a makeshift gag, yet she knew it would do little to muffle his ramblings. There was charm to his fight; rarely did the omegas she came across in the past so readily give up their manners. In fact, she was starting to suspect he never had them to begin with. She acknowledged that showing amusement for her soon-to-bes spoiled nature would only encourage him, which is why she planned on nipping it in the bud - but not before she's had some fun.

Conquering an unruly omega with pure alpha dominance and corrective sex was a common alpha, and occasionally omega, fantasy. It would be kinder for him if they could avoid re-enacting the various tales of omegan subjugation. Although it was a source of wet dreams for her too, when the week was over, she hoped he would mellow out. Once he was out of season they were to continue her journey to her uncle; having to discipline an omega every few miles wasn't worth the scant minutes of excitement. 

Nevertheless, either way he came out of season; he was going to come out of it. The sooner he was stuffed, the better.

 

Sasha steered him to the location of the nest, having to crouch to enter. Everything was doused with his fluids - salt and slick primarily. Specs of white painted the area he was laying in when she unveiled him, and a bundled up t shirt he was using as a headrest had mopped up the sweat from his brow. Slick lined the entryway of his nest -which was gorgeously coiffed into a square. Overlays, inlays, and those other nest layers she was too ecstatic to recall had been tidily tucked into the expert folds of the nest walls. Cozy, wide, and gratuitous; beyond comfortable looking, and standing at a height mid calve - above the knee to the omega

Dropping him to the side, on his back, she made her way through the nest, stomping her feet. Laced up boots made thuds dulled by the piles of material. The hen was shattered, staring in gap mouthed disbelief as she trampled his hardwork. His words just couldn't seem to conform, his mind billowed smokes of rage, and nothing came of it. It was one injustice on top of several others from the woman. Breeding Does in general were very protective of their huddles - sneezing in one's direction would affront them. Many had to be that way if they already gave birth. Pups were secured into nests until they were old enough to withstand a bit of the elements.

For an omega, a nest meant safety and prosperity. The connection for alphas varied from young to mating to territory. Alphas enjoyed nests the way a dog enjoyed a chew toy: they could roughhouse and play and wreck it all up, but when it was ripped to shreds it was as insignificant as the licence on the latest car they chased. And yet they always wanted a new one. Omegas often maintained the same huddle for different purposes - having to rebuild them again and again after their alphas. 

Yet when an omega destroyed something of value to an alpha they had to submit themselves, even if they weren't that alphas mate. Being back in the cushy fortress of his den wasn't enough to make his mind calm. The alpha was plucking around the individual peices, tugging up blankets and moving pillows out of place. She was searching it - violating his nest like she did him. By the looks of it she was fustrated - the omega thought that maybe she was trying to punish him even after accepting his apology.

That was until she let out a cocky huff. Retracting her hand from betwixt the wall and the overlay, she grinned at the hen. A stainless steel blade, probably the largest he could find, silver handle grip the top of which smelled worryingly like his syrup fragrance, gleamed menacingly at him. Truthfully, he had been too occupied in estrus to remember he had it. Whether he could actually use to escape now was out of the question. It was mostly just his protection against zombies; he's never hurt a human before - wouldn't even know where to aim.

The woman confiscated it all the same, seperating the curtains to chuck it in the fire. A clattering ping resonated the hollow space of the rustic establishment. Obviously it wasn't going to melt in there, but even when the fire died down it would be too hot for him to grab. She dusted off her hands comically, congratulating herself on securing the omega in her care - mind not even thinking about the dangerous weapons in her own bag.

Settling back in to the huddle, on her knees across from the hen, she proceeded to remove her shirt. Silk slid luxuriously up her middle, bit by bit revealing vague abs and high olive skin. She was sculpted like a pillar - with equal parts efficacy and grace. Curves dipped into the roundness of her hips - not as wide as an omegas but still feminine. 

When the top was lifted over her chest, the omega begun to feel a bit voyeuristic - a bumbling preteen all over again. It was different when she oogled him - he wasn't the bad guy - but eyeing this strangers breast felt awkward. They were plush and pillowly, almost as comfortable looking as his nest - completely filling out her bra and jiggling, like velvet water balloons, with the movement of pulling off her shirt. The lady saw him spying and smiled - misinterpreting his nerves for interest.

"I'd ask if you'd like to touch, but you're all tied up" she was the type of alpha to tease apparently.

Her hand went to her fly, pinching the zipper with her pointer and thumb. The buzzing ripple of it parting had the doe swallowing the saliva preparing his mouth for bile. Fingers undid the two buttons ontop, finagling them out of their loops. He turned away, refusing to watch her slip out of her jeans. He still heard the fabric bunching and the shift of it down her thighs. She never took her shoes off, making her pants stall at above her ankle. 

The shimmy of her satin panties were equally disconcerting, and the survival part of his brain was grasping at straws, worrying what to do next. Rasping breathes were dithering through his lips, lungs burning with the effort to inhale-exhale with the scent of the alpha setting up to rape him reeking the air. Gasoline had dissolved ever so slowly, making way to lusty suede and domineering woodsy aroma. All pinecones and expensive suits without the presence of either.

"Please. Please don't do this. I'm begging you..." The alpha had shuffled over to him, hands landing on his hips and swiveling him onto the floor of his nest. A palm digging into the bend of his back, lowering him down as he resists.

"Shh, you're going to be okay. I've got you." She reasserts.

"Why are you doing this-"

"Simple, sweetheart. You're in heat and I'm a good - and lucky - alpha." His legs are boxed under him, flaccid penis dangling uselessly from between them. "You need this. Sooner or later, you'll crave this too"

Bowing in an innately omega position in front of her, he is entirely vulnerable to her assaults. She's lined up behind him, erect and lukewarm shaft twitching at the cleft of his ass. Through all his objections, what she said remains true. His body continues to produce slick in heavier amounts now that it's sensed an alpha was near. Maple and sugar creating the heedy aphrodisiac that enthralled the alpha enough for this whole conundrum to happen. 

From the womans perspective, she had the perfect view of his supple bottom. Hole leaking and starved, impatient for her to dive in and soothe his core. Successfully breeding him up with pups was the only way to help him in his time of need. Of course, just fucking him would do enough, but Sasha desired a litter. Rounding out his belly would hopefully temper him - if not, then it at least made him reliant on her.

She takes ahold of her dick - member pink and fat - gives it a quick rub, then guides the tip against his entrance. Little wrinkles of skin forming his sphincter boil hot like the center of the earth - her tip bumps along his ribbed circle. His lubricants drip streams on her dick that mingle with the skinny layer of filmy mire her own duct manufactured. Scent combines with scent; pinecone and maple re-creating the great outdoors in some random husk in Montana.

The pink bud doesn't budge at first, needing a bit more applied pressure. Hen already twittering, she molds her grip stronger and nudges the rim wider. Progress is only fractional - his bud still so tiny it was similar to squeezing a finger into a ring two sizes too small. She leaned forward, adding natural weight to the push. His rim gives in increments, fleshy red slowly becoming visible.

Insistent on entering, she steels her hips and shoves. The hole yields, fluttering, and she slides home, much more forceful than she meant to, with a wet splutter. Taken to the hilt - still being pulled into the inviting depths too. Cock enveloped by a sumptuous and sopping sleeve constricting her like a dangerous boa, she releases a low moan of ecstasy. 

Immediately, he tightens around her hard enough to snap her - metaphorical - twig in half. She considers removing herself only briefly, but she's a little scared doing so would sprain her cock. To avoid that risk she waited it out, listening as the stammering doe tried to speak. They hadn't even gotten into much action yet - scandalous bud deciding it wanted her to stay in place - and he was already flustered.

The omega was wriggling and squirming throughout the insertion, bellowing bedraggled wails and bitten back groans of anguish. He unintentionally gave her little prickles of pleasure anytime he exercised his lower half. At some point when she was trying to fit her cock in him, his aroma had changed. There were traces of shame and fear, which she wanted to feel bad for but couldn't. Yet there was also something else underlying, something she had many memories of when she was younger: callery pear blossoms.

Callery trees swarmed the meadow near her uncles house. Eventually, they begun to invade the outskirts of his huge yard. They shed like crazy and covered his truck bed the one time they decided to have picnic out there. It wouldn't have mattered really if it weren't for their distinct fragrance of fresh spunk. The smell had gotten everywhere. And now it was here, far from her uncles backyard and- 

Like a lightbulb flicking on, she realized just what had happened; He came.

During the process of breaching him, his cocklet wrung out all that was left of sac. Not out of actual delight, but it was his bodies effort to give him a serotonin spike. An omegas body usually does that to reward the omega the first time it receives a knot. If the omega is prude, sometimes it can be a natural reaction to receiving anything bigger than two fingers. She understood now - her little doe has never used any omega specific dildo, or heat handler, or more than a couple of fingers to see him through heat before.

Blood and thrill surged to her cock again, reminding her it was still buried in him. Conquering a mouthy omega was one thing, but being the first thing to conquer, and open, their breeding canals was another. It was rare too. Heat toys were very popular in the modern world. Sasha was under the impression an independent omega like this surely had something under their hat to help them out. 

Snaking a hand around to his lap, she sought out his cocklet. It gave fleeting jumps and nods cradled in her palm. The skin was raised a bit, rug burned. She knew it didn't make sense to thank him - he couldn't possibly have been saving himself for her - but she did anyway. His only response was a feeble ungh

Hole loosening its chokehold on her, she began to rock back and forth idly. Her cock dug into his hole - carving a place inside specifically for her. She watched as her shaft was swallowed up greedily and worshipped by his body. She couldn't wait till she was worshipped by his mind too. Slipping into him and falling out in a steady staccato was bliss. A grin split her lips - she was about to be mated to such a divine little doe.

Still hugged by his walls, she could feel the fluttering of contractions, heat working in tandem with the alpha to get her off. Estrus and alphas had the same goal; getting omegas bred. The pucker of his sphincter dragged along her shaft, creating ripples across the sensitive appendage. Her knot was barely more than an itty bitty hill, not stimulated into forming quite yet, but every time it dipped into the wet heat she bit back a moan. 

Getting a grip on the omega, she thrust in deep. The omega had regained his senses from the overload and had tried clambering away - well, it was more like wiggling away really. His legs were splayed in a position that didn't give him much leverage to get away. He floundered about the floor of his nest, defying the mating rather fruitlessly. He continued his pleas, a lot more breathless than they were before.

The plodding of her own femsack - a leathery extension different than males - against his naked ass was music to her ears. Thighs collided with his in a sticky Orchestra, snivels and tumults of distress completing the symphony that echoed in the atmosphere. Her tempo was languid, enjoying each stroke inside of him. Slick made the pace into a relaxing, almost sleepy, tune. With the exception of his protests increasing in volume, the sounds of their coupling could have made a peaceful recording. 

"I can't...hungh... Please take it out! S-Stop!" He complained. 

She continued though, giving another deep thrust. "I told you you'd be okay, didn't I?" 

"I'm not-gah-okay! It hurts!"

"Really? Mmm, your ass looks just fine-nuh from here."

"I don't want your stupid cock! Umph, I-ungh- I fuckin-nuhgh hate you!..." His words spat with venom. They earned him a rough jab at his prostate, eliciting an uncontrollable moan - stars skittering across his vision. 

"Sure sounds like you love me."

"N-nobody loves you. You're-nngh- just ah limp d-dick alph-pha bitch!" The shout rang in the air - reverberating through brick and mortar.

Though Sasha lauded her ability to keep a cool head, there were some buttons better left unpushed. The basis of her presentation related sex was one of those such buttons. Female alphas had as many societal perks as males, but sharing a designation didn't make the genders any less different. To the ignorant, modern femininity was seen as less commanding and therefore less alpha-like. Each presented sex faced their own social criticisms - really the only ones who didn't were straight betas. But having her own captured omega denigrate her alphahood tipped her over the edge.

Seeking to teach him just how commanding she could be, she plunged into him - filling every corner in him until her tip brushed his cervix. He let out a mangled cry, a call for mercy. She leaned into, going as far as she could, driving him an inch up the nest in the process. Subtracting her cock from his hole, she could see the sad pucker begging to be filled again. She obliged, this time dialing up the speed to be rougher on the omega. Sweet and slow wasn't going to do the trick, but fast and rough would.

Her cock disappeared and reappeared in glistening flashes, each dip taking her in to the fullest. His ass was still a vice sucking her in with eager muscles, though not as tight as when she first entered - so she employed the use of her own pelvic strength to jaggedly drive into and out of him with speed and ease. His slick was sluggish, yet remained accommodating - a juxtaposition to the omega himself. Untied legs flailed where they circled her hips, doe trying to get his bearings while being fucked into the ground. Piglet toes scrambled for purchase before his soles planted themselves far on either side of her. He looked a bit like a frog, legs, and bottom forming a sort of M.

Sex began to riddle each breath, the combination of their mating pheromones wafting throughout the lower level just as strongly. The odor put a smile on the alphas face, and a melancholy grimace on the omegas. Although Sasha enjoyed the experience the most - physically and mentally - his body still reacted to the alphas prowess. The does yipping wasn't any louder though - it was quieting, actually. She had counted on the pace making him scream. A steadier and rhythmic drag against his prostate should've made him limp.

Instead, the tendons in his neck were taut as he grit his teeth against the assault, his previous mewls ceasing. He was stiff as a board and not boneless as she intended. Sasha nosed under his neck, sniffing out any possible complications. Finding nothing through her sense of smell, she licked him. A long wet stripe across the knob of his spine, little bristles like a fleshy carpet - scratchy yet gentle. Sweat was the first taste and there wasn't anything off about it. There was nothing off about the slight cardboard taste of his skin, or the raw pancake pheromones - she could detect a soapy flavor to his body; probably from whenever he washed.

All the while she investigated him, her hips never faltered. Repetitive smacks of her pelvis connecting with his backside resonating. He was fitting around her rod like a glove, complementing it on each stroke. However, the now-familiar tune wasn't putting her mind at rest. It was waking up an instinctual desire to add his squeals to the mix - either from pain or pleasure.

She wasn't going to him let him lay like a rock through the whole mating. Under her heel he was to be submissive. Dopey and tame, but also praising of his alpha. Silence during mating was only one of two things: a sign of ailment or an intentional disrespect. Since she couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, she suspected he was disrespecting her - implying her girth or stride was not suitable enough for an audible reaction. 

In a rare moment of pride fuelled anger, she decided to disrupt his little silence strike with a bold grind inward, tip prodding his cervix. A muffled Oomph entered the air, which was all the encouragement she needed to keep going - hips rearing back then surging in to his bud, cock becoming a jackhammer and mind solely focused on reaching gratification to the sound of a reluctant omega accepting defeat. His hole welcomed the treatment with a minute gush of slick.

Needing a more advantageous hold over him, her arm slithered up his body around his neck, forearm baring his throat - cradling him. She could feel the bob of his adams apple where it hid in the crook of her elbow. The velocity behind her frenzied thrusts propelled him upward on each smack of their pelvics. The light plodding of her sack on him turned into a ballad of slapping, actually managing to pinken bellow his butt where it consistently landed. 

Ramming inch after inch in his hole non-stop and up to the hilt wasn't a walk in the park despite his wetness. His walls struggled to constrict, being rammed open of every stab of her cock past his rim. Sasha was putting in all the cardio, heart pumping with the determination necessary to keep her moving. It felt like she was running a race: physically exerting herself until the last sweat drop bled from her pored and she crossed the finish line. It didn't matter to her right now whether he crossed it too.

Downy hairs on a lolling head pet the side of her cheek, ragged breaths heating the tops of his ears. With his shoulders lifted off the ground, his upper body was suspended, held up by the alpha. His stance dropped him back down on her shaft every time he bounced, full weight shoving it in hurriedly. She let out small moans interspersed with growls, a buzz under her skin filling her with delight. Cloying scent of an omega being properly bred making her limbs numb.

Cock pounding into him in one massive blur, amicable girth definitely feeling bigger with the way it quickly opened up his entrance. His hole was being beaten into submission, like how a whisk beat eggs into froth. The doe was biting his lip hard enough to form a small cut, trying his damndest not to give the alpha this satisfaction. But once she lifted up his knee, selecting a better angle to scrub at his prostate and irritate his cervix, he crumbled - blaring yelps and sobs combined, joining the cacophony of wet slapping skin and obscene spelching of sex. 

The melody rose, bold pace widening him up enough that the head of her member could screw against his womb. Mating consumed the alpha - she was mad with it. Violently taking what she deemed hers and using her cock to batter his cervix, seeking to enter his most precious of places. Despite the delight of coupling the omega, her ire was scaling around conscious, strokes filled with just as much anger as lust.

That made for a particularly energized and electrifying mating - one that would make his backache with the way his spine bowed. The omega lost all sense of voice, being reduced to whimpers and cries like a good little doe. His hole just couldn't withstand the assault, eventually giving all the way - muscles relaxing, no longer attempting to strangle her shaft and simply allowing her to fuck into a sloppy, shiny hole unbidden. He dreaded the sensations that came with his ass working opposite his will, like the uninvited feel-good tingles.

No hindrance whatsoever, her cock finally speared his cervix, breaching him with an easy thrust. His deeper opening was snug on the tip of her - absolutely lovely.

A hoarse "oh fuck" followed by a high pitched and long-drawn cry notified the alpha that the omega came again - dry by the looks of it. His cocklet swayed side to side, losing all will to erect ages ago and now just hanging there like a noose. Still, the alpha wasn't done with him yet. With the ability to screw into his cervix recently attained, members head kissed by it, her next challenge was sticking a swollen knot past that gorgeous pucker.

It plumped slowly, like bakers bread rising in an oven - which is exactly what the inside of this omega felt like during estrus. The knot itself was more akin to the feel of solid wood. It was already baseball-sized and hard as the bricks making up their building. There wasn't a lot of accommodation his body could provide, other than slickening. Knots were sometimes too intense, stimulating the omega beyond reason and pushing it into painful territory. Sasha didn't think that would occur though - it felt pretty manageable in this state of engagement. 

Vigorous sex ongoing, the alpha beat into him with a passion. The doe was all jolts and hitches bumping back into her unintended. His backside was beginning to get a little puffy, the brutality at which she exercised it pulverizing the soft channel both inside and out. He was seconds away from being caught on her knot and trapped - vulnerable for her to force a bond.

The hen still tried to speak, little no's and don'ts posing objections to the ball he could detect forming when she drilled in past his bud. He thrashed his legs in a rush of hysteria, frantically looking for a way to crawl off her member. It was futile, he was going to be stuck on it whether he liked it or not. Her movements never ceased; pistoning with a reckless abandon, persuing her own climax.

Rhythm offbeat and abdomen rippling, she came to the edge - bodies acting in harmony as the alpha shoved in one last time and the omegas walls clenched the tighest they have during the whole escapade. Long thick cock set like marble skewered through both his openings, his cervix failing to close around the tip. The rim of his wet ass stretched obscenely trying to take the huge knot into his abused hole. The skin expanded, slowly force-fed her knot until it was like quicksand - ruddy and slippery channel sucking it in with a lewd pop.

Automatically, his passage took up the task of straining as much cum out of her as possible. She ejaculated molten hot seed, pumping large doses directly into his receptacle womb. With the alpha plugged so tightly into his body, he already felt full to bursting - like eating too much on Thanksgiving.

A sharp bark of agony and pleasure accompanied her belted roar, both delayed, but she chose to ignore the omegas noise in favor of exploring her own peak. A cascading miasma of bright pulses and chills ran along her skin, up and down her spine like children on a hill. Twitches of her cock being squeezed by the renewed vice of his channel made her knees weak, though not weak enough to topple them. A fire sprinted through her senses, being chased by the comedown crashing her back into reality. Knot and all, the mating wasn't finished yet. Her sight zeroed in on the slight mound, vaguely red and calling her attention as if it was a signal.

It felt so natural, like going on autopilot, when she craned his neck to the side and clamped into the juicy junction were his neck met shoulder. Puncturing the gland was the point of no return - and the alpha couldn't be more proud. Reedy fluid, about an ounce worth, washed her tongue - maple and pancakes, and a tinge of succulent special to his mating gland secretion. She could live her whole life happily tasting nothing but this. Pure unadulterated bliss, like a meal that never ended.

The thrumming of her eardrums had briefly drowned out the clipped howl her omega had let loose. Her omega. Her omega who was currently undulating his hips, short convulses he couldn't control making his body shake.

Sashas saliva chock-full of her pheromones was coursing through his veins, injecting them with their bond and tying him to her. Surrounding him with her. His gland fluid was doing much the same process - both their heads spinning and bodies becoming heavy like bags of potatoes. Lying in his nest, covered in their mingled scents and various substances, seemed a great idea - one she swiftly obliged. 

Resting her weight on top of him, effectively caging him under her, she settled in for the day. There were many things on her mind which would keep her up for a while. A tug at her heartstrings, realizing that her deepest desire was accomplished right there in that morose establishment. Her desire had come to life and now fitfully slept under her - passed out.

Then a trouble that had been plagueing her since the omega chugged the last of her water had niggled at her; how was she supposed to leave behind her omega in heat? Where would she get water?. She was in the middle of searching for supplies when she wandered in and discovered the beautiful creature she now called mate.

Though the problems still bothered her when she closed her eyes, she was too content to stress over it - even if it was important. Instead, Sasha decided she would deal with it all later; after she's had a nice nap in the big nest her darling omega made - pretending it was always meant for her.

 

Notes:

This fic will probably never be geographically accurate, but at least I tried.

Words like 'doe, hen, etc.' are pet names for omegas.

Comments always welcome.

Chapter 5: Chapter Three: Freezing Cold

Summary:

The newly mated pair are at each others necks.

Notes:

Hey, so this fic *isn't* abandoned. I just want to thank all the commenters on my last chapter and my readers, it means a lot to me that you still stick around even with my inconsistent updates and that you like the story. Much love and happy New Year ❤️

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

By the time Sasha's knot deflated, falling limply, the sun had completely submerged - not to be seen until the next morning. The smell of sex clung to the air like smoke, creeping around the space and hanging thickly. They had power napped through the dawn, the omega finally able to find rest and the alpha unable to remain awake after the exertion. The doe had been deprived of sleep for a full day - mind troubled by his predicament and worry over his safety. Now he slept soundly, lain like a brick and as unaware as one. 

Whispers of the fire kept the room lit while Sasha surveyed her surroundings. Her eyes fell upon the figure curled next to her, nose stuffed into his own elbow. She couldn't help the smile that spread on her face knowing she had successfully bonded the brown-haired beauty. The plush pale lips under the pixie curved nose enticed her line of vision, drawing her in to stare in awe of all his smooth, soft, golden skin. She was tempted to run her fingers along his arms, to feel - physically - that which belonged solely to her. Alas, she didn't want to wake him when he looked so peaceful. Instead, she opted to occupy herself redressing. 

The night brought a strong chill into the building and, despite the plethora of blankets in her omegas cozy giant nest, goosebumps raised up her exposed chest and stomach. After replacing her silk shirt and good jeans, Sasha reached for the water cooler jug the omega must have used to collect water. She was too paranoid of him escaping to go far for resources - the snow outside, while not as fresh as it could be, would have to do for the moment. 

Sasha still hesitated to put on her coat; cold dread sat heavy in her gut, as grounding as a weight. Excitement merged with fear, tangling into a confusing jumble. Her emotions flitted from one extreme to the next, like children repeatedly chasing each other across a busy highway. She was waiting for the disaster, for the speeding car and the untied shoelaces - one arm already through her sleeve. But it never came. His eyes never shot open, his legs didn't rush him up and past her before she could blink. His breath stayed even - long and drawn.

The caution was warranted; she had newly mated a willful omega, the only one for miles as far as she knew. He was still in heat, asleep, in the apocalypse, and - as much as she hated to admit - his alpha was a stranger. The dangers were even more substantial than they would have been before the fall. He could try to run and get lost outside - bare to the mercy of the elements, undead, and other survivors. He could be found, by a lone alpha or a whole pack. Sasha refused to let such a gem go; he was her omega - her future. She was going to protect what was rightfully hers.

She also had a duty to provide for him. What alpha would she be to let her omega dehydrate under her watch? During a heat, and in general, water is critical. Omegas tended to dry out faster, suffering various heat sicknesses as a result - a few that could lead to death. Rapid water loss was a common and sometimes deadly symptom of estrus. Her omega already drained all the water they had left - not to mention her own mouth was beginning to feel parched.

In the minute it took for her to finish fastening up her clothes, the chill had set itself deeply into her bones. Whether she liked it or not(she didn't), she would have to leave her sleeping omega behind. Even though she wasn't planning on going far, and was coming back, it still felt like a punch in the face; painful and shitty. She wished she had a leash and collar for him - something she could use to make sure he would stay beside her outside. An untrained omega like him would likely take the collar off anyway, and a locked collar was a specialty item she was sure she wouldn't find out there.

Grabbing the jug by the bottleneck, she stood admiring him one last time before sneaking down the crooked steps and into the dark frosty night. The wind was howling, so loud and obnoxious she could barely hear her own thoughts. A hoarse timbre, sweeping past the land. Squeezing herself and the jug through the window was easy, but landing on the other side of the building and enduring the full force of the turbulent wind made her shudder - immediately she wanted to go back inside and cuddle up to her omega. 

The ground appeared as it always did; cold, white, and unforgiving. Snow was plastered to the soil and concrete, like a thick layer of skin. From her angle, as far as the eye could see the ground was a blank canvas - waiting for the right person to come along and paint it green; renew it. Water trickled sluggishly from spikes on the edge of the second-floor window, sharp and crooked like teeth. They loomed above, looking glassy, just about ready to drop to the ground and fracture. Sasha was surprised water was even coming from them considering the sun wasn't out. She knew they would freeze over again before the daylight, and tried to mentally make a note to grab some before they did. It didn't look like it would make much water, but it was better than nothing. 

Focusing on the snow beneath her feet, Sasha tiptoed into the dark. There wasn't light for miles. Everything further than two feet away from her was swallowed up in inky black darkness. The world seemed utterly empty; only Sasha and her nested hen were left to occupy it. Voided from the problems of the rich versus the poor, the only plight remaining was strong versus the weak. Braving the disaster in its fledgling state was an achievement, sure, but continuing to survive was its own trial and tribulation. Sasha hasn't been scared of the night since she was a child. The dark brought uncertainty and danger now, every crevice could be swarming with the undead or bandits.

Tonight was a change of pace. Instead of being afraid of stepping into a trap, she's afraid of stepping into a plate of clean snow. Something so innocuous yet so important. Each crunch beneath made her cringe internally; black speckles of rubble telling her it was inedible. The alpha had traveled a great few feet before stopping tentatively, narrowly avoiding trampling over the pristine lumps of snow in front of her. Small bends and ridges shaped the layer - it appeared like a miniature valley of white roiling hills. It smelled like nothing - like frozen air.

With no dirt or any other harmful material absconding the plain sleet, Sasha had deemed it perfect. Her eyes roved over it, twice, three times, triple-checking It was good enough for her omega. Kneeling down, she inspected it even closer. Her eyesight was decent, sure, but she wanted to be absolutely positive that everything her omega was going to drink was clean. And she was pretty positive. So she laid the gallon tank next to herself and began scooping.

The chill shot through her like lightning, racing up her hands and freezing them on contact. It felt like sticking her fingers in the crevice of a frozen tundra. Her teeth were already chattering, shoulders rising and falling shakily, but grasping a mound of snow had significantly worsened everything. Though Sasha was no stranger to sub-zero temperatures, she loathed the cold and the biting frost and the scratchy feeling of breathing in snowflakes. 

She molded the clump by crushing it in her fist, making a jaggedly ridged cylindrical shape, and pushed it into the jug. It slowly slid down the neck until it rested at the bottom. Sasha repeated the process with the surrounding area, making sure she didn't pick up anything undrinkable. It was a fairly easy operation; the only true obstacle being the limited mobility of her fingers after freezing solid halfway through filling the bottle. She considered stopping a second to shove her hands into her coat to warm them a bit but decided against that - wanting to finish as quickly as possible to return to her omega.

Temporarily losing feeling in her extremities was a small price to pay to give her omega water. That didn't mean that it didn't suck having that ice block sensation of being unable to move her toes. At some point, the cylinders she was forming became fat ovals due to her inability to close her hands. But she persisted anyway. Owning an omega was a whole new life-threatening motivation. It's like the world narrowed down to one goal that no matter what, had to be fulfilled. For many alphas, it did very well mean death. Sasha was already risking hypothermia and frostbite for someone she had only known less than a full day.

Yet in her mind, it was more than worth it to do such a menial task for him that he currently couldn't do for himself. There were other menial things she couldn't wait to do for him and with him. Surviving on his own for who knows how long was quite the accomplishment, and she was sure her omega was capable and talented, but that didn't erase her need to protect and provide.

Every omega needed a helping hand, especially when the world becomes too stressful. Sasha believed that every omega simply needed an alpha; a protector, a guardian. Not just to keep them in line, but also to guide them and to nurture them. A good omega is subservient and attentive to the needs of others. While omegas could lead a life of relative luxury, being taken care of by their alphas, everyone else spends time and resources, bending over backward to make sure all omegas won't have to worry. Not about the economy, or education, or work, or any other stressor the other designations encountered. They should be grateful for that, and readily eager to repay the expense. 

Although she knew not every alpha was a good one - and that no omega had to repay an obtuse alpha - she was willing to bet the majority went above and beyond for their mates. Throughout her childhood, she's been regaled with stories and life lessons about omegas and their place within society and the family structure. They were a prize and a privilege; an honor to one's alphahood. To have one that voluntarily obeyed, fed, and loved you was to be the richest in all the world. A household was bettered by the sheer presence of them. Maybe some statements were rather fantastical in scope, and not necessarily accurate, but Sasha felt like it was.

She wasn't sure if the tingling sensation was from her overflowing love for her doe or from the loss of circulation - likely both. However life continued, through good and bad, she would enjoy every moment she spent with her omega by her side. They got off on a rocky start - she was sure her gushing appreciation would be either unreciprocated or scorned - yet she was determined to correct their course; to correct him - as she was certain she would eventually have to.

For the time being, she would revel in his attention during his heat. When he awakes, she's decided to try to talk to him as much as he'll allow. Verbal omegas were quite common, but most had dents in their speaking abilities. Sasha remembers learning in school that while alphas and betas contained similar parts of their brains that interpreted languages, omegas had a vastly different template for understanding them. While it wasn't impossible to come across an articulate omega, it was less common also. And at the far end of the spectrum were omegas who could understand speech but were mostly incapable of recreating it - nonverbal, as they were usually referred to.

Most omegas possessed a low aptitude for literacy. Just about all of the verbal ones spoke, but had trouble reading and weren't always taught how to write. Writing was considered too difficult for an omega to learn, and therefore too much lesson time could be wasted making sure the omegas were keeping up. If an Alpha wanted their omega to write it was up to them to teach their omega.

Sasha wanted to gauge how well her little hen could speak, as well as learn a thing or two about him; guessing just wouldn't cut it. She knew he was a spirited thing from the moment his shorter stature attempted to tackle her, but she wondered what else he was like. He was rude too, but Sasha wasn't going to consider that a personality trait. She would train the rudeness out of him before they reached her uncle anyway. The man was overly friendly to omegas, but never let them purposefully disrespect him in the few interactions she's seen between him and them. The last thing she wanted was her uncle to be disappointed in her ability to control her omega.

She was worried enough about her own ability to control her omega as is. After every scoop of snow into the gallon, she looked over her shoulder briefly - trying to identify any sign her omega left the nest - before going back to work. The longer she was away, the more jittery she felt. Alpha instincts were blazing their way up her central cortex, urging her to return to her omega. Staving it off to procure water was a hard battle of wills: one part wants to protect, the other wants to provide.

Throwing glances back periodically was the only compromise she could manage until the bottle was filled, which is why it was an incredible relief when she was finished. There was a giant hole in the rivers of white where if she were to take one more scoop the ground would be exposed. Once the snow had piled up nearly to the crown, she hefted up the significantly heavier jug. It wasn't hard to carry, but it was like the entire north pole had been crammed into a jar. Sasha didn't want it near her omega until all of the contents melted.

 


 

Though she hadn't gone far from the building, the darkness still envelope most of it. She had to come within a foot of the walls of the building to find the open ledge. Lifting the cache up and back through the window, along with herself, went rather smoothly. But sneaking up the stairs carefully was rough, especially with her boots on. 

The room was just how she left it: her bag near the stairs, tent in the middle of the space, crushed water bottle near the window, and can fire still burning in front of it. Except; the curtain of the tent had been pulled down - her omega hidden from immediate view. It still smelt like them combined, and the fragrance of maple, though a little dull, hadn't vanished. She scanned each inch of the floor, looking for even the smallest sign of a foot pattern. The only results she was met with were the prints from her own boots.

She was glad that even though her omega appeared to be awake, he didn't make a run for it after realizing she wasn't there. Sasha had already abandoned the jug next to her pack, eyes focused on the figure in the tent. From what she could infer, he was cross-legged at the far perimeter of his nest - his shoulders hunched and his head hung. The outline of him looked close to defeat.

Sniffles resounded through the otherwise quiet room, accompanying the soft crackle of the fire. The sound was weak and foreign, more akin to the hasty ripping of paper or a close shave. The mews and snuffs were wafting out of their tent, unbidden. Mistakenly, Sasha had believed the omega wasn't expecting her to return, and that that was the cause of his audible distress. She wanted to ease his mind, to reassure him his alpha hadn't left. Her feet carried her at a brisk pace, reaching the nest in seconds.

Up close, Sasha was able to discern small murmurs between the raucous sniffling. Seemingly, the omega was trying to reassure itself. It occurred to her she had no idea how to calm a willful omega. Trained ones were simple enough; introduce a calming trigger and perform it whenever the omega becomes anxious or overwhelmed. Most omegas heeled quickly to their alpha, desiring that protection. But this omega hadn't submitted so easily to her; in fact, he hadn't submitted at all. 

Bunching the curtains up in one hand, she lowered herself into a crouch and pulled it aside. A blotchy reddish nose and red-rimmed eyes were the first things that caught her eye. His appearance was glum and dirty, belly still coated in his own release. 

He looked wrecked. The absolute claim of her teeth marks sat heavy above his shoulder blade - dark red and pulsing in her sights. Blood had dried around it, a bright red circle highlighting her ownership. Muscles shift beneath the chafed skin of his biceps and shoulders. Sitting sideways from the entrance, he pushed and pawed at the curls of his nest. The makeshift hut was only in mild disarray by Sashas estimation, but it must have seemed like a trash-heap to him judging by the omegas insistent fluffing and nattering. 

Sasha would have taken that moment to coo at her omega, marveling at the show like a bright-eyed child oogling morning cartoons. The puffy bags ballooning beneath frantic orbs and troubled half whimpers persuaded her otherwise. Hands occupied, the omega hadn't even noticed the alpha's presence yet. His interlay he spent so much time and effort cultivating was still ripped apart and strewn in several corners of the nest. Breathes came ragged, chest heaving in and out to keep up with his adrenaline. His composure had fizzled and died quietly during the mating.

Now, he was grappling to hold in tears, desperately trying to satisfy his omega instincts to preserve his habitat. Despite the tremors of his lithe fingers, the doe had managed to neatly rearrange quite a bit of his soiled nest. He continued patting and pulling, running his hands along ridges and blanket tufts, sniveling persistent. Sasha was sure she had seen this behavior before; but not from an omega. She's seen dogs and cats tear at their beds madly, looking to screw it up just right. An omega and their nests were different. 

Sashas brow lowers, eyes fixating on the omegas face rather than his actions. Her lips quirked, unsure of how to proceed. The only question she could think to ask rose to the forefront of her mind.

"Are you alright?"

Her voice was quiet, attempting to ease him. In spite of the effort, his little shoulders had jumped, eyes wide and mouth open to inhale and scream. Surprise made him halt his movements, the tiny pillowcase in his hand dropped in an instant. He was hunched slightly, covering some of himself from view. The expression passed quickly, sooner giving way to recognition. He only looked tentatively relieved that he wasn't happened upon by a new stranger. His face had softened with understanding, then fell with realization. 

Turning his back to the alpha, resigned, he continued where he left off, picking up the material and folding it. He purposefully ignored her, keeping his vision on the task at hand. It was made abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely zero interaction with her after the events of just a few hours ago. Of course, an omega refusing an alpha even after mating isn't unusual. In most cases, the omega simply needs to be trained or shown trustworthiness. Sasha had little reason to believe this situation was any different, though she was still clueless as to her next move.

"Answer me." She retained her quiet tone, "I'm not going to ask again." It was a thin threat. The relationship was very new - too new to introduce spanking or other corporal punishments before trust had even been established in her opinion. The only other thing she could, and would, do is give him another thorough check over, but she was sure his problem wasn't a physical one. 

It was a beat before he actually opened his mouth - for a moment, Sasha thought she might have to make do on her promise. But the doe decided not to test his luck just yet.

"Yes." He mumbled. 

Sasha nodded her head, a mini victory dance playing out in her imagination for getting the omega to obey with minimal force. 

"Why are you messing with your nest like that?"

The omega froze, body taut and demeanor cooling. She could see the narrowing of his eyes, hear the click of his teeth as his jaws fitted together like a lock setting into place. Sasha was aware she accidentally struck a cord and decided not to scold his inevitable outburst.

"You messed it up." The omega practically spat the words from his mouth. "It took me forever to make it and you messed it up. I can't raise pups in this!" 

Anger folded the skin around his nose, a snarl stretching his lips and uncovering dull canines. Like a cornered kitten, the little beauty put on a show of aggression unthinkingly trying to shoo away the alpha. It wouldn't cross his mind until after the fiasco how ridiculous it was to fight over the state of the nest he thought he would raise his rapist's children in. In the heat of the moment, it felt like the most natural reaction. Logically, an alpha like she would ensure he was whelped; equally logical was the likeliness that their litter would be birthed and raised in the same location. All of this his brain rationalized of its own volition.

Therefore his anger was justified. Pups needed a comfortable environment to grow properly. There was nothing comfy about a ransacked and soaked den. It wasn't until the alpha revealed a snarl of her own that he came to his senses. Her teeth were far sharper than his - vicious incisors hinting any fight would be easily won. His hackles raised, mainly due to his regained awareness. 

"Whatever." The doe turned away from her, not wanting to hear any response, "Just go away."

If he were still looking, he would have seen the brief hurt in her eyes. Sasha wasn't going to pretend her omegas rejection didn't feel like a kick to the ribs. She naively had hoped to come back to resolute - if not a little reluctant - cuddles; not hostility. She expected his reactions but that didn't mean she had to like them.

"No." 

One word was all it took to light the omegas hair on fire. Face reddening and eyes burning, the doe lit up with rage. His fingers curled into fists, his lips trembled, the tips of his ears were cherry - he couldn't(wouldn't) control the vitriol he was feeling. An uninvited alpha - manipulative and bruising - had trespassed his territory, violated him, raped him, claimed him, ruined his nest, and was practically bullying him. It's like the earth was rumbling, he could sense the warbling beneath him. Or perhaps that was his imagination, his anger making his vision shake.

Obscenities rushed his mind like a rowdy crowd of customers on Black Friday - busting through every door, searching every crevice,  seemingly consuming everything. What was bottled up in the confusion and panic hours earlier had come to a head - resolve breaking and crumbling. He couldn't fully form his thoughts before they came flowing out, his pain finally being voiced.

"Fuck you. Fuck everything about you! Just leave me alone!" The omega sat ramrod straight, preparing to leap at Sasha. "You fucked up everything, you ruined it. You ruined me! You raped me! And now you can't even leave me alone!"

Ugly tears were collecting at his eyes, picking up where they left off before being rudely interrupted. "You're a sick, sick, piece of shit! I don't want you, and I don't need you." His voice watered, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. "Burn in hell."

The omega took one big shuddering breath; almost choking on it. It happened so quickly he didn't have time to be afraid of the alpha lashing out at him. Through his entire diatribe, the alpha was stock-still and silent, waiting for him to finish. She was listening closely to the way he spoke - keenly watching the rise and fall of his uncovered chest. Without a shirt, the poke of his ribs was visible on every inhale. His hiccups had filled the air for a couple of seconds of Sashas inaction. 

From her assessment, her omega was in need of reassurance. However, not the soft and cooing kind. He was unsure of his place and struggling to cope with his sudden loss of independence, something she couldn't personally sympathize with. But from the books she was told to study in school, she can remember the chapter on omegan coping methods. Anger was rare but not unusual. Based on limited knowledge, Sasha had deduced how he was feeling; exposed, dependant, and weepy. 

It was the first of many incorrect deductions moving forward, but one she readily acted on. Her omega wasn't reacting the way he should in her eyes. Clinging on to her, or lounging lazily and awaiting another round, were both the normal ways to greet a returning alpha during heat and preheat. Even forcibly mated omegas became lazy, though they also became weepier. Messing with the nest and yelling at his alpha was unhealthy and completely unacceptable. In public, his behavior would certainly make her seem like a bad alpha.

An alpha who couldn't keep her omega in line was no alpha at all. But she was as new to this as he was and, knowing that, decided against immediately correcting him - afraid she would make matters worse with the wrong move. Entering the nest further would be a terrible idea, so she stood there - simply watching the red fade from the mans cheeks. Scenting the air, though sure to make her stiff again, wouldn't bring her any concrete solutions either. Putting space between her and the erratic omega seemed the best and only option.

The omega sat, stewing with rage rather than cowering as an omega should after all he's said. His heart pumped faster; blood coursed through his veins with urgency, hot and heated - more so from the heat than his anger. His pulse continues its steady thudding; sheer force of will the only thing keeping him upright while dehydration began taking effect. The nausea from being upright was ignored; pushed behind his fight or flight response which was currently blinking off and on like a turn signal.

He doesn't know why he remained there, or why he didn't push past the alpha as soon as she opened the tent. In truth, he wasn't sure why it was so important he change the nest immediately. Pups wouldn't appear just the next second and he had no plans of being inviting or cordial towards the alpha. Besides; the alpha had already mated him, there wasn't any need to impress or entice her with his skills.

The omega wanted to curl up away from Sasha and hide from the world. The air became stifling - the weather too cold and his body too hot. Everything felt wrong and weird, and her presence made it worse. His eyes downcast, not wanting to face the consequences of his words as well as resisting the temptation to continue his rant. He was embarrassed to be broken to tears in front of her. All that time he thought he was a strong omega, the complete opposite of the sniveling does in distress he's seen on the tv or the animalistic breed he's read in school books. Carefully curated self-confidence unravels around him, like a silk scarf fluttering downwind.

A voided silence blooms, violence never coming as he expected it to. Instead, a steady breath is exhaled from the cold body across from him. He can only detect the smell of candle wax floating off of her and into the atmosphere. Malleable and melting, a reminder of her place in front of him. The way it stuffed his nose made him hate it. Her surprising calm eased his shoulders into drooping - no longer feeling it necessary to maintain great posture.

Sasha sweeps her eyes down the length of his body like a broom across hardwood, before hungrily fixating on his middle. Her frozen cold hands felt only one sensation at that moment: the itch to glide around his tummy and rub and paw and cup it. Naturally, he wasn't in the mood to be fawned over; any step into his territory would surely result in getting bitten or scratched. Frustration from the lack of warmth or contact from her omega was beginning to bubble up and froth at the tip of her mind.

Turning away from him was the hardest thing she's done in the past month. Shifting her head to the side required immeasurable willpower, but for her omega, she did as she needed. Neck exposed, stance distanced and unthreatening, Sasha was offering a truce. The scuffing scrape of boots across concrete floor deafening as she toed back out of his territory; each shuffle backward signifying the regressive distrust between the two newly-bonds.

Bated breath and tense shoulders replaced the warm vibe with that of steely hostility. A somber alpha retreats from the hearth of a beautiful nest at the command of her bratty omega. Sasha thought it was almost a sad story, like one in a Children's book. Though she was well aware she was a stranger, as his alpha, she didn't want to be treated like one.

The slight tickle along her crown sounded the displeasure of her instincts, that urged her to tackle and pin him rather than concede. Her two feet planted squarely outside the walls he erected, shoe tips a hairs width from the edge. Unthinkingly she had tracked sleet into the hideout. Eyes of regret landed on a particularly soft-looking blanket, a pattern of wet and cold little blocks and bricks plastered in; impressioned into them like stamps by the bottom of her boots. A soft shudder releases inside the curtains, scented like the rest of him: maple.

The cover left the omega still half-exposed - bubbly orbs stenographing her every move. He looked every bit the lost kitten he probably felt like.

Rapidly purpling fingers curled and uncurled as if to grip and let go of the imaginary. A clocks ticking reverberates off the walls of her skull. Sometime a few seconds ago, without her knowledge, her mind had decided his privacy should be timed. The crickety sounds agitate her, the whole body thrumming in insistence. She could not deny the appeal of wrapping her omega in her arms and snuggling away all of his worries - then fucking the daylights out of him until his knees wobbled, legs unreliable, and his heat satiated.

Before she got the chance to act on her thoughts, her feet carried her to her pack, leaning to the side like a corduroy and leather tower of Pisa. Slim fingers swirled around, searching in its belly. Sasha concentrated on feeling around for a pot. A stained and grayed old thing, but perhaps one of the most important items currently in her possession. 

Clattering and slushing emitted from over the fire, the alpha loudly and clumsily prepping the snow for melting. Shadows from her movements cast on the wall, whipping from place to place in a perfect mimic. It appeared looming and huge; a giantess puppet. Curves and slopes amalgamated and transmorphed, appearing like running water - The doe was reminded of a lava lamp from where he sat, distracting himself with the calming memory.

A fat clump of snow spins like a rotisserie, small cackles , sizzles coming from the pot below it. The sticks holding the clump are thin and jagged, a little dirty too. The noises from the pot soon become annoying - hooks of sound sinking into the couples eardrums and staying persistent; not an octave higher or lower. Steam and perspiration drift from the metal, warming her nostrils as she takes a whiff.

Sashas pupils remain dilated, surprise and frustration still perched un-quietly beneath her skin. Somehow, beyond what's possible, her heart feels chafed. A burning sensation tickles at it, clawing up until the metaphor completes; her heart snapping in half like a colorful cartoon. No matter how steadfast she works at procuring water, her mind continues to surrender to invading thoughts and instincts.

Ticking coalesces with hissing, the two joining forces to destroy her inner calm. A cacophony of loud, pervasive, and high pitched making her brain go numb with an emerging headache. The temples of her head throbbed, pounding against the door of her mind. It wasn't the worst headache she's ever experienced, but certainly the most confounding. She ached for a drink, having suddenly felt overwhelmed despite the lack of activity.

A nice bourbon or whiskey, something to knock back and let slide down smooth. Or perhaps rum and vodka - a quick distraction. Alcohol could chase away her worries faster than a good nights rest or meditation. But inebriation would leave her doe even more vulnerable - defenseless and without an alert alpha to protect him.

Still, her fingers tapped away absently on her thigh, hitting invisible piano keys to the rhythm of inaudible music. The steam acts like a sauna, making dribbles of sweat sache down her face. It's not unbearable; the complete opposite actually. It thaws the rest of her body after her cold escapade.

Already, the pot was a quarter full of water. Sasha pushed the thought of boiling more later to the back of her mind, believing she had enough for now. She trudged around the tent, looking for the tin she eyed earlier. With two snowballs placed at the bottom of the makeshift cup, Sasha began pouring. The snow melted quickly, partly turning to jagged ice before disappearing completely. Cup hot to the touch, another snowball was placed inside - melting half as quickly as the last.

Pulling the water to her lips, she took a tentative sip - tongue moisturized immediately upon contact. The water itself was lukewarm, but the tin remained hot enough to turn her fingers red. Ignoring the burn in favor of her omegas wellness, she gathered up her resolve - taking the cup into the nest along with her self.

 


 

An hour had passed already - the omega tired and resting in his mess. He perked up upon her arrival - or at least tried to. Sluggish arms made to push himself up into a sitting position, his eyes bleary and half-open. He struggled into position, body aching with the effort, brain becoming dizzy. Sasha didn't know if it was the heat or the lack of water making him lethargic, which in turn caused her heart to skip a beat. 

Lowering to his level, she commanded him to drink. The hen flinched, leaning away from her. His head bobbed slightly, neck struggling to keep it up. He was more worried about the intruding alpha in his nest than he was about his health - mind cajoling him to both shoo her away and entice her back inside.

Before he could do either, iron-strong fingers pressed into his jaw, holding him still and opening his mouth. Sounds of the alpha shushing him filled his ears, drifting to that part of his brain that he hated. He felt like he was levitating in the clouds, the fuzzy tv static of his mind playing before his eyes - keeping him dumbly entertained. The alphas noises accompanied his show, lulling him into a malleable state.

Hinges pried open to reveal his tongue, heavy and dry. After blowing excessively, the alpha hovered the tin over him, aligned directly with his maw, tipping it slowly. Fine, tasteless, and odorless, the water poured into him. It wasn't quite warm or cold. Like a waterfall, the stream continued. His body craved it, shifting towards the source eagerly.

His hand reached up to grab the cup himself as he attempted gulping as much as he could. But the woman shook his head a little in reprimand - gesture relaying the message that he should relax into her care. The water wetting and plumping his tongue was too good. The doe almost believed he was becoming drunk off it. In reality, his heat was rearing its head - applying subtle pressure to his instincts periodically, it was a sort of calm before the storm. Soon his heat would be in full force and that subtle pressure would become an uncontrollable urge, his needs as an omega rendering him weak.

Tin close to drained, the pitter-patter of the last remaining drops raining into his mouth reminded him of the water bottle lying forgotten across the room-

the crinkle of plastic under his fingers, bottle becoming bony and twisted. A foreign hand encapsulates his upper arm, weighted, warm, and predatory. Bruising touches, violating and seeking scrapes, a punishing pace. His own body felt impersonal and cold; like it no longer belonged to him. With each stroke of her in and out, with each rove up and down the length of his muscles, he began to realize it did not belong to him anymore.  

Liquid dribbles down the side of his mouth, pencil-thin rivulets falling into the ravines of his collarbone. There they collect into a small river, glistening on his skin. His throat has forgotten how to swallow, his lungs misremembering how to breathe. His eyes stay open, staring into the face of his alpha without seeing the features that make up her image.

Temporarily the doe is lost to the blankness in his mind. A hard clank, like the drop of a metal plate, sounded around him, buzzing him back to earth. His body jumps on reflex, eyes shooting towards the tin as he backed away from the commotion. It's then that he realizes she has released him from her grasp. The womans brow was furrowed, lips pulled into an unsure frown.

"Are you alright?" Her voice said.

The hen was only able to let out an answering gurgle - some water still pooled in his mouth and he tried dutifully not to choke on it. He gulped, adams apple bouncing beneath the skin of his neck. The alpha took the moment to speak.

"I know this is a big change for you and you find this difficult." She said, sighing lowly, "I promised you I'll take care of you, and I meant it. All I ask for in return is complete obedience and submission. But, if you can't act properly and obey me then I will discipline you however I see fit. I don't want to hurt you..." Her words trailed off.

Chocolate eyes hazily drifted up to connect with hers. For a second she thought he might have been too out of it to understand what she had just said. But then his tongue darted out to moisten his cracked lips, and he wiped his hand along his cheek - palm catching the last remnants of liquid on his face. When he talks it's with all the confidence of a scared child.

"You've already hurt me." 

It's not like the woman has never heard this cliche line before in the vanilla softcore porn marketed towards angsty betas. In fact, it's the very reason she has to bite her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. The way the omega felt might be genuine, but he was a bit too overdramatic for her taste. Flipping from angry to moody as quickly as he did gave her minor whiplash.

Sasha simply wanted to slip behind her omega again and fall back asleep with him in her arms. She wanted to be close to the glands on his neck where she could smell that delicious scent as it wafts off him, to card her hands through his hair and lightly tug at the little knots, and to rub her hands up and down his body, fingers traveling a long winding road on soft skin.

She desired above all to lay her hands on his belly, to keep it shielded in the cold while she watched it, excitedly awaiting for it to grow round. It would take months to do so of course - assuming he was pregnant on only her first try. His heat was only just beginning - she would have many chances to give him a litter.

Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself. She had already planned to give this talk to the omega, now was her opportunity.

"I'm here to protect you - it might hurt a little, but that's only when you disobey me." Sasha speaks slowly, "You do know what a mating bond is, don't you?"

The omega nods his head. It more likely resembles a wobble than a nod actually, and judging by the look in his eyes it must've made him dizzy.

"Good. Then you know I'm your alpha now. You do as I say and I protect and provide for you." She says, " Now, it's very important that you listen to me when I give you a command. We no longer live in a world where mistakes can easily be fixed, but as long as you do everything I say, you'll be safe. I swear it on my soul."

She gave him a second to mull over her words before continuing.

"But as your alpha, I expect certain things from you. I expect behavior becoming of an omega, which is not the behavior you've shown me just a bit ago. Being caught must've been very nervewracking, and I know you've never been handled by an alpha before, but that's no excuse to become aggressive with me. An omega should know better."

He gives another nod as if he was actually paying attention. Sasha smiles softly, believing she's gotten a little through to her boy.

"That naughty willfulness of yours is only fun for a couple fucks. I want you to be a good boy, so I can give you many pups. I know that's just what you want, isn't it?" She purrs, "And don't lie to me because I can smell how much you need it." 

The hen doesn't look like he understood half of what she said, brain fogging up temporarily. His mouth was hanging open, glassy stare pointed at the alphas clothed chest. It was the heat taking over that caused all the images of his lips wrapped around a perfect nipple to rise to the forefront of his mind - or at least that's what he told himself. Sasha didn't even need to give her lecture, he was far too hopped up on the pillowy high of preheat to give anything other than half-hearted protests to what she was saying.

He needed to come again in order to clear his head and recenter him. For a second he wanted it too - wanted her to make him fat and miserable by fucking pups into him. There was a bright sign in his head, telling him it was right; he needed pups to nurture and raise. Little button noses to tap, little fingers to wrap around his own, little faces that looked just like their alpha.

Sasha decided to take a seat next to the wavering doe. The spot was damp, probably from his sweat-soaked body that was inhabiting the space earlier. To her surprise, the omega leaned his head on her shoulder. The heft of it felt like a particularly wet brick laid against her.

When the omega speaks, it's with a slur. "Please make it better?" He begs.

"How would you like me to make it better, omega?"

"Please. Please fu-" he swallows thickly.

He doesn't finish his sentence - doesn't have to. Rose tints his cheeks, scraping over his face finely. The alpha knows what he needs.

"Why don't you lay down."

The omega isn't sure whether or not it's a command but obliges her all the same. Weakly, he lowers his back to the floor, giving in to the wishes of his mate. The blankets in his nest are soft and enveloping, providing a small relief from the boiling of his veins. He feels thin and frail, like one hard shove from Sasha would topple over his entire world, creating a powerful whiteout in his mind.

Sasha hesitates for a second, eyeing his limp member. She thinks about using it for her own pleasure - not that the omega wouldn't eventually find it pleasurable too, but first times tended to be uncomfortable for them. Most of the omegas she was acclimated to handling were far from virginal - usually abandoned, lost, or given up - and had seen a bit of use.

There were stories, rumors really, of a few cases of virgin omegas who escaped their households or new mates and ended up at the pound; staying there from weeks to months only to be sold to the highest bidder during auction season. Of course, that couldn't have been true as some of those omegas came microchipped and were gone by the next time she came to volunteer. She never once had gotten her hands on one, hadn't so much as touched one before coming across her omega. Almost immediately she felt like a clueless schoolgirl; unsure how to go about pleasing her partner.

Facing the challenge straightforward, her hand grabs for the appendage and it twitches beneath her icy fingers. The omega feels the cold and moans that it's too much before she's even begun stroking it. Warmth spreads from it as it lays loftily, waiting for her next move. The skin of it is hardly moist but she can't very well conjure enough saliva to spit on it. His body is still leaking slick heavily though - the smell of it sinking into her clothes and already drowning the nest. Instead of scooping some up she decides to stroke dry. 

Skin scrapes against skin and shivers creep up his body. The musk of saltwater rubs off on her hand, wafting up to her with each slide up and down. Sasha can feel it warming her up, like holding a candlestick, but knows the adverse effect must be happening to him. Instead of plumping up and growing it's shrunk in size. Silky smooth and soft as a noodle it looks miserable closed in her grasp.

A tinge of anxiety taints his scent, morphing the maple aroma into something else, something smelling of incense. It isn't as appealing to her senses anymore. The hand on his cock no longer feels compelled to move. The omega mews an inquisitive sound, wondering why she's stopped but not capable of forming the words to ask. 

"Calm, omega" she whispers in his ear.

Sasha edges the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear. Slipping down the expanse of his neck she explores the taste of his body, moving from each part to the next. A slight chemical taste of soap coats her buds mixing, with the syrupy taste of his heat. Little spurs of light bubble behind her vision, igniting the part of her brain that wants to absolutely ravage the omega. She was content right where she was, lapping at her omegas skin and across his chest, his pheromones making him sweet to the touch. But the tang of him drove her further down, tongue curving down the bend of his stomach, the tip of it just an inch from the tip of his small cock. She puts her lips together and ever so softly blows. 

Her warm breath makes the poor thing perk to the side, seeking more attention. The omega moans painfully, hips jutting forward causing his member to bump against her mouth. A tiny microscopic bead of white peaks out of the fleshy appendage - almost hiding in the slit, shyly waiting to be coaxed out. Reaching out, the bead is scooped up and sampled - the alpha smacking her lips at the taste.

Whining loudly and freely, the omega pushes his hips again, intentionally aiming between her jaws now. He works against the wilted stature of his member, finding it difficult to insert it when its not erect. However, the omega hasn't given up his attempts despite the cocklett flopping against his belly like a fish on land crying out for the ocean. He knows better than to touch it in front of her without permission - he also knows that trying to initiate a blowjob from her without permission is incorrect behavior as well, but his ache for pleasure is too great to think about the consequences just yet. If he could just slip it in and rut against her a bit he'd spill over and all his thoughts would return to normal. That closeness to release upset him to near tears.

The alpha appeared to be reveling in the omegas eagerness, a welcome change from his attitude an hour previous, although she showed no intention to actually swallow the omega into her warm and wet maw. Very few alphas felt comfortable offering their mouths to a male omega and Sasha was not one of those few. It was too dominate and offensive a gesture to let the omega take charge for the sake of their own pleasure, and even more offensive for the omega to derive that pleasure by using their alphas mouth. But teasing the omega with the chance to come was rather fun - that is until the head of his cock sprung past her teeth and landed weakly on top of the blunt accessories. 

It was hardly upright - relaxed in its sad status due to neglect - but the warmness it found its self encircled in had blood rushing to pinken it. The omega was positively relieved, releasing a clipped cry from the stimuli. The alpha, on the other hand, was less than excited to have her omegas pathetic and all too soft dick in her mouth. Throwing mating conventions out of the window, the doe began slightly thrusting only to be stopped a second later by a sound; like gravel raked on a driveway. He shook slightly,  gut sinking to the bottom of his toes like an anchor, now terrified to have such a sensitive body part resting where it was.

Terror was the appropriate reaction as the alpha closed her lips around the appendage, teeth lightly weighing down on it. The pressure there was a dangerous threat, one that was not lost on the omega. Alphas have done the unspeakable to omegas during matings before, this wasn't anything new or unheard of. He could live perfectly fine without that particular limb, yet that didn't mean he was ready to lose it.

"No, I'm sorry alpha!" He mewled "Please alpha, I'm sorry. Please don't... Please let me keep it."

The growling continued for a little longer, overriding his pleas. For a fearful moment, the omega unnecessarily prepared himself for blinding pain. But by the next second, in an act of mercy, the woman spat him out.

A soft wet plop could be heard as Sasha rejected his cocklet, dropping it back onto his stomach, the head now smeared and encased in a glob of spit. It cooled quickly, the cold making him let loose an undignified squeak. But it was hard to feel pleasure when the disturbed scent of his alpha filled his nostrils and set his nose alight. It was metallic and scathing, akin to the smell of rust. He wanted to sneeze - to expel the aroma from his senses forever. His own mind was admonishing him for disrespecting the alpha in such a way - his conscience practically forced him to grovel for the womans forgiveness.

"Thank you, alpha. Forgive me, I won't do it ever again." 

Sasha eyed him, a glint of anger behind her features. A verbal apology wasn't efficient.

"I want you to apologize the way a good omega should - then maybe I'll forgive you." 

The omega whined, knowing just what she was asking him to do. His cheeks burned red at the mere thought of the act - but that didn't stop him from doing what she wanted.

Turning on his side to wrap his arms around the middle of the alpha, he nestled his slippery member against the alphas knees. It took a little bit of finagling to get himself into the rather uncomfortable position strung across his alpha, with his face at her shoulder. The woman watched, looking ready to pounce on him at the slightest mistake. He ignored the lingering feelings of panic, estrus coercing him into getting some relief.

The doe laid kisses along the collar of her shirt, tasting bits of dust and fabric. He began at a very slow rhythm, hips moving only minutely at first, but he was so close to where he could scent underneath the layer of disturbed she was putting off, and the smell of pines and moss made him pick up his pace. Tendrils of her musk crawled their way into his brain, controlling him without his notice. She smelled like autumn or spring, bright and earthy and comforting. It was like he was transported to the edge of a waterfall, where the water parted across strong rocks and tree branches shook as birds left their nest. He breathed her in deeply, like he needed that scent to live, as his pelvis rubs against her urgently.

The alpha laughed lightly above him - breathy and condescending. "It's so small I can barely feel it. Tell me how small your cock is, darling"

"It's so small" the omega whined

"How small?"

"Too small. It's useless. I'm sorry... I-I'm sorry I put it..." He was becoming breathless rather quickly.

"It is useless. At least until I say it isn't. And it's small and ugly and doesn't belong to you anymore." She declares.

But the man is already half gone just trying to get off, he'll agree to just about anything. His head rubs into her shirt, his maple scent now smothered into it. He was trying to nod, to show his alpha she was right. He wasn't thinking about it, his brain working on as much if not more instinct than his hips at the moment. 

"Ugly...useless..." He huffs against her, mind barely registering what he was saying about his own body.

He shifts a little, angling so that his member was fully on her. The cotton of her jeans created an odd sensation across his length - something akin to carpet burn - as he dragged himself up and down, chasing enough ecstasy to make himself spill for her. He doesn't feel much at first, his cocklet still lame and flailing along as he diligently humps at her leg like an animal. 

Clipping his thrusts into short and hard ruts allowed him to get lost in autopilot mode, as his instincts drove his body towards completing their task. Yet, the stimulus provided wasn't enough for him. It was too cold and detached and without being able to ask for her help or for his own hand to help, it stayed that way. He wants to come to something warm; to something that makes him feel warm.

Flashes of sex cross his mind - good sex; slow and sensual. A vision of skin on skin, two bodies, man and woman, moving together at their own pace, almost like they were dancing to a slow song no one else could hear. Low lights and feather kisses and soft hands traversing and wandering along each other's bodies - worshipping each other like fine art. There's no rush, no race to the finish. No roughness or growling or demeaning words said through clenched teeth or even any noise at all. It's quiet enough to hear a needle drop, and dark enough said needle wouldn't be found. In his imagination there is no smell and no bite marks - he's pretty sure there isn't even such thing as alphas and omegas where his mind is. It's only two people, steady, reverent, and loving, gracing each other's bodies with the touch of a lover.

And with every caress they take and return,  he feels the weight of all that he will never have come crashing down on him. Reality wants to reel him back in, to show him that he's claimed and owned and will only ever be given the amount of love and respect his alpha decides he should get. It wants to remind him that to keep from an undo penectomy, to even be shown a sliver of mercy, he must become lesser. To humiliate himself, and accept that humility. Welcome it. Thank her for it.

He doesn't have to be reminded. The way his cocklet bruises on each thrust, jeans coarse and uncaring of his sensitivity, takes him back to earth, back to the situation he's found himself in. Yet he stays reaching for his dream. When it almost slips through his fingers he just grabs on harder. If he could have it for a little while-

If it could just-

If he could-

With a shuttering exhale, hips gyrating almost imperceptibly, his body comes. The release doesn't go far and it doesn't last long. The thinnest trail of white Sasha has ever seen sags down her thigh from where the poor little doe spent himself. The experience wasn't pleasurable for him, so it was the most he could muster under the circumstances. When it's all done he groans tiredly, allowing himself to collapse into the alpha.

Forcing himself to come felt uncomfortable, almost painful, and his cock feels broken afterward. He wants to curl up and forget everything. Forget her face, her name, her smell. He wants to forget how to breathe.

Instead, he remembers what his vision was like - he feels phantom fingers spreading love over his back and up the side of his ribs. Then he feels arousal and smugness and he knows that those feelings aren't his. Those phantom fingers are real, and they aren't covering him because they love him. They're prodding at him; thumbs pressing into his belly at different spots. He's not pregnant and they can feel that.

The omega rolls over onto his nest exhausted and sick of the wandering touches. It exposes his front to the air, which isn't quite chilly but still cools him down a bit. If he looks down far enough, from the corner of his eyes he can see two little splotches of his release, shaped like teardrops and positioned on the thigh opposite of the one he masturbated on. It looks sad to him - but not because of the volume, which is to be expected. Omegas don't have knots or big testicles like alphas; omega men simply come less than betas and alphas, which presents their mates with nothing special in terms of virility. Really, it looks sad to him because of why it's there.

His eyes drift closed, sleep seeming more and more like a good escape - the only escape. But the alpha moves beside him, still a steady and unnerving presence to him.

"Look at you, coming for me like a good omega." her voice sounds distant, like she's calling to him from a different room and not right next to him, "keep being good and you'll be pregnant in no time"

Despite his better judgment, he lets his exhaustion take over, lulling himself into his vulnerable sleeping form. In any case, even if she is an asshole in his opinion, the alpha wouldn't let anyone or anything attack him as he slept. He refused to see her as a friend or protector, but there were a scant few benefits to having someone so devoted to your body and being that their brain chemistry alters itself to suppress their survival instincts as soon as the connection is formed. She could, and probably would at some point, risk death for him like so many alphas have done for their omegas before.

The space next to him heats up as the alpha stretches out at his flank. He wishes he could say the proximity was comforting, especially since she's the first warm body he's had contact within weeks, yet he just can't help the way his hackles raise. The rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her breathing, the purr starting up in her throat; all of the signs of life emanating from her put him on edge. But she didn't seem to notice - or maybe she just didn't care.

Without warning, a hand snakes its way around his waist, roping him against her. Her breast press into his back and their scent glands hover inches apart from each other. Sweat wells at his neck where her nose is buried. The omega is stiff in her arms, all too aware of his state of undress. Sniffing the air, he can pick up hints of lust rolling off of her in waves. After what just happened he didn't think he could stand the smell of her, but the orchard tree scent gives him a false sense of security. He inhales until he swears he can taste the orchards on his tongue - incidentally alerting the alpha of his reluctant interest every time he breathed in.

In all honesty, the sound of her zipper being undone shouldn't have surprised him. Scenting was a classic way to show somethings caught your attention. Giving someone a thorough scenting, during a heat at that, couldn't be more overt. Yet he still flailed when he felt a burning hot and pulsing weight sear into his lower back. The man tried to scoot himself out of her grip but her strong arms kept him from wriggling away from her. He looked like a drowning omega with the way he waved his arms wildly at the ground in his attempt to grab onto something solid and pull himself away.

Sasha didn't seem all too bothered by his squirming if the slide of her cock on his back was anything to go by. It felt as if it was melting a hole through him. The woman grabbed onto her length, moving the head to circle his neglected opening. Slick was coating it thinly on the outside, but the inside was undoubtedly filled full of it. 

Before the woman could glide in easy like she was planning to, the omega reached his hand back and held onto her in desperation. He turns slightly, locking eyes with his alpha; she does not look happy. Big brown eyes plead with her to let him go. She doesn't fall for it though - serving him with a stern glare. No more orchard trees swirl in the air; the sharp smell of frustration replaces it. It isn't the worst smell to come from her emotions, but he'd rather the other scent.

The alpha growls at him when he tries to move her dick away. The gravelly rumble drowns out his thoughts, sounding louder than it should in the otherwise empty room. Even the crackle of the fire and the whipping of the wind pales in comparison. Something tells him to cower and relent but he doesn't pay it any mind. He's too tired; he doesn't want to be fucked anymore right now yet the alpha can't get it through her damned skull.

Instead of backing off, the alpha growls again - louder this time. Her aroma sinks it's way into his nostrils then in his mouth and down his throat, scratching at his tonsils. He coughs, literally choking on the stink of her. The hand still holding her loosens by its own will. Believing that she's gotten through to him, she grabs his wrist and pins it to his chest. 

As soon as she gets her dick to slide in his tight heat, he stretches his other hand between his legs and stops her from pushing into the hilt. Sasha moans, frustrated both mentally and physically. 

"Let go, omega. You're being a very bad boy."

The doe releases a growl of his own, "can't you keep your hands off of me for one second?! I don't wanna fuck you!"

An angry hand grabs his own and squeezes until he can feel the bones shift. It's doesn't hurt but he worries she'll break bones and yelps, grip relenting. When her cock is free, she shoves it in as far as it will go in one thrust. He sees blinding white, the pain of being split in two expressing itself in bursts of bright light behind his eyelids. At first, he thinks he can smell blood, rustic and cloying, but he realizes it's just the scent of her frustration. His hole is too slick to be torn - welcoming her in with a wet squelch even while the rest of him refuses her.

His anger rises up to greet her, marrying aromas together in unholy matrimony. Lemon and rust are sickening to the both of them. The omega clenches his fist to keep from hurling and the alpha sneezes, just as affected as he is.

"Stop with that smell, now, omega." It's a command but he's determined not to follow it.

The more bemoaned Sasha becomes, the quicker her knot enlargens. She would have liked to last longer but she doesn't stop herself from catching on his rim. It felt good having him wrapped around her again, yet, besides one growled out moan, she barely pays the feeling any attention.

What's pressing at the moment is her omegas insolence. The bitch was told rather kindly how things would go: no more disobedience, and no more refusal. Then he'd be rewarded with care and protection. If he couldn't adhere to his place willingly then she'd help put him in it.

It didn't take much effort to draw out her incisors and pierce his neck like she did the first time, aiming for his scruff this time around. The tendons there were relaxed, his neck fleshy and weak. Her teeth cut into him like a hot knife through butter. She was strategic by where she placed her bite - between a mated pair, breaking the skin on the scruff with the alphas teeth was enough to make the omega pliant for an hour or so, but a full bite had them down for sometimes half a day.

Digging into his scruff the way she was elicited a shout of agony from her omega. He knew what she was doing - what would happen - and he could have cried under her. He was going to be at her disposal and helpless for hours. He mewed weakly to himself, trying to calm himself down - to take his mind off the alpha at his back and the knot caught in his ass. 

Meanwhile the alpha laps away at the blood pooling at the omegas neck, savoring the copper tinge and chasing each stray drop with her tongue as if she were cleaning up melting ice cream dripping down a cone. She doesn't hate the taste actually; over the past few hours, it's become addictive. She thinks to herself she might be turning into a vampire and chuckles lowly at the thought. Her mood has considerably calmed - content that her omega had been corrected.

All of the scents - Orchard trees, spring, rust, and lemon - faded away into nothingness, the emotions behind them dissipating as well. But one perfume continued to cloud above them both, smelling just as sweet as it was earlier; Maple.

Sweet, syrupy, saccharine maple. So uniquely tied to him now she couldn't imagine him without imagining his scent as well. Almost like a calling card of sorts. She could just picture introducing him to her uncle, who'd be absolutely enraptured by him. Though, she thought, it might be hard to introduce him without a name.

Sasha groaned. She was never very good at making up names. All of her toys growing up were just some odd variations of her own title. She just wasn't as creative as everyone else - oftentimes shirking off names altogether. However, he couldn't go nameless, it just wouldn't be right. She could ask what his familiar name(the one given by his parents) was, but she wanted to give him something new - something she picked out for him.

Then, at just the right moment, something clicked into place. The perfect name was sitting right there in front of her, waiting for her to notice. It wouldn't make sense to name him anything other than-

"Maple"

"W-what?" He asked, voice wobbly.

"That's what I've named you now; Maple" she answers, "my darling Maple"

"I a-already have... a name" he stutters out.

She hums at him, condescending and flippant. "Yes and whatever it was, I'm sure this one's better"

"My n-name is not M-Maple."

But the alpha yawned, clearly not interested in his protests. She nuzzled against his neck, carefully of the sensitive bite, and threw one leg across his lower body, tangling her ankle between his. In the cozy little nest, warming up next to her omega, cock seated in him, and maple in the air, she was nodding off to sleep in no time - just barely catching her omega saying his old name out loud, like it was the last time he was ever going to hear it again.

And maybe it was.

 


 

Before Sasha has even opened her eyes, she knows something has changed - that something is different. There is no pleasant weight and heat in front of her, no warmth and wetness around her cock, and no tantalizing scent at her nose. Instead, she feels a looming body, thrumming and smelling of fear, and something cold and sharp against her throat - approximately at her carotid artery. She's not too concerned about it, believing that she just hasn't fully awoken yet and it's just a part of her dream.

At first, she wants to roll over and continue sleeping, thinking her mate has simply gone to the bathroom. But it's that thought that makes her eyes rapidly blink open, her heart jumpstarting and running faster than a rabbits. He could be lost, or stolen, or ran away! Maybe he's somewhere freezing to death, or being eaten alive by the monsters out there. She didn't keep track of her horde sightings - one could've swept through while she was sleeping and cleaned the meat straight off his bones. 

She makes to get up, gets an elbow under her to push off of, but a steel switchblade aims at her throat, the wielder waiting to be noticed. The omega must have rummaged through her bag as she slept.

Sheer shock keeps her from moving any further than the semi-reclined position she's in. Maple holds the scavenged weapon in shaky hands, standing as far away from her as he can while making the silent threat. The point is poking into her very uncomfortably - more annoying than it is intimidating. Her eyes are too glued to the hapless omega trying to kill her that she doesn't think to disarm him just yet, despite the fact she could rather easily.

"Clearly I've underestimated you." Sasha says in awe.

But the moment is broken by the omegas none so threatening inaudible mumbling - an unfortunate aftereffect of an intense scruffing. In spite of the situation, the alpha finds him adorable. He looked as if he couldn't hurt a fly, even with something sharp in his hands. She feels herself wanting to giggle at the sight of him. It's obvious the alpha's not awake enough to find this as alarming as she should. 

Maple keeps his eyes surprisingly steady on her. If it weren't for the shaking of his hands belaying his inner nervousness she would have assumed he was cold-blooded. The air in the room stays at a stalemate between the two - neither moving from their spots. Sasha was too stubborn to relent, and Maple was too scared to. 

In the end, it was Sasha who spoke up again.

"If you go ahead and put that down on your own, I won't punish you. How does that sound?"

The omega wasn't having any of it - the knife stayed right where it was.  She knew he wasn't going to push in and actually kill her - omegas rarely had the resolve to murder their new bond mates. Often times the trauma that came from ending the bond way too prematurely resulted in the omega falling into a catatonic state.

Even though the alpha was likely safe, she was still unnerved by each passing moment the Omega didn't lower his hand. It was probably the span of about a minute, yet the tension made it feel like an hour. Each flicker of the dying fire illuminated his features darkly, highlighting the tremor in his grip. Not that she needed it highlighted with the way the blade scratched at her neck - side to side like the ink pens on a lie detector.

"Are you going to do it, or are you waiting for that blade to grow a mind of its own and kill me itself?" She sassed.

His voice rasped as he attempted to speak clearly, "Aren't you scared?"

The alpha only answered him with a giddy laugh, resonating off the walls of the open space and creating an echo. The sound made Maple jump a little, catching him off guard. It was a genuine reaction from the woman - the question was absolutely ridiculous. As if an alpha could be scared of their own omega.

Her dismissal told the omega all he needed to know. It didn't mean anything to her if her life was at stake. After the events of today, she could die happy. The only way to get revenge was to risk something which she valued more than her life - more than anything. He had always heard how alphas became single-minded when beginning a new life with an omega; how an alphas universe revolved around their mates. He realizes it was stupid of him to threaten her to begin with. But he couldn't turn back now. There was only one thing left to do.

Without a seconds hesitation, the alphas whole world ground to a halt as the omega pointed the weapon towards his own neck - and breathed in.

Notes:

I'm going to try my best to be more consistent with uploads so it doesn't take several years for the story to finish, but I'm not sure just how consistent. I'm also going to be storyboarding to keep some form of coherency(which I probably should have done in the beginning) so expect a few tweaks and edits, maybe a retcon or two.

Also, I remember a question asking how old the characters are supposed to be - Sasha is about 22 and Maple is 19.

Chapter 6: Chapter Four: An Empty Threat

Notes:

So... This whole apocalypse theme is feeling mighty topical rn...

On a more serious note, thank you all for the comments and kudos! It's very encouraging to me to know how much you all enjoy the story!

TW: threats of suicide, non-con, gratuitous mentions of rape, very brief self-harm

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

In an instant, Sasha is turned helpless. Phantoms of her childhood and the cold sweats after night-terrors appear so inconsequential in hindsight. Why fear things like the dark or the boogeyman - things that couldn't hurt her past her own imagination? It was ridiculous to think she ever knew what it meant to be afraid until the moment that damned switch lay at the smooth and alluring trail of her omegas neck. 

Maple held it still against himself but didn't make a further move. His other hand was balled into a fist, knuckles turning pale from tension as if he could physically grab a hold of his sanity.

Sasha straightens herself a little, preparing to open her mouth and make the command-

"Don't." He commanded instead, "I'll cut faster than you can get the words out."

Mentally, the alpha couldn't stop berating herself for her sheer foolishness, her lack of awareness. Her senses should be sharper than to let her omega snoop around undetected. Stupid! So stupid to fall asleep without hog-tying him or laying her weight on him. Now Maple stood to cause more harm then she could bear. He held all the cards in his palms and he knew it. But this didn't give him confidence or glee. It reminded him where he was in all of this, why it even mattered to the woman whether he took his own life.

He wanted to look at her while he threatened his life, wanted to bask in her demoralized and defeated gaze. He wanted to see the life drain from her face the way his blood would drain from his body. Right then, he just needed revenge. He needed the power to make this alpha beg and cry, to rip everything from her. After having his control unceremoniously stripped from him, whatever happened next was up to him. 

But none of it would be enough to erase what had happened already. 

The handle of the blade shook where he held it against his skin. His body thrummed with unrestrained fear - his hackles raising with the wrongness of the weapon in his grasp. There was a bark of sound in his brain, a voice - his voice - reminding him rather loudly that their alpha wouldn't like his actions. He ignored it like he did when he rifled through her bag.

Despite the biting winter air, they were both sweating. Fog splayed over the blade where it rested, the heat rolling off maple causing it to perspire. His neck looked delicate. Long and unblemished, leading into the dip of his clavicle - spanning out into his wide and broad shoulders. But it also looked disgustingly bare and neglected - like an orphan in threads. He was decorated with nothing but the deep red outlines of her teeth where they pierced holes in his flesh.

A nice thick metal collar could have covered that sensitive part of him - could have kept this from being an issue to begin with. It would have protected him from himself, and weighed him down to make him feel safe.

In an ideal world - three or more months ago - she could have mated him perfectly. Fine meshes and heavy marble chains would cradle his limbs and keep him in place - a leash attached to a secure and lovingly placed locked collar to keep him by her side. There would have been plushies and silks in his nest, which would reside inside the walk-in closet in her room.

Sasha can hear the strangled gulp as Maple blankly contemplates, can see his Adams apple shift under his skin. A soft warbled breath escapes his parted pink lips as he searches for his last words. Nothing satisfying comes to mind - instead, he thinks of all the things that have already been said. He thinks of his mother teaching him new words when he was young, his child tongue struggling to make the right sound. He thinks of the wide eyes of his own pups - of mouthing letters at them as he teaches them to speak. He thinks of all the things he will never be able to say.

If he does this right now, he will never make another protest again; his lifeless body will be as silent as the ideal omega - as pliant as one too. In the end, he'll be the one silencing himself. Yet the clandestine tear pearling right at the edge of the alphas eye is all too satisfying. His joy in the alphas suffering almost makes this worth it. He feels a tingle crawl up his spine, a bit of adrenaline shooting out into all his muscles. But he still doesn't make a move until the alpha does.

"Maple, honey. My darling doe." Sasha warbles, sounding scared in a way completely unnatural for alphas. The woman's hands tremble as she extends them, hoping to placate him.

Maple pulls the blade closer to his neck, the silent threat making her flinch. Maples heart was pounding through the whole ordeal, his breath coming in raggedly and rushed. The air in his lungs somehow felt stale, as if the aroma of their sex that he smelt earlier had soured in his system. His skin flushed and prickled from the warm blood bubbling beneath. His shoulders itched to shrink down - body unconsciously wanting to submit. There's no better time than now to curse his own cowardice.

The alpha tries reasoning with him for a bit, telling him he doesn't want this, but it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than him.

"I can help you, just put the knife down" She finally says.

"Why should I?" The stench of his nervousness contradicts his heated tone. Sasha opens her mouth to interject but he doesn't let her, "Why should I roll over and let you do whatever you want to me! to my body..." His chest shakes while he swallows back a sob from crashing free of his throat. "You didn't even know my name," his voice hitches, voice cracking abysmally, "You didn't even ask."

Sasha can still taste the sweat of his skin on her tongue; it dries there as a reminder of what hangs in the balance. Yet even with that tart reminder of the tenuous matter at hand, she can't help but get a little offended.

"That's what you're mad about?!"

The omega somehow finds the ability to scoff in a situation like this.

"You're hurting yourself more than I ever could." She derides. The air quiets between them for a frozen moment.

Both of them are tense - both simultaneously ready to fight the other or burst into tears. Maple has lowered his eyes in shame, not wanting to cry any more than he has in front of the impudent woman. He hears his own heartbeat, wild and raucous, pounding in his ears, enveloping his thoughts. He's wholly unprepared to do what he's daring to.

Rather than focus on the fear reaching into his consciousness through the sounds of his own heart, he tries focusing on her. Her slow almost imperceptible breathing, her shock still body.

Maple wants to laugh at the picture before him; at the futility of this world-ending behemoth trying to calm him down and pull him from the edge she put him on. But he's staring so intently at her hands - fingers spread and palms open. At first, he thinks it's a trick of the waning light or maybe his imagination but if he looks just close enough he can see the little tremors, lightly moving her fingers against her control.

Alphas, despite the filth they put into omegas heads, are no more in control of themselves and their bodies than omegas are of theirs. They succumb to their weaknesses then disguise them as strengths - they screw up and don't know how to fix their mistakes. They underestimate people. But sometimes they overestimate them too.

"I have to. You're never going to stop..." He says, almost to himself.

The alpha's breath is baited, goosebumps raising across her body and her face paling enough to match a few of his sheets. She mistakes this as the end - as her ultimate failure - and prepares to witness her universe come to an end in front of her.

Instead, she sees her doe stay right where he is on his own two feet, Knife not moving an inch in either direction. She doesn't want to speak and upset him more, so she briefly stays quietly observing Maple from her place on the ground - scared even the smallest movement or sound will convince him to do the deed. Her eyes remain on her omega, watching for any sign of hesitation or determination. He is only blank though. His eyes are downcast, his lips a thin line. There is no arch or furrow to his brows, no lines around his face to give anything away.

Not as brave as I thought? she thinks.

Sasha takes the time to scramble for an idea, a solution to the problem. How does one convince their omega not to kill themselves? Letting him go is out of the question, so does she offer him false promises? Would he like to hear her say that she would let him do whatever he wants, that she'd treat him like her fully capable equal? Would he even believe that lie?

Or should she apologize for doing what she had every right to do? Her lip curls in disgust. The thought of getting on her knees and begging her own omega is indigestible and undignified. Not only was it wrong, but it was laughable. Sasha has never apologized to an omega - never would as long as she had something to say about it either.

Maybe she should make him see the light in all of this. If he could understand that she was only helping him - albeit for her own selfish purposes. But so what if she mainly benefitted from his position as an omega? He could do with her protection in the current world, and omegas all loved pups - surely he would love them too. He didn't need a say in the matter because she knew what she was doing was for the best. He couldn't be left alone - eventually, he would do something crazy like what he's attempting to do right now. Then who would help him?

"Oh c'mon Maple, is this really worth taking your life? you just wanted to see me vulnerable, didn't you? well, mission accomplished, now put the knife down."

"No"

Sasha jeers, "As soon as I saw you I knew this world would be too dangerous for you. You have no clue what you're doing, but you do it anyway because omegas don't know any better - Always following impulse over logic. How is this supposed to prove that I'm wrong?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything to you," He speaks softly with a tremble in his voice "I'm making you suffer."

"No, you're being foolish is what you're doing," She argues, "look at yourself; If you had the strength to do it you would have done it by now. But I know you don't want this."

"You don't know what I want!"

"If this is what you wanted, then I don't care  what you want either. I care about your safety."

"Then why didn't you leave?! you could have given me water and left, but you stayed! you stayed and you raped me!"

"You weren't safe, you were going into heat!"

"You raped me!" He yells loud enough for the sound to bounce around the space, possibly drawing attention from the dead. He jumps slightly at the force behind his own voice. It wasn't intentional and Maple shrinks back from the alpha slightly, fearing her next move despite the knife in his hands.

But the alpha is unmoved by his outburst - emboldened by it actually. She shifts her weight onto her elbow, reclining nonchalantly. Sweeping her eyes over his body she smiles coolly. He looks just like a lost kitten with his wide wet eyes and open mouth. His trodden shoulders and meek stature makes her feel even more powerful in comparison. He's a reminder of her own might as an alpha.

The omega tries to brush off his fear and pretend like he didn't just scare himself - sucking in a breath to calm himself. There's still tension in his body - a direct contrast to the alphas now more laid back attitude. It's made clear to her through his bumbling reactions and unfulfilled threats that the alpha has nothing to be afraid of - her omega was just like any other; clueless, helpless, hapless, small, and desperate when caught. He wouldn't do it.

"Maple," she beckons his full attention, "I understand now," she says, but the omega looks cautious like he doesn't buy it. "I hurt you, right?" The omega nods slowly, unsure if she was leading to some kind of trick question, "I understand that now - I do."

"You do?" he repeats confused.

"Yes, and I understand if you never in a million years forgive me for what I did. But you and I don't want you to die. You don't really want to die, do you?"

"...no..." he says dumbly.

"If you drop it, I won't punish you." She entices, "We can talk about this. Who knows, maybe you could even convince me to leave..."

At that, he blanches, "I could?" He asks, also dumbly.

"Put the knife down and we'll see"

He eyes her apprehensively but the fingers around the blades handle have already relaxed, body ready to obey. His hopes are guarded, not quite sure how to take her offer - if he should take it at all.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm your alpha."

The omega still doesn't budge.

okay, maybe something different.

"Because no other alpha would make this offer. I'm allowing you to challenge me - do you not want that?"

"No, I do. I-" he pauses, gulping "I just find it hard to trust someone like you."

"Like me? You mean alphas?"

He nods.

"Why is that?"

"you raped me." He says it incredulously, but the look on his face is genuine disgust. He wonders if this woman is just incapable of understanding the wrongness of the situation.

"Yes, but besides that?"

"Besides that?!" He nearly squeaks, "That's a pretty big reason!"

"There must be some other reasons though, right?" she prods.

The man rolls his eyes. Except, the alphas question did make him think. He chews the inside of his cheek in consternation, trying to think of anything other than brute physical strength that made alphas more dangerous than the average beta. Social standing didn't mean anything anymore so that no longer made them special. Neither does the laws that favored alphas, given that the government has most likely collapsed by now and no one was around to enforce anything. But there was something...

"They're smarter, I guess."

"You're scared of people who are smarter than you?"

"I didn't say I was scared of them, I said I don't trust them."

Sasha stretches off the floor of the nest into a crouching position, startling the man further away from her. She scents a spike of worry coming from him, she smells the sweat collecting at the back of his neck.

"But you are afraid." She taunts.

"So what if I am, You r-"

"I raped you, I know. How many times have you said that by now?" Sasha sighs, "You know that's not true though."

"What?..."

"That's just how you feel." She leans forward, "Beautiful gifts that you are, Omegas are still property. Your body belongs to me."

"I am not your property! I'm a person..." Maple sniffles as he feels the hot sting of tears rising from his eyes. He coughs to keep the scratchy feeling in his throat at bay. Right now, he'd love nothing more than to force the alpha out and go back into his nest to cry for the remainder of the day. But his alpha has different plans for him.

"Oh, but you are my property. It's impossible for me to rape something I own."

Rising from her crouch on the ground, Sasha surpasses eye level with her omega. She rolls her shoulders to get rid of the stiffness caused by perhaps the most harrowing fifteen minutes of her life. The tension doesn't quite leave her, but she does feel better. At least physically; mentally, she's sure it will take a little for her to assuage the paranoid tendencies she's likely to inherit from this.

Towering over him by nearly a head, the alpha imposes upon the slight man in an uncomfortable manner. At that moment the omega feels a burst of shame for his nakedness. He hadn't exactly thought of getting dressed before the whole confrontation but begins to wish he had. His exposure only made him feel more vulnerable to the alpha who appeared about ready to pounce.

She's already seen his body and explored it in great detail before, yet the undignified feeling he gets from the interaction runs deeper than simply being nude. The woman herself had been bare before him too, but there was nothing for her to be ashamed of; She was naked by choice - because she was the stronger of the two and had overpowered him, and had stripped herself to mate him. She was even fit, with a set of abs that peaked from her skin when she moved and arms and legs corded with lithe muscles. Her hands were strong, fingers long and prim - nails short and sharp.

Even sharper were her eyes, currently trained hungrily on him. He feels sick to his stomach and tries dutifully to ignore the ache coming on in his more sensitive areas. It felt like bellyflopping - harsh and disarming and overall unpleasant - any moment now he was expecting a bruise to bloom right at the point of impact. The alpha senses his discomfort and loses herself to her instincts, entrusting those thousands of years of instinct and knowledge stored in her DNA to take over and make the situation better.

Sasha takes a step in Maples direction. The omegas hackles raise, his discomfort greatening rather than lessening. But the alpha doesn't get the message - or rather she does and just decided to ignore it.

"Stay Back! Don't come near me!" He struggles to call out. His blade hand shakes as he cries meekly.

"Drop the knife."

Without looking, Maple hears the soft plop of the switchblade as it falls ungracefully from his hands and lays like dead weight at his feet. His hands feel oddly empty after the switch he held so tightly escapes his fingers. It takes him a second longer than he'd like to admit for him to comprehend what just happened. Heat licks across his chest and up his neck and swirls in his cheeks - embarrassment lighting up his body. The alpha takes his stunned silence in stride and orders him another command.

"Don't move."

The woman stares daggers into his eyes as he heeds her wish. When she's satisfied that he won't shift from his post she begins a slow circle around his body, surveying him like a vulture. Sasha reaches out with her fingertips to glide across his molten hot and sweat ridden skin as she walks. She swears she could hear the wet slide of her light touch. The little hiccups and hitches he was releasing went through to her core.

"You see sweetheart, your heat gave me all the consent I needed. Your body knows it belongs to me even if your mind doesn't - and that's why it listens to me."

Never faltering in her stride around the prone figure, she continues her lecture, "Omegas have a habit of being... dependant. You aren't very smart, or strong, but you're very needy; you need food to eat, and safe places to nest, and material to nest with - not to mention all the devices and contraptions and collars to keep you calm and deter you from doing stupid shit like this." she gestures to the abandoned weapon with her other hand, "More importantly, you need knots to keep you bred up and full, and pups to nurture. It's your strongest instinct and you omegas are just too weak to fight it - and you shouldn't either. Evolution made you this way; It made it impossible for an omega to live its life soundly without an alpha to dominate them. I know you can't control it, which is why I'm not mad at you. As your owner and Alpha, I've sworn to provide all those things for you,"

"I'm a woman of my word; I told you if you dropped the knife I wouldn't punish you - so I won't." Maple waits for her next words worriedly. The alpha reaches gracefully for the knife and sweeps it up into her grasp, flipping it over and licking her lips at the small drops of blood shimmering off the metal.

"But you and I are going to have a nice little chat."

Before the omega can protest, Sasha already has her fingers digging into his scruff to push him to the ground. The doe goes limp beneath her grip as the front of his body meets the plush floor of his den. With her hand firmly around his neck, she seats herself on her knees right next to him. The omega can feel the dried cum chipping off his stomach and onto the blankets when he breathes. Cold moisture transfers from the alphas palms and smears the back of his scruff, her scent, and his mingling at that spot.

From his position face first in the sheets, Maple can barely see what the woman at his side is up to. Maybe she would punish him after all? He shudders at the thought of what she might do. There wasn't anyone out there to hear him scream and cry; no-one to protect him from this woman. He feels the burn in his eyes, his body willing tears to well up, but he just doesn't have the emotional energy to waste on waterworks.

She gives nothing away, no hitches in her breath, or change in her scent to indicate her next move. Maple can sample the chalkiness of anticipation on his tongue. He feels the alphas other hand pat his back pacifyingly, then begin to rub excited circles below his shoulder blades. The unexpected pleasure of his alphas touch causes a flush of shame to cross his mind and his breath to quicken. He feels the urge to lull his tongue out and pant like a dog, basking in her petting.

"There, there. Just relax." She soothes. She waits a second for some semblance of calm to settle in his bones before diving into the question, "Now, tell me what possessed you to go and do such a stupid thing?"

The doe just lets out a weak moan, struggling against the scruffing and his bodies forced compliance to form cohesive thoughts. He can't seem to string together the right words for a sentence, but that doesn't stop him from trying.

"You..." he slurs, "I... hurt..."

The alpha hums, "Would it help if I let up?".

The omega gives a drawled out yes in reply and Sasha eases her hand away from the spot on his neck. She had squeezed his pressure point hard enough she was sure he would be loose for a few minutes, alleviating his ability to run away and escape.

"Try tellin' me again"

The man waits for a beat, formulating his answer behind tired lids, then pipes up, "You hurt me... so I wanted - to hurt you back."

"And you thought hurting yourself was the way to go about it?" Sasha wasn't expecting a reply and the doe didn't give her one. He shuts his eyes tightly, willing the situation to be done with. All of the energy has been sapped out of him and now all he wants to do is go to sleep and pretend none of this ever happened. Instead of blissful rest, he's treated to the alpha gloating over his defeat.

He hasn't given up though. There's quite a bit of spirit still left in his body, but now isn't the time to think up another plot. He can hardly speak clearly, let alone formulate anything that might actually have a chance of working. With his head buried in his nest, nose catching the smell of slick and cum and sweat, he can only moan lowly and doze off to the sound of his alpha chiding him.

"Maple, don't make this hard on yourself. I would do anything to keep you safe, including things you wouldn't like. So if the only way to get through to you - to make you understand the gravity of your disobedience - is to punish you; I will."

All the omega can muster in response is a thick gulp and a feeble whimper. He's already halfway into a dreamlike state, his body feeling floaty and light like a kite wavering in the wind.

Sasha rolls him onto his back and lays her body across his, the slopes of her breasts digging into his flat chest. She doesn't plan on staying there long, only doing so to ensure her omega absolutely cannot move while he relaxes. The Alpha waits for what felt like hours until Maple regains control of his brain and his limbs and then she commands that he stay in the nest, taking the switchblade out with her and keeping the curtains wide open where she can keep an eye on him.

 


 

The sun has crept up the horizon line and rises ever so slowly as the minutes pass. Maple is huddled in the corner of his nest, peering curiously over the tin cup clutched in his hands. The woman heated up an entire pot of water and had him drink a few cups worth before leaving the den to scour her pack. He watches her dig her hand in searching for something to eat. She's already picked a few things out but seems dissatisfied with her options.

A few bars lie in a pile next to her, wrappers in every color of the rainbow call to him from where he sits. He can feel the hollowness of his stomach and the beginning of a painful grumble trying to erupt. Some small package crinkles under the pressure of Sasha's fingers as she sighs, pulling out the tiniest bag of pretzels the omega has ever seen.

She rests her weight on her calves and half-heartedly tosses the pretzels into the pile. Her face is stony - pensive - while she considers the rations in front of her. A few energy bars, some odd thing made of peanut butter and rice, a wafer, and her latest finding sit annoyingly before her. Her omega is hungry and all she has to show for herself is paltry snacks.

Sasha turns every item over to compare the nutritional facts on the back of each packet. There isn't much to mull over - the energy bars are obviously the best choice - so the alpha scoops up two bars and puts the rest of the items back in her pack before coming back to the nest. As soon as she moves to sit across from Maple he edges away from her, further retreating into his corner. Sashas sees his eyes are glossy and his lips are trembling but his smell hasn't changed - it's still thick and sultry, on the verge of being overpowering with the strength that estrous usually brings.

Sasha rips open the wrapping of a power bar, exposing the solid white block inside. The smell of chocolate and whey makes the omegas stomach growl and drool to bubble in his mouth. He leans forward, tempted towards the alpha now that he could scent the food in her hands, but the alpha doesn't break a piece off for him. Instead, she bites a chunk out for herself and gnaws until it crumbles into mush between her teeth.

She tries not to make a face at the chalkiness of the flavor, but after eating enough energy bars to put a gym rat to shame she can't help the way her nose scrunches up in revulsion at the all too familiar taste. It hasn't expired though, making it adequately safe for her omega to consume. The alpha scoots closer to the omega, who looked utterly betrayed a second ago. He'd thought she was going to eat the entire thing in front of him, making him watch as some form of punishment. Now she's shoving the food at his lips and beckoning him to eat from her hand.

Maple eyes the woman warily before wrapping his soft lips around the energy bar and taking a bite into his mouth. It's tart and acrid and weird - not at all as good as it smells. He feels like he's chewing wet clay. He's barely finished the first bite before the woman pushes the bar closer, forcing it against his teeth. The taste and the fullness nearly make him choke, but he manages to swallow down the clump of protein in his mouth. It slides like a rock down his throat and sits heavily in his belly. His stomach is too thankful to lurch despite the grossness.

He barely has time to breathe as inch after inch is fed into his mouth until the bar has completely disappeared. The mush is uncomfortable on his tongue, sucking a great deal of moisture from his mouth. The omega reaches for the cup of water that he set down and knocks it back in one quick gulp, the water taking the glob of mush with it.

Coughs and sputters expel from his lungs as he tries to breathe in. His ears perk up as he hears the telltale tearing and crinkles of the next bar in the alpha's hands. This one smells fruity and too sweet. The omega already feels full - stomach saddled with the long task of metabolizing the blocks of food resting in his gut. He hears it crunch in her mouth and turns his cheek away from the woman, refusing the food about to be offered.

Steady fingers grasp his jawbone, angling it upwards. Sasha tuts as she raises her other hand and Maple sees only a flash of a red wrapper before his mouth is being stuffed with the sugary energy bar. It's nauseatingly oversweet raspberry tang melted his tongue to water. The omega can't handle the vileness and spits it out. Candy red chunks spew from his lips along with his saliva and splatters upon the woman's face.

She releases her hold on him as he pants for air. But all the air he just swallowed gets knocked right back out of him by the sudden force that swivels his head sideways. The right side of his face stings hotly, while the sound of skin hitting skin reverberates even outside the nest. Blood wells on his bottom lip and inside his cheek, yet he's grateful for the metallic spice that washes out the awful fruity aftertaste from the bar.

Maples gaze pleads with the alpha, staring deep into fuming green eyes. A vein appears along her temple, her jaw clenched hard enough she feels her teeth might crush each other. Besides the set of her chin and the mean glint in her eye, nothing else gives away her anger.

"You will eat what I give you." She grits out.

"But it's gross-" he grumbles.

"Eat."

The omega whines, equally confused and distressed by her anger but hesitant to continue eating. Maple can only sit miserably - being fed until the alpha was satisfied. 

After the last bite, he groaned and rubbed at his stomach, willing the ache away. Sasha wiped her face of the spewed bits then held her fingers out toward Maple and he licked them clean just like she wanted, nuzzling into her open palm when he finished. He forces himself to relax in her presence. His shoulders sag in poor posture and submission.

The alpha smoothed her hand over his cheek and down his neck, letting it roam down his body till it reached his belly. The skin there was hot to the touch and wet with perspiration - the omegas body slowly rising to the proper estrous temperature. She ignored all other smells in the room, even that of his slick, zeroing in on the smell from his skin instead. 

Usually, Pups could be detected by others a few weeks after conception and almost immediately upon conception by their omegas. If an omega took the right precautions, litters could go undetected for a few months at the most - up until their rounded bellies became obvious. This early, Sasha couldn't trust her nose to tell her whether or not she had already succeeded breeding Maple, but she couldn't trust Maple to tell her either.

Omegas weren't exactly known for bragging about their pregnancies in the early stages. Developing litters are easy for assailant alphas to get rid of. Only later, when the fetuses are stronger, would a few omegas become brave enough to show off. Sasha had the impression her omega wouldn't be among those few. 

Where another omega would shift away from her hand, Maple simply held still - calmy waiting for her to move on from that spot. Sasha watches him with keen eyes, looking for any aggressive or secretive reaction - any sign that he might have been successfully bred - but Maple gave nothing away. She guessed his heat would officially begin within the next few hours and she was too eager to fill him up. Maple, however, was far more hesitant.

He swore to himself earlier, that when he was back in control of himself, he would take the first opportunity to run as far away from her as possible and never look back. Forcing himself not to think of the alternative - of staying with her and whelping litter upon litter under the alpha - he gripped his knee and tapped along to the humming in his head.

Maple was beginning to feel woozy just thinking about it - images of ruddy cheeks and tufts of familiar black hair haunting his conscious and making his tongue turn to lead.

Though the alpha had classically pretty features, her face was just about the ugliest he's seen. Sharp teeth corrupt her smile, the steel and cold behind her eyes make the green in them look dull, and something about that nose that sniffed him out - that caused this trouble - he thought it rested awkwardly on her face. Too pointy and long, but simultaneously too small and buttonlike. He couldn't tell if it was his brain playing tricks on him. Maybe he was distorting her face into something it wasn't; something easier to hate - something easier to be scared of.

When Sasha had first had him cornered, Maple felt begrudgingly compelled by her looks. In another life, under different conditions, attention from her would have made him blush and play coy the way omegas usually do. She would have quickly been disinterested in him though. He wasn't skilled in attracting mates and had barely been around alphas before the apocalypse - not that that matters now anyway. 

Whether he liked it or not - and he definitely didn't - he was claimed now, and the thought sat heavy in his head. The alpha currently massaging around his hips, where there used to be some fat, owned his life. She would control him as long as he was in her care. Though there were no longer any government papers or licenses or anything that would legally bind them, biology was enough. It was back to the old ways, where there was no chance of any omega surviving among the remains of society without a smart or big strong alpha to protect them. She could make his body do many things - make it respond in ways his mind would protest. Any alpha could too if they claimed him - if they lined their teeth up just right and bit down.

Maple felt a phantom pinch in his mating gland. It was still garishly red around the scars and taking its sweet time scarring over. The throbbing lessened when he ignored it but, every now and then, there was a pinching or a burning sensation that drew his mind back to it. As soon as the doe moved his hand to hold the wound, he immediately had regrets. The stretch forced out a pitiful yip from his lips. He couldn't help but lament the fact his alpha was doing nothing to distract him from it. He wondered if she was even paying enough attention to notice the look of discomfort that would cross his expression from time to time. 

For the past few hours, he bared the pain without complaint. This time though, Maple could smell the blood beading up between the split skin of one of the incisions. The bitter smell made him sick enough to grimace, causing his lips to stretch and the tear on the bottom to open. He closed his eyes to stop the teardrops from spilling over, but he couldn't avoid the pull to rest his forehead against the alphas stern shoulder. He muted a small cry in the fabric of her shirt, careful not to make too much noise. 

He didn't want to be comforted by the very person who caused his suffering to begin with, yet his omega brain couldn't comprehend his aversion. It enticed him towards her; he needed to get her sweat and heat on him or else the scar would tear all the way down his body, splitting him into strips. By the time he realized he was bumping his nose along the tiny scent glands at her neck, there was no turning back. He could smell the tangy and addictive scent of arousal coming from her pores and he chased it to the warmest parts of her he could reach. 

Maple was operating one-handed, trying not to jostle the injury and disturb it further. The omega clasped onto the alphas shoulder to hold himself steady as he rubbed his cheek on her. Sashas shirt neck was a modest scoop cut and prevented the skin to skin contact her little doe so desperately needed. A hand tugging at the material causes a half groan, half laugh, to emerge from the alpha as the tension from the feeding fades. Her palms are still cupping at his waist, hoping. The alpha exhales through her nose, making some of the hairs on Maples head flail. 

"You'll tell me exactly when you're pregnant." Said Sasha. At the time, it seemed appropriate to agree with her - only because Maple was so enraptured with finding as much skin as possible on her body, he entirely misinterpreted her command as a question. Maple didn't really care for talking at that moment, but he would have agreed to anything if it meant he could keep touching her like this.

While she continued to speak, Maple continued exploring her. All of her words garbled into nothingness to his ears as he buried his face in between the soft mounds of her breast. He testingly stuck the tip of his tongue out to swipe at the warmth. Little sparks of pleasure shot up his spine at the action, his instincts telling him this was good. There wasn't much of a discernable taste to her skin, yet he savored her like honey on his lips. 

Each taste bud curved over the suppleness, tracing the shape of them. He mouthed at them, kissed them, smooshed his face against them as hard as he could without hurting her - but it never seemed like he could get enough. Maple resorted to smothering himself in her bust with his mouth open and rubbing incessantly, trying to transfer as many oils and pheromones as possible. His face was beginning to heat with an angry red blush as he lapped at her chest like a dog in heat-

Heat!  he remembered belatedly. But as soon the thought came to mind, it vanished just as quickly. Maple was drowning in the plushness of her body, yet he couldn't care less about suffocating. When she began moaning lightly and purring, the tops of her breasts shook in such a soothing and mesmerizing way that he was completely lost to the sensation. A hand of hers moved from his stomach and gripped him by his curls, but he barely noticed - too busy getting lost in the most comfortable place on earth.

There was a rush of endorphins that came with each inhale he made. Being able to taste, smell, and feel her made him feel like he was drunk on her. His thoughts were hazy and laced with want. Every bone in his body was thrumming with the need to coat himself in her musk and warmness. He'd worked himself into such a frenzy he could barely breathe and his alpha took notice.

Pulling him back by his hair, Sasha cooed at him as he panted. The small red handprint on his cheek had already blended in with his flushed appearance. On his lips, she saw the small split and had pressed a tender kiss to it. She was basking in the affection of her omega, her spirits significantly lifted by his display; he could practically feel the contentedness rolling off her in waves. He could most certainly smell it, light and airy as it was. 

However, that enjoyment was cut short when the omegas head had cleared for a second. A whimper had started in the back of Maples throat, voicing his dissent. 

"wait..." He mumbled pitifully. The alpha hadn't moved a muscle, fearing that if she did then the does attentions would sour all over again, causing the beautiful moment to be shattered. "I need to fix my nest."

The alpha breathes what sounds like a sigh of relief and beams at him with those sharp teeth he doesn't like, "The nest is fine, sweetheart."

"Please, please, please." He whined, "My nest is all wrong, it's all wrong. I have to fix it."

"I can smell your heat. How 'bout I knot you first, and then you can redecorate?" The omega answers her with a vicious head shake. She sees his lower lip quiver and the tears pearl in his eyes before they drop. 

For some reason, his eyes looked even sadder than when she first found him. The big round chocolate cream of them practically begging her wordlessly. Sasha sighed impatiently and conceded. Omegas were sentimental control freaks when it came to nests; it was something that couldn't be helped. She was glad he at least wanted to participate in breeding enough to fix his nest for the possible pups - even though that has more to do with instinct than actual desire. 

"Okay, okay. Fine. You have five minutes. I want you on your back as soon as times up, you got that? Or I'll take you right here, with your nest just like this." She smacked as much of his ass as she could reach, the sound of the contact seeming to rattle him a bit more out of his stupor.

Maple set to work obediently and without complaint. He began ruffling around the edges, tugging up fabric only to fold and tuck it back in. The alpha stepped outside of his nest and out of his way, peeling off her shirt as she went. She stripped fairly quickly and left a pile of clothes at the entrance. Within seconds goosebumps rose from the substantially colder room. The fire had dulled significantly, and the sun was only just emerging; neither offering much heat. It was dead quiet save for the heavy breathing and shifting sounding from the nest. 

It felt almost normal like this - like nothing was wrong in the world. Any minute now, birdsongs would start up as usual, and the wildlife would carry on about their day. Survivors from around the world would wake and start their days all over again. 

Sasha wandered to one of the windows, resting her hands on the sill. It was just barely intact, and the maze of fractures in the glass impeded her vision. From what she could tell, life outside the walls was rising. The foliage seemed to bloom in front of her, the green becoming a brilliant and inspiring shade. The snow faintly glimmered like clouds of cotton candy as the sun slowly exposed light. Nothing quite looked dead; In fact, in any other scenario, this would be a serene moment. Sasha could lean her head back and take in the sights like a tourist.

Technically she was a tourist. She'd never seen these trees before, never smelt this wind. How it warmed up a little in the day, even during the winter - it was all new to her. It was new and distressing. 

An alpha that didn't know its own territory was at a disadvantage. Yet it would be even less convenient right this second to go out and get familiar with her surroundings. She wouldn't be staying here very long anyway. 

Her attention turns to the nest, ears picking up the shift of blankets and pillows inside.

We, she thought, we won't be staying here very long.

Sasha sighed, gazing unseeingly at the world below her as her thoughts stirred in her head. She wouldn't admit it if asked, but the uncertainty of what to do next and how to protect her omega was making her nervous. She'd always dreamed of this - had even prepared for it in her old life. Now that everything is much more violent and dangerous than it's ever been, all of her previous plans have vanished. All but one.

The alpha lets the last two minutes pass by lazily in her own thoughts before returning to the present. A poor mewl from the other side of the tent sheet brings her back to the matters at hand and she abandons the window. A small smile plays across her lips as she invites herself back into his den, creeping in leisurely. 

In her opinion, the nest doesn't look that different than when she first came upon it. Most of the change came from the retucked sheets and the all-around fluffier appearance. She does notice the completely removed blanket he has balled up in a corner though - and that one of the pillows has been shoved underneath the top layer, making a sort of raised bump.

When Maple sees her from the edge he was remolding, red dashes up to the tip of his ears. He instantly drops his task, crawling on his hands and knees towards the odd mound and laying the small of his back down on it. His arms are pressed to his sides so stiffly they seem sutured there, and the way his legs timidly part has her eyes drawn into the curve of his calves. 

He looks... resigned, almost. Like he accepts what they're about to do and wants it to hurry up. He doesn't make a sound - no protest or sob. He simply waits. 

Sasha breathes in and out, steadying herself. She kneels between his spread legs, hovering over the top of his body. Her hand reaches for one of his thighs and rests there. Maple doesn't respond to her touch verbally, but the scent of his slick thickens in the air. She stares at him - really examines him - her eyes searching for any fear; for the first time since she found him, she doesn't see any.

 


 

Well after sunrise, the omega finally smells satiated - for the moment. He smells like his and her sweat.

Sasha had worked at him tirelessly, hitting each pleasure spot with as much power as she could and cooing at him lovingly as she did so. They'd soaked a small puddle into the middle of the nest halfway through the second round when his heat fully arrived. He ignored the slick running down his legs at first until the wet fabric began to chafe at him.

She subsequently moved them closer to the side of his nest, avoiding the spot till it dried. Every time his slick was too copious since then, she'd rip one of the neatly plaited towels or shirts from their places and wipe him up. Sasha didn't want to constantly move around the nest, especially not when knotted. 

But the omega absolutely hated the compromise. He whined high and loud anytime she touched something that wasn't his body. Sometimes, he'd even cry - real fat tears. When they were stuck together, he'd rearrange anything within his reach; always tucking and shoving and tying things back into place. She held onto him by the hips while he did, making sure he didn't hurt them both with his movements.

He still hadn't seem settled, no matter how many attempts that he made to shape his nest. Then the evening came around, and the omega began to doze. Sasha had been steadily fucking into him, rough breaths breaking over his back. Maples eyes shut as his body swayed with her thrusts. The world around him dulled and greyed, the noise and the light fading. All he could feel was the Alpha and the pull of sleep.

The woman slowed to a stop as her knot sunk into his eager hole, stilling her hips as her movement restricted. Sasha didn't know what time it was, or how long they've been fucking, or even how many times she's knotted him. She was tempted to let it stay that way; She could get lost in his body for the rest of the day, and - if it wasn't for the annoying pang of hunger in her empty stomach - she would have.

But the alpha had a responsibility. If she was already feeling hungry then he would most certainly be starving. That just wouldn't do.

Sasha lifts herself off of his back to survey their surroundings.

The tent has darkened significantly, the air musty and humid. The cloying odor was smothering her and - for once - the struggle to breathe was a pleasant feeling.

The alpha watches her omega fitfully nap. The sound of his even breaths and slight whines entrances her. It sounds just like music to her - like a feel-good tune. She's thankful for the noise, it reminds her how lucky she is to have an omega, but it also helps her think. 

She needs to devise a plan - she needs to hunt for food. 

Sasha spent a fair amount of time waiting to make sure he was in deep slumber to begin thinking of which prey she could hunt. The limited supply of ammo deters her from the idea of hunting with the gun - as does the ruckus the weapon would make when fired. She figured she wouldn't have to worry about the undead for a bit, but survivors came and went from the area at a high enough frequency to take precaution. 

Survivors themselves were perhaps the top issue. Hiding from other survivors would be easy, but finding food in their wake would be impossible. They likely killed and eaten away most of the big game for miles. All that would be left are tiny creatures or vermin. Scavenging was completely out of the question as well, thanks to them.

Birds would be hard to kill, so they were a no-go. She doubts she'd find raccoons or badgers in this particular area, so they were marked off her list too. 

Thus, the only feasible prey were rabbits.

When her knot released softly from inside her omega, she quickly but quietly dressed - careful of her sleeping beauty. Inside her bag, she found only enough material for one deadfall and one snare, but she was confident in her abilities that this would be all she needed.

Fearing a repeat of the days' events, she slipped her silk ties around Maples ankles and wrists and pulled them taut. He snuffled in his sleep but otherwise didn't react to his restraints. Sasha was careful not to test her luck though - deftly looping another tie between his bound hands and his bound feet, makeshift rope acting as a bridge between his limbs.

After ensuring Maple was secure in the hogtie, Sasha crept out of the room and building for the second time during his heat. She groaned at the loss of his sweet perfume but trudged into the surrounding woods anyway. She'd rather be fucking her omega awake right now.

On the bright side, The alpha felt so warm and fuzzy that the cold barely registered on her skin. It was the sensation of being flushed - like when you've had one too many drinks at the bar. She didn't pay much attention to the weather, except to check for rain clouds.

Constructing the traps had taken her more time than she'd be proud to admit - and in doing so had made her anxious. Her fingers worked quickly and sloppily, vying to finish in record time. She always kept her eye towards the building, but each time she looked up her heart would race, thinking that she'd see the image of her dear omegas limping escape. Yet nothing happened.

Sasha collected an armful of twigs and bramble after setting her Snare and Deadfall, and snuck back into the building as if she never left. This time, it was much easier to find her way back inside.

Judging by the way he snoozed through the sound of her boots clobbering up the stairs and on the concrete, her omega was a deep sleeper. Sasha couldn't help the smile that graced her lips at the sight of him face-first in his nest. She could smell the contentment rolling off of him while he slept.

The woman felt similarly at peace. Rekindling the fire was calming monotonous work, and just boring enough to make her relax. She glimpsed the steaming blade at the bottom but blissfully ignores it, grabbing a stick to stir around the still hot ash. She considers using a match, but decides against it; it's much better to save resources for when she'd absolutely need them.

It didn't take long for her to get a tiny blaze started with the sticks, some bark, and shavings. She piled the twigs into the barrel neatly, then placed the small flame inside. Within minutes the room was back to the lightly crackling energy, albeit weaker. Her hands found the warmth as she hovered them over the slowly growing flame.

She made a mental reminder to check the traps an hour from then, setting her internal clock. Behind her, the smell of Maple wafted through. She scented the air, let it refill her lungs, yet ultimately ignored it. It just wasn't that strong when he was fast asleep and satiated. It was more like a lulling and gratifying scent than a horny one. 

Sasha found herself back inside the nest and stretching out next to Maple, fingers itching to rove through his hair and tell him how good he smelt. She warred with herself whether to wake him, but decided against potentially disturbing the peace. Besides, more than likely, his heat would wake him up - and wouldn't it be a beautiful thing to have his sleepy sad eyes and his perfect lips drowsily pleading for his alpha to ravage him.

The alpha almost chuckled slyly at that image.

She settles right next to him, careful not to jostle anything or make too much noise. It's quiet and boring for the entire hour she stays up - although she's grateful nothing happens. As time passed by, she alternated between picking at a loose thread in her jeans while lost in thought or staring at Maples body, imaging all the lewd things she could do to him.

Her eyes burned with the desire to close, she felt herself getting looser and drowsier. Every time she felt herself drifting, she'd blink away the darkness trying to cloud her vision - tying herself back into waking world by a thread.

The woman continued like this until the time was up - teetering on the edge of calm and uncomfortableness as the sun outside readied itself to drop out of the sky. For once, she was glad the dawn came faster in the winter.

After checking the empty traps for the first time, the Alpha decided to search for edible plants nearby. The honeysuckles and juneberries clutched in her hands do nothing to cure her disappointment, yet she has no choice but to wait out her prey. She tells herself the rabbits will come.

So she waits around behind the walls - tearing at the honeysuckles until all the yellow and white bits and pieces are littered into a bowl and there are no more left for her to tear.

 


 

Sooner rather than later, the waiting gets too tiring and agitating. She feels about ready to crawl out of her skin with anticipation, or wake Maple up for another go; anything to take her mind off of her instinct - the one that tells her to find food quickly before they somehow starve to death. It's been pestering her for quite some time, and now that she's listening to it, it tells her to chase something, to catch something warm and raw between her teeth so she can drop it at Maples feet. 

There's this instinct inside of her that presides in most Alphas. It's a reckless instinct that doesn't account for how small a human can be compared to their prey. If it did, her brain wouldn't be nagging at her to kill something big, like a moose, with her bare hands and teeth, as if that was something she could feasibly do. Right now, all she wanted to do was get her omega fattened up so he could healthily conceive. 

Her hand reached out towards his body, but she quickly caught herself. Sasha scratched at the palms of her hands, the awful sound of nails scraping at skin drowning out her intrusive thoughts. Red lines began to show, the surface burning at the pain. She exited the nest, deciding her time was better spent looking for more plants. 

She's inexplicably sad when she stares at a cluster of wild chives, debating whether she should pick them or not. She's still sad - when she has no right to be - as she's untying her first catch of the night and remaking another trap. Even when she returns to the building, she's sad.

There's a burning ache in her chest every time she finds herself looking at the nest. She can't take the time to sit with her omega and let his scent comfort her - if she doesn't cook the meat quickly, it'll go bad. Working around the emotion was a little tricky but necessary.

Sasha doesn't cry or brood, though. She doesn't even try to figure out why she feels the way that she does; instead, focusing on skinning the rabbit and dressing the meat in the harvested herbs and berries. The sadness sinks down to the bottom of her mind, leaving the rest of her thoughts alone but persisting behind them. It's an odd feeling, sure, but not one she was entirely unused to.

After eating her half of the cooked rabbit and a couple small pretzels, the alpha stays sedentary. She waits outside the nest - not fully trusting herself to go in yet. It's back to being quiet and calm, with the sadness still lingering behind that.

Another hour passes and Maples half becomes cold, so she hovers it back over the fire. And when an hour after that he continues to sleep and his food becomes cold again, she warms it back up. Then the third hour comes around, and by then some parts of the meat are burned and other parts are dry, but it's still warm when he finally wakes.

Not more than a few seconds after Maples eyes open and he shifts to his side, the Alpha is suddenly upon him. He barely noticed the restraints that kept him in place before the alpha stripped them off. He blinked and yawned, and then moaned, and the blood rushed straight through the Alphas body. Sasha wasn't sure what part of her managed to function enough to kindly hand him his half ahead of lifting the clothes off her back.

He's hardly tasted the food and she's already prodding her dick at his entrance, easily slipping it in as he takes his first bite. He chokes a little on a moan and a piece of meat, but, other than his initial reaction, he doesn't respond to the alpha's continued thrusts into him. A few times, she jostles him, and his grunts make her slow down so he can eat properly.

Maple mostly ignores her, eating messily and ravenously with his hands as Sasha slides in and out of him steadily. She tries very hard to keep a rhythm he can eat along to. He would admire her effort if he wasn't too preoccupied. His heat is already upon him, but the grumbling in his belly won't allow him to focus on it. Even while the head of her cock rubs delightfully at his prostate and catches on his rim every time she exits, he ignores it in favor of the meal in front of him.

She's tried the best that she could given her limited resources, that much he can taste, yet the meats not that good. The flavor is sweet like berries and oniony like chives, and the mix isn't something he'd finish in other circumstances, but he still eats. Maple even eats the dried and burned parts - never once questioning how it got to be that way.

Between Maples gorging, Sashas groaning, and the wet squelching of their mating, the sounds of them coupled together were pretty unpleasant to listen to. To Maples ears, everything was absolutely too loud. Everything felt moist; the air, his fingers, his thighs, Sasha at his back. The woman had her nose nestled at his neck, and the hot air from it was making him perspire.

He was down to the bone of the hare when Sasha's movements became jerky. She was searching for the right angle and depth and began maneuvering his body around in front of her. After leaning him forward and deciding that wasn't the right angle, she shoved him back down on her cock. His vision blurred and his chest heaved at the sensation of being so full. One of his hands reached back to grip onto her hip, the luscious skin there grounding him in his surroundings as she worked his body. He could feel each slow and powerful thrust - could feel the muscle shift and stretch beneath his fingers.

He held on to her like a lifeline while sucking every morsel off the bones of his meal. His eyes darted to the side of his field of view, capturing the image of his alpha sweat-soaked and determined to knot him just right. Her lips were pursed - hard lines framing them as well as her creased brows.

But when she reached the perfect spot - when she dug so deep into him he swears their bodies had melded together - her features soften. Her mouth opens in ecstasy as she pants her way through her orgasm. Her hips stutter, and the weight and pressure of her knot holds Maple still next to her. Maples feeling sore on his side but doesn't dare to roll over. The hot and sticky cum leaking into his ass doesn't bother him anymore; rather, it excites him. He wiggles his ass in an attempt to milk more cum from her, but she growls, and a hand on his waist tells him not to move.

Maple didn't get to cum, and it was making him antsy. He dropped the cleaned bones into the bowl and pushed it away from their bodies, far to the edge of the nest. The alpha behind him began to calm her breathing and settle down. She rubbed her cheek at the junction of his neck, spreading her scent on his body.

Time passes that way - with Sasha spreading her alpha stink all over him. Once half an hour is gone her knot loosens out of Maple, and the omega squirms where he lays. He turns, and the glaze to his eyes is unmistakable. Sasha relaxes into the nest, letting her exhaustion get the best of her. She can't go to sleep yet, but she can unwind for a little.

The omega reaches his hand to one of her breasts, squeezing experimentally. It feels just as plush against his fingers as it did against his face - he couldn't help how wet it made him. He was hoping for an excited reaction but was met with her hands swatting away his. 

Maple didn't give up and instead grabbed onto her cock, stroking it lightly and without any real rhythm. The woman laughed in genuine surprise and delight. His touch was so loose the alpha could barely feel it - the twists and turns of his hands clearly inexperienced. The alpha appreciated the effort none the less.

She let him play for a while, his hand curiously roaming her shaft. When he started getting impatient, his tugs getting harder and unpleasant, the woman sat up and lifted him onto her lap backwards. As soon as her dick was snuggly inside of Maple, her omega decided to take the reigns. 

Unsure of how to set the pace, he moved shyly at first. His ass bumped awkwardly against her hips as he tried thrusting backward, then upward. Sasha's thighs were strangled by his hands, the fat of them peaking from between his fingers. The loss of circulation made her toes feel blue, but she remained unbothered. The smack of damp skin against skin was operatic, almost orgasmic for the alpha. It wasn't just the shaky feeling of her omegas wet walls gripping and warming her shaft, or the filthy sounds of their sex; it was the knowledge that he wanted this - that he was lusting for her cock, to please her and to procreate.

She knew - just like his suddenly gentle and easier nature - his affections were a product of his heat. The omegas body wanted so strongly to be impregnated by this alpha, he would initiate sex with the very person he hated the guts of less than 12 hours ago. He couldn't control his urges any more than she could, and though Sasha planned on taking full advantage of that, at the moment, she was too sapped of energy to move the way he needed her to.

The omega didn't seem to mind - he almost seemed to enjoy being the one in charge. He sprang up and down on the alpha's cock with the enthusiasm of a bull rider; he looked like one too, with the way his curls flopped every time he lifted then roughly jerked back down, forcing Sashas cock to hit all the right places. On one particular stroke, a pulse of pleasure shoots through his body and he shakes on top of her - the cock inside of him bumping over that same spot over and over again.

A strangled mewl breaks from him as he's tipped over the edge. His own cocklet only wrings out one big string of cum across his stomach - it's warm and sticky as it slides down to pool at the crease of his thigh. He clenched around the alphas shaft, trying to express as much cum from Sasha as possible. Maple could feel her knot resting against his hole - half in and half out. He collapses into the alpha behind him, arms too shaky to hold himself up. 

The air is filled with pants and whimpers - mostly from the omega - and the temperature inside the nest feels as if it's a hundred degrees. Maple cries - the tears leaving streaks down his face as he snuffles. The alpha grabs his trembling shoulder in a bear-tight grip. It's meant to be a reassuring squeeze but the pressure just makes him cry harder.

"There, there, Sweetheart," She comforts, "What's got you all worked up, hm?"

Maple tries to turn and face her without tugging at the knot in his ass but gives up after the second attempt. He slumps forward, moving it on accident. He moans miserably.

"It hurts."

"I know, Sweetheart. Once we get you all filled up with pups, you'll feel so much better. You just have to keep being a good boy," Maple can hear the smile in her voice. "Do you think you can do that for me?"

"Pups..." He says reverently, "Please, I need them..."

"Just keep being a good boy and I'll give you as many as you want." She promises.

They stay stuck together until just a sliver of the sun is left and the room is cast into near darkness. Maple shivers at every sound in the night - even squeaks when Sasha suddenly starts to hum a tune behind him. The woman finds herself wondering yet again how such a meek creature survived this long. She wraps her arms around him and holds him to her until her knot diminishes.

He wails even harder when Sasha removes herself from under him, depriving him of her cock as she ties him back up and bites into his nape. His breathing becomes labored, as his immobility and the anxiety of his alpha leaving him coalesced. Maples heart felt close to combusting at the speed in which it raced.

It isn't even that long before the woman returns, yet it was like years to him. In his eyes, each second that passed was another week alone, starving and scared. Another week he prayed till he slept that he wouldn't die in the cold of the night - that he wouldn't fall into the hands of cruel people who would use his body for their pleasure then leave him to die when they've had their fill. The tear at his soul was more than just the physical pain of falling apart - the pain caused by abandonment; it was also the pain of his nightmares possibly coming true.

Some part of Maple told him he should have expected this - that it was no less than what he deserved for being such an awful omega.  All you had to do was be a good omega,  it taunts. A good omega would have alphas lining up at its door just waiting to treat them right. A good omega wouldn't have to be afraid of being left behind. 

Thankfully, he's saved from his own wandering thoughts by the alpha's re-entry into the nest. She brings the stench of soil and wet fur inside with her, and under any other circumstance he would have been upset at that; Instead, he's just happy that she came back. If he had enough sense of mind, he'd feel foolish for thinking she wasn't coming back - but he was too busy groveling at her feet to be bashful about it.

She shushed the worried omega and patted his backside sympathetically. 

 


 

Maple spends the rest of his heat sporadically mewling for his alphas attentions until he's satiated, each time passing out under her and only waking when his heat commands him to. The alpha herself schedules her hunts around whenever the man naps - usually near dawn. Her smell has suffused into the whole of the nest and has marked all of his skin to the point his own scent has seemingly vanished under hers. The telltale sign of his status was no longer a burden now that he was claimed.

He spoke very rarely throughout the duration of his estrous, yet he was voracious at times - like most omegas in heat. Only when the alpha had knotted him deep and hard multiple times in a row did he revert back into himself, slowly and ashamedly cowering from her touches and messing with the nest to keep him occupied 'till his body was ready for another go. 

Each interval had him quiet and impassive of the alphas advances. Through those moments, his focus was entirely on food, his belly, and the nest. Though Maple had a hard time asking for meals, the alpha always appeared to know when he was craving. She had, on multiple occasions, stuck some meat and berries in front of him before spinning him onto his stomach and fucking him. There was never any ceremony or finesse to it, he was simply expected to eat while she used him like breeding stock. In some instances, she would tear the meat into chunks and feed him by hand while she took him. She'd coo and praise him filthily while doing so - telling him how good he was for fattening up for the pups, and how handsome he'd look with his stomach rounded and full of her progeny. 

It made him subconsciously self-conscious of his looks, and he felt out of character for wondering if the alpha didn't think he was pretty enough as he was. Maple could just dismiss it as the lascivious alpha rubbing off on him, but the hormones from the heat made him worry about these things. Originally, the thought of his stomach growing with life was unappealing. Now, he found it harder and harder to stop his hands from roaming the surface of his abdomen, trying to imagine what he'd look like as a pregnant omega. He'd lay back and dream for what felt like hours until it came time to fix his nest.

He must have reshaped his den a hundred times that week, and every time he laid a different blanket on top. The alpha didn't react nicely at first; she thought it was his attempt to keep as much of her scent off his nest as possible. So she made sure to cum on top of him and rub her seed into his skin - imprinting the fragrance of her body onto his and letting the excess run down his sides and steep into the sheets. 

Her scent was inescapable, as was her presence. Sasha was too on edge since Maples suicide threat to let him do his business in peace. That was the sole thing the omega had enough sense of mind to protest in his time of need, but when it came to it, he was less resistant than he would've been had he been able to properly walk. The alpha had fucked him one too many times too harshly, which impeded his ability to balance - even less walk - on his own. He was a limping, sticky, horny, and thoroughly fucked mess.

His favorite blanket in the nest, an orange lightweight trapping throw, was marred by the blood from his split lip. The first favor he ever asked of her was to wash it, but the alpha had laughed and laid the weighted-throw away, claiming he hadn't earned that nicety yet. When one mating had gotten too intense, he tried to hide under it for comfort - but the alpha ripped it from atop his head and gripped onto his hair, using the locks like reigns. 

She never quite went back to her soft and slow approach after that but hadn't been as aggressive for the remainder of the heat. As the alpha lost herself in the frenzy, she stopped caring about what he did with the blankets - but the omega was always caught under her that he couldn't really do anything with that freedom.

Just once, the alpha had allowed Maple a little bit of control. She laid him flat on his back and guided his hands to her hips, keeping them there with her strength. Maple didn't fully comprehend what was going on - simply thinking that she was just going to rub her body sweat onto him as she has in the past. Then the alpha had positioned her own cunt over his standing cocklet, the head of his organ barely touching the wet folds. He realized too late that she was going to fuck him in the traditional position, and she sunk down on him before he could blink. 

All he remembers of that time is a pleasure so blindingly white he swears he was being personally transported to heaven. He had seemed to fit so perfectly into her as if their parts were puzzle pieces slipping into place. He was tiny and couldn't reach into her as deeply as she could reach into him, but he didn't need to. Sashas body hugged his member so tightly he was afraid to move - he thought she'd break him with one snap of her pelvis. Sadly, as soon as she began moving his vision darkened and he blacked out from the overwhelming bliss. The last thing he remembers was the strong urge to cum and the strange and tingly feeling of being unable to do so.

That was on the day before the end of his cycle - by then he was undoubtedly knocked up. There weren't enough quiet moments for the alpha to notice Maples change in behavior for the rest of the heat. He took advantage of that unawareness by basking in the feeling of abbyhood when she wasn't around.

Vaguely, the omega recalls the alpha slipping away at times she thought he was asleep. It was up to chance whether she returned smelling like wet fur and dirt, or like coppery blood. He knew she was hunting and skinning animals for him, but the stench was offputting every time it arose. He crawled himself into the corner of his nest each time, wondering if the smell would finally signal her anger with him - if it would signal the alpha's intent to kill.

It never came to pass, yet he would still crawl away until she cleaned the blood from her body. They ate well for a while until the traps started coming up empty. 

Then the heat broke, and the omegas rush of endorphins ceased. The alpha still rolled him over and fucked him silly, but when he fully returned back into himself, he screamed and cried and scratched at everything blindly. The anger that came from her nearly gave him a heart attack when the alpha had gotten a bruise from one of his hideous tantrums. His ass throbbed red, marks and rashes littering his backside. That whole night was inundated with pain - all over his shoulder and neck, to his ass and chest. She bit, squeezed, slapped, and bruised - giving back twice as much as she got.

Maple was too scared for the new life inside him to push her any further while he was still so weak from a week of mating. At the time, he was ashamed to realize he needed her - at least temporarily - if he wanted his pups to survive.

The woman was strong and fierce, and everything he felt he wasn't. So when danger finally arrived, and the moans of the undead filtered through the once quiet night air, Maple reluctantly trusted her - just for a little while.

 

Notes:

Sorry it's been eight months. Like everyone, I wasn't expecting this year to turn out as it did, but it be like that sometimes :/

Comments always welcome

Chapter 7: Chapter Five: On The Road(again)

Summary:

Sasha and Maple take a road trip.

Notes:

Two updates so close together?? It's like I'm a new person!

Remember to wash your hands after reading this :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When the horde of undead swept through the dark roads and towns surrounding the building, Maple hid behind Sasha quietly. Other survivors wails of anguish and death that littered the night reinforced into his omega brain how much he needed his alpha in that moment, regardless of how much he despised her. Though he couldn't hear precisely what was happening to them, he had a pretty good idea and clutched onto the alpha that much tighter when the howls became numerous.

Sasha had played the long game, waiting for the horde to split in half before making a move. They sat hungry for a few days - the most disappointing days of her life as an alpha. She gave Maple every last crumb of food, not so much as sniffing any for herself, and hoped and prayed for the four nights that things would get better. But outwardly, she showed no fear - choosing instead to comfort her omega before she comforted herself.

Most of Maples time was spent crying against the floor of his nest. He looked and smelled miserable, with just a hint of his heat scent wafting from the den. The blankets sat dried and crusted, and flakes had amassed everywhere. Some of his clothes laid ripped and tattered - completely unsalvagable - while the rest were wrinkled heaps. 

He avoided looking her in the eyes the first day after, and the woman said nothing at all. Shying away from her touches and gazes was like toeing around broken glass. Cautiously, he maneuvered himself around her jagged edges and through the mess she made, but it was impossible not to get a few cuts in the act. Sasha wasn't so hyperfocused on his demeanor while the horde was around, but every cocky rejection of her advances was dealt with - usually with pinches to his gland. 

Though they interacted - or rather, she interacted with him - neither raised their voice. Occasionally there was a whispered command on her end, or a soft whimper on his, but they were silent as mice. The other survivors practiced this too, with varying degrees of success.

Less people screamed in the night, and Sasha knew there wouldn't be many distractions left. Hordes were untreaded territory and Sasha didn't know what to look for or how to escape them. She knew only what other people told her, and what she had witnessed only once before.

The undead cloistered together like blood cells and travelled in streams, thousands of them flowing into one long line. They formed food queues, rendezvousing behind each other for a taste of their next victims flesh. Then, just like blood clots, they plugged the veins - creating a blockage where the horde traps itself, steadily building new members as the heads of the group break away and wander off alone.

Time was precious to the body of the group. Eventually the gnawing of their stomachs were louder than the gnawing of their mouths. Few at a time, they began to drag their feet and sway where they stood, like palm trees in a thunder storm. Some bumped into others and toppled over, others died less theatrically.

As more and more fell to the ground, the remaining moved freer than they had in days, but there was no celebration or relief on their faces - just rotting skin. They bumbled about, aimlessly stuck in a brain dead limbo. It wasn't until the sounds of ammo and metal rang into the sky that the majority of the horde hightailed. In the settling dust, they left their less able-bodied brethern to slow crawl and drag after them. But some didn't pay any mind to the shots - seemingly waiting for much closer catch.

Sasha had eyed their every move from her perch in her spare time(which she had a lot of). Her omega kept watch of her as she kept watch of the horde. He looked only when he was sure she wouldn't notice. At first she thought he was playing shy, but the hatred in his eyes was fiery and confident in ways an omega shouldn't be able to achieve. The only emotion stronger than his hate was his fear, which he let overcome him as he saw the alpha prepare herself to leave.

When the time finally came to pack everything and rush out of the abandoned property, the omega had strangled her fingers blue with how hard he clutched her hand. Her boy was shaken like a leaf, trying his damnedest to keep in his lilts of distress as they snuck by the shambling zombies. They jumped from building to building methodically, taking breaks by newly deserted cars on the road. The gallons of blood and massacred mess made Maples sensitive stomach wretch - and after attracting the attention of a few outliers, the couple flitted from the scene, bringing the undead on their tail but avoiding drawing more.

The alpha motioned her omega to hide under a desk in the office building they escaped to - turning to face the undead by herself. The first to attack had rushed her, swiping at her weakly. Its coordination was weakened by the eyeball dangling from its socket. She made quick work of the freshly fed zombie by dispatching its outflung limb, then lancing her knife under its jaw and into its skull. It fell to the ground with a muted thunk, dead for good this time. But Sasha couldn't celebrate that victory as the much slower zombie caught up to her - chomping its teeth. 

She pushed at its shoulder to keep it at length while she reared back her blade to stab into its head, but the zombie shook her off and aimed its jaws at her arm. It couldn't get close enough before she grabbed at its throat - the decaying green skin sliding off under her grip. Its eye gave way cleanly when the hard blade slips through. The zombie fell in much the same manner as the one before him, and the alpha used the raggedy clothing off its back to wipe the blade. Later, she'd had to decontaminate it.

Sasha dusted herself off, recovered Maple from his hiding spot, and resumed weaving through the alleys and corners. The omega was clearly anxious, sweat saturating his skin and darkening his clothes. Sasha could smell all of the fear wafting from him. She considered them lucky that the undead didn't seem to notice the couple despite the bright red signal Maple was sending.

A short while after their scuffle, they made it to a clearing far enough from the horde where it was safe to run. Behind the pair, the zombies continued milling about hungrily - oblivious to their next meal booking it from the area. They B-lined through tall grass until they reached the other side of town, never stopping to rest. The energy had been sapped out of Maple, but the alpha had them keep going - putting as much distance as possible between them and the horde.

They went on like that for days, traversing empty forests to get away from the hordes. The trees and bushes offered protection for a long while, before tapering off into grassy nolls and farms. By then, the snow had melted to small patches of ice. They were much more exposed among the dying crops and watery fields, which set off Sashas instincts. Some of the farmers had stayed in their homes despite the evacuation, finding it safer to shelter in place. It lead to more than one rifle being trained on the two as they passed, but she always shielded Maples body with her own and it seemed to get the message across that they were not a threat; just an alpha trying to get her omega to safety.

 

On their way to solace, the weather beat down on them brutally. It took turns between freezing their bodies into walking icicles and heating them like rotisseries. The sun wasn't out often, but when it was, Sasha would stop and give her omega shade. He never seemed to appreciate the gestures - even went as far as to run away once when he felt the coast was clear. He got as far as someone's porch, begging to be let in. Either no-one was home, or the inhabitant knew better than to take in a mated runaway omega when their alpha probably wasn't far behind. 

He didn't get many opportunities to run again after that. Sasha kept him by her side when she drew water from people's wells and when she went searching for food. She went to sleep when he did and woke before him. She cleaned him at the same time she cleaned herself and tied his feet and hands together on her own bathroom-breaks. Every moment of every hour, he spent with the alpha breathing down his neck. 

His invisible leash didn't have a lot of give. He supposes that's kind of his fault. Though he can't be blamed for his actions - as it's what any sensible person would do - he did blame himself for committing the same acts over and over again, expecting a different outcome. Maple was desperate enough to keep trying the first few times without change.

The alpha tying herself to his side inhibited him, but not his spirit. Every moment there was an opening, he felt the burn in his veins to just run and never stop. Yet he also felt a tug of rationale in his brain. He heard a meek voice in ear, warning him just how many ways he could be punished.

Then there were the warnings of what would happen if he really did leave her. There are worse people out there, it told him. His own brain was attempting to convince him he was better off with her. His brain was sewing discord within him and he felt betrayed by it.

So, Maple seperated himself into two parts: the omega part - the traitor - and the human part - the hero. But even then, he had trouble knowing which part he was listening to. The wires crossed in ways he had difficulty figuring out - even less explaining.

Constant close proximity only worsened everything. The traitor only focused on how her skin felt against his, and the soft humming when she washed his hair. That omega part basked in the attention even when it was unwanted, as most of her attention was then. Sasha was always cajoling him somehow - she never let up -

 

Until they came upon a small city. So small, there couldn't have been more than a few thousand living there at any given time pre-apocalypse. It was empty, hardly any sign of life for miles. 

Sasha had cleared out an apartment in one of the complexes, something fancy that probably would've been a little out of their pay range in another life. It was omega-friendly; meaning it had lockable nesting closets and card scan doors . The windows were plexiglass, and most didn't open. The ones that did were card locked as well. There were small centers and huts in the back of the complex, with posters and flyers advertising omega activities stapled to them. 

Apparently, there was a tenet managed animal collection where the kids and omegas could come and look at frogs and turtles and other things. Maple didn't get to see the enclosure but winds up being thankful for it after Sasha tells him about the ugly smells and bustles of flies that clung to the decaying bodies.

Two swingsets sat neglected in the backyard - the blue hard plastic of the seats dusty from disuse. The hinges creeked awfully when the wind stirred and made the place feel even lonelier. Toys littered the vicinity haphazardly, placed along the pathways in such a way it was impossible to maneuver around. Maple tried tiptoeing, but the alpha simply scooted things to the side with the end of her shoe.

Inside their apartment was very spartan. Only the bare necessities of what should be inside a home decorated the space. A green couch and arm chair, with a small circle glass table upon a white rug, sat in the middle of the living room. The lampshades matched the wall paper, and the mirror atop the armoire offered him his first full look at himself in a while.

A spare bedroom was connected to the childrens room, and the master was across from them both, which left the bathroom bridging the gap at the end of the hallway. The rest of the domicile retained the green and white color scheme with the nesting closet being the only exception. It didn't take long to figure out the previous omegas living situation in this household; in his mind, the human sized dog mat at the end of the king bed told him all he needed to know.

After lifting it for himself to shove in with the blankets already in the nest, he dejectedly took a midday nap. The alpha had already gone out and locked him in, so he counted sheep up to the biggest number he could count to. 

The doe became bored very quickly in his new nest - he yearned for something to do other than wait for his alpha to come home. Sasha hadn't given him anything but a bottle of water the first few times she left him. A short while into their stay, he begrudgingly asked to go with her on her next scout. She ignored him at first, but after coming across the first and only other person on the other side of the city, she became paranoid enough to bring him with her. 

They had a normal-ish routine for the - almost - two weeks they spent there. The alpha found a rope leash in the basement of a department store - and wasted no time making Maple familiar with his binds. In the morning, Sasha would leave to find breakfast. In the midday, they both would search for supplies before going back to their apartment. The kitchens in the complex hadn't been upgraded in decades, so at night, Sasha would go outside to cook her quarry. 

Time felt like a slow crawl the longer they stayed there. The omega starts to poke and prod at things in stores, and grabs some omega jewelry when the woman isn't looking. He bundled them in his pockets and some times slipped them in his underwear, then tried them on when Sasha cooked dinner.

He was followed down the accessory aisle only once, but pretended he didn't notice the sparkly rose gold ankle cuffs his fingers itched to grab. That time, Sasha had actually picked out individual letter necklaces that spelled out his name and handed it to him. She was curious if he could spell his name - if he could spells hers too. She wanted him to know her name, maybe one day use it, and eventually cherish it. To wear it on him.

At one point, Maple had called out her name in fear upon finding a few rats in a store they were scavenging. Even though it caused arousal to shoot right through her at the time, she decided he hadn't earned that privilege just yet. As much as she would have loved to hear him say it more and more later, she gave him an ultimatum; He calls her either Alpha or Mistress. 

It's months until she ever hears him call her Alpha again.

For the remaining days at the apartments, Sasha tried to teach the omega proper manners befitting his caste. Maple was resistant to it at first, electing to vacuously stare while she showed him how he should follow behind her. He was expected to practice when they were out and about but refused to for a while. It wasn't until the alpha had snapped, threatening to pull the doe over her lap, that he finally attempted to shape up. 

 

 


 

 

Eventually, the food began to run out, and the man on the other side of town seemed to have vanished. Sashas intuition told her to move on from that place.

In the middle of the night, she packed their bags and ushered her omega from the area. He was tired and looked sad to be leaving behind a brand new nest, but he didn't pull his hands out of hers when she held him. 

Things were still incredibly rocky between them. Maple wouldn't see anything Sasha did as heroic or kind. She owed him her life since she decided to take his from him. Everything she did for him, Maple felt, was the least she could do. But there were some things she did for him that he prefers she didn't - like wash him.

He wanted to be clean - knew it was healthier to be clean - but each time she took a sudsy cloth and scrubbed at his body, he felt his autonomy slip away from him. 

The first few attempts saw him fighting her, uselessly struggling against her hold. But that only resulted in him getting dirty again, and the alpha getting mad. It was easy for the alpha to strip him, and she did so whether he fought or not - causing the omega to give up when he realized he couldn't change anything.

Another month of traveling down, and they had ended up only two weeks and some days away from the safe house. That was when, in a rare moment of conversation at the time, Maple had blurted out that his heat was coming up. Sasha had been surprised by how forthcoming he was with the information - she had figured she would need to interrogate him for it or something. She didn't comment on it though, instead, smiling kindly at him and thanking him for his honesty. 

Shortly before the heat had begun, Sasha was having difficulty finding somewhere for them to hole up. They were mostly in the open and had only roads for miles and miles. They walked on to the highway and traversed it for hours when Maples heat started. The omega felt they were too exposed in the town they ventured to and clung to his alpha the further inward they went. She didn't let them stop to rest for the night, continuing until they found shelter.

Maple was dead on his feet exhausted when they discovered a backroad - following the paving through the trees. It took a while before they happened upon anything - When they did, Maple had actually laughed for the first time in ages. 

It was just a teeny tiny lakehouse, barely one room connected to a kitchen with a curtain separating the plumbing, but it looked like absolute paradise to the omegas eyes. Safe and small, with a fireplace for heating and cooking. The alpha would only need to leave his side for food and water.

Their initial day there, it began to rain. Sasha had scrambled to make a rain catcher and grab worms, while the omega piled their meager laundry and blankets together to start his nest. He had only managed to construct a base by weaving what they had into a large pad. There weren't even any walls because there was barely enough material to make them, so they both had to huddle for warmth in the middle of his disaster. 

When Sasha had gone to clean the water and fish the next morning, Maples instincts sent him into a panic.

He worried about the pups growing in his belly and what the alpha could do to them if she fucked him through his heat. He didn't really understand pregnancy or pregnant sex - or sex in general. All he knew was that his conscious was telling him to hide the babies. They were vulnerable and needed their abbey to keep them safe.

The feelings confused him, but, as the day waged on, he settled into those instincts. When Sasha comes around early in the evening, the house appears empty. She's instantly alarmed but calms down after scenting the air. The room was drenched in his smell - and that, combined with how small the space was, led to him easily being found out. No time was wasted when he was dragged from inside the cabinets. 

It would have been an understatement to say Sasha was upset; she was livid. But so was the omega.

Maple had lashed out - kicking at her until she had caught both of his feet in her hands. His own hands stayed cradling his stomach, though the alpha ignored that; she was too busy pulling him back to the bed. A few growls and snarled choice words were hurled between the two, leading to Sasha pining the omega down. Maple barely had time to register the cold on his skin and the sound of her zipper before she had her cock buried deep in his ass. In her rage, she ripped the clothes off his back, tearing them to shreds, and disciplined him the way she saw fit.

The smell of him dug into her bones and tattooed itself in her brain - it enticed her to set a punishing pace. She should have just taken him over her lap and spanked him red, but the idea of fucking his body was so much more inviting. 

She couldn't understand why he wanted to fight this. His estrous would make him want this eventually - make him beg for this. He could just give in and have all this pleasure and more, yet every time her hips smacked against his, his struggle began anew. All his efforts did was give her little bursts of ecstasy with the way his body clenched around her shaft. His body kept her snug and firmly held inside him - it accepted her in ways his mind hadn't. 

Despite his holes tight, pulsing squeeze on her cock, the omega continued growling. The sound rumbled lowly in his chest, his lips curled to show his canines. Sasha could tell he wasn't enjoying himself; but she decided whether he liked it or not, she would give him what he needed. So, she had decided to spice things up.

"You're a filthy fucking whore, aren't you, omega?" She groaned in his ear. Her hand wrapped around his neck, applying enough pressure to make him loosen his grip on the bedsheets. "That's why you fight it so much; 'cause you know I'll fuck you harder when you do."

His only response was the rising volume of his growl. Maples face had darkened with hate, his whole frame becoming hot from the exertion and the stress. He wanted so badly to whine and yelp, but that would only encourage the alpha. Maple needed to get this alpha away from his litter. 

Each breath was labored, yet he built up the energy to yowl and snap. He managed to catch Sashas wrist in his mouth and bite down with all the strength he could summon. The woman only felt a pinch at first, but the longer he held on, the more the injury began to throb.

She tried shaking her wrist to get him off - then tried prying open his jaw with her fingers - but neither method worked. Maple only let up when Sasha pushed her own teeth into his nape, keeping her mouth there until his whole body went slack.

As a side effect of the scruffing, his cunt became increasingly wet and open - allowing the alpha to slip her cock into him up to the hilt, recarving a path straight to his womb. The slap of their thighs against one another sounded filthy when his slick soaked them both.

"Such a naughty little whore - biting your alpha like that." She tries not to be audibly angry, "Maybe I'll forgive you if you say it out loud. Say you're a dirty whore!" She demanded.

The omega sneers, "You're a dirty w-whore."

His voice was so strained the woman almost didn't catch it, but when she did, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Feisty. 

However, her amusement didn't stop her from returning the pressure back to his neck with her hand. She held onto him only lightly for a little while until her knot began to form, and the heat of it pressed against his hole on every thrust. Despite the wetness, it didn't slip into his ass very easily; instead, it drove in slowly and settled thickly inside of his body. 

Just the sensation of it was enough to set Maple off as he thrashed wildly underneath the woman. He flailed like a fish on dry land, trying to escape the weight that was crushing him. Every signal in his brain was roaring at him to defend his litter with all his strength. So he lashed out with everything he had in him - screaming bloody murder, kicking his legs out, and scrambling for freedom. Soon, it devolved into a mess of teeth and nails and sweat as he clawed at her.

His efforts went to waste when the alpha simply squeezed his neck until he was gasping to take in air. His windpipe burned rawly from all the activity. Sasha had gotten close enough to his ear to whisper to him that she'd only let go when he calmed down. Even with that information, it took almost a full minute for the omega to get control of himself. The alphas hands were off him the instant she felt his muscles relax.

Maple had sucked in lungfuls of air, panting for breath like a starved dog. He was stuck with the knot up his ass, gushing more come into the womb already in use, so he laid his head down in shame. He felt like a failure to the children he had yet to whelp. He couldn't even keep them safe from their alpha, how was he supposed to protect them from savages and the undead?

 

A cry tore from his chest out into the world, accompanied by tears and quiet snuffles. Maple cried even harder when the sharp, hot, pain of a slap to his rear manifested on his backside. He felt the blood rush to the point of impact before he was smacked again, and his cheek became numb from the blow. The alpha was clearly disappointed by his behaviour, but the omega refused to feel guilty.

 

His teeth were clenched as he forced himself to endure it for the sake of his brood. The alpha woman just ground against him every now and then, chasing the pulsing orgasm that made more and more cum spill into his hole. She barely broke a sweat, and that knowledge upset the omega. His eyes burned, so he shut them and willed himself into slumber.

 

He dreamed of fields that night; of rabbits and holes in the earth. He missed his old room and all the posters. The soft blankets on his bed, his big T.V, and his bunny in the corner - everything that made that room home to him. He wishes he could go back home - that he could return to his parents. He wants his mother to hold him in her arms and pet his hair. He wants to hear her telling him that everything will be alright.

 

But when the morning comes, he can feel the alphas eagerness for round two. The woman had cooked while he had slept, and as soon as Sasha realized the omega was awake, she spooned bites of fish and strange plants into his mouth. Maple didn't have the energy to reject her, so he let her feed him silently. And when the alpha offers him a cup of water, he drinks from it greedily - the coolness soothing his throat.

 

At first, he thought the alpha would leave the shack - but he realized his mistake too late. The alpha had already taken to unzipping her pants, which made the omega growl miserably. 

 

Sasha had begun to suspect sometime during their stay, that Maple was about to make her the happiest woman in the world. Though she was frustrated at his insistent struggling during heat, it had made her curious. She had to hold him down and wrestle him to fuck, but when she knotted him, it became like an actual fight. She could barely sneak her hands under him without the omega freaking out.

So sometimes she'd let Maple escape her hold - watching him as he scurried under the meager table, braying at her. Sasha would then pretend to leave, and spy on him through the window when he believed he was alone.

The way he relaxed and curled around his midsection was unmistakable. He rubbed at his belly, purring to it and holding it like the most precious diamond. Maple would go back to his nest and drape himself there lazily - like a content cat. Other times, he would stuff himself full of any leftover food.

It flustered the woman to think that she had missed the obvious signs. She brushed off his reluctance as another streak of rebellion and was made to regret that faulty judgment. The damage was done by then, and all she could do was be better to gain some of his trust.

Sashas instincts couldn't just stop reacting to his heat; Thus, she made sure to mate with him every few hours. She was careful not to bear her weight down on him, and whenever he seemed on edge, she would slow down. As much as it pained her, the alpha didn't knot her omega for most of the event. The sex was alright, but somewhere along the way had started to feel like a chore.

 

So when Maples semi-heat broke, it was to little fanfare. The omega had significantly calmed down and allowed the alpha to knot inside of him with only a small yelp of protest the last time they fucked. Sasha roved her hands over his bare stomach during their last mating - and that was when the man knew the jig was up. There was no turning back and no escaping an alpha who wanted his pups.

Afterward, when Sasha was packing their bags and some food, Maple had asked why they couldn't have just stayed there. Her only reply was "Family."

 

 


 

 

Maple had a lot of time to think while they trekked. He didn't exactly like everything he had the option to think about, however. If he wasn't stuck worrying about what would happen to his litter, then he was worried about his alpha and the survivors out there. While Sasha was strong enough to take the omega, he couldn't see her ever winning against a group of alphas. There must be tons out there that are far stronger and bigger than her, just waiting to catch the omega she has with her.

When he wasn't worried about that either, he worried about where they were heading. No place felt safe anymore.

The alpha would try to entertain him every now and then, by regaling him with stories about her childhood. She would ramble on and on about herself, never once stopping to ask him about himself. The man didn't mind so much and ended learning more about her than he ever wanted to. Even though she could be chatty, whenever she was mad at him, she'd go quiet. Maple wondered if the loneliness was getting to him, but secretly, he'd miss her voice. 

Backhandedly enough, it wasn't the worst punishment, and he was thankful for that. He wasn't convinced that the sudden lack of enthusiasm for scolding him came from the kindness of the heart. Albeit, it didn't matter - as long as Sasha comforted him more than she hurt him.

As Maples pregnancy progressed, the alpha only  appeared  to be kinder. She'd come around to helping him express his milk when he began to lactate, and when he cried about feeling gross and ugly, she'd help him bathe and wash him with soaps and compliments. Being vulnerable with her felt odd and unsettling, but he had no one else to talk to. 

Yet, he felt fetishized when the alpha would have her way with his body. It wasn't always sex, either. The woman had drunk from him the first time. Wet circles had soaked his shirt around the areoles, and the man had blushed his entire face red when he had to ask her for a new one. She took the chance to bribe him - offering to get him what he needed if he cooperated while she nursed from him. 

The sensation was alien to him, and even though it didn't feel bad per se, he just wanted to get it over with. His body stopped feeling like his own, and he didn't know if that was normal.

It slowly grew easier to swallow his dignity and personify his alphas desires. Although he still had his bursts of defiance by running away, snapping at her, and even breaking his leash at one point. Eventually, he figured out how to feign a meek persona. It was only for the safety of his pups, so it became his version of a brave face.

He decided that if it didn't involve his pups, he didn't care. From then on, he would weather whatever he needed for them. He thought about them often - about whether he truly wanted them, or if they were just his anchor. Sometimes, he would try to convince himself that it was just his instincts taking over, but he never succeeded. Maple loves them without ever seeing them, and despite knowing who created them and how they got there. He pretends that it all went down differently; he pretends that he was a star-crossed teen who fell pregnant with his lover, but his disapproving parents chose to mate him off with someone else.

The way she milked him in the suburbs brought back his sense of otherness. It degraded him - made him feel small. That day had been decent until then. The taste of those peaches had him rediscovering good memories. But it was a high he came swiftly crashing down from. He was all too eager to leave that house behind the next morning.

Once Sasha uncovers the first bone crudely etched into a tree, she becomes laser-focused on finding the next few. The woman remains oblivious to his inner-thoughts, and Maple doesn't try to make her privy, for the most part. She walks faster, her steps seemed more energized. The omega doesn't ask why she was so enthusiastic, he only asks if she's sure where they're going is safe. Sasha finds herself reassuring her omega too many times and just quits answering altogether.

Every mile starts to feel like years on Maples back and feet. The ache never seems to dull, even when he's at rest. He belatedly notices that his abdomen has barely grown because of all the exercise. It upsets him, but he doesn't say as much out loud. The alpha observed it too, though, and quietly split her portions and gave them to him. She never complained about her resulting lack of food, even when her own stomach rumbles. He supposes that she at least has one redeeming quality.

They're on another generic roadway when they come across a small car clog. It's nothing short of a massacre, and Sasha tells Maple to cover his eyes. The bodies are decomposed enough that it's hard to tell the cause of death just by looking at them. But the blood splatter and bullet holes everywhere pretty much spell it out for her.

By sheer luck, one of the abandoned standard cars still has some gas in the tank. It's an otherwise regular truck, but there are swipes of blood leading to the trunk bed. Sasha swallows thickly at the sight of the rotted woman in the back of the pick-up. She doesn't waste time taking the corpse to the side of the road and laying it down carefully. The alpha picks a few bright yellow and white flowers from the grass and places it on the dead woman's chest before leaving the body behind. Sasha laments about the piss-poor gravesite but knows there's nothing more that can be done.

Even when they've driven away from the scene, she still thinks about. She imagines whether she'll be buried or left on the side of the road too. The future was a fickle thing, and she didn't know what could happen within the year - if they even make it to the end of it. By 2049, she and Maple could either be welcoming new faces into their family and making new members, or they could be rotting on their feet and shambling around.

She wonders if the woman had thought the same things; if the woman had plans for the future. Though, Sasha knew better than to dwell on it. She didn't find it easy to cold shoulder the death and decay that encompasses their new world, but it was necessary. The smallest internalized fear could make her weaker, and she needed to be strong for her omega - for her pups.

But Maple didn't care about her worries or fear. He sat in the seat next to her quietly, eyes glued to the window. He was happily oblivious to her thoughts in that moment. 

The couple had driven for hours along the streets, the rustic houses zooming by in brown and taupe blurs. Maple laid his head to rest against his door and stared out in awe. He let out a sigh, the seat supporting his shoulders as they slumped. It was nice to be able to sit back and relax for once. The omega could swear he almost forgot what it felt like to ride in the passenger side, since the last time he got the chance had been nearly a decade ago.

When he found himself growing bored of the same landscapes passing him by, he would stare in a trance as Sasha drove. He watched as she smoothly turned the wheel, noted the way her hand rested on the weird stick thingy, even the way she frowned in consternation, the omega somehow though it was entertaining, and let his eyes roam her freely. Inwardly, Maple admired her confidence, but only because he knew it was something he'd never be able to replicate himself. The woman seemed capable of so much it was almost daunting. 

Here was a woman who's killed before, fought zombies without breaking a sweat, could hunt and fish, and showed no fear at the sight of other survivors. She could've had any other omega, but she had him. 

He wasn't very grateful for her choice of mate.

If anything, the man thinks she should have completely disregarded him and any other omegas. His estrous only slowed her down, and he himself provided her with nothing but another person to feed. The pups in his belly, who would only end up becoming more of a strain on her in the long run, were all he had to offer her. 

 

Amazingly, she never seemed to pay that any thought. He remembers vaguely alluding to the idea after she figured out he was pregnant. He can't recall exactly how he worded it, but when he asked her why she even wanted an omega and kids, the woman had just smirked and shook her head - as though he said something silly - then continued to walk.

 

He couldn't wrap his head around her reaction. It was as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world - or like some kinda joke that Maple didn't get. All he knew of the woman's motives are that she was loyal to her family - so loyal she'd risk her life just to reunite. He guesses that was the reason behind her journeying so restlessly.

 

There wasn't really a stopping point Sasha had planned out on their ride - she simply opted to follow the dog bones painted on the road signs until the gas ran out. It wasn't the best idea, but there wasn't much else that could be done. Thankfully, they didn't encounter much on their course, but a few survivors did show up along the way. 

 

A short trip through a small town had them passing by a duo of women loading their own car with a box of medical supplies and blankets. Sasha had told him to put his head down and hide before they were spotted. One of the women, a tall brunette, had turned to watch them go but didn't pay their vehicle any more attention once it was clear they weren't a threat.

 

Maple asked the alpha why she didn't pull over to talk to them and received a few head pats in response. He didn't know what to make of it, yet decided to leave the topic alone. The rest of the drive stayed silent after that. 

 

Sasha paused only once to scour for food. The daylight was waning, and a few nocturnal animals began emerging, but the woman still put the car in park and rolled the windows up. She told the omega to trail behind her and crept through the broken glass door of a little convenience store. He distinctly recalls the smell of grease and gunpowder that filled his nose upon entering. It ended up being completely innoxious, if not a bit barren, and the pair were in and out in minutes.

 

Their loot was meager - basically leftovers. Just a tiny canister of gas found behind the register, a few bags of seeds and nuts, and some spare water bottles. The seeds and nuts staved off Maples hunger for most of the drive, yet his stomach still felt like an empty cavern. Sasha would not stop to hunt in towns too small to securely hide in, so Maple grit his teeth and hoped the tank ran empty soon.

 


 

His wish didn't come true until a handful of hours later when the sun had gone down, and they ended up at the dead center of nowhere. They were surround by the woods and the ominous atmosphere that usually comes with it. The night seemed even darker than the days before somehow - as if that day was the day all the light in the world eclipsed. He tried not to look out the windows too much, fearing what his mind would conjure up, but he couldn't help it.

 

Maple hesitantly admitted to being scared - swearing he could see faces in the woods. Though the alpha dismissed his fear of poltergeist, she allowed them to sleep in the car for the rest of the night with their seats laid all the way back. The arm rest pokes at him no matter what angle he's in and the inside of the car feels claustrophobic, but he's able to swaddle himself in his favorite blanket and pretends he's back home. 

 

Some time in the middle of the night, Maples hand shot out to grip onto her strong arm - afraid he heard voices. Trees waved in the wind and cast willow shadows in the moonlight. Maple begins to whimper, low and almost imperceptible. 

The omega ignored how his digits touched each other wrapped around her; something he couldn't do before. Instead, he shielded himself in her chest and let his little body quake and shiver. Lightning followed her fingertips as they drifted into the roots of his hair. They were going to get tangled in the curls if they roved any further - which she learned the hard way a month ago - so she kept her fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. As much as Maple was embarrassed by the little plaints and whimpers he made, the spiking euphoria of being held and caressed by his alpha far outweighed any protests he could've voiced.

 

Her light rasps on his head of hair gave him more than just comfort. He didn't know what was happening when his little cocklet poked at his pants; He was scared, not aroused!

But the tingles of pleasure spiraling up his spine, making his brain go loopy, were too divine. The man couldn't stop the feeling even if he tried - which he did; numerous times. 

 

His ears reddened, his panting growing louder, and the head of his member throbbed with need. The whole time her fingers never left his head, but they became unbearably slow.

 

It turned out that the woman's methods of comfort were effective. The omega was so caught up with chasing a climax, that he forgot all about the eerie woods they were sleeping next to. He never did get to come, the alpha commanding him not to, but the ache was enough for him to ignore their surroundings. She managed to refocus him, and though he was thankful, he didn't comment on it the next morning.

 

Maple was saddened when they left the car behind, even though he acknowledged it was necessary. Still, he was not happy about making the rest of the grueling travel on foot, biting down a hiss of pain for every step he took. They had only gotten down an hour's worth of progress, but the omega immediately missed laying his head against the window and watching the roads skate past.

 

Sasha hadn't spoken to him a lot the last couple of days, instead, spending her time translating the maze of bones carved into nearly every tree. Somewhere along their adventure, the instructions melded together, and their pointers were placed in every direction. It became a puzzle, and Sasha devoted hours to solve it. Eventually, those hours morphed into days, resulting in the pair being confined to the same spot in the woods. 

 

The man hadn't minded, as long as he got to rest. Sasha would go out to hunt often since there wasn't much else to do, and Maple fiddled with her stack of cards. He didn't know how to actually play, and the alpha didn't offer to show him, so he just practiced stacking them and doing math. He was even more bored than he was at the apartments, but at least the outside was prettier to look at. 

 

Every twist and turn of the woodland made him contemplate running. It would be much harder for her to find him - but it would also be much harder for him to find his way out. As scared as he was for his children, making himself subject to the wildlife and the weather and inevitable starvation all alone was not something he was willing to risk just for the sake of spiting the woman. Sasha must've known his fears too because she left him freely and confidently - never once surprised when she returned and he was still waiting there for her.

 

Jealousy strikes him when she leaves. There aren't any shackles on him, yet every day it feels like there are - and when he feels that way, he rubs his belly to remind himself why that is. His stomach protrudes just a slight bump now, but the skin there is taught and clearly defined. He thinks it's sick that his heart beats quicker the more he dreams about his belly rounding with his assailant's pups. 

 

Irregardless of what he thinks, there's always a swell of pride and giddiness in his chest when he imagines their tiny chubby faces. Carrying his beautiful brood, conceiving them so easily, makes him feel like a good omega. He wonders when he began to care whether or not he was good.

 

Left to his own devices, the omega stayed in a constant state of fantasy. All he did was sleep and eat, and occasionally look at cards. It was soothing to escape into his imagination - where he could picture his kids all grown up and with him at his parent's house, saddled up beneath him as they watched the T.V.

It was pleasant. But the omega easily lost track of the time that way. One day, the minutes had passed so quickly without him noticing. The alpha hadn't been back for hours, which was much longer than she usually left him. Maple didn't pay it any mind until the dead of night came around, and the sounds of the forest filled his heart with terror. 

Every snap of wood or coo from the animals of the night had him clutching himself tighter. Each tree seemed to taunt him with their branches - making false silhouettes in the dark. Even his mind played along by hallucinating all seeing eyes and the groans of the dead. The exposure in the teeny clearing was getting to him, making him angsty.

He cried and whined all night, trying to muffle the sounds. As his eyelids became heavy and his thoughts sluggish, he desperately kept himself awake. His whole body was curled around his stomach to protect his young, yet it felt inadequate. He hated himself for it, but he wanted the woman back right that second. 

Despite how much time he spent hating her, he believed she served a use; to protect him. There wasn't any way he could think of surviving in the middle of nowhere with nothing to protect himself with. His pregnancy already contributed to his vulnerability, now he added being unarmed and lost to the list. He was a sitting duck.

The omega hugged himself tighter, knees resting mere inchs below his chin. He left his blanket atop himself, but it didn't make much a difference in the night air. He wishes under his breath that he was back in his nest, like Dorothy wished she was back in Kansas.

Maple eventually fell asleep like that, tossing and turning while fearing for the lives of his pups even in his dreams.

 


 

It was still a little cold out, and the omega woke up shivering like a leaf. The fabric of his blanket peeled away from his body lamely when he lifted it to reveal his body underneath. He wiggled his toes, and stretched his arms above his head. The slight crack of his shoulders and back made him sigh - pleased. But that bit of good morning energy dissipated when he realized how empty his stomach felt. He was hungry, and his stomach loudly growled at him, disappointed - yet it was barely audible over the sound of his mistress chuckling. 

"Are you hungry?" She asks playfully as if nothing at all had happened. Her smile is wide and bright and illuminates the jut of her chin, though it also looks pained. There's a split to her lip and a few smudges of blood on her forehead. Her skin is red - much redder than it should be considering the weather - and she smells weird. It's the copper smell, yet also smokey like someone lit a slab of ribs on fire. He's too bleary to fully comprehend where it's coming from and assumes it's the scent of the animal she caught while she was out.

 

Her sudden reappearance already set him on edge, but her attitude is what makes him angriest. The omega is fuming, ready to verbally tear her a new one - but only on the inside.

 

Externally, the omegas face crumples up and he can feel the heat running down his cheeks. Without even looking in a mirror, Maple already knows he's letting out the ugliest cry of his life, and it's right into the shoulders of his assaulter. He can't stop the blubbering about how scared he was or his devolvement into hiccups. The alpha just understandingly pats his back.

 

When he's cried a river or two, he finally calms down and huffs a little. Then he moves away - jostling the alphas arm in the process which causes her to suck in a pained breath. Her left hand is swollen and cherry red; bone peaks out of the skin of her pinky, and blood has welled and crusted around the split. It looks grizzly and mangled, and the omega can't help to ask what happened.

 

Sasha tries brushing him off but the man continues to pester until she concedes. There's already a small fire going and the alpha moves to resume skinning the raccoon next to it, but the wound flares up and the agony holds her back from finishing. She grits her teeth and almost makes a second attempt, but before she could, cold fingers ghost over hers.

 

Maple lifts the knife from her hand and holds the raccoon, waiting for her instructions. They're sat beside one another while Sasha alternates between teaching the omega and talking about her injury. She tells him about the big tree she found and the dog bone on it, then about the gates. When she gets to the part about the lone wolf that attacked her on her way back, Maple actually gasps. Sasha doesn't know if it was out of genuine worry for her, or the fact that there were nearby wolves in the forest. She doesn't embellish the story - she doesn't act like she fought brutally and bravely and destroyed the threat. Instead, she just tells him simply that their little tumble ended in a draw. 

"I must have walked for hours. It felt like hours." She explained, "I didn't stop until I got back to you - I couldn't.".

"What happened to the wolf?" Maples questions.

"I don't know. All I remember is waking up at the bottom of the ravine after it charged me."

"And what about the gunshots you heard? Where were they coming from? Do you think someone killed it?"

"I couldn't tell you." She states solemnly.

The fires crackle fills the space between them as the sun rises overhead. Maple doesn't really know how to respond to her story, or how to help her. He was kind of amazed by her tenacity, while simultaneously afraid of it. That possessiveness, the type that made her suffer through blood loss and broken bones just to reach him, it didn't sit right with him.

 

Sashas eyes are on the finished animal hide, admiring the omegas shoddy work. What used to be the raccoons coat now lay ripped into patches, the skin on the pieces still red. With the right tools, she could have easily cleaned it up and made something useful out of it - maybe a pair of gloves. Now all she could do is let it go to waste.

"Mistress? What if there's people out here?" The doe looks scared when he asks.

"There are people out there - but none of them are ever gonna get to you, alright? I'm gonna keep you safe." Sasha reaffirms. "Tomorrow morning, we'll leave as soon as the sun is up, okay?"

"Where are we gonna go?"

"To the gates."

"Why?" He whines, "Can't we just go back to the cabin?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We have to keep moving, Maple."

"The cabin was safer - I wanna go back."

"Maple, no." She sighs.

"But-"

"I said,  no ."

Maple lost his steam when her voice raised. He wants to argue though he knows it'll do nothing to help his cause. A vein in the woman's temple throbs and he can see the pain clearly overtake her face. She's clutching her left wrist a bit harder, and Maple winces in sympathy. He's never broken a bone before but it looks excruciating to him.

Soon enough, it's time to eat, and the meal is bland. Neither of them can be too picky - lucky Sasha could catch anything at all out there - and they eat without complaint. The constant meat is making him feel sick, yet he doesn't say as much out loud. There's nothing to be done about their situation until the next day.

 

When they've cleaned the bones, they toss them and the furs into a small hole dug in the ground, and shove the dirt over to cover the hiding spot. Sasha told him the first time she had done that that it was to keep from attracting predators. Wryly, the omega wishes he had known that trick for when it could have come in handy for himself months ago.

 

The woman stood crookedly, and the blood seemed to empty from her face and leak to her toes. She looked about ready to hurl, but her composure remained steely. Maple's thoughts jumble together, trying not to think about the pain she's going through, or how intimidating her resilience was. His arms wrapped around his frame, shielding himself from the cold shivers she gave him.

She didn't seem to care about the looks he was giving her, and shifted her back to him as she tries to make herself comfortable on the ground. It's hard and cold, and adds pressure to bruises she didn't even know she had, but she bites her lip against the misery. Every day feels like her lowest point, but this day especially. Sasha resents herself for leaving her omega in the middle of the woods - freezing and hungry in the dead of night. Anything could have happened to him and she's lucky nothing did, but it was foolish of her. She shakes her head, trying to sleep off the shame.

Behind her, Maple lays down to do the same. Without much else to do, he rests his boredom and his body. He doesn't dream this time and feels better for it.

 

 


 

 

Sasha keeps her word and they're up and travelling the next morning. She looks worse than the night before, but Maple doesn't say anything - and neither does she. She's lazer-focused on retracing her steps, and carefully pointing out the obstacles. When red oozes from her wounds again she doesn't even notice, and continues using her hand as if it wasn't broken.

Her index finger lifts to point out the tall gates ahead and her whole hand shakes with it. The omega actually worries about her, but tries to reason with himself. He only cares because she's his food source - his protection. Right?

He isn't given much time to think about his feelings as the woman ushers him one-handed into the small clearing that lines the gates.

The whole thing is a garrish gray and mottled black hunk of metal; less like a fence and more like a welders first art piece. A few parts are carugated and some are flat, others have little bumps and ridges. He can see the patchwork from any distance, but the whole thing looks sturdy regardless. At the top of it lays spirals of razored wires, brambled together like a long little bush of spikes and sharp things. It doesn't look like anyone could get past that.

Some of the wires and sheets of metal are rusted brown, and the alpha cautions that they really don't want to get cut by that. She's left scratching her head - at a loss for how to get over - but she marches Maple down the almost never ending gates as if she had a plan anyway.

The man toys with a loose thread on his sleeve, keeping his hand occupied. His eyes shift from side to side, trying to remember where they came from, in case something bad happens. Sashas good hand radiates warmth on his back, but it feels more agitating than soothing. He finds himself looking back to the tree-line often - taking note of anything that looks suspicious.

Sasha just rubs circles between his shoulder blades, purring softly. It's an absent-minded motion and she does it more on impulse than anything. Her eyes are tracking the fence, looking for any inconsistencies or a place where she can wedge them through - though she doubts she'll find that.

They walk for minutes - long enough for her to believe the fence was endless. Each stretch felt like coming up against a dead-end and Sasha begins to wonder if all of this was worth it if they couldn't even get in. She's tempted to take a stick and unravel the wires but she knows that wouldn't work. Looking at the metal was beginning to make her nauseous and a little bit angry. 

Blood loss was taking affect, but the woman tried her damndest to soldier through it. Her vision blurred ever so slightly, and her mouth was so dry her tongue stuck to her teeth. She stumbled often, and placed her hand on the omegas shoulder to steady herself. It left wet marks on his jacket, but the omega ignored it. 

Her skin was starting to glisten in the sunlight and the shine of it blinded the man like lens flares on a t.v screen. Still, he said nothing - figuring that if the alpha could keep moving than hopefully she'd be alright. He tried not to react to her in general, yet the hair on the back of his head did stand up when she sighed loudly in relief.

Maple spared a glance her way and found her standing before a large opening. Two sliding doors - closed and probably locked - stood before them, razorless and innocuous. To Sasha, it was the most wonderful site in the world; it was shelter. 

The woman curled her broken hand close to her chest, right over her heart, and slung her rope over the top. There were little planks and notches on the doors that she put her feet on to scale the walls. She silently thanks her uncle for all those ridiculous mountain climbing lessons she used to hate as she pushes herself over and lands harshly on her feet. The landing hurt, a lance of pain running up her achilles heel, but she dismisses the temporary distraction and wraps the other end of the rope around her middle - securing some the length in her good hand.

Sasha calls for the omega to follow suit and she feels the tug of his heavier body on the opposite side of the gate. He struggles up slowly, taking way more time than she did, and seemingly losing breath as he did so. An ache builds up in her wrist as she exhausts her strength attempting to get him over the side.

When he gets to the other side he loops the rope around the grates at the top and lowers himself down comfortably. It doesn't take as long as it did when he was climbing up and the omega reaches the bottom in under a minute. His shoes thump softly against the earth as he lands gracefully.

Sashas already loosening the rope from the gate, hoping to get a move on, but her omega is already two steps ahead of her. As soon as she turns around Maple has left her in the dust and his feet kick up dirt as he blasts across an open field. Sasha barely had time to take stock of their surroundings before she's off chasing her omega. 

Maple has the lead on her and runs wildly, arms flailing above his head and feet falling in uneven patterns. He waves desperately, screaming out "Help me, please!" over and over - praying there's a soul out there who can hear him. There's only a few empty looking tents and a well from what he can see at his distance, but it doesn't stop him from begging.

He's dashing into fresh soil, leaving imprints of his cheap shoes and nearly getting his foot stuck with how hard they slammed into the ground. But even with his headstart and comparably healthier body, the woman is right on his tail, gaining ground by the second. Her good hand is outstretched, looking to snatch him up when she gets close enough.

Maple puts all the strength he can into his legs, making them burn with use. He's running out of breath, but his heart beats rapidly and his lungs don't give up so neither does he. His brave moments don't last too long, and his pleads into the air are cut short. He swears he could hear them echo faintly as he's tackled to the ground.

Though he lands on his back, his first thought goes to the pups in his stomach and he screechs in pretend pain to get the woman off him. She's panting like crazy on top of him and the sweat from her forehead drips into his eyes and down his skin. She looks paler than she did last night but the omega doesn't care right now. He's still kicking out his feet and yelping as loud as he can, conveying his worry over his brood. His hands plant themselves beneath his little pudge protectively and refuse to move.

The alphas brows are arched in a frown and there's heat behind her eyes, but she's too busy coughing and spluttering for any concise scolding. She's holding herself together by a thread and the omega can see the softening resolve. Her wheezes are the only sounds being shared between them and the omega pityingly diverts his gaze from her struggling.

Which is when he catches the spill of blood steadily staining her shirt. Her open coat hides some of it, but he can clearly see fresh red mixing with the green fabric and making it darker. He's mesmerized by the expanding patch and it doesn't fully register to him that she is bleeding out on top of him.

Somehow, the woman catches her breath enough to sluggishly flip him over. She's supposed to be gripping his neck with her teeth but she feels too tired. She wants to lay her head on his back, but the sound of clanking metal and boots plodding on dirt puts her on high alert. Sasha smells the tobacco smoke and fresh bacon before she sees who it belongs to.

Her gun is drawn in less than a second and pointed shakily at the four men encircling her. Spasms cause the firearm to jump in her grasp but she still holds it purposefully. Despite the shoddy looking gunmanship, the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes tells the strangers she won't hesitate to protect her omega.

One man with a rounded mustache and long beard steps forward cautiously. His hands aren't up but Sasha is too tired to give a shit. His belt rustles and the metal of his buckle clicks against the bullet rounds shimmied around his waist. He's wearing too much dark gray camouflage and his shoes are dirtier than a pig pen after Thanksgiving. Most of his hair is stuffed under a bucket hat, but the few blond strands that stick out look dull.

The man clears his throat with a lopsided and fatherly smirk on his face. "Somebody called for help?"

Silence hangs around for a bit, and Maple wonders if Sasha isn't replying out of stubbornness or lack of oxygen.

Maple feels nervous in his position, and completely unsure if screaming at the top of his lungs was a good idea. The blond man looks directly at him and the omega gets a chill down his spine.

"Well? What's all this?" The man tries to make conversation.

Sasha breathes in deep, wincing, "I'm lookin' for the leader of the Dog Pack. He left us a treat and now I'd like to meet him." 

"Ooh, sounds ominous. Well that's a no-can-do, little lady. Runts don't just meet the head honcho on the first day. You need to learn the order first."

"Who said I wanted to join you?"

"You climbed that fence didn't you? Tracked us down all the way here - on foot by the looks of it." He assessed her, taking in the tears of her clothing and the blood. "You're lookin all beat up there, ain't ya? We gotta doc and a few nurses - they could patch you up. Even got someone who takes care of 'megas."

Sasha flicks the safety off and cocks her gun, but the blond man doesn't notice and just keeps jabbering. The whole time Maple is laying corpse still under his alpha.

"We can get him all clean, groomed, ready for-"

The woman growls, surprisingly rumbly and clear considering how out of sorts she looks.

"Easy now." The man placates, "We don't do growlin' 'round these parts. Puts everyone on edge and we can't have that. Ain't that right boys?"

His groupies don't say a word, fingers itching to grab their own guns and respond to the womans intoned threats. Each one is dressed just like the blond man, with the exception of the bucket hat. Waxed goatees and neatly shaven mustaches adorn their faces, and the woman wonders what fucking luxury barbershop they go to in the middle of the apocalypse.

"Don't mind 'em, they're like mutes sometimes..." The blond man half mutters to himself, as if he dislikes his companions quite nature too. "Mind my manners! I ain't introduced myself!" He says, abashedly. "I'm Roland, Rogue team One leader."

He holds out his hand briefly, but retracts it when he realizes she won't be shaking it anytime soon. He wipes it on his pants awkwardly.

"Right... Well, I'm basically these guys boss.." He lamely gestures to his crew.

"Anyone else I should know about?" Sasha remarks.

Roland chuckles, "This ain't all of 'em, little lady. No siree."

Maple hasn't said a word - scared to so much as breath through the tension. He thinks it's a trick of the light, but he sees the finger nails on her trigger hand go blue and shuts his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the blood spill if she shoots.

"We're leaving now." She says confidently, but he can hear the bullets in the stock shake, like loose change in a metal pocket.

She raises herself to a crouch and the gun in her hand can't hold a steady target. The four men think she's threatening them and immediately put their fingers to their holsters. Each persons actions is putting the other on edge and the cloud of smoke all their aggressive scents give off is making the omega choke.

Sasha lifts her weapon higher than their heads and the men become confused. She slurs something out but no one can tell what she's saying. Roland steps closer and despite being barely six feet away from her, her gun still can't find his head - or anywhere on his body.

She loosens her grip involuntarily before trying to communicate again. It's just small murmurs that only Maple can hear, but it's utter nonsense. He can't see it, but he knows her lips must be blue too and at this point the men look a bit worried as well.

Without warning, the alpha stands completely. She's taller than Roland expected and his eyebrows raise, but that thought takes a back seat when the gun slips through her grasp like sand. Sasha's eyes roll into the back of her head and her body falls weightlessly into the grass. The green has drops of red on it, and Maple first thinks what a shame it is that she filthied such a beautiful thing.

 

 

Notes:

I'm coming up with different words for parents since there's going to be so much various in parentage in this fic. So in this, when you see the word 'Abbey' it means Male Omega Mother(or birther). I'll clarify further in the accompanying A/B/O guidebook whenever I get around to updating that.

Anyways, comments always welcome!

Chapter 8: Chapter Six: Intensive unit

Summary:

Sasha wakes up confused - and without her omega.

Notes:

I'm pretty proud of my commitment to this story actually. Like yeah, each installment takes a lot of time and effort but it's so rewarding every time I publish an episode.

Thanks for sticking with me!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Nicotine puffs lazily into the air and pours like water into the lungs of the unconscious alpha. Ashes from a dirty cigarette fall as if they were snowflakes, sprinkling the small end table between the patient bed and guest chair. Fingernails scratch roughly over stubble, and a gruff rumble resounded. Thin lips part and blow out the chemicals for the room to swallow.

It hurts to move her neck, but Sasha wants badly to get away from the suffocating smell. She feels boneless - like her limbs are made of Jello. A dry heaving cough struggles out of her, battling to break free against the tube down her throat. Her tongue touches it, and she gags. The gurgling that comes from her sounds like someone drowning underwater.

By now, the body next to her has shifted. She can only crack her eyes open a small bit, but it appears to be a man standing over her. He looks blurred - just faint brushstrokes of color and an outline of a person. He barely moves, yet, somehow, Sasha can tell he's staring straight through her.

She hears him call out - probably to someone nearby - but she can't make out the words. His voice is a deep timbre - or maybe it's because her hearings muffled. Dumbly, she thinks someone has stuffed cotton in her ears. 

There's cold on her arm - at least she thinks it's her arm - and another person's presence enters the room. Maybe that person touched her, but she can't feel any fingers - just cold. The ebb and flow of her consciousness makes everything seem surreal. Like the world around her is there, but not really.

Minutes pass as if they were seconds, and people's presence flits back and forth. She isn't sure if some of them are the same folks or not. Her head started throbbing, the middle of her skull beating like a drum. So she stopped trying to think and let herself slip back into a deep sleep.

 

 


 

 

Sashas muscles work before her brain does. Within seconds she's shot straight up and panting, the tube long gone from her throat. It left a soreness in its wake - bruising an already burning esophagus. The alpha coughed until she felt she would hack blood and reached her hand out for the water on the nightstand. She gulped it down with reckless abandon, but it did nothing to quell the pain.

She took stock of her surroundings, noting the emptiness of the room and her beds position between a window on one side and a door on the other. Sasha knows she didn't hallucinate the man though, and she continues to scan for any sign he might be back soon.

When she finds nothing, she focuses on herself and the pain in her body. Her legs feel just fine, but everything else throbs like an angry blister. She wants to hurry up and fix it yet she knows she's not in a position to right now. The new environment just heightens that sense of urgency, and she tells herself she needs to get out of here.

A bright silver cuff links her wrist to the bedside handles. It's an actual gurney, like at hospitals, and she's left feeling even more confused - wondering how someone could have gotten this. The cuffs looked deceptively slim so she gives it an experimental tug. There's not much she can do with that hand when it's swaddled in a mitten made of bandages. She tries to flex her fingers and feels something shift in between the muscles of her arm. 

All these fucking wires are running up her arm and attached to needles under her skin. She peels the tape holding them down and gets a good look at her own veins. It doesn't take much effort to pull them out and she flings them to the side like trash.

Some flecks of her plasma stain the sheets where the needles land and she sneers at them. She couldn't feel more than a pinch from them but she still hated the sensation of the metal sliding out of her flesh. Sasha doesn't dwell on it though, and she doesn't hesitate removing the rest of the gadgets keeping her bed-bound. 

There's this device clamped on her index finger and she snaps it off quickly. The beeping is especially annoying to her ears now that she can hear, and she sordidly wishes the muffled cotton feel would come back. Her head feels full of bricks and it's tipping off her balance - she favors one side more as she hangs her legs off the side of the stretcher.

Her eyes close briefly, trying to keep her vision from spinning like a merry-go-round. It doesn't work very well, and Sasha exhales roughly. She wants to lay back down and wait it out but she knows that something isn't right; that something really important is missing. 

The chain connecting her to the bed handle is strong, and her pulling on it doesn't so much as loosen it up. When she tries slipping her wrist out she's cautious, trying not to break anything, but eventually gives up. The discarded needles gleam at her mischievously, and she snatches them up.

It takes a second longer to release herself than it would have had she been in top-notch physical condition. Even standing up she sways precariously, the floor seeming to dance under her toes - which she only now realizes she's barefoot. She holds herself up shakily until a lance of pain runs through her side and she topples over. 

She tastes salt in her mouth, and too much saliva, and knows what's coming next. Sasha practically drags herself to the contaminants bin and rips the lid open. Bile burns her already raw throat and she feels like she can't breathe while her stomach heaves up water and acid. The bin is next to a foldable table, and she can see clear plastic drawers with labels right on top of it.

The letters on the labels stir like soup and she can't make them out. Her head throbs demandingly, the saliva building up again, and she ducks her head down to let her body finish. 

When she's done, sweat beads on her skin. Sasha struggles to her feet but manages to stay up this time. Her hand smacks against the desk only once to keep herself upright, and she feels oddly proud of that. 

There's a window next to the bed, but the electric shudders are closed. She doesn't know what's waiting out there for her, or who might be watching, so she shies away from opening it. It's a good decision too, considering how much the little light from the lamp on the foldable is already making her eyes sting.

Her eyes catch the clipboard and a couple of loose scattered papers on the table. There's a small bench sat at it, and she realizes the writing on one of the papers has barely dried. A bird feather and small cap of what looks like ink rests innocuously, which makes Sasha frown. She's only ever seen those in the movies.

The alpha skims the chart, reading about the saline administrations she's been given and her heart rate and temperature. There are tags and time stamps under the doses, and the two different names raise questions in her head. Otherwise, it's boring and irrelevant stuff and she skips over it when she realizes each log is close to the same. 

But when she flips the page she reads very carefully, willing her eyes to zero in. There's a whole compare and contrast section, coupled with a graph and a daily entry. She doesn't know some of the medical terms used but she gets the gist of it and it shocks her. Sashas stomach churns as she reads each letter and she fights against her body to keep from hurling again.

The sound of the beeping monitor fades like background noise when the world comes into hyper-focus. Everything looked too clear - too surreal to her. She pinches herself, trying to ground herself, yet it continues to feel like she's caught on the edge of a dream.

She shakes her head and her hair falls over her eyes like a raven curtain. Her brain hurts at the motion, the pain blooming all around the temple as if it were a flower crown. Her thoughts swam back and forth, pacing between denial and confusion. They kept me alive, she thinks, why? 

The hard pad of shoes rapidly fall outside of the door to her room. She hears the approaching steps and quickly digs her hand through the plastic drawers for something sharp. There's a pair of surgical scissors and she clasps it tightly while half hiding it behind her body. She doesn't suspect they're hostile, but she tells herself it's just in case.

Sasha backs up from the door and closer to her bed on the side of the room. When the footsteps are right outside, she breathes out evenly(or as evenly as she could manage). The tremble in her hands become bolder, but she tightens them into fists.

The doorknob turns and suddenly there's more than one person in the entrance.

Three men and a woman stare impassively at the alpha standing to attention in front of them. The woman in the group wears faded pink scrubs and Sasha infers that she must be a nurse. Among the three, neither looked like the man that found Sasha and Maple in the field, rather they looked-

Maple!, she panics. 

ohmygodohmygodohmygod

"Where is he!?" She demands.

At that, the man in the middle frowns. His pristine ironed lab coat gives him an air of authority, and his imposing stance - back straight, head high, feet perfectly planted - ticks her off to his military background. Despite the situation, she feels instinctual trust at the knowledge.

Yet the two of them are caught in a kind of standoff. The mans bushy brows remain quirked as he quickly takes stock of her lopsided form. There isn't much seeable skin in her hospital garb, but what is visible is no longer covered in bright purple and throbbing red bruises. Her feet are pointed awkwardly but it doesn't look re-sprained, and her hand - heavily bandaged as it is - doesn't look to be causing her much trouble, pain-wise.

Contrary to her current state, when she was first delivered to him she was littered head to toe with scrapes, cuts, and mottled skin. She was paler than the moon and was soaking through her shirt with her own sweat. She smelled like outside and alpha must, absolutely trashing the room with her scent. The bloodloss didn't give him much hope she'd make it, but Ryland insisted he at least try. 

Learning how they found her later flabbergasted him. He thought, no one should be able to give chase while in hypovolemic shock. The 1-inch diameter branch impaled in her side should have immobilized her in agony or killed her at worst. She looked one foot in the grave on the first day, but now...

He makes mental notes about her recovery process as his eyes travel back up to her face. The red has returned to her lips, brighter than it's been in days. She's hunched but can otherwise use her legs. The woman was a much stronger fighter than he thought.

Silently, Sasha gives the mans entourage a once-over, noting how out of place the guards look in the small space. They were dressed in dark pieces of denim and leathers, peaks of silver jewelry planted all over their bodies - from the piercings in their faces to the rings on their hands, and so on. She wonders how they still maintained a penchant for accessorizing despite the state of everything. Even the nurse looking woman had a sparkly necklace hung low on her collar, screaming for attention where it lay.

It's too silent, and no-one makes eye contact. She's feeling arrogant despite her injuries and refuses to be the first to speak - even though she knows it makes everyone else edgier. Sasha just isn't in the mood to care how complete strangers feel. If anything, she has more reason to be cautious of them than they do of her.

The nurse looking woman gets fidgety and leans toward the lab coat mans ear to whisper. Even though Sasha can't actually hear what she's saying, just by the scathing little glance her way she can tell it's something judgemental. The man simply hums and reaches into his pocket. 

 

Cold freezes over her. Sasha backs away and the two other men take the guns from their holster, holding them to their sides and not pointing them. They're black and look small in their hands, but she knows how much power is in those things.

But the tension is broken almost as soon as it formed. Mr. Lab Coat retracts a pen from said coat and whips a notebook out - practically from thin air - sighing, put upon by his cohorts.

"Please tell me why you're ready to shoot someone I just saved?" He asks monotonously, without looking at them. "Fucking Alphas..." He mutters as he clicks his pen and gets to writing.

The other men have the decency to look apologetic and one coughs inconspicuously as he tucks his weapon back away. Sasha is still on edge outwardly; inwardly she relaxes around this obviously military man. 

His companions are both littered in tattoos and one has a horned ring punched through the middle of his nose. They are the furthest thing from inviting and Sasha worries how they must have scared her Maple. She feels a small rumble in her ribcage from where her growl wants to rip free.

Bush Brows looks up from his notes and tilts his head slightly. "Any pain?" He asks.

Sasha eyes him for a second, wary, but nods yes after a bit. He takes his time scribbling away, pen never seeming to leave the pad. The yellow of the paper strikes her as odd. She'd ask about all the ancient stuff in his office, but she gets the feeling now wasn't the time.

"Right, on a scale from one to ten?"

It's the womans turn to cock a frown at him.

"I don't really know?" It sounded like a question - rough and scratchy coming from her.

"So almost zero? Lucky you." He gaffed.

"What's going on? I- I don't really remember pain..."

Sasha tries shifting her weight onto her other foot and immediately regrets it.

"Oh my god ..." She wheezes.

"Right, that sounds like an eleven, Miss." He reaches into another pocket and tosses a small packet at her.

She just barely catches it and opens her palms to reveal a neatly packaged morphine pill. She raises it slightly in thanks but doesn't move to use it. It would be impossible to turn around without being found out now so she simply stays and stares, hurting the longer she stands.

"You want to stand or sit? Me? I've been on my feet all day, so I'm taking a seat over there." He limply points to the foldable desk and uncomfy looking bench. "This room's brand spanking new, so of course it lacks style." He drops his notepad on the surface then pats it, "One day though..."

The doctor drones for a small bit about the decor, mentioning gold plates and diamond crests, and Sasha is so close to zoning out before he changes the subject. "Forgive me, you must be feeling it huh?" He looks sympathetic. "Alright, Check up time!"

He removes the stethoscope hung around his neck. It looks just like any doctor tool but somehow more cold and clinical. Before the man puts the little prongs in his ears he gives her a small smile. It's knowing and amusing like he himself seems to be, and Sasha knows the jig is up.

"Before I do anything, you mind putting away whatever it is you're hiding behind your back?" He says it kindly, "The last thing I'd do is hurt you - especially after spending all this time getting you well - and the last thing I'd want is to be hurt."

At that, Sasha guiltily places the scissors on her nightstand, stepping away and limping as she did so. Her side burns like a fire, and every twitch and movement pours gasoline on the flames. She tries her best to be graceful, but it's impossible. Her face crumples and breath hitches, and she thinks the weakness must not be a good look on her.

The doctor scoots the bench closer to her, a hideous screech echoing across the tile as he does so. When he's just inches from her, he looks up at her softly, very attentive to her reactions. Sasha can't really explain it, but the guy gives her a warm feeling. Even though the room is spartan and lifeless, and his devices so cold ancient, she feels such positive radiation from this person whose name she didn't even know yet.

Sasha clears her throat, the rumble in her chest completely gone by now. "What's your name?"

"I'm Doctor Nathan Zhang, your - and everyone else's - primary practitioner." The way he answers was uninterested and rehearsed as he puts the stethoscope in his ears and slowly places it under her collarbone near her heart.

Contact with someone other than Maple gives her a revolting sensation. It's like her skin turned to cream and someone's taking a scoop out of it. She doesn't gag, surprisingly, but does shudder. Doctor Zhang ignores it, taking no offense, and continues listening to her lungs and heartbeat. 

He avoids getting too close to the back of the womans neck and performs the rest of the check with the average amount of caution he extends to his alpha patients. She looks like she appreciates the effort, yet he knows she's still pretty uncomfortable. He doesn't blame her; he knows if he were in the same situation he'd have some pretty rough feelings too. 

"Your name is Sasha right?"

She nods - apprehensive.

"Ryland told me."

"And how'd he know that?" She asks.

"I don't know - he never said. Maybe he's psychic." He jokes.

The woman doesn't find it funny though. 

Dr. Zhang doesn't let any silence follow, singlehandedly keeping the conversation from flatlining like a heartattack patient. His disposition seems nice enough to Sasha, but she finds herself annoyed by all the beating around the bush. The smell of sterilizers and clean linens made the room feel too small - too inhuman. She just wanted a warm bed and her omega -

"Where is he?" She interrupts softly, asking much nicer the second time.

Babbling from the doctor immediately stops, and he peers at her genuinely confused. She can't scent anything on him or the goons behind him. There was no glint of recognition in their eyes, no antsy reactions to the question; No sign that any of them had been around Maple at all.

"Um, where's who?"

"My omega. He came here with me - was right beside me when I passed out. Where is he?"

He looks unbelieving at first, but one glance back at his cohorts confirms her claim. They all shake their heads as if to deny any knowledge of the woman's claims.

To Dr. Zhang's credit, he seems to take the sudden information in stride. He makes a few quick marks on his note pad but Sasha can't read the letters at her angle. His fingers are quick, the scratch of his pen sounding off only briefly. Sasha's ears had twitched at the noise.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware of any omega. I... Well I assumed..." He drifts. The shift in the atmosphere is oppressive and Sasha swears she could taste the apprehension on her tongue - like slowly rising and crashing waves building into a colossal hurricane. The carefulness of the doctor's tone began to annoy her.

"Just tell me where he is." 

"Right... Look, I don't know about any omega, but I know someone who might. Once we get you all checked out I'll bring the guy by, how's that sound?"

The doctor appears earnest, his brown eyes true and patient. Maybe it's his subtle beta scent that gives her a false sense of trustworthiness, but she doesn't have the energy to play detective anymore. There isn't anyone else she could ask - no one whom she knew. Her shoulders sag with the realization.

There's a long pause - long enough for it to feel as if the earth has stopped in it's tracks. She's slow to nod her agreement, but when she does the man smiles - genuine and pleasant. Little crows feet have peppered under his brow bone and dimples contour his cheeks. When the man speaks, his words are laced with a quiet giddiness.

"Now, let's take a look at that wound..."

 

It's an awkward next ten or so minutes. Dr. Zhang is bent uncomfortably applying salves to her wound and retaping some gauze. She dry swallows the pills he gives her and swears she can hear them tumbling down her throat with how parched she is. Neither of the guards has relaxed fully and the nurse is tapping her foot just waiting to get out of there. 

The expression on the nurse's face makes Sasha feel thoroughly scolded, despite the women never speaking a word to each other as of yet. She wonders what the other woman is thinking, why her medical shoes have drops of blood on the pink plastic, and just how someone so youthful can also look wise beyond her years.

Her jaw is set and also strong - alpha-like - and it gives the other woman the impression that in another life they could've been two great rivals. Alas, according to her scent, the nurse was yet another beta.

"What's your friends names?" Sasha asks.

"Them?" The doctor glances backward but quickly continues his work, "That's nurse Reya, Bender, and David. Respectively." He angles himself towards his colleagues, "Won't y'all say hi?" 

Nurse Reya looks between Sasha and Dr. Zhang and her expression is indecipherable. Some kind of conclusion was drawn in her head because the next second, she's preparing a needle with fluid and speaking softly to the alpha. "You owe us - you owe me - a huge favour for saving your ass."

"Nurse Reya." Dr. Zhang lightly chides with a sigh. The nurse doesn't say another word for a while, quietly administering care and avoiding eye contact. A few times the nurse gets close enough that Sasha can smell the scent of apples wafting from her blonde hair. Initially, Sasha thought that she was imagining it, but it became unmistakable as time passed.

Somehow these people had all the amenities one could possibly want. Their hygiene was impeccable - Their clothes fresh and crisp, teeth clean, hair freshly shampooed. By apocalypse standards, they were well off.

How?

"Where are we right now?"

The Doctor scribbles a note on his pad, then clicks his pen closed. "Intensive unit, Medbay." He stands, motioning for the tattoed lackeys to come closer. 

"What are you doing!?"

"You're all checked up, and you seem to be recovering nicely, but-" He winces, "I'm going to need you to rest at least one more day."

Sasha opens her mouth to protest, her eyes blazing with anger. Her face is reddening and her fingers flex, visage transforming from mild to aggressive. Though Dr. Zhang was one step ahead of her, and Bender and David grip her shoulders and drag her kicking and screaming back to her bed. They hold her, both deftly avoiding the feet aiming at their valuables. The sound of velcro unwrapping reaches her ears and her thrashing grows stronger - and much more painful.

"No!" She screeches, "Give me my omega! You can't keep him from me!"

She feels the rough straps cross her chest. It chafes with her wriggling but she ignores it. These men are stronger than her in her weakened state, yet she still fights with the little strength she has left. Her arms were immobilized swiftly, so she drove all the force she could behind her kicks.

It was rough and animalistic, and desperate. How could she just lay back after being separated from her omega? It was her very purpose to fight for him, and being kept away from him hurt more than her wounds. She didn't want to give up.

But the fight ended in defeat. It took a cool touch to her arm, and the small pinch of a needle administering tranquilizers into her system, then the energy drained from her - like water poured out of a bottle. Her legs were strapped up, but she couldn't remember when that happened. The walls and the ceiling warped around her, dancing menacingly. Eggshell colors kaleidoscope into draining whirlpools that lead to the abyss.

"You can't- you can't keep him-" she panted, "-from me..."

She heard no response. She heard nothing at all in fact. Nor did she smell or feel. She only tasted salt and saw black.

 


 

Someone was banging against her skull. Thunderous blows landed in circles around it, begging to crack and break away the bone, leaving her mushy brain vulnerable. Every time she tried to think it just hit harder, making pain spike through her thoughts. She wanted to throw up, but she was afraid to lift her head - fearing it might fall off.

Sasha didn't want to move. She barely wanted to be conscious at that moment, but the pounding in her temples just wouldn't show any mercy. It attaches to the voices speaking in what she thinks is the doorway. She refuses to open her eyes, but the headache has already taken hold of her hearing.

It's amazing how far the voices seem to reach. She can make out most of what Dr. Zhang is saying, and has enough wherewithal to wonder who the other man speaking is.

"Overall, we're only going to need a quarter of our gauze storage replaced. She's been unexpectedly low maintenance since I took her off the breather days ago. I meant to get the energy report from Areesh, but she's definitely used more than the courtesy." Dr. Zhang exposits.

The other man grunts in response.

"And if I'm being honest, we need the entire intensive unit restocked. As for her, I'm officially declaring her fit to work later this evening."

The other man hums, then his husky grating voice responds, "Clear her now. My brother is getting impatient."

"I thought he gave you 'till the end of the week?"

"He did, but so far it's just me, Shiro, and a couple of runts. Nobody's racking up debt by the end. Hell, I'm lucky she was this...unlucky"

"Yeah." The doctor agrees, "wait, why is Shiro going?"

"If I stood here and told you, I'd waste your entire day." The man snorts or maybe chuckles, she can hardly tell. "Is she good to go?"

"A shot of alpha hormones and a couple painkillers later? definitely." She hears the click of a sense-pen resonate, and the voices halt for one moment that seems like forever.

"Look... You may need to talk to her."

"I will when she's ready to go."

"No, I mean sooner. It's... Important." The doctor sighs, "I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise, but she's resilient enough this could be a problem down the line."

There's an audible deep breath inwards and she takes the liberty of assuming it came from Zhang. "I know it's not my place, but I'd urge your brother to reconsider if I were you. If she's survived this long alone then she clearly knows what she's doing - she must know how to fight - and I'm sure she would be incredibly useful if given the chance. I-"

"I'll keep that in mind."

"That's-"

"Don't make me remind you of your place, Nate. I'm not making exceptions for her on your behalf."

"But you haven't-"

The doctor is cut off by Sasha springing upright to retch over the side of her bed. It's a rugged sound - painful - and her audience winces. Even though she doesn't notice, the alpha man gives off an empathetic scent and grits his teeth with her. She's too concerned with trying to control her breathing to so much as glance at the men in the room for a full minute.

Her tailbone and back are sore and she suspects her neck will cramp like hell for the next couple of hours. At first, she thinks her rough treatment earlier had something to do with it but she's getting the kind of body aches one feels after a drunken night on a cheap couch. The regret of waking up seeps into her bones and cradles her skull as the pounding at her temples continues a torturous rhythm. 

As a result, the alphas movements are short and choppy. Her fingers grip the edge of the bed as she swings her legs over, and ice chills shoot up her palm. The room is practically the temperature of a meat freezer, and her shoulders immediately shiver at the realization. Sasha hugs her arms around herself - surveying the room only briefly. Her attention turns to the men, and her voice sounds rough to her own ears when she speaks.

"Who the hell are you?" She rasps.

The man sizes Sasha up, his shoulders squaring and somehow broadening. There are hard lines all across his face, especially under his eyes, and his thin lips stretch to a grin before her. His neatly groomed beard contradicts his messy long hair, making him look both well kept and utterly feral. The grass stains all over his clothes don't mesh well with his denim heavy outfit and mar his jacket.

She narrows her eyes at the patches raking up and down each panel of the jacket. The alpha woman has seen that sort of get-up in the past and it sparks unpleasant memories right off the bat - ones that cause her to audibly scoff and sneer at the man. To his credit, he doesn't seem fazed as he continues to search her visually.

Dr. Zhang looks between the two apprehensively, not at all missing the tension. He's the only one there who isn't staring someone down like they owe him debt - yet his appearance is that of an overworked and slightly peeved warden keeping the peace among two unruly prisoners. Except only one of them qualifies as a prisoner.

"Sasha, this is Randall; vice president."

"What?" she asks, incredulous.

"Basically leader." the man, Randall, answers.

"He's the person I told you I'd bring by to help you," Dr. Zhang chimes in, "About your omega?"

Randall stiffens as if on cue.

 His unease makes her hackles raise - his whole demeanor giving her douchebag vibes. He gives the doctor a look that she can't quite describe. A twisted mix between annoyed and testy.

"I don't know shit about any fucking omega, Nate, I swear to-"

"He needs me." Sasha chokes out, "He's mine. I'll tear through every last one of you to get to him if I have to; so don't make me have to." 

There's a stunned, short pause before Randall bellows out genuine laughter. His smile stretches wide with it as he tips his head back, his arm slung across his belly to keep him upright. It's contemptuous and rusty, like the sound of an old truck engine trying its damndest to start up. She decides she hates it.

"Oh we got a badass now do we?" he mocks through waning chuckles, "How's that been working out for you?" Randall nudges Dr. Zhang with his elbow hard enough to make him flinch. "Get her cleared."

"Now hold on a second-" The doctor pleads, but the Vice is already halfway out the door. Sasha snorts derisively, her nose upturned to the situation as she works herself out of all the medical devices and tries breaking the handcuffs. 

The doctor feels heat crawl through his veins at being ignored.

"Goddamnit! Randall drop the bureaucratic bullshit and just fucking talk to her!" He shouts at the retreating figure. It pauses in response but Zhang doesn't turn to look at him, instead snatching a holo chart off the nearby desk, and storming out himself. He throws over his shoulder "You better stay in that fucking bed, Sasha, or I'll give you enough tranq to put your ass in a coma! again!" then leaves.

Randall stalled long enough for the following silence to turn awkward. Sasha could see the rise and fall of his broad shoulders, the movement giving away his agitation and contemplation. It took maybe a full minute before the man came walking into the room, heavy footsteps closing the space between them quicker than she could blink. 

His face appeared before hers way too suddenly for her to be comfortable, and the heat from his skin and breath radiated off of him. His smell overpowered her senses, the thickness of the stale cigarette smoke, shaving cream, and liquor scent assaulting her now sensitive nose. The nape of her neck prickled with the razor-sharp feeling of a challenge on the horizon - it was like the pinch of adrenaline before a fight. He was a couple of inches away from her face, their noses almost touching, and she mentally made note of how easy it would be to gauge his eyes from this short distance; his blue-green eyes which shone with ambivalence and annoyance.

"I don't care what Nate told you, I don't have to explain shit to you -  ever He gritted out, "but now that you're here, and the cat might as well be out the bag, maybe you're more useful the less clueless you are"

"You and I, and some other chumps, are going on a little  expedition . This room you're in, this whole hospital wing, doesn't just run off of air and magic fairy dust. We wasted our shit on you, so you're going to give us a little 'thank you'. We roll out to the medmall tomorrow morning. You don't have a choice in this either. If you don't like it, then next time try not to get impaled."

Sasha kept her eyes level with his the whole time, refusing to look elsewhere or to even blink in the face of his aggression. She breathed in deep, trying not to gag on his unnerving stench. "And where are you keeping my omega?"

Randall snorts, features softening. He moves his tongue back and forth in his cheeks, thinking.

"Somewhere safe." He states simply, "And if our mission is successful, who knows what else I could find out about him."

Sasha growls at the perceived threat, teeth itching to tear through the strong flesh of the smarmy man in front of her - but she knows she can't. It's too risky to murder someone so high in the food chain, someone who's actually at least partially willing to tell her about the wellbeing of her omega. 

Randall has already taken the opportunity to walk away, not another word shared between the two as her door is shut and locked from the outside. Sasha throws her head back onto her pillow - a bit too roughly judging by the stinging in her head at the jostling movement. Questions swirl on the empty spot on the ceiling above her, Sashas mind attempting to answer all of them at once, but images of her Maple drowned in fabric and pregnant belly cradled in his hands dispel the pain building in her temple. A tinge of sadness grips her heart, tightening around it like a snake slowly killing its prey. The coldness swallows her, leaving her restless and bed-bound for hours, purely the thought of Maple keeping the blood pumping through her veins - and nothing else.

 

 

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed this, and are excited to learn more about the other survivors. I have so many great ideas for this story that I can't wait for Y'all to read :)

Chapter 9: Chapter Seven: A Sense of Confusion

Summary:

Maples first experience with the omega members of the Dog Pack.

Notes:

I'm nearly almost consistent lol. It took a little more time to write this than I wanted it to, but life gets busy sometimes. What can you do, ya know?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shivers rang out of him like noise rings from a bell. The concrete did nothing to warm his near bare skin, and the metal bars wrapped around him radiated cold. In the silence, there was nothing but the chatter of his teeth to keep him company. Sometimes, there were metallic clinks from behind the bars - the sound of heavy shoes taking hunkering steps. Then he'd hear the drop and scrape of a tray, and the retreat of seemingly the only other person in the universe.

The blindfold itched around his eyes the first day, and though he burned to take it off he didn't dare. His fingers never went past his cheek, never came close to the fabric. The alpha command he was issued throbbed in his skull, an absolutely headache-inducing reminder for days - like an ill-set alarm clock, that doesn't stop droning even after you've woken. The worm of his captors voice has dug deep into the soil of his consciousness and refused to remove itself.

So Maple removed himself from the situation instead. He put his hands where he knows they shouldn't be and allowed himself to touch what he knows he shouldn't touch. Then, just like that, there was warmth, mindlessness, and good feelings. 

Ever since that night in the car, Sasha hasn't touched his cocklett and she certainly hadn't let him touch it himself. He could feel heat and need slithering through his veins - up his length. Arousal always tightly bound under his skin. Tense, like an animal ready to strike. It was hard to get comfortable with it looming over him.

Though he was thankful that the feelings were at least temporary; the arousal coming only in intervals since he passed his first trimester. But nothing stopped him then from soothing his lonesome however he saw fit. 

It wasn't until many days - possibly weeks - later that the omega could see again; could feel anything other than metal under his feet and cold on his skin.   The thin boxers that he was helped to shimmy into were a welcome and relieving change.

He was blinded at first when the fabric was ripped away from his face. His eyelids fluttered rapidly and tears involuntarily rose. The sun was square in the middle of the sky and harsh as ever - bearing down on the motley rows of houses and storefronts. The guards that were forming a cage around him barely reacted.

Maple took a good look at all the small houses and buildings clustered together. It was very sparse, hardly enough to hold their numbers, but there were new-looking huts and lodges made from fresh-cut wood. A few places had looked sparkly clean, and others kept just passable. He was simultaneously in wonder of this haply society and frightened by it. None of the adults looked at him, or even acknowledged he existed, despite his newness and his smell. 

Somehow, a person - an omega - under guard being guided through their establishment raised no eyebrows and warranted no discussions. He wanted to be happy that no one focused on him after the time he endured being the center of Sashas world, but it didn't exactly feel good to be ignored either. After just a few steps forward, he caught himself wishing someone would say hello, or nod in his direction, or even just look him in the eyes. 

He wanted someone to come to his rescue - like they did in the movies. Maple tried to catch their eyes, to plead for help with just his face, but no one caught on. No one came to ask if he was okay. Instead, people milled about, getting on with routines or speaking to each other.

Yet the children saw him - and they spoke into one another's ears mischievously before chasing after the guards leading him. They bundled together, seeming to race against his entourage. Some of the small ones tripped over themselves and almost fell, eliciting a small whine from Maple. The pups just continued trailing, oblivious to the worry they were giving him.

Their mothers didn't seem to be nearby and it made him search the area for any sign that the kids were being watched. But his leash was wrapped around one guard's hand tightly. The thick muscle cording his arms flexed with each yank. He was unyielding and brisk in his stride, it was impossible for Maple to slow his pace without being choked.

Still, he turned his head as much as he could when the children came close enough for him to see all their small pudgy faces. Most smiled at him but some looked curious and some Iooked scared. One kid reached out a chubby finger to poke him before a guard growled at them and they quickly retreated. Maple couldn't tell if the kid knew what was going on - if they were used to this.

The gaggle of pups followed them, excited and obnoxious, until they stopped at the end of a street, behind a row of houses. Suddenly, the pups had found something better to do; bashfully dispersing and vanishing back to the little town. Maples entourage seemed amused by the retreating children, and, unless it was a trick of the light, he swears one was smirking.

The guard cleared his throat, leveling his gaze on the thing they were parked in front of. The grass was obscenely tall behind these houses where it had been short and maintained in the front and at other properties, and smack in the middle of the overgrown lawns was a mint green shed. It was too big and weathered, but the wood looked Sturdy - except for the faded and peeling green paint hugging onto the exterior.

Its presence imposed itself tackily, just sitting there and standing out in the most garish way possible. Oddly, it smelled like it belonged there - it smelled like home. Like a house full of vanilla candles and springtime breeze. The contrast between the look of the shed and the aura of it made Maple uneasy. It felt deceptive - like a trap.

From the outside, it was hard to tell what it was supposed to be. Once inside, however, its purpose was unmistakable.

It was a milking outhouse.

The omegas eyes almost bugged out when he saw the stations. On either wall were contraptions, small and big, with omegas working together to gather their milk. Brazen moans rose from some of the men and women as the pungent smell of Omegas milk filtered through the air. The doors were wide open and yet the scent stuck to everything, even the roof of Maples mouth.

One guard adjusts his pants right before another drags Maple to the center. The guard tells him he'll get used to it, then grabs his partner and leaves the omega by himself. The closing of the doors after them makes him jump in his skin.

He stood awkwardly for a bit, trying to avoid eye contact with the other omegas openly expressing themselves in front of him, but another omega noticed him right away.

Soft and gentle hands had found their way to his shoulders and swam down his arm to across his chest. He was too shocked to react at that moment - until fingers pinched his nipples and he sprung away with a yelp. A few other omegas jolted with the surprising sound but the rest ignored it hazily. 

A short woman with a shaven head stood amusedly before him. Her hands had planted themselves on her hips and her eyebrow was cocked. Light muscles rippled through her arms, compact and formidable, and a silver ring hung from the septum of her nose. The lopsided smile on her face could only be described as wonderfully bubbly. She looked proud and strong, and for a second he thought an alpha had infiltrated the milk outhouse.

Sweet milk glistened from around her own nipples and down her stomach, spilling sluggishly. Her breasts were slightly pink and hung a bit, the nipples stiff. They looked puffy and spent - not that he was looking, of course! - and Maple turned his attention back to the wandering eyes before him. 

She spoke, "Don't be scared. No alphas here." 

He could feel the light flicker out in his eyes - hope lost. Her speech was stilted like she struggled to string together what she had just said. She spoke like she might be a breeding bitch - a kind of omega purposely left uneducated by their alpha, because of the hundreds of millions of alphas who preferred their breeding bitches stupid. He felt bad for her, but he also feared for himself. He could guess what kind of Alpha wouldn't even teach his omega proper english, and he didn't want to stay around to confirm his suspicions.

"Bath?" She asked, nose impolitely rankled.

Maple eyed the tub the little lady pointed to, and almost cried in relief. He didn't let her ask twice before he hopped in and figured out how to get the tap running. Hot water washed over his toes as the tub began to fill, and Maple sighed in delight - ignoring his wet boxer briefs. 

Inviting herself to his party, the buzzcut woman sat on the floor at the edge, legs folded under her. She smiled brightly at him, revealing gleaming white teeth, as she cupped water in her hands and dumped it over his head. He was left sputtering and with no time for recovery as she repeated the action once more.

Her shampoo lathered hands dug into his stringy locks and cleaned every particle, seen and unseen. The water darkened with the grime from his body but he didn't care. He didn't even care that a complete stranger was washing him. It had been that way for months now, and where he would have cried and shied away in the past, he simply lay and let the woman hurry with her work.

He didn't dare look at his body under the water - didn't dare trace her movements with his eyes. The tub was uncomfortable, the water only bordering on warm and the porcelain digging into his back. It was like being washed in a concrete cradle. His shoulders refused to relax. How could they?

It was a miracle he found the confidence to close his eyes despite how on edge he felt. His shoulders sunk as his mind attempted to lull. Even though he didn't like imagining what was in store for him, his head was his only safe space right then. He wanted that safety just for a moment, at least.

Not more than ten minutes passed before he felt tapping on his shoulder and the woman intently hustling him out of the cooling water. She spoke softly, and the intelligence in her eyes contrasted her speech. Yet, she looked happy enough - or at least contended - which confused Maple to no end.  How can an omega be happy like that?

As the water drained noisily, the woman grabbed his hand and led him over to a bench where a small handheld pump rested. The bench looked newly made, not even polished, which is probably why it was covered with blankets and pillows. It was right next to the tub - nestled in a corner.

From there, he had a birdseye view of everyone else but was also hidden enough to avoid wondering attention. It was the perfect spot. It just wasn't exactly soft and nest-ly. 

The woman still had his hands clutched in hers and Maples eyes glued to their connected digits. They were soft and warm - the complete opposite of his cold and calloused ones. She didn't look like she had been through much labor if any at all. Her touch was gentle and intimate, and Maple hated to admit it felt good after all his isolation.

"My name is Maple" He offered weakly.

"May-Pul." The woman tried the name on her tongue experimentally, before excitedly nodding and pointing to herself, "I'm Noon!"

Her smile practically burns through the ozone layer. Her teeth are meticulous - not a wayward tooth or a single yellow spot in sight. He's impressed but even more confused. 

Now that he looks at her -  really  looks at her - she looks almost flawless; as if she were airbrushed in real life. Not a spot of acne or pimples, nor dry skin or cracked nails, nor body hair. Noon was primped up and plush like she ate well, her eyes glittered and sparkled as if nothing in this world could make her happier than this little shed.

She didn't shy away from his inspection or so much as blush, instead taking the opportunity to rove her eyes over him in turn. Judging by her face, she wasn't exactly impressed. Maple couldn't blame her; months spent on the road tended to make people more rugged and hardened - not the vision of beauty and softness that omegas were expected to be. What else could he say? He just couldn't compare to Noon.

His skin had impossibly darkened, caramel to milk chocolate, and his curls frizzed and moussed - stray little hairs tangling to make a birds perch. He looked homeless - technically was homeless - and the state of his body was completely tragic. If he breathed in hard enough, a little bit of ribcage could be visible above his taut and growing baby bump. The skin of his hands and lips were flaky and peeling and his eye bags weighed down his youthful face.

He was a wreck.

Though the other omega didn't seem to care. She shook her head once, no hair accompanying that movement, then picked up the pump from off the bench. The cup attachments looked so normal in her hands, like just any other tool. They didn't seem as scary when she held them, but Maple wasn't fooled. He could remember very well what being milked by mistress felt like and if he went through his memories here and now he'd cry in front of this poor stranger. 

Noon sensed his hesitance and cooed to him, a sound like the whistle of flying autumn leaves. She held one cup up for him to truly see, and nodded her head as if the gesture would calm him. 

"Good. They help to not hurt." She does her best to explain, "Try it?"

"But they hurt" Maple complains.

"No hurt."

The male omega just backs up, jerking his body away from the device. Black spots rise in his vision as his eyes try to find a corner to hide in. Moving to leave the bench, a soft hand grips him hard enough to stop him before he does.

"No hurt. Try, please?" Her lip juts and her eyes sparkle like a puppy dog.

He doesn't know how that convinced him - or if it was her wide pleading eyes that did - but it did. His hands still gripped the bench hard enough to crack it if he were any strong, and he still flinched when the cups latched on, yet there he was letting another omega help him. Even though he anticipated pain, there was none. Just like she said, it didn't hurt; and it made him feel impish for thinking it would. Although it wasn't quite pleasurable - yet - he could live with that.

Each squeeze was mechanical and purposeful, but not harsh. His nipples plump under the suction, slowly growing puffy to more easily release his milk. The sensation barely registers, and he can't decipher whether that's good or bad yet. All he knows for sure is that this has been the softest, kindest treatment of his breasts so far.

They no longer ache so badly or weigh him down with soreness as they gradually let down. The tenderness comes to fade like background music; there but imperceptibly so - discreet. At the forefront of his mind was the tingle of milk dripping sluggishly on his skin. His areola was covered in the thin substance. Most of it collected in the cup anyway, yet it still tickled a tinge to feel it run down his sensitive surface.

Maple involuntarily thinks back to his alpha and her treatment of his breasts. He doesn't want to think about the predatory way her fingers pinched at him and rubbed him. He didn't want to be reminded of the lewd looks and comments, or the sound of her slurping the last drops she managed to express from him. Under her hands, he felt more like a cow than a person. Under her, he always felt like less - like he was inferior in every way. She had made it abundantly clear he was not her equal in her eyes.

Maple tries to let those thoughts go by focusing on his here and now. The slightly warm feeling of the plastic was far more bearable than the cold glass he's used to, and for that he's thankful. But even the warmth can't distract from the alien sensation of being milked. A part of him believes he'll never get used to this. Especially when his babes aren't yet here to drink the milk he's making just for them. He watches, despite his better judgment, and the sight of his precious supply leaving him makes him forlorn. 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Maple didn't know how long it was since Noon had first hooked him up to the pump, but it felt like forever before handlers of some sort came to escort all the omegas out of the shed. His poor chest only managed half a tall bottle, which a rather rude handler snatched right out of the other omegas grasp. Both omegas watched mortified as the lady took a swig and swished it around in her mouth. She looked surprised before spraying the milk back out of her mouth in front of them.

 

It splashes the floor at their feet, splotches of wasted milk causing Maples lip to tremble and eyes water. Noon notices and her hands plant themselves on her hips, taking the haughty stance that has almost become her signature. The omega stares the alpha handler dead in the eyes unflinching, but the alpha isn't threatened.

 

"Tastes bland! What'd you do to it?" She pointed an accusatory finger at Noon.

 

"Nothing." The omega answered curtly.

 

The handler turned her attention to Maple, arching a thin brow at him, "How about you? What's wrong with you?"

 

At that Maple blushes in shame. Inexplicably, he feels as if he's let this alpha down - as if he's disappointed this stranger. His body wasn't healthy and to her liking, it didn't function as she wanted it to. Isn't that something to be ashamed of, he felt? So he quickly shielded his breasts away from view. They were still small enough to cover up with just his lanky arms.

 

"Nothing. He's good omega." Noon confidently asserts.

 

"Nah, this one is a troublemaker. I can taste it from him." The alpha sneers at Maple, "I bet you ran away from your alpha to get fucked and bred, didn't you? as soon as your alpha hit trouble you started slinging your hole around, you little slut." 

 

Maple whimpers, hand grasping Noons for comfort. The shorter omega growls at the handler, "Good omega. Maple is good omega!"

 

"Then why is the little cunt absolutely gravid, gestating some bastards?" She flicks a spot on Noons forehead.

 

Noon doesn't respond, eyes studying the handler. At first, Maple thinks she's given up on defending him - but he soon realizes she has no clue what the alpha said. He grabs Noon with both hands now, not wanting trouble for his new friend. He tilts his head to the door where the rest of the omegas are gathered and slipping out of the barn. She gets the memo but ignores it.

 

The alpha handler woman notices, sniggering, "Bad omegas."

 

Both omegas growl at that and the alpha barks out a laugh.

 

"Bad bitches make awful milk for their bastards. I bet your alpha's going to lay you right over his lap. Maybe get those bastards out of you too. What I'd give to be the one to do that.... The two of you better run with the rest of the sluts." She hugs the tall bottle of milk to her chest, "This is staying with me. Wouldn't want to spoil the supply with your defective milk now would we?"

 

Noon stands, helping Maple up with her. She wants to face off against the woman, but Maple is holding her back. The handler looks smug - proud of her ability to make them cower away from her. She watches their movements closely, just like a hawk. It sends shivers up both of their spines. 

 

Near the entrance of the shack, Maple realizes he's wrapped around Noons little body like a python wrapped around a tree. He feels another blush start to rise but can't motivate himself to release her. Just having another body to hold on to - to feel the warmth of - is so welcome after what felt like an eternity alone. These days his feelings of dependence have skyrocketed. With Sasha, her habits were familiar - everything she wanted from him was laid out. With these strangers, he had no idea what they were going to do with him next, or what they were like.

 

He hated to admit it every time, but without Sasha he was defenseless. Even without the litter in his belly, there wasn't much one short, starved, omega could do against several alphas - never mind the army of them that existed within the stronghold. He didn't know anything about his surroundings either. He was blindfolded when the strangers took him and Sasha, and Sasha had been very conversationally sparse with him during the journey here. He had no idea which state he was even in.

 

Being out of his element, confused, and alone to boot, was frightening. He wanted to be composed and level-headed, but how could he when he had more to worry about than just himself? He knew that outside of the walls of the town were just as - if not more - dangerous than within. The desire to escape was eclipsed by the desire to keep his brood safe. Maple knew that he was now the last line of protection between his pups and the world.

 

Noon guides him down the dirt road where the other omegas are walking in a neat line. Some are clutching each other like they are, but most seem to be alone in a daze. It looks regular to them - like they do this every day. Maple gets a little anxious watching the line move, not knowing where it ended. The armed guards dotted along the moving queue most certainly didn't make him feel better.

 

The sight of guns started to make him queasy. He's never in his life had any pointed at him until the day that he was trapped under his mistress when they both crossed the wall. The very same wall which was so tall he could see it far ahead of the group. It loomed well over their heads and just barely below the sun.

 

He can't recognize where they're going. Each row of establishments looks like they should be familiar to him after this morning but they all have matching architecture and auras. Nothing he passed by made any sense in his tired and hazy brain. The milking was already taking a toll on him and the world swayed in front of him. He was glad to have Noon beside him to help anchor him and hold him up - without her he was sure he would topple over like a Jenga tower on game night.

 

A weathered yet nondescript brownstone danced into his field of view. The herd of omegas disappeared inside, storing themselves inside like scavenger ants crawling back into an anthill. Maple and Noon shuffled a bit faster to keep up with the rest of the line. No one made a sound as they waited for them, and the two omegas behind them, to come inside. A few guards were already positioned at what seemed to be their posts - a couple standing sentinel at the doors, some scattered near the back of the building for the perfect birdseye view, and one marching up and down through the mass of omegas.

 

Inside the large space were rickety wood floors - the kind that would give you splinters. Maple was careful when walking on them. They creaked an annoying squealing sound under the combined weight every time no matter how careful he was though. Thankfully, the short tables where the other omegas were settling themselves around had nice plush rugs under each one. 

 

Noon had suddenly perked up beside him, face brightening with a wild smile. Excitedly she pulled Maple through rows of tables and omegas, her eyes glued to her destination. He had to skip somewhat to keep up with her surprisingly fast stride. The doe's they passed by barely paid them any attention as they started to chat quietly among each other. None of the guards bothered to stop them either.

 

Maple smelled the omega well before Noon had stopped them in front of her. Like Cherry Blossoms and spring water, a comforting and earthy scent - a scent that screamed beauty. And she was; The omega was beautiful. Her face was bright, a healthy rosy hue underneath her round cheeks. Her eyes mesmerized him - hypnotized him - with their perfect cat-like shape and shimmering brown irises. Her hair was so long it reached down to her full hips - a sleek part right in the middle of her neat black box braids.

 

He was stricken with sudden, but not surprising, envy. Envy of her cute button nose, her perfect body, her great height, and her smooth and flawless brown skin. She was a goddess. Or at least she had the features of one. Most certainly not the strength and command of one.

 

The Omega before him did not seem to be a confident one. Especially not in comparison to Noon who was beside him. She had hunched shoulders, and her plump bottom lip was caught nervously between her teeth. Her eyes darted between Maple and Noon questioningly as her fingers fiddle with the bottom of her shift. 

 

Noon reached for her hand reassuringly, introducing the stranger and Maple. "He's Maple. Maple is my friend," She announced. She turned to Maple, whispering in his ear "She's Kitten. Kitten is my  bestest  friend!"

 

The smiling omega let go of her clutch on maple to wrap the tall omega up in her wide bear hug. Noon squealed in delight and Kitten squawked with the force of the hug. The two doe's stood hugging each other for a good long while, giving Maple the impression this was some kind of reunion. By the time they parted, the small group were the only omegas standing in the room. A portly guard came around to them, guiding them to sit on the floor at the last empty low table in the room.

 

He left without a word, and Kitten rubbed at the spot his guiding hand had rested on her shoulder. There was the ring of a bell, once, then twice, and a few people had filed into the room with plates and bowls on servers' dishes. They set utensils before every omega. Then came people carrying large hotpots and bowls and plates piled high with food for the omegas. At Maples table, an attendant set down a ginormous salad and some steaming miso soup for the table to share. 

 

A miasma of smells spread across the room - smells so mouth-wateringly rich he swears he could feel himself drooling. He's not sure how all the other doe's keep their composure. They all seemed completely at peace. Maple guesses that this was just part of some odd routine. Questions rose to the forefront of his mind rapidly. Why weren't they being fed by their alphas? Why were they being constantly guarded? Where were everyone's pups?

 

As soon as those attendants dispersed, conversation erupted all over the room as the crowd of omegas began to dig in. Noon and Kitten ladled out the soup into their bowls, oblivious to Maples befuddlement. 

 

"I miss you," Noon had said cheerily, addressing Kitten. The other omega was sat beside her, overfilling her bowl. She didn't stop until it was just a hair away from spilling. "No milk? Is alpha mean to you again?..." she asks softly. The aura around the table had suddenly shifted sour and sullen.

 

It grabbed Maples attention away from the piece of lettuce he was chewing on. His perceptive eyes catch the way Kittens hand slides into Noons on top of the table. She seems anxious - like the wrong person might hear her.

 

"Alpha was mad at me. I was in the sickroom." The other omega says low under her breath. Her voice is deeper than he expected, but it lent itself to the shame in her tone. "He let me come back, as long as I'm good to him tonight."

 

Noons face is downcast, her appetite wains as the food cools too. Kitten goes straight to eating, seemingly done with that avenue of discussion. Maple feels odd, unsure if he should offer words of encouragement to this omega he doesn't yet know. He feels the pull to curl around her, and he realizes it's a part of the interpersonal instincts omegas have among each other. He's never really known other omegas - especially not closely - so the sensations are new to him. Maple isn't sure if he welcomes the instincts.

 

The other omegas around them are engulfed in conversation, but their table remains quiet for a few awkward minutes. Maple had focused on stuffing his face, grateful to finally have a full and nutritious meal. Perhaps his alpha did the best she could to feed him out in the wild, but for the pregnant omega, her efforts weren't enough.

 

A guard, one he didn't realize was standing nearby, comes over to their table. He eyes Noon and Kitten, and both tilt their head down in deference to the guard. The man makes a dissatisfied sound in the back of his throat, then grabs a small basket of buttery dinner rolls off of the table of another group of omegas. At the same time, he motions with his finger for one of his colleagues to come over. The basket almost doesn't make a sound when it's placed between the does. 

 

At this angle, Maple is eye level with the gun holstered on the alphas hip. He's scared to look at it but he also finds it hard to look away. Of course, he's seen his mistress's gun before, however, he didn't feel as threatened with her. She had yet to ever really use a weapon on him. But Maple doesn't know what these alphas are capable of. 

 

Frankly, he's still very weirded out by the setup. This whole morning has done nothing but confuse and disorient him. Not to say that he misses being trapped in the cold dark cell, but he understood it more than the milking shed, wandering pups, and the omega-only cafeteria. No one had seen fit to inform him what was going to happen early on.

 

The guard turned toward Maple, judgment shining behind his eyes. He seemed to have noticed Maple staring holes into his gun. The omega has the sense to look impish and avert his gaze - the blush blooming over his cheeks making him feel oddly guilty.

 

Another caretaker approaches, and her stern face makes Maple nervous. She nods along to the first guard as he gives her orders.

 

"These omegas need a bigger meal. This one isn't eating," He points to Noon, "Tell Chef and the crew to double up the servings next time. Schedule attendants for feeding shifts throughout this week. Tell them I want to see each one of these omegas five pounds fatter by the end of the month." The female guard enthusiastically nods, making a mental note of her orders. 

 

"Is Mason in today?" The male guard asks.

 

"No, sir. He's on sick leave."

 

"Hmph. Get someone else to assist the scavengers. I need them to deliver a comprehensive supply list. asap." And with that, the female guard disappears through a door at the back of the room. It's the same door the servers had come through, so Maple assumes it's the kitchens.

 

The male guard lowers himself to eye level, inviting himself to their table. He grabs one of the rolls and tears it in half, offering one part to Noon by pressing it to her lips. "Eat." He says. And she does.

 

Noon slowly takes the piece into her mouth, careful not to use her hands. She remains looking down, not staring into his face like Maple is doing. She doesn't seem to be all that bothered by the guard's presence or the hand feeding. Maple can't help but gawk at the display and her acceptance of it.

 

The guard feeds another piece to her, watching as she takes it and chews. Kitten helps herself to a few rolls and more ladles of soup, which seems to satisfy the man observing them. So he turns his attention to Maple, who's brazenly staring the alpha straight in the face. The alpha looks Maple up and down, probably wondering if he's seen this omega before.

 

"Who's your new friend here?" He asks Noon.

 

Noon looks up at that, staring right into the frightened eyes of the doe across the table from her. She gives him a reassuring nod but doesn't smile. "Maple." She answers. 

 

The guard then breaks another roll, this time pressing it to maples lips. He's hesitant to take it at first, but he doesn't want to be punished for disobeying. Maple barely registers the taste or texture - he mindlessly chews it into mush and swallows to appease the stranger. 

 

He's unpleasantly reminded of the touch of his alpha with every little bit that the guard feeds him. That same dehumanizing helplessness and infantilizing that he's been dealing with for who knows how long is ticking him off all over again. He wants to explode - to demand where he is, and who these people are, and what's happening. But these people aren't like Sasha. Whereas his alpha feels an obligation to not damage him, everyone else has no such responsibility. He doesn't think he can handle getting hurt now - especially over something as small as unwanted hand-feeding - when he has a brood in his belly that he must protect at all costs.

 

Maple could speak up, but he doesn't know what he should say. He doesn't know if he should say anything at all. 

 

In the end, the dilemma solves itself. Someone approaches the guard, a different person that doesn't seem to be a part of his squad, and the guard leaves with a final order to the table to finish eating their food. Neither woman seemed fazed by the turn of events and it's so confusing Maple just wants to tear his hair out.

 

Once the alphas are far enough away, he can't help but ask, "Who are they?? what's happening??" he whispers urgently. If the other omegas notice how scared he looks and smells, they don't mention it.

 

"They're going to make us bigger." Kitten answers simply as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "I don't really know who they are either, but you should obey them."

 

"How do you not know them? Noon?" 

 

The shorthaired omega looks his way - surprised to be called on judging by her raised eyebrow and how stuffed full of salad her mouth is. "I know two. They care for us."

 

"Care for you?"

 

Noon nods, "You have alpha? They feed us, like alpha. And look at us, like alpha."

 

"Look?"

 

"She means monitor," Kitten interjects. "She's still learning her words; her last alpha never let her speak."

 

"And these ones let her?"

 

Kitten and Noon both nod affirmative.

 

Maple isn't sure how to react or what to say. He's confused but a little hopeful. The omegas around him don't look abused or neglected, which gives him slight peace of mind. 

 

"What is this place? I'm so confused... I'm scared..." The omega wraps his arms around himself.

 

Both of the omegas across from him adopt sympathetic smiles. Kitten reaches out a hand to lay comfortingly upon his forearm. Her eyes are earnest and Maple softens to her near immediately.

 

"It's okay, Maple. You're safe." She reassures. "We're in the omega mess hall. This is where the unmated omegas eat. The guards monitor us so we eat and none of the unmated alphas come and mate us. Other omegas, like Noon and I, come over here when our alphas are too busy. You'll go back to your alpha after this, don't worry."

 

"My Alpha? I haven't seen her. Do you know what happened to her?"

 

"No alpha?" Noon muses sadly.

 

"I don't know where she is, the last time I saw her she was bleeding out." Maple says, feeling hot tears start to bead at his eyes unbidden and unwillingly.

 

Noon shushes at him, trying to calm as best she could. He appreciates it, but it doesn't quite work on him.

 

"You're going to be alright, Maple. There are very good alphas here, you'll be safe until your alpha gets better. And if they don't, someone really kind will take you - I'm sure. Maybe I can ease your mind if I tell you everything?" Kitten offers.

 

Maple manages a meek nod at her.

 

"Okay. Okay. You're in the dog pack - it's our little survivor group out here. My alpha says we're somewhere near Idaho. Our town is very big - our border goes all the way to a river - but us omegas are not always allowed in every part of town. The alphas call this place Crowfields, or I think that's what the town was always called. It used to not look like this. We started off as a military encampment with thousands and thousands of people, but... That changed. Alpha won't tell me why." Kitten swallows thickly before continuing, "We have soldiers, and guards, and doctors, and chefs, and all kinds of people here. We're the safest we can be considering everything. If we're really good, we even get rewards. But you really shouldn't upset any of them. We have these routines every few days, where we all lay together and take care of pups then they come and take us to milk if we can. Then we come here to eat, and they hand us mated ones back to our alphas at the end of the day."

 

"And our houses is cool, and is warm!" Noon chimes in happily.

 

"Yeah, we have electricity - it runs for four hours every day. You'll love it! Just keep your alpha happy."

 

Kitten and Noon go back to eating, though they retain an eye on him to make sure he's alright. Maple bows his head, suddenly not very hungry. He fiddles with his fingers while his brain races with confounding thoughts. There's a small feeling of crushing loneliness building within his heart despite being surrounded by other omegas. He remembers hating Sasha - remembers cursing her, and fighting her - but now he wishes he had her as a wall between him and the rest of the world. 

 

The omega wonders if they'll store him back in his cage at the end of the day. He wonders if he'll be nestled away with the rest of the lone omegas instead. Stones land at the bottom of his gut at the thought of Sasha being gone forever. He doesn't want to be locked in a hole somewhere, or treated like omega cattle like his peers. Maple refuses to think of the last alternative. He refuses to think of what might happen to him and his pups if someone else claims him.  

 

His arm hairs raise with the goosebumps that light along his body. He can feel his fight or flight instinct strengthening - his urge to flee oncoming. Maple loathes to admit it, but he's starting to regret running out into the field. Maybe his alpha wouldn't have passed out if he had just behaved. They could have just walked to safety together - then he wouldn't be treated this way. He wouldn't have to brave this entirely new place by himself.

 

He had been alone for a short while without her. He knew how to avoid the zombies, how to fight off the weak ones, and how to scavenge for what he needed. The man could sneak around anyone without being found out. But he's in a crowd of people. He's already been found and now he can't run and hide. 

 

Now he admonishes himself for putting his babies in such a vulnerable position with him. Maple doesn't want Sashas hands all over his body, or her drinking from him. She violated him in every way imaginable and he can't forget what it felt like. But logically, he couldn't deny he needs her. 

 

"What happens if my alpha doesn't come back?" He asks softly. So softly that he goes almost unheard.

 

Kitten threads her fingers through his, "You're safe here. Alphas may not always be the nicest, but you have all of us here too. We'll be here for you, Maple." 

 

Noon nods vigorously in agreement.

 

"We'll help you nest with your pups if you need us to. We both know how hard it can be to get your freedom taken from - and Noon knows what it's like losing an alpha. It'll get better." Kitten says.

 

"I don't even like her - I hate her - so why do I feel so lost without her?" 

Now Maple can't keep the tears held back.

 

"Hey, I know- I know," Kitten soothes, "It's hard to handle the instincts we're cursed with sometimes. That's just how it is. We're strong for still being here. With everything that's going on, we still made it. If anything, being omegas makes us even braver for surviving. We need to keep surviving, and if that means submitting to our alphas then we have to. All we have to do is be good and take care of our pups. You don't have to worry."

 

Noon has this hard and dissatisfied look on her face, like a petulant child. Her arms cross, and she looks away from where Kitten and Maple have their hands joined. "No submit. Bad alphas say submit. Don't have to."

 

"Noon... You know it's not that easy."

 

Maple senses the words left unsaid - the history behind the two omegas in front of them who can't seem to meet each others eyes. He feels like a fly on the wall, but he's too consumed by his own insecurities to do much other than play with his food. The blanket of silence that formerly covered their table returns, and now they all wait while time slowly ticks down. 

 

The guards are moving through the rows now, checking the plates and leftovers of every omega in the room. maple doesn't even glance at the one that looks over his shoulder, yet he can still smell the smokey scent of a keyed-up alpha as it washes over him. The guard clearly enjoyed the view. 

 

After everyone has stood and lined up again, they file out of the mess hall and into the brisque air of dawn. No one seems to shiver or complain - not when their bellies are full and warm. They're led to the back of the building, which housed a sizable yard full of beautiful flowers and a few fruit trees. The omegas find a place to sit on the ground, and most cuddle with each other idly. 

 

Not more than a minute later and a few alphas come from beyond the gate of the yard, here to collect their mates. Kitten and Noon are among the first to leave, and they give slightly sullen goodbyes to him as they part. Maple can hardly tell what's going on around him - doesn't even care to pay attention - but does notice the number of omegas shrinks just a bit.

 

He feels numb when they go, and he feels numb as time passes and the omegas around him continue to snuggle. He's numb when the guards round them up again, claiming "recess is over", and he's still numb as he meanders through town in tow with the others. The small mattress he's assigned on the floor of some house doesn't phase him - and neither does the creaking in the old house that half of the omegas and him occupy. 

 

So as he slips into a restless doze, to the tune of snoring from the omegas next to him, he feels that numbness crawl through him. He thinks he might be mourning, or maybe he's just resigned. Maple can't figure it out and doesn't want to. He just wants to be numb in peace. 

 

His hand reaches down to cradle his baby bump, the wistful image of his pups sticking to his eyelids as he closes them. He dreams about them like he has practically every day since he conceived them. They ground him in spite of his grief, and he mouths the words "Thank You" before falling asleep.

Notes:

Hi Lovelies! I hope you all liked this chapter. If you did then don't be shy and drop a comment. You don't have to, but I love praise like I love money so I'd really like it if you did. The next chapter is churning away slowly, but you all should expect it by the end of this year :)