lola

“I’m bored,” you mutter, and you hear the man who’d been speaking stammer for a moment—he’d clearly heard you.

“Sorry,” Steve interjects. “Please go on.” He turns his chair to look at you, but you only reach out toward him, pushing your fingers through his hair before lowering your hand to his face, letting your thumb brush gently over the two freckles prominent on his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes on your face, adoration clearly reflected in them, and you feel your heart swell—and then you’re sliding off of his desk and dropping to your knees and planting both hands on the arms of his chair, keeping him from swiveling away from you.

He shakes his head at you, gesturing to his computer, his phone, patting the stack of papers—he must really need to pay attention to whatever they’re talking about—and so instead of keeping him turned away from his desk, you do the appropriate and selfless thing and fit yourself beneath his desk, turning his chair so he’s now facing his work again, and reach for his button and fly.

“Can you get me the numbers for last quarter?” Steve asks, as you ease the zipper down slowly so as not to let his phone pick it up.

“Just last quarter?” the employee asks, and Steve hums quietly as you lean forward. He slides down a little in the chair, letting you fit yourself between his thighs. 

“Make it the last two quarters. And Martin, I want the projections for the next two on my desk by end of day. Can you make that happen?”

“Yes sir,” Martin, presumably, replies.

“Yes sir,” you mutter below the desk, amused, and Steve lowers an arm to his thigh, looking down at you through the glass top of his desk, and cupping your chin in his hand before you start your mischief. You see him smile at you as the meeting continues, one of his staff citing numbers and sources, clearly giving some kind of presentation.

Beneath the desk, even though you can hear the man droning on, it’s like you’re in your own little world. Just you and Steve—or, part of him. Above you, he’s writing notes, jotting things down, eyes scanning over papers and his mouse clicking at something on his computer, but down where you are, between Steve’s thighs, it’s comfy and cozy and all yours to do with as you will.

You work the front of Steve’s slacks open, and he adjusts himself in his chair to help you slide them down just a little, just enough that you can slip his cock and balls out of the slit in the front of his boxers.

Steve clears his throat as you fondle his balls, playing with them with one hand as you stroke his shaft with the other. He can keep his composure—you know he can, because you’ve done this before—but he seems a little extra twitchy today. It just makes you grin and lean in, letting your lips circle his tip as your tongue flicks against the slit in the head, your hand still working over him.

“I need the—um,” he clears his throat again. “Excuse me, sorry.” You take the head into your mouth and hear his voice nearly crack. “I need more specific details on that, Greta,” he says. “I don’t want to fire anyone after this merge, you know that.”

Greta says something about a budget, and you slide further down onto Steve’s cock, both hands playing with his balls now.

“We have the budget,” Steve says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I don’t want anyone losing their jobs over this. I’m not budging on that.”

The meeting drones on, with Greta and two others now arguing over the budget while Steve’s scribbling on his papers continues, and you’re swallowing around his cock, tongue pressing up against the underside as you feel the bright pop of his precome drip onto your tongue.

You hum, exhaling out of your nose and you feel his hips shift forward into your mouth just a little, the weight of his cock dragging over your tongue, arching into your palate and just brushing the back of your throat as you hum again, longer, louder this time. Steve moves his hand slightly, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where his cock disappears into it, and you part your lips to let his thumb slip in too. Your tongue trails over the pad of his finger, and then his cock, and you pull back so his thumb fully and his cock partially fall from your mouth.

Sucking at the head, you wrap one of your hands around his length and start stroking him, slow at first, and then quicker, because he’s talking about projections and promotions and you want to hear him stutter. You want to hear him tumble the words in his mouth and trip over them because it gives you satisfaction, and you like that. You like knowing that even though he’s running a huge company, even though he’s worth a ton of money and has power and respect—you’re still the one in charge, here, where it matters least but still matters most in its own way.

Relaxing your jaw, you push back onto him, taking him in deep, and you don’t hear anything anymore, choosing to focus on your own breathing, the wet sounds of your mouth as you slurp and suck around his cock, the way his breathing changes when the tip pops into your throat for just a moment. You let his heavy balls rest on your palm and curl your fingers back beneath them, rubbing your fingers against his perineum, and he gasps, loud, enough that several of his employees ask if he’s all right.

“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s clear something is affecting him; his voice shakes.

There’s a short lull in the meeting, where no one wants to go on with business while there’s a distinct possibility that their CEO has something going on, but Steve pushes past that.

“Please,” he says, and you’re honestly not sure if he’s talking to you or the staff in the meeting, “keep going.”

You would smirk if you could. He was talking to you.

You bob your head on his length and look up at him through his desk—he’s abandoned the pen and his computer mouse, pushes his papers away, and just has his eyes on you through the glass of the desk, watching you as you move your mouth up and down along his cock. He watches you so intently you feel your own arousal start to build, pressing your thighs tight together as your cunt starts to twitch a little; you’re wanting attention, wanting to be touched, wanting Steve.

The meeting continues, but with Steve’s eyes on you it’s lost on you both—the droning voices and the bullshit business phrases, the hollow laughs and the mentions of synergy—until finally Steve is asking for any topics that need discussing that weren’t already brought up.

You swallow his cock, letting it fit into your throat, your fingers still massaging his perineum, coaxing him to come in your mouth, and you feel his cock twitch as you pull off gradually, wanting to taste him, not wanting him to spill straight into your throat so you can’t.

“If that’s all,” Steve says, lifting his eyes from your face for just a moment, to end the meeting, you suspect, “then I’ll see you all next week.”

There’s a chorus of well wishes and goodbyes, and you double down, wrapping your free hand around Steve’s cock, twisting it lightly as you move it along him, jerking him off into your mouth as you suck the head, tongue licking over the slit to taste him, and you see Steve’s mouse slide to one side, hear a couple of clicks, and then he looses the loudest, neediest moan you’ve heard in recent memory and floods your mouth with come, finally, letting you feel each spurt of semen as it shoots from his tip, smearing against your tongue, mixing with your spit and you drink it down, taking it and moaning yourself as you pull off, letting the last dribble of his spunk coat your lips as you rub your closed mouth against him before opening up again, a whine of desperation leaving you as you lick him clean.

Steve pushes his chair back, rolling it away from his desk, and you keep your hold on his cock, leaning forward and crawling after him, not wanting him to take it from you, not wanting to lose the contact, hungry for everything he’ll give you and more.

“Relax,” Steve says, leaning down to help you stand and then guide you onto his lap; you nearly attack him with the ferocity of your kiss, licking into his mouth, letting him taste himself on you.

“Can’t,” you mumble, and he reaches down to slip his hands between your legs, rubbing at you through the seam of your jeans.

“All right,” he says, holding you with one arm and slipping the button of your jeans, pulling your zipper down with the other. Beneath your thigh you feel the thick weight of his cock, softening, but once he slips his hand into your jeans, into your panties, you can’t bring yourself to care because his fingers are slipping through your folds, wet, slick, finding your clit and rubbing over it immediately.

“Steve,” you whine, turning to him and licking into his mouth again.

“Liked sucking me that much?” he asks, and you nod, tucking your head into his neck and mouthing at his throat, which bobs as he looks down at you, rolling your hips up into his hand. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking close, so fucking turned on from him coming in your mouth while on a phone conference with a bunch of people, that it doesn’t take him long to bring you to your orgasm, your mouth sucking at his throat, your hands clinging to his shirt, your thighs twitching in his lap.

“I love you,” you murmur into his neck, and you hear him huff a little amused sound.

“I love you too,” he says, and gently nudges you so you pull your face out of hiding. He leans in to kiss you on the lips, nose brushing yours as he pulls away. “I was, um…” He trails off, laughing a little again, mostly to himself. “I was gonna wait. Until later. At dinner.”

You blink. “For what?”

Steve tilts his head back and forth, like he’s deciding something. “I had a whole speech planned. About how I never thought I’d find someone like you and how I’d trade everything for you because if I have you I have happiness, and that’s all I really need.”

You swallow. “Steve…”

“But like—this is what happiness is, right? Me and you together, and like, that’s what’s real. Not going out to dinner at some fancy restaurant that I had to get a reservation at a month in advance. I could have asked you this a month ago, spur of the moment like this, and it would have been just as good. Better even, maybe.”

“Steve, what—”

“I don’t have the ring here,” he says, and you go stock still, your face warming, even as he takes your left hand in his and brings it to his mouth, placing a kiss onto your third finger, the spot where an engagement band would sit. “But will you marry me, anyway?”

You swallow thickly, squeezing your fingers together as they begin to shake. He knows, he heard it perfectly. He’s giving you a chance to come clean, to admit that you’ve lied to them for months. There’s no going back. You’re panicking again, just as you had in the mess a few minutes ago. 

For the first time in a long time, you’re afraid. 

“I-I...” You try to find the words, trying to put together a coherent sentence under the sharp, scrutinizing gaze of the alpha in front of you. 

He leans over even further across the table, holding eye contact with you. His eyes are so sharp you think they may leave knife marks on your skin, burn scorch marks across your body. He’s pulled taut, even his voice sharp. You’re not talking to Simon anymore. You’re facing Ghost now. 

“I said, do you want to repeat that?” He repeats it slower, enunciating every word as if you didn’t hear him the first time. You almost didn’t with the blood pulsing in your ears, the panic lifting your heart rate higher and higher. He’s pushing you, daring you to try to lie to his face more than you already have. He’s using his status against you, making you feel cornered. 

“I-I found cameras...in my room.” You try not to choke around the nervous lump in your throat. Your voice is quiet, shaking just as much as your body is. Maybe you should let that lump choke you. Death seems less terrifying right now than the angry alpha in front of you. He is angry. You don’t even have to read his body language to know. You can tell just by his eyes and the quickly rising edge of ozone in his scent. “T-The first mission when everyone left...someone broke into my room and put up cameras...I found them and broke them and I hid the bag in my bathroom.” 

He stares at you for a long moment, the silence so tense you can nearly taste it. He slams his hands on the table, pushing himself up so he’s standing. You jump, starting to curl in on yourself, an attempt to protect yourself from his wrath. You know he won’t hurt you, but your brain is screaming at you to run, to hide, to make yourself as small as possible. 

“Get up.” He snaps, his anger freezing you in place. You can’t move, even though you know you should. “I said get your fucking ass off that bench and let’s go.” He yells, forcing your body into motion. 

You nearly fall in your attempt to get off of the bench, your body trembling almost violently in fear. Your breaths are coming in gasps again, the alpha rasping at the edges of his voice melting your brain into a fear-filled mush. His hand wraps around your arm, fingers digging into your skin. If you hadn’t been wearing a sweatshirt, you know you would see the indents from his fingers. You’re going to bruise later.

Your shoulder pops as he tugs you harshly towards the barracks, your feet scrambling to keep up. Passersby stare at you, sensing your fear and his anger, but they wouldn’t dare intervene. It’s not their place, and you can’t blame them for not waiting to face down the giant, angry alpha hauling you to the barracks. 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve royally fucked up. You should have just told them when they got back, admitted to everything then. You should have been honest, should have revealed everything instead of trying to keep it all hidden.

The fear you felt back then is nothing compared to the fear you feel now. 

You’ve betrayed them, betrayed their trust. Admitting to your stupidity would have been nothing compared to the shame burning hot through you now. 

Simon throws open the door, dragging you into the barracks. You know where he’s heading, your feet finally under you on the tile. He lets you go and you scurry to your room, too afraid to even try running for help. None of them will protect you, not after he tells them why you’re so afraid. 

Your hand fumbles with the doorknob, the nervous sweat on your skin making it slide right off the metal. He’s behind you, lingering as you use your sleeve to finally turn the knob and get the door open. There’s no hesitation as you enter the room, going straight for the bathroom. Fear trickles down your spine as you kneel down, hands shaking as you pull everything out from the cabinet. The bag is still there, still tucked in the far corner. It’s like it’s mocking you now, jeering at your fear. The bag that holds your deepest secret, the bag that you had almost forgotten about until now. 

You ignore the mess as you pull the bag out, turning your body to face the alpha in your room. Simon is standing there just outside the doorway, anger still rolling off of him. You’re shaking so badly the bag of broken plastic and metal pieces clinks as you hold it up to him. He takes it from your hand, holding it up to the harsh bathroom light. It’s impossible not to tell what’s in it, especially not to someone who probably encounters these items often. 

“Get up.” He snaps again, and you use the sink to aid you in rising on your shaky legs. They feel like jello, nearly giving out as you stand there in front of him. 

He reaches for you and you expect him to grab your arm or even your throat but instead he reaches around, gripping you by the back of the shirt. He pulls you after him, half dragging you to your door and out into the hallway. Your shoes squeak on the floor, slipping as you attempt to get your weak legs to keep up with his steps. He doesn’t care, and you know he’d drag you if you stopped trying to walk. 

You’re thrown back violently to that time years ago when you had been in a similar position, being dragged from the safety of your room, your father’s fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you down the hall. He was ashamed of you, angry at you for what you were. The shame you felt for months from disappointing him, the ozone-laced scent of alpha anger still burning in your nose even years later. 

The same kind of shame burns in you now. 

Simon’s anger is like a thunderstorm, the familiar scent of ozone pricking dangerously in the back of your mind. You want to sink in there, retreat into the safety in the back of your mind but you can’t. It’s like your omega knows you have to face the consequences, abandoning you in revenge for keeping this secret for so long. 

The squeaking of your shoes has brought Kyle out of the rec room, his brows furrowing as he sees you being dragged along by Simon. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, looking between your teary face and Simon’s angry one. 

“Find MacTavish and meet me in Price’s office.” Simon snaps. It’s the only explanation he gives before he’s turning the corner, making his way towards the half opened door. 

He shoves it open with his shoulder, not even bothering to knock. The door hits the chair pushed into the table in the corner with a bang. John looks up in surprise, his brow furrowing as Simon drags you to his desk, your legs finally giving out as he releases you. 

You kneel there on the floor, tears streaming down your cheeks in shame now more than fear. They’re going to get rid of you, they’re going to drag you from what has become your home and send you back to the CIA, or worse, the institute. All the progress you’ve made is gone, it’s been undone by your choice to lie, to hide this from them. You’re crying from fear, but also from anger at yourself. Why didn’t you just tell them? Why did you think they’d ever be upset for you revealing something so serious, something that could be dangerous? There could be cameras all over the barracks and they wouldn’t know, all because of your anxiety, your fear, your stupidity. 

“Someone bugged her room,” Simon says, tossing the bag of broken pieces on John’s desk. “And she’s been keeping it from us for months.” 

You want to melt. You want to sink into the couch and dissolve into nothing. Your metaphorical tail has never been tucked quite so far between your legs as you sit there, cowering on the couch in John’s office. The alpha is pacing back and forth in the small space, the scent electric with ozone and the bitter stench of your fear. Even the attempts to overpower the scent by the betas sitting on either side of you have failed. They’re too upset. You know it. 

“I want you to run that all by me again.” John says, pausing in his pacing to stand over you. Simon is leaning against the door, arms crossed and still reeling with anger. 

You had felt like you were in an interrogation when they asked you about your nightmares. That feeling is nothing compared to what you’re feeling now. That had been simple probling, the concern of your pack as they guided you into telling them the truth. This is an interrogation, a first-hand glance at their abilities, their skills, who they are in the field and not the pack that you recognize. 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve royally fucked up. 

“I-It was the day before you got back.” You say, looking down at your hands. You can’t handle facing any of them right now, seeing the anger and disappointment on their faces. “A beta, a woman, knocked on my door. She was an American, a-a soldier. She told me General Shepherd was waiting for me. I-I didn’t know what to do and I panicked because I knew I couldn’t just say no, so I went with her. General Shepherd asked me some questions about the pack and how we were settling in and he looked at my mark and then sent me back to the barracks. When I got back I noticed my door was open and I know I closed it when I left. I always close it.” 

You swallow thickly, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. The last thing you need to do right now is distress. You’re not sure John would help you, any of them would help you. They’d just stare down at your pathetic form as you give into your fear, their anger wiping out the instinct to help, to care for their omega. You’ll die while they all look down at you in disgust. 

“I noticed something sticking out of the vent slightly, so I climbed up and it was a camera.” You continue, your voice shaking. “Someone went in and put cameras and recording devices all over the room. I-I looked everywhere for them and then smashed the ones I found and hid them in the cabinet in the bathroom.” 

John lets out a sigh before he starts pacing back and forth again. The silence is almost worse than if he had been yelling at you. “Why did you keep this from us?” He snaps, turning on you again. 

You flinch at his anger, sinking deeper into the couch between the two betas. “I-I thought you might have known.” You say quietly, trying to curl in on yourself. “I-I thought there was no way your superior could have been on base without you knowing, and then I...I panicked about the cameras and I was scared if I told you, something might happen and if you started asking questions you might get hurt or s-something might happen to me, and I was ashamed that I did something so stupid, leaving like that with a stranger and I couldn’t handle it if you were disappointed in me or angry and I just wanted to bury it and forget.” The tears are falling freely now, every breath a sob. “I-I was scared you might send me back or, or do something worse because I was stupid, but I shouldn’t have kept it from you I’m sorry.” 

You’re crying earnestly now, your breaths catching on every inhale. You curl in on yourself, drawing your knees up as you cross your arms, trying to put pressure against your chest. You wish you had your bear, you wish you had something to squeeze, something to try and regulate your mind before you distress. Something to hide behind.

John curses quietly, running a hand down his face. He drops to a knee in front of you, reaching out for you. You flinch out of reflex as his hand closes around the back of your neck. “Look at me.” He says, his voice rough. You’re not speaking to John anymore, you’re facing Captain Price. 

You meet his gaze, looking into eyes that once might have been comforting to you, but the hardness in them, the accusatory glint to them has you curling up tighter. There will be no pity, no mercy. The back of your neck tingles, his hand almost burning where it presses against the skin there. All he has to do is move his fingers just slightly, dig them into your skin and force the truth out of you. It wouldn’t do any good. You are telling them the truth. 

They just need to believe that. 

“Do you know who could have done this?” He asks, his voice softer than it had been just moments ago. “Footprints, a scent, anything?” 

You shake your head, trying to calm your sobs. “T-There was n-nothing. N-No scent.” 

He sighs, releasing you to stand. He turns his back to you, resting his hands on his desk. His shoulders are taut, muscles straining as he tries to hold back his anger. You almost wish he wasn’t, you almost wish he’d take it out on you, give you the punishment you feel you deserve. Shame still burns hot in you, more than it had when you made the decision to lie to them. They’ll never trust you again. 

“Whoever it was had access to high grade monitoring equipment.” Simon says, holding the bag of broken pieces. He steps away from the door, tossing it back on John’s desk. 

“You think it was someone here?” Kyle asks. 

Or someone who came with General Shepherd. 

They’re all thinking it. They just don’t want to say it out loud. 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. The general had seemed very interested in the status of your pack, the bonds that were forming. The way he stared at your mark like it was a trophy, the way he stared at you like you were a trophy. You’re used to being looked at like an object. You’ve been looked at that way since you presented. Yet the way General Shepherd had looked at you...it makes your stomach churn. He wouldn’t have had the cameras put up, would he? What would he gain from it?

If he was so interested in your pack, then why hasn’t he come back? It’s been months since his visit, months since you removed the cameras, and yet you haven’t heard or seen any sign of him. Maybe he was only interested in making sure you had been claimed, that John had done his duty and not faked it or lied about it. Maybe John has been keeping him satisfied with his reports since then, giving them the details they want now that it’s been proven all of you have done your jobs. 

The thought of what the details John has been putting in could be makes your stomach churn.

You need something to hold. You need something to push against your chest, keep the pressure there so you don’t fall into distress in the middle of John’s office. 

“You’re sure you got all of them.” John says, turning back to you. 

The yes dies on your tongue as you take a moment to think about it. The lingering feeling of being watched, the tickling feeling in the back of your mind in the last few days. The soulless black eyes staring back at you. The bumpy seam. 

The bear. 

There’s no other thoughts in your mind as you jump up off the couch, throwing the door open as you race down the hallway. They’re on your heels, your speed the only thing keeping them from catching you. Your shoes squeak as you race down the hallway, shouldering your door open. You go directly to your bed, grabbing the bear. 

The way it’s been sitting there for weeks, almost mocking you. ‘You should have known. You should have guessed. I’ve been watching you this whole time.’ It’s saying to you. 

You sink your fingers into the small hole, ripping the crudely stitched seam up the back. You sink your hand into the stuffing, reaching up towards the head, feeling, feeling until your fingers hit a wire. Nausea churns your stomach, the shaking in your body stilling as you wrap your fingers around it, tears blurring your eyes. 

You yank on the wire, pulling the bear’s left eye out with it. The bear falls from your hand as you begin to hyperventilate, staring at the camera in disbelief. You turn to the others, the camera beginning to shake in your hand as your body comes back to reality, tremors of fear and disgust wracking your form. 

John gently pulls the camera from your tingling fingers, turning to face the others. “Kyle, get her out of here.” 

You flinch as the beta wraps his arm around you, guiding you out of your room, what’s supposed to be your safe space. It’s been violated again, or was it never safe in the first place? 

Your stomach churns, more tears falling again, this time for a different reason. All the times you’ve slept, all the times you’ve fucked one of them in your room, all the times you’ve changed. Your heat. 

You free yourself from Kyle’s hold, racing down the hallway towards the bathroom. You push open the door, slipping on the tile clumsily. Your knees knock into the floor painfully as you barely make it, vomiting into the toilet. Kyle is right behind you, kneeling down in the stall with you. He rubs your back, holding your hair out of the way. 

You vomit until there’s nothing left to come up, dry heaving as you sob. Your stomach hurts, fear and disgust still causing your stomach to churn violently. Kyle pulls you up before flushing the toilet, leading you over to the sinks. He bends you down over one, using a paper towel to clean your face. 

“Easy.” He tries to soothe you, wetting another paper towel in the cold before pressing it against the back of your neck. 

Your hands are going numb as you cry, unable to take a deep enough breath to oxygenate your blood. You’re going to pass out. Your vision is tunneling. Maybe if Kyle is merciful enough, he’ll let your head hit the sink on the way down. 

Maybe you’ll wake up and not remember anything. 

“Search them all.” John says as soon as you’re out of the room. 

Rage burns hot in him still, his hands almost shaking as he grabs another stuffed animal off your bed. Your betrayal hurts. The fact you hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell them the truth, the fact you’ve kept this a secret for so long stings something deep in his chest. Were you ever going to tell them? Or would you have kept this a secret for the rest of your life had the truth not slipped out on its own? 

He slices down the seam of another bear with his knife, sinking his hand into the fluff. He feels around, touching every inch of fluff and fabric, but there’s nothing. Stuffing falls on the floor, decorating it like fake snow as they tear open each stuffed animal and pillow. 

“Got another.” Johnny says, pulling a recording device from another bear. 

Fuck. 

Simon grabs your giant bear, cutting it open far too happily. He’s none too gentle as he sinks his hand in, tugging out clump after clump of stuffing. “Nothing.” He says, tossing the bear on the floor almost angrily. 

John stares down at the camera and recording device in his hand before motioning for them to follow silently. He heads back to his office, grabbing the bag of crushed cameras before adding them to it. He shoves the bag into a drawer in his desk before stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Search every inch of this building.” He says quietly to Johnny and Simon. “For all we know they’re everywhere. I’m going to go have a chat with someone.” 

His hands are still shaking, anger radiating off him in waves. He’d had enough sense to spray himself with scent blocker before he stepped out into the warm air. It’s nearly suffocating, sweat beading on his back as he heads straight for the medical center. His mind is reeling. Your betrayal, the cameras, the ones in your stuffed animals. Where else could there be bugs planted? Someone invaded their space, invaded your space, with the intention of spying on them. 

And you tried to hide it from them. 

He’s still reeling as he makes his way down the hallway towards the familiar door. His knock is firm, his breaths deep and slow as he tries to calm himself. Anger won’t get him anywhere in this situation. He needs a clear head, he needs to think logically. He squeezes the knob at the call to enter, taking another breath before he steps inside. 

The soothing scent of beta goes straight to his head, calming the rage a bit as he approaches Dr. Keller’s desk. It always smells good in here, the scent soft and warm and relaxing. His anger far outweighs the light scent, though. If it had been more concentrated, directed at him, it may have been able to steady his swirling emotions. 

By the look on Dr. Keller’s face, she can sense the emotions radiating off of him, even without being able to smell them. He doesn’t want to use his alpha, intimidate the truth out of her, but he will if he has to. This is a direct threat to you, to your safety, to them and their safety. He needs the truth, and he won’t tolerate anything but.  

“Captain Price? Is everything alright?” She asks, closing the file on her desk as he stands just inside the doorway. 

“Walk with me.” He says, his hand still gripping the door handle. 

She doesn’t offer any complaint, doesn’t even ask why as she slips the file on her desk into a drawer before locking it. He’s impressed by her willingness, though he’d expected her to follow without question. If he’s approaching her alone, it’s not without reason, and it usually relates to you in some way. 

She stands from her desk, slipping her keys around her wrist before approaching him. He can smell the nervous taint beginning to form on the edge of her scent. He steps out of the doorway back into the hall, taking another breath. He can’t get too accusing until he’s more confident in his conspiracy, until he’s certain. She locks the door before turning to face him. He stares down at her for a second before he heads for the door. She follows him silently, keeping up with his pace. He’s eager to get outside, away from any prying eyes, anyone that might overhear. 

Away from cameras. 

He waits until they’re outside, leading her away from the more populated areas of the base. Normally he wouldn’t mind having this conversation in her office, but with this new development, he can’t be too careful. For all he knows there’s cameras there too. Dr. Keller doesn’t spend all her time in her office. It would be easy for someone to enter in the late hours of the night, when only A&E staff are milling about, and plant cameras in the room. If whoever planted them in your room was so dedicated to watching you as much as possible, he wouldn’t put it past them to watch you during your sessions too. 

He feels a bit strange being so conspiratorial, a bit paranoid, but he can’t help it. He can’t be sure of anything anymore. 

“Were you aware that a certain omega left the barracks with a stranger months ago when we left on our assignment?” He can’t quite bring himself to use your name, the thought of it making anger flare in him again. 

Dr. Keller’s brows furrow as she glances up at him, slowing her pace. “No, I had no idea.” She shakes her head. 

“A certain general also came to visit. Wanted to ‘check on the status of our pack’s progress.’ She went to see him alone.” He glances down at her. “Do you know anything about that?” 

“Of course not.” She says, stopping in her tracks. “Even if I did, you would have been the first to know, whether or not I thought you knew about it. I know what these people are like. If I knew he was here, I would assume he sought her out too. I wouldn’t put it past him to invade the barracks because he felt like he had a right to as both your commanding officer and one of the heads of the initiative.” 

He stares down at her for a long moment, holding her gaze. She’s smart, more aware than he’d given her credit for. Though, he supposes, one can never be too careful in her position.  The Keller siblings are alike, he muses. 

She doesn’t look away from him, even in his angry state. She doesn’t waver, doesn’t shy away. She’s not lying, he decides. He knows what liars look like, and she’s far too comfortable staring at him for someone that might be guilty. She’s not intimidated by him, not even a bit uneasy now that she has an understanding of the reason for his anger. 

“Some soldier, an American she said, entered the barracks and took her to meet General Shepherd.” He says, still holding her gaze. “While she was gone, someone bugged her room with cameras and recording devices.” 

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What?” She breathes the word in shock. So this was news to her too. 

“She found them and hid them from us. For months she knew and she didn’t say anything.” He’s trying not to sound accusing, but he can’t help it. He needs to hear her say it. The anger is still simmering under the surface. Anger at you, anger at whoever put those cameras up. 

Dr. Keller shakes her head, still fearlessly facing down his simmering anger. “She didn’t say anything to me either. I may be a firm believer in doctor-patient confidentiality, but there are some things that necessitate the breaking of those laws. Those include things that put patients, or others, in danger. I would have told you if I knew.” 

John stares at her for a moment. There’s no lie, no deception in her face or her tone. “I know.” He finally says, relaxing a bit in his anger. He can never be too careful, but he doubts now that Dr. Keller had any hand in this, much less knew about it before they did. 

“You think there’s something deeper going on behind the scenes, Captain?” She asks, almost reading his mind. 

“John.” He says. It’s been long enough that she can call him by name. “I know there is.” He says, letting out a sigh. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while. Pulling all four of us for a mission that would have only needed two so soon after her heat? General Shepherd just happening to show up unannounced at the same time? The incessant emails requiring an in depth report on the status of our pack...” 

“How long have those emails been coming in?” She asks cautiously. 

“Two weeks.” He says, a frown forming on his own face. “You’ve been getting them too?” 

She nods. “Two weeks of formal requests for all of my records and notes relating to my patient. Something is going on, John. Yesterday, a formal request from General Shepherd for access to all documents, records, and notes regarding my patient was delivered by an American soldier.” She shakes her head. “They gave me 48 hours to deliver before I get removed from the initiative.” 

John stares at her, his frown deepening. He’d been handed a similar document yesterday as well. A formal request for the in depth report before disciplinary action would be taken. He’s been loath to think what that action might be. He’d tear them all limb from limb if they ever tried to go after you. He doubts they would sink that far, not if they’re so dedicated to the success of whatever experiment they’re unwilling guinea pigs in. They’re far too interested in you and your integration into the pack to take that risk. They just want more...detailed information, and not just from him. 

Detailed enough they may have put cameras up in your room. 

He lets out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Send them.” 

She blinks at him. “What?” 

“Send the files.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “She can’t lose you. She needs someone she trusts. I need someone I trust in on this.” 

“You think she’s hiding something else?” She asks. 

“She hid this from us.” He says. “I don’t want to say I don’t trust her, but if she lied about this so easily...” 

Dr. Keller makes a face. John knows she’s the last person that wants to do this, but they may not have much of a choice. Your safety is on the line. They need to know, and John knows you trust her. Not enough to reveal the cameras, but perhaps Dr. Keller can coax other things out of you that may have happened. John knows you’re telling them the truth about what happened when they were gone. With your reactions, he has no doubt about that. He just can’t be too careful now that he knows how easily you lied, how easily you hid things from them. He needs to know. He needs to be sure. 

He hates how you reacted to his anger, how close you were to distressing there in his office. As angry as he was, he would have helped you. He wouldn’t have let you succumb to that. You were afraid, you are afraid. It almost hurts him more that you were scared enough to try and hide out of shame. 

“It’s for her own safety.” John says. 

She lets out a sigh, nodding. “I’ll see what I can get out of her. I don’t doubt she’ll want to talk about this.” 

“Let her tell you.” John says. “If you reveal you know, she may hide out of shame again.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “That was my thought exactly.”

“Keep me posted.” John says. “I’ve got some digging to do. You should check your office, make sure no one hid cameras in there as well.” 

“I will.” She nods. “John?” She calls as he begins to walk away. He turns back to look at her. “Be careful.” 

He nods once before turning back around. He feels slightly better now, after talking to Dr. Keller. She hadn’t known either, just as in the dark about everything as they were. They’re in the same boat, having gotten the same threats from General Shepherd for information. He wants to write it off as being necessary for the initiative, to garner more information about how to best proceed with integration once it's greenlit. He doesn't want to think too much into the conspiracies forming, the existing ones being fed by this new development. He’s no stranger to questioning direct orders, going against them, but this time he may not have a choice. 

He lets out a sigh, running his hand over his face again. He has a report to write. 

You can’t move. Sweat is beading on your forehead but you’re still shaking and shivering. You’re immobilized, wrapped in a blanket burrito laid out on the couch. The tears have stopped, your face tight and swollen as they dry on your skin. Your gaze is far away, not focused on anything even as Simon and Johnny tear apart the rec room, checking every inch for any hidden cameras and recording devices. 

They’ve been going through the whole barracks, room by room, turning them upside down looking for any that might have been put up. You don’t know if they’ve found any, and you’re incapable of caring right now. You’re not sure which is worse, that there might be others that have gone unnoticed because you didn’t say anything, or if the cameras were exclusively placed in your room. 

Kyle is seated at your feet. He’s angry. It’s not hard to tell. He hasn’t touched you since he rolled you up in the blanket, electing to sit as far from you as he can. He’s been staring into the distance just as you have, his knee bouncing. You’ve betrayed him, just as you’ve betrayed everyone. The thought makes you sick, your stomach rolling again. You cough, trying to hold down the bile. There’s nothing left in your stomach. Your mouth is dry, lips cracked. He hasn’t offered you any water, and even if you weren’t restrained, you’re not sure you could find it in you to move and get some. 

The mood shifts as John appears in the doorway, your eyes moving automatically to look at him. The angry cloud that had permeated his scent is gone, though you can tell from his face the emotions haven’t left. Not completely. 

“Found anything?” He asks, addressing Johnny and Simon who are both placing the books on the shelves again. 

“Nothing.” Simon says. “Not even a recording device.” 

“You checked the vents?” John asks. 

“Vents, electronics, lights.” Johnny says. “Nothing.” 

A broken whimper leaves your throat. So it was just your room that was bugged. The thought is worse than the idea there were others in the barracks that have gone unnoticed. Whoever had placed them had done it purposefully to watch you. It makes your stomach churn again and you shift on the couch, leaning over more in case you puke again. They’ll make you clean it, but you don’t care, not right now. 

Boots appear in your vision before John takes a seat on the coffee table in front of you. He lets out a quiet sigh before reaching forward, his fingers brushing your cheek. You flinch, ready for something worse, but his touch is light. He brushes your hair off your sweaty forehead, the tenderness a shocking change from the anger he had been burning with earlier. 

“What you did was dangerous.” He says, making you flinch slightly at his words. “Leaving the barracks with a stranger was stupid, but nothing compared to hiding the cameras from us. Part of our job is to keep you safe, but we can’t do that when you lie to us.” He pulls his hand back, resting his arms on his knees. “Your safety is paramount. Your anonymity is vital and if someone put those cameras up with the intent of revealing your existence and ties to us, that could get you killed.” 

You flinch at his words again, wanting to cry but you have no tears left. He’s right. You were stupid for hiding the cameras. You don’t know who put them up or why. It could wind up getting you hurt in the future. You’re vulnerable when they leave, even if one of them stays with you. A sneak attack could leave you unguarded. Your only chance would be to run, but where would you go? You couldn’t put Dr. Keller at risk like that. Could you trust the other soldiers would defend you and not take advantage of the situation? 

What if they’re involved? What if they put them up for their own sick entertainment? 

You make a horrible choking noise as bile rises in your throat, burning your already raw esophagus. You’re going to puke again, all over John’s boots. 

John shifts so he’s kneeling on the floor, cupping your face and turning it to look at him. His palms are warm on your clammy skin, your inability to read him through his scent making you uneasy. The sting of scent blocker burns your nose, and you can’t tell if he put it on purposefully. Was his anger too much, was the risk of sending you into distress so high that he had to hide that anger before it overwhelmed you? 

“Look at me.” He says softly, softer than when he said it earlier in his office. His eyes are softer, almost back to the stare you recognize. “What happens next is important.” He’s not just speaking to you, he’s speaking to everyone. “There’s things going on that I can’t be certain of yet. Finding the last of those cameras may set some things in motion. We have to be on guard and aware. Anything suspicious goes on, we need to know about it and take care of it. Even if it’s just a feeling.” His thumbs brush your cheeks, calluses scraping against your tingling skin. “Your safety is our prime concern. Whoever did this wanted eyes on you. We need to know why.” He lowers his head slightly, looking you in the eyes. “If there’s anything else, we need to know. Anything. We need the truth. All of it.” 

They think you might be a spy. 

They don’t say it directly, but you know that’s at least part of what they’re asking. Nothing is off the table anymore. Any conspiracy they may have shrugged off before has a chance of being real. Every little thought, every little tickle in the back of their brain now has the possibility of being real until the truth gets unveiled. You’re just as in the dark as they are. In fact, you probably know less than they do. 

A prickling begins at the base of your spine, slowly crawling its way up your back to your brain. Your blood runs cold, goosebumps forming on your skin as your breath hitches. You’re not sure how you didn’t put things together sooner. Maybe it was the fear in the moment blocking out all rational thought, making you blind to things that should have been glaringly obvious in the moment. 

You should have said something sooner. 

“There is one thing.” You say, staring at John with wide eyes. Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, so hard you’re scared it might thump right through your chest cavity. Your voice shakes, your fingers going numb where they’re trapped against your sides. You’re starting to feel claustrophobic, the blanket around you becoming constricting, like it’s keeping you from possibly running, possibly escaping from the realization that’s slammed into you like a train.

John’s brows furrow just slightly, a movement that would have gone unnoticed had you not been locked onto his face. You can see the subtle shift, the change from John into Captain Price again. He’s thinking the worst, expecting what they had all been silently thinking. 

“Something Kate said before we boarded the helicopter in London.” You continue, taking their silence as an invitation to drop the bomb you’re about to blow this whole thing up with. 

“What did she say?” John asks, shifting slightly where he’s kneeling. 

You take in a shaky breath, your hands curling into fists. Their eyes are all on you, waiting with bated breath. The anticipation is palpable, all of them, even you, on edge, waiting for what you’re about to drop on them, what you’re about to admit to. They’re questioning all of their partnerships, their relationships. They’re questioning Kate, they’re questioning you. Can either of you really be trusted? Can anyone be trusted? 

“She told me to do what I need to do, because they’ll be watching me.” You say. 

The silence hangs heavy in the air. It’s thick and heavy as your words sink in, as they all come to the realization you just had. The double meaning of those words should have been obvious. They should have been at the front of your mind as soon as you found the cameras, yet you had forgotten entirely about your short conversation, the silent warning. Did Kate know they would be literally watching, planting cameras and spying on you? Or had she simply been referring to how they would be waiting to see how things progressed, eagerly waiting for the many reports John has had to send over the last few months since your arrival on base. 

John pulls his hands from your face, resting his arm on his knee for a moment. He’s thinking just as hard as you are, the pieces beginning to fall into place. He’s questioning the same things you are. Was Kate more involved in this than she let on? Or was she as unaware as you all were? Are you all pawns, or does Kate have a hand on the chess board as well? Did she pick you because she knew enough about the initiative to choose you above all the others?

Was this why she chose you? Did she think you were smart enough to figure the truth out on your own? 

You’ve never cursed your fear and anxiety more than you are right now. 

“I have some things I need to do.” John says, letting out a sigh. “I want you to stay here. You don’t leave these barracks unless they are on fire, understood?” 

You nod. “Understood.” 

“Good.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. He looks between Kyle, Johnny, and Simon. “One of you stays, the other two follow me.” 

“I’ll stay.” Johnny says, glancing down at you before looking back at John. 

John pats his shoulder before leaving the rec room, Simon and Kyle following. He watches them go before letting out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. You can’t look at him, face his disappointment anymore, the hurt in his eyes. You wiggle on the couch, trying to get a limb free so you can unwrap the burrito you’ve been encased in. It’s too constricting, too hot. 

You begin to roll, gravity betraying you as the end of the couch begins to sink from your body. You wince in preparation for hitting the floor on your face, praying the blanket is thick enough to keep you from slamming your head back onto the tile. You wince even as hands push you back the other way, rolling you towards the back of the couch again. Those hands untuck the edge of the blanket, slowly unrolling you from your fuzzy prison. 

Your face still feels tight from your tears, your mouth dry from the copious amounts of salty liquid that you’ve lost over the last two hours. You push yourself up to sit, maneuvering the blanket out from under you. 

“Will you get me some water?” You ask quietly, half expecting him to say no, to get it yourself. 

He does move to the fridge though, grabbing a bottle before moving back to the couch. Johnny sinks down on the cushion, sitting as far as he can from you as he passes you the bottle. You unscrew the cap, chugging the water as fast as you can. The cool liquid hurts your throat but you can’t stop, and Johnny makes no move to stop you. 

He’s not looking at you, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch, his chin resting on his fist as he stares at the far corner of the room. You don’t know what to say as you finish the bottle, the plastic crinkling in the silence as you screw the cap back on. You’re not sure you should say anything. 

You know Johnny can be a ticking time bomb. You haven’t seen him angry very many times, but he burns hot with it in those rare moments when you have seen it. It’s never been directed at you before, and you’d like to assume it never will be, even now. You can’t sense any anger, even with your stuffy nose. The scent slipping through isn’t laced with the sharp, almost burning scent of beta anger.

He’s not angry, you think. He’s disappointed. 

It almost hurts worse. 

You lean over slowly, keeping your eyes on him as you set the empty bottle on the coffee table before curling up against the other arm of the couch. You feel like crying again, but you have no tears left. Your stomach is still churning, the events of the last two hours still feeling unreal. You’d spilled the secret you’ve been keeping for months to Simon, who of course told the rest of your pack. You were interrogated, placed in the path of their anger and disappointment in you. Then your worst fears were confirmed and there were cameras you missed, ones that could have been spying on you for months, violating your privacy after you thought you were safe. 

You never were safe, keeping this secret. This goes deeper than you think it does. 

Now that you know what you know, it’s not impossible to see that. You’ve been delaying this for months by not confessing to them right away. Is it worse, or perhaps it’s better that you delayed this probing into the depths of this initiative, into who could possibly be behind the violation, the invasion of the pack’s sacred spaces. The last thing you want is your pack to get hurt, for it to be your fault. 

Will it be your fault because you held off for so long? 

You won’t be able to live with yourself if something happens to them. 

“Why did ye do it?” Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Why did ye keep this from us?” 

You swallow thickly, your mouth feeling dry again despite the water you had just chugged. “I was afraid.” You say, the same thing you told John. “I let my irrational fears take over.” 

“We wouldnae been mad at ye.” Johnny says, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “Still aren’t.” His voice softens. “Was right glaikit of ye, but John is right. We want tae keep ye safe. Cannae do tha’ if yer keeping secrets.” 

“I know it was stupid.” You say. “I wish I hadn’t hidden it.” The water you chugged is threatening to come back up as your stomach churns. “If anything happened to any of you because of it...” 

Johnny scoffs, finally turning to look at you. “We’ll be fine. It’s ye we have tae worry about. Someone’s keeking at ye. We need tae find out who it is and put a stop to it.” His hand curls into a fist where it rests against his thigh. “I’d like tae know who so I can...” He trails off, punching his hand against his leg. 

“Beat them up?” You offer. 

“Nae, they don’t deserve to live after this.” He says, his voice lower than it had been before. 

A chill runs down your spine at the obvious shift in him. You’ve never really seen this side of them, the side that comes out in the field when they shift into soldiers on a mission. No hesitation, no remorse. Killers. 

You know that, deep down. You’ve been living with that reality since you first learned where you were being assigned. It’s easy to look the other way, to ignore the things they’ve done, the things they will continue to do, because it’s never involved you. You were innocent to it all, kept in the dark, staying home while they go off and do whatever atrocities are necessary in order to maintain world peace, or whatever it is they tell themselves to rationalize it.

Now it does involve you. 

How far will they go to hunt down who put up those cameras? What happens if they do figure out who it was, if they uncover the reason why they were put up in the first place? Blood is going to be shed over this, you knew that as soon as you pulled the bag of cameras from under your sink and handed them off to Simon. Maybe you knew that deep down as soon as you found them. Maybe that’s why you had held off for so long, determined to keep this a secret as long as you possibly could. 

Blood is going to be shed because of you. 

You’re not sure you can stomach that thought, even if whoever did this does deserve it. 

“I spoke to Kate.” John says, folding his hands on his desk, squeezing his fingers together. “She’s claiming innocence in this. She wasn’t aware of any orders made from the initiative for surveillance of our omega.” 

“You trust her?” Simon asks, crossing his arms. 

“We may not have much of a choice.” John squeezes his fingers harder, so hard they turn white. “I’ve sent the cameras off to her. See if she can trace where the footage was being routed to.” 

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Kyle asks, glancing between John and Simon. 

“I’ve known Kate for a long time. I like to trust she wouldn’t hide something like this from us. Not to this extent.” John answers. 

“She knew something.” Simon says. “Enough to try and give a warning.” 

“She could have meant a lot of things.” John sighs. “If she meant it literally...we’ll never really know. If she was blind to this like we were, you bet your arse she’ll dig until she finds the truth behind all of this.” 

“The doctor?” Simon asks. John knows he’s never entirely trusted Dr. Keller. Trust doesn’t come easy for him. He’s absolutely shattered over this. 

“She wasn’t aware of any of this either. I trust her on that.” John says before Simon can interject. “She’s just as deep in this as we are.” John pulls the manilla folder out of his desk, pulling out the orders. “Both of us got orders directly from General Shepherd. Hers was a command to send copies of all of her notes and records within 48 hours or she’d be removed from the initiative.” 

“What is she going to do?” Kyle asks. 

“I told her to send them.” John says, holding out his own orders to Simon. 

“You think Shepherd is involved in all of this?” Kyle asks. 

“Speculation won’t get us anywhere.” John says. But it’s hard not to think so.

“We can’t trust anyone.” Simon passes the orders to Kyle. 

“We have to be careful.” John says. “We have no leads on any of this. Until we know more, we leave the probing to Kate.” 

“You think she’s telling the whole truth?” Simon asks, staring down at John. He doesn’t need to specify who he’s talking about. 

“Yes.” John nods. “She’s scared enough as is, I don’t think she could hide anything else, even if she wanted to. She made a stupid decision, but we’re hardly innocent either. I think it was almost better that she kept it a secret until now. Had we jumped into this sooner, it may have been far more conspicuous, and it could have been written off easily. Whoever is behind it has known that she’s known for months now. They were banking on her keeping it a secret. Now they know that we know, so it’s their turn to make a move.” 

“They make the move first, they risk revealing themselves.” Kyle says. 

“Exactly. Forcing their hand is too much of a risk for now.” John says, looking between them. “We wait for them to make a move while we continue to dig for answers. If nothing else, it will force their hand.” 

“What do we do in the meantime?” Simon asks. 

“They’ve targeted our omega. We have to protect her. She doesn’t leave our sight. One of us has to stay with her always. We keep her in the barracks unless we have no other choice. Be vigilant. Anyone looks slightly suspicious, you tell me. Whoever put those cameras in there was bold enough to enter the barracks in the first place. I don’t doubt they’ll try again, even with us here.” John pushes himself up to stand. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll debrief Johnny.” 

You feel a bit like a prisoner. 

You know they don’t mean to, but with their lingering and their constant watching, it’s like they’re waiting for you to mess up again, waiting for you to do something suspicious. You’re afraid to even move too much. You’d eaten in the barracks again, John staying with you while the others went to get dinner. The food hadn’t been very appetizing, but you knew you had to eat. John was serious about keeping you in the barracks for now, though with what’s happened recently, you can hardly complain. 

You’re curled up on one side of the couch, Kyle sitting on the other. Simon is in his usual spot in the chair, only sitting closer to you out of necessity. Kyle is on his phone, the room quiet aside from the evening news playing on the TV. Kyle hasn’t said much to you, still hurting from your distrust and betrayal. Simon hasn’t said anything at all, and you know you’ve lost all the trust you’ve built up with him over the last few weeks. You don’t blame either of them for being upset with you, disappointed in you. Part of you wishes they were still angry. The disappointment hurts worse than being yelled at. 

You rest your head on the arm of the couch, your eyes burning after spending a good portion of the day crying so hard you made yourself sick. The exhaustion is beginning to settle in, your eyes fluttering as you fight to stay awake, listening to the news anchor delivering the latest breaking news. 

“Breaking news, an Austrian tourist was found dead in his hotel room this morning. Authorities say there’s no leads as of yet as to what caused his death...” 

Your eyes close, sleep beginning to fog at the edges of your mind. You’re going to lose the battle against it quickly. 

“I killed an Austrian once.” Simon says, the words barely registering in your quickly numbing mind. “Big fucker. Shitty sniper, but the t-shirt over his face probably didn’t help...”

You have no choice but to give in, your body going lax as you’re finally pulled into the depths of sleep. 

You jump when a hand gently shakes your arm. Sleep still clouds your mind as you look around, desperately trying to find whatever it was that disturbed you. 

“Time for bed.” A quiet voice says as you blink desperately against the bright lights assaulting your eyes. 

The attempt to say something comes out as a garbled sound. The news is still playing in the background, meaning you haven’t been asleep for long. 

“Come on.” The fingers wrap around your arm gently, easing you up onto your feet. 

Your legs barely get under you to hold you up, your eyes squinting as you try to clear them enough to see what’s happening. A quiet groan leaves your lips as you rub your face, awareness starting to creep back in as you force your body to move. 

You follow the blurry figure out of the rec room, shuffling along behind it. You want nothing more than to crawl into a bed and sleep for the next sixteen hours. You want the comfort of your nest but you don’t have that anymore. 

You pause for a second, your brain snapping into awareness at the thought. You don’t have a nest anymore. It’s gone, the safety and security of it broken once again. The thought makes your skin crawl, your body wanting to sink in on itself. Your nest is gone. It’ll never be the same again. 

“Come on.” John says again, guiding you down the hall towards his room. You let him lead you, the back of your neck prickling. 

Anger bubbles inside of you. Not sadness, not depression, not grief. Anger. Anger at whoever broke in and planted those cameras. Anger at whoever invaded your private space. Anger at yourself for not telling them sooner. It makes you feel violated and angry. 

John ushers you into his room, not missing the frown on your face. A few of your things have been moved into his room, likely because you wouldn’t be spending much time, if any, in your room for a while. It’s like a crime scene now. Ripped apart again just as it had been when you found the cameras the first time. The floor littered with stuffing from your pillows and plushes, furniture rearranged. The scene of a massacre. 

The perfect picture of the violation of your privacy and the destruction of your safe space. 

John closes the door behind you before ushering you to his bathroom. You get ready for bed, the anger fading to numbness as you change into one of his shirts. You want to shower, but you don’t have the energy for that. With your luck, you’ll fall asleep and need to make a visit to the medical center. 

You’re hesitant as you exit the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt. John has changed into his usual sleep pants, electing to wear a shirt this time. It makes you flinch involuntarily. Things really have regressed that far back now. The only reason you’re sleeping in here is because they can’t leave you alone without the risk of something happening to you. 

Maybe you should offer to sleep on the floor. That might make things easier on the both of you. 

“Here.” John says, holding something out to you. 

You stare at it for a long moment, at the pink and green fuzzy fabric. You reach out for it hesitantly, wrapping your arms around the strawberry pillow you had counted as a loss. You counted most of your nest as a loss. 

“Johnny is working on sewing them back together.” John explains. “All except the two we found surveillance equipment in. Your big bear was innocent.” He says. “Johnny just needs extra stuffing for that one.” 

You hold the strawberry against your chest, trying to comprehend his words. They were fixing your plushes and your pillows? You’re not quite sure what to think. On one hand you’re glad they’re not a total loss, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can trust them again. They have been thoroughly checked, obviously if they were being fixed up again, but the thought of them staring at you, listening to you...

“Johnny’s fixing them?” Is all you can manage to get out. 

John’s lips pull up in a smirk. “Thought you’d appreciate it.” He puts a hand on your back, turning you towards the bed. “Come on. You’re exhausted.” 

You are. The sleep is probing at your mind again, making your eyes burn. As much as you want to protest, to offer up sleeping on the floor, you let yourself be guided to the bed, climbing onto the mattress. You shove the strawberry into the corner before you settle in, laying facing the wall. John turns off the light, the room going dark. Your nightlight is plugged in on John’s desk, casting a soft glow that pushes away the threatening darkness. 

John doesn’t wrap his arm around you, keeping as much space as he can from you. It hurts, tears stinging your eyes as you lay there. You shift your hand up, fingers reaching for the strawberry. You wish you had a bear, something smaller to clutch to your chest, to push away the anguish you’re feeling. 

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, fingers brushing the soft fabric of the strawberry. “I should have known better, I should have-” 

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, shifting behind you. “You didn’t trust us because you didn’t know better. You’ve been betrayed and traumatized by the people you trusted in the past for things that were out of your control. You were made to believe that it was your mistake that caused everything that happened in your life since your presentation. You were traumatized by authority figures that were supposed to help you and support you.” 

You feel a bit like you’re in a session with Dr. Keller rather than in bed with John. You might have assumed he had spoken to Dr. Keller himself, but you know how knowledgeable and aware and analytical John is. He can read situations quickly, something you know was born from his experience and his training. 

“Of course your first instinct would be to hide your mistakes.” He continues. “You’ve been punished for them before.” His fingers brush your arm, making you flinch. 

It’s not the only reason you flinch, however. You’ve never told him, never explicitly laid it out, but you’re not surprised he knows. He’s aware of everything, always watching, always assessing, just like Simon. They’re all aware, but the two alphas seem to have almost an extra sense when it comes to the pack and others outside of it. It’s part of the job, but it also seems to extend past that. 

Alpha instincts. 

“Get some sleep.” John says, finally wrapping his arm around you. “We’ll deal with everything else in the morning. 

Nearly a week goes by and you’ve heard nothing else regarding the cameras, or your mistake. Johnny and Kyle have forgiven you, warming back up to you, not quite to where they were before, but more than they had been that day. John is distant, not in emotion but physically. He’s been spending a lot of time in his office, Simon coming and going frequently. It’s about the cameras, you figure, or perhaps they’re digging into who might be behind it. They’re not just going to leave it at that. They wouldn’t tolerate a slight against their omega, much less someone invading the pack’s territory like that. 

Simon...he’s still distant, closed off, hardly looking at you unless it’s entirely necessary. He’s reverted back to how he was before, and it’s tearing you up inside. More than the knowledge that you made a mistake, more than the knowledge you broke their trust, more than the knowledge that they’re upset with you. You made it so far with Simon, and now it’s all come unraveled and it’s all your fault. 

You want to speak with him, but you don’t know how. You’re almost afraid to, like acknowledging him might set off the bomb ticking inside him.  

What if he’s waiting for you to break the silence again? 

You’re not brave enough to do it. Not so soon. You’re afraid of pushing too much, of ruining things more than you already have. 

Besides Simon, things are slowly moving back to normal. The rift that had begun to form is slowly closing, sealing back up before any more damage is done. You still regret it, still hate yourself for causing it in the first place. It’s your fault this scar will always remain in your bonds, always there, always a reminder of your stupidity and your fear. 

Guilt is eating you alive, and you know all of them can tell. 

They’re all uncomfortable, still very much intune to you despite everything. It’s hard to break those instincts, even with the scar left on the bond. Even Simon has to be feeling it, despite his regression, despite his attempts not to. It’s not hard to miss that Johnny is trying to goad him to at least go easy on you, to lighten his still swirling emotions towards you. 

He doesn’t trust easily, and you’ve betrayed the trust you so carefully built, betrayed that vulnerability he showed towards you. 

The knowledge of what you’ve done to him is almost worse than everything else.  

“Hey.” Fingers snap in front of your face, making you yelp as you jump back into awareness. You clutch your hand to your chest, trying to stop yourself from diving straight into a panic attack. You’ve been on edge since the reveal, jumpy even around your pack. You know they'd never let anything happen, but with their hovering and constant watching you can’t help but be a bit panicky in response. 

Johnny shifts where he’s sitting on the couch, sensing your change in emotion. “Didnae have to give her a heart attack, Si.” He says. 

“Price needs you in his office.” Simon says, ignoring Johnny. He moves out into the hall, waiting for you to get up. 

You swallow thickly, trying to calm your racing heart before you push yourself up to stand, nerves starting to twist in your stomach. It’s the first time you’ve been in John’s office since your confession and you’re not quite sure what to expect. You feel like if it was something serious, everyone would be gathering there. 

Or perhaps they already did and now it’s your turn. 

Simon walks you down the hall, their hovering not allowing you to even go to the bathroom without one of them following. You know it’s partially because they have to be vigilant and leaving you alone leaves you vulnerable to anyone that might not be happy with the cameras being discovered. Whoever is behind it knows that the others know now. There’s been no nightly visitors, no wiggling of the doorknob, no sneaking into the barracks like there had been when you were alone. They put their own cameras up, watching and waiting for someone to be stupid enough to try something. They’re ready and waiting, yet you’re all on edge, waiting for it to happen. With so many unknowns, it’s hard to guess when or how it will happen. 

While you don’t know any details directly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. 

Simon opens the door for you when John calls for you to enter, letting you go through before closing the door behind you. The air feels heavy, the energy in the office low. You shift nervously on your feet, staring at John. He looks tired, exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. It’s been a long week for everyone, and you don’t doubt he’s been feeling it the most. 

He stands up from his desk, approaching you slowly. You can sense something, something off, something bothering him. It puts you on edge, your stomach starting to churn nervously. You expect a lecture, or him to yell at you for something, or him to get angry, but that’s not it. He’s frustrated, but not at you. 

Has he figured something out? Gotten an answer as to why, or maybe who was behind all of this? Is he about to tell you he has to send you off, hide you away while they deal with this new development? Separate you from the pack for your own safety? 

He stops in front of you, his hands closing lightly around your arms. He stares down at you for a long moment as you look up at him with a concerned face. Something stirs in your chest, anticipating bad news. Something’s happened. They have to send you back, the discovery of the cameras has started the decommissioning of the initiative. You’ve fucked everything up somehow, and now you’re about to pay the price one way or another. 

John lets out a sigh, squeezing your arms tightly as if he’s trying to keep you from floating away. You’re expecting the worst, your heart thumping in your chest as you swallow thickly. 

“Kyle and I are being shipped out on an assignment.” He finally says, dropping a bomb worse than any of the others you had been anticipating. “I don’t know when we’ll be back.” 

NEXT ->

A Few Days After

You’re like two pups, huddled together under a pile of blankets. The muscle relaxer kicked in an hour ago and you’ve been softly snoring since. Johnny’s arm is tossed over your back, keeping you pinned to his chest as he snores against your head. He’s probably drooling on your hair, but after this last week, it’s probably not the worst thing you’ve been covered in. 

You’ve both just showered, your hair still damp against your pillow. Johnny’s mohawk is plastered against his head, strands sticking to his forehead. It needs a trim again.

John lets out a quiet sigh, shifting in your desk chair as he adjusts the ice pack between his legs. He’s sore, more sore than he had been the first time. You’d put them all through the wringer the week before your pre-heat started, and you’d put him through the wringer during the week of your heat. Maybe Kyle was right, maybe he is getting old. 

He shakes the thought away, staring at the slow and steady rise and fall of your side as you breathe. You’d cried for longer this time, the tears still streaming as he fed you small bites of mash and mushy peas. He had been worried you might choke as your inhales caught and shuddered, but you ate albeit begrudgingly. The next few days you spent in an exhaustion and muscle relaxer induced haze. You woke long enough to eat and use the bathroom, but then you crawled back into bed and napped. Johnny has been a constant presence in your room, having crawled into your nest after they got you settled the first day to cuddle. 

This morning you had been awake for longer, downing some porridge before the ache settled in and John gave you another muscle relaxer. He’d gotten you to down another electrolyte drink before the muscle relaxer kicked in, and before Johnny joined you so the two of you could cuddle up like a couple of pups to nap. 

“You should take a break.” Simon says softly where he’s leaning up against your closet. “Get some rest yourself.” 

John grunts quietly, sinking down further in the chair. He should, yet he can’t bring himself to step away. Things do feel different this time, though he’s not sure if that’s normal, or if Kyle’s participation had shifted things slightly. Did their reactions to your heat change depending on the heat? Did your own symptoms change heat to heat? He has half a mind to call Dr. Keller, get her opinion and ask for her advice. You don’t seem different, aside from the lingering symptoms. He feels different though, and Kyle had lingered a bit longer than he needed to. 

“She’ll be fine.” Simon says, John’s body tensing as his second alpha places a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed Simon’s approach, not that he was all that far away to begin with. “I’ll stay with them.” 

John knows Simon won’t let anything happen to you. Logically he knows Simon would do everything in his power to keep you safe, and physically he’d be more capable. Yet John finds himself hesitating, still watching the rise and fall of your body as you breathe. 

“You know I’ll alert you if anything happens.” Simon says, trying to reassure him. 

It’s nothing personal. John just can’t seem to bring himself to move. 

“I know.” He says quietly, finally pulling his gaze from you. “Things...feel different now.” 

“Could just be the exhaustion.” Simon offers, trying to think up an explanation for John’s obvious inner conflict. “Go take a nap. You need it.” Simon squeezes his shoulder gently, massaging his thumb into John’s tense muscles. He could use a good massage. Maybe another hot bath too. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” John murmurs, pulling the ice pack from his aching balls before standing. “You’ll wake me?” He asks, turning to face Simon. 

“Course.” Simon nods, giving him as much of a reassuring look as he can manage. 

John takes one last look at you, sleeping peacefully tucked in Johnny’s arms, the blankets wrapped around you both. You’ll be warm enough, with Johnny’s puppy-like warmth, and nothing will happen under Simon’s watchful gaze. Kyle will be back in soon after his own nap. Maybe he should crawl in with Kyle for a bit. Maybe that will help ease his mind. 

John forces himself to look away, not even bothering to take the ice pack back to the rec room before slipping into Kyle’s room. 

Simon turns the pages quietly, being careful not to disrupt either of you as you nap. He’d pulled a book off your desk to mind the time while he lets Price sleep. His fellow alpha needs it after the last week. He’s no good to anyone, much less you if he’s exhausted. God forbid they get called into something in the next few days. 

Simon will gladly play babysitter if it gets Price to rest. 

He’s tempted to text Kyle and tell him to keep Price in bed as long as possible, but he knows Price will be mad if he sleeps too much. Simon isn’t sure how Price keeps going for so long. He admires his strength and determination, but he can see how tired he gets, the hunch of his shoulders as he begins to feel the weight he carries, the dark circles under his eyes, how sluggish his movements get. He knows Price secretly dreads your heats, when he’s put out of commission completely, 

As a man of action, he doesn't do well laying low. The few times Simon has seen Price get hurt, he’s always disobeyed orders for bedrest, even for just taking it easy. The man never stops, and Simon was hoping you would change that. 

Price will want to be at his best at all times to ensure you’re well cared for, even if that means sacrificing taking breaks himself. Simon knows he’s struggling. That need to ensure he’s able to take care of his omega combating his need to push through and do his duty. The job comes first. That’s what had been driven like a nail into their brains since they found out they’d be getting an omega. 

How silly they were to think they could uphold that. 

Simon glances up as you move, wiggling your way onto your other side. You settle with a sigh, your back now to Johnny. You’re still gripping your bear, arms wrapped around it tightly. He stares at it for a moment, something prickling in the back of his mind as he stares into the beady eyes. It’s almost like they’re staring back at him, cogniscient and aware. 

He shakes his head, going back to his book. The isolation of the last week must be getting to him finally. 

It’s been an hour since Price left, an hour he’s hopefully spent sleeping. Simon is still dutifully keeping watch, halfway through the book he’d grabbed off your desk. You and Johnny are still sleeping peacefully, Johnny snoring into your pillow with an arm thrown over your side. 

The door opens quietly, Kyle sticking his head in. He glances at the bed before entering the room, padding over to Simon quietly. 

“Still out?” He asks, speaking quietly. 

“Sleeping like pups.” Simon answers. 

“You need a break?” Kyle rubs his eyes, still a bit bleary from his own nap. 

“I’m good.” Simon responds, holding up the book. “You keep Price from doing too much.” 

“You got it, boss.” Kyle smirks, patting his shoulder before leaving the room. 

Simon returns to his book, trusting Kyle to do his duty diligently, even if it means keeping Price in a headlock. He doesn’t doubt they’ve been in that position at least once before, and not during training. 

Another hour passes before you let out a quiet groan. Simon glances at you, watching the frown start to pull at your eyebrows. One arm untangles from around the bear, reaching out to the nightstand. Your fingers find the top, your arm stretching as far as it can, fingers sliding along the surface in search of something. 

Simon marks his place in the book, setting it on the chair before he moves to the bed, kneeling down. He takes your hand, holding it still in an effort not to startle you. “What do you need?” He asks quietly. 

“Water.” You croak, licking your lips. 

Simon grabs one of the electrolyte drinks, screwing the top off before he helps you sit up a little bit. He holds the bottom of the bottle as you grab it, keeping it steady so you don’t dump it all over yourself as you drink. Your eyes are half open, your hair in quite the interesting shape after laying down with it still damp. 

You drink half the bottle before he makes you stop, pulling it away. Soft pants leave your lips as he screws the cap back on the bottle, setting it on the nightstand. 

“Better?” He asks, leaning his arm on his knee. 

You nod, licking the remainder of the drink off your lips before you flop back against the mattress. He watches you for a second before getting back up, taking his spot on the chair once more. 

If you fall back asleep, it’s not for very long. You shift closer to the edge of the bed, the bear falling onto the floor. You let it, laying there with your arm dangling off the side. 

“Simon?” You murmur, staring at him sleepily. 

He grunts, glancing up from the book. Johnny is still fast asleep, almost on his stomach taking up the space you’ve vacated, his arm still tossed over you. 

“What does your mom smell like?” 

The question takes him by surprise. He blinks at you for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. It’s an odd question for a time like this, and he almost writes it off as a half-asleep rambling, but your eyes are fully open now, a bit glossy from sleep, but you’re wide awake.

“Flowers.” He finally answers, drawing forward the memories of her scent as he closes the book resting it on his lap. “Fresh flowers on a warm spring day.” 

You hum quietly, tucking your hand beneath your cheek. “My mom smelled like warm sugar cookies fresh out of the oven.” You say. “And vanilla.” 

So that’s where that soft undertone beneath your scent comes from. He doesn’t say anything, sensing you have more to say. 

“After her heats, when we’d come back from the care facility, the house always smelled like sugar cookies.” You swallow thickly. “Every time after her heat, when she was able to, she’d make us cookies. It was like she was apologizing for what we returned to. Most of us didn’t understand until we were older. My brothers never said anything.” A tear slides down your cheek and you hastily wipe it away. “I’m glad they didn’t.” 

Simon feels a lump starting to form in his throat, threatening to choke him. He doesn’t miss the meaning behind your words. He knows exactly what you mean. He remembers those times, sleeping in the living room with Tommy, pillows over their ears so they didn’t have to listen. The few times they escaped to friends' houses, they returned to angry fists and blood on the floor. His mother never stepped in during those times because she couldn’t. She’d already endured a week of him. She couldn’t take any more. 

Simon didn’t understand it either until he was older. The pain, the suffering, the things mothers try to do to ease the unsettling energy pups endure during heats, or in your case return home to. 

He rises from the chair, setting the book down as he frantically blinks back the tears threatening to cloud his vision. He lets out a breath before moving to the bed, kneeling on the floor again. He tosses the bear across the room, almost like it might listen in, learn some secret it shouldn’t know. 

He reaches out, brushing the hair from your forehead. Johnny shifts slightly behind you, almost like he can sense your emotions in his sleep. Simon isn’t sure what to say as his fingers brush your cheek, wiping away the tear that slides down your face. 

“I miss her.” You whisper, your voice crackling slightly. 

“I know.” Simon says, continuing to wipe the tears as they fall. “If I could find her, if it was safe enough, I would. Though, I’d have to beat the living shit out of your father first.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips. “He deserves it.” You sniffle. “Though, I suppose deep down I don’t hate him completely for his decision. If he hadn’t sent me to the institute, I would have never wound up here.” 

Simon lets out a breath, his fingers faltering against your skin. He hadn’t thought of it that way. If things hadn’t happened as they had, they would have never had you as part of their pack. They wouldn’t have ever known you existed, and you might have wound up somewhere worse. Though things weren’t ideal for how they played out, he supposes the outcome wasn’t that terrible for any of you. 

He is glad things happened this way too, even if he still wants to beat the shit out of your dad. 

“Do you want me to make you cookies?” He asks, his thumb still brushing your cheek. 

“No, that’s okay.” You say, attempting to pull the blanket up further, but Johnny’s weight is hogging it. “I’m more of a brownie person anyway.” 

“Do you want brownies, then?” He asks, shoving Johnny to the side to pull the blanket up. He lets out a snore, mumbling in his sleep before pulling his arm from your waist to tuck it up against his chest. 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You say, blinking up at him as he tucks the blanket around you. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” He says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead through the mask. 

An hour later you're wrapped in a blanket, reclined on the rec room couch with a plate of warm brownies on your chest. Your fingers are sticky with chocolate as you half watch whatever daytime TV is playing, content in your cocoon with your sweet treat. 

“You really make those brownies?” Kyle asks, leaning against the wall across the hall. 

“Nah, bribed one of the chefs to do it.” Simon says, standing next to him. 

“Bribed, or threatened?” Kyle smirks. 

“I asked nicely this time.” Simon says, crossing his arms. “Said it was life or death.”

Kyle's brows raise. “Might be next time with how she's downing them. This will become a thing now.”

Simon shrugs. “Makes her happy after everything. I'll threaten - I mean ask, whatever chef I need to each time.” 

“John is going to worry about her getting cavities.” Kyle watches as you shove an entire brownie into your mouth at once. “Or diabetes.” 

Simon shrugs. “We’ll force some protein in her later. Maybe another vegetable.” 

Johnny turns the corner rubbing his eyes. “Smells fuckin’ braw down here. Like chocolate.” 

“No.” Simon says, grabbing him by the nape and turning him around. “You’re not taking that risk. Last time you tried she drew blood.” He walks Johnny back down the hall. “Might lose a finger this time.” 

Kyle watches them, shaking his head. Johnny had paid for trying to steal your popcorn before your heat started. You caught him on the shoulder with your teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. That had been an interesting trip to the med center. The best part was you didn’t even look guilty. He’d found you eating the last pieces of popcorn up off the floor. 

He pushes off the wall, entering the rec room. You turn to look at him, giving him a grin with your chocolate stained lips. It’s all over your face but you don’t seem to care as you shove the second to last brownie into your mouth. 

“Taste good?” He asks, sitting on the edge of the couch next to you. 

You nod, licking chocolate off your fingers. It doesn’t do much good, only smearing it further. “Very good.” 

“Stomach hurt yet?” He gives you a look. 

You shake your head. “Nope. Just my pussy.” 

He nearly chokes at your words, having to cover his mouth to hide his laugh, but he’s only partially successful. He takes a couple deep breaths, running his hand down his face to try and keep his composure. You seem to lose your filter in the week before and after your heat. It’s like it removes that last layer of uncertainty that keeps your personality from shining through all the time. 

“It’s almost time for another dose of muscle relaxers.” He says, still trying not to laugh. “If you want another one.” 

You nod, taking a bite out of the last brownie this time. “Mhm.” You nod in agreement, chewing slowly like you’re trying to savor it. Like you couldn’t convince them to get you anything you wanted at any time. “Feel like I was in a helicopter crash.” 

Kyle snorts quietly. “I can imagine.” 

You stop chewing for a moment, blinking at him. “You’ve been in one before?” The words come out around the brownie still in your mouth, barely intelligible but he understands them perfectly. 

“A couple times.” He shrugs. “Fell out of one once too.” 

Your mouth hangs open, the last piece of brownie centimeters from your lips. “Huh?” 

He grins, pushing the brownie so it’s touching your lips. “That’s a story for another time. Finish your brownie then you can take your medication.” 

You shove the last piece into your mouth, staring down at your hands as you chew. Kyle moves the plate from your chest, setting it on the coffee table. You hold your hands out to him. “Sticky.” 

He wraps his fingers around your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. He wraps his lips around your finger, swirling his tongue around it to clean off the sweet chocolate. You stare at him wide eyed, mouth slightly parted as he moves to the next finger. He cleans the chocolate off of one hand before moving it out of the way as he leans in. He kisses you, licking the chocolate off of your lips. You whine against his mouth, his other hand catching your other wrist before it can touch him and cover him in chocolate. 

He pulls away, leaving you panting. You pout, chocolate still stuck to your face and hands. “That’s not fair.” 

He smirks, licking the sticky sweetness of his lips. “Almost as sweet as your slick.” 

You stare at him wide eyed, hands still in the air as your mouth hangs open. “Huh?” 

“I’ll go get a rag, clean you up.” He pats your leg before standing. 

“You can’t just leave me with that!” You yell as he heads for the bathroom across the hall. 

He’ll tell you, of course. He might just wait until you’re feeling less sore, though.

2 Weeks After

Two weeks pass and so does the pain in your pelvis. It had dulled to a slight throb by the end of the first week, only rearing its ugly head if you sat on a hard surface. You were back for the most part to your normal routine. Waking up early some mornings for training or running, more like jogging right now, on the other days, then breakfast, then stretching for a bit while the guys go to their own training, or your weekly visits with Dr. Keller. Then lunch, then your free time until dinner, then the guys’ free time before bed. 

It feels good, being back in a semi-normal routine. It makes your omega purr in delight being able to predict and plan around a set schedule. Maybe you are perfect for this lifestyle. 

Maybe Kate had been right in choosing you for this. Maybe the initiative was a good idea. Omegas thrive around routine and schedules and predictability. It’s not hard to understand why omegas aren’t allowed in the military, but perhaps integrating them into packs wouldn’t be as bad of an idea as you once thought. Though, you do wish the food was better sometimes. 

That might just be British food in general, though. 

You do miss America. Even after months away, you still feel that yearning for what you thought of as home. Or maybe you were just yearning for your family, the way things were before you committed a sin in your fathers eyes. It wasn’t hard to tell he wished you were never born, or maybe if you had been another son you wouldn’t have disappointed him. Your brothers didn’t disappoint him, so why did you have to be the one to do it? 

Your half asleep conversation with Simon hasn’t left your mind. You do miss your family, your parents. Despite all his faults and failures, you do miss your dad too. He wasn’t all bad, there were good moments in there, though you don’t think you could ever fully forgive him for forcing you away in shame over something you couldn’t control. If it hadn’t happened, though, you would have never wound up here. Though it wasn’t ideal, you wouldn’t trade your pack for anything. 

That doesn’t stop the subtle ache in your chest at the thought of your mother. Though you know the chances are slim that you would ever get to see her again, you just want to know that she’s alright. 

“You’re thinking too much again.” 

Simon’s words ring in your ears, bringing you back to reality again. The plastic around your wrists snaps off before he stands, holstering his knife quickly.

“Good to know even in these situations you’ll dissociate your way through it.” He says, lifting you right out of the chair and tossing you over his shoulder in one movement. 

“It’s called a coping mechanism.” You yell as he races out of the building and over the finish line. 

He lowers you down off of his shoulder, your legs nearly giving out as your feet hit the concrete floor of the warehouse. You take a deep breath, feeling like your diaphragm has been compressed by the edge of your own tactical vest. 

“Three minutes and fifteen seconds.” John says, writing the time down on his sheet. 

“Not bad, LT.” Johnny says, punching Simon’s shoulder. 

“Let’s see if you can do better.” Simon says, punching his shoulder back, only harder. 

Johnny winces, rubbing his shoulder as Simon steps away. 

“Gimme minute.” You gasp out, leaning against a crate so you can catch your breath. “These vests are not comfortable.” 

“Be worse if it was full gear.” Johnny says. 

You make a face. “Don’t you guys carry like 100 pounds of gear or something?” 

“41 kilos at the most, usually.” Kyle shrugs. 

You blink at him, trying to do the math in your head. You’ve gotten used to trying to convert, though you utilize your phone for it more than anything. Of course you don’t have that right now. It’s tucked away in John’s pocket. 

“Roughly 90 pounds in freedom units.” Johnny says. 

“Ah.” You nod, choosing to ignore his comment for now. “That’s still a lot. I couldn’t carry that.” 

“Luckily you don’t have to.” John says, stepping up to you. “Come on, one more.” He motions with his head. 

You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. At least in this exercise you don’t have to do anything but sit there. You adjust your vest as you follow him into the makeshift house, heading into the room with the chair for the third time. You were playing hostage again, this time in a timed test. Get in, take out the fake targets and then rescue the hostage. They’re firing blanks, but they don’t know what room you’re in so there’s a slight chance you could take a shot still, if they get a bit trigger happy under pressure. 

You plop down in the chair again, holding your hands behind your back. John holds your wrists in one hand, the other securing the zip tie around them. It sends a shiver up your spine, the thoughts of what he could do with a set of ropes flashing through your mind. 

“Alright?” He asks, slipping a finger between your wrists and the zip tie. You could slip out of them easily if you had to. 

“Yeah.” You breathe, leaning your cheek against his hand as he puts it on your shoulder. 

“One more, then we can get lunch.” He squeezes your shoulder gently. 

“Mhm.” You hum before sitting up straight in the chair. 

He leaves you there, closing the door and you wait patiently for the beep of the timer. Your feet tap expectantly as you listen to the door fly open, the crack of blanks being fired. The first round with Kyle had been nerve wracking, your muscles tensing with every loud noise. The three minutes and ten seconds had felt like a lifetime as you waited for the door to fly open and him to rescue you. 

By the second round you knew what to expect, and had even managed to drift off into your thoughts. Of course it had been during Simon’s turn. It was like your brain just automatically drifted off as soon as it realized he was coming. A pavlovian response to his presence. 

The time passing feels like an age as you wait, and you wonder how long it’s really taking Johnny. You had tried counting seconds but had lost count after about a minute. Simon and Johnny were in constant battle for second place, bumping each other up and down the list. Kyle remained in first place in almost all the training you’ve seen or heard about, fast and efficient and forever taunting the competitive Johnny. 

You flinch when the door flies open, Johnny quickly lowering his rifle. “Hi kitten.” He grins as he pulls out his knife, popping the plastic zip tie off your wrists. “Yer hero is here tae save the day.” 

He lifts you over his shoulder before racing out of the crudely built house, your vest digging into your stomach again. It’s making you almost nauseous, the bounce from Johnny running not helping any. 

He sets you on your feet after he crosses the line and you nearly fall backwards from the sudden rush of blood to your head. 

“Three minutes and twelve seconds.” John says, writing the time down. 

“Ha! I did it again!” Johnny says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Not bad, Sergeant.” Simon says. 

“Not the fastest, though.” Kyle smirks, Johnny just two seconds below his time. 

“I’ll get there.” Johnny says, puffing his chest. “Ye just wait.” 

You tug at the velcro restraints on the vest, managing to get one side undone before pulling it off of you. You let it drop to the floor, breathing out a sigh of relief as you cup your breasts. “My poor tits. They were being compressed.” 

Johnny grins, completely switching mindsets from the previous conversation in the blink of an eye. “Ye need me tae massage them back to life?” He asks, reaching out towards you. 

Simon slaps his hands away, pushing him back. “Not in public you won’t.” 

Johnny pouts, but you give him a grin. “Later.” You wink at him before cantering after John. 

You slip your hand into his, leaning against his side as you and your pack leave the warehouse to head to lunch. You’re hungry after such an exciting morning, the ache in your stomach easing after removing the vest. You don’t know how they wear them all the time, but then again they’re men and don’t have boobs to worry about. Well, except for maybe Simon and his massive pecs. He has to get sore after a while. 

John pulls away from you as you near the mess, giving you a soft pat on the ass. “Go on. I’ll join you shortly.” 

You grin at him before latching on to Kyle, wrapping your fingers around his hand as he leads you into the mess. It’s busy as usual during prime meal time, alive and bustling with soldiers and conversations. You stick close to Kyle, Simon and Johnny walking behind the two of you like threatening shadows, the passing soldiers giving you the usual wide berth. 

Simon yanks the tray out of your hands before you can set it on the tray slide, putting it down next to his before he begins putting food on it for you. You beam up at him, giving him a giddy smile. “Don’t.” He warns, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll make you eat mushy peas again.” 

You make a disgusted face, but you still can’t hide your happiness as Simon makes your tray for you, carrying it over to the table. You plop down next to him, sitting as close as you can. He stares down at you for a long moment before sighing, resting his arm on the table and pushing you to the side just slightly to give himself more room. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face as you eat, Simon having put all your favorites on the tray. Your scent is sweet in the air, filled with contentment and happiness. Your feet even tap under the table, making up some random rhythm. Even being surrounded by unknown alphas and betas, you feel comfortable and safe with your pack around you. 

“Someone got bit by the happy bug.” Johnny says, glancing at you as John joins you at the table. 

“I am happy.” You shrug. “We’re all together and everyone is fine and content. Makes my omega happy.” 

John smiles at you across the table. “I’m glad you feel that way, sweetheart.” 

“Aye, just a crouse wee omega.” Johnny says, patting your head. 

You turn to him blinking. “I don’t know what that means.” 

“I think it’s a compliment.” Kyle says. 

“Aye.” Johnny says, pulling you close to kiss the side of your head. “Wouldnae be mean to ye. These dunderheid’s though...” 

Simon reaches over you, smacking the back of Johnny’s head. “We know what that means, you wanker.” 

You can’t help but giggle, even as your table gets some looks for the sudden rambunctious energy. 

3 Weeks After

Another week passes, same as it always does. 

Your routine stays steady, waking up early some mornings for training or running, breakfast, then stretching for a bit while the guys go to their own training, or your weekly visits to Dr. Keller. Then lunch, then your free time until dinner, then the guys free time before bed. Your life is back to a predictable cycle, and where some might consider it boring, it’s far from it. 

Mostly because you have free time to look forward to. 

Tonight you’re spending it in the living room with Kyle, both of you scrolling on your phones. The TV is on, playing some game show that neither of you are paying attention to. You’re far too busy on your phone, scrolling through websites. You’ve started to run low on panties again, and you’d rather not subject the poor, innocent shoppers of the lingerie store to another scent overload if Simon went with you. Not after the developments between the two of you. 

You might not be able to stop him from getting a bit...handsy. 

So instead you’re looking online, finding far more options than in the store, and so many possibilities. You’re having trouble making up your mind.

“Kyle?” You pat his arm lightly, trying to decide between colors. You want his input, and you’d prefer not to get Johnny involved. You’ll wind up forgetting all about your attempts to fill your dwindling underwear drawer. “Kyle?” You pat his arm a little harder. 

“Hm?” He hums, still looking at his phone. 

“Kyle?” You shake him, but he’s locked in on whatever he’s looking at. An idea comes to mind, something that might get his attention. You sigh, turning to face him. “Daddy?” 

He hums again, turning to glance at you for a second before his head whips around, turning to stare at you wide eyed. “Huh?” 

“I need your help choosing a color.” You say, scooting closer to him, pretending like you didn’t just call him ‘daddy.’

“What did you just call me?” He’s bewildered, not even looking at your phone as you hold it out to him. 

“I need your help.” You say, pointing at your phone. 

“No, first we’re gonna cover this.” He says, pulling your phone out of your hand. “Did you just call me ‘daddy?’” He asks in disbelief, a grin pulling at the sides of his lips. 

“Yeah.” You deadpan, staring up at him. “I needed your attention.” 

“So you chose ‘daddy?’” He laughs. 

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” You shrug. 

“You fucking-” He breathes as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. “What are we going to do with you?” 

You shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I dunno, thought you’d keep me around since I’m kinda funny and nice to look at.” 

He laughs, shaking his head. “I love you.” 

You grin, shifting closer to him. “You do?” 

“Mhm.” He nods, wrapping his arms around you. “Hard not to.” 

You smile down at him, getting lost in those big brown eyes for a moment. They’re so soft and tender as they look at you, and you can almost feel the affection radiating off of him. “I love you too.” You say, leaning down to kiss him. 

He meets your lips eagerly, kissing you deeply. It conveys his love and the deep feelings he has for you, his arms tightening to pull you tight against his chest. 

He presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling away, smiling softly up at you. You want to kiss him again with that look on his face. You’ve never doubted that any of them love you, well, except maybe Simon but he’s a special case. He at least likes you now. 

“What was it you wanted to ask me?” He says, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Huh?” You blink at him, coming out of your stupor. “Oh!” You grab your phone from where he’d set it on the couch, pulling up the webpage again. “Which color?” 

You hold it up to his face, flicking between the two shades of blue you can’t decide on. He stares at the screen for a moment, his hands trailing down your back. 

“I think I quite prefer no panties.” He says, slipping his hands under your sweatpants. 

“Kyle, pay attention. This is important.” You say, continuing to flip between the two colors. 

He hums, his hands cupping your ass. “Get them both. John is gonna rip them both off you anyway.” He says, leaning forward to nip at your bottom lip. 

You hum, pushing your ass back into his hands as you sit back. “You’re right. Between him and Simon, my stash is getting smaller faster than it had been before. Would help if Johnny quit stealing them too.” 

Kyle pulls your phone from your hand, dropping it onto the couch again. His eyes are dark, his scent thicker in the air. A shiver runs down your spine at the musky edge to it, his hands pulling you close against his chest again. You can feel the bulge under his pants as your arms wrap around his neck again. 

“Worry about that later.” He murmurs, pressing his face into your neck. His lips brush the delicate skin, drawing a quiet sound from your lips. “Right now, I need to show you just how much I love you.” 

He presses a kiss to your pulse before he shifts on the couch, using his grip on you to lift you before moving you onto your back. He hovers over you for a moment before moving back to kneel between your legs. His fingers slip under your shirt, trailing the skin above your sweatpants. 

“Oh.” You say, knowing exactly where this is going. 

He smirks. “Hope you don’t have plans tonight.” His fingers slip under your waistband, starting to tug your pants down. “We’re gonna be here for a while.” 

You're rudely woken after falling asleep quite contently. The arms around you are moving, the chest against your back shifting. It's far too early in the morning, you can tell just by how crusty your eyes feel. The movement behind you stops, and you crack your eyes open in curiosity. 

There's a phone in front of you, screen facing towards you with the camera open. You quickly close your eyes, pretending to be asleep and the quiet click of the camera sounds a couple times. You open your eyes again as the arm under you flexes, the quiet click of the keyboard making you curious. 

Kyle has the group chat open, the one you're not a part of. You've been curious about it since Johnny mentioned it, the need to see what's in it eating you alive. You had tried John's phone but he keeps it locked like they all do. You really should start paying better attention so you can learn their passwords and lock patterns. Would have come in handy in this situation. 

He's posting the picture of you sleeping, and you wait until he's hit send before you strike. You fling the blankets back, grabbing the phone from his hands as you escape his grip. You have his surprise on your side as you just escape his hands grabbing you as you race for the door. You fling it open, running down the hall towards the rec room, victorious giggles leaving your lips. Kyle is on your heels, but your bare feet give you traction as you fake left before heading straight into the laundry room. You manage to get in the door and get it locked seconds before he slams against it. 

You grin victoriously as you push yourself up to sit on a washing machine, finally feeding your curiosity. You ignore the sounds at the door as you scroll through the photos of you, most of them of you sleeping in various positions with many heart eyes from Johnny following. There's texts about you and your training, how impressed they are with your progress, complaints about their dicks hurting and a photo of Johnny's asking if it looks normal or not. 

A photo of Johnny's drawing of you giving him head is next, then a photo of you, tits out and mouth open, your face a picture of bliss sent by Simon. When he had even taken that, you're not sure. There's texts from Kyle giving out advice on eating you out, a few texts from John about positions, as well as a few boring texts talking about your favorite foods, or at least what you pick most often, as well as a short debate about the never ending tea vs coffee argument. 

You've just gotten to the interesting texts about your earlier days with the pack when the door handle falls to the floor with a clang. The door flies open as Kyle shoulders his way through, reaching you in two strides and pulling his phone from your hands. 

“Hey!” You complain, but you don't get much of a chance to continue before Kyle is tossing you over his shoulder, leaving the laundry room. 

“This little sneak was scrolling through the group chat.” Kyle says, setting you on your feet in the concourse. John, Johnny, and Simon are waiting there and you wind up in the middle of the circle. 

“I was just curious. It's only fair considering it's about me.” You pout. 

“How'd you find out about it?” Simon asks, crossing his arms. You turn to look at Johnny, their gazes following. “Fucking hell.” Simon breathes. 

“What?” Johnny asks, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “She was gonnae find out eventually.” 

“Yeah.” You cross your arms pouting more. “Taking pictures of me in my sleep.” You murmur. 

“Can't help it, love.” Kyle says. “Not when you're just so cute.”

You grumble under your breath before looking up at Simon. “How did you get that picture of me cumming?” 

He snorts quietly. “You're not very aware when you're orgasming, love.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as they all step closer, closing in around you. You gulp, looking between Simon and Johnny who are in front of you. 

“We all appreciated that one.” John says, his voice raspier than normal. 

“Bout had a circle jerk to it.” Kyle says. 

You gulp again, the mental image of kneeling in the middle of them, cocks out as they cum all over you sending a thrilled shiver down your spine. Your scent thickens in the air, your eyes meeting Simon's as they press in even closer around you. You can almost feel John and Kyle pressed up against your back, their scents mixing into an alluring cocktail around you. 

“Maybe soon we won't need that group chat.” John says, dragging a knuckle down your spine. 

A shiver wracks through you, your nipples hardening and poking through the baggy shirt. Johnny curses, the toothbrush falling from his mouth as he stares right at your tits. 

“Would you like that, baby girl?” Kyle asks, leaning down towards you. “Think you can take all four of us?”

Your mouth waters as the many images you've conjured up of the five of you together flash through your mind. 

You let out a quiet sound as John's hand smacks against your ass, pushing you forward towards Simon and Johnny. “You haven't answered the question.”

“Yeah.” You breathe, eyes locked on Simon's hand as it lifts.

He grips your chin, lifting your face up so you're looking him in the eyes. “Want to try that again, omega?” The low rumble of his voice and your status coming from him has another shiver trailing down your spine, heading straight between your legs. 

Your scent thickens in the air, your breathing picking up as you swallow thickly. “Yes, sir.” 

A pleased growl rumbles in Simon's chest, Johnny groaning in response. “Good omega.”

You nearly fall to your knees right there, ready to take all four of their dicks at once, but you manage to keep your legs under you as Simon releases your chin. You're ready for it, that moment that the bonds open completely between the five of you and you allow yourselves that vulnerability with each other. Your pussy has been clenching in anticipation of seeing Simon and Kyle together. The image of Johnny's head between John's thighs had been plaguing you for weeks now. Even the image of John and Simon, hands on each other's cocks, has your head spinning. 

Warmth presses against your back, hot breath fanning against your ear as you tremble in anticipation. John's tongue darts out, licking the shell of your ear before he nearly purrs his promise.  

“Soon.” 

4 Weeks After

It’s a Friday evening. 

They’re always rough, the transition between the schedule of the weekdays and the unknown of the weekend always has your head spinning a bit. You feel a bit uneasy as you stand in the doorway to your room, staring into the darkness lit only by your nightlight on your desk. It casts a shadow over your bed, and for a moment you feel as if something is standing there, hidden in the shadows as it stares at you. You’re afraid to turn the light on, afraid to reveal what might be lingering in the darkness. 

You quietly close your door before hurrying down the hallway, nearly knocking your shoulder against the corner as you turn. You take a moment once you’re in front of the door before knocking quietly. You try to steady the rapid beat of your heart as you wait, your fingers trembling around the handle as you get the call to enter. 

The door clicks shut behind you, John’s eyes on you as you turn around. 

“Everything alright?” He asks, his brows furrowing slightly. 

You nod, stepping up to his desk. “Yeah, just...feeling a bit on edge.” You swallow your nerves, trying to calm yourself. “Can I...can I kneel for you?” 

“Of course.” He says, pushing his rolling chair to the side to give you room. 

It’s been a while since you knelt for him. Not since the week after your heat ended. Your knees had hurt, but you’d quickly forgotten after he eased you into that blissful state where your mind becomes unaware and your worries begin to float away. 

You need that right now. 

You kneel down on the floor beside him, sitting back on your feet. Your breath shakes as he runs a hand over your head, moving your hair out of the way. Your hands curl into the fabric of your shirt as you relax, trying to calm the stress from just a few moments ago. Soon it will be over. Soon it will be behind you as your alpha helps you calm those thoughts. You wait for it, the warmth of his hand around the back of your neck, for the gentle press of his fingers against those pressure points in your neck. 

You’ve been working with Dr. Keller on your instincts, on how to get better control over them. She hasn’t graduated you to those pressure points yet, the most sensitive in your entire body. The ones that draw the thin line between kneeling and scruffing. You’re glad she hasn’t pushed that far yet. You’re not quite sure you could handle it. 

A quiet breath leaves your lips as you relax your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed as he begins to apply the gentle pressure, your mind quieting into a hum. You begin to float away, all awareness of the office you’re enclosed in drifting into the distance. All there is, is you and your alpha and the gentle pressure of his fingers guiding your brain into peace and quiet. All the worry, all the stress, all the fear you had been feeling even as recently as a few minutes ago, begin to ease away into nothing. The worry and grief you’ve been feeling around your mother begins to quiet, drifting away for the moment. It’s relieving, your mind calming into a quiet buzz, finally easing away all the swirling emotions from the last few weeks. 

Time seems to still, sounds muffling as you kneel there, being supported by your alpha. He’s always there, always ready to give you what you need. You trust him, even in your most vulnerable moments. He’ll always be there to support you, to catch you when you fall. He’ll never leave you, never betray you. 

6 Weeks After

Things feel strange when you wake. It’s later than you usually nap, the sun not quite as bright as it usually is in your window. It’s quiet in the barracks, the usual sound of boots on the tile floor absent, the shuffling of bodies as they return from training. Even the fullness in the air, the energy of their presence is missing. The barracks feel empty. 

They’re still gone. 

You lift your phone, blinking away the sleep as you stare at the bright screen. It’s just past 11:30 in the morning, and there’s a text from John. 

‘Training late. One of us will take you to lunch.’ 

You let out a quiet groan, setting your phone back on the nightstand. You roll over, tugging a bear against your chest. You trace your fingers along the bear’s back, running your fingers absentmindedly over the soft fur. You’re groggy with sleep, not meaning to sleep so early. You’ve been taking afternoon naps lately to make up for your early mornings. It’s not that unusual for you to nap, but you’ve been tired more than normal lately. 

Ever since your heat, there’s been a nagging at the back of your brain, some kind of warning going off, yet you can’t quite figure out what it is. The feeling of being watched is back, but you searched every inch of your room and there were no more cameras. There wouldn’t have been a time where someone could have entered the barracks unseen. Someone would have seen. Someone would have noticed and alerted John, right? 

Unless they’re all in on it. 

You’re yanked out of your paranoid thoughts as your fingers brush a raised part of the seam on the bear’s back. You’ve never noticed it before, the small bump almost like there’s a hole starting. You’ll have to ask Johnny if he can patch it later. 

You pull the bear away from your chest, staring at it for a moment. You look into its eyes, into the blank, plastic black holes that stare right back at you. Something tickles down your spine, your hackles raising. Danger! Your mind screams, your fingers starting to shake the longer you stare into those eyes. 

Maybe you are starting to go crazy. 

You set the bear down on the bed, facing towards your room as you get up, stretching your arms over your head. You pull the baggy shirt you’d changed into over your head, pulling on the bra you’d ditched earlier and the clothes you’d taken off in favor of something more comfortable to nap in. 

You rub the sleep from your eyes as you head for the bathroom, letting out a quiet curse as you hit your knee against the open cupboard door. You kick it closed before standing at the sink, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. You let out a sigh, dragging your fingers through your hair before walking back out to your room, sitting down on the edge of your bed. The bear falls forward but you don’t bother picking it up, grabbing your phone as you wait for whoever it is that’s going to pick you up. 

That familiar tickling in the back of your brain picks up again, your eyes darting around the room. There’s nothing. You’ve checked before. You’ve checked several times when you were alone, tearing apart your room and putting it back together. You’ve learned Simon’s organization system, memorized it to put almost everything back almost exactly as he had it. You always leave at least one thing out of place, just to make it seem less perfect. 

Perfection from you would raise suspicions. 

How strange it is that at one time you yearned for perfection, drove yourself to tears of shame trying to be the perfect omega. There’s no such thing as a perfect omega, because perfect people don’t exist. You may look perfect on paper, but in reality you’re far from it. Your pack doesn't care. They never cared. John never cared about your scores, the many essays you poured hours into at the institute. He never cared about what the CIA had to say, their own remarks on your aptitude, your ability to learn and adapt, your drive for success that was almost a fatal flaw. 

He always cared about you. They all only cared about you and what makes you a person, an individual. Not just an omega, but an actual living, breathing human being. 

The thought brings tears to your eyes. How many hours you stressed and the things you hid to try and come across as perfect when they were never interested in perfection. Would they have cared, had you been allowed in the military? Would they have cared about perfection if you weren’t just a part of the pack, but also a part of the team?

You’re not, though. You’re an omega, you’re their omega. You don’t know things because they have to keep you safe. 

If only you had been honest with them. 

It’s been almost four months since you discovered the cameras, since they left and you made the stupid decision to break the rules, to go against everything they drilled into your head. Don’t talk to any strangers. Don’t leave the barracks alone. Tell us, or Dr. Keller if anything happens.

You failed all three of those in a matter of hours. You’ve continued to fail one of them. 

They can’t ever know. It’s going to be a secret you take to your grave. 

They have their secrets, so why can’t you have yours? 

The uneasy feeling continues to grow, a shiver running down your spine as you sit there. You can’t take it anymore. You have to get out. You grab your phone, slipping on a pair of shoes before slipping out your door, pulling it closed. 

You let out a shriek as you turn, a looming figure standing right in front of you. 

“Simon!” You shout, putting a hand on your chest, your heart beating rapidly under your palm. You take deep breaths, trying to calm your panic. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

“Jumpy today.” He rumbles, staring at you as you try to stop yourself from having a heart attack. 

“Not my fault you’re like a ghost.” You stand up, driving your fist into his chest. It hits his pec, and you’re sure it hurts you more than it does him. “You can’t just go sneaking up on people like that! Fuck.” You take a deep breath, leaning against the wall for a moment. 

“I think you’ll live.” He says, stepping up closer to you. You tilt your head up, staring at his face. He’s wearing his eye black today, meaning they were doing training training. It makes something stir in your stomach, the sight of him in his gear, eye black on to hide his face further. How he looks in the field. Even now with his gear removed, you still feel warmth in your stomach. It’s exciting, the difference between Simon and Ghost. Though he has tried to keep you under the tender touch of Simon, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost began to show himself occasionally. You’d let him bend you over a crate in the warehouse, fuck you in full gear where anyone could walk in and see. The mental image of him, covered in blood, smearing it on your skin as he takes that post-fight adrenaline out on you...

You try to calm the rush of arousal straight between your legs. 

“I don’t know.” You pout. “Think I might need a kiss to make it better.” 

He stares at you for a moment before shifting so he’s hovering over you, pressing his hand against the wall above your head. He continues to stare down at you, his eyes boring into yours. “Well?” He asks, his voice low. “Are you going to get your kiss?” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare up at him. You hesitate, unsure if you’re supposed to cross this boundary, if he’s really opening this door. He’s always been the one to move the mask, to lift it before leaning down. Instead this time he’s allowing you to do it, to lift the mask, to reach up to him. 

He doesn’t move as you lift your hands, your fingers trembling as they close around the edge of his mask. You slowly lift it up, rolling it up over the tip of his nose. You stop there, unsure if you should continue. If he wanted you to take it off completely, he would have made that clear. You doubt he’d do it here, in the hallway. It feels like far too intimate of a moment to be done in the hallway. 

Your fingers trace his lips, sliding down to brush over the scar on his chin, his stubble tickling your fingers. You drop your hands to his shoulders, using them as leverage to lift up on your toes. You wrap your arms around his neck and he lets you pull him down slightly so you can press your lips to his. 

He kisses you deeply, pushing you back up against the wall, crowding into your space. You don’t mind it, his presence comforting, encompassing. It wraps you in a cloak of safety and security. Nothing can hurt you while you’re close to him. 

You know that, so why can’t he ease the prickling fear lingering in the back of your mind? Something is off, something not even Simon can protect you from. 

That thought makes your stomach clench, and not in a good way. 

Simon’s other hand falls to your hip, fingers digging into your skin as he kisses you like he’s trying to devour you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moan quietly, pressing your tongue against his. His muscles are tense and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to lift you up, carry you to his room and fuck your brains out. He has a mission though, he’s been sent here for a reason. 

“One of us will take you to lunch.”

He pulls away from your lips, pressing one last soft peck to them before stepping away. You’re panting softly for a different reason now, your heart thudding in your chest from the raw energy that Simon exudes. It makes your omega stir in the back of your mind, prickling down your spine. It mixes with the paranoia, the tickling of danger creating an almost toxic cocktail of sensations. It puts you on edge, your body seeking out Simon’s, and you’re not sure if you want him to hold you or fuck you. 

He tugs his mask back down, lowering his head to stare at you. “C’mon. Let’s get food in you before you get grumpy.” 

“I don’t get grumpy.” You pout, pushing yourself off the wall. 

He gives you a look of disbelief. 

“Okay, fine, I get a little grumpy.” You say, following him out of the barracks. 

You walk with him, slipping your arm around his. The uncomfortable prickling sensation doesn’t ease up any as you walk towards the mess, your fingers wrapping around the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It’s a path you’ve followed many times, so often you’re surprised there’s no footprints worn into the asphalt and gravel. 

You let go of his arm as you enter the mess. It’s prime meal time again, meaning it’s full of soldiers getting their second meal of the day. The back of your mind is tickling again, your metaphorical hackles raising. Your eyes dart around the tables as you pause, your feet gluing themselves to the floor, rendering you unable to move. That feeling is back, the feeling like someone is watching you, someone who shouldn’t be. 

They’re all staring at you. They all shouldn’t. Nothing can stop that. You’re in a public place. They’re going to stare, they’re going to assess. That’s what they’re trained to do. 

It could be any of them. 

The thought makes you sick. Any of them could have put the cameras in your room. Any of them could have violated your space, set up invisible eyes to watch and record you and everything you do, everything you say. They could have watched you with the others, watched your heat. They would have seen you in your most vulnerable moments, the amount of times you’ve changed in your room, come out of the shower in nothing but a towel. 

The blood is pulsing in your ears, the sounds simultaneously too loud and too quiet. You stand there, frozen, your chest rising and falling quickly as you begin to hyperventilate. They’re staring at you, curiously and cautiously. You know you’re projecting, your body trying to keep you safe from whatever threat is causing this reaction, even if it’s just in your mind. 

You let out a yelp as hands grab you, more of them turning to look at you. Your head snaps to the side, the hand that had curled into a fist instinctively relaxing as you recognize Simon staring down at you. He doesn’t have to say anything as he pushes you towards the door, your feet freeing themselves from the glue that held them down automatically, moving before you even realize it. 

You gulp down breaths of fresh air as you step outside, your feet stumbling in the gravel. Your hands are going numb, twisting into fists as adrenaline pumps through you. Simon keeps you steady, moving you away from the door. He takes you around the side of the mess to where there’s tables set up, the place you’ve seen most often used as a smoking area. Thankfully it’s empty right now, Simon pushing you to sit on the bench. He sits on the bench on the other side of the table, leaning on his arms as he stares at you. 

Your breathing is starting to relax now that you’re no longer confined in that space, surrounded by soldiers and alphas, ones that might hurt you. Simon doesn’t say anything for a while, eyes analyzing and observing as you work to calm yourself. Your hands slowly relax, uncurling as you take deep breaths, calming the adrenaline. Your eyes are burning, tears of embarrassment and fear stinging your waterline. 

“You want to tell me what happened in there?” Simon finally asks, leaning slightly closer to you.  

You know he doesn’t mean to, but his tone sounds almost accusing, prying and interrogating you for some logical explanation as to why you just had a panic attack in the mess. He could probably sense the nervous energy coming off of you in waves since he first stepped into the barracks, something not even a kiss from him could push away. You desperately want to sink into him, to hold him until you’ve become one, safe and secure where no one can hurt you. 

Where no one would dare watch you. 

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers twisting together nervously on the table. “I-I don’t know. It’s just...it’s all so much and it feels like everything is wrong.” The words come spilling out before you can stop them, bearing your inner thoughts to the alpha in front of you. “I-I’m going insane. Between the fear and the paranoia and the worry, I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t feel safe anymore, and ever since I found the cameras I feel like I’ve been silently spiraling out of control-” 

The words cut off as you realize what you just said. It had slipped out before you could even stop it. Maybe it was the yearning for some kind of relief, for the weight of your secret to finally be removed from your shoulders. Maybe it was the safety you felt around Simon urging you to confess, urging you to seek out that safety once more. 

Or maybe everything has become too much, and you’re at the risk of spiraling to a place you can’t come back from, and your omega is desperately pushing everything out in an attempt to save you. The paranoia of earlier in your room, the creeping feeling that you missed something, that someone is watching you, the thought that it could be anyone in the mess right now, anyone on base. It makes you sick thinking about it, and perhaps this was a last ditch effort to avoid it scaring you permanently. 

Simon’s back straightens as he stares at you, and for a moment you hope he didn’t hear it, that he might shrug it off as something he misheard. You’re gaslighting yourself, attempting to ease the panic that’s rising in you again. You know he heard it. He’s far too attentive, far too aware to miss something like that. There’s no going back now, there’s no playing it off. You can’t lie again. You’re not even trying to make up a story, an excuse as you wait for his response, for the inevitable question. 

His eyes are piercing into you, all the softness he had been looking at you with before gone. His voice is low, dangerous, not offering up a chance to lie your way out of this again, but telling you, you can’t lie. He knows. You’ve spilled it and there’s no going back now. 

“You want to repeat that?” 

Fuck.

NEXT ->

Taglist: This will be the last time I'm using the taglist, follow HERE if you'd like to get notifications for new posts

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows, @ttsbaby01 

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer *

Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry

Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost

Chapter 9 - Save Me

Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming

Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins*

Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together*

Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie*

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes *

Chapter 17: Alone

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

Chapter 20: The New Normal *

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment *

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Part 5 - A Pack of Five

Chapter 23: Regrets

Chapter 24: The Last First Time *

Chapter 25: Animals *

Chapter 26: Fuck *

Chapter 27: Drown In It *

Chapter 28: Two Is Company, Three Is A Party *

Chapter 29: There's Something Wrong With My Omega

Part 6 - The Tragedy

Chapter 30: Butterfly's Wings

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Part 7 - The Aftermath

Chapter 35: Threads

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Chapter 37: The Silence

Chapter 38: Shattered

Chapter 39: Life

Part 8 - The Next Chapter

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here

Chapter 41: Revenge

Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy

Chapter 43: Lies

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Chapter 45: Heat of the Moment *

Chapter 46: My Girl *

Chapter 47: The Reunion

Chapter 48: Wild Times *

Chapter 49: Reforming Bonds *

Chapter 50: Flashback *

Part 9 - Finding Home

Chapter 51: Back To The Start

Chapter 52: The Rucking Princess

Chapter 53: Meeting the Family

Chapter 54: The Farm

Chapter 55: Finding Home *

Chapter 56: Making Home *

Chapter 57: Reunited And It Feels So Good *

Chapter 58: Together At Last *

Chapter 59: The New Packmate *

Chapter 60: Uncertainty

Chapter 61: Finally Home

Epilogue

Title card made by the beautiful @141wh0re

another pause.

“.....you mean the way people look at someone they’re in love with?”

“WHAT? no. no. he doesn’t- he definitely doesn’t-" you quickly stutter out.

—

“i don’t know, man,” schlatt says, pacing slightly, one hand running through his hair. “she just." he sighs. "she laughs at everything i say. like everything... even the stuff that’s not funny.”

“have you considered,” his friend says slowly, “that she likes you?” he wiggles his eyebrows at him, smirking, drink in hand.

“no, no, no,” schlatt shakes his head immediately. “she’s just nice. she’s like that with everyone.”

“she is not like that with everyone.” ted quickly argues back, scoffing as he takes a sip from his cup.

“you don’t know that.”

“i literally watched her ignore three other people talking just to listen to you explain something stupid about microphones.” he pointed at him, putting his cup down and grabbing his phone to text someone.

schlatt hesitates.

“it wasn’t stupid.” he grumbles.

—

it gets worse. you start overanalyzing everything.

the way his hand brushes yours when you pass something? accidental.

the way he texts you first almost every day? habit.

the way he remembers tiny details about you... your favorite snacks, the exact way you take your coffee, the fact you once mentioned liking a random movie and he watched it just to talk about it with you....

coincidence. all coincidence. because if it’s not?

that means there’s something to lose.

—

schlatt does the same thing.

you lean into him slightly during a video? you’re just comfortable. you steal his hoodie and never give it back? you’re just cold. you look at him like he hung the stars?

…...okay, that one makes him short circuit a little. making him forget what he was about to show you on his phone or what he was about to say.

but still. you don’t like him like that. you can’t. everyone else is losing their minds.

—

“just tell her,” someone groans as schlatt brings you up in conversation to try to relate to someone who was talking about how they always get their girlfriend coffee every sunday.

schlatt always brings you food when he comes over to yours.

“no,” schlatt says immediately, straight face as he takes a sip from his red solo cup.

“WHY.” they yell back in desperation.

“because if i’m wrong, it’s weird.”

“you are not wrong.”

“you don’t know that.”

“she literally asked if you liked anyone and got weirdly quiet when you said no.” the person laughs at him.

schlatt freezes. “…she did?”

—

“just tell him,” your friend insists.

“absolutely not.”

“WHY.”

“because if he doesn’t feel the same, i will actually never recover.”

“you will recover.”

“i will move to a different state.”

“dramatic.”

“realistic.”

—

it all builds.

the tension, the almosts, the lingering touches, the way conversations dip into something softer and then immediately get pulled back before either of you can say too much.

it’s exhausting.

for everyone.

—

so, naturally, someone snaps. it happens during something stupid. you’re all hanging out, nothing serious, just noise and laughter and overlapping conversations.

you’re sitting next to schlatt, of course you are, and your knee is pressed against his.

neither of you move away. no one misses it.

eventually, someone just goes-

“oh my god, are you two ever going to admit you’re in love or are we doing this forever?”

everyone stops moving to look towards the booming voice, and then following their eye sight trail to you and schlatt.

dead. silence. your brain stops working, schlatt’s does too.

“i’m sorry- what?” you manage, slightly choking on your drink, putting a hand on your chest as you coughed a little.

“you heard me,” they say, completely unfazed. “this whole thing? the pining? the longing stares? it’s getting old.”

“there are no longing stares-” you start.

“there are so many longing stares,” someone cuts in. you turn to schlatt, horrified. he’s already looking at you.

and oh.

oh.

this is one of those looks. the ones you’ve been pretending not to notice. your heart stutters.

“…you don’t-” you start, voice smaller now, “you don’t actually-”

he exhales, like he’s been holding it in for months.

“i do.” he confesses quietly. everything goes quiet again. “i do,” he repeats, softer this time. “i just didn’t think you did.”

your brain short-circuits completely. “are you kidding?” you blurt. “i’ve been in love with you for, like, forever.” you laugh in disbelief.

now it’s his turn to freeze.

“what?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT.” you say loudly.

“you- you like me?” schlatt says in disbelief, pointing a finger to himself.

“YES???”

“why didn’t you say anything??” he asks again, quickly spouting out his words.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING??” you said loud back still in shock but slightly laughing.

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T LIKE ME—”

“ARE YOU INSANE—”

someone in the background: “this is painful.” another voice said “i told you.”

—

it dissolves into laughter eventually. nervous at first, then softer, then something that wa familiar to you guys despite not knowing anything before. schlatt looks at you again. but it’s different now.

“so,” he says, a little awkward, a little hopeful, “we’ve both just been idiots?”

“massive idiots,” you confirm. he huffs out a laugh.

“Well, what about that one?” 

Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through. 

Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.

You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.

“Who is she?”

“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.

“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.

“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”

“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”

Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any. 

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.

Topper raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”

Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”

They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—

“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and— 

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it. 

“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”

“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.

“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”

Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.

You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

“You sure do love reading, don’t you?” 

It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.

You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.

“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”

Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…” 

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug. 

“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—

“Are you making fun of me?”

You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.” 

“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. 

“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”

Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more. 

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.

“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“I’ll be your friend.” 

He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive. 

You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.

It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that. 

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.

“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means… 

“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.

You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?” 

He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right. 

“You could call it studying.”

You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing. 

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”

You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it. 

Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.

***

Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.

You’re alone. As usual.

“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?

“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect. 

“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”

He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way. 

“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.” 

Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.

He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.

“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”

He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…

“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.

“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.” 

The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this. 

“Huh. Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“

“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”

“It’s not that–”

“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”

He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”

“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.

“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

He stops, allows you to catch up.

“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”

You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”

“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”

*

Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…

 ”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.

“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.

“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”

He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.

Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.

“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”

“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”

You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”

He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”

“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”

You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.

“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”

He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.

He nods, “You look pretty.”

Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.

*

On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.

“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.

“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”

He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.

“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”

Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.

“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.

“No?”

“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”

Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”

“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”

The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.

“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.

You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”

You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.

Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”

“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.

“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.

“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.

“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.

“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.

“Wow, that was cool!”

“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.

He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.

“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.

He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…

He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.

*

On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.

“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”

You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.

“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.

“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”

You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.

“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”

But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.

Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”

“You sure about that?”

He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”

Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.

All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.

You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.

*

Rafe: Hey.

Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?

He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.

Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.

Rafe: What are you up to?

A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.

Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?

It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.

He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”

He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?

“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”

A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.

He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”

“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”

“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.

He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”

“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”

“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.

“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”

“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.

“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.

“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”

He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.

“A-Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–

“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.

“Rafe?”

He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.

“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”

“Like, uh, at your house?”

“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”

That just makes him even more determined to be your first.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

“Rafe…”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.

“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”

That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.

“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.

“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”

*

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”

Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.

“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.

“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.

“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”

Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”

“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”

Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.

He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”

Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”

Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”

“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”               

Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.

He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.

That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.

“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”

“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.

You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”

“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”

He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.

“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.

“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”

“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.

He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.

You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.

“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.

Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.

Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”

Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”

He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”

“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”

He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.

“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.

You blink, “Um, water?”

He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”

“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”

You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.

“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.

“People have been talking about me to you?”

“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”

He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.

Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.

“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”

Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”

He shrugs, “A few.”

You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”

“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.

“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”

Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.

“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”

You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”

“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”

He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.

“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.

You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”

“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”

“Hey!”

He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.

You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”

Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”

Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.

Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”

He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.

“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”

He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”

Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”

He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.

He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.

And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.

When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.

“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”

Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”

“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”

Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.

Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.

He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.

And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.

“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.

“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.

Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”

You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”

“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.

It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.

Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.

“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.

“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”

He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–

“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”

Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”

Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.

“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.

It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.

“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”

Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.

“That’s okay,” he says.

You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”

Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.

You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”

Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.

Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”

He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”

“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.

He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.

“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”

What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.

“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.

Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.

You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.

Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.

Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.

Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.

He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.

That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.

Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.

How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.

The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.

He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–

His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.

“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I’m scared.”

You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”

He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”

“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”

“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”

They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.

“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”

“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”

He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”

“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”

Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.

“Rafe! You came!”

You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.

“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.

At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.

“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.

“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”

“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”

He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.

You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”

You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.

He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”

“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”

You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.

“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”

You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.

“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”

“H-Huh–”

“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”

You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”

It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.

He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.

Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.

“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”

He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”

“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”

“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”

Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”

He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”

You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.

Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.

He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.

He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.

You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.

“Take your leggings off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.

You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.

“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.

“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”

He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.

“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.

Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.

And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.

His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.

“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.

“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”

“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?

Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.

You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.

“Oh my God–”

He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”

“What?”

“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”

For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”

“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”

He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”

He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.

“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.

Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.

“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”

“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”

Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.

“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.

Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.

“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.

“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–

You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.

And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.

“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”

You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”

“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”

It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.

He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.

But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.

“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”

Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.

“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.

“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”

He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”

Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.

He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.

“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.

You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”

He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”

You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”

He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”

As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”

You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”

“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”

You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.

“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”

You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”

“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”

 In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”

“I am?”

“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.

“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.

Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”

“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.

“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.

“Yeah?”

Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”

God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.

Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.

“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”

“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”

“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”

You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.

You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.

“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”

He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.

“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.

“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.

“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”

Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.

“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”

“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”

“But it hurts!”

“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”

A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.

Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”

You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”

“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”

You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”

He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.

“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”

You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.

“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.

“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”

You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.

“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”

“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“

You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.

“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”

All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.

It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.

Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”

The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”

He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.

That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”

“Nooo…”

He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.

“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…

He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–

“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”

“Fuck.”

Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.

He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.

“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.

You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.

Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.

Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.

He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.

Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.

He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.

That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?

Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.

Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.

Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.

He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.

“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”

“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.

He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.

“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”

“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.

“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.

“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.

“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.

“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”

Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”

He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.

“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”

He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.

And immediately locks eyes with you.

And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.

“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.

A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.

Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.

And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.

𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?

Now in a panic, you search for an exit. A path which will lead you to a secluded corner, or hall, or room where you can escape prying eyes as you...clean the evidence of what you've done off of yourself before finally washing it down the drain. "Just... A patient," you explain. You lie. To your attending, no less. "I wasn't paying attention."

You feel like you're going to be sick.

"I'll go change. I'm so sorry."

Before Abbot can so much as formulate a reassuring reply that you've done nothing which warrants an apology, you've already slipped past him, and are headed in the direction of the back hall which houses the machine that contains freshly laundered scrubs.

His jaw flexes as he considers. Your reaction being due to humiliation because the stain is from your period isn't wholly out of the question. But because of how low it is, and in such a neat little line at that, makes it unlikely.

He doesn't want to acknowledge the evident truth that lies obvious before him.

Jack grips the counter of the nurse's station tightly, trying his utmost to convince himself that it's none of his business. His patient the next room over is. But if he didn't want to make you his responsibility, then he shouldn't have spent the last few months cozying up to you. Buying you lunch, walking you to your car once your shift has ended, making easy conversation on your breaks (not to mention him changing to the time of his own to match up with yours).

With a quiet curse, he stomps off in search of you.

The fucking machine is malfunctioning. This can't be happening. Not now. Not to you. Not today. Standing in front of it with nothing to cover your modesty below the waist, you keep shoving your card in to earn yourself a new pair of bottoms, only for it to grant you an angry red display and a loud buzzer-like screech while its screen repeatedly states 'invalid input' instead.

"God, please," you quietly plead—jerking your head every time the sound of tennis shoes near, terrified that someone will see. Because if they do: what comes next? Will you be fired? Involuntarily committed? Be forced into a therapist's office as they dissect your brain to see what's gone wrong with you, specifically?

You can stop any time you choose. You're just not ready to yet.

Just as you've reeled your leg back—ready to kick the damn thing out of sheer spite—Jack quickly jogs to your side before you cost the hospital a couple thousand in repair bills.

"Hold on, hold on," he insists, shooting his arm out in front of you to hold you back before he shoves his own card in, types what must be some special, hidden code, allotted only for important big-shots like himself, and voilà: a new pair of pants are presented to you.

Snatching them away, you turn in the direction of the restroom, wanting to clean yourself up first so you don't soil your new garment, thus sending you back to square one again.

Just as you make to turn, however, you take note of where Jack's line-of-sight is currently stationed: between your legs. Rather, on the one which blood is currently running down and dribbling onto the floor from.

Countless tiny silver slashes are carved into your inner thighs, displayed prominently for him to take fleeting stock of before you finally race past and lock yourself in the women's restroom.

Now spiraling, you sink to the floor and shove your head between your knees. "One. Two. Three—"

An unwelcome knock sounds against the heavy metal door, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Y/N," Jack starts "Sweetheart, just..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're not hurting yourself in there, are you?"

You tuck your chin in close to your chest and blubber like a child. "No," is your succinct reply. You don't want to have this conversation. Don't want to provide elaborate answers to questions you don't know how to reply to. Or, much more, have no wish to.

He settles his palm over the door handle, but ultimately decides against it. Jack knows you have it locked, so he doesn't want to come off like he's attempting to force his way in. "Y/N, it's just you and me. Can you let me in so that we can talk? Please. Honey, I'm just worr—"

Click.

You figure the longer he stands out there, the more likely a crowd is to gather, curious as to what is transpiring at current. Nevermind that it's nobody's business but your own.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he gathers himself before making entry.

Once the door is shut securely behind him, and the lock pushed into place, he kneels with a groan before plopping down beside you.

"Gettin' old," he mumbles before settling back against the wall you're seated before.

He rolls his head to the side, frowning at the sight of you curled in on yourself. "I'm not gonna ask why. The reasoning can be different for everybody, I guess. But the one thing they all have in common, I'd assume, is feeling like they deserve it. Or...like it's an impulse they can't fight anymore. Maybe you don't want to."

Jack pulls himself closer to you before sliding an arm around your shoulders and tucking you against his side. "Honey, you need to talk to somebody. It's somethin' my therapist deals with. I can give you their number—a business card—whatever you want so that you can get the ball rolling."

You squeeze your eyes shut and lie your cheek atop your bent knee. "I don't know if I can."

He rubs his hand comfortingly against your arm. "What if you cut too deep at some point and hit an artery? There's other ways. Have you tried the ice cube method?"

You shrug. "Couple times."

"And?" He asks.

"It helped. Just...a razor is what I'm used to. Like it's a habit. An...old friend."

"Any friend worth their salt would never do something which would bring harm to you," Jack replies.

You loosen up and spread your legs in front of you, draping your new scrubs atop them before settling your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that—"

He shakes his head. "Don't apologize. I'd rather know than not. To look after you a bit better, if nothin' else."

You turn and cross your legs, now facing him. "That isn't your—your responsibility, or—"

He taps his own leg with his knuckle, the metal quietly reverberating from the action. "It helps: divulging the darkest parts of yourself to others who get it. So you can have a different perspective. Hear how they got through it so you can gain some hope that you will, too."

Unsure how to even continue, you stand and walk over to the sink. It's one way to cut this conversation short, you're sure.

Once you've wetted a paper towel, you bend over to begin cleaning your wound before applying a fresh Band-Aid from the first aid kit that's mounted beside the soap dispenser.

Until Jack takes the damp towel from you and kneels at your feet. Gently, he wipes away the dried blood which clings to your skin. "You think about doing this again, come to me. If it happens when we aren't here, then call me. I'll come running."

He slides his opposite hand up your calf. "Understand?"

You blink down at him stupidly, now at a loss for words. So you simply nod instead.

"Good." He nods to the first aid kit. "Band-Aid."

Once you've plucked the plastic box from the wall, you hand it to him. If you try unclasping it right now, with the way that your hands are currently trembling, the sterile supplies is likely to scatter across the tile floor.

Once Jack has peeled opened a Band-Aid and spread a small dollop of Neosporin across the absorbent pad, he applies it to your cut. Next, he takes your pants from where they sit on the lip of the sink and holds open the right pant leg for you to step into, followed by the left.

Once he's cinched the waist in the front and tied a pretty little bow, he stands. "I don't want you to worry," he says quietly, running his knuckles down your soft cheek. "What happened today stays between us. Alright?"

You nod yet again, grateful to him. You swipe away budding tears before taking the first aid kit back from him so that it can be returned to its rightful home on the restroom wall. "Thank you."

He’s literally crying for it while moaning, “Please~ lemme put it in~ just wanna try it once, please, baby~” with his hands squeezing your butt over your shorts and his head under your shirt, kissing and sucking your tits with the prayers on his lips as he humps his tented crotch against your clothed cunt – making your panties hot and damp. 

You squeeze your eyes shut with a suppressed whine.

He keeps pleading, “I’ll be gentle~ just the tip~ I’ll go so slow~”

His fingers dig into the crevice of your cheeks, wedging your shorts and undies through your slit. Everything clenches from the friction.

Your face is heated, biting your lip with cinched brows. You knew he’d ask for it again today – he never doesn’t. Even though he’ll get pussy-drunk and pound your poor womb in a tight mating press the second he’s made you cum on his fingers. 

He slurps your nipple, still begging, “Please, baby, please~ it’ll feel so good~ so-so-so good~”

You’d been deliberating giving in to his incessant proposals for a little while. He’d been so unrelenting you were starting to feel bad denying him for so long.

Not like past boyfriends hadn’t been equally relentless in the ask.

But this one was different… unlike the others… you really like him. 

You think you might be in love with him, even though it’s a little early to say.

Still… since he’s so perfect… you want to do your best to be perfect for him, too.

So you’d made yourself ready for it this time – done preparations in the shower. 

But… you pout… it was all so embarrassing, and your poor mind was riddled with doubts as though you were a virgin all over again. 

What if something… gross happens? What if it hurts so bad you have to stop? Will it disappoint him? What if you hate it but go through with it anyway, only for him to keep asking? What if you have to break up because you won’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again?

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His voice slips through the inner turmoil.

He’d resurfaced from beneath your shirt on account of your silence, only to see you’d covered your face in both hands. He gently peels them away – revealing your eyes and the shy way you nibble your lip.

“I’m sorry…” He apologizes then. “I’ll stop asking-” 

“No!” You blurt. To his surprise – staring at you with those big puppy-dog eyes you just couldn’t handle seeing look so disheartened. “I mean…” 

You look away, cheeks burning – voice just barely above a whisper. 

“If you really want to… I’m fine with it…”

He seemed to perk up at that. If he’d had a tail, you know it would be wagging behind him. 

His chest swelled, eyes big and unblinking, swallowing thickly – breaths already thick with containment. 

He leans in close and nose-kisses you, brushing your lips with heated words, “Really? You’ll let me?”

You made a small sound, too humiliated to say or do much more than nod your head in confirmation.

He seemed to shudder, closing the space between you, kissing your lips softly – he tasted like static – buzzing with restricted urgency. Parting with a soft-spoken yet strained, “Thank you.”

Both his hands messaged your waist – fiddled with the band to your shorts as though he couldn’t wait to drag them down your thighs and free you.

Still speaking against your lips, “Can you turn around on your knees for me?”

Everything was burning – from the tips of your ears to your lips and deep down in your stomach where something equally hungry and anxious was preparing for something.

He moved back to allow you to crawl into position, taking a pillow and placing it underneath you – patting it while telling you to “Lie down.” 

You did like suggested, lying with your face and chest against the soft plume, sinking into it with your back in a slope and your ass presented. Heart pounding in your head, loud and hot, as he took position behind you – placing his hand back on your hips.

He hooked his fingers into the band of your shorts again, pulling them back over the fat of your haunches, then dragged them down slowly until they pooled around your knees. You felt the damp heat of his breath immediately hit the peach fuzz on the small of your back – seeping through the cotton of your panties – making your belly brew with butterflies. 

“Just relax, okay? Tell me to stop if I go too far.” He said, sensing how you quaked as he placed both palms on your globes – denting the plump flesh with greedy fingers.

It’s not like you haven’t fucked in this position before – it’s just that you knew this time was going to be different. You felt so exposed.

He fingered the frill of your panties and started peeling them off – baring your naked skin and the pretty dip between your cheeks. 

You yelped. His mouth was on you before he’d even finished undressing you – placing a sloppy half-bite half-kiss on your upper ass before proceeding to slurp the crack.

You whimpered – flustered and flushed as the heat of his tongue laid wet trails down through the valley until his lips met with your rim. You shuffled your thighs and balled the pillow in small fists as he groaned into you. Shamelessly squeezing your fat with his hands, spreading the cheeks to let him at your little puckered hole.

Your eyes screwed shut while you hid your face in the pillow beneath you – muffling all uneasy sounds as he canted his mouth against your ass. Chin rutting into your puffy cunt while bobbing his jaw, lipping at your taint and rim – nose nuzzled between your cheeks – mouth fully closed around you – moaning at the feel of it pulsing on the tip of his tongue as he runs it over the tight scrunch again and again.

Your shoulders brace as he tries and screw the wet muscle inside. You tense up way too tight for it to happen.

He smacks off with a raunchy sigh. Your heart is in your throat. 

Slick from your ignored cunt feels sticky on your swelled pussy-lips – hot and twitching in the cool air.

He pops the cap of the little bottle of lube the two of you always keep on hand. You flinch when his slick fingers come back to rub your hole. He gives it slow and soothing circles before easing the tip inside. Filling you up only to the first joint, waiting for you to relax and loosen before sinking the rest inside. 

He hums at the display, groaning, “Fuuh-ck~” Sliding the digit in knuckle-deep before slipping it out to the tip again – repeating the motion while feeling your muscles ripple around it. “You’re so cute, baby~ so pretty~”

He bows and places a chaste kiss on your buttcheek, laying his face on it like a pillow – his eyes half-mast while looking at his finger disappear inside you.

He works another in with the first, shuffling them – messaging the tightness, slowly training it to stretch. His hot breath fans over your wet skin, making you go goosefleshed.

“Fuck, baby – so pretty with my fingers inside yah~” He hums, almost in a whine while curling them inside you. “So fucking hot how you swallow and squeeze on ‘em like that~”

He pulls himself up again, tugging on his belt with one hand – keeping on fingering you with the other. 

His pants drop to the floor a moment later, and he lifts his neglected cock out of the sticky mess he’d made in his boxers – throbbingly fat and hard, pulsing in his fist and leaking pre, another pearl each time he rubs over the bulge of his tip.

He looks at your hole – eyes misty. You seem to have loosened up a bit – enough for him to part his fingers.

He pulls them both out with a schlick. “I think you’re ready…” His voice is sticky – stuck to his throat. “I’m gonna try ‘n put it in.”

Your hands curl into the pillow as you nod your head – eyes still squeezed shut. It hadn't felt too bad so far – just weird. Embarrassing and… clinical. A bit like a doctor’s visit. But you knew that would all change now.

His hands glide across your back, catching your crop top in balled fists, stretching it as his tip works on stretching out your opening – nudging against it, coaxing it into accepting the head.

“Fuh- oh fuck~” He moans, lost to the sight and feel of your butt seizing around him – closing up around his tip. 

You look so fucking perfect like that – face-down and kneeling with your ass pressed back against him – giving him your second virginity. 

His eyes flitter across the slope of your spine – looking over your creamy skin, looking so pretty, all glossy with dew, until he reaches your face. Your brows are pinched together, gnawing on your bottom lip, eyes shut tightly.

“Are you okay?” He pants.

You nod your head – curt and rushed.

He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You’re so perfect, so good to him – the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. Trusting him like this, letting him do this even when you’re so nervous about it. You must really love him.

He’s nearly crying, holding onto your hips as he fucks you with just the tip – loosening the rim up and going just a little deeper for every shallow thrust. He nearly barrels over, standing there with his back hunched – bowing his head, looking at where the two of you connect while sweat drips from his weighted bangs.

“I love you, too.” He confesses out of the blue, and you blink, looking back at him – seeing his mouth parted with blissful moans, his eyes wet, and brows softly curled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect fo’me – so good.” 

He loves you so much he can barely take the blossoming in his chest, feeling like he wants to eat you up and swallow you whole. His girl – who laughs at all his silly jokes and holds his hand everywhere you go and doesn’t tease him when he yelps and holds you close during horror movies. His perfect perky girlfriend – who lets him fuck you raw and cum inside, and now… even letting him fuck your tight round ass for the very first time.

He's almost all the way in now – just a few more thrusts, and you’ll have him swallowed down to the base with his balls pressed firmly against the puffy lips of your wet pussy.

“Fuh-uuck-” He breathes out again, gripping your hips tight as he bottoms out. 

He nearly cums right then, having to bite his lip to hold back – savoring how you ripple and squeeze him – so tight and firm.

You’re such a good girl taking him so well and so deep, lying so sweetly beneath him with your ass presented – letting him nestle his entire length inside you. Curling your toes all cutely as you adjust with only pretty girly mews leaving you.

You didn’t expect him to mount you. 

But he does. Now standing with his feet in the bed, squatting over you with his cock sinking balls deep in your ass. Freshly broken-in, it’s tight and firm and twitchy as though it’s confused as to why there's a big fat cock stretching it out. 

He can’t help but smile, perched on top of you – hands still hooked upon your hips for balance while he leans forward, settling even deeper. 

You moan, and it nearly drives him wild. Barely holding himself together as he pulls out – wishing he had something to bite into instead of his lip as he focuses on the way your firm walls clench on him, clinging to his shaft so tightly it’s hard pulling out despite the wetness – it’s so good he’s losing it. 

He’s taking his perfect girlfriend in her perfect ass. And it feels so fucking good his hands leave their grip on your hips as he slugs forward, bending over you until his chest presses into your back, and his head rests on top of yours, cheek to cheek – slinging both arms around you, putting you in a headlock – leaving you to do nothing else but pant, squished between his biceps and his cock kisses your guts. 

“Can’t believe I'm fucking your little ass, baby.” He rants breathlessly. “It's so tight and good, gripping me so fuckin’ hard.” Huffing and groaning with his back hunched as he curves into your butt as deep as he can – stuffing into you from behind slowly and carefully as though he’s savoring every single flutter of you hugging him.

He’s barely even pulling out – kneading as far as his cock can reach instead – cock-warming himself inside you.

“Fuck, baby – I can cum inside, right?” He whimpers against you, kissing the corner of your mouth with his tongue out.

You’re so squished beneath him you can only just wheeze out the word. “O-okay-”

“Oh- fuck, I love you.” He cries when he blows, squeezing you so tight you’re choking as he pumps pulse after pulse of thick hot cum deep inside you. “I love you, I love you- love you- love you so much- so fuckin’ much-”

And you don’t know if it’s the confession, the headlock, or the cum being pumped up your guts – but your clit’s pulsing and your cunt’s twitching even though it’s around nothing, gushing down your shaking thighs as your butt pushes itself flush against your boyfriend’s cock, clenching hard around it and milking him free of every drop.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Touya-Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei, Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Revised version available here: