Fishy Situations 🐟

“My little, dumb, Omega, because i need a new mate. And your parents are being so generous, and offered you up for an appropriate price, of course! I needed a new one, and your parents delivered. I’m guessing you’ve already heard of what happened to my last mate, haven’t you?” Harry coos, and once again i am violently reminded how caring he seems to be towards me.

I can’t help but resent the fact that this is basically the first time—as far as i remember—anyone has been so kind to me. 

As much as it’s been beaten into me that i’m worth nothing, that i don’t deserve love, that i am nobody in this world…

…Aren’t my parent’s actions contradictory?

Harry paid for me, i can’t be worth nothing if an Alpha is actively paying real money for me. I must be worth at least that much then, right?

If i don’t deserve love, then why is this Alpha paying for it? He’s giving my ‘parents’ hard earned money for me, to have me as a mate. To court me, in a sense. To have my love, and give his in turn.

I can’t be just nobody, because Harry gooning Styles chose me out of all Omegas. Out of anyone else, he chose me.

The shy smile forces it’s way past my cold demeanour, weaving through my carefully build walls and painting my face as rather bashful at his explanation. No longer as cold as it was before, no longer yet another wall i’ve put up to protect myself.

“Oh, my little breadcrumb… You’re not listening to a word i’m saying, are you?” Harry notices, his affectionate nickname causing my heart to skip a beat. Maybe two if i really count how they skip in quick succession. My wolf already howling and yearning for this type of love. It’s weirdly… heartwarming to be called his ‘little breadcrumb’, like he acknowledges i’m smaller (and younger, PEDO.) than him, that i could easily, and currently am, fitting into his arms perfectly.

Like we were made for this.

Made for each other.

My parents forgotten in the background of the moment, he reaches his hand up to my hair, caressing my cheek as it moves past. Goosebumps rise on my skin where his cold fingers deftly skim over.

And before I know it, before i can even process, he’s yanking my head back by my messy bun, a pathetic yelp escaping my lips as i flinch, almost violently.

Shit.

I fucked up. Again.

Right when i thought we were having a moment, too.

Out of instinct, i bare my throat to Harry, eyes clenched shut in fear of what’s to happen. My wolf cowers back, retreating to the back of my mind and heart. Protecting themself.

My wolf has enough scars, more emotional than physical, taking the brunt of the emotional abuse and pain my parents have inflicted over the years. While I, take the physical. They’re present for all my hurt, though less, there when i’m inevitably being hurt yet again.

Some of my own scars have no choice but to also transfer to them, too. As much as some of the worst emotional scars materialised as genuine scars on my wolf have transferred to me too.

The subtle lines and marks marring my body are proof of that. Though, if i ever heal, those can fade easily. Otherwise, they’re permanent.

As is the nature of emotional scars.

They may still cause some phantom pain in the places the scars once were, but they’ll be visually gone. Nothing ever truly fades.

“Oh? You’ve trained them well. This one will do swimmingly in my care, i can assure you.” I faintly hear muttered from above me.

It’s Harry speaking, addressing my parents. (I’d almost forgotten they were there, if i’m honest…) Addressing them for basically the first time since i fell into his arms and had a little outburst, as a show of trying to maintain my strength, although it already has been slowly, ever so slowly diminishing throughout the years.

I doubt i have long left before i just simply… Give up.

Not on life, of course! But trying to fight off the abuse, the pain, with my useless words. Silenced by a single slap, these days. Maybe a lash will be what i can take before i inevitably shit my trap again, if i’m feeling extra sigma that day.

My hand weakly travels up to my hair also, maybe an attempt to dislodge his hand? At this point i have no idea what i’m doing, too overcome with fear, and adrenaline to think rationally.

I grip the roots of my hair beneath my messy bun, the hunger and continuous lack of proper nutrition not only letting me hold on, but only weakly. Basically just placing my hand there, at this point.

I really need to Skibidi up, don’t i?

Goddamn it, i can’t even hold on to my own hair!

How pathetic am i?

Not even how pathetic can i get, no.

I don’t think you could even get any worse than this right now. You simply can’t. I can’t, you can’t, nobody can.