Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shauna Shipman doesn’t care about alpha bullshit.

She was supposed to be one—obviously—but that doesn’t matter. It’s fine.

The cry between her thighs, the need to be filled, the flood of gross fucking grool that slicks up her cunt whenever an alpha comes around smelling a certain way. That’s all fine.

Shauna’s birth control implant doubles as a mid-grade suppressant, a little bump in the soft part of her left arm that theoretically makes everything better. Easier. It works fine. Turns the dial down from ten to five. Her periods aren’t as long or as heavy as they once were (and good fucking riddance). Emotions are easier to control at baseline which, yeah, is kind of nice, but when she’s up and fiery and gunning with no brakes it still takes an alpha to cool her down quickly.

Even heats are fine. They’re stronger than run of the mill ovulation but the call is the same: get bred, omega.

The implant makes them last only two or three days instead of four or five, and she doesn’t require a knot to get through them.

That’s fine.

It is.

Really.

It has to be fine, because Shauna would rather jaywalk the Jersey Turnpike than have an alpha’s baby. 

But it’s not like she can change her designation.

Nor can she change the fact that her stupid fucking body aches for the one alpha she swore to never ever touch.

When Shauna’s birth control implant breaks, she doesn’t realize it for forty-six days.

On the forty-seventh day, when Shauna goes into heat for the first time after her implant breaks—proper, all-consuming, painful heat—Deb Shipman is at a conference in Minnesota, but Shauna wouldn’t have called her even if she were on shift across town at the hospital.

Shauna calls Lottie.

“Lot, something’s wrong.”

“What’s happening? Talk to me.”

She tells her everything: how her pulse keeps climbing, how she can’t stop sweating, how taking a full breath without getting dizzy is next to impossible. She tells Lottie that she can’t stay on her feet, that she got lightheaded coming down from her bedroom to get to the phone in the kitchen, and that cold water and a snack did not help. Her head is pounding and it won’t stop, and her entire body is starting to feel like one giant ache with its roots twisted up in her gut.

She tells Lottie she’s scared.

“It feels like heat,” she tells Lottie, “but big and—and heavy. Like I'm gonna pass out.”

“Okay,” Lottie says simply. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you do something for me?”

Anything, Shauna thinks, whatever Lottie wants, because Lottie is coming to help and Shauna already feels like she could cry about it.

“Hot water and two slices of lemon,” Lottie says, not waiting for an answer. “I know you’re running hot right now, but it’ll soothe the ache a bit until I get there.”

Shauna whines. The thought of sipping hot liquid makes her want to drop to the ground and throw a tantrum the likes of which could rival those she threw as a child, but Lottie’s usual gentle tone has slipped into something more solid. Something commanding and sure.

“Just say yes, Shauna.”

“Yes,” she says. No hesitation. “Yes, Lottie.”

“Good—that’s good. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Shauna’s hands shake as she fills the kettle. They don’t ordinarily keep lemons on hand, but she finds a half full bottle of lemon juice at the back of the fridge (one of the little ones in the shape of yellow fruit that she always used to grab for at the supermarket as a child).

By the time the kettle boils she’s sweating bullets. Her shirt’s clinging to her skin, soaked through at the armpits and the small of her back, and she’s panting like a dog. Shauna ties her hair up and slumps into a creaking wooden chair at the kitchen table with the steaming mug set before her. She stares at it for a long time, long enough that she’s certain Lottie should be there by now, but she isn’t.

So she makes herself drink. Not because she wants to. Because Lottie told her to.

The mug is half empty by the time the doorbell rings.

Lottie’s eyes widen as Shauna opens the door and—“Oh, you poor baby.”

It's a miracle they make it all the way up to Shauna's bedroom.

The risk isn’t zero, but it’s small.

Small enough to warrant neither a number nor a spot of caution (nor a condom).

At least that’s what Shauna tells herself as the heavy head of Lottie’s cock bumps up against the hot seam of her cunt. Lottie’s thick but she isn’t terribly long and somehow that’s more intimidating than if she were packing a fucking foot-long. Shauna’s only ever had her own fingers inside of herself and this is decidedly different. Wildly different.

Lottie’s resting on her knees between Shauna’s legs, mindlessly petting the mess of dark hair coating her cunt. She fists her cock with the other hand, slowly dragging the tip over Shauna’s hole.

“Tell me you’re sure,” Lottie says, “while you’re still this coherent.”

Shauna doesn’t feel very coherent. She feels like an animal, driven by something primal and ancient that will not let her go.

“I’m sure,” she says, but it’s shaky. She still has her t-shirt and socks on and feels a bit silly for it, but Lottie had left them after pulling off her bottoms, and Shauna is in no place to question an alpha. “You’re the only one who—yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

You’re the only one who won’t knock me up and stake some bullshit alpha claim.

“You want this?” Lottie presses—with words and flesh alike.

“I want it,” Shauna whines. “Please.”

Verbal confirmation aside, every inch of her is screaming for it; her body recognizes an alpha seeking entrance and gives.

Soft warm fluid spills from her cunt and for a moment Shauna’s worried, almost certain she just pissed herself, until Lottie makes a strangled little noise and pushes. She slips into Shauna so easily, easier than it should be, gliding in so fucking smoothly that it finally makes Shauna understand what it means when shitty boys say shitty things like she’s an omega, of course she wanted it.

Shauna doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anything more than to open herself up for Lottie and take her inside fully, to give Lottie a home in the heat of her cunt and never let her back out. Because Lottie is an alpha and this is her right; because Shauna is an omega and it is her job to take it.

And it hurts, it does, but not quite in the way Shauna was expecting.

Every story she’s heard from betas and omegas alike about losing their virginity comes with a caveat, a promise of a sharp sting and a stretch that is anything but comfortable. Mari says it took two or three times before sex really became enjoyable. Misty swears it hurt until the fourth or fifth or sixth time, but Shauna still isn’t convinced Misty’s gotten laid more than once. Tai won’t put a number one it, but the one time she deigned to participate in raunchy alpha-beta-omega fuck talk at a team sleepover she agreed that the first time always kind of sucks and there really isn’t anything that can be done to prevent that.

Shauna’s first time does not suck.

It hurts, sure, but there’s no sting. It’s more of an ache: a ravenous cry in the pit of her stomach that feels more ancient and eldritch than biological, a hot pulsing pull that echoes the pace of breaths that are coming quicker and quicker with each and every second Lottie spends inside of her.

And god, Lottie really is big. It should hurt so much more. 

The head of her cock rests heavy inside of Shauna, holding her open with its girth, and Shauna already feels filled to the fucking brim with just the tip inside but somehow there’s enough room for more of her slick to spill out around Lottie. Her body wants it. She wants it. And she can’t believe she was stupid enough to wait this long to let an alpha get between her legs and fill up her breeding hole.

Because that’s what it is, right?

That’s what sex between an alpha and an omega is for. 

“Right,” Lottie says, a little out of breath, and Shauna’s pretty sure the alpha is talking to herself because she’s staring down at the spot where they’re linked. Her jaw is a little slack and her pupils have blacked out her already dark eyes and she looks like she’s always looked—inquisitive and pretty and in awe of the world—but it must be different to be in awe of a desperate omega than in awe of anything else because Shauna doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lottie look so blissed out. “Oh my god, Shauna, you’re… you’re so wet. You’re beautiful. You’re leaking.”

Some part of Shauna thinks she should be embarrassed of that. She’s supposed to be more than what everyone says omegas are. She’s supposed to be strong. She was supposed to keep her legs closed. She was supposed to be born different.

Propping up on her elbows to give herself a better vantage point, arms shaking, Shauna nearly crumbles at the sight of Lottie pressing into her. The dark curls between her legs shimmer with wetness and so does Lottie’s cock. It’s wet and shiny and it’s stretching her open.

“Is it… is it okay?” The words feel thick and warm and sticky in her mouth.

Lottie’s gaze snaps up. “What?” She tilts her head in a lopsided approximation of a confused dog.

“Is my—” Shauna’s face flares as her cunt clenches. “Um. Is it good? Inside… Does it feel okay?”

“God,” Lottie whines desperately (and if she were any other alpha she wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t dare, and maybe that’s why Shauna trusts her with this). She scrambles forward—fucks into Shauna as she does so, fills her right up to the hilt, squeezing a cry out of Shauna’s throat as she bottoms out without warning—and puts herself right up in Shauna’s face. Forehead to forehead, breaths mingling. “Shauna, your pussy is fucking perfect. Can I fuck it? Can I move? Please?”

Shauna doesn’t mean to laugh, really, it’s just that she’s already breathless and hormone-high and Lottie’s so wide-eyed and eager that the sound slips out anyway. “Fuck, you don’t have to ask, Lottie, you’re…” You’re the alpha here. “Yeah. Yes. You can move, just… start slow?”

To her credit, Lottie does start slow.

It’s just not enough for Shauna.

She likes the stretch and the fullness and the gradual drag of a thick veiny cock as it eases out of her wanting body, but it’s not enough. Her body wants something other than what her rational brain had told her to ask for. Her body wants the primal call in her hollow womb to be answered in full. Preferably by a fertile alpha’s brutal cock and thick cum.

Which—Lottie isn’t that, isn’t currently a fertile alpha (fuck you, Mr. Matthews), but Shauna’s body can’t tell the difference. All it knows is she’s being taken for the very first time, an alpha is finally inside of her, and that’s what it’s been craving since the very moment she presented. Maybe there was a time when Shauna imagined losing her virginity to someone else, a time where she expected to open herself up for her best friend the way it would’ve happened in the movies, but Jackie is a beta and Shauna doesn’t actually like anyone else well enough to let them get close enough to try.

And that’s not to say Lottie is a consolation prize. She isn’t, not really, because that would imply that Shauna thinks of Lottie as something lesser than what she really deserves, and she doesn’t think that. She thinks Lottie is trustworthy and kind and prettier by a thousand miles than any of the alpha boys who have made a pass at her. She’s prettier than the one single alpha girl who tried something with her, too, but that’s not a shock; Lottie’s prettier than most girls Shauna knows, alpha or otherwise.

She’s different from most girls Shauna knows, too. In a lot of ways.

Lottie Matthews is barely an alpha.

Her father has her on suppressants. Not just any suppressants—military-grade bullshit in pill form that wipe the slate upsettingly clean. 

They don’t just suppress, they block. They take away her scent, make it so she can’t push pheromones, can’t pop a knot, and Shauna’s pretty damn sure if they checked Lottie’s sperm count it would come up a big fat zero. 

Consequently, she’s Shauna’s favorite alpha.

No ego parading, no dick swinging, no insistence that Shauna cow and bend and submit like a good omega should.

Lottie is just, well, Lottie. A touch odd and occasionally disconnected, prone to thousand-yard stares and bouts of silence that break at the drop of a hat, but she’s thoughtful. She cares. And she’s much more observant than most people give her credit for.

In the delicate ecosystem that is Wiskayok High, Lottie acts very much like a typical beta. She doesn’t start fights, doesn’t make a habit of hitting on omegas (even ones without proper mating bites), and she defers to an alpha when help is needed.

Unfortunately, the alpha Lottie trusts the most is the one alpha Shauna can’t fucking stand.

“Natalie.”

Lottie calls for her like a snitch calls a parent. Then she makes it worse. She whistles. Summoning her hound like the good little dog she is.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You smell like you’re about to run someone through with a kitchen knife,” Lottie says. For all that her fancy suppressants do, they don’t stop her from taking in the scents of those around her. “And you’ve been gunning for Mari all practice, Shauna. You need to cool it.”

She could turn the tables. Swing her rage around on Lottie, show her what gunning for someone really looks like. (Not that she’d ever actually do anything to Lottie; an over-suppressed alpha is still an alpha, and despite Shauna’s misgivings about the whole fucking state of the world, she’s not stupid.)

But Nat’s already there, panting as she jogs over and resting her hands on her hips. The sleeves of her warm-up tee are rolled up over her shoulders like they always are, baring pale skinny arms to the spring sun. 

God, she’s small.

And she smells overwhelmingly of sweat and tobacco and something else spicy and warm that kind of makes Shauna want to sink to her knees.

Shauna bites her cheek until she tastes blood.

“What’s up, Lot?” Nat asks, like she doesn’t know exactly why she was called.

“Calm her down, please,” Lottie says. It comes out far too casual for Shauna’s liking. “Preferably before Mari gets a cleat to the face.”

Shauna scoffs, although it’s an appetizing thought. Mari in the grass beneath her. Begging to be let up. Mari doesn’t have an alpha, hasn’t been claimed, so there wouldn’t be any real consequences. Maybe a school suspension or maybe Coach would bench her for it, but that would be nothing compared to what would happen if Shauna went after a mated omega.

Omega on omega violence isn’t the worst thing that could happen at soccer practice, not by a long shot. 

It’s incredibly tempting.

Whatever.

Nat looks at Shauna for a moment, blue-green eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch. “Come on,” she says flatly. “Let’s take a walk.”

Shauna almost laughs in her face, almost turns on her heel and storms off, but—but then she looks at Lottie, who’s staring back at her with hopeful brown eyes and a smile that’s far too sad for Shauna’s liking, far too pouty, and god. She can’t. She’s never been any good at disappointing Lottie. At least it’s not Jackie looking at her like that. She’d have to kill herself right then and there if it was.

“Fine,” she bites out through gritted teeth.

Nat walks her all the fucking way around the athletic building until the soccer field is out of sight. She’d call that smart if Nat were anyone else.

“What did Mari do this time?”

Shauna blinks. “What?”

“She’s in rare form today.” Nat shrugs. “You’re not the only one who wants to kill her. What did she do?”

It’s stupid.

Shauna looks at her cleats. “She won’t stop calling me names.”

A sharp sigh breaks the silence, a sound that makes Shauna want to bury her head in the dirt. 

“What did she call you?” Nat crosses her arms.

Okay, it’s really stupid.

“Loser. Captain’s pet.” Shauna frowns. “Gaywad.”

Nat laughs, and Shauna’s two seconds away from spitting in her face before: “You know she fucked Melissa, right?”

Shauna stares. “What?”

“Misty walked in on them at Randy’s party last month,” Nat says. And to her credit, it’s a good distraction. Shauna barely notices the subtle push of calming alpha stink that Nat sneaks in alongside her words—because it’s always stink when it’s Nat, no matter how warm and safe and woodsy it smells. “It was, like, a whole thing. I thought everyone heard about it.”

Obviously not everyone.

Shauna just stares at her as the tension slowly bleeds out of her shoulders. Her spine is starting to feel a little loose now, a bit noodly, like she should be laying down and stretching out and letting someone mold the knots out of her back. Not just someone, maybe. An alpha.

“So, you know,” Nat says, shrugging. “The call is coming from inside the house, or whatever. Mari’s a dick, but you can’t kill her. At least not on school grounds. Save it for the next time she mouths off at a party.”

“Sounds like she has better things to do with her mouth at parties than use it to piss me off,” Shauna mumbles, half a smile finding her lips. She fucking hates how good Nat is at settling her. Then: “Whatever. Fine.”

“Alright.” Nat claps her hands together. “Good talk. Now get back on the field, and don’t make me have to do this shit again.”

It isn’t a request, and Shauna’s head dips in agreement before she can help it.

Stupid fucking alpha command tone. 

Practice finishes up an hour later. Shauna doesn’t kill Mari, but she does consider rehashing the dumped for his cousin thing when Mari glues herself to Jackie’s side until Coach blows the whistle that signals their freedom.

She doesn’t look at anyone in the locker room, not even Lottie, who snags the spot next to her in the showers to keep Jackie from taking it and trying to start a conversation that will only make things worse. She tells herself she’ll call Jackie later, after she’s had some time to breathe without anyone crowding her, after she’s had a moment to contend with the fact that Jackie let Mari monopolize her attention. That’s Shauna’s spot, Shauna’s job when Jeff isn’t around, and who the fuck does Mari think she is to waltz in and—

“Shauna,” Lottie says, warning tone low beneath the hiss of running water. “Relax, it’s over.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Whether or not she smells rightfully pissed off the field is no one’s business but her own.

“Do I need to call Nat?”

Shauna nearly chokes on her breath.

Lottie wouldn’t. Not now, not while Shauna’s naked and simmering.

(And what would Nat think if she had to come stand before Shauna’s bare wet body? Would she notice how hard Shauna’s nipples are getting all of a sudden, despite the heat of the shower? Would she be able to catch the musky scent of Shauna’s damp cunt under the almondy smell of bar soap? Would she tease her for it?)

The threat is enough.

She doesn’t need Nat anywhere near her right now. Or ever, for that matter.

Gritting her teeth, Shauna snaps her eyes shut, focusing on the thick lather of shampoo as she works her fingers through her hair. “No,” she mutters. “I’m fine.”

Lottie kisses Shauna’s forehead. Her cheekbones. The corner of her mouth.

Then she starts to ease back, to pull out, and Shauna panics.

Her hands scramble for purchase on Lottie’s sides and her nails dig in.

“No no no no—please don’t,” she babbles, high and desperate and cut with a gasp, clenching as tight as she can around the cock threatening to slip out of her. “You can’t—please—please don’t pull out, Lot, please.”

“You’re okay, Shauna,” Lottie mumbles, stilling her hips. She lets Shauna pull their bodies back together, bottoming out again with a soft sigh. “You’re okay. I won’t pull out, I promise.”

They stay like that for a while, Lottie laid out on top of her, long fingers stroking every bit of Shauna’s sweaty skin she can reach. She pets the side of her rib cage, rubs Shauna’s hip, squeezes the meat of her thigh.

Shauna likes the weight on top of her, likes being full even more, but there’s something missing. Even as she flutters around Lottie, milking her for more, greedy even after the load Lottie just filled her with. Even as Lottie begins panting against her shoulder, humping her, stuffing Shauna’s cunt with shallow little thrusts that let her bump the head of her cock up against Shauna’s cervix.

It feels good, it feels right, but it’s not enough, and Shauna doesn’t understand how it couldn’t be. This is what she’s supposed to do. This is what the world and her body and every single alpha alive wants from her.

Why isn’t it enough?

It’s Lottie, for fuck’s sake. She cares and she’s kind and she came—to help and inside of her—and what more could the ache in Shauna’s gut possibly want?

And—oh no.

Shauna swipes at her eyes. She inhales quickly to try and settle herself, but it sounds wet and pitiful and there’s no way Lottie didn’t hear it. There’s no way Lottie won’t pick her head up to check in and see that Shauna’s fucking crying while she’s still inside of her, and how pathetic is that?

It isn’t fucking fair.

Why can't Lottie be enough?

An hour later Shauna’s in a daze, half asleep and half something on the couch in the den when Lottie excuses herself with a mumble about needing a snack and a promise that she’ll be right back. She leaves Shauna sniffling on the couch, curled up and breathing through the tears as slow as she can, just like Lottie told her to. It doesn’t really help but it’s something to do, and it’s better than the shriek that echoes in her head when she lies still and tries to find the sleep that keeps evading her.

She doesn’t hear the fridge open, or the pantry, or any of the cabinets, but she does hear Lottie take the phone off the hook.

Then, after a long quiet moment: “She won’t stop crying, Nat. I don’t know what to do.”

Nat?

Shauna twists on the couch, scooting towards the end closest to the doorway into the kitchen. She rests her head on the arm of the couch and listens.

“I know.” Lottie sighs. “I tried, but I’m… My suppressants won’t let me.”

It’s quiet for a long time after that. Shauna bites her cheek to distract from the ache creeping back into her belly.

“I couldn’t just leave her like that.”

Lottie’s talking about her. Obviously. But Lottie’s talking about her to Nat, who she knows very well that Shauna does not like.

But—doesn’t she? On some level?

Because Nat is always the one to come running when something’s wrong with Shauna, and she’s the only one whose stupid fucking stink actually makes Shauna calm down, and there was that thing at States last year, but…

A quiet whine slips out of Shauna’s mouth.

No, she doesn’t like Nat. She can’t.

“How fast can you get to Shauna’s house?” Lottie pauses to listen. Then she growls, a quiet rumble that makes Shauna rub her sweaty thighs together. “Because you’re not on suppressants, Natalie. How fast?”

Nat’s coming?

Here?

Shauna groans in pain and frustration and impatience.

“I know it’s a bad idea, but the only other options are Van and Melissa and—and you’re good with her. I’ll send my driver. Be ready.”

Nat’s coming.

The dread that would usually accompany such information is nowhere to be found. In its place hums a warmth that Shauna’s going to have to get used to fast.

Because Nat’s coming.

And that must mean—well.

Natalie Scatorccio is an alpha. 

Somehow.

She’s just so fucking small.

And okay, Shauna knows they’re about the same height, but Nat’s so skinny and Shauna’s so solid that it feels unfair in a very cruel way whenever Nat lords her status over Shauna (which she only ever does when Lottie asks her to, which Lottie only ever does when Shauna’s out of control or bordering on it, but that doesn’t make it any better). Whatever. It’s not like Nat can help what she is either.

What she can help is the way she acts around Shauna.

Weird.

She acts fucking weird.

All pissy and aggressive on the field, hardly any words offered that aren’t watch yourself or on your left or Jesus fucking Christ, Shauna. 

All low and disdainful everywhere else, especially at parties. Shauna’s pretty sure Nat hates when she drinks, but she can’t say why. She’s sure as shit not going to ask her. The glares are enough to ward off the curiosity; blue-green eyes bore into her and twist like she’s fucking drilling for oil whenever Nat catches her with a drink in hand, like she’s a child with a candy bar when dinner’s on the stove.

It might have something to do with States at the end of last year.

They didn’t win, but they did sneak out of their rooms to get trashed with the other losing teams at the hotel pool. Someone brought Stoli, someone else brought wine coolers, and Nat brought shitty weed that she was just barely kind enough to share with the few girls willing to brave her scowl to ask for a hit. Shauna wasn’t one of them. She mixed vodka with cranberry juice she got from the third floor vending machine and threw it back like water. It made her stupid.

In hindsight, getting drunk and stripping down to a sports bra and boyshorts to jump in a pool with at least a dozen alphas watching was probably not the wisest decision. The second her shirt came off she could feel the eyes on her, hot brands all over her skin, and she liked it. She liked that, for once, all of the attention wasn’t on Jackie. It made her feel valuable, even if that value was cheap and wet and smelled like chlorine and Jackie’s strawberry shampoo.

Shauna didn’t say no when an alpha from Hazlet jumped in the pool and corralled her in the shallow end. She didn’t say no when that alpha touched her under the water, big hands on her belly and a broad chest at her back, fingertips playing with the elastic waistband of her underwear. She did say no when a hand went all the way for her crotch, but only because they were surrounded by too many other girls to count and Shauna wasn’t in the business of putting on that kind of show. She placated the alpha with a kiss that probably wasn’t wise either, but fuck her for wanting a tongue in her mouth when she was drunk and warm and buzzing for affection, right?

Not everything that happened after the pool stuck in her memory.

It gets choppy somewhere around the time she had a fourth vending machine vodka cran in a lounge chair on the alpha’s lap. Shauna remembers laughing at things that weren’t funny because that’s what Jackie always did to appease Jeff. She remembers acting shy when the alpha invited her up to her room. She remembers saying no, saying that they could stay right there and make out for as long as the alpha wanted. Nothing more. She remembers doing that for a while, and it was fine. Nice, even, despite how sloppy it got.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out with a pair of hands on her ass and half the party watching.

But she knows for sure nothing more happened because by all accounts she and the Hazlet alpha stayed right there on that lounge chair by the pool until Nat came around.

And she came around with a fucking fury.

Shauna doesn’t remember Nat pulling her off of the alpha’s lap, but she has choppy memories of Nat growling and shouting and shoving until the other alpha sulked off with a grumble of something that sounded like no piece of ass is worth all this.

The next thing she remembers is waking up with a hammer trying to beat its way out of her skull. She was where she was supposed to be: in her bed in the hotel room she was sharing with Jackie, who gave her a bottle of water and one of her mom’s Valium as soon as they were settled on the bus back to Wiskayok.

No one told her why Nat got between her and the Hazlet girl, and Shauna didn’t ask.

It’s better that way. 

Between her legs Shauna can’t tell what’s sweat and what’s slick. It’s all so sticky and hot and abundant that it probably doesn’t even matter. The only thing that matters is getting something back inside of her before she starts crying again.

“You need to be knotted,” Lottie’s muttering, breath warm against Shauna’s ear as her fingers glide through the mess between Shauna’s legs. Two fingers sink in, palm curled over Shauna’s clit. “Nat’s going to help. Is that okay?”

Shauna whimpers.

Through the fog of heat and the sharp trill of arousal screaming through her veins, Shauna sees a second figure. Fuzzy around the edges. Stock-still by the door. She blinks, trying to focus, but her eyes won’t open all the way and she’s stuck looking through her lashes as the world blurs and pulses in time with her heart.

She’s not sure how long it’s been since Lottie got off the phone with Nat. Thirty minutes, three hours, half a day. Time feels condensed into one single moment and infinite all at once. Shauna’s pretty sure it’s dark out already on account of the crickets and the lack of neighborhood kids shouting in the street, but there’s no way to be certain; the blinds are drawn and Shauna couldn’t get up to check even if she wanted to, at least not without help.

She remembers loping downstairs long after Lottie fucked her. She remembers forcing down a protein bar and a glass of orange juice at Lottie's insistence.

They put on a movie at some point, but Shauna could only pay attention to the sweat slipping down her spine and the throb between her legs as she laid her head in Lottie’s lap. As long as they were touching, Shauna was okay, even if Lottie wasn't enough.

As long as Lottie didn’t get too far away, everything was fine.

Shauna doesn’t remember how she wound up suckling on the head of Lottie’s cock halfway through the movie, licking up droplets of precum like it was the last meal she’d ever have, or how her shorts and underwear ended up on the floor beneath the coffee table by the time the credits rolled. Lottie didn’t fuck her again, but she licked Shauna to a shaky orgasm with more enthusiasm than skill. She kissed her after, and fed Shauna the taste on her tongue while Shauna dragged her slick cunt along the length of Lottie’s thigh until she came again. 

There’s something in the back of Shauna’s head telling her that she should be worried about the mess she made on the couch (and the mess she’s still making, really, because Lottie has her spread open and leaking again, two fingers dipping in and out of Shauna’s pussy like she just wants to test the waters), that she should clean it and they should move before she has the chance to leave a noticeable stain. Later. That’s a problem for later.

There are more important things to worry about right now.

Lottie was asking her something, wasn’t she?

Shauna tips her head back against Lottie’s chest and sniffs, searching for a scent that isn’t there, and, “Huh?” she mumbles, lashes fluttering.

“Nat’s going to fuck you,” Lottie says. “She’ll make you feel better. Just keep your legs spread.”

Shauna can do that. That sounds really good, actually. And if it’s what Lottie wants her to do, well. Wiggling back a little, Shauna tucks one leg up against the back of the couch while the other flops open wide, foot dangling over the floor. “Okay, Lot. Sounds nice.”

The blurry figure by the door slips closer, easing into focus as it crosses the den and lingers by the arm of the couch. A thick, familiar stink follows: cigarettes and sweat and warm earth. Not quite pine, not sweet enough to be cloves. A smell Shauna is fairly certain—even in this state—that only Natalie Scatorccio can produce.

“Jesus Christ, Lot, she's fucking soaked. What did you do to her?”

Lottie doesn't answer, but Shauna's almost certain she's smiling.

“Nat?”

“Yeah, Shauna, it’s me. I’m—shit, I’m here.”

“Hi,” Shauna mumbles lazily, lips pressing into a soft smile. Her vision comes into focus as she draws in a breath, filling her nostrils with Nat’s smell, and there she is. Standing nervously at the end of the couch, wide eyes lingering on the slow movement of Lottie’s hand between Shauna’s thighs. “Lottie says you’re here to knot me.”

“Yeah,” Nat says, huffing out a laugh. “I guess I am, but only if you want me to.”

Heat drunk, that’s what it’s called. So wrapped up in the desire to be fucked, knotted, and bred, that rational reasoning goes out the window. It’s not great, all things considered; it’s a biological fucking nightmare, is what it is, something Shauna’s always turned her nose up at and downright dreaded ever happening to her. She’s above things like that, above letting her body make decisions for her, but—but is she?

She’s an omega, after all. And it feels so warm and safe and meant to be with one alpha at her back and another standing by, waiting to stuff her full and breed her cunt and plug her up with a knot.

It doesn’t matter that it’s Nat who’s going to knot her. They have their problems, and they’ll probably have even more after this, but Nat’s never not just… been there. To calm her, to scold her, to keep her away from sleazy alphas from Hazlet. They don’t like each other (except for the fact that that’s probably a lie), but whatever is going on between them is more than nothing.

Shauna nods her head. “Yes, please,” she says softly. “I really want you to.”

And not just because it’s what Lottie wants for her either.

It doesn’t even matter if this is all Shauna’s heat talking; she thinks, on a strangely sober level, that maybe this was inevitable.