Please fuck me, Mr.Alpha

Dear readers,

I’m a new writer stepping into this world with equal parts excitement and nerves. Stories have lived quietly in my mind for years, and today I finally share them with you. I hope my words bring comfort, curiosity, and maybe a little courage. I’m still learning, still growing, and your patience means everything. Thank you for opening this page and giving my voice a chance. If you laugh, wonder, or feel understood, then I’ve done something right. Walk with me as these characters find their paths, and together, let’s discover where imagination leads next for us all ahead.

please support me.

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Maria Claude's POV

Another day in this shitty world, fuck I hate this place so fucking much. At least I had one good thing in my life and that was Draven Blackwood , the love of my life, one of the hottest big shots in Blackwood Academy, son to our alpha and most importantly last but not least my boyfriend but only we know about it. He says that he can't have a mate without a wolf so we should keep our relationship hidden. He probably has a point and I trust him once I get my wolf he'll make us public... I can't wait. The alarm clock jerks me out of my sweet thoughts I groan as I reach for it ... fuck how the hell is it 8:30 already I have less than thirty minutes to get ready and go to the place I dread the most... Blackwood Academy . I'm shy and socially awkward and the fact that I'm an Omega doesn't help my case. It only attracts bullies and bullying but I've gotten used to it by now.

I learned early that silence could be a shield.

If I didn’t speak, they had less to twist. If I kept my head down, maybe they’d forget I existed. It never really worked, but it felt safer than trying.

Being an omega wasn’t supposed to mean this. At least, that’s what the teachers said during assemblies-back when I was a kid—how everyone had their place, how every role mattered. But those words never followed me into the hallways, where laughter stuck to my back like something I couldn’t peel off.

“Hey, move.”

I shifted before I even looked up. I always did. It was easier that way—less eye contact, less chance of becoming the center of whatever joke they were about to make. My books slipped a little in my arms, but I held them tighter.

“Did you hear me?” one of them said, stepping closer.

“I moved,” I muttered.

“Not fast enough.”

The shove wasn’t hard enough to knock me down, just enough to remind me that it could’ve been worse. It was always like that—just enough.

I kept walking.

That was the thing about days like this—they didn’t feel different from any other day. Same hallway, same voices, same tight feeling in my chest like I was holding my breath without realizing it.

Sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to take up space. To walk without shrinking, to speak without measuring every word first. I imagined it the way you imagine flying—something beautiful, something impossible.

At lunch, I sat in my usual spot near the window and trash can. Not because I liked the view, or the nasty smell but because no one else did. It was easier to exist where people didn’t want to be.

I picked at my food, not really hungry. Across the room, laughter erupted—loud, easy, effortless. I tried to remember what that felt like. Not laughing quietly or carefully, but fully, without thinking about who might hear.

“Why do you always sit alone?”

I froze.

The voices weren't mocking. That confused me more than if it had been.

“I—” My throat felt dry. “I just do.”

They didn’t sit down, just stood there for a moment, like they were deciding something. Then they shrugged and walked away. That always happened they acted like they cared but they never do.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Maybe tomorrow would be the same. Probably it would. But as I stared at the empty seat across from me, something small shifted inside my chest—not hope exactly, but something close to it.

Like maybe silence didn’t have to be the only shield I had.

if I tried harder to get my wolf then Draven would make us public and no one would dare mess with me again, I'd be able to strut down the hallway with my head held high and in confidence and maybe... I'll be able to make some friends. I wonder as I make it to my seat but something feels off.

I always know when it’s about to happen.

It starts before anyone even says a word—the way the room feels too loud and too quiet at the same time, like all the noise is happening around me, not with me. Lunch is the worst part of the day. There’s nowhere to hide. No teacher hovering nearby. Just open space and too many eyes.

I keep mine down as I walk in, tray balanced carefully in my hands. If I don’t look at them, maybe they won’t notice me.

That never works.

“Look who decided to show up.”

My stomach drops. I don’t stop walking, but I can feel them tracking me, like I’ve already stepped into something I can’t get out of.

I make it to the far table—the one near the trash cans and window. It smells faintly sour, but no one else ever sits there. That used to feel like safety.

Not today.

I barely get the tray down before someone kicks the bench out from behind me. My balance goes, and I hit the floor hard enough that the air leaves my lungs. The tray clatters, food sliding everywhere.

Laughter explodes around me.

“Oops,” someone says, dragging the word out like it’s a joke we’re all supposed to share.

I push myself up slowly, my hands shaking. My face burns, but I keep my head down. If they don’t see my expression, maybe they’ll get bored faster.

“Pick it up,” another voice says.

I swallow. “I will.”

“Not like that.” A shoe nudges a piece of bread closer to me, then presses it into the floor. “Eat it.”

More laughter.

My chest tightens so much it hurts to breathe. I stare at the floor, at the food that isn’t really food anymore, and for a second I don’t move at all. My mind just… stalls.

“Did you hear me?” The voice is sharper now.

I nod quickly, even though my hands won’t cooperate. I reach out, fingers hovering before I force myself to grab the bread. It’s cold and dirty, and I can feel every set of eyes on me.

“Wow,” someone says. “That’s just sad.”

“Of course it is,” another replies. “What do you expect?”

The words hit harder than anything else. I know they’re watching, waiting for something—maybe for me to refuse, maybe for me to break.

I don’t give them either.

I drop the bread into the trash instead. My movements are slow, careful, like if I go too fast, I’ll shatter into something I can’t put back together.

For a moment, everything goes quiet.

Then—“Oh, so now you’ve got attitude?”

The next shove sends me back into the table. Pain flares through my side, sharp enough to make my vision blur. I grip the edge to steady myself, but my hands are trembling too much.

“Leave it,” someone else says after a second, bored already. “It’s not even fun.”

Their footsteps fade, laughter trailing behind them like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.

I stay where I am, half-standing, half-leaning against the table, until the noise of the cafeteria fills back in around me. No one comes over. No one says anything. They just keep eating, talking, living like this is normal.

Maybe it is.

I finally sit down, even though there’s nothing left to eat. My hands are still shaking, so I curl them into fists and press them against my knees, trying to make it stop.

I tell myself the same thing I always do: Just get through today.

It’s not hope. It’s not even comfort.

I eat the rest of my meal in silence as the rest of the cafeteria use me as entertainment for their twisted hearts.

"Hey wolfless loser , come over here" someone calls out, it sends a hard blow to my heart, the term wolfless as I'm constantly reminded of my case every single day by everyone. I get up and quietly walk over to them when i reach their table they throw their food to the floor "Clean it , after all that's all you Omega's are good for.... servings others and make sure you finish cleaning it all up before the end of lunch" and then they laugh and leave. I wipe.my eyes, I won't let them see me cry. I start cleaning the mess and I finish just in time as the bell for the end of lunch goes of.