The good news is, my creativity has somewhat come back, in the form of me spending the entire first half of the day furiously writing.
The bad news is, it came back in the form of, uh, this. Which is a Hanamiya x reader weird short set in an omegaverse au. It’s not technically smut, but I wouldn’t call it SFW, either.
I suppose it’s more on the angst/comfort scale, with a lot of sexual tension. I know I’m not selling this well, but I’m still trying to get over the fact that my brain handed me an omegaverse story and that I just went and wrote it.
Word count: 2320
!alpha Hanamiya x !omega reader
Heat dynamics, Angst, Fear, Comfort, Sexual Tension, Thinly Veiled Rape Threats (no actual violence, sexual or otherwise)
You sit in the back of the tiny uni classroom, trying your best to hide.
“Please just come and get me,” you whisper into your phone.
Your boyfriend grunts, barely audible over the sound of people talking and some beat playing in the background.
“Babe, I’m busy.”
Frustration settles into hurt, but you try to keep your voice level.
“Listen, I’m about to go in heat and I need you. I locked myself in a friggin classroom and I don’t know if I’ll make it to my apartment alive if you don’t come over.”
“Then why the hell did you go out?” he sighs, and his words cut like steel. “You should have just stayed home.”
“I had classes,” you say, voice going high with a mixture of anger and pain. “It came up a lot faster than I expected.”
“It always happens faster than you expected,” your boyfriend grumbles, “you always do this. You don’t think it’s gonna happen, because you don’t fucking think. You’re always trying to do things you shouldn’t be doing.”
“Well excuse me for trying to lead an actual life,” you growl.
Before you can say anything else, however, the call clicks off.
You call back. No answer.
Panic rises in your throat and you’re left to stare at your phone, numbly watching the animation of a call failing to be connected. You realise that he’s left you hanging, but it takes a few seconds before it fully sinks in.
He left you to deal with this by yourself.
You shift and focus on your breathing as you feel a first wave of heat hit you. It runs a shiver down your skin, electricity racing from the top of your head all the way to the ends of your fingers and toes. You clench your abdominal muscles, stifling a low moan.
It is pure, unfiltered desire coursing through you and it is an absolute bitch right now.
You’re pretty sure you can sense a group of people gathering, just outside the door. You’re hoping it’s just your fevered imagination but experience, science even, says otherwise. Your body, treacherous thing it is, is giving off a sweet, wanton sort of scent, a desperate plea for attention that makes people around you stand to attention.
It speaks of untapped potential, of willingness, submissiveness and in any alpha near you it leads to a hunger that’s hard to fight against.
Whoever came up with this biological marvel was an asshole, you think. You take a breath to compose yourself and spray deodorant in front of you in an effort to at least mask some of your scent it.
It’s useless, probably, but what else can you do. You already know it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, and unless you can find release, you’re basically stuck here all night.
“You alright in there?”
Someone tries the door handle. Thank god for locks.
“Go away, I’m fine!”
“You sure about that?” It’s a second voice, and it sounds leery.
“Get the fuck away!”
You briefly ponder calling your parents. Never mind that they’re in Osaka and you’re studying in Tokyo. How long would it take them to get here? A few hours? Do you even have that long?
Clicking around your phone, you search for something like a help line for desperate omegas. An intervention team for people in heat. Surely something like that exists.
The sounds of a disturbance by the door take your attention away from googling.
You hear a shuffle, and a curse, the kind of aggression that doesn’t bode well.
And then, in the silence that follows: a click.
Someone picked the god damn lock.
You look around for an escape, a closet to hide in, a window to jump out of, even if it’s three stories down.
But your body is far from done betraying you. You freeze, left to sit on a table near the back wall, as the door slowly opens.
You can smell him, long before you see him. A cloud of scent that proclaims, without hesitance, that he owns the place.
It smells of power, of danger, of arrogance.
It smells like trouble and your body responds by aching for it. A thrill sparks through your veins and you clench once more, biting your lip.
Then the last person you want to see walks through the door, sporting a dark smirk and trailing a cloud of dominance.
You’re lost in a maelstrom of hormones, flitting between desire and fear. You know, you are almost certain, that he’ll hurt you if he comes close, and still part of you yearns for it, every back-stabbing hormone in your body screaming to be fucked, no matter the cost.
The more lucid part of you grips the hard wood of the table and scoots back against the cool wall. If you could only lose some of the heat radiating off you, you might be able to think.
With an icy calm Hanamiya closes the door behind him and locks it again, pushing back anyone who still dares linger in the hallway, in that stifling cloud of authority.
You swallow hard, sweat gathering in the dip of your sternum, a drop racing down the middle of your chest.
He crosses the room like a villain boarding a conquered ship, long strides taking him right in front of the table, where he stops. Eyes the colour of milk coffee look down at you, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the twitch in your legs, the sheer desperation in your scent.
His lips curl into a dangerous smile.
“Well, well, __-san. Aren’t you in trouble?”
You try to speak but the words die in your throat as he bends down, one hand resting on table next to you.
“They say it’s dangerous for little omega’s to go out when they’re in heat. Makes people crazy, you see.”
You press yourself against the wall, lips involuntarily parting.
“And that deadbeat boyfriend of yours? I saw him maybe half an hour ago. Going off to some party.”
A knot forms in your chest.
It feels like a lie. The kind of cruel thing Hanamiya would say to get a rise out of you.
But you’re fairly certain it’s true, and that hurts all the more.
“Your alpha’s not coming to help you, is he?” Hanamiya says, voice deep with mock pity. “He abandoned you.”
You shake your head, desperate to protest.
“Pathetic,” he says, looking down his nose at you.
He stills for a moment, apparently savouring the way you squirm and struggle to hold yourself together before him.
“It’s a pity, isn’t it,” he finally murmurs. “Such a sweet smell too. There’s a group of people outside just bucking to take care of you.”
You grip the desk harder, shaking your head vehemently as a cold dread grips you.
Hanamiya’s face folds into something akin to amusement and he reaches out a hand. Slowly, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your cheek, a touch that, despite the fear, despite the panic, runs a shiver of pleasure through you.
His eyes twinkle with mischievous joy as he continues, his finger tracking the edge of your jaw from your ear down to your chin.
It takes everything in you to stifle a mewl, your eyelashes fluttering as you grip the desk harder.
You want to wrap your legs around him. You want to cling on and beg him to fuck you, devour you whole if he needs to.
Much as you hate the thought, your skin crackles with a need to be touched and he knows.
God, does he know. You can see it in the burning of his eyes, the darkness of his smile.
“If only there was some other way,” he coos, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Shall I do you a favour, __? Shall I relieve you of this little problem of yours, hmmm? If you beg, I just might.”
He pushes your chin up, eyes boring into yours as he leans closer.
You force yourself to look away, focussing instead on the way his hair falls off his shoulders when he leans forward, black silk draping down, and you try to find your voice.
When it finally comes, it’s in the form of a desiccated whimper.
“Please,” you whisper, and your throat contracts around the word, impossibly dry.
“Oh?“ he hums, lowering his eyes to look at you almost fondly. “Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
You swallow and try again.
“Please don’t,” you croak.
His eyebrows knit together and his tongue clicks, any semblance of warmth gone from his face in an instant.
With a sigh, he pushes off of the table and rights himself, hands casually shoved in his pockets.
“Stubborn little thing.”
He turns his back and starts to walk out while you gulp air like a shipwrecked sailor washing up on the shore.
You’re not sure what compels you to ask him, of all people, to help you. Perhaps it’s because in the two years since you started university , you have come to admire his intelligence, if not his attitude.
Perhaps you are desperate, in that moment, to believe that he could at least be bargained with or perhaps it’s simply because he isn’t actively trying to rape you and you’re at the point where you consider that a good sign.
Whatever it is, you can only try, and hope.
“Please, Hanamiya, I…”
He turns around, curious.
“I don’t know what to do,” you mutter.
The sheer amount of emotions and chemicals fighting inside of you are taking their toll, and the energy it took to keep yourself together is running dry.
“I don’t know what to do,” you repeat, and the way he looks at you makes any hope you had pack up and flee.
“My heat just keeps coming,” you say, pushing through your distress. “For normal people it’s every three months, just a few days, but with me it’s non-stop.”
Cold clay eyes regard you, and Hanamiya’s face folds into something like disgust.
It’s not enough to silence you, however, the words that have taken so long to get through your throat are turning into a stream, a geyser laid dormant too long.
“No matter how many suppressors I take, no matter what my boyfriend does,” you babble, unhindered by the fact that Hanamiya could probably not care less. “I know I’m supposed to just stay home but I don’t want to live my entire life indoors like some caged bird, so you can call me stupid for coming out here when it’s dangerous but apparently that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve been fighting this shit for so long, and I’m so tired and if I can just make it home, I could…”
You don’t know when the tears started, but they’re very definitely here now, stinging your eyes and adding to the humiliation of whatever spectacle you’re already making of yourself.
Frustrated, you wipe at them with clammy fingers.
“God, stop whining already.”
Hanamiya folds his arms and rolls his eyes. “You’re a mess, I get it.”
He takes a step closer and, without warning, slides his fingers in your hair.
You gasp at the rough treatment, but he pays it no mind, pulling your head to the side without a word.
Then he licks his thumb and dabs it on your pressure point.
“W-what are you doing?” you squeak, startled.
The air around you has changed, a musky scent overpowering everything else in the room.
It’s not unpleasant, but it’s confusing, adding to the whirlwind of smells and emotions already raging around you until it mixes and turns into something else, something almost soothing.
“I’m claiming you,” Hanamiya says, simply, pushing your head up again.
“Putting a big old ‘property of Hanamiya Makoto’ sign on you that no one in their right mind is going to ignore.”
He grins at your shocked face, his voice dropping a tone as he brings his face closer to yours.
Pure adrenaline courses through your veins and you blink up, trying to make sense of it.
His hand in your hair causes static electricity all over your scalp, making it hard to think. You’re a whirling sea, battered by storms but you manage, somehow, to speak.
He lets go of your head with a dark chuckle.
“My, you’re high maintenance. No wonder your boyfriend gave up on you.”
You give him a hurt look, but he ignores it, instead reaching into his jacket pocket.
“Make no mistake, __-chan. I don’t do favours without cashing them in. You will be required to pay me back.”
He pulls out a small spray can and hands it to you.
“That scent mark will last for about half an hour. You’d better start running.”
Blatantly confused now, you look at the can in your hand. Pepper spray.
“And this?” you ask.
“That’s for if you don’t run fast enough.“
He grins and turns again. Walking toward the door.
“Uh… thanks,” you say.
“Just remember that you owe me.”
And with that, he opens the door and strides out, not looking back. In the open doorway, you can see the dark figures of a few stragglers, still lingering in the hallway.
With a deep breath, you slide off the table and onto wobbly feet. You take a moment to find your balance, and then you grab your bag and secure it around your shoulder, trying your best to stay upright and exude confidence.
You clutch the pepper spray in your hand and mentally brace yourself before you finally take a step toward the door.
The alpha’s outside lean back as you approach, and you rigidly pass by them, feeling like a deer surrounded by wolves.
Swallowing hard, you keep walking, slowly, deliberately, down the hallway, until you round a corner.
Then you break into a run.