Spreading in the air a certain form of authority? Maybe.
But with all these benefits in sight and blessed by a high managerial position in Japan's biggest media outlet, Choso was quite shy. Always courteous, greeting everyone in the office with a little nod of his head, gentle voice never raising an octave, even if one of his workers made the same mistake for the third time – truly the best manager you could imagine.
Well, maybe he wasn't shy towards everyone, but some people noticed that whenever his eyes fell on a certain pretty omega in the office, his cheeks suddenly– oh, someone please bring manager Choso a glass of water!
Because he needed a single glance, one word, the flowery aroma reaching his nostrils to suddenly turn into the mushiest, most miserable man walking on this earth. His tongue would twist, lips stutter, throat clamp on every single word, while he tried to give you – his subordinate, for God's Sake – a polite explanation of why this excel sheet wasn't working as it should and which formula failed.
You listened to him with a creased forehead, slightly pouted lips, hand on your hip, as you would, bent over to the monitor on his desk and ask whether you could write it like this. Your arm would lean on the back of his chair, face too close to his, hair smelling like an apple, and he would need to hold his breath while you tried to understand what exactly your mistake was.
Everyone in the office saw it, how their manager was down bad for his best worker – always keeping everyone in place, always a bit too bossy, always arguing that your idea was, in fact, better. And he would always, always, admit that you were right and let you off the hook, solely because he couldn't look into your eyes for longer than five seconds. And no one minded, for he always stood up for his team whenever there was an issue with other leaders, and you would always stay in the office longer, just to help a new intern with her work.
In conclusion, everyone loved you both.
But, oh, their manager was so pitiful, looking at you with yearning like a puppy, while you kept him wrapped around your finger like a viper.
Because you noticed it too – every shy glance, every tremor of his voice, every shudder of his breath, when you stood next to him in the elevator. How he just couldn't pull himself to chat with you, although he talked casually with everyone else in the office. How every time he explained why you need to redo something, he would add I-I like your idea, bbut here... and you would scoff – but here what? I did it exactly as the client asked. He would scratch the back of his head, clear his throat and admit that y-yeah it's fine.
He loved the scent of your pheromones, although you always took suppressants to appear as a neat and assertive employee. But when the morning elevator was a bit packed, and he stood directly behind you, his head would unosciously dip down to your neck, s-sorry it's too crowded, and you would unconsciously release your sugary aroma, manager, please try to move a bit.
Oh, he was a lost cause! Such a handsome man, dominant alpha at that, with more than a few omegas glancing back at him sweetly. At his broad back, filling the shirts, long legs hugged loosely by elegant trousers, and veiny forearms, he would show from time to time when the sun was too scorching. He was always courteous to omegas, never showing them his dominant nature (compared to other managers such as Sukuna from the PR), but keeping the relations friendly but professional.
And with so many choices right in front of his eyes, he still somehow couldn't help but long for this one bossy and unreachable employee.
Until...
Until you came into the office a bit feverish. With flushed cheeks and little hoarseness in your voice. With pheromones slightly stronger than usual, although only Choso noticed this small change (he had his fair share of smelling your neck at 8 a.m. in the elevator). I'm fine, you ensured, when your coworker asked whether you felt okay, it's just a little cold. And with hours passing by, you started to get warmer and warmer. Your breath sweeter, lips pouted, eyes glancing between the clock and the screen of your computer every few seconds.
And Choso?
Choso was going into a rut.
It was sudden, unpredictable, too early. But it seemed that your little, daily encounter in the elevator woke something in him. Something that now made both of you wriggle uncomfortably on the chairs, with necks sweating and a horrifying amount of suppressant trying to combat the unavoidable.
To say the air in the office was tense would be an overstatement. Everyone felt it. You – being bolder than usual. Him – not able to look into your eyes longer than a second. You – ending another quarrel with a scoff and rolled eyes. Him – stammering so badly, the employee sitting right next to him felt almost maternal. He looked embarrassed, heartbreaking, like a scolded child.
And when 6 p.m. finally clocked, with all the other employees leaving their places, everyone glanced back at their manager with pity.
As the only person he was staying with was you.
You and your pheromones that started to get stronger, almost aggressive, with lashes fluttering in front of the blue screen and hand gripping the sweaty back of your neck. It was pulsing in need, burning the pads of your fingers as you looked at your manager, trying to hide himself behind the monitor.
You could feel his pheromones, slowly released into the office's air, carefully, shyly, smooching your blushed skin. It smelled heavy but sweet, like a mix of woodsy fireplace and vanilla, tickling your nerves pleasantly and causing another wave of slickness collect at your fluttering cunt.
Because one thing you couldn't deny was that your manager was hot.
And you may or may not have enjoyed the pathetic state you always pushed him to.
So when the occasion, such as this one, came, with both of you being clearly affected by one another and your cunt desperately needing something to lock on, you truly couldn't miss it.
"Manager."
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Choso wished for nothing but to not hear your lovely voice right this second, as he already could barely keep himself in one place.
"Manager, could you please look at this?"
His throat bobbed, lips fell open. "C-can it wait till next the n-next week?" Eyes glancing swiftly at the clock. "I think we can go, it's l-late and–"
"Manager, it's urgent."
Urgent my ass, you thought, but looked with a cunning smile at the Choso's broad, slowly standing up, figure, with...
Oh my.
With quite a bulge in his trousers.
He noticed your eyes, glued to this one spot, and before he could try to cover it with a folder, you hissed. "Don't."
He glanced up. Stunned, dizzy, his brain flipping your words, fingers still clutching the folder.
"Crawl to me."
He was supposed to be the dominant one here, but the moment these three words left your plumped lips, he became nothing but a dog.
Knees hit the floor, eyes locked on your thighs spreading on the chair, with your fingers slowly, slowly pulling the pencil skirt up, till it latched near your hips.
His knees slid on the carpet, hands moving your way gradually, eyes never leaving a wet patch on your lingerie.
Cock? Leaking.
"Manager, you're always so helpful and obedient, hm?" you giggled, seeing as he was mere steps from your legs. "Why do you let others treat you like a pushover?"
"O-only you," he mumbled, sounding already drunk.
"Ah, only me? And why is that, manager? Why are you so nice to me?" you felt his hands gripping your ankles, fingers gliding up through your eyes, knees, plump thighs, already wet with sweet slick. The sight alone made him shake, with the flowery smell of your pheromones moving straight to his cock.
"C-can I?" he almost begged, biting trembling lip and darting straight at your covered cunt.
"My eyes are up here," you barked, meanly, noticing how his teary eyes immediately shot up.
"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry," oh how pathetic! "M-my omega, can I?"
You raised an eyebrow. "Yours?"
He hissed when your feet pressed the wet bulge of his trousers. "I'm sorry, I thought–"
"You thought what, manager?"
He nuzzled his cheek into your wet thighs, lips kissing sloppily the slick that gathered on your skin, licking, sucking, moaning at the sheer taste of your sweetness.
Your hand landed on his cheek, thumb rubbing it gently, while he licked your thighs clean, trying to get closer to your clothed cunt.
"I t-thought I could knot you, right? P-please let me knot you, let me make you mine. I-I want you to be mine, please please please," last pleadings came out ragged, as you pushed his bulge harder. "I-I need you s-so bad, let me eat you out, l-let me fuck you–nghh."
Your fingers clenched, brows furrowed, thighs spread wider, as the needy, slutty omega inside you truly wanted nothing more than to take his huge knot.
So you took it.
After the long session of him eating you out on his desk and cumming at least twice directly into his pants, before he finally sank inside your warm pussy.
And when he did? Dear God, nothing could make him stop from pounding you relentlessly, with your new slick forming around the base of his cock, dripping down his wooden desk. His lips swallowed all your needy moans, teeth skimmed dangerously close to scent glants, nuzzling his nose against them just to keep himself dizzy and drunk on your smell.
You cried, begged, as he pushed all the brattiness out of you, with your cunt clenching around his fat shaft and a bulge forming slowly around its base. You mewled like a little slut, keeping him tight and warm, wriggling under the pressure of his heavy hands, folding you in half. His thrusts were sloppy, messy, drenched, with nothing but filthy squelching filling the dark office, as he had you spread right on his desk.
Quiet please please please, and thank you thank you thank you, sometimes maybe I love you love you love you, fled his throat every time you clenched around his girth and released more of your pheromones. His head kissed your pudgy womb, cock barely moving through the tight muscles of your cunt as she sucked him in, trying to milk him dry.
"Mhmm Cho, fuck, you feel so good mmm so fucking good," you wailed, feeling as he shuddered inside you. "If I knew, I would let you fuck me sooner, you perv," a small giggle escaped your lips, as he furrowed his brows, eyes looking at you with this familiar hint of humiliation.
"P-please stop talking."
Your head tilted. "Why? Aren't you a perv? You think I didn't hear you masturbating in the storage? Moaning my name like a wh–"
His thrusts suddenly became frenzier, messier, with a fat cock pushing through your walls, scratching pleasantly every warm corner of your cunt.
"P-please just shut up," his voice was low, but still gentle, whimpering needily as he quickened his pace.
"Make me cum, and next time I'm gonna bring you my dirty panties covered in heat's slick."
And, well, it did something, because the next second you felt him cum. Lips blubbering, fingers on your clit, small circles making you absolutely insane, as he cummed in waves, filling you up nice and fully, making you shake on his cock. And then – POP!
A sharp cry, his teeth sinking in your neck, tears rushing down your cheeks as his fat knot slipped in, pushing, forcing itself through a tight ring of your muscles. The pleasure was blinding, with his little whimpers right next to your ear and teeth going deep, till you felt nothing but pulsing of your neck and his sticky cum smooching your womb.
There was a moment of silence, with nothing but your heavy breaths and his little thrusts filling the office's space.
"S-s about these panties..."
sorry, another one because I'm ovulating and I like my men pathetic
𐙚 Ceo!Choso x Secretary! Male reader | A/O/B | mdni | divider by @/cursed-carmine | m.list | not proof read
𐙚 “Fuck, you drive me insane.” Where CEO Choso Kamo cant control himself around his hot secretary.
It all started with a small rumor. Well- it wasn’t really a small rumor, but a rumor that didn’t bother you nonetheless. You were new to the Itadori business, but that wasn’t what got everyone attention. It was the fact that their alpha boss had gained an omega secretary. Their omega-hating boss, gained an omega secretary. The one who’d be closer to him in proximity. You.
It was quite the shocker to well- everyone, but you paid it no mind. You had only one goal in mind and that was making money. You were there because you were damn good at your job and no one else could tell you otherwise. And besides, despite being Choso Kami’s secretary, he barely paid you a lick of attention which was usually perfect, except this time he seemed to be avoiding you all together.
“Y/N, my coffee.”
“Here you go sir. Just the way you like it with extra hazelnut. I also got you that matcha with caramel drizzle you mentioned the other day- almond milk of course.”
“Alright. You can go now.” Those tired eyes glanced up at you once before looking back down to the neat stack of paperwork on his desk. All organized by priority by you. You hum before turning on your heel to walk back to your desk right outside of his office, the large glass making it easy to see you and vise versa. He waited until the door closed to stare at you. Smile appearing on your face once another familiar face popped into view that he recognized to be Satoru Gojo.
The annoying, loud alpha who managed the marketing department. He watched curiously at the way Satoru seemed so comfortable enough with you to lean on your desk, eyes the color of the ocean pouring into yours.
He scoffs, fingers pressing the button on the machine connected to your desk, “Y/N.” His voice deep, spooking you. You apologize quickly to Satoru before coming into the big office. “Sir?”
Sir. The way it rolled off your tongue had Choso tapping his fingers against his desk, still refusing eye contact. “I’d like another matcha, thank you.”
“Yes sir. I’ll go grab you one from the coffee room-“
“From that shop that I like.”
“…Alright sir leave it to me.” He watched you scurry away, letting out a breath he didn’t notice he held in. The sudden smell of rosemary filling his nose.
Many of your colleagues wondered how the hell you got the job in the first place. All omega’s who typically fawned over the CEO, taking the time to flash their scents at him (and clouding the fuck out of his nose, while he couldn’t smell them, he could feel the intensity of them), were usually ignored.
It all started six months ago. You sat across from the tired-looking alpha, palms sweating as he reviewed your resume. Hand in the palm of his hands, humming curiously at the words. “Impressive.” He murmurs, setting the paper down on the polished wooden surface of his desk. Clasping his hands together, Choso- no, Mr.Kamo quirks a brow over at you.
“I don’t hire omegas to work with me this closely.”
“But you’ve chosen to interview me, sir.”
A small smirk appears in the corner of his lips, just slight. His tired eyes loc with yours, pretty. You carried yourself well, and most of all, you wanted the big bucks, and what job paid more than working for the Itadori business? Plenty, but compared to your former jobs, this one was a steal. Besides, you knew all about Choso Kamo’s “omega problem.”
“It says you can’t detect alpha pheromones. You may well be a beta.”
“I am not, sir. “ You cough, “It’s true I can’t detect alpha pheromones, which makes this setting ideal for me considering my experience. I won’t be able to smell you, and you won’t be able to smell me.”
Choso Kamo had a pheromone problem.
It wasn’t really a secret- more so he kept away from omegas who were wildly drawn to his scent, and it was speculated. He was even cautious around you, but there were times where he just..couldn’t.
The elevator incident 𐙚 .
“You have a meeting with Mr.Sukuna at 4 today, and there’s a dinner hosted by the company data and analytics department you’ve been invited to. Should I reject the invitation? Data and analytics is mainly ran by omegas. Oh-! There’s also a letter for you from Mr. Yuji, and fragrant department has a new sample they want your approval or disapproval on-“
“Are you…wearing perfume?” His voice cuts through the tense air of the elevator. The tension quickly filling back in as you pause the look-through of the documents in your hand.
“No sir-“
“Rosemary.” He sniffs the air, a soft hum lingering on his tongue. Choso felt an unfamiliar heat to his body, a soft blush coating his cheeks. The air felt light yet suffocating, his heart beating louder than usual out of his chest.
“…I dont understand what you mean sir.” You frown, hand bringing your arm up to your nose to take a sniff. If anything you smelled like your soap. “And i’m not picking up anything.”
But Choso wasn’t crazy (maybe a little) His hand grazes the hair on your head before pulling your head close to his body. Nose buried in your hair (maybe more than a little), he sighs, “I’m sure of it, it’s all over you. Right here,” And his face lowers to the spot below your ear to sniff, “here,” until his face was in front of yours. Never before had you ever been this close to Choso, not like this. And it was unprofessional! How long was the damn elevator running for?!
You place your hands on his chest, and you finally look at him. Flushed cheeks, sweat lightly beading his forehead, the loose strands of his pulled back hair sticking to his skin. He panted, breath fanning against your face. The elevator suddenly felt small with how close his lips were to yours. Your boss?! The Ceo of Idatori Co?! The rumors! “S-Sir…” What was this, some kdrama?
Your thighs squeeze together. The space felt heavy. “Hahh..” His forehead touches yours, “Something may be wrong… cancel my meeting.”
Choso took a step back, gasping suddenly as he covered his nose. The elevator dinged, and he left before you. “Sir-“ but he was out of your sights. Unbeknownst to you, Choso sat in his car, hand dripping in your scent while his cock sprang free. The sensitive pink dripping tip hit the small of his stomach before his eyes rolled back, a soft groan leaving his lips as he grabbed it by the base.
The work party 𐙚 .
“Sir- are you sure you’re comfortable being here? There’s plenty omegas.” The soft pout on your pretty lips made Choso’s heart thump. You were so cute. He hums, looking over your concerned face while he leaned on his hand. His thumb glides over your cheek before patting your head. Weirdo.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” He turns away, his hand gone just as quick as it got there. You had doubt for his words, and as his secretary you wanted the absolute best ( bust also nothing outside of your pay rate). “…Alright.” You murmur, watching those plump lips take a shot. Choso Kamo was…interesting. It was different, the way he interacted with other alphas and betas. A smile lit up his face. Ugh, work conversations-
“Y/Nnnnnn, have a drink with me!” Satoru Gojo. The white haired alpha that everyone in his department wanted a piece of. It wasn’t a lie that the man was beautiful. It was definitely understandable. He plops down into the seat in front of you, long legs touching yours underneath the table. “Cmon pretty boy, let’s celebrate you surviving being our darling boss’ secretary.” He winks over at Choso whose attention was now on the both of you.
“I can’t. I’m driver tonight for Mr.Kamo.” You shake your head, not being able to help the laugh that leaves your lips at the frown he makes.
Huh. He only ever laughs around Satoru.
Choso didn’t let things bother him, useless things couldn’t touch him. But the grip on his shot glass said differently, he reaches over your body, glass set in front of Satoru. “I’ll toast with you instead.”
“And don’t worry, I’ll only drink a little.” He smiles. Fresh pine fills your nose, making your body shudder. The feeling of a rainy day spent inside suddenly engulfs you. Your eyes wide as you stare at the muscular arm in front of you.
The alcohol fills Choso’s glass, the two alphas staring at each other with a shared thought. Except Satoru’s grin was wide, glasses clinking. “To Mr.Secretary.”
Choso looks down at you, to your eyes, down to your lips. Your mouth agape as you took in the scent.
“To my secretary.”
𐙚
“It’s late, come inside with me.” Choso stands alongside you at his home, his big home. His face flushed and red as he stared down at you.
“It’s alright sir, I can get back just fine. And besides, it’s the weekend so I’d rather you enjoy your time off than be worried about me in your home….and you’re drunk.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if that was the case.” And then he chuckles. “And I’m not drunk, Two shots isn’t enough to get me down.” Fresh pine and early rain. You stare at him in confusion, at his expression, confused with the smell, and confused with the sudden jump in your heart.
“Sir, is that a new cologne you’re wearing?”
“Hm? No it’s the same one. Let’s get inside before it starts raining.”
“It’s going to rain?” And he laughs. “You didn’t know?”
“No sir-“
“Let’s go inside.”
The interior of Choso Kamo’s home was different than anything you’d ever expected from your boss. It was warm and cozy, hues of deep orange and other warm tones chimed in with green. The carpet soft, little lights littering the home. It made you feel like you were in a different world.
And as the rain poured down, you sat with Choso Kamo on his couch, nervously palming the material of the borrowed shorts- his shorts, his clothes on your body, his scent. Fresh pine and early rain. Your face flushed, thighs squeezing together. Curious eyes glance over at you, “You’re tense. Are you nervous?”
You nod. Choso felt closer, his body heat colliding with yours, and you tremble. His thumb grazes your lip, so close, and he leans in. Your face flushes, gasp leaving your body at the sudden nose buried into your neck. “Rosemary.” He murmurs softly, hand grazing your hip.
“I like the way you smell, Mr.Secretary.”
“I..think you smell fairly nice as well sir-“
“Drop the formalities. We’re not at work.” His hand trails further up the soft skin, to your hip. “A-alright..”
“My name.” The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck and you whine. The pads of his fingers touching the hot skin of your stomach. “S-Sir?” The way his mouth moved against your neck- you wanted more. Your cock twitched in the shorts, heart beating fast. But Choso could hear everything. The small sounds, the whimpers, the nervousness.
“Call me Choso.” Tell me you want me, I want you so badly.
“Choso.” He moans against your neck, biting down softly. His hands all over your trembling body, wet kisses littering your skin. His nose inhaling your sweet sweet scent, “That’s it pretty boy say my name.” Teeth grazing the skin before he sits up between your legs, panting.
Your face flushed, the bulge in your shorts winking at the man above you. “C-Choso-“ Your hands find the softness of the couch as your hips buck. Heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t the plan- the rumors- your money! “Please..”
It was hot, the pants coming from the alpha flooding your ears alongside your heartbeat. “Use your words, Mr.Secretary.” You watch as Choso lifts his shirt off his body, sweat glistening on his chest- his body so toned, and another twitch of your cock.
“Down there…fuck- fuck me.” His scent flooded your nose, clouding your mind. Your head leans back into the cushion, hips bucking once more as you whine. “Please, I can’t-“
“Good boy.” Rosemary kissed his skin, fingers worked your pretty legs out of the shorts and underwear, the material drenched as you leaked onto the surface of the couch. “Fuck, you drive me insane.” Your scent. He hated everytime Satoru even dared to speak to you.
Fingers felt hot on your skin as Choso held your legs up with one hand, the other one making it down to that sweet puckering hole, winking at him as you dripped. You whine, “Sir please.”
“You’re dripping, Mr.Secretary.” His thick fingers graze over the sensitive skin, gathering up your slick before a thick finger pushes it back in. The nasty squelch echoing throughout the room. “So fucking wet for me..” Choso bites back the moan that threatened to spill as he slipped in another finger, “Taking my fingers so well- hahhh…. you want it?” You nod quickly, eyes squeezing shut. And his fingers curl, “Y-Yes please.”
“Wanna be filled?” His mouth watered, another finger slipping into your dripping mess. “Yes- yes!” Faster. The loud whimper going straight to the strain in Choso’s pajama pants, while your legs shook. “Right there- fuck yes.”
Your hand grabs at your twitching cock, stroking fast to match with Choso’s pace of his fingers fucking into your slutty hole. “S-Sir-“
“Choso.” Another brush on that sweet sweet sensitive spot inside of you had you gripping your cock tightly, your body jolting. “Cho- mmpph! M’cumming—!” A loud sharp cry is ripped from your throat, your poor pathetic cock jerking at the sudden cool in your stomach, thick white ropes of warm cum spilling across your tummy as fresh pine filled your nose. His fingers slip from your hole with a slight pop !
You stare as his tongue wraps around his fingers, closing his eyes to enjoy the taste. The taste of you. He pulls your legs down to wrap around his waist, hard dripping cock springing free. “S’big S-Choso..” He leans down to kiss your chin, before colliding his lips with yours- finally. The breathe of relief that escapes him was almost comical had you not also sighed like you were waiting for it. He sucked on your tongue, your lips. His tongue explored the warmth of your mouth, the sticky mess on your stomach smearing while his biggggg dick rubbed against yours.
“W-Wait- Condom-“ You wriggled against him, the friction clouding your mind. Flooded with his scent- his scent, once unfamiliar to you, the rawness of this- all of it. You’re rubbing dicks with your boss!
He looks down at you for a moment, “You don’t want to take me raw?” And he had the nerve to look sad. “It’s just a safety precaution, Choso…sir.” you cough, looking away.
“You’ve seen my papers, I’m clean.” And he sulks.
“…I’m an omega sir, just because you can’t smell my pheromones doesn’t mean I can’t get pregnant. Condom.”
But Choso smelled something. He groans as he sits up, bringing your body with him. “Bedroom we go then, Mr.Secretary.”
The room filled with Rosemary and Pine. Hard rain knocking against the large windows that mimicked the ones from Choso’s office. The creak of the bed echoed throughout the room. “O-Ohhh- oh fuck s-sir! Right there…yesss right there.” The slick covering Choso’s dick made it easier for him to slip deeper inside of you, hitting that spot and further everytime. You hiccuped, tears staining your cheeks at just how good it felt, how warm your body felt covered in his pheromones. Suffocating.
The scent drowning you. His hands gripped the softness of your skin, pulling your hips back while he rutted into you. “S..Satoru could never have you- nghh- like this.” Satoru? You burry your face into the pillow that you gripped so hard, your sensitive cock slapping against your stomach with each thrust, pre cum joining the mess below your bodies.
“My Secretary.” Thrust ! “Mine.” Thrust ! Each snap of his hips sent you shaking, and you weren’t even in heat. Yet the cloud of fresh pine awakened something inside of you that you’ve never felt before. Babbling mess into the pillow, the repeated palp palp palp’s sent you shaking again, your cock coating the sheets.
Choso’s body leaned over your own, the arch of your back arching further. Surrounded by condom wrappers and lube. The amount of bite marks and hickies on your skin confirmed any rumor people had to say about your relationship with the CEO. Your eyes flutter, mouth wide open as you pant. “S’hot Choso..” His hand wraps around your neck, tilting his your back. This position…fuck you felt him slipping deeper inside of you. Condom full of cum didn’t stop the man’s ragged breath above you as he fucked into you. “Wanna cum inside.” He whines against your ear. Wanna cum inside you and claim you better than Satoru could ever imagine.
“Cum….c-cum in me-“
Because Satoru could not have you, Choso wouldn’t dare let that happen. He pulls out with a messy pop, your hole squeezing around nothing as you hear him take the condom off with shlick. His dick slipping back into that heat, raw, the rosemary filling his senses as he shoots those strings of cum deep into your womb.
The run for the matcha was a short one. You close the door quietly behind you as you entered Choso’s office, biting on your lip nervously as you set the drink down. “…Your matcha, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr.Secretary.” His eyes lock with yours before tilting his head. “Have a seat.”
“Oh? What for-“
“Wanna know what Satoru said to make you smile the way you did for him.”
Alpha!Choso x Omega!Fem!Reader. A/B/O AU. No Jujutsu Sorcery. No cursed energy.
TW: Depression, PTSD, Agoraphobia, Panic Attack, Drug use (reader), reader has a drug dependency, implied past abuse, stalking(?).
4.9k wc.
Minors do not interact.
00C Masterlist
Chapter 1 - Data Drop: Unanticipated
You sit in the corner of the dimly lit internet cafe, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the worn-out keyboard. The soft glow of the monitor casts a faint light on your face, highlighting the heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick that have become your armor against the world. Oversized flannel drapes over your frame, offering a semblance of comfort. The cafe is buzzing with low conversations and the hum of computers, a backdrop to your spiraling thoughts. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and the faint whiff of something burnt—an unmistakable aroma that clings to the cracked vinyl seats and sticky tables.
Today is one of those days when just getting out of bed felt like a monumental effort. Depression is a bitch with the way it’s got your mind in a constant fog, making it so much harder to function on the most basic of levels. Being an omega without a pack has been taking its toll on you for quite some time. Posing as a beta is even harder since you’re more sensitive to pheromones than other omegas you’ve met. It makes it harder to get an ordinary job, and blending in is a nightmare. Working from home is the only option for you if you want to stay out of sight and out of mind. So you stay holed up in your apartment doing freelance work online and staying away from people as much as possible. And for the most part, it works.
In your mind, being alone gives you more freedom. No one to tell you what to do, no one to answer to. But it’s lonely, too. The ache in your chest never quite goes away, and you’re constantly on edge, hyper aware of your vulnerability as a single omega. Add that to the shitty self esteem issues and general feelings of worthlessness that come along with having been rejected by your previous pack, and you’ve got yourself quite a combination.
You’re used to it, though, and you’ve got your coping mechanisms. Whether they’re healthy or not is beside the point because surviving is surviving. ‘This is the way,’ you think, mocking the Mandalorian mantra as you sift through your emails. It’s a mundane task but it helps keep the worst of your thoughts at bay, among all the other shit you get up to on the internet. When a message from Naoya catches your eye—a reminder of the package that should have been delivered today, your eyes temporarily widen. It’s about fucking time you heard something from the bastard. You click open the message:
Naoya: got a present on the way. keep ur eyes peeled.
Your fingers hover over the keys before you reply:
You: ain't home right now.
Naoya: what u mean? where r u?
You: out.
Naoya: get your ass home then. this shits important
Naoya is a drug dealer. Yes... your drug dealer to be exact. You’ve been getting your supply from him for a few months now. Something to keep the edge off when your anxiety attacks become too much of a problem. It’s not like you can go to a doctor for it obviously. They’d sus out your omega status instantly, then you’d get an ankle monitor and regular visits from government employees who would dictate your lifestyle down to the most minute detail until an alpha selects you from a registry. Something you’ve been trying to avoid because you had enough of being someone’s property.
The whole process is gross and incredibly outdated, treating omegas as if they’re children needing guidance and protection. You’ve had firsthand experience with the kind of arrangement that could go horribly wrong, thanks to your parents — the very source of your traumatic past. Being in a pack is supposed to be a positive experience, but you couldn’t be more disgusted with the way Alphas take advantage of their authority over omegas, using them for sex, breeding, and other vile acts. You refuse to be trapped in a hell like that.
Out of desperation, you turned to the dark web and found an information broker, Dakusuta. They were a useful contact as they had connected you with a drug dealer who delivered with minimal social interaction. You preferred it that way–no reason to leave the comfort of your home. You paid, they provided. It had been going on for months, with you gradually stockpiling your supply and taking doses as needed. It was a convenient service, albeit morally questionable. But hey, what else would you do without it?
Naoya’s insistence strikes you as odd, though. What is he? Your fucking parole officer? If you miss a delivery, it’s usually no skin off his nose. You’ll get it when you get it. But today, he’s adamant. ‘Something’s up his ass.’ The thought nags at you, but you push it aside, focusing instead on the flickering screen in front of you.
This internet cafe is a couple blocks from home and it took you a lot of mental prep to step outside your door earlier. It took almost two hours of pacing in your genkan and staring at the doorknob before you could actually make it outside. It’s a necessity really. The social media brain rot helps to fight the parasites in you that tell you to do a cartwheel off a tall ledge every moment free of stimulation. Your dumpster posting combined with your regular work is the perfect distraction to keep your nerves in check while you tolerate being in a public space for as long as you can. Thanks to your WiFi being out, you didn’t have the option to stay inside your depression cave if you wanted access to the internet. Coping… All there is is coping.
Music thrums through your cheap noise-canceling headphones that help drown out any chatter of your public surroundings. The soundwaves of Twilight by bôa keep you calm, the soft tunes filling your ears and seeping out at a quiet volume beyond your personal session. “Your word and my word and her word is...Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” You sing under your breath, nodding your head and bobbing it back and forth to the beat of the music.
As you open a new browser window to visit a message board and skim through recent posts you miss the way the guy sitting a distance away from you looks in your direction. He stares for minutes on end before he stands up, stretching his arms lazily, and he makes his way over to your table.
Your fingers move on their own accord, tapping out your feelings in a new post. Your only method of purging rather than confiding in someone who truly knows you. ‘Everyone’s fake anyway. It doesn’t matter,’ you always think, continuing to type away.
He’s a blur in your peripheral vision as he casually invades your carefully constructed bubble, taking a seat right next to you. The only way you sense his presence is a subtle shift in the air around you from his movements, the noise canceling on your headphones doing its job a little too well right now. Awareness makes your fingers fumble over the keys, a momentary pause in your activities.
It takes a few seconds for your brain to register the movement in your peripheral vision, and the sudden intrusion startles you. Your eyes flicker towards the stranger, brows pinched. You don’t remember seeing him sit down and you didn’t smell him coming, so he must be wearing scent blockers because he’s definitely not a beta. He’s far too big for that.
As much as you want to ignore him and stick to your decision to not interact with anyone on your outing, it’s not looking like a possibility. He’s an alpha after all and your damn omega instincts won’t just allow you to disobey any command for attention. Be it intentional or not, you can feel the pull of his alpha telling you “Look at me, Omega.”
‘Did he sniff me out?’
You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off but you can only see negative outcomes from that path of action; for one, any pushback could trigger him to assert dominance over you. It might not necessarily be the most likely thing to happen because you don’t know him or what kind of alpha he is but the truth remains that you know alphas well enough. Your best bet is to play it safe and not cause a scene.
You glance up at him, a non-committal question mark on your face, and he’s looking over at you expectantly. His lips are pursed like he’s waiting for some response from you, and you realize a little belatedly he said something to you. Your brow furrows ever-so-slightly in confusion while you hesitate for a second or two. When you finally pull your headphones off, he repeats his question.
“bôa, huh? Not bad…” He leans back in his chair, fingers twiddling the metal piece on his hoodie string. His eyes are trained on yours, noting the subtle tension in your body, the hesitation in your movements. He speaks slowly, words deliberate, giving you time to process them and respond. There is no aggression in his tone, and yet your defenses go up automatically.
“You like that kind of music?” he asks, gesturing towards the earphones now hanging around your neck.
“What?” you ask, dumbly, eyes blinking rapidly. Your heart rate picks up speed and you’re not sure if he’s too close or if it’s just your anxiety fucking with your depth perception. Heat rushes your skin and you feel the need to push back your chair to gain a little personal space. It screeches across the floor, and you wonder how long he’s been sitting there. How long has he been staring at you? ‘Is he…stalking…’ Your thoughts fragment, once focused and now reduced to a lag with jitters that feel like a thousand needles pricking your skin everywhere, all at once.
“Twilight, right? ‘Your feelings and mine are all holy and you give me an inner sanctity,’” he quotes the song playing faintly from your headphones, “My brother used to play that one a lot when we were kids.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he breaks eye contact to glance around the cafe. His nonchalant demeanor contrasts with the obvious tension radiating from you. You don’t like his confidence. It makes you feel that much more unsure of your next moves.
Despite the noise around you, it feels like you and the alpha are in your own domain, the other patrons fading into the background. “I don’t know many people who listen to that kind of stuff these days,” he continues, looking at you once more. “It’s good, though. Nostalgic, even.” It’s a beat before he speaks again, but his dark eyes remain fixed on you, assessing, measuring your reaction. “You seem a bit tense…”
You swallow thickly, trying to fight the rising panic in your chest. “Sorry, I just...I’m—”
“Waitin’ for a package?” He cuts you off, glancing down at your phone that lies face up on the table between you. The screen still shows the DM chain you had been looking at. His tone is casual, almost friendly with a hint of amusement in his voice when he adds, “Must be somethin’ real important if you’re checkin’ your messages every five minutes, huh?”
Your eyes follow his line of sight, your anxiety momentarily forgotten. “How’d you...?” You sputter out a few half-formed sentences before trailing off. The ‘who, what, when, where and how’ of the matter are a whirlwind of thoughts assaulting your brain as you shake your head slightly. Your palms sweat at the idea that he might be a cop. ‘This… is bad.’
Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your eyes dart around the cafe, trying to see if anyone else is watching you. No one seems to be paying any attention to you two, but you can’t be too careful. ‘If he’s a cop then he’s probably not alone.’ No one seems to stand out but what the fuck do you know? This isn’t your area of expertise. If anything, nevermind not being the big fish to catch in any drug operation or whatever shady people call it. You’re a tadpole in the mix. No, you’re algae. It’s not your world and you’re just on the outside looking in. You’re just self medicating, not involved in the business.
For the first time since he sat down next to you, you take a good look at him. Eyes scanning over his black acid wash jeans and a black hoodie with the words ‘Truth. In. Every. Byte.’ written in bold green lettering across the front. A black leather jacket and a crossbody messenger bag complete his attire. He doesn’t look like what you assume a narc would fucking look like. Nothing like an undercover cop you’d seen on TV. Your eyes find their way back up to his face, taking in a stunning combination of soft and angular features: a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a striking black line slashing across his nose which could either be makeup or a tattoo. His lengthy black hair is gathered into two messy buns, with unruly strands spiking out every which way and middle parted bangs tucked behind his ears. The sight of his sly smile on his lips steals your attention, the hint of a canine pricking their plushness.
‘Oh, that’s dangerous.’ You think, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The alpha is attractive. That much you can tell. It’s not like you to get caught up in the attractiveness of random strangers, but then again, you’re not usually subjected to such intense scrutiny. Let alone an alpha aura like his. Encounters aren’t that common an occurrence either and for good reason.
He notices the way your eyes rake over him, his smile widening faintly at the attention. Most omegas don’t pay him a second look—the piercings, the tattoos, the unconventional fashion sense—but you’re different. Your gaze is different. There’s curiosity there, a flicker of attraction in your eyes, but also something else. Fear. It’s subtle, but he catches it all the same. He likes that a little bit. It makes for a good chase.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I ain’t here to cause you any trouble,” the alpha says, noticing the way you tense up even further when he calls you that pet name.
Your reaction to his endearment doesn’t surprise him. He can see the way your body stiffens, your muscles bunching up under your oversized clothes. He takes it all in, filing it away for later. “Relax,” he tells you, his expression a picture of calm. “I’m not gonna bite.” His eyes then roll to the side as he scoffs at his own choice of words and you don’t know if it’s self depreciation or arrogance at play.
‘Like hell he’s not gonna bite,’ you panic internally at the notion. Time dilates, each moment stretching out like taffy letting your anxiety build. Tremors rush through your body, graduating from a subtle shake to an intense quaking. The world around you blurs with a suffocating weight bearing down—
He watches you as you spiral internally. It’s like watching a trainwreck in motion, unable to look away. Despite your trembling frame, you’re holding yourself together surprisingly well. Your teeth beginning to chatter is the only giveaway of the turmoil going on inside your head. Anxiety, he guesses, recognizing the symptoms. He’s seen it before, in himself even. And he only waits, hoping that just like you seemed to contain yourself for as long as you could, you’d recover the same way.
“Hey, hey. Calm down,” he tries, his voice just above a whisper. He notices that you're bordering on a panicked state, and he’s quick to try and ease you out of it, not wanting you to suddenly drop on him.. He extends a hand towards you, slowly and carefully, intending to touch your shoulder but stopping just short of actually making contact.
He lets out a soft sigh. “You need to calm down.” He says, his voice firm and authoritative as he leans in close, his eyes locking on yours. “Breathe.”
And you feel the gentle alpha command deep within your chest, right next to what always feels like a bundle of bees wreaking havoc on your nervous system. His proximity to you is overwhelming, the smell of Oakmoss and violet from his leather jacket filling your nostrils. His eyes bore into yours, demanding your attention. ‘Breathe,’ he said, and you try to, you really do.
You desperately try to inhale, needing more of his alpha scent, but your breath keeps catching in your throat because of how faint it is. The rising panic overwhelms its effects, making you exhale raggedly while your lungs work overtime. A numbness spreads through your lips and you wish he would remove the scent blocking patches from his neck.
After a moment of no change, he swiftly retrieves a small tin from your bag and gives it a shake, confirming the sound of pills clinking inside. Then, he grabs a water bottle from his own bag to set on the table before popping open the tin. With gentle precision, he carefully fingers a small tablet and brings it to your lips. “Open,” another command, his voice soft but firm.
You blink, too focused on your labored breathing to register what he’s doing until you feel the cool surface of the pill against your lips. Confusion and a hint of fear flash through your eyes as you stare at him, but he doesn’t look away. ‘Open,’ he said, and your mouth parts almost involuntarily, the pill sliding in. Your throat feels dry as sandpaper, and swallowing is difficult. He notices that too, and within seconds, a water bottle is uncapped.
With a steady grip, he holds the water bottle against your parted lips. His eyes dart from your face to the bottle, watching you take small sips. “Now, swallow,” he says, a hint of approval seeping through his voice. “Good girl.”
The cool and soothing water slides down your parched throat, but it does little to ease the tightness in your chest. He’s still there, still hovering close to you, his dark gaze never wavering. The whole thing feels oddly intimate, his presence fighting against the wave of anxiety threatening to drown you. It’s a support that you’ve never had before and you cling to it.
The alpha lowers the water bottle, his hand resting firmly against your trembling arm. His thumb brushes gentle reassuring circles against your skin with unexpected tenderness. “Better?” he asks, his voice still quiet and smooth. Soothing.
You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. You’re acutely aware of his touch, of the way his fingers feel against your skin. You reflexively swallow, trying to clear the lump that’s lodged in your throat. As your mind clears you consider the variables. This alpha approached you knowing things about you that he shouldn’t; The package arriving at your place soon and the tin of pills stashed in your bag. He’s not a cop because if he was then why would he give you a dose and not arrest you?
“Who are you?” You ask, your voice barely above a raspy whisper. Your dilated eyes bore into his. Curiosity fights with caution in your expression as you wait for his answer.
He smiles faintly, responding slowly. “Names are just words,” he murmurs, his low voice deep and resonant. Delivering his words with a sense of resignation, as if he's simply stating facts rather than engaging with the conversation.
‘Fuck you.’
“Don’t Bullshit me,” you reply immediately, your voice stronger than before. Starting to feel better after his intervention has some of your usual confidence—long absent due to your depressive state— returning. “I want to know who you are and what you want from me.” The drug is kicking in, making your mind move slowly but it’s helping you focus your faster than usual thought process to a decipherable speed. Yeah this fucker’s stalking you for sure. And it could be paranoia. It very well could be, but nobody knows about your little habit. There’s no one that could know..
He looks at you with a playful smirk and says, “Careful now. That’s not how you say ‘thank you,’ is it?” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s a hint of a warning in there too. He lifts one of his pierced brows, giving you a sarcastic look.
You falter slightly at his comment, realizing he’s right. You do owe him a thank you, but you’re not in a place to offer it, so you keep your mouth shut.
He shakes his head with a low chuckle, sensing your turmoil. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” He releases the grip on your arm and leans back, the chair creaking under his weight.
“I’m just someone who’s lookin’ out for you. Whether you realize it or not, I’m not here to hurt you,” he continues. “There is someone closer to you that does want to hurt you though. Your fairy godfather Naoya’s got you tangled up in some shit that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But…” he pauses, his thumb worrying his lower lip. “I’m here to offer you a little help…if you want it. You’ll have to follow my lead, though. Do exactly as I say, when I say it. Got it?”
Some goddamn nerve. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s this about Naoya?” you demand, trying to keep your voice steady. You’re aware that you’re pushing your luck with the way you’re speaking to him but you can’t stop yourself. You don’t like being kept in the dark.
He shrugs, unphased by your hostility. If anything, he finds it amusing. He doesn’t mind that you seem to be a bit of a spitfire. In fact, he finds it kind of cute. Even more so because it reminds him of himself. He sighs softly, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion.
Your eyes narrow as you observe him. ‘I set aside being a chickenshit to come out here. I came out of hiding for some fucking WiFi of all things.’ You’re berating yourself internally. You glance toward the tin of magic in your bag, fingers itching to reach for it. The cafe’s din recedes into the background, and all you hear is the echo of your own ragged breathing. ‘One more… Maybe one more.’
He notices your eyes flick toward your stash and snatches it from your bag, moving it out of your reach. His movements are so quick that they're almost a blur, and the tin disappears into his pocket before you can even protest.
“Oh, none of that shit, focus,” he warns, his voice low and sharp as he snaps his dexterous fingers twice for your attention. The daring look on his face, a silent reprimand for your attempt to seek solace in a pill. He knows that look you give him in return. He’s seen it before. The temptation to bury reality in a haze of oblivion. He knows how easy it is to slip down that rabbit hole and how treacherous the climb back up is.
His face darkens, slight frustration carving deep lines into his features. His words are an insistent prod reminding you that you’re not sitting here alone. “Anyway, Naoya’s pure shit up an infant’s back on a hot day, if you know what I mean. Been keeping tabs on him, and guess what? He’s been skimming off the top of his family’s shipments and using your address for his little drop-offs—not that you’d notice. He’s slick about it, too—someone else picks up his shit and leaves yours outside for you to find, so you’re none the wiser. Delivery confirmed. And now, he’s cooking up a scheme to throw you under the bus, while he waltzes away scot-free. That Xanax order you placed? Forget about it, it’s not happenin’—Don’t look so fuckin’ sad about it. He’s swapped it for a heap of something stronger, alright? It’s about to land on your doorstep with someone else’s name slapped on it. When Zenin’s men come knocking about their missing product, you'll be the one they find. Not Naoya. You’re just a pawn in this, sweetie. Sorry to tell ya.” He punctuates his revelation with a bitter laugh.
Your breath hitches, taking everything in and feeling sick to your stomach. You don’t even have a personal relationship with this man. It was all business and nothing more than that yet he chose to set you up. ‘Does he know I’m an omega—that I can’t do anything to stop this?’ The Zenins are a widely known criminal Organization here in Japan. You’ve seen them on the news time and time again with headlines and coverage about drug trafficking, omega trafficking, gambling, extortion, loan-sharking, and protection rackets. You name it and they’ve done it. These people are the real deal and if they get their hands on you, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out which of those crimes will be applied. That’s if they don’t kill you. But who’d let an untouched omega go to waste? It’s like your life turned into a True Crime podcast overnight and you’re being forced to listen on the sidelines. “No… No I—”
The alpha’s eyes widen briefly when he sees the color drain from your face.
“I think I’m... gonna go home now.” If he couldn’t read lips he’d have no fucking idea what you just said because although your lips were moving, no sound was coming out. Not a peep.
His gaze sharpens as he sizes you up, clocking the tremors racking your body and the panic returning to your voice. “Nah, you’re not going anywhere,” he declares with finality, shaking his head.
“What’s the point?” you mumble.
“Not happenin’,” he snaps, his voice slicing through your haze of despair. “You’re in no state to handle this alone.” He breathes out through his nose, gaze softening slightly. A flicker of genuine concern breaks through his tough exterior. It’s clear that you’re overwhelmed and on the verge of shutting down. Having you out in the fray on your own is a no-go. His alpha won’t have it.
“Why do you even care?”
“Because from the looks of it, someone needs to care,” he retorts, his irritation tinged with a hint of desperation. “You’re not thinking straight, and you’re as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane. Trust me, going home isn’t gonna fix shit. Haven’t you been listenin’ baby girl?”
“Then what’s the alternative?” you ask, a touch of defiance sparking in your eyes.
His pupils constrict as he leans in close, his hand cupping your face with a grip that borders on possessive. His fingers splay wide, holding you in place as if he’s determined to imprint his words. “You’re not giving up,” his voice low, urgent. “And you’re damn sure not going anywhere alone. You’re coming with me.”
Your breathing picks up, a warmth swirling in your chest again from the magnetism of his alpha aura. Your omega whines at the back of your conscience, wanting, needing to go with him. You feel a flash of vulnerability that you've been keeping tightly locked away these past few years come to the surface. Your heart threatens to beat in a forbidden rhythm over this interaction and you hate it. You hate that you left your home. You hate Naoya and the info broker that set you up with that bastard in the first place. You hate that you like how his hand feels against your touch starved skin and his intense words you can’t make sense of. That barely there Oakmoss and violet blended scent hanging in the air between you.He’s being tender with you. Why? What is the actual fucking reason? It’s burning you up on the inside. You hate it and you love it and you want to go home.
“You stick with me. You do what I say. And, ideally, you stop popping pills like they’re goddamn breath mints,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something else there instead… longing? No, that’s bullshit.
“Why?” you challenge, meeting his gaze with fire in your eyes.
“Because I said so, Y/n,” he replies, his tone authoritative, concern etched into every line of his face.
You want to question the tone he’s taking with you further but all that is pushed aside at the mention of your name. Your eyebrows shoot up at the sound of it. “Who the FUCK are you?” you blurt out, voice cracking with disbelief. You’ve never seen this guy a day in your life and somehow he knows your name, your extracurriculars and the true crime clusterfuck you’re caught in.
His smirk fades into a serious expression, the lines around his mouth tightening. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says, his voice low and steady, trying to bridge the gap between the unknown and your growing panic. “But you need to trust me right now. There’s no time for any more explanations. We gotta get a move on.” His eyes dart around the cafe in quick assessment. “For the sake of your comfort, my name is Choso. But you might know me better as 'Dakusuta’.”
I think Breath of life should be out tonight! I have one more part to type up and I’m gonna chug through it! Sorry for the long wait and thanks for the patience!
