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Why is she here?
How is she here?
How did she get in?
Isn’t that scary to think about? It freezes her blood to the core in primal, unknowing fear. Sends Uraraka Ochako back to training camp, back in the forest, straddled above wide smiles and shrill giggling – and then, she blinks, and she’s left with the oddly familiar scent of suppressed alpha rut, a smell she’s gotten intimately familiar with since her arrival at U.A..
In the thirty minutes Ochako was gone, taking her shower and brushing her teeth, preparing for bed with a slight skip in her step after another hard day’s work at some solo training, she comes back to her room lights off after specifically leaving them on.
Discarded clothes litter her floor, some pilfered from her dresser, others not. Like the pink duffle coat, that familiar beige cardigan that sets off mental alarm bells, the hunter-green canisters and mask. Worst of all sits the breathing lump beneath her blanket, wild blonde hair peeking out from the top of her covers.
She’s defenseless. They both are. Ochako could have been killed, become just another victim of bloodletting crimes, a statistic for the record books.
So, why isn’t she? Why is she- that alpha breathing rhythmically, mixed with low, rumbling purrs that reverberate off the walls? Why is Toga Himiko sleeping in her bed?
Toga shifts, mumbling in her sleep, and Ochako swiftly, cautiously closes the door behind her, blocking out the hall lights. Her senses at heightened alert. Breath held. Heart resounding in her ears. Her swallow is deafening.
At the silence, Ochako runs a hand through her hair, bites the knuckle of her forefinger in dread. No big deal. Just an international villain in her bed, sleeping away her rut.
While the rest of the dorms are empty, some students interning with the pros, others at home for respite, Ochako chose to stay behind, the idea of having the dorms to herself too attractive, too exciting to pass up. The bathroom and the laundry room and the kitchen, all to herself! Like her own Uraraka Kingdom! … No, that’s not important right now. Was she giggling to herself?
Was this on purpose? Did Toga think she left with everyone else? Did she think Ochako stayed behind?
Enough overthinking, as she painstakingly reaches for the backpack next to the door. She winces at the zipper, cringes at the rustle of paper, as she pulls her hand out. Plain, metal cuffs will be enough, they’ll have to do. At least, they’ll provide a hindrance. At most, they’ll stop Toga Himiko from using knives.
Carefully stepping over garments and knives, every footfall an earthquake, every floor creak loud as thunder. Sitting at the edge of her bed, Ochako stiffens at the sight of her.
Toga wears a patch over her right eye, left cheek covered with a square bandage. The softest snore from her nostrils after each exhale, mouth shielded by Ochako’s pillow. If it were anybody else, any other alpha, Ochako would have found her adorable.
No, that’s not true. She knows it’s not.
It’s impossible to deny Toga Himiko is all alpha, with her wiry, tight frame, intimidating presence, and the largest set of canines Ochako’s ever seen. Larger than Bakugou Katsuki’s, larger than Vlad King-sensei’s. Toga’s teeth are made for marking, made for holding dainty, breedable omegas in place and tearing the throats out of alphas threatening that right. Not lukewarm betas, especially not someone as plain as Ochako-
No. That’s not appropriate thinking right now. Not when there’s a wanted serial killer in her bed, responsible for dozens of crimes, with murder at the top of that list.
But – why is she here? Suppressing her rut, it makes no sense to Ochako. Why allow herself the vulnerability? She thought alphas liked their rut, liked the extra aggression and having omegas at their beck and call.
She cups a cheek, then pulls back, scalded. What are you doing, Uraraka Ochako? Don’t touch her, don’t– brush her bangs back, slightly dampened with sweat, watching Toga’s tense frown twitch.
A semi-constricted pupil opens back at her.
Ochako’s breath hitches, cautiously pulling away her hand. Toga stares.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Ochako-chan,” she slurs sleepily. Loopy. Dazed. Her glazed-over eye not quite focusing on Ochako’s.
Ochako licks her lips. She swallows, tries burying the bubbling nausea in her gut, fear and dread clutching tightly into her shoulders.
“Me? I’m not supposed to be here?” That comes out less sarcastic and more nervous than she likes.
But Toga smiles, tittering to herself as she rolls her one visible eye back, stretching out on the bed with spread arms. Rolling onto her stomach with a- a frankly, adorable little purr when she hugs Ochako’s pillow. Gives it a long sniff; Ochako almost yanks it from her hands, but she’s struck by embarrassment, confusion.
Because even in the darkness of her room, the drawn curtains cast enough light. Blonde hair fanned out against the bed, the ends frayed out in different directions. Her hand comes up to her covered eye, fingertips rubbing at the patch absently, lazily, as her other eye blinks slowly.
Her neck is wrapped in a bandage.
No- no, she doesn’t smell marked- if she is, Ochako can’t smell the pheromones of someone else on her, and it shouldn’t matter to Ochako anyway! And- the bandages are too high, easily revealing the bare pulse point above her collarbone.
Ochako releases a breath.
Toga sits up, leaning heavily against her palms, and Ochako blinks herself to awareness, realizing her stupor – was she really staring at Toga Himiko? Watching her? The covers slip from her shoulders; Ochako turns away with heat rushing across her cheeks. Black. Toga wears black.
Suddenly, a wave of warm, dulled pheromones released from beneath the covers washes over her, and Ochako shivers with a quiet moan, lets her head fall to the side, pathetically exposing her neck. Feeling alpha pain, frustration, desire.
This isn’t what was supposed to happen. How quickly Ochako falls into Toga’s need, as Toga easily plucks the cuffs from Ochako’s hands, not meeting any resistance, and drops them off the side of the bed with a mute rattle.
No, it’s only natural to present herself, as the lesser dynamic – because Toga came to her. Ochako, with her bland beta scent, compared to Toga’s sharp, metallic scent of copper yen, of snappy crisp ginger, brewed to a simmer in her rut, and dampened by her suppressors.
It’s good. Ochako shudders at the smell. Isn’t that a testament to Toga’s genes? So virile and strong, that even in her rut-suppressed state, her scent has impact on Ochako. As a beta.
Toga leans in, kisses Ochako’s cheek so chastely, her hold gentle on Ochako’s chin, lips trailing down her jaw, ghosting over her neck. And Ochako lets out a shuddering breath at each delicate press into her skin, as Toga smiles against the pulse point, unmarked. Never marred by her pack, never scented on by the alphas in accordance to U.A.’s rules.
Ochako is so simple. When Toga licks and sucks on that sweet spot, she gasps; and when her fangs brush and pinch, but never break skin, she whines.
“You know what I mean,” svelte on her voice, her cadence sultry. What were they talking about again? “It’s not safe for pretty girls to be so close to alphas when they’re about to rut. They teach you that in school, right?”
Warm, lazy palms roam Ochako’s thighs, dipping beneath the waistband of her sweatpants – Ochako stops her, hands gripping Toga’s, but another rush of cozy pheromones has her shaking and panting, faltering, complaisant from an unseen force. Peeling down her pants and panties at the same time. And Ochako complies, lifting her hips, shuffling her thighs together with a whimper when Toga leaves them at her knees.
“Look at what they’re doing to you, Ochako-chan,” she laments, for Ochako’s sake. She talks slow, a medicated drawl. “They won’t let you carry any alpha’s scent. Who’s going to take you seriously? Unmarked betas don’t scare me at all.”
Ochako painfully admits it. She misses being scented. She misses the gentle kisses Mama would leave on her wrists and wearing Papa’s flannels on her days off. Here, they won’t even let her wear Tsuyu-chan’s clothes, and she’s an omega. And she’s sure the teachers are starting to catch on, when she yips and roughhouses with the alphas like an overexcited pup, just for a whiff of their scent on hers.
Her judgment lapses; she spreads her legs willingly with a soft cry, Toga licking her pulse point again, her hand stroking the inner flesh of Ochako’s thighs with a faint purr.
Ochako’s own purr surfaces in response. It’s humiliating, a loud and noisy thing. Not reassuring like an alpha’s, not comforting as an omega’s. And yet, Toga nuzzles into Ochako’s neck with a satisfied noise at the back of her throat.
“If you’re going to stay awhile,” Toga murmurs, “hands and knees for me, m’kay?”
This is it. Ochako can leave. She doesn’t have to- crawl up onto the bed with trembling limbs, her knees and wrists digging into the mattress, Toga’s teeth glinting in the dark before Ochako shamefully turns to face the headboard.
She’s cold, Ochako thinks with mortifying detail. Lower lips exposed, they’re wet, sticky, drips slowly rolling down her thighs. Toga stays crouched behind her, and Ochako prays the darkness hides the hair, the unattractive parts of her body she’s never shown anyone else.
“So pretty,” Toga giggles, airy and light. The pads of her fingertips carefully spreading warm flesh, barely tugging coarse hairs, stroking Ochako’s labia in ways unfamiliar to her, but- it feels nice. Fingers petting the silk of her outsides, even if the sounds of wet squishes and kisses makes her want to cover her burning ears in embarrassment, cover her mouth from all the puppy-whines and squeaks. She bites her bottom lip and twitches, stomach flooded by warmth, an audible moan in her throat that leaves her face flushed.
Her body lurches forward, straggled noises behind a bitten-bottom lip, wincing at the sting, walls squeezing and clenching around Toga’s middle finger dipping inside to the knuckle.
“Does it hurt?”
"It- it doesn't," Ochako says with a pant, struggling to keep her voice even.
Toga’s laugh is a thick as syrup, smooth, flexing her finger, exploring, and Ochako’s abdomen spasms, hips hitching forward on their own. It feels weird. Different than when she touches herself, the angles Toga hits are deeper, more enjoyable past the initial pinch. Ochako loathes to admit she slowly comes to like it.
“Your slick feels good on me, Ochako-chan,” another digit presses against Ochako’s front wall; it has her suffocating, bucking into nothing with a straggled noise. Her insides crave friction, her clit desires attention. She needs more- more than leisurely fingers mapping her insides.
“That- that’s not slick,” Ochako sputters with flushed cheeks, her own spicy, sweet-thickened arousal wafting under her nose, mixing with Toga’s heady scent, hazing her mind. Saliva collects in her mouth at the taste of musk and warm tang, at the way Toga removes her fingers from Ochako, stands up on her knees and slides the head of her cock between Ochako’s lower lips, palms gripping Ochako’s waist.
“So warm. So wet.”
Ochako takes in a shuddering breath at the praise, at Toga’s enthusiasm rubbing hotly between her legs. The head of her cock pierces her – so suddenly, Ochako sharply cries out in pain. Her hand snaps to Toga’s, holding her, whining, and Toga slides herself out again, pushes in, pulls out to grind her knot against Ochako’s clit – Toga is so big. Girthy. Ochako’s afraid to look at it between her legs.
Heated, pulsing against the tender flesh of Ochako’s folds, makes Ochako yearn for her. Both of them gasp and shudder, Ochako’s back arching subtly with a sigh, before she realizes her hand deathly gripping Toga's, releases and rights herself, corrects her posture with a pout.
Stay still. She’s warm-up, just prep before the alpha moves onto her main course. Maybe she’s waiting for someone else. Tsuyu-chan, Kyouka-chan, Deku-kun. All fertile omegas, none of which have their heats coming up soon, none of which are here right now. Why her room? Why her bed, why her clothes, why-
Toga sighs softly, hands adjusting their grip on Ochako’s hips.
“You smell so good,” she slurs, sinking in, pulling out at Ochako’s sharp cry. “Sweet like oranges and sorta like coffee. Earthy.”
She sniffs the air, and Ochako swallows.
“And sakura?”
Ochako’s breath hitches; she laughs dryly, quietly to herself.
“That’s my body wash.”
“Sho good.”
According to her omega friends, alphas have so much more depth to their smell that betas couldn’t even begin to pick up. Does it work the same way for alphas? Do they smell betas differently?
Gasping, Ochako chokes at the sensation of Toga splitting her again, bites her lips when her belly flails, her walls fluttering and parting at the hot intrusion. She’s so hot, her pre-cum and suppressed-rut warmth tempering Ochako’s insides when she pushes the head inside again, further.
“I can’t- it won’t fit- you won’t fit-” Ochako wails, babbling, pressing her hips back with Toga’s inward motion, to feel that delicious girth spread her, take her.
“I will,” Toga murmurs. Thrusts slow and measured, sheathing herself halfway, then sliding herself out again. Each time, she hits deeper, somewhere new Ochako’s never dreamed of reaching before, making her thighs quiver and body tremble, her eyes water and her arms weak; and each time, she goes just a little faster. “I will, Ochako-chan.”
“I’m not-” no, no, she refuses to say it. She pants, sweat and salt collecting beneath her palms, at the back of her neck, on her forehead and scalp.
“I can’t-” she whimpers wetly, blinking back pin pricks of tears at her lashes, one- two drops into her pillow- “I can’t even take you in rut.”
That gets Toga to slow her movements. She doesn’t stop, but it’s languid. Contemplative. And Ochako regrets it, whimpering and whining, her ass grinding back onto Toga’s hips, but her pace never quickens nor falters.
“No, you can’t,” Toga agrees, “but I don’t mind changing for you.”
She sighs dreamily, hips rolling with a firm press in – it’s almost too much, Ochako’s mouth dripping with saliva as she tenses, before Toga pulls out.
“To be loved is to be changed. Have you heard that before? I can change, if you love me. Do you love me, too, Ochako-chan?”
She sinks in deeper than before, Ochako choking on air, walls constricting, eyelids fluttering. It’s good. Her knot brushes against Ochako’s clit, not completely engorged yet. Spreads her core in that way that promises fulfillment. Even now, at her most vulnerable, Ochako’s chest easily falls into a low purr. A whimper when Toga pulls out and holds Ochako’s hips hard, leaving her head of her cock in, keeping herself tantalizing and present.
“Ochako-chan,” she says firmer now, not really asking. “Do you love me?”
“Y-yes.”
“Say it.”
Ochako shivers. Tongue loose, saliva rolling off her bottom lip – she licks it off, mutely aware of her own ragged breathing, how cold she feels without Toga’s body heat against her frame.
“I love you.”
Himiko trills tenderly. Ochako’s own chirr responds.
“Then I’ll take you like this, Ochako-chan.”
Sly smiles on her voice; Ochako can picture the smirk, the half-lidded gaze as she jerks her hips, hot thighs slapping against hers, knot and all. Ochako moans, dropping her chin into her chest.
Himiko’s body presses against her back, caging her suddenly, sweat suctioning skin to skin. Ochako’s tank top feels in the way. Arms wringing around Ochako’s thighs – one hand cups Ochako’s belly, massaging and palming with a possessive growl, the other rubbing circles just above her clit with slick fingers. And Ochako can hardly keep up! – she’s full in ways she’s never imagined – soft cries of, “oh- oh-” leak from her throat, and she can’t stop herself.
Teeth clamp her nape, and Ochako cries out. She squirms; the hold is awkward, ripping into her trapezius muscle, but her mind fills with pleasant cotton, shoulders dropping, jaw slack. Her entire body slumps forward, chest against the bed, Himiko growling as she suctions her lips and slurps cheekfuls of blood, and Ochako sobs obediently. Himiko moves- she’s heavy on her, awkwardly mounted onto Ochako as she works to fuck and keep her hold. Solid weight that keeps Ochako grounded, the difference in their heights and sizes all the more apparent. To Ochako’s rough lumpiness, Himiko’s flesh is soft, toned.
In this position, Himiko hits deeper. Works herself in harder. Heat pools into Ochako’s lower belly, and she musters strength to rock her hips back into Himiko’s with brutal collision, body thrown into the bed at the force of her rut.
Broken, rugged breathing hits Ochako’s neck hotly, she’s shaking, Ochako’s shaking, trembles wracking her body- it’s too much- it hurts- it feels good- she can’t take it- she can’t- Himiko-chan’s too big, and Ochako’s body is too little, too tight, too weak- she couldn't take her knot.
The wound on her neck aches, hot blood and saliva dripping down her neck, beads rolling off her collarbones to stain the bed sheets below. Sharp mewls cut through the room, ripped from Ochako’s throat, as Himiko finally plunges her knot inside.
Himiko’s knot swells in tandem with her climax. Ochako never knew knots worked that way; hot streams hitting her insides, Himiko’s cock twitching as she roughly lurches in more, grunting between her teeth, emptying into Ochako with frantic, quick thrusts – Ochako tips herself forward on her knees, arches her back openly. More- keep filling her, not yet, please keep hitting her walls, please keep going, she’s not there yet – she’s begging, absently aware of herself doing so.
And Himiko delivers, two fingers rubbing on her clit recklessly and pounding into Ochako’s pussy, cramming every bit of her knot inside; her own heart rate erratic as she moans, her belly fluttering and clenching and coiling, sparks zipping up her spine, the press of Himiko’s knot perfectly grinding against that sweet spot that makes her see stars, until Ochako comes undone with a wail – and still, her alpha ruts her through it, holding her tightly – she’s a babbling mess of whines and coos, of her alpha’s name spilling from her lips – “Himiko-cha- Himiko-cha- Himiko-” – as she rides her climax.
Her legs clench and spasm, struggling to hold her own body weight, the insides of her thighs soaked with sweat and wetness. The final splashes of her alpha’s warmth overflows out of her; without a clamp, Ochako can’t tether them, but Himiko’s insistently trying to force their hips together anyway. It’s cute, Ochako thinks. She’s cute, Ochako coos.
Slowly, Himiko’s maw releases the hold on Ochako’s neck, the sound of teeth peeling away from skin, a hearty groan, and Ochako winces, little pained murmurs. Pain searing, hot and exposed, and Ochako resists the urge to prod at the wound with her fingertips. A broad tongue laps at the mark for her instead.
Pleased hums, a short murmur of, “Lie down,” that Ochako carefully, slowly obeys, cringing when alpha spunk leaks out from her slit, letting her hips down easy as Himiko works to keep her knot inside. Ochako’s arms curl into her pillow, resting on her cheek, blinking sleep from her eyes.
“Good girl,” Himiko sings so sweetly, breathless and manic. Ochako’s scalp prickles extra warmly at the praise, in her afterglow. Her hands find Ochako’s breasts, worming their way beneath her tank top, and Ochako hums weakly when Himiko finds her nipples. Her palms cup and squeeze, her fingers rolling the sensitive buds. Ochako jerks with a whimper, pressing her chest into the bed to get Himiko to slow down. “I knew you could do it, Ochako-chan. Don’t you feel so good?”
“Yes- yes.” Where is she again? What time is it? None of that seems important now, just the soft purr of her heaving chest, panting ruggedly beneath her alpha, arching away from her greedy palms. Surrounded by her scent, plugged by her knot.
“My sweet Ochako-chan,” Himiko sighs. She leaves little kisses on that sore spot on the back of Ochako’s neck. Lips brush the mark, a ripe bruise forming beneath the skin, and Ochako hisses softly at the sting. “So cute when she’s in heat.”
Ochako can feel her walls trying to push out Himiko’s knot, more uncomfortable the longer it stays inside, squeezing and twitching at the intrusion, but Himiko shoves herself in with a harsh snap and a low snarl every time her knot slips, pinning Ochako to the bed. Ochako’s purrs stutter at her effort.
“I’m-” some gooey part of her brain doesn’t want to correct her, liking the praise of being wet and fertile enough to be ‘in heat,’ but her inner beta wins out. She’s not an omega, and she never will be, and she wishes Himiko liked her for being her.
“I'm not in heat."
It’s pitiful, the way that statement comes out of her. The worst admission of the night. Fresh tears, heightened raw emotions consuming her.
“Oh, Ochako-chan,” Himiko tuts, nosing her hair, before pulling out her knot with an embarrassing squelch. Ochako weakly cries out, missing her- misses her knot and warmth and scent enveloping her. “Be a little naughty, would you? It doesn’t hurt.”
Then she shifts, the head of her cock into Ochako’s throbbing cunt – Ochako’s nerves sparking at Himiko’s position with a shaky gasp, ready to mount again. More- so soon? Ochako worries. A hand snaps up to pin the back of her head, shoved into the pillow, and every nerve alights in panic at Himiko’s dark chuckle- what’s she doing- was this all a trick- a trap- oh, her pillow smells faintly like Himiko-chan.
“You’re ovulating. You know, that thing betas do?” Her voice changes. Snarky and sharp, with that whimsical lilt Ochako always associated with Toga Himiko. Air thickening with something, warm iron she can taste, can feel the effects on her body: limbs leaden, eyelids heavy, back arching in submission, presenting her core to her alpha.
How long ago did Toga Himiko take those suppressors?
“So I hope you’re ready for round two.”