Chapter Text
[06] - it’s you, it’s you (it’s always been you)
Cherry-flavored, today.
Ouma was laying upside down on the couch. His head was pressed on the seat, feet moving in the air and thumping noiselessly against the backrest. He had his head in a position that Momota swore must be uncomfortable, but he kept it anyway, as he flipped through the channels of the TV absentmindedly.
Eyebrows, drawn. Forehead, creased. His tongue kept poking out from where it grazed his teeth, evidently frustrated. His removed the cherry-flavored lollipop he’s been sucking the past hour out of his mouth, staining his lips a faint red.
“You know, people always act as if we alphas got it better.”
Momota grunted. He buried his face on the bed not too far away, trying to figure which was worse—breathing through his nose and smelling it, or through his mouth and practically fucking tasting it. He didn’t know how Ouma was doing that, he looked evidently more composed, through if the tent in his pants was anything to go by, he wasn’t doing any better.
“I mean, have you heard the shit people say?” This was ranty Ouma, sassy Ouma, an indication that he too wasn’t feeling very well. His voice dropped to a falsetto, an obvious mockery to the society he was inexplicably (and vocally) fed up with. “ Ouma-kun, you’re so lucky! Alphas are meant to lead, meant to protect, be strong, dominant, assertive, strong-willed and oh, this one is gold—people act as if being an alpha was the best dynamic one could ever ask for— fucking bullshit .” The last two words were a hiss, before he gave the astronaut a half-hearted smirk. “Don’t you think so too, Momota-chan?”
Momota groaned and mumbled to the pillow. “Who the fuck cares, shut up.”
“Ah-ah-ah! You can’t tell me to shut up in my own room, Momota-chan. You come here of your own free will, you get the premium Ouma Kokichi treatment!” Ouma beamed, but the strain in his face was evident in the way a sudden shudder wracked through his body. He suddenly covered his nose, mumbling profanities under his breath. “Stupid rooms, stupid ventilation, stupid heats!” he hissed, irritated. “Who the hell is it this time?!”
“It’s Shuuichi,” Momota replied dejectedly. Almost immediately, Ouma shot him a look of utter sympathy. “It’s a complete accident. It came in early, probably because he’s been spending so much time around me and Harumaki—” Ouma frowned at the mention of the female alpha. Momota just sighed as he rolled over. “ Shit. I feel bad. I feel so bad, Ouma. He’s suffering and he’s in pain, but he’s so hot and he smells so good , and god it’s so fucking tempting to just —"
“Too much information,” Ouma said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. His thoughts seem to wander for a moment, pupils dilating, and almost automatically Momota felt a growl rise up from his throat, the instinct to mate and breed and knot and claim an unmated omega before any alpha could— before Ouma could— overcoming him for a few short seconds. The instinct was so intense he was worried he’s going to reach over and punch him —at least until Ouma gave him a look and snapped. “Shut it.”
Momota stopped his growling, but he didn’t look away. His alpha hormones were demanding that he didn’t. It was then that he remembered Ouma’s complaints and realized that yes, being an alpha sucked. Probably not as much as being an omega was (the memory of Saihara flushed and panting on the courtyard came unbidden, and he stifled a frustrated groan), but not being in full control of your emotions was almost as bad. To someone like him who never really had much restraint on violence... it was scary.
Ouma glanced up at the vents of his room, the culprit of their misery. Iruma had recently fashioned their dorm building with a one-way ventilation system (efficient, energy-saving, whatever ). It was a terrible idea. Saihara’s scent was assaulting them in waves. The Supreme Leader frowned. “I can probably blackmail Souda-chan into fixing that.”
Momota tried to ignore the blackmail part. Spending time with the Supreme Leader made him aware just what he was capable of—which was mostly nothing put empty threats anyway. He understood Ouma better now. “Uh-huh?”
Ouma reached over to his center table to grab his phone. “M’gonna text Gonta to turn the ventilation system off for now I guess.” His lilac eyes stared back at Momota, then to his— well, raging boner—critically. “I mean, it’s not like we can get out without embarrassing the shit out of ourselves anyway.”
Momota covered his face and groaned.
“In the meantime, try not to beat the shit out of me, Momota-chan? I mean, you are the bigger, more muscular alpha, but fuck you if you even think you can start shit with me and get out unscathed.” Ouma suddenly bit his tongue. “Shit. That’s hormones speaking. Ignore that. I hate this.” He looked distressed. Sighing, the Supreme Leader popped the lollipop back in his mouth, and Momota had a feeling it’s to keep himself from saying anything else he didn’t want to.
Ouma liked having control, Momota knew. Ouma hated it when he couldn’t perform his reactions meticulously—perform, yes, because that’s what most of it was: an act. The Supreme Leader confessed multiple times how he would have loved to be a beta instead. He didn’t want to be a part of this dynamic bullshit, but fate fucked him over and made him an alpha despite his lackluster physique. Personally, Momota really didn’t mind—Ouma was cute, and who the hell said alphas couldn’t be small anyways? What Ouma lacked in body, he made up with his grandiose personality. Momota thought it was actually pretty impressive.
It was also... a tad endearing. Momota swallowed hard.
He tried not to think about the way Ouma would occasionally take the lollipop out of his mouth and lick at the tip, didn’t think about the way the sugar glazed his lips not unlike the saccharine coating on the candy. Momota was suddenly hyperaware of the way his arousal pressed against his pants painfully, the way the room had started smelling less like an omega in heat and more like two alphas stuck in a rut.
Ouma’s phone pinged, and he murmured a “fucking finally” under his breath. Momota supposed Gokuhara already did as he was asked. Relief settled in his nerves as he closed his eyes, willing his hormones to settle, but his heart was starting to pound in his chest for a different reason now, and to this day Momota still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“The rut will pass, boners will die, then we can get out. In the meantime, wanna watch Star Wars, Momota-chan?” Ouma offered as he righted himself on the couch.
Momota opened his eyes to see the look on Ouma’s face, a gentleness that was rarely there. It spoke of strange things, of “weird” things, things like: You’ve had a really bad day and I’m so proud of you and let me cheer you up and maybe, maybe! Maybe those three little words that Momota secretly wanted to hear. No, what was he thinking. That was weird. Odd. Unnatural.
Instead of replying, Momota simply grunted as he stood up and walked closer, sitting down beside him on the couch. He didn’t think much about the way Ouma leaned against him. He didn’t think much about the way Ouma sighed contentedly either, didn’t think about the way his neckerchief hung loosely on him, granting him the delectable view of the expanse of his neck, eyes fixating on the spot where his scent gland would be.
Momota didn’t think. He raised his hand to touch the small strip of pale skin, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. Ouma shivered as he looked up at him through his lashes, staring questioningly.
“What?” Momota asked, defensively.
Ouma pursed his lips for a moment. “Momota-chan is acting weird again,” he mumbled through his lollipop, but even as he said that he still craned his neck to the side, giving him more access.
Momota felt his mouth go bone-dry as he dug his thumb a little forcefully, reveling in the way Ouma’s breath hitched. There was something inherently beautiful and exciting in the way Ouma was here, sprawled against his body, craning his neck in a manner only omegas in submission would—and yet his lilac eyes shone with a slow flame... an invitation. A challenge . A taunt.
Ouma wasn’t an omega. He’s an alpha .
Momota shouldn’t be feeling these weird flutters in his chest at the thought of possessing those lips. He shouldn’t think that his smirk was attractive, that the way his eyes sparkled was beautiful, that the way he stared at him right now as if he wanted to devour him was sending his body in an overdose of exhilaration.
Ouma removed the lollipop from his lips and offered it to him, smiling knowingly as if he knew everything that was going on in the astronaut’s mind. Maybe he does. Momota moved his head and captured the candy in his mouth without missing a beat, as if this was perfectly normal.
The candy tasted sweet and artificial. Nothing at all like cherries. Disgusting.
Ouma’s smile was sweet and artificial, too. But for some reason, Momota didn’t think it’d taste just as bad. The thought sent a wave of dread through his stomach. He looked away and cracked the candy in his mouth.
Freak of nature.
[01] - first love never(?) dies
Momota wasn’t sure when the attraction started.
It has always been kinda there since the day Ouma Kokichi walked into his life. It was probably the fact that it was an attraction that didn’t have any connection to his instincts that intrigued him about it, honestly. He’s had a few crushes in the past, but that was mostly because they smelled so good he couldn’t resist. But Ouma... Ouma was different. Ouma disarmed him not with an alluring smell, but with a dazzling smile and a punch in the gut as he opted to snatch his galaxy jacket rather than the hand Momota had outstretched for him.
“Nishishi!” The fucker had giggled obnoxiously. “Let me guess, you’re the Ultimate Astronaut! Or maybe Ultimate Fashion Disaster? Who the hell wears those slippers?” Even as he said that, he still wore the jacket proudly as if it was his own. “Your jacket is pretty cool though, it doesn’t suit you.”
Momota had scowled. He was trying to be friendly, dammit, but the guy was quick to get on his nerves. “Hey! Give that back!”
“Only if you catch me!”
The day they first met they ended up running along the deserted halls of Hope’s Peak in a game of chase, Momota grumbling in irritation as Ouma laughed in glee, and for the first time in a long while Momota felt exhilaration fill his gut at the prospect of being challenged —he was tall and muscular and every bit of a big bad alpha that people could just meet his gaze and immediately cower in fright, but here this little shit was, blowing him a raspberry every time he was ahead, snickering at the look of exasperation on his face—it was refreshing . It was exciting. It was fun.
It wasn’t nearly as fun when they both got reprimanded for skipping the general assembly (class attendance were optional, but assemblies were mandatory), but one look at the Supreme Leader as he sat supremely on his seat while chewing gum obnoxiously made the astronaut realize that the guy was a shameless rebel—he totally did that on purpose. Ouma Kokichi doesn’t bend to people’s expectations, he lives by his own rules and does his own thing. Momota couldn’t help but wonder what his dynamic would be, since the guy claimed to be a late bloomer. He supposed that would be interesting to find out.
That night, as Momota unpacked his stuff into his new dorm room, he found a familiar bottle of medication that he hasn’t used in a while. He glanced at the expiration date—still good. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he considered whether or not he should throw it out.
He placed it on his nightstand instead, and for a while, he had forgotten about it. Maybe if he had thrown it out that night, things would have never escalated. The first genuine attraction he had would never have been fed and festered, not to this extent.
A bottle of scent blockers wrote their story.
[07] - what we don’t do, what we don’t say
Grape, Momota noted. Ouma’s lips were stained purple. Momota’s were chapped and dry.
On the other end of the hallway, the Supreme Leader was smirking as he talked to a frowning upperclassman—the Ultimate Mechanic, Momota recognized. He supposed those vents were going to be fixed soon, which was good. Saihara was still notably absent, and while Momota was pretty sure he must’ve already gotten some heat suppressants in him, the astronaut wasn’t too keen on the idea of getting a hit of his scent yet again.
Being in a rut without relief was exhausting.
Ouma finally smiled, satisfied. As soon as he walked over back to their classroom, their gazes met—sharp magenta to soft lilac, and Ouma immediately pulled another grape-flavored lollipop from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth.
“Why do you always eat those shitty lollipops when you’re around me?”
“Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Momo-chan.”
Ouma knew what he was talking about, but Momota knew the answer to his own question anyway. Neither of them say anything about it. Because it’s easier when they don’t mention it. It’s easier when they pretend they were nothing but friends.
Easier to pretend that when Saihara’s scent hit Momota like a wave and the hormones started screaming for him to claim the omega, it wasn’t Ouma’s face that flashed in his mind. Easier to pretend that when Ouma opened the door last night to see Momota in front of his room, panting and desperate, he didn’t open the door wider, as if to welcome him home.
( Shuuichi smells so fucking good and I want him, god I want him, but it’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you—)
Momota took a deep breath. Ouma’s scent was nowhere to be found, which was a shame. Momota didn’t think he smelled bad at all. If he simply let his pheromones out, half the omegas in Hopes Peak would probably be begging to be claimed by him. But that notion probably had a lot of bias in it. Momota just thought he smelled... pretty good .
Freak of nat— shut the fuck up.
He clenched his fists. It didn’t go unnoticed. Ouma skipped over and wedged his finger forcefully between his, making a shit-eating grin that he knew Momota secretly liked. As Momota loosened his fist, the Supreme Leader hummed, intertwining their fingers together, and Momota’s heart skipped a beat, elated that this was not a connection their biology set for them, but something they made together.
Ouma chatted away as they walked back to their classroom. They bantered, they laughed—Ouma pissed him off and he pissed the Supreme Leader back—all while their hands were clasped together familiarly. As soon as their classmates were in sight, Ouma pulled away and adjusted his scarf, and Momota looked away and pretended the loss of contact didn’t disappoint him.
Pretending was routine now. It was easier.
(It was breaking his heart.)
[02] - liar, liar, pants on fi—re
If Momota was an honest man, he’d just suck it up and admit to himself that he had a thing for Ouma Kokichi. But Momota was not an honest man, no matter how good he was at convincing people otherwise.
(Ouma was good at catching liars. He always has been. Sometimes their eyes would meet and the Supreme Leader would suck his lower lip between his teeth and smile cheekily before doing something to either piss him off or irritate him. Pushing him away, so to speak. It was only later that Momota realized he was doing it on purpose. Because Ouma knew, he knew, he knew they were spinning and they were falling and it wasn’t going to be easy.)
Momota liked Ouma. He liked him a lot. While everyone else were compliant and friendly and supportive, Ouma was a force to be reckoned with, challenging him every step of the way, the rival he never knew he wanted. It didn’t matter if it was in a takoyaki eating contest or a class presentation or a video game—Ouma was always there to beat his ass and it was as fun as it was infuriating.
Ouma had made himself an infamous reputation in Hopes Peak. Most of their classmates weren’t very fond of him, but Momota found himself gravitating towards him anyway, for reasons unknown. He’s always one for following his gut, so he figured: hey, maybe when Ouma develops his dynamic, he could actually try to make a move on him. Ouma’s lack of scent had always been an interesting topic in their class, one that the Supreme Leader himself wasn’t very fond of speculating about. But almost everyone agreed he’d probably be a beta (his appearance didn’t really scream alpha, the same way his personality didn’t hit anyone as omega) and while that was a shame, Momota can roll with that. He didn’t really like the thought of Ouma being an omega anyways, it just didn’t feel right.
So he waited, eager to find out. He waited... and waited.
Their first year passed by without a hitch, and he started getting impatient.
“Don’t you ever get worried about it?” Momota asked the Supreme Leader, once. “I mean, we’re already on our second year and you’re still...”
“Who cares?” Ouma had replied, rolling his eyes. “I wish I never get my dynamic.”
Momota pursed his lips. Back then, he had been genuinely worried for Ouma—not developing your dynamic so late in puberty was a matter of legitimate medical concern—but the boy waved it off like it was nothing.
Ouma was a good liar.
[video001.mp4]
“Okay, so what the fuck are you two shitstains doing in my lab?”
The camera shook slightly, as if it was placed in someone’s clumsy hands. The strawberry blonde-haired inventor was right in the frame, frowning at someone behind the camera, looking pissed-off for being disturbed.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Iruma-san,” a timid voice replied. Nervous, unsettled. “We we’re just… uh…”
“Helping Shinguuji-san,” another voice supplied, but this one sounded calmer and more collected. “The exams are coming up, and he needed help for his presentation. Would you mind answering a few questions?”
“Hah?” the inventor frowned as she placed her hands on her hips. Finally, she huffed. “Fine. But make it quick. My time is precious, you know!”
“Of course.” A tense silence, a rustle of papers. “What is your opinion on same-dynamic couples?”
Iruma narrowed her eyes suspiciously, before she tossed her hair back and cackled. “Fucking kinky-ass weirdos, that’s what! Do they even exist?!”
[PAUSE]
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