Archive of Our Own

It was getting late, and the rain clouds were thundering against the windowpanes of his restaurant. All of Osamu’s staff had left earlier; he had ordered them to go home early as a warning of heavy rainfall flashed on the news channel, on the LED screen mounted on the left wall of the place. He had flipped the signboard to “closed” an hour ago and turned off the lights of the big signboard on top of his restaurant building.

Osamu was wiping the counter slowly, humming under his breath a soft tune he had heard on television. His hands stopped trying to remember what it was. An ad jingle? Well, something like that, it was catchy, though. Shrugging nonchalantly, he resumed wiping his precious counter again.

Osamu’s mood had been shaky lately as his heat was nearing; his skin remained flushed and simmering under his clothes, especially under the collar on his back. He usually didn’t like having heat cycles in the rainy season, as it felt feverish and colder, considering the fact that he did not have a partner to spend his cycles with. He blinked twice, reminiscing about the time he and Suna Rintarou used to date. Suna was a beta, but he handled Osamu’s heat well enough in those days when Osamu had presented. And it wasn’t like Osamu had a hard time with his heats; they aren’t as consistent and intense as other omegas.

Osamu was a late bloomer, by the way. He hadn’t presented until the first year of university, and everyone, including his parents and himself, thought he was just a beta. Until he proved them wrong. Suna and Osamu had been friends since high school, and Osamu had a small crush on him, too, so it came naturally when they started dating. It went well for a couple of years until Komori Motoya entered the scene. Rintarou and Motoya were on the same team in the V. League. Motoya was a beta, too, it just clicked between them naturally. Osamu didn’t take it to heart when the two of them told him about it, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a bit. Still, he accepted it and stepped aside.

“It's fine, you don’t have to explain to me everything,” he had said to Rintarou, who was looking so guilty as if he had murdered someone. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

And that had been his journey as an omega into adulthood, with no partner to share his heat with. For Osamu, it just didn’t feel like a necessity he couldn’t live without; he had been managing himself pretty well.

Yes, there were occasional whispers of an unsettled omega nearing his 30s behind his back, but that was that. Osamu didn’t give it much thought. Not until—

Until very recently, when his heart was about to start, it brought some unpleasant kinks with it. Nausea, endless cramping of muscles in his body, swollen feet, simmering fever under the surface of his skin, and itchiness on his scent glands and things. They were irritating and kept him on edge all day, every day. He couldn’t even focus on his work and kept snapping at his staff.

So, now that his heat was around the corner, the cramping had begun, fever simmered softly under his collar, and his cheeks had been flushed and warm. Nonetheless, a low chuckle left his lips, thinking about one big boy alpha who was about to call him to remind him that his heat would settle fully in a few hours. All serious and emotionless, yet innocent and caring in his own way. Osamu wondered what he was up to now. They hadn’t met for over five months now. And the talk over the phone remained scarce as the alpha was busy with his matches. Yet, Osamu knew, despite his overtly busy schedule, the call was going to come without missing a second.

When will he come back? Osamu thought, as a complaining pout settled on his lips. Osamu noted to ring Shoyo to get some information about the big boy, if he had any, after going home from this, he eyed the still unorganized counter. Might as well ask the alpha to stay a few days with him. Osamu liked to snuggle against his big, awkwardly stilled body. Always a funny reaction from the alpha. Osamu snickered, thinking about it.

He had planned to close the restaurant and walk home, which was four blocks up from his restaurant, when the doorbell chimed.

Osamu looked up from the counter he was wiping. A middle-aged man who seemed like an office worker peeked inside, with half of his body still out of the door, and was soaked from head to toe in the rainwater outside. The man smiled apologetically, scratching at his nape.

“Are you closing? The lights inside were on, so I thought I could get a serving of dinner,” the man said hesitantly, still not stepping fully inside.

Now that Osamu was getting the full view of the man, it actually came as a surprise how tall the man was. Osamu was pretty tall himself, but the man seemed like a giant in comparison. Must be an alpha, Osamu thought.

He sighed once softly under his breath before replying with a neutral smile on his lips, “We’re closed for the night, mister.”

“Oh, uhm. Can’t I get something to eat? Anything’s fine at this point. I missed dinner in the office, and the cafeteria closed before I could finish my work and go have dinner,” the man explained, still with that hesitant apologetic expression on his face.

Osamu sighed again, then turned his head to the digital clock mounted on the wall, which said 11:32 glaringly to Osamu. He chewed on his bottom lip out of consideration and doubt. It was getting late, but he didn’t want anyone to leave his restaurant empty-stomached ever. So, he nodded after some contemplation. A few balls of onigiris with leftover salmon were an easy whip, guess Osamu could do that at least.

“Alright, come inside, have a seat. I can make you some simple onigiri. Would that work for you?” He replied loudly to the man from behind the counter, removing his counter-cleaning equipment from the countertop.

The man stepped inside, murmuring a soft, “Sorry to bother you at this hour,” under his breath.

Osamu provided him with a spare towel to dry off the water he was dripping on the floor through his soaked clothes.

“Welcome, gimme a few minutes, I’ll get the rice started,” Osamu stated, walking into the kitchen, cracking his neck with a straining twist of his head to release some pressure building there. Osamu hated the shoulder and neck pain the most during his pre-heat cramping; they just didn’t let him do any work as efficiently as he wanted.

Measuring some rice from the cabinet, Osamu washed it in the sink before putting it in the rice cooker, then set the timer carefully. He went to retrieve the leftover salmon from the fridge, along with some onigiri seasonings and nori.

As he was waiting for the rice to be cooked quickly, Osamu peeked from the clear glass panels of the big door separating his kitchen from the bar counter for food serving. To his surprise, the man was watching him too. His narrow eyes were sharply focused on Osamu. As their eyes came into contact, the man gave a smile; his lips were tightly sealed, but stretched from one end of his face to the other. A quiver ran down Osamu’s spine, alerting the tiny hairs on his skin in its wake. A certain kind of tension was creeping up Osamu’s back, as though some invisible being was climbing his back.

Osamu broke eye contact with a shaky exhale, looking over to the rice cooker again, his hand unconsciously reaching up to scratch at his nape again, his scent gland. Feeling the eyes of the man sitting too still at the counter to be considered a living and breathing human, with his hands folded neatly together on top of the counter, as if he were sitting on an interview panel for a conglomerate. Osamu watched through the glass panels. His heart felt suspicious about this man. It was suddenly making Osamu feel uneasy, so he tilted his head again to see the time on the digital wall clock, two minutes shy of hitting 11:45. Alright.

The rice was almost cooked for onigiris; all Osamu had to do was mix the seasonings and shape the onigiris with the nori sheet.

Osamu wasted not one second when the timer on the cooker beeped. He hurriedly got to work, snapping the plastic gloves on. Then he took the rice out to a bigger bowl with a big spoon. Usually, Osamu does all the work on his counter out of the kitchen, but for some reason, all he wanted to do was to finish this as soon as possible and run home. The darkly bubbling pre-heat cramps in his body were not helping him in any way, at all.

“Focus, ya scrub,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, scolding his now trembling hands.

Osamu scanned the ingredients sitting on the counter inside the kitchen, making an effective plan to prepare the onigiris at his top speed without messing anything up, which could lead to more work or extensive cleaning, a hindrance to his way to go home for the night.

He nodded once after mentally checking everything on the counter, before he once again scolded his hands to support him quickly for this. He began making the onigiris.

Hands dipped in water, salt rubbed thoroughly on the palms, a handful of warm, fluffy sesame seed sprinkled rice scooped in the palms, lovely. Now, a spoonful of shredded grilled salmon in the center, and gently but quickly pressing the rice around it in a sweet but bulky triangle shape. Nice. Lastly, a half-sheet of nori wrapped around it, a little more pressing, and that’s it. Oh, yes, a bit of topping with a pinch of shredded salmon again, then a quick check on the man sitting right there—yes, he is. Alright, safe.

Andddd, perfectly done. Now, repeat.

Osamu went over the same processes two more times. Every time he finished wrapping one onigiri, he would peer out the door to check whether the man was in his place or not. Luckily, he was, but his expression hadn’t changed; the creepy smile had crept up even higher on his cheekbones. Wrinkles around his eyes stood out prominently as the man kept smiling at him.

Something was really going on with this man; however, Osamu had no interest in knowing. He just wanted the man out of his restaurant, anyhow, as soon as he could.

So, he hurriedly finished wrapping the fourth onigiri and set it on a plate, then rapidly grabbed the soy dipping sauce from the cabinet, carefully pouring it into a tiny ceramic cup, meticulously placing it beside the onigiris, and finally inhaled in relief. He took the plate out of the door and gingerly presented it to the man.

Anxiety was pooling deep in the bottom of his gut. Osamu felt the dark and dangerously looking eyes of the man on him, and it made him shrink into himself for some reason. Then the strange expression on the man’s face changed—

The man bowed his head once, grinning, muttering, “thank you,” before digging in with a weighty, “itadakimasu.”

Osamu pursed his now chapped lips and nodded in approval, too. However, he kept standing there as the man reached for the chopsticks. Was the man using chopsticks for an onigiri of that size? Well, Osamu tends to make his onigiris big and hearty, so it’s not usual for customers to eat them with chopsticks.

Nonetheless, the man was using the chopsticks and ate the onigiri without the dip. Slowly, very slowly, even though he had earlier claimed that he had missed dinner and was quite hungry. This, was not how a hungry man eats, at this hour.

Then he suddenly stopped, putting the chopsticks down after finishing the first onigiri.

“Can I have some water?” he asked politely. Still, the sudden drop in his already heavy voice scared the soul inside Osamu, so much that it made him flinch violently, quite visibly when the sentence ended and disappeared into the silence of the night, of the empty restaurant.

Why was Osamu behaving like that? It was not like he hadn’t served such a customer. Lots of freaky people come and go from his restaurant, but it never felt this spine-chilling. He blamed the cold fucking rain outside and the almost empty street for creating this eerie atmosphere in the restaurant.

Shaking his head once, Osamu again reprimanded himself for thinking all this nonsense in his monologue.

He nodded instead of voicing his reply, which he was about to do, but he closed his lips before anything came out.

“Of course,” was his only reply before he turned away and went back to the kitchen to retrieve water for the man.

The walk from behind the counter and into the kitchen to the refrigerator was slower than Osamu had ever planned, which he attributed to being cautious. Even back-facing, the man was giving a danger alert in his head, especially back-facing.

Osamu inhaled and exhaled a few times during his walk to the refrigerator, once even glancing back to check whether the man was still seated or not. Well, the man was there with his unhinged smile again, starting on his second onigiri, chewing slower than a snail would crawl. And his strange eyes—they were still on Osamu.

Osamu breathed one last time before calming himself fully. He must be making scenarios in his head, the thought. Maybe the man was just a regular person, one who, unfortunately, missed dinner and was hungry. Maybe Osamu was overthinking all this. Looks could be deceiving, right? People often mistake Osamu for an alpha. Most of his life, he had been approached by omegas and betas, misinterpreting him as an alpha.

He was worrying for nothing. If anything even happens, he can tackle. He is tall, well-built, almost like an alpha. He grew up among alphas. Atsumu is an alpha; his dad is also an alpha, and they raised him like one. Osamu can tackle any danger; he is not afraid of anyone, and he has never been afraid of anyone. There’s no need to fear a man, just because he is an alpha and it’s a late, empty night, alright?

Well, that was one long speech Osamu had ever given himself mentally. Just making up his mind and gathering courage. But it was true, Osamu had been raised among alphas, raised as alphas. He never feared one, so why now?

This paranoia was eating him away, like something was about to happen that he wouldn’t be able to handle. Something truly vicious and irreversible.

However, that was just Osamu’s imagination, wasn’t it? Nothing was going to happen; that man was just a regular customer, definitely not a threat. Osamu was safe, Osamu was safe.

Osamu was safe—

“What’s taking you so long to bring a glass of water?”

Osamu’s spine grew cold as soon as the ghastly, abysmal voice touched the peak of his spine.

Literally touched. Lips, chapped, uncomfortably searing, and hot breath touching Osamu’s spine, right under his pulsating scent gland. A certain feeling of the presence of the man standing right behind him caused a drop low in Osamu’s gut. The water bottle Osamu had taken out from the refrigerator while talking to himself all this time slipped from his grip and tumbled somewhere under the counter beside.

Osamu wanted to make a move, but the shock, the feeling of the man touching him in this way, rendered him immobile.

No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening. Not now, when the pre-heat period had started. Osamu would not deny that he becomes utterly vulnerable, weak, and helpless at this time of the month. His body becomes loose and barely supports him in simple everyday tasks, let alone a dire situation where he had to face some creep so late at night.

Yet, Osamu gathered some courage at once and gave it a try to quickly maneuver around the man and slip away. However, as soon as he tried to move, the man swiftly reached from behind and pinned both of Osamu’s hands flat on the door of the refrigerator. Holding his wrists in a deathly, bruising grip. Osamu was stuck between the appliance and the man, in the corner of his restaurant’s kitchen. Osamu’s breathing picked up pace, erratic by the time his brain fully realised he was in grave danger, his legs had gone leaden underneath him.

“You know? I’ve been watching ya for quite some time now. Always running around this little restaurant of yours, barking orders to your employees. It's cute,” the trembling lips moved on the surface of Osamu’s skin as the man spoke against him, his nose nudging at Osamu’s nape, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Osamu quavered violently in fear, trying to pull his wrists out of the man’s vice-like grip, but to no avail. The alpha’s grip was way too strong for Osamu’s weakened, heat-leden state.

“Let me—go,” he wanted to sound stern, brave, but the voice that left Osamu’s lips was a quivering mess of a sentence from a frightened omega. It sounded more like begging than anything brave and stern.

“Hush, young one. Don’t you make it hard for both of us. Oh, and where was I? Ah—yeah, as I said, I’ve been watching you. Do you have any idea how enticing you are? They say they haven’t seen an omega like you, true. You’re so unique on your own, young, unmated.” Darting his tongue out, the man ran its tip along the surface of Osamu’s nape, leisurely inching toward the now red and flushed scent gland. Osamu’s eyes teared up at the disgusting feeling burning his skin. He bit his lower lip brutally between his teeth, holding the whimper in that, trying to break free from his throat.

He wanted to scream, call for help, but just as the nasty tongue traced a slimy, wet, odious swipe across the scent gland, Osamu lost his breath. It was as if his very soul had been offended, taunted, tainted. The sudden intrusion into his extremely private part of his body caused Osamu to react in self-defense. His brain kept tingling since the man entered the doors of his restaurant earlier; however, now, the alarms are blaring loud and clear. Having his self-defense instinct activated, Osamu gave his all to elbow the man behind him and dash away.

However.

The movements immediately backfired. The man tightened his hold on Osamu’s wrist and pushed forward with all his strength, yet effortlessly. Osamu’s head slammed on the cold surface of the refrigerator with a noisy bang, followed by his whole body being mercilessly pushed against the refrigerator, leaving no space between the man’s huge body and Osamu’s slightly smaller one compared to the man.

The man growled under his breath authoritatively, sounding wildly agitated, “Do not fucking try to pull shit against me, omega. I will not remain gentle forever.”

The man leaned into Osamu’s ear as a pitiful cry left the omega’s lips, “Let me go, please. Why’re you even doing this with me?”

“Hush, what’re you crying for? What did I even do? Calm down, dear omega, calm down. You smell like burnt wood and cacao now, nothing like how your heat was smelling a moment ago. Sweet—nope, seductive base of chocolate, and what is it? A gentle smudge of patchouli over it?”

Osamu’s natural scent had a speck of ylang-ylang, a tiny dust of patchouli, and a hint of vanilla, all layered over chocolate, something Atsumu and his parents had told him years ago. Although it usually remains on the surface of his skin and is roughly detectable, it tends to intensify during his heat. Aran-kun and Kita-san once said that they could smell Osamu from half a kilometer from the start of his pre-heat till the end of the actual heat period. It's like the scent bleeds through Osamu’s body, flawlessly, uncontrollably, during the heat period.

And Osamu usually used cover patches during his heat, but why he didn’t do it this time was a question he’d remain forever regretful for.

Osamu felt the middle of his forehead throbbing where it had been smashed against the refrigerator door. However, the striking cold of the metallic surface appeared assuring and softer than the unsolicited heat of the hard-on of the alpha standing behind him, heavily resting on the lower part of Osamu’s back. It felt impossibly hard, and heated even through Osamu’s clothes, separating the thing from skin.

Osamu was feeling extremely dizzy; his brain had shut down the moment the man pressed on him, leaving his limbs numb and limp, like jelly. So, when the alpha let go of one of Osamu’s hands, Osamu didn’t even notice the chance to break free and do something against this alpha to save himself. Osamu was too far gone to react in any way.

The man might have released one of Osamu’s hands, but he made sure that the omega remained pressed and unmoving under him; he had been leaning almost all his heavy body weight on Osamu. He made sure that the omega knew what he was craving and how easy it was for the alpha to pin him down and take what he wanted.

So, with a vile sneer, the despicable man slid his free hand on Osamu’s waist, giving it a firm squeeze to feel the heated skin and heat-widened hips. Then, at a slow, agonizing pace, feeling every twitch, every desperate attempt to break free, he moved his hand toward Osamu’s front, sliding it under the hem of the omega’s shirt, now soaked with panic sweat. Placing the big palm right below the navel, exactly half a centimeter above Osamu’s jeans’ waistband, right where the heat had been pooling since the beginning of his pre-heat, now a bubbling, boiling liquidity there, trying to burst its way out like scalding lava. The man’s pinky finger nudged the edge of the waistband, one knuckle crawling under.

Osamu thrashed and wailed loudly this time as the alpha pressed his heated palm there, resulting in the alpha growling lowly and smashing Osamu on the refrigerator again. This time, he did it so mercilessly that Osamu’s limbs went completely limp and useless on his sides from the impact. Osamu almost fainted there and was entirely at the mercy of this man.

“Stop. fucking. moving, you bitch. Stop fucking moving, don’t act like you don’t want it, like you haven’t gone around without your heat patches on, smelling so sinful here in the middle of a busy road, seducing every alpha out there. Like, you don’t want your womb to be filled, to be bred full.” The man hit his hand hard on the refrigerator door, right beside Osamu’s head, as he sneered gruffly in his ear. A slightly deep dent formed on the metal where he punched it.

Tears slid down the side of Osamu’s reddened face as he whimpered, “No, no, I’ve never asked for it. I never—”

“Quiet down. Now, either you cooperate and we both get what we want, or I can help myself in my own way,” as soon as he said this, the man once again slid his hand under Osamu’s shirt, tracing his way up this time, his other hand still firmly holding Osamu’s wrist against the metal door of the huge kitchen appliance whirring softly, lifelessly under Osamu’s chest.

Osamu hated his body for not supporting him in this critically dangerous situation, for getting limp and unable to fight back. He hated being an omega all his life, but it had never been this costing before.

Sniffing the fear reeking of Osamu, the alpha felt his dick jump in excitement under the waistband of his pants. He cackled mirthfully, dipping his head back. “That’s quite a lovely scent wafting off you, dear. You’ve kept me in your hold for a long time. I watch you every day, but you’re always surrounded by people—alphas. Especially that celebrity brother of yours. Twins, right? Quite a rare born pair, an alpha and an omega. It must be luck that was bestowed upon me by the gods themselves that I caught you just before your heat, fated, I must say.”

The alpha nudged his nose to Osamu’s dark, sweat-damp hair, tracing down to his temple, slowly, savouringly. He released a flood of synthetic musk oil, willingly letting it pour from his glands until Osamu was completely drenched in his scent.

It suffocated Osamu, making him unable to breathe, filling and choking his lungs. Osamu gasped open his mouth for air, but pressed like that in a corner of a dark room against a hard, metallic appliance with so much weight on his back, he was losing his breath.

Osamu’s heart took an erratic pace as the man’s hand inched toward the top of his chest under his shirt, so much so that he could feel his heart thumping in his throat and the sound of blood flow echoing in his eardrums.

Osamu’s chest gets slightly swollen and tender in the heat more than his usually measured pectorals. Even a feather-light touch causes a harsh reaction.

So when the man brushed the tip of his finger on one protuberant nipple, Osamu’s whole body fiercely jolted as if a high-voltage electric shock ran through his body, before it shut down the very next moment. Osamu fell pliant in the man’s tight hold.

At this point, Osamu had lost half of his consciousness, and his head was throbbing dully where it had been injured after getting smashed against the refrigerator twice. He was drenched in a pathetic, vicious-smelling scent that he didn’t prefer close to him in such a vulnerable period of his biological cycle. All he could do was pray and plead before the alpha to spare him.

“Plea—se, mister, let me go. Please.” Osamu whispered, his lips barely opening at this point. He chanted over and over again, “I don’t want this, no, I don’t want this. Let me go, let me go, please. I never asked for this.”

The alpha scoffed, and he sniggered arrogantly, before licking a long, achingly slow swipe across the back of Osamu’s neck, on the reddened, puffy, heating scent gland.

“I promise, it’ll be over soon. My wife and children must be waiting for me at home, too. You just have to cooperate a little, omega,” the man muttered against Osamu’s temple, his heated breath caressing Osamu’s skin in ways the omega didn’t want.

Hopeless was what Osamu felt at the moment. If only he were in better condition, this man would’ve at least been slashed by one of Osamu’s kitchen knives. This fucking heat had made him vulnerable in a moment he otherwise could’ve handled on a normal day. If anything, Osamu would’ve made a run and called the police. He wouldn’t have let a fucking old alpha pin him down and assault him in the middle of the night in his own restaurant.

Still, having all odds against him, Osamu once again tried to break free, bracing his palms on the surface of the refrigerator for leverage. He pushed his entire weight back, pushing the alpha off him in the process.

There was a moment in which a little space formed by his sweating effort. Osamu didn’t think about the consequences before he elbowed the alpha on his side with all the strength he could accumulate at the moment, causing the alpha to loosen the grip on his wrist. Osamu yanked his hand away from the alpha and ran toward the door like his life depended on it. Well, it did at the moment.

Osamu was able to successfully cross through the kitchen door to the main dining area of the restaurant.

However.

He never made past it—through the front door. Osamu skidded as his left ankle twisted under him, sending him down on the cold brown wood floor. Before he could reach halfway to the front door, Osamu was tackled to the floor by the now enraged alpha.

The alpha wrestled him down while Osamu kept struggling, kicking, flailing, and crying, but to no avail. A sound slap rang in Osamu’s ears, throwing his head to the right. Felt like his jaw had been dislocated by the brutal impact. Osamu was stunned; his tear-clumped lashes fluttered twice as he tried to see through his blurry vision. The alpha was straddling his waist by this point, and both of Osamu’s wrists were twisted at an angle that should never have been possible to be formed by normal bone. A stinging, fiery ache pulsed on his right wrist as if there had a crack had formed, while the left one throbbed with a certain implication of sprain.

One more slap cracked down against the same cheek with the same impact, as the alpha heaved, growled under his gritted teeth, “How dare you motherfucking bitch.”

This time, the alpha didn’t wait for any more talk and warnings; he grabbed the front of Osamu’s shirt and pulled, tearing the soft cotton fabric to shreds, exposing his flushed, lightly but prominently swollen chest to the cold night air, under the blinding white light adorning the ceiling of the restaurant.

This vision will be Osamu’s nightmare for a lifetime.

The man leaned forward and grabbed Osamu’s neck, squeezing his fist around it slowly. Osamu flailed and thrashed under the weight of the alpha as much as he could, but with both his wrists in one of the alpha’s grip, only his legs could make some movements, small, insignificant movements that were no help to him.

As the alpha’s fist got tighter around his neck, Osamu’s mouth was forced open, gasping for air. The man leaned in and shoved his viscous tongue into Osamu’s open mouth. The thick, wet piece of muscle waggled disgustingly inside, suckling, tasting, then humming in satisfaction. The alpha smirked against Osamu’s forced-open lips.

Osamu’s internal system crashed as the ceiling lights bleared his vision behind the corner of the man’s head, like a halo. A sole tear slipped from the corner of his left eye, his whole struggle stopped abruptly, and his limbs went cold and unresponsive. All the fight left his body hopelessly.

That’s when it happened.

One moment, the lack of oxygen choked his lungs red, the next moment, chilly air rushed into his windpipe, traveling down his lungs at the speed of a Shinkansen surging toward its decided destination.

The weight straddling his waist was gone in the blink of an eye, wrenched away like a rag being pulled carelessly from a clothesline.

The last thing Osamu saw through his blurry, dark orbs was the man who was attacking him lying on the floor across the room, and an even taller person was towering over him. And the cool fragrance of vetiver gingerly sprayed with water, with a hint of perky basil, filled Osamu’s burning lungs, soothing them down immediately, before he lost consciousness.