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uzurimisery · 5 months ago

Text

bite the hand that feeds. / naoya zenin / nsfw

Warnings: MDNI, Naoya Zenin is a warning, misogyny, secondary sex discrimination, physical violence, rough sex, degradation, a/b/o, biting, blood, BDSM, dub to noncon, use of slick, forced consumption of bodily fluids, talk of impregnation and baby trapping, lactation kink, sadism and masochism, spanking, threats of domestic violence, objectification, maybe body horror, dear god please practice RACK irl

w.c: 7.5k (shes juicy)

A/N: baby's first omegaverse! my (very) late entry into the wonderful @goxjo's Into the Omegaverse Collab

The rhythmic patter of zori against the courtyard bridge banged in your mind, each strike sharp and precise like a taiko drum—warning of impending doom that faces your lady. Married off into the Zenin clan under a clear blue sky, the breeze ruffling her dangling kanzashi. Everything about her looked perfect today, you had ensured it. Despite being your cousin, there was a world of difference between you as she strode forward, back straight, umbrella held by another attendant. Her every move was slow and steady, pronounced grace and elegance in every movement.

It was easier to be from a branch family like you were—less pressure, less conformity, at least to a certain degree. While you had been at least allowed to attend jujutsu training until you presented, she had been given the basics of controlling her technique. Never stepping a foot outside of the family compound.

It felt like the tsubo-niwa felt like it went on forever. The stretch between the bridge’s end and the open shoji doors where the meeting would take place going on like the desert. The air between heavy, hot and humid, weight down the fabric of your kimono.

It was easier being from a branch family. You could bow and prostrate, low and deep as your aunt had whipped into you, the cedar marks still faint against the back of your thighs. The scars almost faded, silvery lines, chain linked together through opposition, personal rebellion where you could. You could then sit, your posture picture perfect, eyes kept low to the ground, breathe calmly, and let the men speak. You could retreat into yourself, the memories of how the sun felt against your bare arms during training, the tan you’d get from the hours of running drills. The peace using your cursed technique brought.

The peace and solitude of those moments had felt so pure. So freeing. But clan expectations changed everything. If only you had presented as a beta.

The cicadas buzzed a drone against the conversation. The clan head was appraising your cousin, speaking directly to your uncle. Wanting to know every important detail about her. How consistent her heats were, what her last blood work showed, and how likely was her technique to be passed down over the Zenin family. It had always been like this here, omegas being cattle. Traded, bartered, bred. You’d be luckier than her, likely married to someone of less importance. Your value was lower than hers with a mistake from your youth. Perhaps he’d be kind, come to care for you over time.

Maybe he’d let you train again, show you favor if you gave him an heir. You had made peace with the fact freedom, true freedom, would never come until you died or the death and destruction of your entire clan.

Maybe one day everything would go up in flames, and a great fire would roar over the compound, scorching the earth. Erasing the clan from history. Maybe a curse so powerful would come and consume everything in its wake. Maybe you should just run away, flee from Japan altogether. There were sorcerers abroad, maybe you could join their ranks. Be free from how they operate here. Or maybe you would run away and rebuke sorcery.

Clove, rich and warm, scented the air as another man walked into the meeting room. His voice was low, steps heavy.

Master Zenin introduced him as Naoya. His scent was distinctive, with notes of sandalwood underneath. It was spiced and smelt like comforting winter nights as the snow fell on pine trees. Holidays with your parents when your father was still alive. Both soothing and invigorating. It seemed to draw you in. Never before had a scent captivated you so strongly.

The dread you had felt crossing the bridge grew stronger, the animal instincts inside you screaming at you to run, and to run far. Run before he could catch you.

Peeking over your lash line, you caught his eyes, dark brown and full of hatred, directed straight at you. Scrutiny crawling over your skin, climbing up through the arms of your kimono and wrapping around your heart, squeezing it tightly. He looked at you as meat, stock to breed. Your eyes quickly returned to staring at the floor.

You had heard tales of him before, of all the Zenins, but experiencing it was a different story.

“Naoya, this is Hiroko Kimura.” Naobito spoke plainly as if your cousin was another thing to buy at the store. As if he was deciding between brands of butter.

From the corner of your vision, you watched as your cousin prostrated before him, kanzahi jingling as it hit the ground. Her father bows in suit, not nearly as low, saved by being an elder even if he was from a lesser family. Hiroko gave her greetings softly, speaking of how grateful she was to meet him. She was pumping out pheromones as she went, her scent permeating the air. The clash of clove and honey made you feel sick, the smell sticky as it crept around, spread by the breeze.

He acknowledged her briefly, with no real interest or care as he returned her greeting.“What’s the one behind her.”

You knew he spoke of you sat five feet behind your cousin, now desperately trying to refrain from shrinking into the floods of your blue ougi-patterned kimono. To keep your pheromones from leaking out, to not scent the air with fear.

“That is my daughter’s handmaiden, my brother’s daughter.” Your uncle introduced you to Naoya, shifting all the attention in the room to you. “She’s to continue her duties until a suitable mate is arranged for her.”

Naobito hummed as he now turned to look over you. The weight of everyone's gaze was heavy on you. If it had been a different time and place, you had led a different life, perhaps it wouldn't have felt like the end of the world but you knew the attention of the room, of the marriage meeting, being on you was far from good.

Naoya walked towards you, his presence looming, getting so close you could see his cloth-covered feet nearly touching your knees as you stared down at them. The soft fabric a sharp contrast to the dread pooling in your stomach. Maybe god would be merciful and cause lightning to strike the house, distract everyone, and allow you to escape. But god was not merciful, not kind, nor caring. No one was there to hear your prayers.

“Smells good,” he crouched before you, cornering you without any way out behind you. He left you with no escape route. “Look at me.”

His voice dripped with authority, command, and control, your instincts forcing you to comply. Instincts overriding fear, forcing your eyes to meet his own sharp brown eyes. Something in you felt like it was pulling you towards him, screaming at you to go to him. That he was the answer to your problems. That he’d take care of you.

He looked over you, his gaze filled with an unsettling intensity making you instinctively shrink as he looked for flaws or dents, something that might detract from your value. It was strange. To be appraised not as a person but as an object by him.

The silence stretched on as he did so, no one speaking for the first few minutes. Everyone was waiting to see what he would say — if he would say anything. But as his silent appraisal continued, the conversation returned between the elder alphas in the room as they discussed the latest in sorcery. No one cared that his stare was lecherous, undressing you as you sat there poised and politely. The front of your ankles burned from the strain.

Naoya’s hand went to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands you had to patiently worked into an appropriate style for such an important meeting, before tugging your head to the side with enough force to make you wince. A whine escaped you, feeble, the omega within you desperate to appease him. To desperately try and salvage something to diffuse the undercurrent of rage and entitlement radiating off of him

It was hard to keep your eyes trained on him as he instructed, it felt nearly impossible. The trained reaction of avoiding confrontation, battling with the fear of displeasing him, and looking away only making the situation worse. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat feeling closer and closer to bursting through your chest as he leaned forward, weight in the balls of his feet, face uncomfortably close to your neck. To your scent glands.

Warm, wet muscle brushed against them, tasting the skin. A soft moan fell from your lips as you could feel every individual taste bud of his tongue as he lapped at your neck.

Embarrassment, mortification-shame dancing along your spine as the room stilled again. Everyone had heard you but no one chose to comment. It was clear Naoya was staking his claim on you. Why would anyone care what he was doing to an omega, especially one with no status? It was his birthright as an alpha. The spices in his scent made your eyes sting with how close he was now, like little pinpricks on your skin.

Each passing swipe of his tongue swirled in your belly, warm and shimmering. Molten lava began to creep freely through your veins, replacing all the blood as you desperately held on to composure. Your nerve endings all thrummed in time with your heart, sending pulsing jolts of electricity everywhere at once. Your throat scratched, your mouth dry, like all the moisture in your body was moving to gather and pool at your core.

You had seen alphas doing similar things. Scenting unclaimed omegas, testing just how much they could get away with. It was taboo if you were a normal functioning member of society, but when it came to the great families, it was a free game. Never did you think you would have to endure such treatment in front of your family.

“You taste good omega,” Naoya’s teeth scraped against your skin, teasing at a bite, a gasp leaving you. The sensation was both terrifying and strangely intimate. “Like cherries and cinnamon.”

He moved your head again, this time forcing eye contact with you. The hand not wrapped in your hair crossed over your features. He started at the top of your head, tracing the perimeter of your hairline with his thumbs, pressing in slightly at your temple before moving on to your eyes, your eyelids fluttering shut as he brushed over them. Then he took to your cheekbones, running his thumb parallel to the curve of them before sliding down to your jaw behind your ear. He followed your jawline all the way to your chin before his thumb brushed your lips, smudging the lipstick that had been put on you to ensure your attire was appropriate for today's meeting. You could feel his eyes never leaving you, dark and filled with desire and dominance.

“Open.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his instantly. He tapped against your bottom lip, a command you couldn’t ignore.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” His tone was sardonic, dripping with condescension. It didn’t matter if you were or weren’t. It only mattered what he thought and that you were an omega.

“Open.” This time, you knew to part your lips.

Naoya’s thumb traced over the ridges of your teeth, pressing in against your canines hard enough that the sharp edges cut the flesh of his finger. Copper explodes on your tongue, the metallic tang filling your senses. He didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed his thumb flush with your tongue, pressing down to force your jaw open wider.

Behind him the conversation continued to drone on, a forgone hum overpowered by the visceral reality of Naoya’s touch. He poked and prodded you with near clinical detachment. If he wasn’t leaking pheromones betraying just how excited he was to get his hands out, maybe you could believe it. A dispassionate facade only worked well if the scent of his arousal didn’t mix with the metallic taste in your mouth that left you reeling.

“Kimura-san she’s your niece right?” Naoya’s voice cut through the dull hum of the background, clear and sharp.

Your uncle lazily glanced over at the spectacle Nayo had made of you. His eyes were half-lidded and uninterested as you sat as still as possible. Your hair was half taken out of its style, no longer held up by the pins and clips that secured it. Now the only thing keeping the rest in place was Naoya’s grip. The lipstick you had so carefully applied was now smeared, and your kimono pushed down from his lapping at your neck like a wild dog.

Your uncle didn’t even speak, just gave an affirmative nod before taking a drag from his pipe. The scent of tobacco makes your eyes sting. His nonchalance was chilling. You were only a bargaining piece for him.

“So nothing changes between us if I pick her, right?”

You saw your cousin's shoulders relax, relief snapping the string of tension in her as she realized she would be free of this duty. No longer forced to marry and mate a man with the reputation of a monster. The chains of fate, instead, were passed to you. The metal pulled taught, the chains left to rust from the blood that you’d spill from your heart as they wrapped tight around it, squeezing.

“That’s correct,” your uncle’s tone was impassive as always. “If you want both, however, we’d need to renegotiate.”

“I just want the one.”

The lock clicked into place, the chains now permanently attached to you. The view out the open shoji screen was so peaceful as you looked over at it. The sky stretched on, endlessly blue with faint spatterings of clouds. Serene and beautiful. A single sparrow flitted by, streaking across the sky. Its wings spread wide as it glided through the air. The birdsong chirped joyfully.

An arrow shot through the sky striking the bird.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The wedding had been a large affair, filled with laughter and celebration, but none you felt privy too. Soft strains of a koto fill the hall. But no one focused on the young omega sitting at the head of the table, kimono splayed out, surrounding you in a vermillion sea. The grandiosity of the fabric and its patterns made you feel ridiculous, like a dress-up doll. Naoya had picked it out. The obi felt too tight against your stomach, digging into your ribs. They had tied it tighter than normal to keep you from eating too much. There was no reason for them to do so, you already felt sick to your stomach. It churned over and over like the waves crashing against the coast, the tide coming in and out.

Naoya was seated on your right, his legs spread wide, thigh hitting against yours. The warmth of his body seeped through the wall of fabric between the two of you. Even like this, it was like you could feel his skin against yours.

He had kept you close since the ceremony ended, scenting you every few minutes. Possession in his every move. Sometimes a low growl rumbled from his chest, warning anyone who might think to approach you.

He had already placed a few small nips near your scent gland as well, edging you out of when he’d actually claim you. Each bite sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that pooled in your core. Your body reacted to him in a way that had never happened before.

“Congratulations Naoya.” It was your uncle, bowing deeply to the two of you. Behind him, your mother also bowed. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of unseen burdens. You knew she regretted bringing you back to the family after your father’s death. That she felt she had sealed you to this fate.

You could see the dark bags under her eyes when she rose. They had been a permanent feature since your father’s passing and you're presenting as an omega, but now they were so much worse. Your neck felt tight, breathing strained, as you looked at her hands and remembered the feeling of them wrapping around your throat. She smelt like baby lotion still.

“Thank you Kimura-san.” You could taste the satisfaction on his tongue.

“Naturally. I’m sure your union will bring about the finest sorcerers of a generation,” despite the congratulations of his words, your uncle's tone was flat as always. Uninterested and just going through the motions.

Naoya brushed his fingers over the shell of your ear, down the back of it, pinching the lop between his fingers. “I’m sure we will.”

The two exchanged a few more words before your uncle and mother returned to their table. Her eyes met yours for a few fleeting moments, filled with sorrow and helplessness. As she walked away, her back slumped, as if the weight of her guilt and regret was physically pushing down on her. You watched her go, the distance between you feeling insurmountable as Naoya’s touch lingered on your skin.

Several rounds of people came around, giving their congratulations until it was time for another course of food. The noise of their chatter and the general crowd sounded so distant like you were hearing it through a glass cupped over your ears. Your own body felt lost to you, afloat and detached. As if you were watching all of this happen from afar, a mere spectator in your own life. The weight of the ceremony pressed down, deep into your bones, making every movement feel laborious. Faces blurred together—smiles, sneers, looks of pity and envy— all merging into an indistinguishable mass. The red of your kimono grew duller as the minutes passed, a vinaigrette appearing on the edges of your vision as the walls seemed to close in on you. The rich, fatty scent of the meat was overpowering. Overwhelming.

You felt Naoya speaking against your skin but could barely register it. It was only when his hand touched the back of your neck that everything snapped into focus again. The tensing was involuntary, your body’s memory reacting for you.

This was the closest to being alone with Naoya you had gotten despite the hall being full. There was no one next to the two of you. No one’s attention on you.

“You’re pretty docile,” Naoya remarks, his voice low.

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing hard. Part of you wanted to recoil away from his touch. To untie your obi and run out through the shoji. To break through them and flee.

“I know my place.” you pause, determining if it was worth it to test the waters. “What would you do if I was to act out, Alpha.”

“Strike you.” He spoke as if it was natural, obvious as if discussing the weather. His hand tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck, a reminder of his control. There was finality in his words that you had come to know and expect from the Alphas of the great families.

There was nothing more fitting than a disobedient omega beneath him, a deep-seated belief that it was what they deserved. In their world, an alpha’s omega was theirs to treat and punish as they saw fit. The chain of tradition held fast, a rigid framework trapping you. This was your life. There was no escaping it unless you died. Any rebellion, no matter how small, would have consequences.

“Of course, Alpha. You know best.” It sounded like your voice was coming from another person, made soft and pliant. Your pitch raised slightly. All efforts you could make to seem less threatening and more agreeable. Like you were glad to be under his thumb.

He liked that, a smirk quirking up the side of his mouth. His hand released your neck to trace down your forehead, mockingly soft and gentle. “Well, aren’t you a charmer? If you’re well-behaved, maybe I’ll reward you, Omega, just be the good little bitch you are.”

“May I be so bold?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You may.”

“I would ask of you to allow me to continue to practice my curse technique so that I may be of the utmost service to you.”

The request hung in the air, your heart pounding as you waited for his response. His expression was unreadable.

“I’ll consider it,” he replied, tone dismissive.

“Thank you. Alpha,” you dropped low to present before him, back curved, the words bitter on your tongue. “I will follow your guidance happily.”

His smirk widened into a full-blown, maniacal grin. The shine in his eyes reminded you of teasing death. Cold and unwavering, a chill down your spine. A laugh broke out of him, more of a bark if anything. Wicked in every sense.

“Good god,” he patted the top of your head and pulled you up from your position by your chin. “Keep this up and I might let you give me a son.”

He leaned in to kiss you. His lips were soft against your own. Surprising as you expected them to be rough. It was possessive, a mark of ownership, as the hand on your jaw squeezed down, forcing you to open your mouth.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Being married to him was one thing, but being marked by him was another. Once the mark was made, it’d take years of rejecting it before it could go away. It made divorce, as shameful as it was, look easy. It wasn’t something that you’d ever be granted; your uncle would kill you before permitting it, but it was in the realm of possibility. With the feast ended and the two of you alone in his wing of the house, the full weight of everything came crashing down on you.

You shifted, an uneasy pit in your stomach, the temperature of the room made you feel clammy, the dark green futon pillowing under your weight, as Naoya sat behind you. One hand was up in your hair, undoing the pins one by one. Each dropped into a bowl on the ground, tiny silver pieces raining down, ringing against the ceramic. It seemed he had a thing for hair, taking the strands and wrapping them around his fingers, giving each a slight tug that you could feel at the base of your skull.

His other hand moved to untie your obi, the relief instant as it dropped away. It felt like you could finally breathe fully again, greedy lungs taking in large gulps of air. Your ribs would likely have some bruising from just how tight they’d done the obi for the wedding. His hands crept up the length of your left arm, pressure applied as if feeling your outline, before sliding his hand under the fold of your kimono and grabbing your breast.

"Just relax," he whispered, his breath hot, fanning over your skin. His nose brushed your ear as he leaned in closer, lips nearing your neck. You couldn’t help but to tense.

His teeth sank into your scent gland, and the pain that followed was indescribable. Naoya’s canines were large and sharp. You had seen them every time he spoke or smiled. Pearlescent white panes gleamed in the light, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of them piercing your skin. It was like a branding iron searing into your skin, burning the flesh and charring your skin. Your limbs turn to stone, trembling uncontrollably as every muscle in your body tensed, released, and tensed again in waves.

Your skin felt clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body and your mind struggled to process the sensation. There was slickness pooling between your legs. The mark was spurring on a heat, your body acting in its most primal way.

“Stop it hurts” You cry out, voice wobbling from the fear and pain, body contorting violently, instinctively, trying to escape from him.

Naoya smacks your breast with a force that leaves a handprint instantly against your skin. He bites down harder, teeth sinking even deeper in, the wound tearing open even wider as you writhe around. Finally, a white-hot flash of pleasure begins to course through you, biology taking its hold. It goes from nerve-splitting pain to a warm wash of arousal in a second. Blinking feels like minutes.

He pulled back from your neck, eyes feral, brow furrowed in a savage expression. Blood stains his mouth. It pools around his lips and paints them a brilliant scarlet, before trailing down in a rivulet that snakes past his chin, down his neck, and into the folds of his yukata.

“Never tell me what to do again. Do you understand?” His voice is a growl, low and menacing, as his grip tightens on your breast, twisting it to emphasize his point. As if the authority in his voice wasn’t enough.

You whine, unable to bear his disapproval, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gasping, you nuzzle against his neck. He smells so good. Spice cloves, sandalwood, and cedar on a winter’s night. “I’ll be good.”

He lowers his head again, lips curled in a cruel grin, fangs bared. His voice drips with a mix of menace and satisfaction as he whispers, “Now, relax.”

This time, you force yourself to comply, doing your best to let your body go limp. It works better than before. Despite the fear you feel towards him, arousal pumps through your veins. A flood of endorphins courses through them, making every touch cause your skin to tingle and send waves of pleasure straight to your core. It makes your head spin and your limbs heavy. Your skin prickles with a heat that feels almost unbearable, making you itch with a desperate need for release.

It's too hard to keep your eyelids open; they are far too heavy, but you don’t trust Naoya enough to close them. What would he do if you closed them? Your blood feels thick like syrup, molasses sluggishly pulsing. A moan escapes your lips, low, breathy, and drawn out, that pitches into a whine as Naoya releases his grip on your neck and licks the wound closed with rough strokes of his tongue. He swirls the tip around each puncture wound, dipping the tip into it before doing so to the next.

“See? If you had just listened, it would have been this good from the start,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, mocking caress. He pinches your nipple sharply. Your head lolls against his chest, too heavy to hold up.

“Oh ho ho,” he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body. “Someone’s going into heat.”

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as Naoya manhandles you. He tilts your head to the other side. The top half of your kimono is completely off, leaving your skin exposed to the cold, biting air of his room. Sweat beads on every inch of your skin. You struggle to keep your eyes from closing, fighting the overwhelming sensations that flood your body. You feel Naoya’s teeth graze against your other scent gland, the sharp sting of his teeth scraping against the skin but he doesn’t bite down.

Instead, he laps and laps and laps at your neck, his tongue moving in languid, deliberate strokes as if devouring an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Whimpers flow out of you like water from a stream, and your pussy flutters around nothing.

Naoya squeezes you roughly, his hands greedily exploring your body. His touch is rough and demanding, large hands groping at your curves like he’s a man starved for flesh as he fondles your breasts, squeezing your nipples, making them stand erect from the stimulation. He likes you gasps and whines, the fat of your breasts squishing under the expanse of his hands as he toys with them. Likes the heft of them, meaty and heavy, makes him growl low in the back of his throat in approval. He can picture them swelling with milk that would nourish his heir and make them strong. He’d sample the source, suckle straight from your teat, and make sure his heifer was quality.

“My little breeding bitch,” he murmurs, his voice dark.

Naoya’s hand slips down your front, his fingers finding the slick pool of arousal in your pussy. He pumps a finger in, meeting no resistance, then slides in a second easily, your pussy oh so inviting.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me already.” He chuckles, the wet squelch of your pussy sounding out with each movement of his fingers. “Such a desperate little whore. I bet you can’t wait to feel my knot, hmm? Say it.”

Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth, the effort to speak almost insurmountable, speech slurred and your words mumbled. His impatience manifests in a swift, sharp strike to your clit, making you cry out in a mix of pain and anticipation. Through the haze, you manage to speak.

“I can’t wait to feel your knot,” you manage to gasp out, biting the tip of your tongue in the process. It swells fat.

It's been so long since you’d had a heat. Suppressants had been shoved onto you after your first one almost nine years ago. You don’t remember this first stage of preheat being so delirious, so inconsistent, so in control and out of it as you lean back against him and let him fondle your breasts.

His fingers feel divine as they pump in and out of you, accompanied by a scissoring motion that sends shivers down your spine. The feeling is almost enough to distract you from the rough way he's pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. He pulls at them like he doesn’t care if it hurts, like he wants it to hurt, and it does.

Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, your body moving on it as you chase your high. Whimpers fall from your lips, needy desperate cries that only egg on his treatment towards you. He likes you like this, all whiny and under his palm.

With a rough tug, he pushes the rest of your kimono off, leaving you bare and vulnerable against his fully clothed body. His hands are slick with your arousal, glistening fingers curled into you and smearing moisture down his forearm as you shamelessly use his hand for your pleasure. Your knees ache from the position, thighs straining with each thrust of your hips, muscles trembling on the edge of release. It's so close that the edge of your vision goes black as you tilt ever so slightly forward, and then it happens.

Your orgasm rips through you, your whole body locks, walls clenching around his fingers as you come crashing down. A flood of slick spills out, drenching the futon beneath you. The sage green is now a deep forest green, damp and warm to the touch from how much came out of you. It’s hard to breathe, chest heaving as you try to suck in the air.

"Messy bitch. Look at what you've done," Naoya tsks at you, even as you jerk in his arms you can tell he’s less angry and more amused by it. With a push, he sends you forward, your front pressing into the wet spot, his fingers sliding out of your pussy. "Clean it up," he orders, his voice dripping with command.

It takes a long moment to catch your breath, to remember how to be a person and move, but you grab the edge of your kimono to pat dry the area when Naoya smacks the globe of your ass.

“Not with that.”

You stare at the spot for a second. If not the kimono there was only one other thing that could be it.

You begin to kitten lick at your slick. It's egregiously sweet, like a potent concentrate of your scent amplified to an overwhelming degree. The flavor makes your stomach turn, threatening to gag you with its intensity. You’ve no idea how any alpha enjoys the flavor this much.

Naoya's gaze never strays from you as he begins to undress, his movements lazy and relaxed. He’s enjoying the show, reducing you to this. Rising to his feet, he pads across the room to hang his yukata on a nearby stand. He only breaks eye contact with you for the brief moment it takes to drape his garment properly. Your wedding kimono, three times the price of his own, is lying in a pile near you on the floor.

Even with his back turned, you don't stop licking up the puddle of slick. Your tongue scrapes softly against the futon, gathering the lingering wetness to swallow down with a quiet gag. The only sound in the room is your tongue against the fabric and your soft breathing.

A soft, small smile on his face when he looks at you next. His inner Alpha is pleased you’ve kept at your assigned task without being told to. His cocks hard, uncut and dribbling pre-cum, knot starting to swell at the base, eyes going over the curve of your back, the globes of your ass in the air, and the continuous trail of simmering slick dripping out of your needy hole.

He closed the distance, cock bobbing with each step. Dropping to one knee, one hand comes to rest on the meat of your ass, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to push your chest further into the futon. The fabric rubs uncomfortably against your hardened nipples.

For a moment he just sits there, massaging the meat of your ass before his fingers sink in, hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. Then, without warning, he reels back, from the corner of your eye you see his shoulder muscles tense before his arm is launched forward, palm connecting with your ass in a volatile crack that rings out in the room. Pain explodes a hot white.

“Count them,” he orders with a smile as you begin to cry.

"One," you gasp out, the word a struggle to form.

His palm connects again, the blow landing a little higher on your cheek.

"Two."

The next strike comes before you can fully process the previous, his hand falling in a swift, merciless rhythm.

"Three."

"Four." The word is a sob this time, the pain starting to overwhelm.

The fifth smack seems to sting more than the first three, the imprint of his wedding ring starting to dig in. You can feel the metal biting into your skin, a cool counterpoint to the burning heat.

"F-five."

He stops for a moment to collect slick on his fingers. “Fucking filthy slut. I knew you’d be one.” Naoya smears the slick over the burning heat of your ass, his tone approving despite what he says.

"Six," you manage, the word a broken gasp.

The next smack seems to shatter the air, his hand coming down with renewed force.

"Seven."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, vision starting to blur. But you keep counting.

"Eight."

"Nine."

The final blow lands, his palm cracking down.

"Ten."

You collapse forward, your body spent and trembling. The humiliation of being treated like this, reduced to a mere object, burns through you. What makes it worse is how desperately your body craves him, even as your heartbeat hammers in your ass and tears stream down your face, snot bubbling at your nose. The omega in you wants nothing more than to please him, to make him happy. You need to make him happy, so he'll know you, claim you as his own.

Biology was a curse.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" His voice is low, rough with dominance. Oh, how it hurt to hear him so mad at you. Why was he so mad at you?

Your mind races, trying to answer the question. "No?"

"You came without permission. Are you going to do that again?" There's a warning in his tone, a promise of punishment if you disobey again.

"No." The word escapes your lips, a whispered promise of submission. You whine for him, lower into yourself, pheromones reeking of just how sorry you are.

Naoya's hand tightens in your hair, pulling your chest off the futon, forcing your back into an arch. Your muscles tremble with the strain, too exhausted from the heat to sustain such a position for long. A whine builds in your throat, begging him to finally take you, to knot you, breed you.

"Then prove it."

He smacks your ass again, one last time for good measure, before dropping your hair. You catch yourself on your elbows, presenting yourself for him. Naoya's hands grab your hips, one positioning you to align with the head of his cock, the other stroking his length. After he's gotten you through this first wave of heat, he'll have you choke on his cock, make you take it to the back of your throat and swallow, see what he's working with and what he'll have to train, but for now, he'll start with your pussy.

The tip of his cock feels too big against your hole, even after he's fingered you. Tensing comes naturally as it catches on your entrance, anticipation, need, and fear running through you. The flared tip feels like it's going to split you in two as he begins to press into you. He flares out in the middle, his shaft thicker there, making you moan as he begins to bottom out in you. His size is almost overwhelming, the stretch bordering on pain. If you weren’t in a pre-heat it would most definitely be painful.

He's kind enough to insert himself into you slowly, not wanting to damage your insides and ruin his chances of getting you pregnant. You can feel every inch of him as he slowly rolls his hips for the first time, experimenting with how much he can fit inside you. Moans come like spring rain, a sure thing, as he inserts himself. He pushes into you slowly, relishing in the way you clench and spasm around him. He’s so gentle compared to earlier, it makes your head spin. Your cries echo in the room, music to his ears. Once he's bottomed out, he stills.

A mix of a choked moan and a sob tumbles out of your lips. You can't tell if it hurts or feels so good you've surpassed feeling entirely. Your pussy flutters around him, suctioning him tighter as he pulls out.

"Fuck, you're tight," Naoya grunts, his hands grabbing your hips for leverage. "Beg for my cum, bitch."

His voice is rough like gravel, little pebbles tumbling down your spine.

"Please, fill me," you moan, tears spilling from your eyes. "Please, Naoya-sama, cum inside me. Breed me so that I might give you an heir." The words spill out of you, a desperate plea for him to claim you, to make you his. You can't even find it in yourself to beg him anymore, the words just spilling out. It all feels too much, overwhelmingly full, and yet still not enough. Your body screams for release, desperately for his knot, for the satisfaction that only an alpha can give you.

Naoya slams his hips into you, harder and faster than he has before, his balls slapping against your clit. His pace picks up, your arms giving out as he continues to set a brutal pace, thrusting deep and powerful. Each thrust feels like he's close to hitting against your cervix, but he never does. It feels like your whole body is shaking, like you've been set to vibrate. You don't know when one moan starts and another stops. Vision blurring at the edges, the only thing that matters is the narrow point in the world where your skin meets his. All that exists is the feeling of him inside you, his hand on your hips, the sweat on your skin, the need.

The way that his thick cock rubs against your walls sends jolts of electricity down your spine. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles, his cock filling you up. It’s impossibly full, you feel like you’re going to split apart at the seams as your pussy works to milk him.

He smacks your ass again, the opposite cheek. "You're mine, remember that. Nothing but my little bitch to breed."

He fucks you harder, lifting one of your hips to angle himself deeper. This allows him to rub directly against your g-spot, electric shocks firing on every nerve in your body. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles. The sensation is overwhelming, each motion pushing you further and further into the depths of your heat.

The room is filled with the sound of wet squelching and flesh meeting flesh, your body now rocking back to meet his every thrust, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. Naoya's thrusts become more frantic, his movements more sporadic. He's close, his knot swelling. The thought of being knotted by him makes you gush, juices flowing over his cock and staining the sheets below. You feel your orgasm building, a tsunami approaching the shoreline. Your entire body is a livewire, humming with tension.

It's then you notice the mirror that faces you. It's huge, covering half the wall, showing everything. Naoya lifts your chest, then hooks his fingers into the sides of your mouth and pulls them taut. It feels like your lips are going to crack with the strain, stings like sand sanitizer in a paper cut. You let out a low moan, drool dripping down the front of your body and pooling on the mattress beneath you. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, there’s an unmistakable handprint on your breast from earlier, and if you could see your ass, it’d be the same. There’s a glow to your skin from your heat, makes you shiny and supple. Makes you breedable.

"You're so much prettier when you smile, omega." His voice is low, rough with arousal.

He lets go of your mouth and just props you up, one hand around your chest to do so. It's you who holds the smile instead, a wild look in your eyes.

Naoya keeps thrusting, and it's like the world around you fades away as his cock stretches your walls, and the edge of his knot catches on your hole with each deep thrust. It's big. Bigger than the toys you've had, bigger than the ones you've heard of, you don't know if it's going to fit. A flicker of fear passes over you, but it's quickly overwhelmed by desire and discarded.

His other hand reaches around and rubs your sensitive clit, flicking it back and forth. You're so close to cumming, heartbeat hammering down in your pussy. Each pass of his fingers sends sparks through your system, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Cum for me, slut. Milk my cock. Scream for your Alpha." His words are a command, a demand for your pleasure.

You cry out, your body giving in to the pleasure, wave after wave of orgasm crashing down on you, your entire body going limp. Naoya pays it no mind, only holds your hips up as you fall limp, using you like a fleshlight. It feels like he's going to break you as he fucks you through your orgasm and finally pushes his knot inside you, your pussy convulsing around it.

A wickedly delicious kind of pain, the type to leave you breathless.

He keeps thrusting, his range limited, his knot locking the two of you together before he finally comes, his breath hitching. Hot ropes of cum paint your insides. It feels like it's too much cum to fit inside you, like it's going to spill out, but his knot keeps it firmly in place. His grip on your hips feels like it's going to break your bones, his nails drawing blood. He grunts for a few minutes, rocking his hips, milking his cock out with your pussy, before finally stopping.

Naoya bends over you and licks the shell of your ear before nibbling it. "You're never going to get away from me. You're mine to use, mine to abuse. You'll never get to leave me." He rocks his hips again, cock twitching inside you. "You won't be alone for long though, pretty girl."

a massive thank you to my beta readers @craftycheetah @rii-bows @lovelyroseybunny and my friend cas who i dm'd weekly about this fic for over a month insecure about writing omegaverse

#uzuri writes #jjk smut #jjk imagine #jjk omegaverse #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader #alpha! nayoa zenin #cw omegaverse #naoya #naoya x reader #naoya x you #omega! reader

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