Chapter Text
Momona and Kokoro
Momona stood frozen at the grand, red-painted gates of the once omega-only college, gripping the straps of her bag like a lifeline. The stone path stretched endlessly ahead, lined with whispering trees, but she felt none of its tranquility.
Once, a delta wouldn’t have been allowed past these gates, but times had changed. Now, omegas, alphas, and every subgender coexisted in pursuit of higher education. Momona, a delta, had always felt blessed—assertive and determined without the distractions of ruts or possessive instincts. For 21 years, she had believed herself immune to such earthly desires.
Until two months ago.
For two years, college had been a breeze. Honor student. Top of her class. Vice-president of the school newspaper. Everything was under control—until her .
Kato Kokoro.
Fresh out of college, the newly hired career advisor had appeared out of nowhere. Momona had walked into Yoshino-san’s office, expecting the elderly omega’s usual warm greeting—only to be met with her .
Kokoro exuded elegance and confidence, delicate yet commanding. Dark waves framed her face, a stylish hair clip accenting her composed, doe-eyed expression. Dressed in a white tailored blazer with gold embellishments, a crisp blouse with an ornate collar, and fitted shorts that emphasized long, unfairly perfect legs—she was breathtaking.
Momona had stood paralyzed. Then, Kokoro smiled—wide, radiant, moonlit eyes crinkling, the sweetest strawberry scent flooding the room.
Momona, despite her utter lack of athleticism, ran .
And so began her mission—to avoid Kato Kokoro at all costs.
For two months, Momona had perfected the art of avoidance—taking detours, slipping behind crowds, even faking phone calls to escape a chance encounter. But now, there was nowhere left to run. The department’s emails were clear: Meet with your advisor or else.
Her grades were slipping, her focus waning. She had no one to blame but herself for becoming everything she despised—distracted, restless, weak. Yet every night, without fail, Kato Kokoro was the last thing on her mind. The omega occupied her thoughts constantly , an unbearable presence she couldn’t shake.
She needed to talk to someone— anyone —before the meeting. Because the thought of sitting across from Kokoro, suffocated by that disgustingly sweet, irresistible strawberry scent, made her stomach twist with panic.
The only Alpha Momona respected enough to confide in was Sakurai Miu—a senior in the science department, majoring in some computer science thing Momona had written about last year but barely retained. Programming languages, data structures, algorithms—blah, blah, blah.
Their connection had started with that article on top students, but they’d kept in touch since. Miu was a calming presence, sharp-minded, and someone Momona respected. A true Alpha, omegas flocked to her like a reality show contestant, but unlike the sleazy ones, Miu had everything under control.
To MIU:
Hey, I need your advice.
From MIU:
Sounds like a drag, but sure.
To MIU:
Wow, never mind.
From MIU:
K.
Momona groaned, rolling her eyes as she checked Miu’s location. The little icon on her phone showed the Alpha lingering near the entrance of the science department building. Typical.
She didn’t bother replying and instead turned down the stone path. The science department stood out among the campus’s traditional Japanese architecture—a modern addition, built to accommodate the growing Alpha student body. It loomed ahead, its sleek glass windows lining the entrance, flooding the interior with natural light and offering a clear view of the courtyard. The inside had an industrial-meets-contemporary aesthetic: brown brick walls, tiled flooring, and metal-framed wooden tables scattered across a green-carpeted seating area. A digital information board displayed updates and announcements, a lone piece of artwork hanging above it in a half-hearted attempt at decoration.
Momona scanned the space and spotted Miu immediately. The Alpha sat in a far corner against the glass wall, effortlessly magnetic despite her complete lack of effort. Surrounding tables were occupied by Omegas who weren’t even pretending not to stare, their gazes lingering with unspoken yearning.
Miu, however, was oblivious—or maybe she just didn’t care. Her long, wavy dark hair framed her face as she focused on her laptop, typing with the sharp efficiency of someone deep in thought. Even in relaxed gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her presence was undeniable.
Momona made her way over, the weight of Omega gazes shifting onto her now. Though she wasn’t a true Alpha, her presence still carried an edge—duller, quieter, but there. Miu noticed her approach and finally looked up, meeting her eyes with an intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down Momona’s spine.
She broke eye contact immediately. A show of respect. A subconscious signal: I’m not a threat.
God, I hate this, she thought, dropping into the seat across from Miu with a huff.
The moment she settled, Miu’s oppressive aura eased, the suffocating weight lifting from the air.
“Sorry,” Miu said, lips twitching in the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Didn’t mean to dominate you like that.”
Momona scoffed, meeting her gaze now that the pressure was gone.
“I hated that.”
Miu chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”
Alpha intimidation aside, Miu was surprisingly easy to be around. The moment her dominant aura eased, Momona felt a familiar sense of comfort settle in. She figured it was Miu’s way of letting her guard down, making space for her.
“Thought you didn’t need my advice anymore,” Miu remarked, shutting her laptop with a soft click. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, eyes sharp with curiosity.
Momona sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… you’re the only one I can ask.” She hesitated before waving a vague hand in Miu’s direction. “It’s about… y’know… Alpha urges and stuff.”
Miu’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”
Momona felt a flush creep up her neck. “I know …” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
“Well, go on,” Miu nudged her. “Spit it out.”
Momona hesitated. It wasn’t like she was confused—not really. She knew exactly what this was about. She knew she had it bad for the career advisor. But putting it into words felt like peeling her own skin off.
She exhaled, forcing herself to sound casual. “I guess I just want to know how you keep yourself in control,” she said, glancing around at the tables filled with Omegas practically orbiting Miu. “You don’t jump every willing omega like other Alphas, even though they’re definitely willing.”
Miu leaned back, following Momona’s gaze. As if noticing the Omegas for the first time, her sharp eyes flickered over them. A few immediately looked away, squirming under her attention. Others stared more boldly, lips parted in subtle invitation.
Then, Miu turned back to Momona, amusement gleaming in her eyes.
“Bold of you to assume I have it under control.” Miu smirked, then glanced down at the table, fingers idly tapping against the wood. “Cause I don’t.”
Momona blinked, surprised.
Miu exhaled, shrugging. “Alpha instincts are strong . It’s a fight. Every day. I guess I’m just… resilient.”
Momona groaned, slumping forward. Did that mean she was weak?
“The thing is…” she hesitated before lowering her voice, leaning in. “I’m not even an Alpha. But there’s someone who makes me feel like one, and I don’t know what to do.”
Miu stared at her for a second—then burst into laughter.
Momona’s eyes widened in horror. “ Hey! ” she hissed, frantically looking around. “Not so loud!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Miu wheezed between chuckles, wiping at her eyes.
Momona huffed, crossing her arms, waiting for the Alpha to get it together.
Finally, Miu straightened, her expression softening. “Listen, Deltas are still Alphas in the end,” she said. “I didn’t say anything before, but maybe you’re just a late bloomer. Maybe this person is triggering something in you because you’re attracted to them.”
Momona groaned, running a hand through her hair. “But why did it have to be her, ” She looked almost pleading now. “I have to meet with her, and I don’t know if I can control myself. This meeting is huge —it could decide whether I graduate or not. If I screw this up—”
Her voice was rising, panic creeping in. Miu reached across the table, placing a firm hand over hers. “ Hey .” Her tone was calm, steady. “Who is it?”
Momona swallowed hard. “I-I can’t say. It’s… bad.”
Miu studied her, concern flickering across her features. “Jesus.” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, can’t say there’s a magic fix for this, but…” She met Momona’s frantic gaze. “You got a grandma?”
Momona, mid-wipe of her teary eyes, froze. “…What?”
Miu nodded sagely. “Think about your sweet, wrinkly ol’ grandma. Every time those urges hit, just picture her. Trust me.”
Momona gawked at her. “You can’t be serious.”
Miu leaned back with a smirk. “Dead serious. Works every time.”
Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san. Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san. Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san…
Momona chanted the mantra like a desperate prayer as she stood outside Kato Kokoro’s office, steeling herself. She was three minutes early—three minutes to gather every ounce of self-control before walking into the lion’s den.
She paced, heart pounding, repeating the words in her head.
Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san. Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san.
Finally, just as the clock struck 1:00, she reached for the door handle—only for it to be pulled away from her grasp.
The door swung inward, and standing before her was temptation incarnate .
Kato Kokoro.
Flawless. Poised. Wide-eyed with surprise, her soft lips parting as she gasped.
She was dressed in a high-waisted, fitted pencil skirt that hugged her curves in a way that felt almost cruel. A silky, cream-colored blouse tucked neatly into it, its top buttons left undone just enough to hint at the delicate collarbones beneath. A thin gold chain rested at the base of her throat, subtle but captivating. Over it, she wore a tailored blazer, adding a touch of sophistication to her otherwise subtly provocative ensemble. Her dark hair, loosely pinned at the back, had strands escaping to frame her face, swaying slightly with her sudden movement.
And then there was her scent.
That intoxicating, all-consuming strawberry and something warm scent that hit Momona like a drug.
OL’ SWEET GENTLE WRINKLY OBA-SAN. OL’ SWEET GENTLE WRINKLY OBA-SAN.
“Oh!” Kokoro blinked, a small, startled smile gracing her lips. “Kasahara-san, come in. I was expecting you.”
Momona made a sound—something between an affirmation and a dying animal—before forcing her feet to move forward, stepping into the office.
It was exactly what she’d expect from someone like Kokoro—elegant but personal. A modern glass desk sat neatly in the center, cluttered just enough to suggest a busy yet organized mind. A sleek laptop was open beside a ceramic cup of tea, steam curling up gently. The bookshelves behind her were lined with an array of neatly arranged academic texts, but scattered between them were hints of personality—small trinkets, framed photos, and a delicate vase holding fresh peonies. A soft gray armchair rested near the window, bathed in natural light, next to a minimalist wooden coffee table.
It smelled like vanilla, paper, and Kokoro.
God help me.
Momona swallowed hard and sat down, gripping the edges of her chair for dear life.
“So,” Kokoro began, settling in with effortless grace. “In all honesty, I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you.”
Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san. Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly oba-san.
Momona swallowed hard. “I—I’m sorry?”
Kokoro’s lips curved into a subtle smile. “I mean, I’ve been waiting to meet with you. It felt like you were avoiding me.”
Ol’ sweet gentle wrinkly— Oh, God, help .
“N-No! Of course not. J-Just been busy…”
Kokoro shifted slightly in her seat, the movement barely perceptible, yet Momona felt it like a shock to her system. The woman’s sharp eyes flickered with quiet amusement before she cleared her throat.
“I can understand that,” she said smoothly, turning her attention to her screen. The soft clack of keys filled the space before she let out a low hum. “Kasahara-san… I’ve heard a lot about you from the faculty. Smart. A good head on your shoulders. You were on the right track, but…” She clicked her tongue. “Your midterm grades were subpar . What happened?”
The way Kokoro looked at her—level, assessing—made Momona feel small . Right. This was a grown, working adult. A professional. A career advisor. And yet, no matter how small the age gap, Kokoro felt so much older. So much more in control.
Momona’s fingers dug into the edges of her seat as she scrambled for an answer. Wasn’t she supposed to be thinking about something else? She was —she knew she was—but her thoughts were slipping through her fingers like sand.
Kokoro looked so good right now.
Momona’s grip relaxed slightly, her body going lax before she even realized it.
“U-uh, well…” she stammered, but her brain supplied nothing that wouldn’t expose her as a hormonal wreck.
Kokoro raised a perfectly arched brow, unimpressed. “As you know, it’s my job to make sure you graduate with a clear path forward. This is the prime time to be considering internships. You should already have a working résumé, at the very least, and more importantly, a strong idea of where you—”
Momona barely registered the words.
Her focus tunneled in on Kokoro—on the way her lips moved, the faint cadence of her voice, the steady rhythm of her breath. Her own breathing deepened, slow and heavy, her scent subtly thickening in the air.
It happened before she even realized it.
A musky, mint-laced fragrance filled the office, curling through the air like an unspoken confession.
Kokoro inhaled mid-sentence—and jerked back from her desk as if burned.
“Kasahara-san!”
Momona blinked, as if waking from a trance. A rush of panic flooded her veins.
Then she moved—too fast, too sudden—her chair clattering to the floor behind her.
Oh no.
She screwed up.
Across the desk, Kokoro had a hand over her mouth and nose, her expression unreadable. But Momona could see it—the tremor in her fingers, the flush creeping over her skin.
At first, she thought it was disgust. That Kokoro was repulsed by the scent rolling off of her in waves, thick with something dangerous . But then—Momona’s breath hitched.
That scent.
Strawberries. Warmth. But richer now, darker, curling through the air with an undeniable pull. Omega-laced.
Heat.
The realization crashed into her like a wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Her body burned, her limbs felt leaden, and when she lifted her gaze to Kokoro’s, her vision was hazy—lidded, heavy.
She wasn’t in control.
Momona moved, slow and deliberate, stepping around the desk.
Kokoro stumbled back, her wide eyes locked onto Momona’s. Her lips parted, but whatever words she intended to speak were lost, strangled by the tension thickening between them.
Her body said run.
But everything else screamed stay.
It was rare for a Delta’s arousal to trigger an Omega’s heat— almost unheard of.
Yet, that was exactly what was happening.
Kokoro's breath hitched as the heat surged through her, her body betraying her with every pulse of need. Her skin tingled, hyperaware of the fabric clinging to her, the dampness gathering between her thighs. This is bad.
With what little strength she had left, she raised a trembling hand and pressed it against Momona’s shoulder, keeping her at arm’s length.
“K-Kasahara-san…” Kokoro’s voice wavered, breathless. “Control yourself.”
She reached up, gently wrapping her fingers around Kokoro’s wrist, effortlessly prying it away. The moment their skin met, Kokoro shuddered, her pulse hammering against Momona’s palm.
Then, step by step, she closed the distance.
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Kokoro’s back met the cool surface of the office wall, a quiet gasp slipping from her lips as Momona caged her in. A firm grip pinned her wrist in place.
The Delta leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Kokoro’s neck, inhaling deeply.
A shiver ran through the Omega as warm breath ghosted over her skin.
“So sweet…” Momona murmured, her voice thick, reverent.
Kokoro whimpered.
“Kasahara-san, we… we can’t.” Her mind screamed at her to resist, to push back—but her instincts drowned out every rational thought. “You c-can’t…”
Momona didn’t listen. Or maybe she couldn’t. Inhibitions vanished as she pressed closer, her voice trembling with something raw, something desperate.
“Since the day I first saw you… you’ve drove me crazy, you know?”
Kokoro tensed, her wrist lifting slightly off the wall. “I-I understand, but this—” Her breath hitched as Momona tightened her grip, pinning her wrist again. Dominance rolled off her in waves, sending a shudder through Kokoro’s frame.
“I’ve pictured you like this so many times.” Momona’s tone was low, husky. “And now that you’re here, I can’t hold back… but I need you to tell me you want this too.”
The Delta’s attention was intoxicating, unraveling Kokoro with nothing more than a whisper and a touch.
She should push away. Resist. Say no.
But her body betrayed her, the pull of instinct drowning out reason.
Was it wrong? Probably. Momona was a student under her supervision. But did that even matter? Because standing before her was not some helpless subordinate. No, Momona was powerful, dominant, and she smelled so good. The scent of a worthy mate, strong and unyielding.
God help her—she wanted more.
A broken whimper escaped her lips, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of desire.
She panted, her voice barely a whisper. “Y-yes.”
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Momona’s eyes darkened, the embers of restraint burning away as she leaned in, capturing Kokoro’s lips in a rough yet reverent kiss. The moment their mouths met, it was as if the world outside this office ceased to exist—no rules, no hesitation, just the pull of something undeniable.
Her hands roamed, skimming the smooth skin beneath Kokoro’s pencil skirt, fingers pressing into the warmth of her thighs before sliding to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Kokoro’s breath hitched, her hips instinctively seeking friction against Momona’s thigh. Their scents mingled in the heated air, a dizzying blend of desire, sweet and heady.
Breaking the kiss, Momona exhaled shakily against Kokoro’s lips, a silent plea wrapped in longing. With deliberate care, she slid Kokoro’s blazer off her shoulders, fingertips ghosting over the delicate fabric as if memorizing the shape of her. Then, without effort, she lifted her, cradling her as if she were something precious.
Momona set her gently against the desk, her strong hands lingering at Kokoro’s waist before unbuttoning her blouse. As the fabric parted, she let her lips trace a slow path down Kokoro’s throat, lingering at the pulse fluttering wildly beneath her skin.
Kokoro moaned, her fingers tangling in Momona’s hair, her body trembling beneath the Delta’s touch. Even as desire consumed her, Momona was tender, taking her time, savoring each moment as if worshipping something sacred.
Her mouth moved lower, teasing through lace, each flick of her tongue drawing soft gasps that sent shivers down Momona’s spine. Kokoro’s body was a symphony of delicate movements—her twitches, her moans, the way she arched into every touch. The way she responded, yielding yet wanting, stirred something deeper than mere lust in Momona.
She wanted to cherish her.
Knelt before her, Momona’s hands trembled as she unzipped Kokoro’s skirt, sliding it down, unveiling her inch by inch. As the last piece of fabric fell away, she paused, taking in the breathtaking sight before her—Kokoro, undone, vulnerable yet radiant, her lips parted, her heavy-lidded gaze pleading silently.
A sharp pang of adoration struck Momona’s chest.
Beautiful.
Kokoro was so beautiful it was almost unbearable.
Momona swallowed hard, tracing reverent hands up Kokoro’s thighs before finally closing the last distance. She pressed a kiss against the softness of her inner thigh, then another, before tasting her at last.
The moment her tongue met Kokoro’s core, the Omega gasped, fingers tightening in Momona’s hair. A cry slipped from her lips as Momona devoured her, savoring, exploring, claiming. She held Kokoro steady, feeling her thighs tremble against her shoulders as she focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements precise, deliberate.
Kokoro’s whimpers sent fire racing through Momona’s veins, her own arousal dark and aching. Still, she kept her pace measured, teasing, drawing Kokoro higher, watching her unravel with each flick of her tongue. She wanted to memorize every sound, every shudder, every way Kokoro’s body responded to her.
When she pulled away, her lips glistening, she met Kokoro’s gaze. The Omega’s eyes were dark with need, her body tense, desperate.
"Please… " she begged, nails digging into Momona’s back, her voice raw, pleading.
Momona’s chest tightened at the sheer vulnerability in Kokoro’s voice. Even as control frayed at the edges of her restraint, she couldn’t bring herself to be careless. No—she wanted Kokoro to know, to feel, that this wasn’t just hunger.
It was devotion.
Panting, she finally gave in, slipping her fingers inside Kokoro’s heat. Kokoro gasped, her body arching beautifully as Momona curled her fingers just right, teasing the spot that made her tremble.
"That’s it," Momona murmured against her lips, kissing her deeply, swallowing her moans.
She took her time, bringing Kokoro to the edge again and again, each touch a silent promise. She wanted to see her break, to feel her fall apart in her arms, to remind her that she was safe here, cherished.
Kokoro shattered with a cry, her body tightening, trembling, her pleasure cresting in waves. Momona held her through it, pressing soft kisses to her temple, whispering words she wasn’t entirely conscious of in her current state.
As Kokoro lay there, boneless, breathless, Momona didn’t pull away. She only held her closer, anchoring them both in the quiet aftershocks.
Slowly, the thick air of arousal began to shift, the feverish tension dissolving into something softer, something intimate. Kokoro’s scent, once lined with desperate need and unfiltered desire, now carried the warmth of comfort, of safety—an unmistakable fragrance only a post-orgasmic body could produce.
The realization crashed into Momona like a bucket of ice water.
She was holding her career advisor—completely naked—on top of her glass desk.
And she… she was fully clothed.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
The weight of what she had done sank in all at once. Momona’s grip loosened as her breath hitched, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Panic swelled in her chest, her stomach twisting violently.
This wasn’t just some heated fantasy anymore. It had happened.
Kokoro, still basking in the haze of her release, was completely unaware of Momona’s spiraling breakdown. Her lidded eyes fluttered weakly, her body limp against the cool surface of the desk, her breathing slow, deep, peaceful.
Meanwhile, Momona was freaking the hell out.
Her hands hovered uselessly over Kokoro’s bare shoulders as she tried to think—tried to do something—but her mind was an absolute mess. Her limbs flailed in silent distress, her body jolting between wanting to run for the hills and making sure Kokoro was okay.
Then, she made the mistake of looking.
The smooth expanse of Kokoro’s skin, the faint marks she’d left behind, the way her legs were still slightly parted—
Oh no.
Uncontrollable arousal threatened to pull her under again— no, no, no! Not again!
OL’ SWEET GENTLE WRINKLY OBA-SAN. OL’ SWEET GENTLE WRINKLY OBA-SAN. OL’ SWEET GENTLE WRINKLY OBA-SAN.
Momona bolted, slamming the door shut behind her with a resounding thud. Her back hit the wood, chest heaving, sweat slicking her skin as panic coiled tight in her gut.
She needed to get out. Now.
Her legs moved before her brain could catch up, carrying her down the hall in a frantic sprint. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her pulse thundering in her ears as she shoved past the entrance doors and stumbled outside.
The moment the cool afternoon air hit her, it should have been grounding. But instead—
All eyes were on her.
Students turned, their gazes locking onto her with a mixture of curiosity and something else. Something knowing.
A group of alphas in the distance straightened, shoulders squaring as their nostrils flared. A few omegas turned pink, eyes darting away, some fidgeting as if affected by the scent lingering in the air.
That’s when it hit her.
The scent.
Shit.
It clung to her like a second skin, thick, heady, unmistakable—the scent of heat, of desire, of sex.
Her stomach plummeted.
Face burning, Momona whipped around and ran.