Chapter Text
The life of an omega striker was a study in contradictions. It was rare, so rare it drew sidelong glances and whispered doubts. As an omega, society expected Isagi to be meek, docile, to tuck his ambition behind the quiet grace deemed appropriate for "his kind".
Omegas were often relegated to softer positions or domestic life, and some preferred that type of life, but Isagi Yoichi did not.
His parents had armed him with an unshakeable confidence, and most of all, security in his identity and his ego. "Gender doesn't define who you are," his father used to say, his voice calm and sure over the dinner table. "It's just one other detail among many. Do not let it determine your destiny."
And on the days the world's expectations pressed a little too hard, his mother would smooth his hairand reassure him. "You are Yoichi first. The football pitch doesn't care if you're an Omega. Your dreams don't either. And it's okay if you ever feel like changing."
They had given him permission to unapologetically exist—to thrive in the spaces Alphas dominated.
The pre-season training camp at ReAl was the pinnacle of everything he'd worked for. The air itself thrummed with competitive energy.
It was his first week. The entire team was holed up in the club's state-of-the-art facility just outside Madrid, a sleek, self contained fortress of glass and steel with dorm-style rooms. Strict schedules. Security tight as a drum. This was more than training. it was total immersion. It was where bonds were forged and mental fortitude was tested. Isagi was determined to prove himself, to not let anything, especially not his biology, get in his way.
After the final, punishing training session of the day, he was a hollowed out shell, every muscle shrieking in protest as he practically crawled into the silent, empty locker room. the blasting chill of the air conditioning a shock to his sweat slicked skin.
The hot water was a blessing at first, a cascade that loosened the knots in his shoulders and sluiced the day's grime and salt down the drain. But it did nothing for the strange, deep seated heat coiling low in his abdomen. It was a furnace stoking deep in his core, and the water cascading over his skin felt superficial, like trying to mix oil and water. The scalding heat radiating from his skin formed an impenetrable layer.
Frustration spiked. He twisted the knob violently to cold gasping as a torrent of icy needles assaulted him. But it was like trying to extinguish a bonfire with a single ice cube, and a shiver ran through him, radiating through his thighs to his knees untill his footing felt unsteady. His skin tingled, oversensitive. Every drop from the shower head felt like a kiss enticing him to touch himself inside this public shower. But he could only bear it for now.
Feeling defeated, he stepped out, towel around his waist, and frowned. His skin was flushed, and he felt too warm, a feverish thrumming under his skin. A familiar yet unwelcome dampness slicked between his thighs. His hand moved of its own volition in a slow, hesitant descent past the towel's edge, making contact with the sticky fluid and his breath hitched.
In a moment of disbelief, he gathered a small amount on his fingertips and brought his hand up into the stark light. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together making the substance stretched into thin, pearlescent ribbons.
"Shit." The word was a puff of air, then it hardened. "Shit. No!"
His hand fell to his side, the truth dripping from his fingers. He stared blankly at the tiled wall. His stomach twisted. He clenched his jaw, willing his body to obey, to wait.
'Not here. Not during camp. His heat was early.' It just had to be. He'd tracked his cycle many times over. He'd been meticulous with it, fanatical even. He was never late to take his suppressants.
Never.
So why was his body staging a coup to sabotage him?
Isagi scrambled out of the changing room, barely bothering to towel off before pulling on a loose T-shirt and shorts. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm. He fumbled with the lock on his door before practically falling into his room. His skin felt like it was being licked by open flames, and the air in his small dorm room felt too thin to breathe.
Panic began to set in. "No, no, no," he chanted, a desperate mantra as he fell to his knees by his bedside drawer. His hands trembled violently as he ripped it open scattering its contents across the floor. His fingers closed around the familiar orange bottle labeled Heat suppressants.
He shook out two, then, thinking better of it, four. He dry-swallowed them then paced around, waiting for the cool, synthetic relief to spread through his veins.
Nothing.
The pills were nothing more than chalky placebos in his throat. They'd dissolved in his stomach like sugar pills, useless against the inconvenient prank his body was playing on him.
He was indeed late. Just a few hours, but in the precise timeline of an omega's biology, a few hours was the difference between control and utter chaos.
He tried the next best thing he could think of, a desperate measure one he didn't rely on often. He made sure the door to his dorm room was locked and fell onto the narrow bed, his hand slipping through the waistband of his shorts, gripping his throbbing erection.
The friction of his hand around his sensitive length brought a stifled groan. His breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as he pumped his dick faster. More and more wetness leaked from its tip, making his movements increasingly slippery and frustrating. He was already so sensitive, more than usual, and now he was hyperaware of every touch.
"Get a grip," he gasped out loud, the sound of his own voice unfamiliar and needy. He forced his hand to still, then move with a slower, more practiced rhythm.
He had hoped to trick his body into thinking it was satisfied long enough for the suppressants to kick in. But every stroke felt less like self pleasure and more like adding heat to a fire he was desperately trying to extinguish. The sensitivity was overwhelming, and the relief was short-lived.
His gaze darted to the spilled contents of his drawer, landing on a familiar shape nestled in it: an average sized silicone dildo. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.
Isagi grabbed a half empty bottle of lube, coating the toy with jerky unsteady hands. Biting his lip, he rolled onto his back, legs spreading instinctively. The bulbous head of the dildo pressed against his entrance, sending a shudder through him, a hoarse whimper escaping his throat.
"Ugh... this is humiliating," he complained to no one in particular.
His other hand found its way under his shirt to one of his soft, perked up nipples. He started pinching and twisting the sensitive nub in a vain attempt to distract his body from its singular focus.
He thrust deeper, the overtly realistic curve of the toy sliding in with a soft squelch until it almost all disappeared inside of him. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure up his spine, his moans becoming more frequent and high pitched. His cock throbbed, neglected and dripping all over his tight abs but he ignored it, focusing entirely on the drag inside him.
It wasn't enough, not by a long shot.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus, to bring himself to a quick, relieving climax that might take the edge off.
His mind, realizing that it wasn't just pleasure he craved but some type of connection, tried to conjure a fantasy. Any fantasy. And for whatever fucking reason, Kaiser's face came to mind—his perfectly sharp features, his messy yet intentional hairstyle.
The imagined feel of strong, inked hands pinning Isagi's wrists above his head. the weight of a heavier body pressing Isagi into the mattress. A low, accented voice murmuring filthy, praising things into the sweat damp skin of his neck, right where his scent glands would be. Close.
So close to the place where Kaiser would open his mouth, his hot breath around Isagi's nape. He could feel it, the moment of suspended, exquisite tension before teeth would finally gently meet his skin, followed instantly by the sinful soothing heat of a tongue licking over the mark, and then… a kiss over it to seal the deal.
He craved Kaiser's dominance. The mere idea of letting Kaiser, letting his rival see him like this, broken, desperate, needing, yearning. It was a twisted sort of logic. But it made perfect sense Kaiser was power. One of the strongest Alphas isagi ever met.
And Isagi hated that. He hated him. And he would continue to hate him, right up until the moment Kaiser kissed him again deeply, as if trying to reach the soul within him, until Isagi forgot why he was supposed to resist in the first place.
"Mhh...kaiser" The thought sent a jolt through him so intense it made him whimper.
"No." His rational mind surpassed the foggy barrier his omega instincts had draped over his thoughts. He shook his head as if to dislodge the stubborn image of Kaiser.
"Why him?!" he hissed into the empty room, anger and shame warring in his chest. "Absolutely fucking not."
The toy slipped from his trembling, uncoordinated fingers, falling to the sheets with a soft, pathetic thud.
He was losing. The heat was winning, and a thick cloud murked up his mind once more. But this time with a tinge of anger aimed at the pathetic, shuddering thing he'd been reduced to.
"Why?" The word was a raw scrape against his throat. " Why now?"
He threw the toy across the room with a choked sob of frustration. It clattered against the wall. That's when the sounds from outside filtered through his haze.
He could hear the low rumble of voices and the occasional burst of laughter from his teammates. Alpha voices. Each one a siren's call making his mouth water and his stomach clench with a needy ache.
Their pheromones, Isagi could smell them. The musky, dominant scent of Alphas. The scent seeped under the door like a toxic gas, curling into his nostrils, down his throat, wrapping around the primal parts of his brain he was fighting so hard to suppress.
So many alphas. Right there.
Just open the door, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, slick and tempting. They're right there. Any of them. They'd take care of you. They'd fuck you so good, make it aaall stop~
He could picture it with horrifying clarity: the click of his lock turning, the door swinging open, their surprised faces turning to him. He could picture the way their scents would intensify, the way their instincts would flare to life at the sight of a helpless Omega in the peak of his heat. He wouldn't even have to ask. Just a look, a soft whine from his throat, and then one of them would... would finally—
Isagi moaned. The thought made a fresh wave of slick soak the sheets beneath him. His body ached with the need to submit, to be filled, to be fixed.
Another sob tore from his throat. He buried his face in the pillow, his fists clenching the fabric. He fully turned to his side, curling into a tight, shivering ball.
He couldn't control this.
He couldn't stop it.
He was losing himself, and the pills, his touch, his willpower, none of it was enough.
He couldn't stay here either. Eventually his scent would become too strong and too attractive. If someone found him like this, his reputation would be ruined before he'd even properly started. He couldn't skip practice tomorrow with a convenient "stomach bug". The coach would see right through it.
He wasn't some cliché. He wasn't some broken omega losing himself to instinct. He was Isagi Yoichi first and foremost.
He would not let his first week be defined by a desperate, public display in a hallway. He would not let his heat turn him into a mindless creature begging for relief from people he barely knew.
That's when Isagi had enough. This wasn't a natural heat. This was bordering on a medical emergency. And he was an athlete. He didn't try to play through a broken leg. He went to a doctor.
With a surge of adrenaline fueled desperation, he pushed himself off the bed.
Moving like a man in a dream, he pulled on a hoodie, zipping it up all the way to contain his scent, and a pair of loose sweatpants. He didn't bother with shoes, just shoved his feet into a pair of slides. He grabbed his wallet and phone.
He waited by the door, ear pressed to the wood, until the voices and footsteps in the hall faded into silence. Then he cracked the door open, peered into the empty, fluorescent lit hallway, and slipped out, locking the door behind him. He moved like a ghost, hugging the wall, his senses on high alert.
The dormitory halls were quiet, the flickering fluorescent lights were the only company Isagi had as he stumbled toward the emergency exit, taking the stairs down two at a time.
He had no plan beyond get to the clinic. There was an omega health center a long distance away, but it was the only place that could help him without judgment.
It was a ten-minute drive, but a thirty-minute walk if you were steady on your feet. Isagi was anything but.
His phone felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He could call a taxi, but the thought of being trapped in a small, enclosed space this late into the night with an unknown driver, another Alpha maybe? made his stomach clench with dread.
He reached the ground floor, the emergency exit door groaning open with a reluctant sigh. He stepped out into the cool night air, taking a ragged breath of relief.
His vision swam. He barely registered the figure turning the corner before he collided with a solid, unforgiving wall of muscle.
"Watch. It" a low, bored voice drawled. "Do you ever look where you're going?"
Isagi instantly recognized the voice. He stumbled back, his head snapping up. The moonlight silvered the sharp, arrogant planes of a face he'd just been shamefully fantasizing about.
"Kaiser, what are you doing out here?"
"I asked you first," Kaiser snapped, looking at Isagi with nothing but disdain. His sharp blue eyes scrutinized Isagi like he was some pathetic lost puppy.