The Seven Red Flags of HAKON University [Omegaverse Alien Reverse Harem]

14-Beginning of Chapter 5

Rue did not leave her room, stayed holed in the recesses of tiny cell-like safety. She tried to tell herself that it was because she was tired, and the decorating of her place was a fun but necessary chore. Because across white tiles and towards hardened pillows was a space to be made home.

Her new bed was draped with a fifty-year-old rug of tattered ends and moth-bitten threads; the fabric scrubbed so many times that it was now the softest thing she ever owned in existence. Mere months from disintegration but held steadfast by careful lavishing from calloused fingers.

Her walls were taped with the glowing leftovers of a magnetophoretic display—notes scribbled over each faltering honeycomb cell. A tiny fan of slowly rotating blades sat upon the desk, rusty with misuse. There was a fake plant on the sill—made of carcinogens, plastic, and death. Her computer, a model twenty years too old, stood cranking music and hissing with steam on her tiny worktable.

She wasn't the sentimental sort to hang up a photograph of her family like all the other cry-babies fresh from the womb. But for her mother she taped up a list of their debts, plastered at eye-level to the wall so that she'd wake every morning and remember what her motivation should be.

A hundred million.

When she was done, she paced, then quietly listened for voices at the edge of her room, cheeks plastered to thin walls. She heard them: muffled sounds, stifled laughter, footsteps, the clatter of pots and pans. Already she could piece together a story of her roommates—old school, enjoyed domesticity, seemed close, potentially were pack mates.

Might hate her for stepping into their territory.

Behind the safety of walls, she removed the mint stuffed so deeply in her nostrils, tasting the air for scent, but could only smell the salt of something cooking. It wafted, delicious and milky, a vehicle of calories that promised good greasy things that would sit heavy and dense in her belly. Things that she could not have.

Her stomach growled.

Fear was always a strange enemy, one that left quickly but came quietly when the velveteen of darkness was all that she had. Her house of cards was toppled by a very stupid wind. A problem that shouldn't feel quite so big, and yet it did.

Rue sighed.

A public bathroom was never a part of the plan. She'd asked for a single room with private facilities, highlighting her needs for her own bathroom as a medical request. But she supposed, drumming her hands on wood and with a pen scratched over the digital paper, that the result was what she expected from a school.

Disappointment and betrayal because dormitories never gave one what they truly wanted. On a balloting system with hundreds and thousands of horny kids, everyone needed their own private space. There was a fifty per cent chance that her new domicile would have a shared toilet, despite her requests. In which, even if they had enclosed cubicles for privacy, her transparent scent—no matter how odourless it was—could linger in the enclosed space like a hidden bomb.

She would be dripping with slick the moment her nose tasted the fresh trickle of an Alpha's musk. God, it was like piss on ovulation days. And slick, a fucking by-product of being submissive, fertile, and female, was a difficult natural lubricant to conceal.

It was a dose of pure pheromones that would entice all; forced the production of pre-cum; and would encourage the salivary glands of men to work three times as hard just so they could spit on a cock and fuck a woman. It made them hungry and horny for pussy.

Oh, the lack of scent helped, of course. The peaches and creams, the vanillas and sugar that would allow for Alphas to locate and identify his sweet little woman. She didn't have that, which meant that they wouldn't know it was her. But slick in its wet, sticky form, dribbling down her legs was something she could never hide from a real Alpha in the shower.

That was unless she plugged it all up in a menstrual cup and stuffed her pussy full of scent-soaked cotton. A tactic she'd yet to try and had never really truly considered. Lips pursed, she pulled out those items, laid them out, and considered.

As planned, she would search for showers outside of this vicinity. Somewhere that Omegas and Betas frequented, but for now she would deal with odour the way she always did when the water was cut, and the air was too cold.

Deodorant, wipes, and dry shampoo. Simple.

She counted her illegal drugs–suppressants really meant for cows and pigs. Then the bottles of spray and the jugs of semen. Penned down a letter for a new batch from her family, enclosed with a pretty green card fat with digital coin. Problem-solving calmed her down momentarily, which led her mind back to hunger.

The fucking gut-wrenching angry hunger.

With wrung hands, she cursed when her bladder grew full, and her mouth parched with the lack of drink. Dinner time crept by quickly and so she studied, flipped through her books with a finger dancing over hologram paper for the words she needed to know. Curiosity took her quickly to somewhere deeper than the basics of alien anatomy.

Esper

An Alpha with abilities that go far beyond species capabilities and may be coined gods. An overpowered Esper will experience Rampage, in which their bodies cannot withstand the magnitude of their abilities and will require an outlet for survival.

To date, pack Seirios comprises all seven of the SSS ranking Espers in the Universe, surpassing the heavenly emperors of the seven realms.

Rank 1-Dante

Rank 2-Halcyon

Rank 3-Levi

Rank 4-Seraphim

Rank 5-Kieran

Rank 6-Valentino

Rank 7-Altair

Rue sniffed, made a face at the text that glitched and faded with updates. The ranking for 4, 5, 6 and 7 switched every three seconds, as if it couldn't decide who was the stronger member. But Rue wasn't interested in waiting for its decision, heading straight to the section on guides.

Guide

A companion that stabilizes Espers in Rampage via sexual contact and species need. Sexual activity with a high compatibility Guide of sufficient rank will ensure greater stabilisation and the potential for power breakthroughs.

While soulmates are known to have maximum compatibility with one another, Omegas and Betas do not have the guiding ability to withstand a berserk Esper, with a maximum Guide ranking of D-class.

Instead, Alphas with absorption potential are trained in the Omegaverse to guide Espers safely.

What the fuck? Rue's eyes widened, her fingers ghosting over the panel.

Guiding

The process of stabilisation through absorption resulting in sexual arousal. If highly compatible, guiding may lead to a symptom like Ruts/Heats and an immediate window of fertility. Sex is necessary for a stable and safe guiding process for both Esper and Guide, reducing mortality rate and improving stabilisation.

She closed the book with a snap, a growl twisting in her throat. This had to be a joke, a fucking joke. Her lips twisted; teeth snagged upon the bottom flesh. She flipped to a more detailed instruction on guiding. Then paused, fingers shaking at the pornographic video of men fucking like dogs.

Her eyes were drawn towards the page. Not to the nudity, God no, she'd seen enough of that where she came from. It was to the Esper with his hips snapping taut against the Guides' ass, teeth lodged deep into his throat, eyes so red they seemed to bleed. There was only one way to describe the sex—wild, dangerous, and crazed.

Exhibit A: Sex between an Esper and his Guide.

Rampage levels vary with power use. Espers are known to mark their Alphas the way one does with an Omega mate, if highly berserk. However, blood will be drawn if the speed of stabilisation does not suffice.

Guides are then trained to break free and protect themselves during guiding, efficiently calming Espers to prevent too much damage from occurring.

Fuck. She slid the tablet away; the hologram dying as she killed the power, wringing hands and sweat building over skin. She fucked up by trusting that goddamn eros, letting him pick whatever the fuck he wanted. Air did this knowing that she was drunk, stupid and high.

She hadn't seen this in the commentaries and videos from the University, pretty and well-packaged to seem so damn respectful. And it was her bad for not researching on her own degree she supposed, but she'd been busy working day and night like a dog just for hot meals.

Anger coursed heavy and bitter through her gut.

Cursing, her hands flew over the search bar. Her eyes scanned for answers she needed. No, the internet confirmed, a Guide did not always have to always have sex with their Espers, although it is the easiest and best method. She relaxed, slumped into her seat with a heavy exhale.

It's fine, she assured herself, pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten. The pay would not rival a president's and she might take twenty more years working to pay off the debt. But realistically, Rue must absolutely suck at guiding. As an Omega and a human, she must be weak, must be horribly inadequate.

There was a reason for the high average salary of Omegaverse graduates, and Rue only understood now. She'd signed up to become a whore for monsters.

Rue groaned, felt the onslaught of an incoming headache. Knowledge draining her soul, but she'd deal with it all after she took a piss, had something to eat, and sat down to research on what she could actually do in life.

But dear God, she was going to strangle Air, dip his flayed cock in salt and deep fry that shit until he begged her for mercy. Lies. She'd thank him first for saving her life and sending her ass to school. The anger helped with the confidence and so she sprayed herself down, then peeked out into the hallway, to the intruding darkness devoid of alien presence, empty of sound.

But it wasn't like Rue to be scared and so she flopped about noisy and purposeful wanting everyone to know that the bad bitch was in town. Her feet, bare and heavy, slapped upon tile in a disruptive cacophony. And her eyes darted surreptitiously, seeking movement in the shadows.

Her hands danced over the walls, aiming for the bathroom, fingers twisting over the panels. And of course, her fat digits grazed the keyhole Kieran's door. It shimmered, registering her fingerprint, and slid open as if it knew her and wanted her inside.

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