What Becomes of the Honored
Zenin Naoya x Male Reader | Omegaverse AU | Multi Chapter/Oneshot: 3,142 Words
Tags: Omegaverse (Alpha/Omega Dynamics). Prime Alpha. Prime Omega. Power Imbalance. Arranged Marriage. Political Marriage. Enemies to Forced Partners. Verbal Degradation. Psychological Dominance. Emotional Manipulation. Internalized Misogyny. Hypocrisy. Pride and Downfall. Angst. Humiliation (Non-Physical). Denial. Late Bloomers. Slow Burn. Bitter Dynamics. Toxic Power Structures.
TW: ABO Dynamics. Verbal Abuse. Emotional Distress. Power Reversal. Loss of Autonomy. Internalized Hatred. Mentions of Heat Cycles. Forced Proximity. Arranged Bonding. NSFW Themes (Contextual)—Minors DO NOT Interact! 🔞
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Gege Akutami. This work is a non-canon AU. Characters may be portrayed OOC for narrative purposes. No endorsement of real-world abusive behavior or ideologies is intended.
Naoya had been born into privilege so deep it felt inseparable from his bones.
From the moment he could walk, he was reminded—by servants, by elders, by whispered conversations that never bothered to lower their volume—that he belonged to one of the three great pillars of Jujutsu society. The Zenin Clan did not simply exist. It ruled. It dictated. It crushed. And Naoya was meant to inherit all of it.
He grew up surrounded by expectation and rot in equal measure.
The elders praised his bloodline before they praised his effort. The servants bowed before he learned how to bow back. Every mistake he made was brushed aside as “youthful arrogance,” while everyone else’s mistakes became permanent stains. Somewhere along the way, Naoya learned that he was untouchable.
And he loved it.
He loved the way people flinched when he raised his voice. He loved the way women lowered their gaze, how they were taught from birth to orbit men like him, to serve men like him, to never aspire beyond men like him. To Naoya, women were weak by nature. Tools for bearing heirs. Decorations at best. Burdens at worst.
He said it openly. Loudly. Often.
Hypocrisy clung to him like perfume.
Despite his relentless contempt, Naoya spoke in a feminine Kansai dialect without a shred of self-awareness. His voice lilted when he mocked. His tone curled sweet even when his words were venom. Anyone who noticed the contradiction learned quickly to pretend they hadn’t.
Zenin Naoya did not tolerate mirrors.
In a world where secondary genders dictated fate, Naoya had already written his own.
Alpha stood at the top. Dominant. Respected. Feared. Betas filled the background. Omegas existed to carry the future, yet were treated like disposable vessels.
Naoya refused to imagine himself anywhere but above.
Even as his peers began receiving their secondary gender confirmations, even as younger boys celebrated their presentations, Naoya remained unclassified. A late bloomer.
It should have unsettled him.
Instead, he treated it like inevitability delayed, not destiny questioned.
“Obviously I’m a Prime Alpha,” he would scoff whenever the topic surfaced. “They’re probably just waiting to confirm it properly. Can’t rush perfection.”
He said it so often that others began repeating it.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Well-built from relentless training. Sharp eyes. Sharper jaw. Not a single soft line on his face. Everything about him screamed dominance, at least on the surface.
No one seriously suggested any alternative.
Not aloud.
By the time Genpuku approached, Naoya was chosen as Zenin’s representative without debate.
The Gojo Clan would also be sending their heir.
Gojo Satoru.
Already crowned. Already acknowledged. Already standing where Naoya believed he should be standing.
Naoya wore his envy like a poorly fitted crown.
He greeted Satoru with forced familiarity, slinging an arm over imaginary closeness. Calling him “Satoru-kun” with a grin that barely concealed his teeth. Satoru responded with nothing more than a glance—empty, bored, uninterested.
Naoya told himself that was fine.
Rivals didn’t need affection.
He would surpass him.
He would prove that Zenin stood above Gojo.
He would prove that he, Zenin Naoya, was the honored one.
The hall was already crowded when he arrived.
At first, everything felt normal.
Then his skin began to prickle.
A cold sheen of sweat gathered at his spine. His face felt too warm, like heat blooming beneath the surface of his skin. His heartbeat picked up, uneven and heavy, as if it were struggling to keep rhythm.
Naoya scowled.
Annoying.
Probably nerves, he decided. Or hunger. Or the presence of so many weaklings in one place.
He lifted his chin and kept walking.
That was when he noticed the stares.
Not the usual kind.
Not resentment.
Not admiration.
Not fear.
These gazes lingered.
Eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide. Mouths slightly parted. Throats working as they swallowed.
They looked at him like they were starving.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Someone whispered about the Zenin scent.
Someone else laughed, breathless, saying it was overwhelming.
Another voice—louder, unrestrained—shouted that the pheromone pouring off him was insanely strong.
Naoya felt dizzy.
Of course they could smell him.
He sneered, despite how his knees felt strangely weak.
“Tch. It’s obvious,” he barked. “That’s what happens when a Prime Alpha walks in. Can’t handle it, huh?”
The words sounded right.
The logic made sense.
But the scent in the air wasn’t sharp.
It wasn’t biting.
It wasn’t heavy with dominance.
It was warm.
Sweet.
Thick with something dangerously inviting.
It curled into lungs and settled low in the stomach, stirring instincts that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with wanting.
No one thought it smelled like an Alpha.
Everyone knew it.
No one dared to say it.
Except you.
You stepped into his space without hesitation.
Close enough that Naoya could smell you too—clean, grounded, steady.
“Keep dreaming,” you said flatly. “You’re not a Prime Alpha.”
Naoya’s eyes snapped to you.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re presenting as a Prime Omega.”
For a moment, the world froze.
Then Naoya laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was absurd.
Because only a lunatic would say something that stupid to his face.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” he spat. “Look at you. You think I’m gonna believe a word from some scrawny bastard?”
His gaze dragged over you with open contempt.
Same height.
Less muscle.
Softer jaw.
Pretty in a way that irritated him.
Everything about you screamed “not Alpha” in his mind.
“You’re projecting,” Naoya continued, voice rising. “If anyone here’s an Omega, it’s you. Don’t get it twisted.”
Insults spilled easily.
You were worthless.
Delusional.
Not even worth standing in front of him.
The words stacked up, sharp and cruel, each one meant to cut.
Your expression barely changed.
The hall felt too hot.
Naoya’s vision swam.
His breath came out uneven, chest heaving as something twisted painfully in his gut.
The floor tilted.
He took one step.
Then everything went black.
When Naoya opened his eyes, he was staring at a ceiling he knew intimately.
His ceiling.
The familiar faint scent of incense. The weight of a futon beneath him.
For a moment, he thought it had been a dream.
The hall.
The stares.
You.
His head throbbed as he sat up.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
He shoved the blanket aside and stormed out of his room, barefoot, still wearing ceremonial layers that felt wrong on his skin.
Voices drifted from the main hall.
Angry.
Disappointed.
Disgusted.
“…a disgrace to the Zenin name.”
“…of all possibilities…”
“…Prime Omega. Unbelievable.”
“…how could that thing represent us?”
Naoya stopped.
Every word felt like a slap.
Prime Omega.
No.
They didn’t know what they were talking about.
They had to be mistaken.
Someone had tampered with the results.
Someone had lied.
This was a joke.
A bad one.
His hands trembled at his sides as rage coiled up his spine.
He had spent his entire life despising weakness.
Despising Omegas.
Despising anything that needed protection.
Now they were trying to shove that label onto him.
Onto Naoya Zenin.
Future clan head.
Prime Alpha.
Not Omega.
Never Omega.
His nails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
Inside his chest, something fractured.
Because deep down, beneath the denial, beneath the fury, beneath the pride—
His body already knew.
And that truth was the most unbearable thing of all.
The Zenin Clan did not grieve Zenin Naoya.
They did not hold quiet discussions about lost potential or whisper about tragedy behind sliding doors. They treated his presentation the same way they treated any structural flaw within their system: something to be concealed first, then repurposed later. For a time, Naoya simply vanished from public clan life. Visitors were told he had been sent on extended training. Some were told he was ill. Others were told nothing at all. His absence became background noise, and eventually, no one asked where the heir-apparent had gone.
Naoya spent those years confined within the estate, surrounded by luxuries that felt increasingly meaningless. He still slept on fine futons, still wore expensive silk, still ate meals prepared by silent servants. None of it restored what had been taken from him. Every mirror reflected the same face he had always possessed, sharp and familiar, but his body no longer obeyed the narrative he had built around himself.
His scent changed.
It thickened, sweetened, deepened into something impossible to ignore.
No amount of denial stopped it.
Prime Omega pheromones were not subtle. They did not drift politely. They settled into rooms, clung to fabric, and soaked into skin. During certain weeks, Naoya’s temperature spiked without warning. His muscles ached. His thoughts blurred. His sleep fractured into shallow, restless stretches punctuated by intrusive sensations he refused to name.
The healers called it heat.
Naoya called it bullshit.
Prime Omega heats were not comparable to ordinary Omega cycles. They were longer. More volatile. Capable of destabilizing heart rate, blood pressure, and neural activity if left unmanaged. Suppressants could delay onset, reduce severity, and dull instinctual response, but they were not a permanent solution. The healers explained this in flat, clinical language. Naoya heard only the underlying message.
You are defective.
You are dangerous.
You are no longer a person. You are a condition.
He took the suppressants because passing out on tatami mats was inconvenient, not because he accepted their diagnosis. He followed just enough medical instruction to remain alive. He refused counseling. Refused adjustment training. Refused Omega etiquette lessons. When elders attempted to introduce bonding education, he walked out.
Naoya survived through sheer, corrosive spite.
He told himself the clan would eventually correct the error. That new testing methods would emerge. That someone important would realize a mistake had been made. That his real status would surface and everyone would choke on their apology.
Years passed.
Nothing changed.
By his early twenties, the clan elders stopped including him in any conversation regarding leadership, training hierarchy, or political strategy. His name vanished from succession discussions as if it had never existed there in the first place. When he entered rooms, conversations did not stop out of respect anymore. They stopped because people did not know what to say to him.
He was no longer an heir.
He was an asset.
Prime Omegas were rare.
Prime Omegas were valuable.
Prime Omegas were liabilities if left unbonded.
The conclusion was inevitable.
Naoya Zenin would be married off.
Not into one of the three great clans. Neither Gojo nor Kamo expressed interest in taking in a Prime Omega with a documented history of instability and public scandal. The Zenin elders were forced to search elsewhere, prioritizing biology over prestige.
They selected a smaller clan with steady political alignment and a confirmed Prime Alpha heir.
Late bloomer.
Male.
Stable temperament.
Recently completed secondary gender development.
Naoya skimmed the file without interest until his eyes caught the name.
You.
The memory surfaced instantly.
The hall.
The heat.
The way you had looked at him.
The words you had spoken without hesitation.
You’re presenting as a Prime Omega.
Naoya stared at the page for a long time.
Then he laughed.
It sounded wrong.
Dry.
Brittle.
“This is a joke,” he said.
No one answered.
He tore the document in half and dropped the pieces onto the tatami.
Another copy was placed in front of him.
“You don’t have a choice,” one elder said calmly. “Your heat cycles are intensifying. Suppressants are becoming less effective. Prime Omegas cannot remain unbonded indefinitely without significant medical risk.”
Naoya clenched his jaw.
“You’re selling me.”
“You are being placed,” the elder corrected.
“To some nobody clan.”
“A smaller clan,” the elder replied. “But with a Prime Alpha heir. That alone makes it suitable.”
Naoya’s hands shook.
Not with fear.
With rage.
“So that’s it,” he said. “I’m livestock now.”
No one contradicted him.
The night before his departure, Naoya did not sleep.
Not because he mourned the Zenin Clan.
Not because he felt abandoned.
But because the idea of standing in front of you again made something poisonous coil inside his chest.
Of all possible people.
Of all potential matches.
It had to be you.
The boy he had humiliated.
The boy who had watched him collapse.
The boy who had been right.
He swore to himself that you would never see remorse.
Never see regret.
Never see weakness.
The estate you were born into was noticeably smaller than Zenin’s.
Cleaner.
Quieter.
Less suffocating.
That alone irritated him.
Servants bowed, but did not avert their eyes in terror. People spoke at normal volume. The air felt… functional.
Naoya hated it.
He was escorted to a private room prepared for him. Not a cell. Not a locked chamber. Simply a room.
That irritated him more.
You were not there when he arrived.
He paced for nearly an hour before the door finally slid open.
You stepped inside.
You had changed.
Your frame was broader. Your shoulders wider. Your presence heavier in a way that had nothing to do with muscle alone. Prime Alpha pheromones sat beneath your skin like compressed gravity, controlled and stable.
Naoya’s body reacted before his pride could stop it.
He hated himself for that.
You looked at him.
Recognition flickered.
Then something neutral.
“Naoya,” you said.
No honorific.
No venom.
Just his name.
“Tch,” Naoya scoffed. “Don’t act familiar.”
You slid the door closed behind you.
“I didn’t ask for this arrangement,” you said. “Neither did you.”
Naoya laughed sharply.
“Wow. You want a medal?”
“I want this to be functional,” you replied. “Not comfortable. Not romantic. Functional.”
Naoya stepped closer.
“You think you’re better than me now?” he sneered. “Just because you turned out Prime Alpha?”
“I think you’re exhausted,” you said. “And angry. And cornered.”
Naoya’s nails bit into his palms.
“Watch your mouth.”
“I’m not here to dominate you,” you continued. “I’m not here to punish you. But I’m also not going to let you abuse me.”
Silence stretched.
Naoya searched your face for smugness.
For revenge.
For satisfaction.
There was none.
Naoya turned away from you, jaw tight, shoulders rigid, as if the act alone could reassert some invisible authority.
Because if he didn’t look at you, he didn’t have to acknowledge the way your presence felt different from years ago.
He didn’t have to acknowledge that the boy he once dismissed now carried weight.
“You don’t touch me without permission,” Naoya said coldly. “You don’t order me around. You don’t think this means you own me.”
“I agree,” you replied.
Naoya paused.
The answer wasn’t what he had expected.
“This is a contract,” you continued. “Not ownership.”
Naoya let out a sharp scoff.
“Tch. Don’t pretend you’re some saint. You got exactly what you wanted in the end.”
You watched him for a moment before responding.
“Is that what you think?”
Naoya turned back toward you, eyes narrowed.
“You stood there years ago and called me an Omega,” he said. “Now I get dragged here and handed to you on a leash. Looks pretty convenient.”
You didn’t raise your voice.
You didn’t look offended.
“Funny thing,” you said quietly. “You still talk like you’re the one with leverage.”
Naoya’s shoulder twitched.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You came here because your clan decided you were a problem,” you said. “Not because you’re special. Not because you’re precious. Because you’re inconvenient.”
Naoya’s lips curled.
“Shut up.”
“You’re here because if they leave you alone, your body will eventually shut down,” you continued. “Because Prime Omega heats don’t care about your pride. Because suppressants stop working. Because denial doesn’t change biology.”
Naoya’s jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth grind.
“I said shut up.”
You tilted your head slightly.
“Do you know why they didn’t ask me before agreeing to this match?”
Naoya didn’t answer.
“Because they assumed I’d accept,” you said. “Because from their perspective, you don’t get to be selective anymore.”
Something ugly flashed across Naoya’s face.
“You think I wanted this?” he snapped. “You think I’d ever choose someone like you?”
You met his glare without flinching.
“No,” you said. “I think you’d rather die than admit you’re dependent on someone you once called worthless.”
Silence pressed down between you.
Naoya’s breathing grew heavier.
You took a slow step forward.
Not crowding.
Not threatening.
Just shifting the balance.
“Back then, you looked at me and decided I was beneath you based on my face and body alone,” you said. “You decided I must be Omega because I wasn’t sharp enough. Not muscular enough. Not loud enough.”
Naoya swallowed.
“You called me weak,” you continued. “You called me a twink. You told me I wasn’t worth speaking to.”
Another step.
“Now look at you.”
Naoya’s hands curled into fists.
“You’re a Prime Omega with unstable cycles,” you said evenly. “No political backing. No inheritance. No autonomy. Standing in a house that isn’t yours, waiting to be bonded so you don’t medically deteriorate.”
His eyes burned.
“And I’m a Prime Alpha,” you said. “Confirmed. Stable. Fully developed. With a clan that doesn’t need to sell me off.”
Naoya lunged one step forward.
“Don’t get cocky just because fate screwed me over.”
You didn’t move.
“Fate didn’t make you treat people like trash,” you replied. “That was your choice.”
Naoya opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“You’re going to live here,” you said. “You’re going to go through heats under this roof. You’re going to rely on me whether you like it or not.”
Naoya’s lips trembled with fury.
“And here’s the part you’re really going to hate,” you added.
A pause.
“I’m not going to humiliate you the way you did to me.”
Naoya blinked.
“I’m not going to scream at you,” you continued. “I’m not going to degrade you. I’m not going to treat you like livestock.”
You leaned down just enough that your voice dropped.
“I don’t need to.”
Naoya’s stomach twisted.
“Because you already know exactly what position you’re in,” you said. “And you get to sit with that.”
His gaze dropped.
Just for a fraction of a second.
But it happened.
“Fuck you,” Naoya muttered.
You straightened.
“No,” you said calmly. “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.”
Naoya stared at you.
Not because you were louder.
Not because you were crueler.
But because you weren’t.
“I’m not your servant,” you continued. “I’m not your underling. I’m not someone you can kick and expect silence.”
A pause.
“If you want basic respect,” you said, “you’re going to start giving it.”
Naoya looked away.
Not in agreement.
Not in surrender.
But because holding your gaze felt like standing in front of something immovable.
For the first time in his life, Zenin Naoya realized something he had spent years denying.
Power did not always come from shouting.
Sometimes it simply existed.
And it terrified him.
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Divider: @/cursed-carmine
