1-Beginning of Chapter 1
-THE SEVEN RED FLAGS OF HAKON UNIVERSITY (A Soulmate Reverse Harem Omegaverse)-
Born in the hell hole of Space Port 69, Rue’s a human omega desperate to leave the alien whore house she calls home. Defying all odds, she masquerades as an Alpha and obtains a scholarship to the ivy league of all space institutions.
HAKON university is an all-male school that trains the cream of the crop—future leaders of the galaxies. Rue’s just here to graduate, pretend to have a dick, and then flee into the workforce, that is until the legendary Seirios pack sets their eyes on her.
They’re generals, billionaires, scientists, and doctors; the sons of emperors—aliens with godlike abilities that make them rulers of their kind. But with excessive power comes the price of testosterone-fuelled insanity that cannot be soothed. An esper will always need his guide.
They’ve been searching for a final member to quell their raging souls—an eighth to complete their pack. Millions have tried for a taste of the peak, but none have succeeded, and thousands die from their power, unable to withstand the bond.
Seirios doesn’t chase their prey, they don’t have to, but this time they want Rue.
If Rue were a fish, she’d be swimming in the muddiest, tiniest tank known to the existence of all mankind.
Her childhood home was a whore house on space port 69, the oldest interstellar dock in the galaxy. Built on the blood of the first aliens that passed—junkies escaping the police—it was a place that smelled like urine, drugs, and cigs; where the streets were stained with blood, shit and cum; and the air was humid with sweat and sex.
Debauchery was what raised Rue.
Growing up, she’d done her homework to the soundtrack of grunting men and the screams from prostitutes that worked too long for far too little. She helped wash the sheets, crusting with semen and wet with piss, then cared for the girls when no one else could.
A day of arduous work for young Rue was homemade salve dabbed on their bloodied pussies, needle and thread to the torn lingerie and the threadbare sheets, and tiny hands stirring at a vat of thin watery rat stew with buttery canned potatoes in their jackets from the 80s.
She was good at school despite the environment, and she was just as good at handling reception.
It was as if they sold wontons instead of women.
It shows that we’re a family business, her pack Alpha used to say.
He was a fat lizard, with peeling scales dusty with filth, and tons of semen that oozed dreadfully out of his pants in the gallons. To put it frankly, he was sick. His prick was bloated, popping with pus-filled blisters and flakes of scabby skin gifted to him from the universe’s worst STD in all existence. It was so bad he left a trail of green goo all over the floor, dick cheese that Rue had to scrub out.
“It shows that we’ve got too many hands on the cocks to care about the cash. That we need a little kid at the register serving the goods, it shows that we don’t care about kinks. That we only accept the real ones that don’t blink an eye asking for double Ds, two tongues, and a cock on their prostitute.”
He’d leered—he was always a part of the cocks, not the hands.
“And you’re good at it too, aren’t yah? Cold-hearted little bitch. Not one bloody thought in those dead fisheyes.” He’d peered down at her, but she at an early age of seven hadn’t even blinked an eye. No one could really take a man seriously, with his cock so bloated it stuck out of his pants like bulging tits. ”That’s why we send you to school, to learn all the fancy words. Like that acty whatever the fuck—”
“Actirasty,” she’d told him. ”You have that kink.” He was a lizard after all, and they enjoyed sunbathing.
“Right,” he’d scoffed, slapped her on the back. It stung, but not as bad as a whip to the back of her legs. When she was younger and dumber, she’d pissed him off just to prove a point, but she’d learned quite quickly that when Alpha was wrong, he was always right. ”You’re so much fun, aren’t you? Keep going to school kid.”
She was going to school to learn to count money for a prostitution den.
Her mother stood at the very centre of the tank of fishes: the youngest, the dumbest and the prettiest—a human. A rare fragile species that had a failure mark for strength, power, and ability, but was class SSS for sex. But Rue hadn’t received the same celestial nose and cherry pink lips, or the doe eyes and that sweet little Omega scent that tasted like vanilla and cream.
Her sperm donor, as her Mama called him, was a godforsaken ugly bastard. He’d been a bad tipper, left his spunk splattered all over his pants and waddled out of their place never to be seen again. He was hideous. And like all exploited women, her mother had tried to take her out at the doctor’s.
It should have been a quick and easy death for her existence, once a brainless bundle of cells.
But just as Rue had bypassed the birth control and the condom, she would survive the abortion. And it’d given her Mama a new stage name in the den of immorality: Mary. Nonetheless, they’d all declare sometimes that Rue was a good little money maker, and a blessing to them all.
Mama’s belly lured in fat heavy cheques from aliens with impregnation kinks, and Rue was quite the hard worker too, had kicked in time with the thrusts. Her Mama laughed at that when she’d told the story to three-year-old Rue, giggled over a trail of drugs, carefully scrapped on the table and a stub of weed between her fingers.
And when Rue was born, she’d been an excellent asset to the den, even if they tried to tell her otherwise. Rue was damn sure she’d tripled their earnings with just a little organization and math. It was a pity they were stupid, but what they lacked would be salvaged by their smart little girl.
Rue would say, now that she was all grown up and educated. That if she were in her Mama’s place, the abortion might have been a better choice for a child that would grow up learning ABCs from the screams of men and women.
A for asshole, B for boobs, C for cum shot on the breast.
It was a miracle that Rue didn’t end up as a prostitute too. She would have, if not for her scent: odourless, greaseless, and transparent. She’d make a perfect hand cream of an Omega for sensitive skin and eczema.
And her eyes were none of that sweet chocolate that her mother had, molasses and burnt sugar. Hers was piss yellow from a dehydration with bits of discharge. Malnutrition coloured her skin, gave her thin weak balding hair, the perpetual blue of dry lips, and the startling purple of her eyebags.
Rue had the pallor of the dead. And aside from the lack of sewage that would stink up her clothes if she were one of the street rats, Rue seemed just as homeless and just as poor. But it wasn’t as if her home existed in the dregs of poverty.
God no, her pack Alpha squeezed out every last bit of crypto from the pockets of the perverts. He’d take it all if they had anymore left in their wallet. A dip into a cunt was a worthy cost for coin no doubt. But open windows, condom in the bin, semen splatters on the floor, salt on their fries. Everything was charged to the last dreadful cent.
The customers were oranges squeezed so dry all that was left were stringy fibre.
They were rich enough to eat meat. But to her folks, there was no point giving the kid more food since she was dead weight. They said that despite her excellent admin skills and her astounding innovation with their payment system.
“A crappy investment,” the other ladies had described her, ”flat chested and ugly. At least now she can play the part of a skinny model. Anorexia is a kink.” Her mother had agreed with a shrug, and shovelled down another loaf of sourdough and buttercream to feed the fat of her breast.
Her mother had burped, then sighed as she spoke. ”She’s too bony for sex, too sickly for pleasure. Too smart to fake a cum, too ugly to satisfy. As long as she isn’t dead,” was what Mama used to say, ”I’m good. Just keeping her alive and working is all I need for my girl. She’ll do fine in school, counting the money, keeping us away from the scammers and the cheats. Learning the ropes and the tech they send our way just to get a free lay.”
“And she cooks good too, for what it’s worth.”The ladies had laughed as they talked. ”Made mutant meat taste like beef, who would’ve known? I’ve gained a pound since she started in the kitchen. At this rate, she’ll send me to the streets!” She’d prodded her belly, so full of the stew Rue had made that it swelled.
“You just don’t season your food,” Rue had mumbled under her breath.
Nothing would taste good, boiled white in their goose-fleshed skin in stale, muddy water. If it did there must be shit in the mixture. Bitterness was also a taste no matter where it came from and her aunties—the other prostitutes—only knew how to make two things: boiled water and orange flavour-soaked cotton balls for weight loss.
Rue might be a skinny malnourished twig, but that didn’t mean she was stupid.
Omegas were meant to be fucked; Betas were ordered to serve. And Alphas—the glorious, beautiful, worshipped men—were allowed to work good jobs that gave plenty of credit. Money that would fill bellies, allow tummies to bulge out in health, and provide sleep so deep that she would forget about her stomach.
Naturally, Rue would seek that occupation and aim for those impossible dreams.
Which led her here, nestled between two Alphas in the library, some alien variation of mint stuffed up her nostrils and a pen and paper in her hands. Her lips snagged between her teeth, as she tried her best to ignore the foot between her legs rubbing against the sock cock she’d worn just to hide the truth.
To blend in with them Rue had to smear semen fresh from the condom over her neck—she’d rummaged in the bins just for this little job. She had quite the collection of hot, juicy cum preserved sweet and nasty in her little lab. It was a special little concoction that she’d made from a couple of regulars of decent age with a somewhat milder scent.
If mild could taste like mildew, mould, and wet wallpaper.
She didn’t quite care for the rest of the tuition group. Idiots 1 and 2 were meat heads that didn’t need the extra coddling and were genuinely there to study. It was idiot number 3 that she cared about. He sat lounged like a cat and oozing with tentacles, looking too pretty for his own damn good.
She was on high alert because idiot number 3 didn’t give a damn that she was an Alpha. He didn’t care that she was thin and ugly. No matter how bad she smelled, he was determined to get into her pants. It seemed that somehow Rue, with her dying look, her bad odour and her awful fashion, was completely his type.
If she didn’t know better, she’d say that they were soulmates.
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