A Silent Surrender (Omegaverse)

Unwanted smell

Yoko has always been different. In a family full of strong-willed alphas and confident betas, she stood out—not for her accomplishments or her talents, but for something she had no control over: her status as an omega.

The moment her secondary gender revealed itself during her early teenage years, everything changed. What had once been a loving and supportive household turned cold and distant. Her parents, both alphas, looked at her with a mix of disappointment and disdain. Her 4 siblings, 3 alphas and 1 beta, weren’t much better—some mocked her openly, while others simply ignored her existence altogether.

Yoko had always known that her family valued strength and dominance, qualities they believed were inherent to alphas and, to a lesser extent, betas. But for an omega? They saw only weakness, vulnerability, and the potential for bringing shame to the family.

Determined to prove them wrong, Yoko threw herself into everything she did with a ferocity that surprised even her. She became the top student in her class, excelling in academics, sports, and anything else she set her mind to. She was the best at everything, and she thought—hoped—that if she just achieved enough, if she just worked hard enough, they would finally see her as worthy.

But no matter how hard she tried, it was never enough. Her family’s scornful gazes, their cutting remarks about her “omega scent” that was “too sweet, too distracting,” never faded. They saw her accomplishments as nothing more than a desperate attempt to compensate for what they viewed as her fundamental flaw. Her omega nature, to them, overshadowed everything else.

It wasn’t just their words that hurt—it was their auras, too. In the omegaverse, everyone exuded a distinct aura, an energy that carried their scent and presence. Alphas projected dominance, their auras strong and commanding, while betas were more balanced, steady. But an omega’s aura was different—softer, more soothing, but to Yoko’s family, it was seen as a sign of submission, something that needed to be suppressed.

Her scent, naturally sweet with notes of lavender and vanilla, was always a point of contention. They would criticize her for it, accusing her of intentionally amplifying it to draw attention or manipulate others. It was a ridiculous accusation—Yoko had no control over her scent, and in fact, she tried everything she could to suppress it, to blend in and avoid their scorn.

But it was a losing battle. No matter how much she tried to neutralize her scent, it would always linger, reminding her family of what they saw as her inherent inferiority. Her mother, an recessive alpha with a powerful, sharp aura that dominated any room she entered, would often wrinkle her nose in distaste whenever Yoko was near, as if her very presence was an inconvenience.

Despite her efforts, Yoko found herself increasingly isolated within her own home. She became the subject of hushed conversations and pitied glances, as if she were some tragic figure doomed by the unfortunate lottery of biology. Her siblings, who once played with her and shared secrets, now avoided her or spoke to her with thinly veiled condescension.

Over time, Yoko’s spirit began to break under the weight of their constant disdain. She grew tired of fighting, tired of trying to prove herself to people who would never see her as anything but a liability. The constant struggle to fit into a family that would never accept her for who she was wore her down.

The final blow came when her parents arranged a potential mating meeting with a wealthy alpha family—something that, for any omega, might have been seen as an honor. But for Yoko, it was the ultimate betrayal. They weren’t trying to secure her future out of love or concern; they were trying to get rid of her, to offload what they saw as their burden onto someone else.

Yoko had enough. She couldn’t take it anymore. She realized that no amount of achievements or accolades would ever make her family accept her. She was done trying to win their approval.