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Jirou is the one who tells him of the problem. “One of my friends is in a pack that’s omega-less,” she says over their typical morning coffee run. “And, well, they’ve got two alphas in the pack—you know how it goes.”
Hitoshi does.
Packs with more than one alpha needed to have an omega pack member, or else they’ll slowly go feral. And no one likes what happens when a pack goes feral.
“Yikes for them,” Hitoshi says in a nonchalant tone as he debates over how much sugar he needs. “What’s that got to do with little ole me?”
Jirou snorts and gives him a look. “You know very well that those fancy grad schools won’t admit a packless omega.”
Hitoshi grimaces and brings the cup to his lips. It was, unfortunately, the truth. As his senior year of his undergrad wrapped up to a close, Hitoshi entertained the idea of graduate school. Only for his academic advisor to gently let him down. “You aren’t affiliated with a pack, Shinsou-san, even on a platonic level,”—a gentle way of reminding him of his orphan status— “and because of the high stress involved in grad programs . . . while they can’t outright say they’ll deny you admission, well. . .”
So. A pack. He needed to be in one by the time admissions deadlines rolled around, and Hitoshi’s timeline is shrinking with each waking moment.
“Gimme their contact info, I guess,” Hitoshi mutters once he swallows a mouthful of what Uraraka cheerfully says is a ‘mouthful of death.’ “I wanna get to know them first, you know?”
“Not a problem,” Jirou says in – a suspicious tone of voice. She smiles at Hitoshi’s eye-squint. “I’ve set you up on a date. Tonight.”
Hitoshi rolls his eyes and finishes the rest of his coffee. He’s not even mad. His prospective date with a member of the pack escapes his mind as he takes two back-to-back exams, presents a group project, and gets handed another group project for a class that makes him want to rip his hair out.
“You’re so high strung, fam,” says one of his group members, Utsushimie something. “Like – get laid, bro?”
If Hitoshi weren’t a semester away from graduating, he would’ve done something completely reckless. By the time he troops back to his dorm, it’s near dinner time. He’s starving, he wants nothing more than to snack on unhealthy foods and binge-watch some shows while wrapped up in a blanket. It’s not until he sees Jirou in his room that he remembers, oh yeah, he has a date.
Hagakure, a preppy girl who lived across the hall, is there, too; spinning on Hitoshi’s desk chair. “You’re gonna look so cute, Shinsou!”
“I’m always cute,” says Hitoshi.
Jirou snorts and ushers him toward the bathroom. “Shower and dress,” she instructs. “We’ve got an hour and a half before they pick you up.”
“Who is picking me up?”
“The packs’ alpha,” Jirou tells him. “Enough chitchat. Go.”
Hitoshi grumbles about her bossy attitude as he jumps into the shower. It doesn’t take him long to finish and wrap himself up in his towel. Hagakure whistles something about a show when he walks out the bathroom, and then shrieks in laughter when he pelts her with his dirty laundry in response. “Foul,” she cries out. “Bring the guillotine!”
His expectations for the date are exactly as he’d thought because when he starts rooting through his underwear drawer, Jirou hums a soft, “Sure you wanna wear one?”
Hitoshi stares at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not a nudist, Jirou.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“Wear pretty panties, but not too pretty,” Hagakure suggests. “It’s going to get ruined, honey.”
Hitoshi crosses his arms over his chest, not caring that his towel threatens to fall, and says, “Okay . . . what are y’all not telling me? Thought this was a date?”
“It is,” Jirou insists, and then shrugs. “Some alphas like to see if the omega they’re courting is . . . you know . . . sexually compatible on the first date.”
Hitoshi’s cheeks heat. He knew that, but still. Still. He picks out, as Hagakure suggested, a pair that was still cute enough for a date, but it wouldn’t make him terribly upset if it’d end up ruined by the end of the night.
Jirou has him wear a sleeveless, backless dress that could just barely be considered mid-thigh. The warm aqua blue compliments both his skin tone and his hair, which is a difficult thing to do since, well . . . Hitoshi is, literally, purple. Hagakure brandishes kitten heels of the same shade as the dress, and he’s given black hoop earrings and a black jacket.
Hagakure then sits him down. “Let’s get some makeup on you~.”
Hitoshi can only sigh.
They have ten minutes before the alpha arrives when Hagakure and Jirou finish touching up Hitoshi’s makeup and outfit. He doesn’t bother with perfume, knowing that his scent was pleasant to many people. Plus, perfume itched whenever it got on his scent glands. He double-checked that he had his keys, wallet and phone as Jirou and Hagakure led him to the elevator.
He appreciates their presence. “So . . . what if he wants to bond quickly?” Hitoshi murmurs as they step in the elevator, slight anxiety curling his scent.
Jirou raises an eyebrow. “Would you . . . be comfortable with bonding quickly?”
“Dunno.” Hitoshi shrugs. “Guess I have to see if I even like him, first.”
“Oh, trust me,” Hagakure purrs as the elevator doors open to the lobby. “You’ll love~ him.”
Hitoshi gives her a look at that. “What do you know?”
Hagakure only laughs as she herds Hitoshi out the doors. People stare as they walk past, mostly at Hitoshi as he’s clearly a dressed-up omega on his way to enjoy his night. A few people whistle and murmur to their friends, clearly recognizing Hitoshi as that omega who goes to class in kitten pajamas sometimes. Hitoshi just rolls his eyes.
“Disgusting.” Jirou scrunches her nose at an alpha who makes a vulgar comment about the way the wind flutters Hitoshi’s skirt. It causes him to self-consciously tug it down. “Hey. Stop that. Don’t listen to the assholes, Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi bites his bottom lip.
“. . . Jirou?”
At the new voice, deep and warm in a way that makes Hitoshi shiver, Hitoshi turns to see an alpha approaching—a very, very familiar alpha. As in, an alpha Hitoshi once had a one-night stand with back when they were in their sophomore year. As in, an alpha who had single handedly redefined sex (and one-night stands) for Hitoshi. As in, an alpha Hitoshi has shared at least one class with each semester—and that included summer semesters, which were mostly online.
“B-Bakugo?” Hitoshi says, hesitantly, almost disbelieving, and Bakugo blinks at him in recognition. Hitoshi also recognizes the way Bakugo’s eyes go dark. “Uh, hey . . .”
“Yo.” Bakugo nods in greeting, and then his lips curl with a slight smirk. “I take it, you’re my date tonight?”
“No, I’m dressed like this for the library,” Hitoshi deadpans, smiling his own tiny smile at Bakugo’s sharp laughter. He tries not to make it obvious, how his eyes trail over Bakugo’s appearance, but he knows he fails by how Bakugo’s grin sharpens more at Hitoshi’s interest. He’s dressed – very nicely. Slacks and a button-down that accentuate his muscled physique.
A physique that Hitoshi remembers very well.
“Hold it!” Hagakure waves her arm—well. Her sleeve, at least; Hitoshi could never tell with the invisible girl. “You two . . . You two know each other?”
Jirou looks surprised, and then whacks Hitoshi’s side with one of her earlobes. At his sputtered yelp, she says, “You didn’t tell me you knew Bakugo!”
“How was I supposed to know you set me up with him?” Hitoshi rubs his side with a pout. “I’m filing a complaint to Yaomomo for this assault on my persons.”
Jirou rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’ll just laugh at you and say you deserved it.”
She would . . . but in a much nicer, Yaomomo-way.
“How do you two know each other?” Hagakure demands, cutting through the boiling argument with ease. If Hitoshi could see her features, he’d say she were pouting.
Hitoshi shares a glance with Bakugo before he says, “We share a lot of classes.”
Jirou narrows her eyes a bit but accepts the explanation. Hitoshi had met Jirou far after his one-night stand with Bakugo, so she wasn’t a part of his friend circle and, therefore, wasn’t around for his drunken complaints over how “Bakugo ruined my fucking pussy, can you believe that shit—?” Hitoshi coughs and then turns to Bakugo, shivering when those dark eyes train on him instantly.
“So, Bakugo, where’re you taking me?” Hitoshi asks as he takes a few steps closer. Electricity trails up Hitoshi’s spine when Bakugo rests a hand on the small of his back.
“I made reservations,” Bakugo responds in a light tone. “You good to leave now or . . .?”
Hitoshi glances back at his friends, who were smirking at their exchange. Asses. “I’ll see you two later.”
Jirou gives him a two-fingered salute while Hagakure waves (at least . . . Hitoshi thinks she does), snickering, “Be safe, sane, and consensual, you two~!”
“I’m going to kill you,” Hitoshi tells her, and she does a full-body laugh. “Slowly.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jirou hooks an arm through Hagakure and starts dragging her toward the dorm hall. “Have fun on your date!”
Quiet settles between them for a moment, but it isn’t awkward. Bakugo leads him toward where he’s parked his car, hand still on the small of Hitoshi’s back. Meaning, the alpha is very much aware of Hitoshi’s shivering. That he’s the cause for it.
“So, . . . Bakugo—.”
“Thought I told you to call me Katsuki?”
Hitoshi’s mouth dries. Back in sophomore year, yeah . . . “I . . . right. So, Katsuki. Where’s our reservations?”
“You still a fan of sushi, right?” At Hitoshi’s nod, Bakugo continues. “Made some reservations for that sushi restaurant a couple streets away.”
Hitoshi hums in thought, and then blinks. “Wait . . . you mean the one that has a waitlist?”
“Yeah.”
Hitoshi almost stops walking but settles for giving Bakugo a wide-eyed stare. “B—Katsuki, how . . .?”
“I’ve got connections with the chef,” Bakugo says, an odd tilt to the ends of his lips as though there was a hidden joke. He helps Hitoshi down a short flight of steps. “Besides, this is a courting date. No way in fuckin’ hell am I takin’ you to a shitty restaurant.”
Hitoshi’s palms sweat with anticipation as he asks, quietly, “And will our first courting date end traditionally?”
“That’s the plan.” Bakugo’s hand grips his waist, and Hitoshi swallows a keen. “Unless you don’t want to?”
Oh, Hitoshi wants. He wants. His previous apprehension over ending up in bed by the end of the date drowned to death the moment Hitoshi realized just who Jirou had set him up with. “I do,” he replies softly, well-aware that Bakugo can smell his want. “So, uh. Tell me a bit about why you need an omega?”
“S’not complicated, really,” Bakugo explains as they reach his car. The explanation pauses as he helps Hitoshi in, and then goes around to his side of the car. Hitoshi takes a breath to calm himself. “There’s been – tension in the pack, lately, and it’s not something I nor my Second, Eijirou, can really do about it. It’s just what happens with too many dom and neutrals in one place, but no subs.”
Hitoshi hums as Bakugo pulls out of the parking lot. “Have you courted any other omegas besides myself?”
“No.” Bakugo flicks on the turning signal. “We’ve only recently started when Earlobes—sorry, Jirou told us about you.”
Hitoshi huffs a quiet laugh. “I’m calling her Earlobes from now on.”
Bakugo cracks a small smile. He rests a hand on Hitoshi’s upper thigh as he drives, a move that nearly makes Hitoshi dampen the entire car in the scent of his want. Bakugo just chuckles as he gently rubs his thumb in soft circles.
Hitoshi has doubts he’ll be able to make it through dinner unscathed.
They pull up to the restaurant within a few minutes. It has valet parking. What the hell? Hitoshi takes a moment to quickly spritz some of the scent-dampening perfume he has in his bag on his glands as Bakugo walks around to open his door. No way in hell is he going to go into a ritzy restaurant and smell like he’s three breaths away from heat.
He’d die.
Bakugo guides him inside, and it isn’t long before they’re led to their table. It’s in a secluded, high-rise area. Each table is sectioned off by curtain partitions, clearly meant for privacy. Hitoshi spots quite a few omegas on their own courting dates. When he meets their eyes, they send him encouraging smiles and nods, and he returns the favor.
“Your server will be with you soon,” their hostess tells them as Bakugo pulls out a chair for Hitoshi. He’s going all out, isn’t he? But no. Hitoshi remembers that Bakugo, for all his brash manner and language, had always been gentlemanly toward omegas. Especially during sex. “Shall I pour you a complimentary drink?” The question is asked more to Bakugo than to Hitoshi, who probably should feel a bit insulted, but can’t bring himself to care.
He’ll fight the gender roles involved in high class restaurants another day.
“You’re alright with wine, Hitoshi?” Bakugo double-checks and waits for Hitoshi’s nod before he gives the hostess an expectant look.
Two sparkling glasses of some white wine is on their table within seconds. Hitoshi takes an idle sip as he scans the menu. There aren’t any price tags, and it makes him a bit . . . nervous. He worries his bottom lip, glances at Bakugo who’s staring at his menu, and then goes back to the menu. He doesn’t want to seem greedy, or that he’s only doing this because of grad school (which is technically true, but Hitoshi’s had a shift in priorities since he heard Bakugo’s voice), nor does he want to accidentally break Bakugo’s wallet—
A foot is gently pressed against his. “Calm down.”
Hitoshi feels his shoulders relax a bit as he accepts the order. There were only two alphas he’d let order him around—the one currently in front of him and his thesis director, Aizawa Shouta. “S-Sorry,” he murmurs, a light flush rising in his cheeks.
“S’alright.” Bakugo sets down his menu and gives Hitoshi a piercing stare. “Would you feel more comfortable if I ordered for you?”
It’s – expectant, especially for courtship dates, for alphas to take more control in the relationship. Hitoshi hated the dynamic mostly, though that had more to do with his past, but he didn’t mind it when orders were phrased as a request, and his consent was always asked first.
“Go ahead,” Hitoshi says in a relieved tone. “I’m not allergic to anything.”
“I know.”
Before Hitoshi can handle that piece of information, their server appears with a beam and a, “Welcome. I hope the two of you are enjoying your evening so far. Shall I start you off with more wine? An appetizer, perhaps?”
Hitoshi takes slow sips of his drink while Bakugo orders their appetizers and entrees and tries not to shiver too obviously at the commanding silhouette he cuts in the low lighting of the restaurant. In the words of a sympathetic Todoroki Shouto, Hitoshi “had it so fucking bad, I’m surprised you’re still functional.”
To which Hitoshi had only glared back and said, “You bumped into Midoriya during freshman week, and then cried into a tub of ice cream over how ‘someone with the body of a god and voice of an angel could be so sweet,’ don’t talk to me about functional.”
They chat lightly about school topics and the like as they wait for their appetizers. Hitoshi relaxes as the murmurs of others wash over him, as the soft piano music float in the air. At some point, Bakugo reached over the table to hold his hand, and he’s been lightly brushing his thumb over the back of Hitoshi’s hand while he listens.
“—my group just frustrates me,” Hitoshi huffs once he’s finished talking about the utter bullshit his group had pulled. “I don’t know why Yamada put me with them.”
Bakugo raises the glass to his lips. “Probably thought you’d give them some of your brain cells.”
Hitoshi quietly laughs into his palm. “They’d have to actually have brains first.”
Bakugo chuckles warmly. The sound nestles deep in Hitoshi’s spine.
As they continue their dinner reservation, Bakugo’s fingers lightly trail over his hand and the small of his wrist, even as they eat. The heated looks he sends Hitoshi’s way whenever Hitoshi does something that he likes (like bite his lip, or laugh, or blush, or—) is enough to set flames deep in Hitoshi’s core.
“Do you want dessert?” Hitoshi asks as he surveys the dessert menu. He’s kind of full, and he debates over how slovenly he might look if he orders carrot cake.
“I plan on it,” says Bakugo — but that’s not the tone one uses when they talk about chocolate cake.
When Hitoshi looks up, his breath catches in his throat. Bakugo’s look, skin-melting in the low light, leaves no misunderstandings as to what he meant as ‘dessert’.
Dessert is Hitoshi—and he isn’t complaining, at all.
Bakugo pays for their reservation (though he won’t tell Hitoshi the amount), and then herds him back to the car. The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, filled with the low music from the radio, outside traffic, and the comfortable atmosphere between them.
Hitoshi’s skin heats beneath Bakugo’s calloused palm when it’s rested on his thigh. He’s so distracted by it that he misses what Bakugo says. “Huh?”
“My pack,” Bakugo repeats quietly, glancing at Hitoshi as he does so. His thumb moves in comforting circles. “They want to watch.”
Hitoshi presses his thighs together. An action Bakugo doesn’t miss, given the gentle squeeze. “O-Oh?”
“You’re comfortable with that?” Bakugo asks him, though he can tell the answer from Hitoshi’s scent glands. By the way his eyes dilate with need. “Our packs’ a bit more intertwined with each other—guess in that way, we’re unconventional.”
“Th – That’s fine,” Hitoshi says once he’s rediscovered his voice. “I’m – ok. With that.”
“Good.”
Hitoshi thinks he’ll be able to make the drive with his composure intact—of course, he thinks that before Bakugo’s hand slowly crept up his thigh and fingers ghosted across his slit. A soft, needy exhale escapes his mouth as he bites his bottom lip.
Bakugo looks unbothered as he lightly touches Hitoshi through his underwear, but Hitoshi can see the way he clenches the steering wheel, tightens his jaw, flares his nostrils in response to Hitoshi’s noise, to his scent.
Hitoshi twitches, curling his fingers into his fists, and breathes noisily as Bakugo trails up and down his slit in repetitive noises. He’s – wet. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d seep through his panties. His eyes flutter when a thumb brushes his clit, and whimpers when said thumb gently strokes his clit through his underwear.
“Katsuki,” Hitoshi whines. He doesn’t know what he’s whining for, exactly. “Please . . ..”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and ugh. “I’ve got you.”
A sweet, light moan falls off Hitoshi’s mouth as those light, dizzying touches continue. If they hadn’t reached their destination by then, Hitoshi thinks Bakugo might’ve fingered him in the car. He shivers at the thought of it.
Another time, He thinks as Bakugo helps him out of the car. His panties stick to his skin as he walks, legs trembling from anticipation, from the blistering warmth of Bakugo’s hand on his lower back. Even the cool weather of the night isn’t enough to cool Hitoshi’s skin.
Bakugo’s house — the pack house — is nice, to put it lightly. Definitely not something a group of poor college students could afford. Definitely not something Hitoshi could afford with his small stipend as a research assistant. Bakugo’s thumb lightly strokes his spine as they walk up to the door.
“You alright?” Bakugo murmurs against his ear. “No hard feelings if you want to go back to your dorm.”
Hitoshi presses against Bakugo’s side and, feeling bold, brushes his fingers against the length restricted in Bakugo’s pants. “I’m perfectly fine, Katsuki~,” Hitoshi whispers and gently nips the underside of Bakugo’s jaw. “And I believe you planned on having dessert?”
Bakugo presses him against the door, and Hitoshi’s sharp laugh is swallowed by a demanding kiss. Hitoshi wraps a leg around Bakugo’s waist, gripped tightly, as Bakugo presses his own between Hitoshi. Bakugo pulls him into another breathtaking kiss, and Hitoshi easily parts his mouth when a tongue brushes against it.
And then Bakugo lightly tugs Hitoshi’s panties down an inch or two, and gently sinks two fingers between his slicked lips. Bakugo drinks his sighed moan, and those fingers slowly, in a maddening manner, trail and explore Hitoshi’s folds. Soft whispers of Hitoshi’s slick floats between them. It sounds like a ricochet in the night.
Hitoshi grips Bakugo’s shoulders, scrabbling for purchase as he squirms in place. Light moans purr in the back of his throat as Bakugo gently fingers him against the front door.
God. Against the front door.
His breath hitches as Bakugo kisses him again; a passionate embrace that sends Hitoshi into a spiral of gentle shakes. His fingers don’t go near his entrance, and they brush against his clit in featherlight touches. A soft whine of need coats Hitoshi’s mouth as Bakugo lightly strokes his slit, spreading his wetness.
“While the idea is ho-hot, I—,” Hitoshi cuts himself off with a breathy whimper as Bakugo lightly strokes his clit. Hitoshi tries to breathe. “I—I don’t wanna . . . oh . . . gi-give your neighbors a – a sh-show.”
Bakugo chuckles, warm and light, before he removes his hand from Hitoshi’s underwear. Then he presses his wet fingers into his mouth, tasting Hitoshi’s arousal, and growls, low and deep. If Hitoshi weren’t wet before, he definitely is now.
“Oh!” The blond on the couch sniffs the air, eyes widening at Hitoshi’s scent, once they shuffle inside the house. “You’re back!” As if he didn’t have a front row seat to what they did by the door.
“Clearly,” says Bakugo as he helps Hitoshi slip out of his shoes, legs trembling too much to be of actual use at the moment.
Hitoshi is too flustered to speak and do more than wave. Hitoshi knows Kaminari Denki—who didn’t? He and Sero Hanta had set twelve chickens loose in the dining hall freshman year. Aizawa literally groaned when he saw he had their names on his class rosters.
Kaminari gives him an eye-squint for a few seconds before he snaps his fingers, and goes, “You’re the omega Kacchan says broke his dick!”
Hitoshi puts his head in his hands.
Bakugo just rolls his eyes and shoves Kaminari headfirst into the couch, who playfully shouts with rage. “C’mon—we’re in the main bedroom.” With that declared, Bakugo then picks Hitoshi up by the waist, an effortless action that makes Hitoshi shiver with need.
“Who’s smellin’ so good~,” says a voice as Bakugo carries him past the kitchen, and a pink girl with horns appears in the archway. Her eyes widen at the sight of Hitoshi’s flushed expression. “Ooh~, the courtship date! Hi! Ashido Mina~.” She pauses, and then winks. “But you can call me Mina, mkay?”
“Call me Denki!”
A dark-haired man stumbles out of what looks like a bedroom. “What’s that—oh.” Sero Hanta gives Hitoshi a smile that is both kind and absolutely filthy. “Well. Hi there~.”
“Where’s Eijirou?”
The Second, most likely. Hitoshi shivers and doesn’t bother swallowing the soft noise he makes as Bakugo gently kneads his ass. The three Betas are receptive to his noise, eyes darkening with interest. Ashido licks her lips.
“He’s on call tonight, remember?” Sero says after a pause. “There was some emergency he was called in for, like, an hour ago.”
Hitoshi makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t think he can verbally ask his questions at the moment, not with how Bakugo’s fingers press and dig into his ass. His eyes flutter when Bakugo begins to lightly kiss the curve of his neck. Hitoshi can kiss his underwear goodbye.
“Eiji – the second alpha of the pack – is an EMT,” Kaminari explains with a bright smile. “As Hanta said, he’s on call, so I don’t think he’ll be able to join us tonight.”
Bakugo strides inside the main bedroom, but sets Hitoshi down on his feet with a brief, toe-curling kiss and a soft order to use the bathroom. Hitoshi isn’t in the mood for a UTI, no thank you, and obeys. He takes a moment to recollect himself and answer a few pestering texts from Jirou, Hagakure, and his friend group. Let’s them know he’s safe and at the pack house, and sends his location for added measure.
He knows, deep in his core, that no one in this pack will hurt him, but it’s never illogical to take precaution.
Hitoshi decides, then, to be bolder than normal: he slips out of his panties and outfit, though he takes care to fold them on the counter. After a few more steadying breaths and encouraging thoughts, Hitoshi slips out of the bathroom, skin chilled by the lack of clothing.
Ashido wolf-whistles at the sight of him; Kaminari and Sero slack-jawed. Hitoshi shivers at their reactions, at the interest and lust in their scents—and then shivers even more as Bakugo pulls him into a kiss, hands gripping his waist.
Hitoshi can’t help but squeak when he’s picked up by the waist, heart fluttering at the way Bakugo’s muscles strain at the action, at how easy he’s lifted in the air and then draped on the bed as though he were a divine being.
They haven’t even begun, yet Hitoshi is already wanting to agree to be their omega. He hasn’t even been introduced to the packs’ Second.
Bakugo kisses him gently, hands caressing Hitoshi’s sides and upper thighs. Hitoshi sighs into kiss, heat sparking down his spine, and moans softly when fingers brush against his slit. Bakugo breaks the kiss, and begins kissing down his jawline and the curve of his neck, those fingers exploring his folds in a toe-curling pace.
Hitoshi’s eyes flutter as those kisses turn into suckling bites, and whimpers when Bakugo brushes a thumb against his clit. His hips jerk at the featherlight strokes, and he curls fingers through Bakugo’s hair.
His gasp cuts through the tension when Bakugo lightly prods at his wet center, gently slipping in a finger. He waits for Hitoshi to adjust, slowly thrusting, before he adds a second and leaves a line of marks on Hitoshi’s collarbone.
Hitoshi’s lips whisper his arousal as Bakugo thrusts his fingers at a pace that makes white-hot sparks float in Hitoshi’s veins. Whimpers and sighed moans bubble in the back of Hitoshi’s throat at the heat and the pleasure, the feeling of Bakugo’s fingers inside him.
“Mmm.” His head falls back when a third finger slips inside his wet heat. The noises his folds make at the addition is almost enough to make him feel embarrassed, but noises during sex were normal. And Hitoshi’s too scatterbrained by the way Bakugo splinters him to think too much about it. “Ah, ah — t-touch my-my . . . hnngh.”
His core weeps with pleasure as Bakugo mouths at one of his nipples, holds Hitoshi’s hip in place with one hand, and deliciously fingers him with the other. A thumb roughly pads his weeping nub as three fingers scrape against his g-spot.
Hitoshi flutters around Bakugo’s hand, his moans and pleas floating around the room. He tugs at Bakugo’s hair, but it’s more of a flexing grip, really. He tries to move against the pace, creating more friction and pleasure, but Bakugo holds him down in a manner that just elevates his arousal.
“Plea – Plea – Please,” Hitoshi begs as the stimuli draws him closer to that peak, and then sputters a complained whine when Bakugo chooses to remove his fingers and mouth. “Why – why.”
Although a part of him is thankful for the reprieve, for the chance to breathe, Hitoshi had been so close.
Bakugo hums as he wipes his fingers, and then grabs a condom. “Don’t want you coming yet.”
Hitoshi swallows at the subtle order, shivering as he watches Bakugo roll on the condom. He’s about to have sex with his potentially future alpha—and he can’t wait. He takes a moment to glance at the other pack members, who were transfixed on the scene.
He’s not surprised to see that they’ve begun pleasuring themselves. Kaminari and Sero are locked in a passionate kiss, while Ashido leaves bites on Sero’s shoulders.
Bakugo hovers over him and leaves soft kisses against his jaw, moving until Hitoshi’s breath is swallowed by a deep kiss. “Are you ready, baby?” Bakugo murmurs, a hand rubbing soft circles into Hitoshi’s hip. “Think you need more prep?”
Hitoshi wraps his arms around Bakugo’s neck, and hooks his legs around Bakugo’s waist, tilting up to brush against that searing heat. His eyes flutter as he breathes out, “If you don’t make me come, I’m—oooh.”
Bakugo sinks in to the hilt, and Hitoshi’s toes curl at the heat, at the stretch, and nearly stops breathing. Time slows as Hitoshi adjusts, wiggling his hips in short bursts. High keens fall off his tongue, and his scent threatens to drown the entire room in his want.
“M-Move,” Hitoshi stutters. “Pl-Please.”
It’s an order Bakugo eagerly obeys. He pulls out nearly all the way, and sinks back down. Hitoshi digs his fingers into Bakugo’s shoulder, moaning at the deep thrusts. Their hips are flush against one another as Hitoshi moves his own hips to the pace.
Bakugo pants and moans quietly in Hitoshi’s ear, an act that makes Hitoshi’s toes curl. Knowing he’s able to give Bakugo pleasure, knowing that he’s also driving him insane, is very satisfying.
His center pulses around Bakugo’s length at each thrust, wet smacks floating between them. Hitoshi practically claws are Bakugo’s shoulders at the pace, no longer capable of words. Hiccuped moans and ah’s are all he can really say.
“Shit.” Bakugo spits out, a low growl in his throat that makes Hitoshi keen quietly. “Shit, you’re—so wet. Fuck.”
“You – you, haa, m-made me thi-this we-ahh-t,” Hitoshi managed to say.
Bakugo leans down to kiss him again, and increases the depth of his thrusts in a way that makes Hitoshi shudder and writhe beneath him. The headboard rocks against the wall, and the mattress protests at their pace.
Hitoshi curls his fingers through Bakugo’s hair, sighing into the kiss. Heated pleasure builds in his core, pulling high-pitched, drawling noises from his throat as Bakugo snaps his hips against Hitoshi’s. That peak encroaches, and he trembles around Bakugo’s length.
A litany of babbles fall from his tongue. He thinks he asks for more, for a harder pace, for – something as Bakugo brings him to an orgasm. His scent glands weep with his emotions, coating the room in his want and his need. His heart flutters in his ribcage when Bakugo kisses him again.
His orgasm ripples through him, and he clenches around Bakugo, clawing at his shoulders as he crashes through that peak. Bakugo breathes around a moan as he finishes, thrusting up wildly into Hitoshi.
Hitoshi rides that white-hot pleasure for a few moments, hiccuping lightly as those aftershocks fade. Bakugo presses featherlight kisses against the side of his face before he slowly pulls out. Hitoshi can’t help but make a soft noise at how empty it makes him feel, cheeks burning at Bakugo’s quiet chuckle.
“You good?” Bakugo gives him another heart-melting kiss. “Anything hurts?”
“No pain,” Hitoshi murmurs once he catches his breath. “I do wanna – wanna shower, though.”
“Hmm. In a minute,” says Bakugo as he gently noses against Hitoshi’s scent gland.
Hitoshi’s eyes flutter, a quiet moan between his teeth. He shivers as Bakugo quietly scents him; an act so intimate that it’s typically never done with simple one-night stands.
“I take it this is you asking me to be the pack omega,” Hitoshi murmurs tiredly.
Bakugo’s breath warms his neck. “Pretty much.”
“What about – about your Second?” Hitoshi is all for becoming the pack omega, but he doesn’t want to create any sort of friction within the pack. That’d defeat the purpose of him being there. “Won’t he – he wanna meet me first?”
“Nah,” says a voice from the doorway, thick and heavy with lust and a myriad of emotion. “I trust Katsuki’s decision to do right for the pack.” He licks his lips, eyes taking over Hitoshi’s figure. “And, well—if he thinks you’re best for the pack, then I’ve no complaints.”
Hitoshi shivers at the heated look. “Um. You’re the – the Second?”
A bright grin is his answer. “Kirishima Eijirou! It’s nice to meet you.”
Somewhere below the bed, Sero snorts. “Yeah, you’ve got the nicest greeting possible.”
Kirishima laughs. “You’re not wrong, Hanta.”
“I’m – Shinsou Hitoshi,” Hitoshi introduces himself, his face heating, and then he makes a quiet whimper at the way Bakugo teethes his scent gland. “Oh.”
“So?” Bakugo presses light kisses around the area, and lightly plays with Hitoshi’s labia, drawing a keen. “S’ok if you want to court, still.”
Hitoshi knows his answer; ever since he turned around and saw that the alpha he’d be spending his night with was Bakugo. “I’ll be your pack omega,” Hitoshi says softly, though his voice ricochets throughout the room. “Though I won’t say no if you still wanna take me on dates.”
“We’re gonna pamper the shit outta you,” promises Bakugo.
Laughter flutters in Hitoshi’s mouth. “Lookin’ forward to it.”
A stuttered moan pulls from his mouth when Bakugo sinks teeth into his gland into a soft bite. It sends sparks up his spine as a tongue soothes the ache of the mark. The rest of Bakugo’s pack—the rest of his pack—let out whoops and cheers as the mark settled.
A purr curls deep in his throat, an act that almost makes Hitoshi jolt from shock. He’s one of those omega that had difficulty in purring; it probably has something to do with how he was raised, but the fact remains that Hitoshi rarely purred.
Yet here he was: purring.
Kirishima whistles lightly. Kaminari whispers something about never hearing omegan purring. Bakugo continues those light murmurs against his mark.
“Welcome to the pack, Hitoshi~.”
(And what a welcome it was.)