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Hitoshi stepped out into the fading embers of sunset and locked his front door. He shivered as the cool wind drifted in the air and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. He resisted the urge to check his scent patchers were snug on his glands and forced himself down the stairs of his small apartment complex. He shook his head when the stair railing creaked and rattled ominously. The amount of building and health code regulations the complex ignored would be concerning if he had any other place to go.
Hitoshi had been abandoned at birth and the family that adopted him perished in a boating accident that took twelve other lives. Hitoshi had been shuffled into the foster care system and hadn’t left until he turned eighteen, and his then foster parents dusted their hands of any responsibility. He had barely been of legal age for an hour before they unceremoniously shoved him out the door, half-packed. It was illegal, but Hitoshi didn’t have money for a lawyer—and, really, who would even fight for him?
No one, that’s who.
It was something Hitoshi had learned by age seven, the corners of his lips bleeding from the sharp bite of a muzzle. No one would save him, and no one cared whether he lived to see another day. His family would’ve cared, but they were rotting beneath the ground by then.
Hitoshi had managed to graduate high school by the skin of his teeth, spending many days in dodgy bar kitchens as he worked under the table. Even at eighteen, he had been a late bloomer—and those who weren’t presented couldn’t legally hold a job or rent. He had gotten very comfortable sleeping on park benches during those weeks.
He hadn’t noticed the signs of Pre Heat, exhausted from long nights and simply trying to survive, but an elderly widower had. Rather than contacting Omega Welfare, she opened her den for Hitoshi to ride out his presenting fever. For the first time in months, Hitoshi had access to fresh water, an unrestricted bathroom, and warm food in his stomach as he curled up in the nest that he barely knew how to build.
Mrs. Sakimoto taught him everything about omegas that he needed to know, from building and maintaining nests, to omega health and grooming, to the behaviors and sounds he’d soon make, and seemed delighted at having someone else in her den. Her children were grown and with their own budding packs, and while they persistently tried to coax her to their dens, she steadfastly refused to leave the den she had made with her mate.
Hitoshi enjoyed a few weeks of anonymity, warm snuggles, and good company. Until Mrs. Sakimoto innocently slipped him into conversation with her eldest daughter—a beta protective agent of Omega Welfare, because life hated him and wanted him to die—, and Hitoshi slipped back into the streets that same night. He had left a note, of course, but made it clear he didn’t want to be found. It helped he’d never shared a name with her, only a nickname that couldn’t be found in any government database, but he remained hawk-eyed on the news and missing persons’ flyers for a few weeks afterward.
Hitoshi hadn’t forgotten what life was like on the streets, but another kind of danger had arisen. Hitoshi not only had to keep a guard up around creeps lurking in the shadows, assaulters and murderers, and now, den-nappers.
It was a common practice in many parts of the world, and Japan wasn’t any different. He steered clear of any alphas stumbling the alleys, whether they were homeless or otherwise. He hadn’t struggled to survive thus far to wake up one morning in a strangers’ den, a bond blooming under his skin. He hadn’t been proud of it, but he had broken into a closed corner store on night and nabbed scent-patches and incense packs he knew would overwhelm any hint of pheromones.
He hated the sticky and adhesive faux skin, hated the way his glands itched and throbbed beneath them, but there were little choices available for an omega who wished to hide. By pure luck, he stumbled upon a dealer that offered (dubiously concocted and highly illegal) suppressors aimed, primarily, at omegan behaviors and instincts.
Things were easier—better—when he masked as a tired run of the mill beta. No one blinked twice at his eyebags and scowling expression or his status as a stray (someone without a pack). Although uncommon as the generations passed, no one snooped or asked prying questions when faced with a beta stray.
He hated the suppressors; that innocuous and inconspicuous pill which dulled his senses, emotions, and thoughts. It settled heavy clumps of concrete in his stomach and invited a brain fog that seemed to sink into every part of his body. It heightened his insomnia and sometimes gave him night terrors terrible enough he considered reaching out to Omega Welfare’s hotline number. It darkened the world through a grayscale filter and sounds and scents were hollow and distant. He walked as though treading through thick, muddy water, movements slow and languid. His reactions were often minutes after what would be seen as normal.
His appetite decreased and was essentially nonexistent, causing him to choke down sodium-rich ramen cups and other cheap foods he could get at local corner stores. Even Mom and Pop grocers were too expensive for him.
That, of course, hadn’t even touched his anxiety and depressive symptoms.
He hated it, but he hated the prospect of little freedom, of being seen and treated as a coddled and useless omega, even more.
It would never be a long-term solution though. Hitoshi might have mental health problems, but he wasn’t delusional enough to believe he’d be able to live the rest of his life as an omega masked as a beta stray. All it took to incapacitate the suppressors would be a low trill or bark from an alpha, fingers brushing against the back of his neck (or anywhere really, considering just how touch-starved he was), or any dominating behaviors, really, for everything to crumble into pieces.
If the suppressors hadn’t killed him first, that is.
Wind rustled through the area and dislodged some crushed cans. Hitoshi returned to the present moment and sighed. He drifted through the shadowed streets and dipped into familiar alleyways and shortcuts, getting farther and father away from the energetic hum of the evening crowds. Minutes passed and he approached the area where he and his dealer agreed to meet undisturbed. It had once been a skating park area before a highway had been constructed, and so all that remained beneath the concrete platform were an old and rusted bike rack and scattered graffiti.
Hitoshi wouldn’t be the only hidden omega crawling through the back-alley streets that night. His dealer was but one of many who sought out, and preyed upon, the desperate.
His tired eyes scanned the area as cars above whizzed by. Some trash littered the ground, including a dubious looking stain he carefully side-stepped. He settled against the curved wall and prepared himself for the wait. His asshole of a dealer often arrived late, confident in the knowledge Hitoshi and others were simply too desperate, too hopeless, to leave without a purchase.
Hitoshi sighed again and pulled his phone out of his front pocket. An old and battered model he had swiped from the trash and fixed up and had seen better days. Half the keys wouldn’t work, but it was something, at least. Red numbers blinked and glitched across the small screen, displaying the time. He hoped it was the correct time—sometimes, his phone tended to change time zones on a whim.
He closed the flip phone and replaced it with his lighter and pack of cigarettes. Crows squawked with their flock as they fluttered overhead. Cars rumbled past. Distant, twinkling stars painted the inky blue sky. A joint perched between his slightly chapped lips as he lit it, cupping the flame so the wind wouldn’t smother it. He drew in a breath and smoke curled from his lips. His nose crinkled instinctively at the acrid scent, but it hadn’t stopped him from taking another drag.
He would’ve never been able to purchase cigarettes; had he not been masked as a beta stray. Omegas couldn’t even purchase alcohol without their alpha or a beta packmate, regardless of their adult age. Restrictive and, frankly, ridiculous laws geared toward omegas flashed through his mind, and he scowled.
An omega needed the approval and permission of their alpha mate before they could do—anything, really. Universities required permission as did employers (though good luck obtaining any acceptance there) and healthcare providers. Any justification focused on the “fact” that omegas were too emotionally sensitive and vulnerable to manipulation to make those hard decisions for themselves, and they needed their alpha and beta packmates to protect and guide them throughout the nefarious world.
Japan hadn’t even had the worst laws.
Other countries and their policies were even more nightmarish, where some where an omega wearing clothes was illegal, where omegas were deemed property of the pack and barely knew how to read or write, and more. Japan had rescinded the “propriety” clauses which required an omega to be collared and escorted by a packmate when outside the den. Many other clauses dictated the kinds of clothes an omega could buy and wear, and omegas still couldn’t legally wear pants without an overskirt covering their legs.
At least the government had laws, policies, and agencies focused on domestic abuse and neglect—only after a quiet protest had left the mangled, dead bodies of multiple omegas on the front doors of Omega Welfare about fifty or so years ago. There were many support systems for omegas who needed to be removed from their pack for their safety and wellbeing as well.
Every time he caught sight of international affairs, he knew it could have been so, so much worse.
Although infantilized and seen as something to be coddled, protected, smothered in affection and never, ever witnessing the dark side of humanity, Hitoshi did have the government recognize him, and other omegas, as an actual person—
“I know you are not smoking a fucking cigarette right in front of me.”
Hitoshi almost swallowed the nicotine. He coughed and wheezed, sputtering out a series of syllables that would never be seen as language, and dropped his cigarette. Much to his dismay. He whirled around with a withering glower, only to falter at the sight of a Pro Hero just a few feet to the left, arms crossed over their chest and a stern set to their jaw.
His stomach plummeted.
Crimson eyes drifted over his bedraggled and exhausted figure. Hitoshi could see the man hadn’t been impressed—which, ouch. Something snarky (bratty) begged to escape before he caught sight of the dark gold ring around the Pro’s irises.
Hitoshi swallowed down a whimper.
Fuck.
It wasn’t just a random hero. . . but an Alpha Pro Hero.
Alphas had a complex biochemical composition where their pheromones, scent, and, even, saliva could deconstruct and negate the reactions and chemical structure of suppressors and patches.
Hitoshi needed to tread carefully.
“Hello to you too,” Hitoshi snarked in greeting, lips pulled down into an unwelcoming scowl. Tension knotted along his shoulders, but he forced himself to appear as relaxed as possible against the wall. As neutral and uncaring about the man in front of him. His heart thumped wildly. “I was enjoying that cigarette, thank you.”
The Hero snorted, unamused. “Not anymore you will.”
An underlying message floated there, something he couldn’t decode. A heavy cloud pressed against the back of his mind and seeped. His inner omega clawed out of the cage he had unceremoniously shoved it into, whining low in its throat to be released.
Hitoshi twitched.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! He hoped the hero couldn’t hear his heartbeat; hear the way it pounded and creaked against his ribcage. He forced a neutral expression but remained standoffish. Relax Hitoshi. He exhaled. Calm down—it’s not the first time I’ve faced an alpha…I can get out of this, still.
His gland—his mating gland—throbbed almost painfully. Hints of his scent wiggled out from the faux skin, and sour vanilla fluttered in the air. A sharp and jutting scent, given the fresh fall air and dwindling scent of nicotine.
Hitoshi cleared his throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be, I dunno, patrolling for villains or something?”
He wished the pro had been a beta. At least then Hitoshi could have rage-baited his way out of the conversation, sending the pro stomping away in frustration and building rage. He couldn’t do that with an alpha. Their rage could ignite an immediate deconstruction process and have an overwhelming amount of omega hormones flooding his nervous system in seconds.
Hell, the alpha was already causing hormones to spread just by his mere presence.
Hitoshi clucked his tongue and forcefully averted his gaze. His knees weakened the longer he stared at the alpha. “’Fraid you’re out of luck,” he continued blithely, “there’s no villains here.”
The alpha huffed quietly. “I know there aren’t any villains here.”
Hitoshi couldn’t smother the rising shiver at the hero’s voice. Deep, melting against his skin like dark chocolate, and smoky, the authoritative silk wrapping around his throat. He swallowed dryly. His omega crooned soft and honeyed. He attempted to wrangle it back to the depths of his consciousness. He wracked through his brain for who the hero could be, eyes unintentionally trailing over their muscled, adonis-like physique that bespoke years of intense training and control, their blond hair as it rustled from the wind, their set of their jawline alluring. He itched to bite their Adam’s apple and lap at the gland on their neck, drawing out more of that smoke and caramel.
His attempt to gain control over his inner omega failed miserably. He couldn’t even be mad, though—that alpha had captivating features and silhouette and, going by the growing delighted smirk on their face, knew it, too.
A flush of heat rose, spreading over the bridge of his nose. He jerked his gaze downward to the rest of the hero’s costume. Heavy gauntlets locked around the hero’s wrists, styled similar to a grenade, and a lightbulb flickered.
Bakugou Katsuki.
Pro Hero Dynamight.
Number Five in the polls and ever-increasing in popularity despite his gruff attitude and rather terrible public relations persona. Hitoshi had lost count of how many UuTube compilations he had watched of Bakugou spewing curses at the media, at other Pros, at fans. He had been the Head Alpha of a pack with five other beta heroes—Pro Hero Chargebolt, Pro Hero Red Riot, Pro Hero Pinky, Pro Hero Cellophane, and Pro Hero Deku—and remained unmated (of an omega mate, as there were beta mate bonds), a fact many unmated omegas swooned and salivated over going by depraved and filthy comments and posts.
Hitoshi couldn’t even find fault in that.
He was one of said omegas, though he would never admit it under the threat of torture or even write about it on the internet. Those thoughts and admiration remained in the cavernous depths of his Tumblr, and there it would stay.
Some things were best left in the deepest and shadowed corners of his mind, and the high school crush he’d nursed for the man certainly fit the bill.
Despite being a student in General Education, Hitoshi seldom interacted with those in the heroics department. His performance at the Sports Festival that first year had caused some of them to persistently tail him in the hopes of friendship, but his hostility and bitterness scared them off. It had been a dream to become a hero, something he ached and yearned for desperately as a child, but unpresented people were not allowed to carry a hero license or even matriculate into a hero program or apprenticeship.
Too much risk, according to the Hero Commission.
Hitoshi supposed it had been mercy, though. He couldn’t even imagine the chaos that would’ve occurred had he presented as an omega as a licensed pro hero—or as a student of UA High, a school known to be a breeding ground for overprotective and possessive alphas and betas as Principal Nedzu happily encouraged those behaviors. Hell, Nedzu probably would’ve even encouraged murder if it wouldn’t have given UA negative publicity.
“I do see a naughty omega in need of a spanking, though.”
Thoughts sputtered to a halt. Hitoshi sounded like a dying whale rasping for its’ last breath. His inner organs melted into an amorphous blob any horror movie would want on the screen. His stammer seemed painfully loud in the quiet night.
“I, I don’t—I don’t know what-what you’re talking about,” Hitoshi blundered through a response. He would’ve failed every single stealth course, had he ever had to take them. Eraserhead would be so disappointed. “I’m—I’m a beta,” he continued and cleared his throat twice. “Y-you’ve confused me with s-someone else.”
He cursed his stutter, but he cursed the panicked scent bubbling out of his glands more. Lavender fluttered in the spaces between them, a spicier and nutty undertone of anxieties’ skeletal hands attempting to put him in a chokehold.
Bakugou chuckled, low and rasping as though he’d said something hilariously stupid. He prowled forward, a predator zoned in on the hunt for prey. Hitoshi stumbled back, his knees locking tight. He struggled to school his emotions and could only pathetically hope he didn’t look as cornered as he felt. Gold and black flecks bled into crimson, and Hitoshi’s inner omega whimpered submissively.
He almost whimpered submissively, baring his neck.
(He knew his iris had pearl-white clouding his pupils, the soft and innocuous color of omega obedience).
Bakugou’s Alpha was out for a hunt, gluttonous and eager.
“Do I, Hitoshi?”
His inner omega thrashed and begged to take the reins. Hitoshi swallowed down another rising whimper as something feverish sizzled in his lower abdomen. “How-How do you know my name?” Hitoshi questioned, sounding like a human squeak toy.
Bakugou hummed and the low, velvety sound made him shiver. “You caught our eyes during the Sports Festival those years ago,” Bakugou explained in a light and casual tone, as though Hitoshi were not seconds away from crumbling. Crimson eyes pinned him in place, an implied dare begging him to try and run. “I told ‘em to back off since you were unpresented, but we’ve kept an eye on you over the years.”
A whistling sound sputtered in the back of his throat.
“Your fosters pissed us the fuck off. Deku almost killed them, if Hanta hadn’t stopped him,” Bakugou continued in that same casual tone of voice and stepped closer. Hitoshi pressed back, but there was nowhere else to go. “Pikachu nearly went feral over it, you know, when we couldn’t find you after we graduated. . ..”
I beg your fucking pardon—
“Imagine my surprise when a fucking tracker finds you haunting places known for illicit suppressor dealings,” said Bakugou, just above a daunting whisper. “Imagine how I felt when I see a photo of you with those fucking eyebags of yours, dressed as a beta, buying an omegan suppressor.” Bakugou’s breath dusted across his face. Their noses almost touched as he bracketed him against the wall, a frenzied want sprawling over the alpha’s expression.
“Imagine that, Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi opened, and then closed, his mouth. Twice.
Four times.
Oxygen no longer pooled into his lungs when he breathed. His scent patches died a valiant death beneath the dense, mouth-watering pheromones caressing his skin. Lavender and vanilla awakened, wriggling free from the constraints of the dysfunctional patch. He stared at Bakugou through his lashes, eyes doe-like and glassy, and nervously looked for an exit. Even just the smallest sliver of space he could trample down would be good enough.
“I-I’m not buying suppressors,” Hitoshi managed to say a moment later. A distant thought joked he would have an amazing career as a voice actor for talking mice. “I’m here for a – a friend.”
Bakugou’s expression and voice flattened. “A friend.”
Hairs on the back of his neck rose. Goosebumps littered his skin as shivers crawled down his spine. An ominous sense of foreboding prickled in the distance. “Yes,” Hitoshi lied. The pebbled brick of the wall grounded him. “We’re—We’re going ghost hunting.”
“Ghost hunting.”
A nervous laugh tittered in his throat. “It’s a good a-area for it . . .?”
Earthy smoke and burning caramel aggressively flooded the air. Pheromones—alluring, domineering, unapologetically alpha —caressed his glands and seeped into his skin, the area throbbing from sensitivity. Hitoshi trembled, his knees pressed together as he felt the growing coolness of slick, and wild thoughts of escape rampaged through his mind. His inner omega rose from its’ sea of containment, droplets of yearning desire and tempestuous need pooling by its feet, and clawed, sinking claws deep with a zealous relish.
Nothing moved. No one breathed. Not even the cars above or the howling wind sliced through the tension.
An unbearable quiet cloaked the night.
A soft, almost disbelieving huff. “Bold, lying right to my face.” Crimson darkened to glittering onyx under the pale glow of the moon. “Especially when your naughty bottom is already getting a spanking.”
Fang poked the bottom of Bakugou’s lip, a translucent sheen of venom glistening along the enamel. A venom that could, and would, dropkick him into a submissive headspace from just one drop. A storm of menacing pheromones clouded what little remained of the space between them.
“They say hell hath no fiery of a dam scorned—but even the devil cowers from a protective alpha on a Hunt.”
Hitoshi bolted.
A good choice? No.
A smart choice? Hell no.
Yet it was the only choice Hitoshi had.
Gravel crunched beneath old and ratted sneakers. His lungs and muscles wheezed, unused to the movement. He seldom had reason to run before, and any physical education classes paled compared to a rabid and domineering alpha pro hero snapping at his heels.
A hunt that spanned years, obsession haunting his shadow without his knowledge, about to end before he even understood it began.
Desperation fueled his speed, but it wasn’t enough.
It never would’ve been.
An arm sneaked around his waist and yanked him back, pressing him flush against Bakugou’s chest. A breathless whimper stirred in the back of his throat. He struggled in the hold, flailing as he pushed at the alpha’s chest. Unrestrained pheromones cascaded down like a waterfall; burning wood intermingled with the sharp austerity of an alpha who had never been denied anything in his life.
A jarring slap! pierced the night air.
Stinging heat bloomed on his backside. Hitoshi choked on a surprised gasp and stilled. Bakugou turned him slightly and peppered brisk, stinging swats on the crest of his bottom. A breathless whimper escaped as he pressed his toes against the asphalt in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the burn. Bars splintered; metal creaking as if it shattered like glass.
“Naughty omega.” Bakugou growled against the shell of his ear and overlapped swats randomly. It sounded impossibly loud as it rained on his bottom. “Don’t ever run away from me like that again, understand?”
Hitoshi swallowed audibly, scent sweetening in submission. “I, ah, ow, u-understand.”
Bakugou stopped after layering a few more stinging swats and then soothingly rubbed his bottom. A croon of victory echoed, though if it were from his inner omega or from Bakugou’s own mouth he didn’t know. Fingers stroked and pressed the lower glands on the back of his neck in a gentle manner before Bakugou cupped it and squeezed.
He remembered little after that.
Hitoshi woke to distant whispers.
The warmth of sunlight blanketed his skin and made him burrow deeper into the nest. His senses returned slowly—sharper, already, just a few hours without suppressors—and memories prickled in the distance. Scents bundled together in a smooth mixture: earthy smoke and caramel, damp moss and sandalwood, a rose in bloom followed by a deep musk, the scent of rain and the crackling embers of a lit hearth.
A light purr vibrated against his sternum. Lavender and vanilla draped over him like silk whispering against skin.
Wait.
He was in a den.
No.
Bakugou’s den.
It took him another moment to realize someone spooned him from behind. What he thought had been a heavy duvet was, instead, a muscled arm wrapped tight around his waist. Breath ghosted across the back of his neck. His glands throbbed and ached in a way he wasn’t used to, and Hitoshi knew those fuckers scented him whilst he was unconscious. Thankfully, mercifully, mating bonds formed in specific circumstances only.
Re: knotted and writhing beneath an alpha or another packmate.
Pack bonds on the other hand had no restrictions. Beta pheromones sunk deep against his glands and skin, an almost minty aftertaste as it drifted in the air. Something warm buzzed and connected outside of his body in an invisible coalescence of threads. Emotions and vague impressions of thoughts fluttered in the distant, spinning by too quickly for him to grasp and observe.
Hitoshi bit down on his bottom lip and struggled against the brewing storm of emotions. Resigned acceptance loomed above as a crowned jewel. He had known something like this would happen. Known the time of his freedom dwindled, whittling to zero with each waking breath.
Didn’t make the grief any less biting.
He licked his bottom lip and soothed the slight sting from his teeth. He laid against someone’s chest—Bakugou’s, he corrected idly after breathing a mouthful of pheromones that left a buzz crawling over his mind—and heat seared throughout his body. They pressed so close together he could feel the rhythmic thump of the alpha’s heartbeat as if it were under his skin.
A throaty and bright laugh floated in the air some feet away. Voices chittered and rose in the air, a steady background hum. Bakugou breathed deeply, knocked out.
Despite the rising awareness, Hitoshi feigned sleep.
He rooted through his thoughts and outlined the information available: Bakugou and his pack had been keeping tabs (re: stalking) on him since their first year of high school, and almost murdered his foster parents when they kicked him out. Kaminari Denki had almost gone feral, likely around the time he went completely underground. Somewhere, somehow, they found him and slipped a tracker, or several, discovering he haunted an area known for its’ suppressor use in the process. They followed him one night and confirmed their suspicions in vivo, leading up to his confrontation with Bakugou an unknown time after.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Last night had been the end of what lurked in shadows for years.
He sighed and snuggled against the nest of pillows and blankets. It was, by all accounts, a comfortable and soothing nest. Another purr rumbled down his spine the longer scents wrapped around him. Pheromones melted against his tongue as he breathed in another mouthful, the scents loosening the tension in his upper back.
It hit him then, the familiarity.
Those fuckers had been infusing my nest with their scents!
He grumbled softly against the blanket, but there was logic behind that he couldn’t refute. Omegas nervous systems could completely shut down if they found themselves in an unfamiliar nest of unfamiliar scents. He frowned as he realized they would’ve had to slip inside his apartment either when he was out cold or working a shift at one of those dingy bars where management cared little for anything other than what made money.
Well…nothing I can do about it now.
Hitoshi sighed.
A quiet, soothing rumble formed behind, and a soft, warm kiss pressed against one of the glands on his neck. “Mornin’, kitten,” said Bakugou, voice thick with sleep.
Hitoshi made a soft chirp from the kiss. A burning blush spread down to his collarbone in response. He covered his face with his hands, curling into himself a bit, as Bakugou’s chest rumbled from a laugh. He shivered and gasped lightly when Bakugou pressed another kiss against his glands, tongue swiping along the raised edges. Hitoshi couldn’t swallow down his whimper as teeth and tongue gently scraped, licked, and sucked at his gland.
Mortification bloomed when he slicked, the scent a sweet, tantalizing ambrosia.
A high-pitched and needy whine floated in the air as Bakugou moved to another gland. Heat pressed against his lower abdomen at the feeling of the alpha’s warm mouth and textured tongue against his skin. He squirmed, but Bakugou only tightened the arm across his waist and pulled him flush against his chest. Bakugou shifted for a moment before settling a leg in between Hitoshi’s, who whimpered hoarsely at the unfamiliar pressure against his pussy.
A very naked pussy.
Of course, they removed his underwear while he slept. Because why on earth would they be normal—well. Normal to Hitoshi’s standards, given the rest of society wouldn’t have even batted an eye. Many would’ve side-eyed Hitoshi for wearing underwear as an omega.
God forbid he didn’t want to slick all over the place.
Bakugou pressed his thigh against his core and grinded lightly.
Hitoshi mewled. “B-Bakugou—.”
Bakugou removed his mouth with a wet pop and nipped at the small and tender glands on the back of his neck, causing another chirp and shudder. “Katsuki, Alpha, or Sir,” Bakugou corrected in a soft murmur against his skin. “Anything else gets you swats. Understand?”
Another nip, harder, at Hitoshi’s quiet. “Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?” asked Bakugou, echo of a displeased growl.
Hitoshi inhaled wetly, whispering, “Yes, Katsuki.”
A pleased chuff floated in the air. “Good kitten,” Bakugou whispered and then returned to his glands, coaxing out rivulets of his scent and pheromones. Bakugou’s thigh moved against his cunt, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His folds glistened with translucent slick and dampened the clothed leg.
Hitoshi didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he gripped the nest blankets as pleasure simmered low in his stomach. Bakugou nibbled and sucked at untouched glands, tongue swiping over the tender areas and coaxing out lavender and vanilla, the saccharine and sensual cloud of pheromones staining the air. His thigh continued moving, the friction sending pleasurable sparks up the omega’s spine.
Hitoshi wondered if he would develop heart palpitations if his heart beat any faster.
Bakugou’s pheromones sunk deep into the crevices of his skin and coated his glands thickly. No one would scent Hitoshi and believe him to be without an alpha anymore. His scent might not even be as noticeable as it lurked beneath the possessive alpha pheromones. It broadcasted to the rest of the world who he belonged to with unapologetic loudness.
He squeaked in surprise when Bakugou maneuvered a change in positions, suddenly on his stomach and propped over a knee. His stomach scattered, realization of what was to come dawning sharply. Bakugou cupped the back of his neck in a firm, warning hold when he squirmed. He whimpered in the back of his throat when the hem of the dress someone dressed him in at some point moved mid-back. Despite knowing what would come, a hiss of surprise escaped when a sharp swat landed on the plump crest of his backside.
“Ow!”
One of Bakugou’s legs clamped down on his, keeping him pinned in place. Slaps pierced the air and reverberated around the room—den, really, given it was a one-story home from what he could see—and caused a bristling pain on his bottom. Hitched breaths escaped as he squirmed and wiggled his hips; not that it made much difference given each swat landed exactly where Bakugou aimed.
“Living as a beta when you’re an omega,” Bakugou started in a low, foreboding tone, barely audible over the crisp sound of each smack. Only their proximity allowed Hitoshi to hear his voice. “Taking suppressors…keeping that sweet scent hidden…tsk. You’ve been very, very naughty, Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi gripped the blankets and whimpered from the stinging heat, a mortified flush highlighting his face as he realized the entire pack likely overheard. His breath hitched when Bakugou paused the spanking and gave his bottom a few soothing rubs.
A pleased rumble floated in the air. “Look at you…,” murmured Bakugou. He caressed and gently squeezed the omega’s plump globes, chuckling softly at the responding mewl. “Tried so hard to deny yourself your nature…and for what? A seedy bar? A shitty place no one would ever call a den?”
Hitoshi shivered from the sensual touch. Warmth intensified in his lower abdomen. His core pulsed when two thick fingers dipped between his folds and stroked the velvet warmth. He whined softly and rolled his hips back for more.
“Such a perfect omega,” Bakugou praised, voice husky and dripping in lust. “Don’t know why the fuck you denied your nature for so long.” A high-pitched sigh drifted from his bitten lips as Bakugou rolled his weeping clit between two fingers. “Doesn’t matter, though…your body knows who it belongs to…even if you insist on being stubborn.”
Hitoshi made a vague protesting sound—not sure if it were aimed at the words or the removal of fingers. He sucked in a sharp breath when another smack rippled in the air. His hips twitched as Bakugou reignited the fading burn on his bottom.
Bakugou peppered heavy swats along the crest of his bottom in a randomized pattern that left Hitoshi whimpering in minutes. Sobs burned and fluttered in his throat when Bakugou lowered his aim and focused on his untouched sit-spots and upper thighs. He pressed his toes against the blankets and trembled, panting breaths and whines dusting across the pillows.
He had heard other omegas speak to the heavy hands of their alphas, of how much they dreaded their time over their dominants’ lap, but he had never once thought he would be on the other end of such a situation.
Bakugou switched to those soothing caresses before stroking his quivering folds. Hitoshi moaned, a honeyed and carnal sound in his throat. Hunger fluttered in his veins. Skin buzzed and pulsated. His breaths deepened further from the storming passion setting his nerves ablaze. Bakugou explored, stroked his slicked folds, and caused lewd and soft pops of slick.
He had forgotten the hand on his neck and jolted when Bakugou caressed his tender glands. “So wet for your alpha, Hitoshi,” Bakugou purred deep and smug, the cat swallowing the canary in a single gulp. His folds quivered beneath the attention. “Those silly thoughts of yours…right here is where you belong, in my den, in my nest, and on my cock.”
Feverish flames licked the base of his spine. Nerves lit from pleasure and consuming heat. Hitoshi whimpered and whined softly as his pebbled, weeping clit was stroked and rolled between two fingers. Slick bubbled and crackled in the air, the scent of lust an addictive aphrodisiac to those who breathed it in.
Hitoshi forgot the concept of time.
Bakugou switched between his folds and his ass. Volleys of bristling swats landed on his sore bottom and upper thighs, soon followed by the thorough exploration of his glistening labia and clit. Never enough to drag him over a peak of bliss yet kept him trembling and wrecked from the pleasure, nonetheless.
“Who do you belong to, kitten?”
Hitoshi whined and stubbornly shook his head. His inner omega approved, surprisingly, chirping to see if Bakugou would prove his dominance and rise to the challenge. A dark and foreboding chuckle from above made him tense. He gasped wetly when fingers stroked his entrance and the hand on his neck pressed firmly against his glands. His legs quivered from the intense ripple of sensations.
Bakugou trilled and crooned, thrusting his fingers inside. Hitoshi whined softly at the stretch and rocked his hips back slowly. Bakugou crooned once more and pumped thick fingers out of his sopping cunt with a ruthless intensity. Pleasure coiled in the pit of his stomach and coated every nerve in his body.
Hitoshi hoped no one disliked his scent. It would be hell trying to take it out of the various blankets.
His cunt squelched and popped with each thrust, the lewd sound slicing through the air. Dewy and translucent slick dribbled out of his pussy, coating his upper thighs. Gossamer lust drenched the sheets below.
“Oh!” Hitoshi arched his back, moaning breathlessly. His inner walls fluttered and clenched around Bakugou. “Oh!”
He rocked his hips against Bakugou’s hand, the alpha chuffing and purring in smug satisfaction and pride. Three fingers pumped out of his hole viciously, the pads of Bakugou’s fingers rough as it rubbed and stroked his inner walls.
Bliss shattered in his veins as his orgasm shuddered through him. He clenched down around the fingers still inside him and moaned hoarsely with almost every tremor spiraling up his spine.
“Who.” Slap. “Do you.” Slap. “Belong.” Slap. “To.” Slap. “Omega?”
Slap.
Hitoshi choked on his moans. Another volley of scalding swats landed on the undercurve of his bottom and upper thighs. Pain melted with pleasure in a maddening blend. “Y-you,” he breathlessly gasped, heart in his throat. “I b-belong to you!”
Bakugou squeezed his glands and smacked his sit-spots with ruthless precision. Tears spilled over his cheeks as he keened high in the back of his throat. “Who?” Bakugou growled darkly.
Hitoshi mewled and croaked, “A-alpha!”
Bakugou made another victorious croon in the back of his throat and flipped him over, maneuvering his trembling body into a sitting position. Calloused hands cupped and massaged the tender, stinging skin of his bottom. Bakugou pressed his mouth along the curve of his neck and sucked. His pheromones bubbled in the air, omega lust and greed.
Hitoshi whimpered hoarsely as Bakugou peppered biting kisses and suckled along the curve of his neck and jaw before moving to his lips. Bakugou kissed him, passionate and skin-melting. He mewled once more and shivered at the way the alpha sucked and stroked his tongue with his own.
Spit dribbled between them as the kiss broke.
Hitoshi’s chest heaved; his nipples strained against the thin fabric of his dress (lingerie, really). He stared into the smoldering avarice fluttering in Bakugou’s crimson gaze. His lips were swallowed into another kiss, and another, and another. Bakugou pressed him down against the blankets and pillows, cradling him against his body, the hungered kisses causing him to lose any semblance of coherent speech and thought.
His mind blanked when a thick cock nestled between his folds, gathering up his wetness. He grabbed Bakugou’s shoulders and tensed. He whimpered at the unfamiliar, searing heat and instinctively closed his legs when the head of Bakugou’s cock bumped against his entrance.
Bakugou kissed him slowly and reverently, soothingly caressing his sides. “Don’t be afraid, kitten.” A soft whine formed when strong, calloused hands pried his legs open. “You were made for me, omega.” Another deep kiss, their lips melding together. “It will hurt, but the pain will ease.”
His breath hitched, a sliver of fear snaking in the air. “P-promise?”
“I promise,” Bakugou whispered against his lips, and kissed him softly. Hitoshi purred in the back of his throat at the way his tongue stroked his. “I will take good care of you, baby. You’ll want for nothing.”
Hitoshi shivered.
Thoughts rumbled in the back of his mind.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Bakugou eased his hardened length inside in slow thrusts. Hitoshi choked on a sob from the painful stretch. It burned. He could feel it down to the marrow of his bones. Soft, rumbling croons and purrs rumbled from Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou scented and nuzzled the side of his face gently, smothering him in soothing and protective pheromones. He slowly moved and rocked his hips. Tears clumped along Hitoshi’s eyelashes, some dampening his face, as the pain persisted.
He felt—
He didn’t know he felt.
Impossibly full.
Splintering in half.
Calling Bakugou’s cock average would be a disgusting lie.
Warmth drifted across his forehead as Bakugou whispered praise and sweet nothings. “So good for me, kitten, you’re takin’ me so well.” Bakugou purred quietly and chuffed soothingly when another whimper formed. “You’re perfect, Hitoshi. Just feel how your pussy accepts my cock.”
Pain ebbed and drained like a leaking faucet. A dull pleasure climbed up his spine. Bakugou noticed the loosening tension and pulled out, thrusting to the hilt. Hitoshi keened and scratched at the alpha’s shoulders, shuddering. His pussy, creamy from slick and cum, loudly squelched. He moaned, the sound sweet and buttery on his tongue. Bakugou punched another out his throat repeating the deep thrust. Emboldened by high-pitched cries of pleasure and honeyed pheromones of bliss, Bakugou folded him in half and rolled his hips, languid and deep.
Filthy, ear-splitting smacks of wet skin pierced through the morning air. Bakugou held his legs in a firm grip and penetrated him in powerful thrusts. His cock bullied its way into his soaked, fluttering cunt, yanking wanton, broken moans, and whimpers from his lips. He clawed at the man’s back and shuddered as searing pleasure burned the ridges of his spine. He was full in a way he never had been before.
“Hnngh—A-alpha, alpha, oh!” Hitoshi cried out in bliss and pressed his head against the pillow. His neck arched and caused a deep, carnivorous growl from Bakugou. Bakugou leaned down and sucked his glands, devouring every inch of skin. His hips rolled back and met Bakugou’s in fluid, slippery motion. All those times he had fingered himself paled in comparison to the pleasure billowing in his veins right now. “Oh, f-fuck, oh, more, ah, p-please, oh, please!”
Why had he been afraid of this, again?
Bakugou grunted and moaned low, breath rasping against the curve of his neck. He kissed and sucked, coaxing various stinging love bites into existence. A debauched snarl rumbled in the alpha’s ribcage as Hitoshi begged and writhed beneath him. “Fuck – fucking hell, you’re so tight,” Bakugou panted and groaned, lewd and wet slaps echoing as their hips met. Lips met his in a zealous frenzy, swallowing his debauched gasps. “So – shit – so g-good for me, baby, for us, for pack.”
Bakugou’s rammed against his o-spot without remorse, leaving the omega writhing and sobbing breathlessly from the overwhelming pleasure. Said spot rested below an inner ring of sensitive muscle in his pussy, meant to ease any pain from a knot. It caused an undulation of mind-numbing hormones and neurochemicals blanketing his mind in heavy fog.
Many omegas have described their o-spot as a “heaven of heaven itself,” and Hitoshi fervently agreed with the description.
Gossamer slick gushed and spurted. Bakugou pounded hard and insistent into his spasming pussy, the oasis sucking every inch. Hitoshi stopped speaking, only capable of whistling trills and chirps as omegan instinct fogged his mind.
Bakugou hunched over, fingers digging into his thigh, and snarled, victorious and guttural, as hot and thick ropes of cum painted his inner walls. He shrieked from pleasure when the swell of the alpha’s knot pressed and settled against that tender muscle. His vision whitened.
His pussy spasmed around Bakugou’s knot. Another orgasm shuddered through his veins almost violently. He milked the alpha’s knot, inner walls clamping tight and hard. Bakugou growled in primal satisfaction and lapped at his throbbing gland. A wheezing moan escaped as teeth snagged the raised skin.
Blood soaked the air as fang sunk into tender skin and hooked deep.
Hitoshi went slack as a cavernous ache rippled through his gland. Smoky pheromones and saliva seeped into his veins and set the bond in an irrevocable tether. A bond blossomed and unfurled like a flower in bloom, forever connecting him to his alpha until they rotted in the ground.
Even then there were some religions that believed not even death could sever a mate bond, especially not between an alpha and omega.
Consoling and affectionate chuffs rumbled in Bakugou’s chest. If Hitoshi were more cognizant, he would’ve snorted at the triumph bleeding in the alpha’s scent. Affection and devotion fluttered from Bakugou’s end of the bond. His inner omega yipped and pranced around jubilantly, rolling on the ground and smothering itself in alpha.
Bakugou caressed and massaged his hips and repositioned them onto their sides for better comfort. Hitoshi purred and floated in an oasis of blissful warmth, submerged in pheromones and safety.
Time drifted as they were conjoined. Someone—Kirishima, unless someone else had hair that bright and red? —brought water and a platter of finger foods. Hitoshi allowed Bakugou the opportunity to spoil him further, pliant as the alpha fed him. Quiet purrs floated in the air as they cuddled, somehow ending up in their original position from early in the morning, nuzzling and scenting as the knot slowly deflated.
Hitoshi belatedly took in the lived-in clutter and furniture, a mishmash of traditional and modern. How he had missed the big ass kotatsu just two feet away was anyone’s guess.
Something rang in the distance. Bakugou clucked at the muffled sound and shifted, slowly easing out of Hitoshi’s aching pussy. He pressed a soothing kiss on his mating gland at the soft noise he made at the movement.
Bakugou moved upright and stretched languidly, rolling his shoulders. “Oi, Pikachu!”
Footsteps padded into the living room and a vaguely familiar blond came into view. Golden pupils narrowed to snake-like slits and immediately locked onto his puffed, chubby folds. Kaminari’s intensity made him blush and shyly close his legs, feeling small in the face of such devotion.
Kaminari made a soft disappointed noise when Hitoshi closed his legs but forced his attention toward Bakugou. “Yes, dear alpha~?”
Bakugou gave their mating gland another soothing lick. “Clean ‘im up,” he instructed a moment later. “Some fuckers’ blowin’ up my damn phone. I bet it’s the damn hag again.”
Kaminari saluted with a cheerful grin that Hitoshi privately thought looked more wicked than anything. Bakugou detangled himself from him and the nest, departing with a brief kiss and a “behave, kitten,” his voice soft yet the warning lingered.
Hitoshi had no plans of misbehaving. His bottom ached still, the redness beginning to fade.
“Hello, kitty~,” Kaminari greeted and settled into the nest. His nostrils flared and pupils widened upon the thick pheromones of lust, of omega. A throaty purr formed. “Hmm…you smell delicious.”
Hitoshi snorted. I guess this is my life now.
Any confusion over Bakugou’s orders dispersed once Kaminari caressed and massaged his thighs. He spread his legs open with a low, excited hoot, a sound only a beta could make.
His blush darkened at the hungered gleam in those golden, slitted eyes.
“May I clean you up, Toshi~?” Kaminari cooed.
Hitoshi nodded after a pause and the grin splitting Kaminari’s face was particularly devilish. Kaminari lowered between his legs and blew softly at his folds. Hitoshi made a soft ‘meep’ from the warm gust of air. Before he could make a remark, the rough flat of Kaminari’s tongue lapped at his puffed folds.
Hitoshi gasped at the zap of pleasure, thighs tensing.
Kaminari ate pussy—no, devoured his pussy as though it were the ambrosia of the gods. He sucked on his folds and slurped, the flat of his tongue stroking from his core to just below where his clit poked out from under its’ hood. Hitoshi whined and grinded his pussy against that persistent, skilled mouth. His brain became nonexistent. He only existed for pleasure.
High-pitched mewls and whines floated to the ceiling. Kaminari breached his core and thrusted his tongue in mind-numbing bursts. Wet pops and slurps echoed throughout the den. Kaminari chirred and hooted as his tongue dove into his soaked and quivering core at a ravenous, heart pounding pace. Hitoshi sobbed at the pleasure scalding his veins and hunched into himself, hiding (failing) from the beta’s unbridled gluttony.
Kaminari hummed, the sound vibrating throughout his pussy, and only burrowed deeper. Hands spread him against the nest and pinned him in place. Kaminari may have had a lither build, but his strength showed his years of training and dedication. Pheromones clouded the air in aphrodisia and steam, rousing further arousal in an eternal feedback loop. His inner walls fluttered and pulsed around Kaminari’s plunging tongue.
Hitoshi gazed up at the ceiling with a glazed and blissed expression, lips parted as he fought to breathe.
“Oh, oh, plea — haa, please,” he begged, rasped and broken—and what, exactly, he begged for, he wouldn’t know. “Oh, oh, oh!”
Kaminari rose for air for exactly one second. He chirred in satisfaction as slick coated the lower part of his face. He kneaded Hitoshi’s thighs and wrapped wet lips around the omega’s neglected clit. He sucked and flicked with determined fervor and coaxed an assault of burning euphoria that catapulted Hitoshi into heaven.
He grinded against Kaminari’s face in desperation, hips stuttering weakly. Fingers curled through the beta’s hair and tugged with each throb of pleasure.
“Ah, f-fuck!”
Hitoshi trembled violently and weathered through intense aftershocks of his orgasm. He couldn’t speak—only trill or mewl, the sound wild and raw in his throat. His breath stuttered as Kaminari lapped at his folds with a gentle reverence that echoed Bakugou. He attempted to push the beta’s face away from his reddened cunt, but all he could manage were weakened taps against his forehead.
Kaminari understood the underlying message, much to his relief. He removed his mouth with a smack of his lips and purred, scent lush and rich in petrichor and hearth. He peppered soft and gentle kisses along his inner thighs, soothing the trembles. His hands stroked the sides of his legs and then gently caressed the areas marked by their alpha’s stern discipline.
“Good omega,” Kaminari purred and rumbled tenderly, pressing another light kiss where his thigh connected to his abdomen. “Such a good boy, Hitoshi.” Kaminari chuckled softly at the way he shivered and quietly mewled. The beta fluffed his scent and spread pheromones of earthy amber.
Hitoshi slowly gained control over his breaths while Kaminari lavished his body in tender, affectionate kisses and nips, working up to his face. He hummed quietly as Kaminari pulled him into languid and sweet kisses. He loosely wrapped his arms around Kaminari’s shoulder as the beta laid atop him. He thought he would feel uncomfortable but instead melted beneath the warm pressure of another’s body.
Kaminari mouthed at his mating gland and groaned, wanton and needy. “You don’t even know how tempting your pheromones are,” the beta murmured, husky from lingering want.
Hitoshi huffed quietly. “You sound drunk.”
“I am,” said Kaminari, cheekily, and then sighed in a manner a swooning omega from history would be envious of, scent drunk. “Your pheromone swabs just don’t compare to the real thing, you know?”
Yeah…
Hitoshi wasn’t going to touch that revelation with a ten-mile pole.
He knew there had been an implied obsession given everything Bakugou had said earlier, but Christ. He wasn’t even religious, but the situation called for blasphemy. Jesus would forgive him. Maybe.
He keened when Kaminari’s cock slid across his folds and pressed into his fluttering hole.
“Oh,” he mewled, heat coiling intense against his core. “Oh, god..!”
(Probably not).
Kaminari rolled his hips gentle and leisurely, cognizant of his soreness. His inner walls quivered and pulsed around the hardened cock with each thrust, the velvet warmth clinging. A hand cupped and fondled his breast, thumb circling his pebbled nipple, while the other held his hip secure in a dominant grip.
Pleasure rumbled and rose, a slow tide lapping at shore. Their bodies melted and entwined, each roll of the beta’s hips sensual and controlled. He scrabbled for purchase at Kaminari’s back, making himself home on cloud nine.
Kaminari sucked the underside of his jaw. Heat buzzed. “Fuck, you feel – ah – amazing, Toshi,” Kaminari rasped and plowed deeper. Each thrust caused a lecherous gush that drove the man mad. Heat pounded against Hitoshi’s lower back, simmering. Insatiable. “Shit—ah, mmm, so—fuck!” Kaminari groaned loud and hypnotic, an electrifying (ha!) sound, when his walls squeezed around his throbbing cock as it slowly and tenderly pumped into his drenched cunt.
Hitoshi dug his fingers into his back. Kaminari thrusted faster, chirring high in his throat.
“De—De—Den—!” Hitoshi unraveled like spinning thread. Blood rushed to his ears. His ribcage creaked beneath his hammering heart Flames tightened and pooled in his lower stomach. A peak of ecstasy lurked in the distance.
Controlled thrusts penetrated his core, inner walls silken from slick and cum. Intoxicating pheromones danced on his tongue, heady and tangy. Electrified pleasure buzzed across his brain and seeped throughout his body.
“Mmm.” Kaminari leaned down to his untouched breast and flicked his hardened nipple with his tongue. “Even here, you smell divine.”
Kaminari wrapped his mouth around his nipple, sucking and stroking the pink areola. Hitoshi likely drew blood with the desperate way he clawed at his back. He removed his mouth with a wet pop and gazed at him, smiling debauched and filthy. “I should’ve den-napped you in high school.”
(Not. Thinking. About. It).
Lips smacked wetly as Kaminari ravished the omega in sensual and long kisses. Hitoshi could no longer restrain the thundering storm as his cock plunged deep eager. He mewled, shattered and spent, and clenched hard as his pussy spasmed, inner walls gripping possessively.
Kaminari orgasmed seconds after a few more sloppy thrusts, creamy ropes of seed spilling into his cunt.
Fang gently grazed the sensitive, thin layer of skin. He jolted and cried out as what felt like sharp shards of glass pierced his skin. He whimpered and mewled from the pain as the bond settled beneath fang and tongue. Another orgasm bloomed beneath the first, melting seamlessly. His brain fizzled and short-circuited as white flecks blotted his eyes. Only betas could initiate a mating bond with an omega outside of Heat or an alpha mate’s knot. Hitoshi had little knowledge of the biology involved, only relaxing in almost overwhelming relief when the pain faded as quickly as it arrived.
Molten adoration and obsession flickered and wrapped tight around him with unseen rope. Smoky juniper, clove, and rain were all he breathed, Kaminari’s pheromones rich and dizzying. He scented crisp aftershave and something almost vinegary that he couldn’t pinpoint. His bloodstream soaked up the beta’s saliva and the pheromone chemicals within, and he started feeling the reactions immediately.
Heartbeat slowed to a soothing cardiac rhythm, the pressure in his ears eased to a low dull, muscles loosened, and a calming cloud swallowed any distressing emotion. Hitoshi vaguely remembered his Dynamic Biology classes in middle and high school and knew it had something to do with a hormone that a beta uniquely produced: gloctuactenzium or gloctuium for short. That was as far as he could recall, but he did know there were multiple medicinal, recreational, and illicit artificial drugs created from a beta’s pheromonal structure.
How it could even be extracted was beyond his comprehension. He knew one of the medicines—Symbinitol or something—had been developed for cases of feral behavior and systems, and one of the illicit drugs had the street name Serenity. His dealer (ex-dealer, his mind corrected absentmindedly) never failed to try and cajole him into trying it “just once and see how it feels” whenever they’d met.
He dozed for a moment, soothed by the comforting scents and warmth. He ended up laying on top of Kaminari when the beta rolled over and continued to use him as a cuddle and chew toy. Clothes rustled and low murmurs drifted in the air when another figure climbed into the nest. He opened a bleary eye to see green hair, and a sweet, freckled face swam into view.
He chirped in greeting, his vocal cords sore and rough.
Midoriya beamed and hooted softly, leaning down to nuzzle the side of his face. “Kicchan, let him go,” Midoriya chided in a gentle, but firm, tone, and peeled Hitoshi away from the pitifully whining humanoid koala. “I think our omega needs a bath, no?”
He chirped in agreement and brightened at the prospect of a warm bath. He grimaced a moment later when another tremor—much gentler than before—rocked his body. Midoriya noticed and chirred in a reassuring tone, nosing against the shell of his ear.
“I’ll carry you, Toshi; don’t worry,” Midoriya reassured and then scooped him up with little difficulty.
Hitoshi swallowed.
Any of them could’ve just snatched him up so easily, couldn’t they?
He rested his head against Midoriya’s chest and sighed as the beta carried him toward the bathroom. Midoriya entered the bathroom and a muscled redhead who could only be Kirishima glanced up from where he tested the water temperature and grinned toothily.
“Kitten!” Kirishima resembled a golden retriever puppy, dark eyes gleaming bright and vivacious. “I’ve got the water just how you like it—and we’ve got your favorite bath soaps, too!”
Hitoshi didn’t even have the energy to be surprised anymore.
At least they gave me a few years of freedom, Hitoshi thought, bemused. Midoriya and Kirishima seemed to agree he needed assistance to bathe. He hadn’t complained; his legs wobbled whenever he stood. Midoriya soaped and washed him down with a citrusy body wash in the separated shower, licking at some of his stinging lovebites throughout, scarred hands gentle and loving as soap suds gathered on his skin. Both betas’ settled into the warm bath with him, his back against Kirishima’s chest and legs on Midoriya’s lap.
He purred throughout the following massage and soak, muscles and skin kneaded by expert hands. He did put his foot down when the fondling became more…suggestive, though. Everyone in this damn pack were sex-crazed and insatiable, and Hitoshi was going to die before twenty-three.
Death by too much cock would be written on his tombstone. He wouldn’t ever be able to face his family in the afterlife.
Midoriya toweled him off and eagerly massaged cherry blossom scented lotion into his skin. Kirishima followed with a shea butter body oil and a strange, coconut-y cream that he carefully lathered onto his many hickeys.
Hitoshi made a curious noise at the silver-capped jar. “What’s in that?”
“It’s a healing cream,” said Kirishima, tongue poking out in concentration. “It’s from a company that infuses our pheromones into it than something artificial.”
“…Don’t suppose I could convince you to rub that on my ass?” Hitoshi asked in a hopeful tone and rolled his eyes, unsurprised when they laughed. “Yeah, yeah, laugh at my misery, why don’t you?”
Midoriya giggled and gave him a soft peck. “Sorry, Hicchan,” Midoriya said, though hadn’t sounded anywhere near apologetic. “But if we did that, then Kacchan would be on all our asses with his hairbrush.”
Hitoshi shivered from the mere thought. “So…it’s made with your pheromones?” Hitoshi questioned after some quiet, staring at the jar’s label. “What if they gave you one with someone else’s?”
Silver clouded green before it dispersed, the color of a feral beta. Kirishima grabbed his hips in a possessive hold and growled against the back of his neck, fang grazing against a gland. He shivered and blushed when his body reacted from the dominance, saccharine slick dripping against his inner thigh.
“If any non-pack beta dares put their pheromones on you,” Midoriya breathed possessively, a low snarl stirring in his chest, “I’ll fucking kill them.”
Kirishima chuckled, the sound hauntingly bright for what he said next. “And I’ll help hide the body.”
Hitoshi only sighed when Midoriya kissed him in a bruising and impassioned manner. Who, exactly, is the Pro Hero here?
Afternoon melted into evening, dusk greeting the night, and Hitoshi (and his cunt) had been thoroughly ruined and pleasured (re: tortured) by the betas.
Midoriya and Sero tag-teamed him about an hour after his bath and snack break. They hadn’t even bothered removing his dress—a babydoll lace he was wholly unsurprised to find melted against his curves perfectly, and the less said about the beta’s audacious confusion when he questioned the lack of underwear, the better for his continued sanity—and attacked his pussy like they were denied it for decades.
He writhed and mewled brokenly as their cocks thrusted into his abused pussy in tandem, belatedly appreciating the way omega biology evolved.
Even though his pussy stretched and adapted to the girth of two cocks at the same time, it had still been intense and toe-curling—especially as he hadn’t even used a dildo before. He had been passionately smothered in kisses and bites, and the pair shared just as many between them.
His body would be a canvas of their teeth by the end of the day. He would bet his (nonexistent) life savings on it.
Kaminari ate—sorry, “cleaned him up again,” hooting low in his throat as he slurped down every drop of honeyed delicacy.
He and Ashido scissored and bumped their clits together, sloppily making out whenever she wasn’t pillowed against his breasts, lavishing his nipples in attention. Ashido then relentlessly pounded into his sore hole and relished in the sensations of her quirk-enhanced strap (apparently designed to feel as part of her body). She kept going, bouncing him on her lap, until he squirted three times in succession, sobbing brokenly and curling into himself from pleasure.
It had been a riveting and heavenly experience.
He had wheezily demanded at least a two-hour break when Kirishima kissed and nipped his inner thighs. Just because omegas could have continuous sex didn’t mean he didn’t want a breather.
Afterward, Kirishima fucked him relaxed and ardent from behind, playing with his swollen nipples. Kaminari ate him out (again) amidst the slow fucking, tongue ring enthusiastically stroking and flicking his twitching folds and clit to the point he feared it would fall off.
(Kaminari may or may not have a raging, endless cunnilingus fetish).
His betas sucked the soul out of his body and then cheerfully returned for thirds.
Had Hitoshi not been an omega, whose biology evolved to survive multiple orgasms, shorter refractory periods, and intense marathon sex for eight fucking (pun intended) hours, he probably would’ve died.
A part of him still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t.
His glands throbbed, heavily soaked in pheromones and scent. Any tears of skin were healed through saliva—a betas saliva had healing properties for pack and mates—the area persistently ached, nevertheless, from the devout attention. Bonds thrummed viscerally and vivid throughout his body, encoding itself into his very DNA. Each beta carved their mark.
Everything ached.
A part of him wanted to rage—scream and cry and throw glass against the wall—but…acceptance would make life as an omega much easier. He couldn’t even use his quirk if he wanted; it couldn’t work on mates and even if it did, the dominance thick in the air made his inner omega reign court.
His satiated and sweetened pheromones couldn’t be dismissed either.
The bottomless depth of ardent devotion, possessiveness, and obsession swimming in their bonds frightened him. He shied away whenever it poked against him, soft as ribbon. Not counting the number of the terrible and shitty foster parents he rotated through, he never considered himself worthy—of love, of being loved—and never even thought much about other people wanting him, even as an omega.
His brain still reeled from the knowledge he had six people obsessed and salivating over him since high school.
It would be a slow process, but one nevertheless supported going by the way his pack salivated at the mere opportunity to show their devotion.
Keys jiggled against the door as an ironic commercial decrying suppressors played on the living room tv. Hitoshi hadn’t even known Bakugou had left the den, so consumed by the pleasure his mates gleefully lathered him in.
Something had to be said to that adage of keeping an omega “dependent, drooling, and dumb” on their mates’ cock.
The dating reality show Sero insisted they watch returned. Hitoshi blushed and hid his face behind his hands, stomach squirming, when the show depicted an alpha-omega pair in a discipline scene. Said omega participant had made the mistake of issuing a challenge prior to the commercial, one the alpha happily accepted, demonstrating her dominance and why challenging an alpha never ended well.
His own bottom throbbed from faded sting as muffled slaps, low-pitched snarls, and omegan whimpers echoed from the screen before it transitioned to the villa bar, where another participant—a beta—tried, and failed, at seduction.
Takeout bags rustled against the crook of Bakugou’s elbow as he stepped further into the den. Bakugou snorted upon seeing the tangled pile of limbs within the nest. No one could ignore the scent of a pleased alpha, though. Hitoshi purred lightly.
“I see you brats’ve done nothing but nest all day.”
Hitoshi made an offended noise. It wasn’t his fault his legs wobbled as though he were a newborn lamb on grass for the first time.
“What Toshi said,” Kaminari murmured sleepily against his stomach, breath tickling his skin. He had wrapped around Hitoshi like an octopus between the argument Sero and Kirishima had over the best couple an hour into the show and when Midoriya scampered out of the nest for a notebook and pen, muttering about the participants’ quirks.
“A nerd at heart,” Ashido had said and Hitoshi found no lie there.
Sero tore his gaze away from the screen almost reluctantly. “Is that takoyaki I smell?”
Midoriya moved upright next amidst Ashido’s whine of complaint from the movement; she had been playing with the beta’s hair and many glittering hair clips made themselves at home among the green curls. “Did you get katsudon?!”
“Am I a delivery person or your alpha?” Bakugou asked in a dry tone but hadn’t said no. “Get up, degenerates,” he continued in a brisk tone and prodded at Kaminari’s foot sticking out of the nest. “I am not risking Mina spilling fucking teriyaki sauce on the pillows again.”
Ashido sputtered and pouted. “This is slander on my beautiful personhood!”
“I’m not a degenerate,” grumbled Kaminari, and Hitoshi snorted loudly. His pussy would very much disagree.
Kaminari pouted.
Hitoshi petted his head. “There, there, you degenerate.”
“Oi!”
Kirishima laughed.
A squabbling fight between four participants erupted over the shy omega they were independently coveting. According to the show’s narrator, they’ve been lusting over her since episode one and have only now started to make a move. “Quiet!” Sero ordered loudly, enraptured by the argument. All he needed now was a bucket of popcorn. “I wanna see what Kanako-chan will do!”
Ashido ignored him. “I demand an apology and at least three cupcakes for such slander!”
Kirishima side-eyed her, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. “Uhh…aren’t you, like, diabetic?”
“And?”
“You’ll literally die.”
Ashido scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest; it fluffed her breasts very nicely. “Three cupcakes won’t kill me, Eijirou.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I literally do?!”
Kaminari fanned the flames by asking, “Who died and made you doctor?”
“Thank you, Denki,” Ashido beamed, and Kaminari gave a very sleepy finger gun in response. “I can always count on you~.”
“I’m going to throw you all outside,” Bakugou said a moment later, lips twitching. He caught Hitoshi’s gaze a moment later. “Except for Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi preened.
Kaminari blew a loud raspberry. “Boo!”
“999-Beta-Welfare!” Ashido hollered and faked a phone call with her hands. “They’ll get your ass this time, Katsuki!”
Sero overheard that bit and commented, idly, “His very nice ass.”
“It really is,” Kirishima murmured, leering.
Bakugou rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll take my nice ass and this food to my room if you degenerates don’t get the fuck up!”
Ashido booed once more and Kirishima mined throwing tomatoes Bakugou’s way. Sero didn’t even seem to acknowledge anything other than the reality show. Kanako-chan made a shocking decision and chose to go on a date with an alpha-beta pair of castmates who had arrived later in the episode, breaking hearts in her wake.
Good for her, Hitoshi thought and cheered her on.
“Kacchan,” Midoriya gasped, sounding hilariously scandalized for someone who had just been muttering a storm about how a castmate’s quirk could be a murder weapon. “You can’t call us degenerates!”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes and asked, almost threateningly, “Do you want your katsudon?”
Midoriya didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then I’m calling you degenerates,” said Bakugou in a tone of finality. He chuckled at the way Midoriya wilted against Sero’s back in response, not that Sero even noticed. “I’m serious, though—out the nest, all of you.”
Hitoshi gave him an unimpressed stare. “If you expect me to leave this nest on my own legs with the way you heathens have been acting, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Mmm, good—I’d be upset if our betas didn’t take care of you,” Bakugou responded with a pleased smirk. “Bring him to the table, Denki.”
Kaminari pouted but begrudgingly detached himself when Bakugou sent him a warning growl at the lack of movement. Hitoshi had known Kaminari was strong, but it nevertheless surprised him when the beta scooped him from the nest with little strain. Sero made a soft disappointed sound when TV switched off, sounding as if his beloved pet died.
Hitoshi sat on Bakugou’s lap as they settled around the table to eat. Contentment fluttered in his scent, buttery warm and spiced, and flavor burst across his tastebuds. He leaned against Bakugou’s chest as the alpha held him close, arm around his waist like a warm and grounding anchor. He listened to the squabbling and teasing conversations in amusement, wondering idly if they had been like this back in high school.
He knew Midoriya had been obsessed with katsudon—he had once overheard one of his friends scold him for having it every day for lunch in their first year—so that, at least, hadn’t changed over the years.
Warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach, from the food, from the company, from the steady purrs rumbling in Bakugou’s chest.
He could become used to life as this packs’ omega.