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The magazine is on his coffee table, mocking him.
Aizawa’s not even sure why he bought it in the first place. He’s pretty sure he blacked out because there’s no way the cashier didn’t look at him like a creepy old weirdo and he has absolutely no recollection of receiving said judgment.
He has to move it before Hizashi or Nemuri come over. They’ll mock him relentlessly. But he can’t bring himself to throw it away. He can’t even bring himself to look at it directly.
He doesn’t have to, the cover has been seared into his brain from the moment he saw it in the check out line.
The white block letters shout at him every time he glimpses them from his peripherals.
BAKUGOU KATSUKI
JAPAN’S MOST ELIGIBLE OMEGA
The words themselves aren’t anything surprising, Bakugou is the highest ranked omega since All Might and he’s still unmated at twenty-five. Of course he’s eligible.
What Aizawa finds offensive about the cover is the fact that Bakugou is completely naked.
Tastefully, of course, the photo cuts off right below his back dimples, showing only a hint of the curve of his ass. His waist is twisted as he turns around to look at the camera, which only serves to make it look impossibly smaller, framed by tight muscle and smooth, airbrushed skin.
His forearms are corded with quirk earned muscle and his biceps are even worse. His chest, what little you can see of it from this angle, is also well muscled. The worst part, though, is his face. His strong jaw and pink lips curled into a cocky smirk because he no doubt knows how desirable he is.
That smirk mocks Aizawa more than anything else. It says Yeah, you want me, but you can’t fuckin’ have me.
Aizawa knows this. He’s been resigned to this since Bakugou graduated and never looked back. Bakugou is a strong, desirable omega and Aizawa is an old, crusty, lonely alpha.
It’s fine.
He’s fine.
He ignores the magazine for the hundredth time as he leaves the apartment, closing the door with entirely too much force behind him. He pauses. Sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers then sets out for his day.
It’s an ordinary day.
He goes to school. He teaches. He grades papers. Eri is sleeping over at Chiyo’s for the weekend so he doesn’t have anything to do after school. He plans to drink alone in his apartment like the pathetic old alpha he is until he receives a text from Shinsou asking him out for a drink and he’s never been able to turn a student down, current or former.
They go to their regular bar, a small dive frequented by other underground heroes. It’s nice catching up with Shinsou. They usually do something like this once a month so it’s easy, familiar.
Until it’s not.
A group of boisterous people walk through the door and Aizawa winces, unable to hear the soft music anymore. Shinsou is notably less put out about their new company, even lifting a hand in greeting. That’s when Aizawa notices that this new group of patrons consists entirely of his former students.
Aizawa tramps his own scent down when his eyes land on Bakugou. He doesn’t wear scent patches if he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t need them, he’s always had impeccable control of his instincts and his pheromones. Judging by the surprised glance Shinsou shoots him, he doesn’t do a very good job this time.
The kids, wait, no, the pro heroes swarm the bar shouting drink orders at the bartender who looks unimpressed with their antics.
“Shut up and sit down, you’ll drink what I give you!” The Alpha orders. There’s not even a hint of Alpha voice in it but they all scramble to comply except for Bakugou, who lingers to pay and bring the round to the table they claim.
Aizawa thinks they must not have noticed him. What, with how he’s curled over his lukewarm beer on the corner of the bar and half hidden behind Shinsou, who would?
Kaminari Denki. That’s who.
“Hey Sensei!” He cries as he passes by. It draws the attention of the rest of them and then they’re all greeting him along with Shinsou.
“‘M not your sensei anymore,” he grumbles but they either don’t hear or don’t listen. Kaminari pecks Shinsou on the cheek and then flounces off to their table. “You can go,” he says to Shinsou. Shinsou is Kaminari’s alpha and there’s no way he didn’t know they would end up in the same place tonight.
“I’m having a good time with you,” Shinsou says and Aizawa is touched by his honesty but he doesn’t want to hold him back from having a better time. Aizawa just hums in response, eyes once again drawn to Bakugou.
Shinsou notices because he trained him to notice but he can’t make himself stop. Bakugou leans those scarred forearms on the bar and talks to the bartender, an alpha that Aizawa gets along with quite well. She’s young and pretty and never hesitates to flash a blinding smile at her patrons just before she knocks them on their ass for breaking her rules.
That’s the kind of alpha Bakugou would be with. They’re too far to hear but Bakugou leans toward her when she talks and neither of them are wearing patches and they’re close enough to smell one another’s interest.
“Oh my god,” Shinsou says. Aizawa’s gaze snaps back to him, a flush high on his cheeks. Apparently he still isn’t doing a very good job of controlling his scent.
Aizawa is saved by none other than Bakugou Katsuki.
“Move, Nyquil,” Bakugou huffs and shoves the tray of drinks at Shinsou, but not before he grabs his own beer.
“Oh my god,” Shinsou repeats. But he takes the tray with a meaningful glance at Aizawa which tells him, no, he will not be letting this go, and goes to slide into the booth across the bar next to his mate.
This close, Aizawa can smell Bakugou and he tries not to gasp like he’d just been drowning seconds before. He’s sweet and smoky, strong and soft. The perfect omega scent. He’s relaxed and content.
Aizawa thinks he might lose his mind. He does his best to rein in his own scent before Bakugou can get a read on him. He’s not entirely sure he succeeds.
“Bakugou,” Aizawa greets cautiously.
“Sensei,” he replies in his low, smooth voice.
“I’m not your sensei anymore,” he repeats.
“No,” Bakugou says, considering. “You’re not.”
Aizawa can’t believe it. He half convinces himself he’s hallucinating when Bakugou’s scent turns into something slightly sweeter, into something interested.
“How’s the class this year?” Bakugou asks and takes a sip of his drink.
“Why are you here?” Aizawa asks instead of answering. Bakugou quirks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “Instead of with your friends.”
“I want to be here,” Bakugou says as though it’s obvious. It is very much not obvious to Aizawa.
Aizawa just stares at him, trying to parse out his microexpressions, his scent, his body language. Bakugou holds his gaze evenly.
He doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t submit and before he can stop it, Aizawa’s pride in this omega— an omega that isn’t his — swells. It permeates his scent and the lemongrass cuts sharply through the coffee and cigarette smoke that clings to his skin.
It’s the first thing to affect Bakugou, at least visibly. His cheeks go a darling shade of pink.
This… doesn’t seem real. But if it’s a dream there’s no point in resisting.
Aizawa fights off a smile and breaks their staring contest first, knowing he hasn’t actually lost anything and giving Bakugou the victory of staring down an alpha.
“Shinsou said you’d be here,” Bakugou mutters and fiddles with his drink.
“So this is a set up?” Aizawa asks wryly. He glances over at the table where Shinsou has a lap full of Kaminari and is watching them from the corner of his eye. He holds his beer up in a toast.
“Only if it works,” Bakugou says and meets his eyes again, young and bold.
“And you need an…entourage for confidence?” Aizawa teases as he downs the last of his drink and signals the bartender for his tab, she looks pointedly at Bakugou and at the table of his former students and raises an eyebrow. He nods. He’ll pay for their drinks, too.
“Fuck off,” Bakugou sputters. “I did not, those nosy fuckers found out I was going to a bar and they couldn’t let me go alone .”
“Hm,” Aizawa hums as he stands. Bakugou scrambles to do the same. “We’ll fix that mouth.”
Bakugou can’t quite swallow the whine and heat flashes through Aizawa at the sound. He starts to leave, assuming Bakugou will follow.
“I have to pay,” Bakugou says.
“No, you don’t,” Aizawa says and puts his hand on the small of Bakugou’s back to urge him toward the exit. Someone whistles and Bakugou turns around to flip them off. Aizawa allows it.
For now.
“Sit,” Aizawa says as he lets Bakugou into his apartment. He snatches the magazine up off the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. “What would you like to drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“Coffee. Tea. Water. Or beer.” He lists. “Pick.”
Bakugou stands in the middle of his living room, half obstructed by the couch, the light from the shitty lamp in the corner gives him a golden halo. Aizawa has to brace himself against the counter. He’s a vision.
“Water,” Bakugou settles on, looking over Aizawa. It’s appraising but not in a way that Aizawa would worry he’d be found lacking. No. It’s the same way Bakugou sizes up villains before a fight.
That, Aizawa can do.
He fills up two glasses of water and goes back to the living room. He sets them both on the coffee table then gestures for Bakugou to sit. After a moment in which Aizawa thinks Bakugou might refuse, he sits on one end of the couch. Aizawa takes the other.
“Why did you come here?” Aizawa asks.
“I thought it was fuckin’ obvious,” Bakugou huffs.
“Spell it out for me,” Aizawa says. “I want to know your expectations. Are you looking to be courted? Or are you here for a quick fuck?”
Bakugou sizes him up again and Aizawa can’t get a read on him. Aizawa isn’t sure what Bakugou wants from this, from him. No matter what it is, Aizawa will give it to him.
“I’m not expecting shit,” Bakugou says and it surprises Aizawa. “I… We can start with a fuck, I guess.”
“You guess?” Aizawa won’t say it but he’s sure he’s clear, especially with Bakugou. He isn’t some charity fuck. Bakugou can have anyone he wants and if he wants Aizawa he’s going to have to prove it.
The mere thought of being desired by Bakugou sets Aizawa’s heart racing. He still can’t believe it, here in his own living room after taking Bakugou home from the bar. He probably won’t believe it until Bakugou says it out loud. Maybe not even then.
“I want whatever you’re willing to give me,” Bakugou says with his usual confidence. He meets Aizawa’s gaze head on and his scent flares around them, thick with lazy arousal and heady interest. That’s for him.
That’s for him.
“Careful now,” Aizawa warns. “You haven’t asked what I want.”
“What do you want?” Bakugou asks with a defiant lift of his chin.
I want you to be mine.
Aizawa’s scent rises to meet Bakugou’s, possessive and thick and Bakugou’s pupils dilate.
Aizawa leans forward and Bakugou tilts his head back in an uncharacteristic show of easy obedience. Submission.
Heat pools in Aizawa’s gut as he noses along Bakugou’s smooth neck and swallows a groan. Bakugou struggles to control his breathing and it lights Aizawa up. He opens his mouth, still perfectly in control, and gently rests his teeth over Bakugou’s gland. Then he waits.
“Yes,” Bakugou breathes, his rapid pulse is hot against Aizawa’s lips. “Fuck. Yes.”
Aizawa pulls back and Bakugou lets out a disappointed whine before he cuts himself off.
“You want me to be your alpha?” Aizawa asks dubiously.
Bakugou’s face goes red. “Well if you didn’t fuckin’ want to, you could have just said — ”
“Quiet,” Aizawa says and marvels at the way Bakugou simply… shuts up. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” he answers, still embarrassed, still full of defiant fire.
“Me,” Aizawa repeats. Bakugou narrows his eyes at him. Bakugou has always been clever, he’s probably figured out now that Aizawa isn’t messing with him but is having trouble wrapping his mind around this.
“I know what I want,” he says eventually. “I want you. Always have.”
Always have.
Always.
Aizawa grabs Bakugou by the back of his neck and hauls him into his lap for a desperate kiss.
Bakugou moans and clamors across his thighs, hands running down Aizawa’s chest as he leans in closer. His scent is so sweet, so pleased, all for Aizawa. For Aizawa.
Aizawa’s hand tightens on the back of his neck, callused fingers digging in harshly and Bakugou melts against him.
Fuck, he’s perfect.
Aizawa isn’t even going to make it to the bedroom. He has to have him here. Now.
He rips Bakugou’s shirt off and bites at his jaw while Bakugou writhes in his lap.
“Alpha,” Bakugou gasps and then he’s on his back with Aizawa looming over him. Aizawa blinks once, twice, to try and clear his head but the pheromone fog around them is too thick. He’ll apologize later.
“Omega,” he growls and Bakugou submits again, throwing his head back against the couch cushions and this time Aizawa doesn’t swallow his groan, letting it vibrate against the juncture of Bakugou’s neck and shoulder.
He’s hard, he’s so hard. He grinds up against Bakugou’s ass and his scent gets thicker. Aizawa opens his mouth and licks his bare shoulder to taste it, gets a mouthful of explosive sweat.
“Fuck, fuck me,” Bakugou gasps and grinds down then up, anything to get some semblance of friction. Aizawa’s hands are everywhere, over smooth pecs and cut abdominals, and those fucking narrow hips. “Please, shit fuck —”
Aizawa shoves two dirty fingers into Bakugou’s mouth and his cock twitches when Bakugou moans , eyes bright and furious at the action and his own reaction.
“Watch your mouth,” Aizawa warns. Bakugou licks between his fingers and scrapes his teeth over his knuckles. Aizawa swallows a swear of his own and works on getting Bakugou’s pants off one handed.
He’s still fully clothed, Bakugou is fully naked and leaking slick on his couch, spread out and flushed and so pretty Aizawa could cry. This man wants him.
He can’t help the way he licks down Bakugou’s body, biting a nipple along the way, and skipping his little cock entirely to lap up the slick leaking from his puffy hole.
Bakugou shouts wordlessly and arches his back so hard Aizawa hears it crack. The taste of his slick is heavenly, addictive, and Aizawa feels like he’s drunk off a too sweet cocktail.
Bakugou’s hands scrabble at his shoulders and tangle in his hair, pulling it back from his face while Bakugou rolls his hips up and legs back so he can see the way Aizawa’s tongue dives into his hole.
“Yeah, oh, yes,” Bakugou pants. “Of f— please. So good. Please.”
Aizawa is tempted to eat him out until he cries but then his cock twitches in his pants and he decides he can leave that for another day. He surges up to crash his lips into Bakugou’s while he pulls his pants down just far enough to free his cock.
Aizawa adjusts their positions a bit, pulling Bakugou’s hips into his lap, wrapping his legs around his waist, and pulling his arms around his shoulders. Bakugou is pliant and easy to manhandle and Aizawa is dizzy with all the possibilities.
He positions the head of his cock at Bakugou’s rim and leans forward enough to apply pressure and to offer his neck to Bakugou who moans directly against his scent gland. His tongue is quick to follow, licking up Aizawa’s throat, and suctioning his mouth.
Aizawa’s groan is primal when Bakugou sucks on his scent gland. He’s so careful, so controlled, to not bite. But to apply enough pressure to make Aizawa positively feral.
Bakugou’s strong arms around his shoulders tighten and pull them flush together, not a single atom can slip between them and when Bakugou flexes his powerful thighs, Aizawa slips right inside.
Bakugou’s moan vibrates against his carotid and Aizawa starts to thrust. Long, powerful strokes in the most sinful ass in all of Japan. Bakugou pants directly against his scent gland, licking the scent of blue sage and lemongrass directly from the source. He’s going to get drunk. Aizawa doesn’t stop him.
His sweet little mewls and whines spur Aizawa one in what’s probably the roughest first fuck he’s ever been party to but it’s never been this good before, either.
Aizawa can’t knot him because he’s not in rut and he’s not twenty but fuck if that visual doesn’t push him over the edge. He hadn’t bothered with a condom and Bakugou hadn’t asked for one, probably because he cums at the feeling of Aizawa filling him up.
Unfortunately, once the pure pleasure and bliss filters out of his system, Aizawa is left with nothing but dread and regret. They should have talked more. He should have taken his time. He should have checked in more.
Bakugou’s arms and legs tighten around him to an alarming degree.
“Whatever you’re thinking— stop.”
“I’m not sure what to think,” Aizaway admits quietly into his neck.
“Think later,” Bakugou says and pushes him up just far enough for them to see each other. Bakugou’s thumb lands on his scent gland and his eyes follow before they meet Aizawa’s again. “Now, I want a bath and some food.”
“I don’t have anything here.”
Bakugou scoffs. “Of course you don’t. Order something.”
It’s not a request and Aizawa’s smile is helpless. Bakugou meets his fond gaze head on despite his reddening cheeks.
“Of course,” Aizawa acquiesces and dips down to kiss him softly on the lips. He can make this work. They can make this work.