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He’d feel unlucky pulling a shift during a torrential downpour, but it’s the rainy season, and Katsuki knows the odds are against anyone scoring a dry patrol. Doesn’t make him any happier to be squatting on a roof, soaked through even the supposed waterproof layers of his pro-hero uniform, but his misery does love the company.
It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, and there’s been zero action thanks to the buckets of water pounding onto the streets, driving even the most hardened of criminals into their holes to wait it out. Despite walking his route, on streets and over roofs, nearly six times, he’s seen only a handful of people and absolutely none of them up to anything interesting, much less criminal.
He’s wet, cold, bored, and his scent patches are starting to itch, thanks to the icy water running down the back of his neck and pooling in his collar. He’s one hundred percent over it. Which is the exact same moment a dark shadow comes propelling out of nowhere and slams into him, sending them both rolling across the rooftop.
Whoever it is fights hard and mean, and Katsuki takes a couple of solid blows to the gut before he’s finally able to pin them to the grimy surface with a snarl, ripping their black face mask off.
“Shinsou?” he says in surprise because that’s the last person he expected to run into—literally—tonight.
“Duck!” Shinsou hisses and Katsuki automatically flattens himself on top of Shinsou as something whistles through the air above them. For a moment, the smell of warm cotton and cedar wood fills his lungs as he realizes he’s buried his face in Shinsou’s neck and the idiot isn’t wearing a scent patch.
“What the fu—” He pulls back to glare down at Shinsou, but before the words are even out of his mouth, Shinsou’s dragging him back down into a crushing embrace. A hard kick to the ground by Shinsou sends them both rolling as something smashes into the spot where they were both laying moments before, and then Shinsou’s up, kneeling over Katsuki as he levels a tranq gun at something Katsuki can’t even see through the dark and rain.
Shinsou fires two shots, and there’s an audible thud as something heavy hits the roof. Katsuki blinks up in surprise at Shinsou, who’s still straddling him, lavender eyes narrowed as he stares off in the direction he fired. When no additional attacks come, his gaze shifts down to Katsuki.
“You good?” He asks, free hand still flat against Katsuki’s chest, pinning him down.
“Of course I’m good,” Katsuki huffs, smacking Shinsou hard in the thigh to get him to move. “I was great before someone body-slammed me into a roof.”
“In this weather, I find that hard to believe,” Shinsou muses as he rises, offering a hand to Katsuki, who ignores it. “What are you doing out here, isn’t rain your kryptonite or something?”
“As if,” Katsuki snaps, he’d solved that particular issue ages ago, thanks to Mei and some very clever gear adjustments. “I’m on patrol, what are you doing here? Aren’t you an underground hero?”
Shinsou gives him a flat look before heading in the direction of whatever was chasing him. “It’s fun how metaphors go straight over your head.”
Katsuki joins him as Shinsou snaps cuffs on the unconscious villain, who seems to have some sort of quirk that causes long tentacles to sprout from his back. Katsuki nudges the unconscious lump with a foot, then wrinkles his nose as Shinsou stands and he gets another solid whiff of his scent, strong enough that it slices through even the heavy rain.
“You stink.”
“Rud–oh.” Shinsou’s hand drifts idly to his bare scent gland, giving Katsuki a surprisingly genuine apologetic look, putting some distance between them. “Sorry.”
“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a patch, idiot? If it wasn’t for the rain, anyone could have smelled you coming a mile away.”
Shinsou pulls down the edge of the cowl he’s wearing, exposing his neck and a line of purple bruises along his collarbone.
“The tentacles have suckers,” Shinsou clarifies, shifting to paw through his pockets in search of something. “Must have ripped it off.”
He makes a triumphant sound, then looks sad when the new patches he pulls out are clearly soaked in rainwater.
“You need better gear,” Katsuki states, and Shinsou glares at him. Katsuki scans the roof and then grabs Shinsou’s arm, dragging him toward the door and the small overhang above it. “C’mere.”
When they’re out of the rain, Katsuki steps in closer, reaching for the cowl. Shinsou bristles, scent flaring, taking on a burnt edge as his lip curls into a snarl at his proximity. Katsuki pauses, hand frozen inches from him, but he doesn’t back down.
“Down, boy,” Katsuki says in amusement, but he tugs his mask up anyway, blocking Shinsou’s scent completely, and Shinsou’s shoulders relax marginally. Katsuki holds up a cloth in his other hand, wiggling it in Shinsou’s face. “Super absorbent, to dry your skin. I have a spare patch. A dry one.”
“I don’t appreciate being cornered against walls by bossy alphas,” Shinsou huffs, snatching the fabric from Katsuki and pressing it against his neck. Despite all the stupid posturing, he can’t meet Katsuki’s eyes, gaze settling somewhere over his shoulder and three steps closer to submission than Katsuki expected.
Huh.
“I’m not just some knothead, you know.” That gets Shinsou’s gaze back on him, the fire returning to his eyes.
“You’re like the poster boy for alpha-ist alpha,” Shinsou counters, and Katsuki rolls his eyes.
“We lived together for three years, hell we were both part of the same pup pack.”
Shinsou’s expression twists, gaze shifting away again as he holds out a hand, making a “gimme” gesture at Katsuki for the patch. “Mina declaring we were a pack hardly counts for anything, we were teenagers, and that was a decade ago.”
Katsuki doesn’t say anything to that, but internally he bristles at the slight. It might have been nothing to Shinsou, but being a part of that pack had been a big step for him. His alpha hormones were on overdrive pretty much 24/7, and he was always looking for a fight. Allowing five chaotic individuals into his personal space, much less letting them scent him regularly, had been a huge deal, and he’d been grateful for how willingly they’d all endured him as he got used to it.
He kinda misses it these days, even though between him, Denki, and Eij, half the damn group was alphas. He still liked it, roughhousing the other alphas, or Sero’s soothing beta vibes whenever they hung out. Appreciated the times that Mina or even Shinsou had let him into their nest after a long night of studying or a grueling training day.
But Shinsou’s right, it’s long in the past, and he hardly sees any of them anymore besides Eij.
He resurfaces from his little trip down memory lane when Shinsou shoves the cloth back in his hand, glands now covered by brand new patches.
“Thanks or whatever,” Shinsou grunts, shouldering past Katsuki and back out into the rain. “See you never,” Shinsou throws over his shoulder, and then he’s gone over the edge of the building, and Katsuki realizes that Shinsou has completely ditched the unconscious villain. Saddling him with all the paperwork for the arrest.
Asshole.
–*–
Hitoshi gets six blocks from the building where he had his run-in with Bakugou before his knees give out, and he ends up sitting in a puddle, ice-cold water seeping into his uniform as he curls in on himself.
Shitshitshitshitshit it’s getting worse.
The doctors had warned him, said eventually the drugs would make him unstable, unpredictable, but he’d felt fine for so long. He thought he was fine.
He is definitely not fine.
That was only proven even more so by being in Bakugou’s presence for thirty-five seconds. Any alpha at this point makes his skin itch, his omega fighting to take over, but someone he knows? Someone whose scent he already has committed to memory? So. Much. Worse.
With the rain and Bakugou’s patches, Hitoshi hadn’t actually been able to smell him, but he still remembers. Can recall the smell of campfire and pine trees that lingered in his nest all through high school. Of all of their pack, Bakugou’s scent has always been his favorite.
Even after ten years, he still remembers, and now, with his current condition, it hits him like a goddamn truck. Because he’s always been a little bit in love with Bakugou Katsuki, even after all this time.
Hitoshi scrabbles for his phone because he really, really shouldn’t be out here. He can already tell the new patches are soaked through, his body pumping out extra pheromones as he rockets toward his heat. He’d been stupid to think he had enough time to close his case before things became a problem, and now he’s on the wrong side of town from his apartment, and he’s pretty sure he can’t stand up.
He means to call Aizawa, have him track him down, drag him off to some heat facility and lock him in a room until this is all over because Aizawa knows. Has been privy to all Hitoshi’s problems recently and won’t ask stupid questions or make terrible suggestions. But when he squints at his phone, it’s Bakugou’s caller ID that’s on the screen.
Stupid fucking hormonal instincts. He really hates being an omega sometimes.
“What now?” Bakugou’s voice crackles through the line, and though he sounds thoroughly pissed, Hitoshi already feels a little better. Ugh, that’s so dumb. “You got another villain you plan on saddling me with?!”
“Al—Katsuki,” Hitoshi whimpers, shoving his face into his knees with a groan because everything hurts and oh my god he hates this, “I don’t–I’m sorry–I can’t–”
“Where are you?” Bakugou demands, his tone snapping from annoyed to what Hitoshi would probably teasingly call his ‘alpha Hero voice’ if he had the ability to be funny right now. Instead, it just makes his gut twist with desire as let’s out a distressed whine. “Shinsou, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?”
“Definitely not,” Hitoshi says dryly, and then he blacks out.
–*–
“Definitely not.”
Katsuki hears a clatter that sounds like Shinsou dropped his phone, and then there’s silence except for the sound of staticy rain on the line.
“Shinsou? Hitoshi?!” Complete silence greets him, and Katsuki curses under his breath. He hates to disconnect the call, cut off what feels like the one thread he’s got to Shinsou, and whatever the hell just happened, but he can’t keep him on the line and find him. He takes two deep breaths, tamping down on the urge to bolt from the roof and start searching the streets at random.
Omega hurt. Help Omega.
“Yeah, I know, ” Katsuki gripes to himself and then hits the only contact in his phone that might be able to tell him where Shinsou is. “Aizawa? It’s Bakugou. I need your help.”
–*–
He and Aizawa find Shinsou at the same time, which is impressive considering Shinsou only made it a few blocks from Katsuki and who knows where the hell Aizawa was. Katsuki’s also really, really glad he’s still wearing his face guard because when he crouches down to check on Shinsou, his scent still manages to gut-punch him through the rain and filters.
Shinsou’s in full-blown heat.
Katsuki’s blood runs hot immediately, the alpha in him near feral at the sudden onslaught of pheromones paired with the sight of an unconscious Omega in obvious distress. Not just any omega, but one of his. He doesn’t even realize he’s clutching Shinsou to his chest until Aizawa smacks him upside the head.
“Christ, I’m not going to hurt him, kid, heel,” Aizawa snaps at him, and Katsuki realizes a deep growl is rumbling through his chest at the prospect of Aizawa trying to touch Shinsou. He drops Shinsou, scrambling back to get some distance between them and get himself under control.
He’s never reacted to an Omega like that before, has always prided himself on his perfect control since graduating. Yet here he is, about ready to throw down with his old teacher and probably get his ass handed to him. Aizawa might be a Beta, but Katsuki has no illusions about who would win in a fight. It’s not always about raw strength.
“What the hell?” Katsuki mutters, scooting further away, hand pressed over his mask to muffle the scent even more, though it does little to help. “He didn’t—before—he didn’t smell like…that…”
Aizawa checks Shinsou over, only sparing a momentary glance at Katsuki. “The fact that you could smell him at all is already a bad sign. He’s got excellent control of his scent.” Aizawa drags a still-unconscious Shinsou upright and glares at Katsuki. “You gonna help me or just sit there like an idiot?”
Turns out ‘help’ means Katsuki ends up carrying Shinsou himself because, to Aizawa’s obvious amusement, Katsuki seems unable to let Aizawa do anything at all to assist.
“Always were a possessive little brat,” Aizawa gripes as Katsuki hefts Shinsou into his arms. “Come on, I’ve already notified the facility to prep a heat room.”
“No.” It comes out sharper than Katsuki intends as he clutches Shinsou tight to his chest like Aizawa might try to wrestle him away.
“Kid…”
“He’s coming home with me, I’ll take care of him.”
Aizawa’s expression goes dark, and Katsuki backs up abruptly as Aizawa storms over. “You think he wants that?”
“He called me,” Katsuki snaps, continuing to retreat in the direction of his apartment. “Not you.”
“He—” Aizawa pauses at that, something unreadable passing across his face. “He always said it was you,” Aizawa says cryptically. He holds up his hands in defeat. “You sure about this?”
“I’ll take care of him,” Katsuki hisses, unreasonably pissed at even the mere suggestion that he might harm Shinsou in some way. “I’m not going to make him do anything he doesn’t want, he’ll be safe with me.”
“Yeah,” Aizawa says dryly, “not really worried about him.”
Aizawa digs something out of his pocket, tossing it at Katsuki’s face, and he barely manages to catch it without dropping Shinsou. To his surprise, it’s additional ammunition for Shinsou’s tranq gun.
“In case you can’t handle him,” Aizawa comments, and Katsuki just stares at him. What?
Aizawa runs a tired hand down his face with a resigned sigh. “Look, if you’re set on doing this, there’s something you need to know.”
–*–
Hitoshi wakes up surrounded by the smell of campfires and cool mountain air. He has three seconds to appreciate the fact that he’s warm, dry, and practically drowning in Bakugou’s scent, and then his heat slams into him like a tidal wave. He doubles over on himself with an audible whine as his body sends conflicting signals of pain and arousal shooting through him.
He can hear the door to the bedroom slam open, and then a fresh wave of Bakugou’s scent, thick and smoky with concern, washes over him, and every single nerve in Hitoshi’s body lights up, his omega surges forward and rips the last threads of self-control straight out of Hitoshi’s hands.
“Alpha?” Hitoshi whines, voice high and needy as he reaches for him. Across the room, Bakugou’s pupils blow out, nostrils flaring as the wall of pheromones hits him. It’s a credit to his training that he isn’t already in Hitoshi’s arms.
But he doesn’t stand a chance against Hitoshi’s quirk.
“Are you oka—“
Bakugou goes completely still, spine stiffening as Hitoshi’s quirk sinks hooks deep into his mind.
And then Hitoshi’s omega pulls.
“Come here.”
Bakugou is across the room in the blink of an eye, their lips crashing together as Bakugou pins Hitoshi to the bed, a heavy weight on Hitoshi that drives him wild. He grabs Bakugou’s shirt, trying to pull it off, desperate to get as much skin contact as he can as soon as possible.
“Off, take it off.”
Bakugou obeys immediately, nearly shredding his clothes in the rush to strip. Hitoshi’s omega keens, drunk on power as an alpha eagerly follows his every order with no hesitation. As soon as the fabric is out of the way, Hitoshi is pulling him back in, commands flowing silently through his quirk that have Bakugou grabbing his ass, grinding their hips together as Hitoshi arches under him with a gasp.
Bakugou leaves a trail of wet kisses down Hitoshi’s jaw and neck, sharp canines scraping across skin until he gets to the now useless patch covering Hitoshi’s scent gland. He rips it off, latching onto the sensitive area just shy of actually breaking the skin, and Hitoshi jackknifes under him, already close to coming just from that alone.
He claws at Bakugou, crushing them together, drowning in Bakugou’s scent, desperate for contact after so many heats spent alone. Bakugou licks a long wet stripe up across Hitoshi’s gland, teeth grazing his ear, and Hitoshi feels more than hears the deep rumble of his voice.
“Omega. ”
Fuck. Even deep under the influence of Hitoshi’s quirk Bakugou is more responsive than anyone Hitoshi's ever been with, still feels like him, ready to do whatever Hitoshi asks, and Hitoshi knows exactly what he wants.
“Fuck me.”
–*–
Katsuki resurfaces from Shinsou’s quirk right as his orgasm slams into him. He’s balls deep in Shinsou, who he has pinned to the bed with one hand splayed on his back as Shinsou sobs through his own orgasm. He has no idea how long he’s been out of it, but from the state of the bed, how drenched in sweat and cum they both are, it’s been a while.
He doesn’t remember a second of it. Nothing after he felt Shinsou’s quirk slip into his mind, an oil-slick film coating his consciousness and dragging him under. Christ, Aizawa hadn’t been kidding.
“Again, Alpha, please, again, n-need it,” Shinsou begs under him, sobbing as his hands claw into the pillow and he rocks back against Katsuki. There’s no weight to the command, and Katsuki suspects Shinsou’s too far gone to realize he doesn’t have a grip on Katsuki’s mind anymore.
Good.
Katsuki wraps a hand around the nape of Shinsou’s neck, keeping him pinned to the bed as he starts to fuck him again, and Shinsou chokes on the moan it tears from him. Katsuki sets a brutal pace, merciless and punishing, retaliation for not getting the chance to get Shinsou to this state himself.
Shinsou thinks he can do better than Katsuki? Un-fucking-likely.
It doesn’t take long for Shinsou to get close again, tightening like a vice around Katsuki’s cock as he takes everything Katsuki dishes out. Adding to the bruises and marks already littered across pale skin. When Katsuki is sure that Shinsou is teetering on the edge of coming, he hauls him up by his neck, trapping Shinsou against his chest in an iron grip.
He mouths at Shinsou’s throat, pulling a low groan from him, and then he wraps a hand around Shinsou’s cock as he presses his lips to Shinsou’s ear.
“A lot better when I’m fucking you for real, isn’t it, baby?”
Shinsou comes immediately, arching in Katsuki’s grip as he wails, cock pulsing in Katsuki’s hand. Before Shinsou can come down from the high, Katsuki slams into him, knot popping, and Shinsou comes a second time before he goes limp in Katsuki’s arms.
–*–
Hitoshi swims back to consciousness to the feeling of rough fingers lightly tracing the contours of his back. Every inch of him is sore, but he feels sated and more content than he has in a very long time. Then he realizes why he feels like that, and his whole body locks up in panic, his scent souring in the air around him.
Bakugou flattens his hand on Hitoshi’s back, rolling on top of him and crushing him into the bed, and the soothing scent Bakugou pushes out takes the edge off Hitoshi's anxiety. Bakugou is comforting him, Hitoshi’s quirk is definitely not active, and Bakugou hasn’t bailed or murdered him.
Which Hitoshi would absolutely deserve because shit, he definitely just quirked Bakugou into spending his heat with him, and god, that is so fucked, and it’s five years ago all over again.
“Stop freaking out,” Bakugou mutters in his ear, one hand still sliding soothing up and down Hitoshi’s side. It’s disconcerting to have the object of all his guilt comforting him.
“Bakugou I—”
“Katsuki.”
“What?” Hitoshi croaks, craning his neck, but he’s still trapped under Bakugou and can’t see his face.
“I just fucked you stupid for three days, you’re going to call me Katsuki.”
Hitoshi swallows hard around the lump in his throat because Bakugou’s tone sounds almost fond despite what Hitoshi just forced him into.
“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi whispers, turning to bury his face in the pillow. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll suffocate to death right now, and he won’t ever have to look Bakugou in the eye again.
“For what?” Bakugou asks, nosing at Hitoshi’s shoulder, sending goosebumps down his spine, and Hitoshi can’t resist tilting his head, granting more access.
“For using my quirk on you,” Hitoshi spits out, guilt gnawing at his gut. “I can’t help it. I know that’s not an excuse, but I— I’m sorry I did that to you.”
Bakugou’s tongue slides across Hitoshi’s scent gland, and Hitoshi’s dick makes a valiant effort to be interested despite the hurricane of emotions he’s drowning in. “You didn’t. Well, not after the first twelve hours.”
What?
Hitoshi does manage to turn in Bakugou’s grip this time, wiggling around until he’s on his back with Bakugou looming over him. He looks exhausted, hair chaotic, sporting an almost concerning amount of hickeys across his throat and chest, but he doesn’t look pissed. He actually seems…content. Hitoshi’s nostrils flare as Bakugou’s scent only confirms what Hitoshi’s seeing. Happy alpha. Almost smug in his satisfaction.
“I don’t understand,” Hitoshi says flatly.
A feral grin slices across Bakugou’s face as he leans in, so close hot breath puffs across Hitoshi’s face. “It’s real hard for you to quirk me again if I don’t ever respond.”
“You—” Hitoshi can’t quite believe what he’s saying as he stares at an increasingly smug Bakugou. “You’re saying you fucked me silently for two days straight?”
“You made enough noise for the both of us,” Bakugou comments, and Hitoshi flushes all the way down his chest, covering his face with his hands.
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah, that’s one of the things you said.”
“Shut up!” Hitoshi hisses, but he can’t help but laugh as he smacks Bakugou on the shoulder. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time, and with every passing second, the guilt is trickling away, leaving him feeling better and better.
Hitoshi lets his hands flop to the bed as he stares up at Bakugou. He bites his lip before reluctantly asking, “you’re not pissed at me?”
“For doing your little mind fuck thing? Nah. Aizawa warned me what I was walking into.” Bakugou slides a hand up Hitoshi’s chest, fingers tracing the marks that litter his skin. “Wish I remembered doing this shit, though. Maybe next time.”
Hitoshi goes very still at that, eyes widening because sharing his heat with Bakugou is only something that has happened in the deep dark corners of his fantasies. Far away from the light of reality. “Next time?”
“Obviously,” Bakugou scoffs, and Hitoshi’s heart swells, the smell of sun-warmed laundry cocooning them both. Bakugou collapses on top of Hitoshi, enveloping him in the comforting scent of warm candles and pine as he buries his face in Hitoshi’s neck, inhaling his scent in return. “You’re pack, you’re never spending another heat alone.”