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Bakugou wakes up, overtly warm but cozy and happy.
He turns around in lean arms, and nudges his chin into the dip of his mate’s neck. He smells ash and leather with a dash of sugar salt. He breathes in, and the overwhelming heat in his body subsides.
“Mmm, Tenko,” he murmurs, snuggling into his neck further, pressing his tongue into the scent gland that looks like it was placed delicately over the side of his neck. At the same time though, love could be blind, and Bakugou might just be looking through Tenko-colored glasses. “Wake up, shithead.”
Shigaraki groans in his sleep, disobeying Bakugou and causing him to huff in annoyance. It doesn’t help that he’s still tired and warm and so goddamn warm. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out.
“Alpha,” he says, louder, moving his mouth from a pale neck—smirking as he ghosts over bruises and bitemarks he left behind last night—to a curved ear. “Up.”
Shigaraki groans, tightening his arms and squeezing Bakugou tighter in his grasp. “Katsu..?”
“It hurts,” he murmurs, pained and hurt and distressed. His scent flares, sending wafts of smoky caramel and bourbon and cinnamon, the cinnamon getting stronger as Bakugou starts to whimper in pain.
This, combined with the knowledge that Bakugou’s heat is starting to wane, sends the alpha into overdrive. Immediately, he sits up, cradling the other softly and ever so gently, sending more of the calming sugar salt scent. Bakugou instantly relaxes, slumping in his hold.
After a moment, he mutters, “is it any better now?”
“...Yeah,” Bakugou replies, turning his head to the side to avoid eye contact. “Thank you,” he murmurs, low and almost would’ve gone unheard if not for the fact that Shigaraki’s ear is basically pressed into the other’s hair.
A few minutes pass before either of them say anything more. For a while, it’s calm, steady, both of them soothed in the mix of their entwined scents.
“...I need to fix the nest,” Bakugou says, “so we need to move.”
Shigaraki hums, low and off-key, “I’m pretty comfortable already, do you really need to rearrange it?”
“Not everything is about you, jackass,” the omega snaps, tugging on the blanket wrapped around the both of them. Shigaraki continues to grasp them, though, so Bakugou snarls, “let go, alpha. ”
Shigaraki pretends to think. He takes seconds before conceding with a soft, “whatever you want, kitten.”
Bakugou bristles in reply, not unlike the namesake of the pet name, “ fuck you, get the fuck up and let me fix this.”
Shigaraki scrunches his nose as he slowly untangles himself from the other. He’s quiet throughout the whole process, watching his omega shift things around, blankets and pillows and clothes that makes him safe, that reminds him of home.
Shigaraki watches, feeling fond and content and full of love. He smiles, soft and small and only in the comfort of this room, their home, for them. It’s all theirs and they couldn’t be happier.
Now that Bakugou’s heat is almost over, it’s time for Shigaraki's favorite part of the whole thing.
After the second best part of the heat, where they fuck and fuck and fuck, is when they just… exist. Where they just cuddle and relax and scent the other, unbothered with the state of the world and how tomorrow, they’ll have to pretend to be enemies once more.
Bakugou will go back to being an angry, volatile, full-on explosive blond, and Shigaraki will go back to being just that—Shigaraki Tomura, not Shimura Tenko.
But for now—for now, Bakugou Katsuki is his.
So Shigaraki watches Bakugou—he watches Katsuki, his kitten, his pet, arrange his nest in a way that pleases him, arrange the blankets and clothes and all the pillows in a way that’ll make his alpha comfortable and proud.
As if Shigaraki could ever be anything but. He scratches his neck absentmindedly, his body understanding to never go too far like before, back when he’d really only had the League to live for.
But now, the world feels like it’s been painted in shades of cotton candy, of rose-colored glasses and drops of champagne. He sees an idealistic world that’s ever so slowly being reshaped and molded and remodeled into something that could finally be within his grasp.
He hums, watching his omega work, mouth still full of sleepy sighs and poorly disguised unspoken words. He gets drawn out of his daydreaming by a pillow slamming into him, just narrowly missing his face.
“Wh—?” He stops, looking for the omega when he doesn’t immediately see him. He chuckles, low and raspy and full of ash, when he spots a large lump under a blanket placed on top of the new nest.
He makes his way over, slow and steady and with absolutely none of the grace Bakugou normally has with barely any effort. He crawls into the nest, inciting a bark of laughter from the hidden blond as Shigaraki stumbles over the delicately arranged nest.
He falls on top of Bakugou and mouths where he thinks his neck is. From the increase in laughter, he assumes he’s gotten it wrong.
“That’s my arm, dumbass,” Bakugou laughs. “Better luck next time, I guess.”
Shigaraki knows that the omega will let him try again—and again and again—Because he’s a man starved for Shigaraki’s attention, just like the alpha’s starved for the omega’s.
Shigaraki knows that Bakugou thrives with physical contact after being touch-starved for much too long—with Shigaraki himself, it had been due to something out of his reach, his destructive and decaying quirk, the one that turns people to ash.
For Bakugou, it’d been something to protect his heart, to protect the idea that it’d make him seem as lesser despite already having an incredibly strong and explosive and volatile quirk, as being seen as something weak.
Shigaraki hums, continuing to press open kisses across the body bundled underneath him. Bakugou purrs, thriving in the attention, albeit half-assed through the blanket.
After a few minutes of this, Bakugou seems to give, obnoxiously throwing the blanket back and tugging Shigaraki down.
“Get over here,” he murmurs, crawling on top of him and nuzzling his face into the other’s neck. He breathes in once more, sighing in breaths of content and whispering sweet nothings in every exhale.
Shigaraki’s own stutters in response.
“Do you feel that?” The omega whispers, “it’s all for you.”
The alpha only hums in reply, raising his hand to stroke fine blond hair. He finds himself out of words to use, no particular pairing or set of them seeming to be enough to describe his love for this one singular moment, of his love for the other.
After his heart seems to keep a steady tune of slightly too fast to be normal, he asks, “what’s going to happen to us, after?”
Bakugou replies with a soft sigh and a breathy, “we’re going to be fine.” He hums an old nursery tune, not even remembering the lyrics, the rhythm—Bakugou doesn’t even have the correct notes, yet Shigaraki still basks in the sound.
“But what if you get hurt,” Shigaraki starts, whisper growing into more of a breathy gasp, pained just from the thought of anyone hurting the other, Katsuki—his omega.
A warm hand strokes his chest, “we’re going to be fine, dummy. There are dozens of other options to take if that happens.”
Shigaraki holds the blond while he dozes off, the end of his heat always making him pliant and soothed and relaxed.
For now, they’re alright. Later is a different story.
They’ll still get through it.