Katsuki can do this. He can control himself around Deku, who’s scent has spiked in sweetness and is dripping in pheromones. He can maintain his composure as they work together on a school project. He can keep himself in check as his stupid smell wafts through the air, and directly into his nose.
He can’t do this.
Without so much as being looked at by the green haired god, his dick strains against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be set free. Izuku’s lying on his stomach, legs swaying lazily in the air behind him, arms propped underneath him as he skims over a page in a horrendously thick textbook. Katsuki observes him from a slouched, cross legged position. His eyes graze over the bit of exposed skin where Izuku’s shirt rides up, right above the curve of his ass, and he’s suddenly grateful for his own textbook weighing heavily on his lap.
When Izuku does look up though, lips wrapped around the cap of his pen, eyes impossibly wide, Katsuki almost loses his shit.
“The fuck you staring at me for?” He shouts instead.
Can’t get accused of doing something if you accuse someone else first. Psychology or whatever.
There’s the distance of a large, white presentation board between them, but Katsuki can vividly see Izuku’s lightly curled lashes, the gleam in his eyes, the gentle contour of his upturned nose, and the maddening freckles dotting his face. His mouth feels dry with words he cannot verbalize, insults he can’t spew as per usual.
The fucker is cute without even trying. Katsuki’s almost sure that he isn’t even aware of the effect that he’s having on his childhood best friend. That is, until his nose gives a couple of miniscule twitches, and his cheeks take on a rosy, pinkish color.
Katsuki presented as an alpha a few months back - no surprise there, given his personality. Everyone else in their grade presented as well, as either alphas, betas, or omegas, except Izuku of course. He’s a late bloomer in his class, as he has been in almost every other aspect of his life.
His mother was pregnant for nearly ten months for crying out loud. Aunty Inko made sure to tell that one every time the Bakugos’ were invited over for dinner.
It’s just his luck that Izuku’s scent is tipping into the murky waters of omegan allure, and it’s nearing the point of driving Katsuki mad. He desperately wants to press the green haired shit into his bed, shove his face in his neck and bury his dick in - well.
“Kacchan, a-are you okay?” Izuku asks timidly, bringing himself up to rest on his knees, pushing the textbook aside.
Katsuki doesn’t know when he’d started panting, gasping almost, for air that is sickeningly similar to baked goods, apples and fucking flowers. He doesn't know when exactly Izuku’s lashes doubled in length, when his jaw failed to develop masculine sharpness, his waist became tiny in comparison to his hips, or when his stomach gained a tiny bit of pudge, either. Bottom line being, he wants to devour the omega before him, even though he wouldn’t exactly know how.
“Fuck off, Deku.” He says to the idiot who crawls toward him on all fours.
Katsuki presses down on the textbook hard enough that it’s spine digs into his boner, painfully. He must make a face, too, because soon enough the cinnamony, irresistible smell is directly in front of him, and he can feel his sharpened canines digging into his bottom lip.
He opens his mouth to complain about Izuku ruining the board they’d been working on for hours, an excuse to create some space, but he notes that it's off to the side of the room. Huh, when had that happened?
Izuku is close enough that his knees press against Katsuki’s shins, “Kacchan.” He repeats.
Izuku’s hand comes up and lightly cups his cheek, impossibly soft and light, awakening a craving for more. The touch makes something inside Izuku burst, and he can see it, he cansmell the difference. Izuku yanks his hand back, as if he’d been burnt, and falls flat on his ass in a rush to scurry away from Katsuki.
