Chapter 3 — Worth

It was becoming a pattern.

Another solo patrol. Another villain causing chaos in a busy intersection. Another fight where Izuku found himself outnumbered, outflanked, and completely unsurprised when an explosion ripped through the air and Katsuki Bakugo dropped into the fray like an avenging god.

This time it was a duo. Two villains working in tandem, one generating walls of ice that blocked escape routes while the other launched projectiles of compressed air that hit like freight trains. Izuku had been holding his own, using Blackwhip to deflect the air blasts while trying to close the distance on the ice user, but fighting two coordinated opponents alone was draining him faster than he wanted to admit.

Then Bakugo arrived, and the fight was over in minutes.

The ice user went down first, caught off guard by an explosion that shattered his latest barrier and sent him tumbling across the pavement. Izuku used the opening to take out the air quirk user with a precisely aimed Delaware Smash, and suddenly they were standing in the aftermath of another victory, surrounded by melting ice and groaning criminals and the distant wail of approaching sirens.

Izuku bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. His costume was damp from melted ice, clinging uncomfortably to his skin. A bruise was forming on his left shoulder where one of those air blasts had grazed him. Nothing serious, but it would ache tomorrow.

“You know,” he said between breaths, “you don’t have to keep doing this.”

Bakugo snorted, not even slightly winded. “Doing what?”

“Showing up.” Izuku straightened, gesturing vaguely at the scene around them. “Every time I respond to a call, there you are. Don’t you have your own patrols to run?”

“My patrol routes are my business.” Bakugo’s tone was dismissive, but something flickered in his expression. Something almost defensive. “If I happen to be in the area when you’re getting your ass kicked, that’s not my problem.”

“I wasn’t getting my ass kicked.”

“You had ice in your hair.”

Izuku reached up reflexively, and yes, there were still chunks of frozen slush clinging to his curls. He brushed them away, feeling heat creep up his neck. “That doesn’t mean I was losing.”

“Sure, nerd. Whatever you say.”

They fell into a familiar rhythm, helping the arriving officers secure the villains and giving brief statements about the incident. Izuku found himself hyper-aware of Bakugo’s presence the entire time, the way he moved through the scene with confident authority, the burnt sugar scent of him cutting through the cold, wet smell of melting ice.

It had been a few weeks since Izuku had thought about what Bakugo said. Three weeks, and somehow he still couldn’t convince himself that joining Bakugo’s agency to fight beside him was a good idea. So he kept on with his solo patrols.

But Bakugo kept showing up. Every patrol. Every fight. As if he’d memorized Izuku’s schedule and adjusted his own routes to intersect with it. As if he couldn’t stand the thought of Izuku out there alone.

The thought made something warm curl in Izuku’s chest, complicated and confusing.

The last of the officers took their statements, and Izuku was about to suggest they continue patrol together when he saw the reporters.

They emerged from behind the police barricade like sharks scenting blood, cameras raised and microphones thrust forward. Izuku’s stomach dropped. He recognized the sharp-featured woman leading the charge. She’d been at the original press conference. The one who’d first asked about his designation.

“Hero Deku! Hero Deku, can we get a statement?”

“How does it feel to be back in action after your team reassignment?”

“Is it true your agency has removed you from all team-based operations?”

The questions came fast, overlapping, impossible to answer. Izuku forced himself to stand straight, to project calm, to remember all the media training he’d received over the years. Smile. Make eye contact. Stay professional.

“The situation is under control,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “The villains have been apprehended, and there were no civilian casualties. I’m happy to discuss the specifics of—”

“Hero Deku.” The sharp-featured woman pushed to the front, her smile thin and predatory. “How does it feel, being an Omega on the front lines? Do you ever worry you could go into heat during a battle?”

The words hit him like a slap. Around him, the other reporters went quiet, sensing the shift in energy. Izuku felt his carefully constructed composure start to crack, felt the old familiar panic rising in his throat.

“I’ve never experienced a heat during active duty,” he managed. “My focus is always on—”

“Hero Dynamight.” The woman turned her attention to Bakugo, who had gone dangerously still at Izuku’s side. “As a dominant Alpha, don’t you ever worry that Hero Deku’s pheromones could distract you during battle? Compromise your judgment at a critical moment?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Izuku could feel Bakugo’s scent shift, burnt sugar sharpening into something more acrid, more aggressive. The Alpha pheromones rolled off him in waves, strong enough to make some of the nearby reporters take an unconscious step back.

“His pheromones,” Bakugo repeated, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Yes. Given the well-documented effects of Omega pheromones on Alpha cognitive function—”

“Let me make something real clear.” Bakugo stepped forward, and the temperature of the entire scene seemed to rise. His posture radiated dominance, every line of his body a warning. “Deku is more reliable than half the Alpha hero’s out there. I’m a dominant Alpha, and we fight together all the damn time. If his pheromones were gonna be a problem, it would have happened already. I’ve said this before, and i’ll say it as many times as it takes until you get it through that dense skull of yours.”

The reporter opened her mouth to respond, but Bakugo wasn’t finished.

“The only people who have issues working with Omegas are weak-willed Alphas who can’t control their own pathetic instincts.” Contempt dripped from every word. “That’s not Deku’s problem. That’s a failure on their part. Maybe instead of harassing him about his biology, you should be asking why so many so-called professional heroes can’t keep their shit together around someone with a different designation.”

Izuku stood frozen, watching Bakugo eviscerate the press corps with nothing but words and the weight of his presence. The warmth in his chest expanded, pressing against his ribs, making it suddenly hard to breathe.

His body felt strange. Warm in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. There was a flutter in his stomach, a tingling awareness that seemed to spread from his core outward to his fingertips. His skin prickled with something he couldn’t name, and he found himself acutely conscious of Bakugo’s proximity, of the heat radiating off him, of the fierce protectiveness in every word he spoke.

It felt like something was waking up inside him. Something that had been dormant for a very long time.

“Let’s go, nerd.”

Bakugo’s hand closed around Izuku’s arm, grip firm and commanding. The contact sent a jolt through Izuku’s system, sharp and electric. Before he could process what was happening, he was being steered away from the reporters, away from their cameras and their invasive questions, around the corner of a nearby building.

They didn’t stop until they were out of sight, the sounds of the press corps fading behind them. Only then did Bakugo release his grip.

Izuku could still feel it. The ghost of his fingers, the warmth of his palm. It lingered on his skin like a brand.

“Goddamn vultures.” Bakugo ran an agitated hand through his hair. “They don’t give a shit about the people we just saved. All they want is controversy.”

“Thank you.” Izuku’s voice came out softer than he intended, rough around the edges. “For what you said. You didn’t have to defend me like that.”

“Someone has to, since you won’t do it yourself.” Bakugo shot him a sharp look. “You just stand there and take it. Let them talk to you like that.”

“What am I supposed to do? Yell at them? That would only make things worse.”

“At least it would be honest.”

They started walking, falling into an easy patrol rhythm despite belonging to different agencies, despite the fact that Bakugo had no official reason to be here. The city unfolded around them, ordinary and oblivious, and Izuku let the familiarity of it settle his rattled nerves.

“You know,” he said after a while, “they do have a point. The reporters.”

Bakugo’s head snapped toward him. “The hell they do.”

“About the concerns.” Izuku kept his eyes forward, not sure he could handle the intensity of Bakugo’s gaze right now. “For a normal Omega, being in high-stress combat situations with Alphas could be genuinely dangerous. Pheromone interference, the risk of triggering an unexpected heat… those aren’t imaginary problems.”

“You’re not a normal Omega.”

“No, but I’m still an Omega. And honestly, most Omegas probably couldn’t do what I do. Not because they’re less capable, but because the biological realities would make it harder. I’m lucky that I’m asymptomatic. I don’t have to deal with heats or pheromone spikes or any of the things that would actually make their concerns valid.”

“Lucky.” Bakugo stopped walking, forcing Izuku to stop too. “That’s what you think? That you’re lucky?”

“I mean… yes?” Izuku finally looked at him, confused by the intensity in his voice. “If I weren’t asymptomatic, I probably couldn’t be a hero. At least not like this. Not on the front lines.”

Bakugo stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight, something unreadable churning in his red eyes. Then he let out an explosive breath and started walking again, faster this time.

“You’re an idiot.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you keep acting like your designation is some kind of flaw you managed to escape.” Bakugo’s voice was rough, almost angry, but underneath it was something else. Something that sounded almost like frustration. “Like being an Omega is automatically a weakness, and you just got lucky enough to avoid the worst parts of it.”

“That’s not what I—”

“That’s exactly what you said.” Bakugo rounded on him, getting in his space the way he always did when he wanted to make a point. “Listen to me, nerd. You’re not a good hero despite being an Omega. Your designation has nothing to do with it. You’re a good hero because you’re stubborn as hell, because you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, because you’ve got more determination in your little finger than most people have in their entire bodies.”

Izuku’s mouth went dry. Bakugo was so close he could see the individual flecks of gold in his irises, could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“You analyze everything to death, which is annoying as hell but also means you’re always three steps ahead. You care too much about everyone, which makes you reckless and stupid but also makes people trust you. And you’ve got the heart of a real hero. Not the flashy kind. The kind that actually matters. The kind that shows up and does the work even when no one’s watching.”

“Kacchan…”

“So stop acting like you’re lucky.” Bakugo’s voice dropped lower, intense and unwavering. “You earned this. Every bit of it. And anyone who can’t see that is a goddamn idiot.”

Izuku stood there, speechless. His heart was pounding against his ribs. His face was burning. His brain had completely short-circuited somewhere around “determination” and hadn’t managed to reboot.

“I don’t…” He swallowed hard. “Was that a compliment? That was a lot of compliments. Mixed with insults, but still. I think. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that because on one hand you called me annoying and reckless and stupid but on the other hand you also said I have the heart of a real hero and that’s actually really meaningful coming from you specifically because you don’t say things like that, you never say things like that, so now I’m trying to figure out if I should be scared of your tone or happy about what you actually said and honestly it’s very overwhelming because—”

“Deku.”

“—my brain is doing that thing where it goes too fast and I can’t seem to stop talking even though I know I should stop talking, this is the muttering thing, I know I’m doing it, I’m sorry—”

“Deku.” Bakugo’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but not unkind. “Breathe.”

Izuku stopped. Breathed. Felt his entire face flush crimson with embarrassment.

“Sorry. That was… a lot. You said a lot. And then I said a lot. I’m sorry.”

Bakugo studied him, expression shifting from irritation to something more complex. His nostrils flared slightly, almost imperceptibly, and then his eyes narrowed.

“Hold on.” His voice changed, dropping into a lower register. “There it is again.”

“There what is?”

“Your scent.” Bakugo took a step closer, close enough that Izuku could feel the warmth of him. “I’ve been catching it on and off for weeks, but right now it’s stronger. Clearer.”

Izuku blinked, confusion overriding his embarrassment. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a scent. I’ve never had a scent. That’s the whole point of being asymptomatic.”

“Well, you’ve got one now.” Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “Sweet. Like honey. Maybe some mint underneath.”

“That’s not possible.” A thread of unease wound through Izuku’s confusion. “I’ve been tested, Kacchan. Multiple times. My pheromone glands aren’t active. They never have been.”

“I know what I’m smelling.” Bakugo’s gaze was intent, searching. “It’s faint, but it’s definitely there. And it’s definitely coming from you.”

They stared at each other. Izuku’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what Bakugo was saying. If his pheromones were suddenly activating after twenty-one years of dormancy, what did that mean? Was something wrong with him? Was something changing?

“I don’t understand,” he said, more to himself than to Bakugo. “That shouldn’t be happening. I’m asymptomatic. I’ve never even—”

He cut himself off, but it was too late. The words were already hanging in the air between them.

Bakugo’s eyes sharpened. “Never even what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Deku.”

There was something in Bakugo’s voice that made it impossible to deflect. A quiet command that bypassed all of Izuku’s usual defenses.

“I’ve never had a heat,” he admitted, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never had a heat cycle. The doctors said it might never happen for me. Late presentation is rare, but it’s not unheard of for asymptomatic Omegas. Some of us just never fully develop those responses.”

Bakugo went very still. “You’ve never had a heat. At all.”

“No.” Izuku couldn’t look at him anymore. His face was burning, mortification crawling up his neck. “Sorry. That was way too much information. I didn’t mean to—I mean, you definitely didn’t need to know that, it’s really personal, I should have just said no and stopped there, but I started talking and then I couldn’t stop and now you know this really embarrassing thing about me that I’ve never told anyone except my doctors and my mom and now you and I really wish I could take it back—”

“Deku.”

“—because it’s weird, right? It’s definitely weird, I know it’s weird, most Omegas present by sixteen at the latest and I’m basically a medical anomaly at this point, which is fine, it’s fine, I’ve accepted it, but it’s not exactly something I go around telling people because—”

“Izuku!” Bakugo’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Shut up for a second.”

Izuku shut up.

They stood there in the fading afternoon light, Bakugo’s hand warm and solid on his shoulder, the city humming around them with its ordinary sounds of traffic and distant voices. Izuku’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure Bakugo could hear it.

Then, unexpectedly, Bakugo huffed out something that was almost a laugh.

“You’re such a damn mess,” he said, but the words were soft, almost fond.

Izuku let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I know.”

Bakugo’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment longer, and Izuku found himself hyper-aware of every point of contact. The warmth of his palm through the fabric of his costume. The slight pressure of his fingers. The way his scent seemed to wrap around Izuku like something protective.

Then Bakugo pulled back, shoving his hands into his pockets, and the moment passed.

“Come on.” His voice was gruff again, back to normal. “We’ve still got patrol to finish.”

They started walking, falling back into step with each other as if they’d been doing this for years. Maybe they had, in a way. All those years of rivalry and fighting and slowly learning to trust each other had led to this, a partnership that didn’t need words to function.

But something had shifted. Izuku could feel it in the air between them, in the weight of the things they’d said and the things they hadn’t. In the faint, impossible sweetness that seemed to cling to his own skin.

If his scent was really changing… if his dormant biology was somehow waking up after all these years…

He didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know what had triggered it or what would happen next.

But walking beside Bakugo, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to catch the burnt sugar scent of him on every breath, Izuku found that he wasn’t as scared of the answer as he probably should have been.