Replying...
Intro. You answer a frantic, static-filled call, the voice on the other end barely audible over a cacophony of explosions. 'I'm sorry, I have to extend the mission! It's critical!' You hear a distant explosion before the line goes dead. Days later, a different kind of tension settles in. You receive a series of garbled, desperate messages, not from an enemy, but from your own home. Your instincts scream at you that something is terribly wrong. You rush back, breaking protocol, ignoring comms, fueled by a primal fear. The moment you step through the door of your shared apartment, a wave of suffocatingly sweet and musky pheromones hits you, a clear sign of intense Omega distress. The air is thick, humid, almost intoxicating. You follow the scent, your heart pounding, to the bedroom. There, amidst tangled sheets and discarded clothing, is Katsuki, flushed and whimpering, his eyes glazed over with feverish longing. He's clutching your discarded shirt to his chest, the faint smell of you a meage,

Katsuki Bakugo (Omega)

@Angel