Chapter Text
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Izuku doesn't know how he makes it back home safely.
It’s a miracle he gets there unharmed and without having to stop for random press and paparazzi sticking their mics and cameras in his face to ask unhinged, personal questions. Usually, it's one or the other. Rarely ever both, but solitude and personal space are something he's learned not to expect after years of sitting comfortably in the top ten and ranking fourth. (Or fifth- depends on his hero partner's mood, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight).
He couldn't even use his hero suit to stay out of the public eye- didn't know if it was considered safe for him to use. Truly, he didn’t know anything right now.
Izuku shuts the door behind himself quietly, leans against it and takes a slow, steady breath.
At least he tries to.
The faintest, fading trace of spice and smoke invades his senses, along with his own (much stronger) earthy, petrichor scent, and Izuku struggles to muffle a sob behind his clenched teeth.
Three weeks.
It's been three long, lonely, god-awful weeks without Katsuki. Without his hero partner. Without his boyfriend. His alpha, his mate.
But it's only been three weeks.
Three weeks out of the three months, Kacchan will be gone.
Three weeks of his omega begging, whining, and crying, alpha alpha want alpha please want want want.
Like damn. Izuku misses him too, but you don’t see him begging like a man stranded in a desert (this is false. Ochaco and Shoto would argue differently).
Izuku can count on one hand the cons of being a pro hero.
One- Kacchan gets hurt (inevitable and yet. Yet.)
Two- not being able to reach Kacchan on time during a fight (this one is more of a deeply rooted trauma that will never fade away, but we digress).
Three- Kacchan getting upset when (not if, because Izuku has yet to get a hold of his instincts that force him to move without thinking), Izuku is hurt. It happens too often for both of their liking.
Four- the lack of privacy and personal space (worse for him, considering he’s one of the few omegas who’s made it to being a pro-hero. The questions make him sick sometimes).
Five- they can never say no when their help is needed.
So when the World Hero Association emails the duo's self-owned agency regarding a stealth mission on an isolated island, demanding one (not both) to join a team of interpro-heroes, they can't say no.
It wasn't an easy decision—well, it wasn't a decision when the choice was forced upon them. Izuku tries not to think about the days leading up to the mission he knows nothing about for multiple reasons (something something security something safety- he didn’t care enough to listen during the meeting with the overwhelming, sudden dread of three Kacchan-less months hanging over his head). And he gets it, he does. That doesn’t mean he likes it.
He tries not to think about the last few hours he had with his mate because it makes him violently, self-destructively upset.
And he promised- he promised Kacchan to take care of himself.
But right now, he can't stop his tears or loud cries, and he really wants his flipping mate.
Three months is too long.
How and why did they convince themselves they could do this? Izuku wouldn't feel this crappy if it wasn't a no-contact stealth mission- at least then he could message Kacchan whenever he got lonely in their apartment (which is every night and morning and every second he spends without him), or call him when their shared office grew too quiet as he did paperwork (he's grown too accustomed to his alpha's random outbursts of profanity and inappropriate flirty touches behind closed doors).
Years together would do that to anyone.
Ever since they started dating, hell, even before they started dating, when Kacchan would tear into him for being a quirkless nerd, they were never apart- always within each other's reach. Then they ‘fixed’ their relationship (too much tension to honestly say they fixed anything) and were friends again, so of course, they spent all their spare time attached at the hip to make up for lost time. Then the war happened, and they were boyfriends before they left the hospital, half-healed, the embers of his quirk fading, because neither of them could pretend any longer, and they got worse, according to their friends.
There was a point post-war where Aizawa had pulled them over for a chat because he wanted them to talk to their therapists about co-dependency and whether that's something they might need to work on, pointedly ignoring Kacchan as he rubbed the scent gland by his wrists along a flushed Izuku's before lacing their fingers together, proving his point.
When they mated, months after graduation, in the safety of their newly bought, half- furnished house, naked, sweaty and wrapped around each other in the middle of a nest his omega-riddled brain had formed on their new mattress (thrown on the floor because they hadn't bothered to build the bed frame just yet), the jagged lines of anxiety and worry, the constant itch in the back of his brain, finally fizzled out into something close to calm.
They didn't need to follow each other at every possible opportunity, didn't fidget in their skin if they weren’t smothered in the combination of their scents, didn't feel an incomprehensible amount of fear when the other wasn't within sight because they could feel each other at all times now.
It was like a soothing balm on a burn wound to finally be mated to Kacchan. It was everything.
Izuku once thought he'd cherish nothing more than the quirk which was handed down to him, the quirk that let him live out his dreams, the quirk that gave him his best friend back.
How wrong he was. He'd give up anything, everything to keep Kacchan.
And now.
Now, it felt like the ground had collapsed under him, and he was free-falling with no hope of landing somewhere safe.
It doesn’t help that he can feel it now and then- feel how much Kaachan misses him through their bond, a sharp tug at his heart. An ache, bone deep- like a lone wolf howling at the moon for a reply that’ll never come. That’s how it aches.
Dramatic? Perhaps. Justified, however, because apparently, there is another con to being a pro-hero. One he’s never even stopped to consider… much.
Finding out he's pregnant.
-
A few days later, two to be exact, Izuku finds himself staring at his phone, sitting in bed with his nose pressed to the neckline of Kacchan’s t-shirt, smoke and spice a fading comfort to his stressed omega.
Then, without thinking too hard, because if he delays it any longer, he’d never get around to doing it, he presses the green button and forces himself to breathe in time with the ringing.
“Izuku? Morning sweetheart. You never call this early.”
“Mh. Morning, Ma,” Izuku croaks out and tries not to wince at the cracks in his voice. Something Kacchan would have undoubtedly teased him about. If he were here.
God, he’s acting like he’s dead. Three months. That’s it.
His mum remains silent for a few seconds- a few, long seconds. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
The greenhead laughs at this. A mother always knows. “Can- will you come with me to the-” just say it. “-hospital later? I-I have an appointment.”
“Appointment? What for, Izu? Is everything okay? Are you alri-”
“I’m fine, Ma- not hurt or anything. Don’t worry- or- well, I’m as fine as I can be right now anyway.”
Another bout of silence.
“Will you tell me?”
His mother shows up within the next hour.
After last night, he didn’t think he’d have any more tears left in him but as soon as he set his eyes on her, worry evident in her pair of green, teary eyes, Izuku bursts into ugly, broken sobs and falls into her open arms, ignoring the solid ache in his heart that wished for it to be his alpha holding him instead, and just breathes in the familiar scent of cotton and jasmine.
And then he chokes on his snot and saliva (because he’s The Ugliest Crier as Kacchan says which isn’t fair because Kacchan is pretty all the time)- it triggers his gag reflex and he’s off in a second, rushing for the toilet to throw up in, but at least this time, after lonely days of struggling through morning sickness -which is a lie by the way. Izuku has been throwing up day and night alike- he has the warmth of his mother’s hand against his back, the other stroking through his unruly hair.
It settles his omega the slightest, so it feels like enough for now.
They take their time walking to the hospital, just over thirty minutes, steps slow and measured, one deep in contemplation, the other in staggering worry and quick glances.
He can’t blame his mother for the staring- not when Izuku has half his face covered by a mask, his hair stuffed under a black beanie that had orange markings stitched into the hemming (one of his fav items from GEMGD’s winter merch line), fists clenched in the same hoodie he hugged to sleep (again, another item that belonged to Kacchan) and his eyes glued ahead, thoughts all over the place just like his mumbling.
This was his second appointment. The first one happened two days ago- the one he was forced to book because his friends were worried over his lack of appetite, constant sickness and threatened to drag Kacchan’s ass back to Japan if he didn’t get it checked out. Izuku didn’t believe them- no one knows where Kacchan is, just that he’ll be gone for a while. But Shoto had an intensity about him when any of his friends were injured or hurt, and it only translated stronger onto Izuku, who he considers his best friend and perhaps pack.
A few probing questions and a blood test later, and his doctor- the one he’s been loyal to since his presentation and first heat- mutters the words to him.
You’re pregnant.
Her face remained neutral as she said it, grey strands falling over her eyes that searched for a reaction from the greenhead, but Izuku doesn’t remember how he reacted- if he reacted. He doesn’t remember anything other than the old lady he helped cross the street right before walking through the hospital doors in his hero suit. He remembers the sudden, strong urge to curl up in his nest with the calming thuds of his mate’s heartbeat under his ear, crying himself to sleep, and then rotting in bed the next day after shooting Shoto a quick text about covering his patrol.
Now he’s here.
With his mother.
Fudge knuckles.
-
“Well, the first of many things to consider is if this is something you want, Midoriya.” Dr. Kaida offers a reassuring smile as Izuku twiddles with his fingers. The smell of neutralisers in the air did little to calm him- it was a constant ever since Kaachan left- the anxiety.
Is this something he wants?
How could he make such a decision without Kachaan? What will Kacchan think? What will he want? They’ve never really stopped to talk about kids. God, this is so messed up. After debuting as the youngest heroes to own their agency, having a baby is the last thing on their minds.
“And I know it might not be easy to hear or think about, but my job is to tell you all that you should know- all the things you must consider before you make any decision.” His mother reaches over and grabs his hand. Squeezes once, twice. Izuku exhales sharply. “Now, before we start,” Izuku glances up at Kaida. “How are you feeling?” All he can offer is a shaky smile. “Then I hope today’s appointment will help you feel better.”
“It’ll be alright, Izu,” his mum whispers. “I promise.”
“Yeah. Okay, yeah.” His mother has never broken a promise before. Izuku feels like he’s going to throw up. And he probably will. Hopefully, once he’s back home.
“So,” Kaida drags quietly, typing something into her computer.
“Can we start with anti-nausea meds because I don’t think I can handle another day of all this throwing up.”
Kaida grins knowingly, and his mother pets his hand in sympathy. “Of course. Morning sickness is one of the more common symptoms during pregnancy, and as you know, the intensity varies for each person.” Boy, does he know. “There are many reasons for it, but-” she taps the tip of her nose. “-The heightened sense of smell doesn’t help, does it?”
Izuku can only groan with a nod.
Kaida crosses her hands and lets them rest on her desk, facing Izuku with a sudden serious expression. “What of your mate, Bakugou?”
“He’s not-” Gosh darn it. Don’t you dare cry. “Hero work. He’ll be gone for a few more weeks.”
Kaida squints at him. “How many weeks exactly?”
Izuku chews on his lip anxiously. “Another uh, six weeks roughly.”
“That’s no good at all.”
His heart drops. His mother sits up.
“Why not?” Inko questions, with her hand nervously playing with her lower lip.
“Midoriya. You are a male omega- not that I need to remind you. The fact that you’re pregnant is a rarity, let alone with your history of injuries. And to go through with this alone, especially during such a critical time during your pregnancy, is not something I’d recommend to anyone.”
Izuku can’t do anything but stare at her, his heart pounding, fingers shaking.
“Now I’m not saying it’s impossible.” Sure does sound like it. “But it’ll be difficult. Extremely difficult.”
Well. Fuuuuuuu.
“I went through my pregnancy alone,” Izuku’s mother says. “And I know-” she looks at him with a confidence he doesn't have right now. “-if this is something you want, sweetheart, that you can do this alone. Much better than I ever did.”
“And I don’t doubt it. But Male pregnancies are entirely different to female pregnancies- many more risks and complications can occur during pregnancy and the postpartum period, which is why it’s imperative to have your mate beside you. A mate's presence alone can do so much. And I tell you this from the experience I’ve gained from assisting a handful of other male pregnancies, Izuku and not because I underestimate you.”
“I-I know.”
“Most male omega pregnancies- just over seventy eight percent- don’t pass the first trimester. The male body isn’t made for pregnancies.”
So he’ll lose it- the ba- it. Before he could even decide if this was something he wanted. He'd like to throw up now.
Again and again, the choice is being made for him, and he’s so sick of it. So fricking sick of it. “S-so what do I do? Just get rid of i-it now?” The thought made him gag.
“As I said, difficult but not impossible. So ask yourself. Is this something you want, Izuku?” Kaida looks at him now. A stern warmth in her gaze, and he knows whatever it is that he decides, she’ll help him with it. “You don’t have to answer me now. Not tomorrow or the day after. But soon.”
Izuku turns to his mother, tears in his eyes. “Ma.”
“Oh my baby,” she sniffles. She lets go of his hand to rub up his arm in comfort as he lets out the softest whine. Her wrist moves to his neck, and the touch, her scent mingling with his, soothes him. Like when he was just a pup crying over spilt ice cream on a hot day. Confidence fades from her gaze.
The ache is bone deep and spills into his blood.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but you feel weaker than usual? Overly anxious?”
Izuku wipes at his snotty nose and nods.
“Yeah. Thought it was the little food I could keep down. And I'm always anxious. So.”
Kaida smiles weakly, pitifully. So it gets worse. “And without your alpha, your health will only deteriorate further. At that point, your body has two options- either your omega will force your body to shut down to nurture the fetus by draining all that your body can give. I’ve seen it happen once myself. I never want to see it happen ever again.”
It’s like ice in his veins. He promised Kaachan.
“The second option?” His mother asks for him, hand shaking by his nape, tilting over the edge of her chair.
“Your omega, your body kills the fetus.”
Right well. That isn’t better.
“How long do I have before either happens?”
“Depends on the state of your body- the healthier you are, the longer you have. You stand on the healthier side, of course. Is there really no way of bringing your mate back earlier?”
Izuku gags. Kaida rushes to hand him a pulp kidney dish. He throws up. He blames his tears on the stomach acid burning his throat.
“Let's get you something for the nausea first.”
-
Katsuki felt it before he even left for this god-forsaken job, with his omega held tight in his arms, nose pressed to his neck, each greedy breath of earth and petrichor numbing his brain to silence. He hasn’t stopped feeling it, the last month and a half, the strings of his bond tugging at his heart, his alpha snarling in discontent, whining like a lost pup without Izuku by his side.
Pathetic. But. Katsuki gets it. He fucking hates it.
He expected it, though- the pain and ache and sheer stupidity of his own brain (because everything is harder, more dull without the other half of his duo, the other half of his soul, his omega) during this mission. Not like this. This was deeper. Worse, somehow, like living through the longing that he only ever thought of before this mission was just a drop compared to an ocean.
It makes him fidget, curse more than his usual daily quota of a thousand, make stupid mistakes he couldn’t afford during this mission, like a stranger receiving AP Shots to the face for looking his way too long. It makes him a nightmare to work with, even though he keeps it all bottled up, and he knows it.
It gets harder every minute to not just blast his ass back to Japan, back to Japan’s beloved sweetheart. (Can you believe he has to share his omega with the entirety of Japan?)
It gets harder every day to not blast these pissy heroes in the face when they speak to him in English or Spanish or chopped Japanese because his brain isn’t wired to make convo, to network, as Izuku would put it. That is (one of) Hero Deku’s jobs in the duo. (He feels like he’s losing touch with his Japanese with all these languages he keeps switching between.)
His job was to stand back and look menacing, take care of the numbers (because he’s always been better at maths than the nerd), shoot fuckers in the face with his quirk and make sure Izuku is always safe and near him (in the ranks and literally. His alpha loses it if his mate isn’t always within his reach or sight).
Every decision always comes down to Izuku—what he wants, what he needs, what will make him happy, what makes his omega preen with joy, and what will keep him (reasonably) safe.
“Come back to me, Kacchan. That’s all I’ll ever want. You.”
If he doesn’t go stir-shit crazy before this mission ends.
“You good?” Edith questions, rinsing out the glasses behind the bar. She was an older pro-hero from England, with curly blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. It’s not her real name- they can’t share that, not till the mission is over and they part for their homes. But she’s the least annoying one of the lot (Keith is the worst)- she reminds him of Auntie Inko in a way. Her actions motherly, and her tone always gentle.
He assumes she’s a beta with her barely there scent. Or she has brilliant suppressants and scent patches, but that’s too personal a question to ask.
He also just. Doesn’t care.
He knows- has known for a long time- that secondary gender meant nothing as long as they didn’t bother him with their scent and his job as a pro-hero. His nose was too sensitive to scents, and it triggered the aggression in his alpha too easily. It took years for him to take the reins over his alpha with the help of a therapist (or three). Katsuki took even longer to realise that his aggression towards a little Izuku was just misplaced anger (because if you haven’t noticed, his alpha is fucking stupid whenever the nerd is involved).
Katsuki passes out another round of shots to the idiots already drunk out of their minds, stumbling over their limbs before huffing out his mouth. He refused to breathe with his nose with all these scents mingling in the air. His alpha was already on edge without Izuku. The scent patches on his neck itched, making his glands feel sore and painful to the touch- it's a given with how often he had to switch them out on this stealth mission. He’s worn them so frequently, his bond felt paralysed sometimes, like a withering bond- no.
Just thinking about it hurt more than his heart exploding during the war. It made him want to fall to the ground, curl up, and maybe cry a little pathetically.
He hated his false identity with a passion unknown to man- he doesn’t even drink, and here he is making said drinks, but not more than he hated the feeling of his raw bond.
For more than a month now, he’s been pretending to be a beta who bartended at a club owned by a group of highly intelligent villains that live rich, lavish, bloody lives (like the blood running through veins type of bloody) all whilst infiltrating said group of villains to take them down and release their hold over the people on this tiny island.
And they were so close, closer than they thought they would be. But this wasn’t something they could rush. Trust was important. Katsuki- or well. Knox, his alias name, has worked hard to earn that trust.
And no, he did not get to choose his fuckass name.
“Mh,” he grunts, a sneer on his lips. God, he missed his omega. “Just-” he sighs, tries to shake out the tension in his shoulders.
He never told any of the heroes he’s working with about his bond. Hell, it wasn’t news he wanted blasted all over the world, and thankfully, his mark was much lower than where people expected it to be, so it was easier to hide from prying eyes. It took him weeks just to tell those close to him. Thank fuck, Izuku has always been patient with him.
“Well, Mum already knows. And Shoto. And Ochako.”
“And?” Katsuki questioned, his brow raised, unimpressed at the omega straddling his lap, naked and sleep-warm under his palms, his mark shining like a fresh wound. He licks it, feels Izuku shudder under his lips, and smirks, feeling a little feral, a little obsessive. “Who else?”
Izuku rolled his eyes. “I trust them not to tell anyone. Besides, I have you. It doesn’t matter if people know or not. I have you.” He whispered it like words of worship, like having him was all he’d ever prayed for.
Izuku never bit his neck. Instead, his omega placed his mark right over his left pec, next to the big ass scar he always traces with his crooked fingers. “Want this to be over with already.”
Edith raises a brow, places the glass in her hand on the countertop to dry and turns to him from the other side of the pretentious bar.
“You have someone waiting for you back home.” She states more than questions, a knowing glint in her gaze. It should push him off kilter—he thought he was doing well hiding his pitiful longing. But the question only gives him the tiniest reprieve, like answering her would help relieve some of the tension running through his body.
He simply nods. Omega. Go to Omega.
If only it’s that simple you stupid fucking mutt of an alpha.
Yelling at his alpha makes him feel better about his own disgustingly miserable thoughts.
-
“Keith is down,” Edith yells through comms.
Fuck, they won’t have backup for another twenty minutes. It took them two and a half months to reach this point, and the mission moved along much quicker than they thought it would. They’re so close to the end. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck this shitty island. Fuck these villains. Fuck him for agreeing to this. He’s never doing this ever again, fuck Hero responsibilty. Fuck.
“Get him out of there,” someone replies, but Katsuki is too busy trying to figure out how to get through the rest of the building without setting off even more traps, to care who.
The villains probably already know they’re here. They don’t have long.
“I need cover.” He breathes sharply. Once. Twice. This is so fucking stupid.
‘Come back to me. ‘
God fucking damn it. This better work.
“Copy that, Knox.”
-
It’s been a week since his appointment, and he’s already noticing the difference in himself.
The meds work for his nausea. Sometimes.
His anxiety is at an all-time low. Or high. He craves the comfort of (his alpha) friends and pack. But can’t find it in himself to leave his home in search of the people who care for him. Or call them over and invite them into his space when the scent of his alpha is already so faint.
His mother comes by every other evening after her shifts to ensure Izuku eats something, even if it’s just a few sips of a warm broth, and prays he keeps it down for the evening.
She helps Izuku keep the place clean and floods the living room with her comforting pheromones as she vacuums, sweeps, or mops. She never touches the clothes or the blankets around him- anything with even a sliver of Kacchan’s smoke and spice, and he’s so grateful for her. The omega, curled up on the couch, flips through multiple leaflets from the hospital on pregnancy. He reads the very few articles on the net regarding male omega pregnancies and how the presence of a mate soothes and heals as the omega nourishes the fetus in their womb.
At night, after his mother leaves, the ache of his distanced mate aches and aches, much like the chronic pains in his bones, but so unlike in their frequencies; one a constant ache in the heart and the other few and far, like a mere afterthought. At night, after his mother leaves, Izuku pulls out the booklet titled ‘Unplanned Pregnancy?’ and flips straight to the section about abortions.
Medical abortions. Surgical abortions. All the information made his stomach churn.
And so, once more, again, he crawls into his nest that smells more like him than of them and tries not to think about how cold he feels, or how his fingers are much bonier than usual, or how he desperately wants Kacchan to hold him.
When he wakes up, he surprisingly doesn’t feel the need to throw up. Instead, hunger eats away at his stomach. He’s so thankful he’ll be able to eat that he climbs straight out of bed and to the kitchen, yanks the fridge door open to the sight of multiple boxes of food made by his worried mother and tears up at the taste of cold rice and curry on his tongue.
He stuffs the entire thing down in a few minutes and instantly regrets it when the nausea returns. But he’s so tired of it, so fricking sick of it all that he just sobs with a mouth full of half chewed rice. And then throws up in the sink and chokes on his hiccups that make him gag harder.
He’s so tired.
He wants- needs-
“‘Chako,” he sobs and sobs. “Come over?”
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