Chapter Text
Aizawa was hit first by the scent, a complex blend that stirred a deep sense of unease within him.
It wasn’t merely the scent of the omega, although that was unmistakable—rich and warm yet tinged with the unmistakable reality of pregnancy. No, it was the undertones that truly unsettled him—the acrid smell of rust, the musty odor of mold, and the damp wood that clung to the air. These were the kinds of smells that settled into old, neglected buildings, lingering like a ghost of forgotten times.
Immediately, Aizawa felt his shoulders tighten as his instincts kicked in.
Beside him, Hizashi, usually so cheerful and talkative, had fallen unusually silent, the jovial energy that marked his demeanor replaced with a palpable tension.
Even All Might’s usually bright and encouraging expression darkened, the lines of worry etched deep into his face as he processed what lay before them.
Shinso stood stiff in front of the small, crumbling house, his posture rigid as he gripped the edges of his pockets with such force that the skin over his knuckles turned white. A deep vibration ran through him, a mix of protective instincts and anxiety. The oppressive atmosphere surrounding the place heightened his senses, and now that they were this close, he could feel the urgency of the situation pressing down upon him.
In that moment, Aizawa finally pieced together the reason for the boy’s spiraling emotions over the past week.
“You should have told me sooner,” Aizawa murmured, his voice low and steady.
Shinso grimaced, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “I didn’t want him judged,” he replied, his tone defensive yet revealing.
That brief exchange told Aizawa everything he needed to know about the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.
The rhythmic knocks against the wall weren’t random; they were deliberate—three sharp taps, a brief pause, followed by two more taps. It was a code, a lifeline, and beneath it lay a thread of urgency and fear.
Seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing only a sliver of the inside world.
First, a pair of striking green eyes peered out cautiously, shining with vulnerability and hesitation.
Next came the black panther ears that flicked nervously atop a mop of messy, unkempt curls, alert and on edge, as if ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.
The omega appeared exceedingly young, perhaps far too young to bear the weight of the exhaustion etched on his face—a weariness that spoke of struggles too profound for someone his age to endure.
And there it was, the undeniable truth: he was pregnant, carrying a burden that would change everything.
The scent enveloped the air like a thick fog, an unmistakable confirmation of what was happening even though Izuku Midoriya's stomach had yet to show its physical signs. Time seemed to freeze the moment he caught sight of unfamiliar figures looming behind Shinso. Instinctively, his claws extended, not as a threat, but as a protective measure.
Shinso, standing before him, felt the shift immediately. His entire demeanor softened in an instant, transforming the tense energy that had surrounded him. “There you are,” he breathed, his voice a mixture of relief and something deeper. It was startling how much his tone had changed; the aggression that had characterized him moments ago melted away, replaced by an unmistakable tenderness. The sharp-edged alpha from UA, who had always seemed so on edge and alert, now appeared vulnerable and longing.
Izuku felt his ears droop involuntarily, the warmth spreading from his heart to the tips of his hair. “Toshi…” he murmured, his voice colored with both concern and yearning. The omega reached for him without hesitation, crossing the porch with long, determined strides. In a heartbeat, he gathered Izuku into his arms, as if he had been aching for this embrace for far too long. The second their scents mingled and filled the air around them, everything shifted—the atmosphere crackled with a new energy.
From a distance, Aizawa observed the change in Shinso’s demeanor. The tension visibly seeped from his body as his shoulders relaxed significantly, his clenched jaw slowly loosening, and his breathing gradually evening out. It was as though the fierce instincts that had once screamed at him to be on alert had finally fallen silent, leaving behind a more peaceful presence.
Izuku, overwhelmed by every sensation, buried his face into the warm curve of Shinso's neck. A small, shaky sound escaped him, a mix of relief and vulnerability so profound that Present Mic turned away, grappling with his own discomfort borne of empathy.
“Oh,” Nezu murmured softly, his keen eyes scanning the entire scene with an astute gaze. They quickly took in the details—reinforced locks decorating the doors, windows boarded up as if to shield from a looming threat, an emergency escape ladder affixed to the side of the house, and bags resting near the door, meticulously packed and ready for a swift departure. It was a hiding place, not a home, and that realization hung heavily in the air.
As Izuku finally became aware of the others’ curious stares, tension rippled through him, and he instinctively stiffened. His tail puffed in alarm, a reflexive action that betrayed his unease. At once, Shinso reacted, his hand moving to rub calming circles against Izuku’s lower back—each motion meant to ground and reassure him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered gently, his voice soft as a soothing balm. “They know.”
“That’s worse,” Izuku replied, his voice just above a whisper, raw with honesty. The words slipped out before he could restrain them, painfully genuine in their vulnerability. All Might’s expression faltered slightly, the weight of understanding hanging between them because, of course, the omega felt that way.
Aizawa crouched slightly, making an effort not to loom over the young hero in front of him. His tone was steady but firm as he addressed Izuku. “Midoriya,” he began evenly, “Shinso’s been pushing himself to the limit, trying to suppress his natural instincts because he’s worried about you.”
The immediate reaction on Izuku’s face was one of horror, his wide eyes reflecting his concern. “Hitoshi—”
“I’m fine,” Shinso interrupted defiantly, though his voice lacked the conviction to fully convince anyone.
“You are absolutely not fine,” Hizashi interjected, his tone light yet serious. “Look at you, kid! You look like you’re two missed naps away from snapping at Kaminari.”
“…I almost did yesterday,” Shinso admitted sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice.
“See?!” Hizashi exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of exasperation.
To everyone’s surprise, a snort escaped Izuku, a small yet genuine sound that broke the tension in the room. It caught Shinso off guard, his expression shifting to one of wonder as he looked at Izuku, as if this small display of humor was something extraordinary.
Nezu stepped forward with a gentle demeanor, his presence immediately commanding attention. “Izuku Midoriya, correct?” he inquired, his voice warm and inviting.
Izuku straightened nervously, feeling a flutter of apprehension in his stomach. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, unsure of what to expect.
“I recognized your name from the online academic program,” Nezu said, a smile spreading across his face. “Your scores are exceptional.”
Izuku blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the acknowledgment. “You… know me?”
“Of course,” Nezu replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You’re one of my students.”
The revelation left Izuku stunned, his expression revealing the disbelief that someone of Nezu's stature would even remember his name. It struck Aizawa then, a sudden rush of anger toward whoever had put this child in a position to feel so insignificant.
Shinso, noticing Izuku’s bewilderment, carefully guided him back inside the cramped space that served as their home. The one-room dwelling was far from what one might consider a sanctuary. One corner appeared to be a makeshift nest area, cluttered with blankets and hoodies, all carrying the strong scent of Shinso, a comforting yet bittersweet reminder of their bond. The opposite corner, however, was filled with stacks of canned food, arranged almost obsessively, creating an atmosphere more reminiscent of survival supplies than a warm home.
Izuku noticed Aizawa’s gaze lingering on their living conditions, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I—I know it’s not much—”
“It’s unsafe,” Aizawa interrupted bluntly, cutting through the unspoken sentiment in the room with a harsh truth.
At this, Izuku instinctively curled inward, the defensive posture revealing how deeply those words affected him. Shinso, on the other hand, emitted a soft growl—a low, protective sound directed not at Aizawa, but rather at the stark implication of their living situation. He understood, all too well, the weight of those words and what they meant for both of them.
“That’s why I’ve been trying to save money,” Shinso confessed quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The weight of his words settled in the air, thickening the tension between them. “But being in the dorms means I can’t work as much now.”
An awkward silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Everyone exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of concern and contemplation. It was then that Nezu, the ever-mischievous yet remarkable principal of UA, broke the silence with a knowing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth—a smile that hinted at something more devious.
“Well,” Nezu hummed, his voice smooth like the tea he was about to sip, “that simply won’t do at all.”
A collective gaze turned toward him, their surprise palpable as they leaned in, eager to hear more. Nezu raised an eyebrow and, with an air of casual nonchalance, lifted a teacup that somehow seemed to have appeared in his paw without anyone noticing.
“UA has faculty housing,” he began, spinning the cup thoughtfully between his fingers, “and several unused secure apartments intended for special circumstances.”
Izuku's eyes widened in disbelief as the implications of Nezu's words began to sink in, while Shinso's body grew tense, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events. All Might’s eyes lit up with realization as he quickly pieced together what Nezu was insinuating.
“You mean—”
“I mean,” Nezu cut in smoothly, his tone warm yet authoritative, “that allowing the pregnant mate of a promising student to remain in a high-risk environment would be utterly irresponsible on our part.”
Izuku's breath hitched as the realization crashed over him like a tidal wave, making him feel as though the very floor had vanished beneath his feet. It seemed unfathomable to think that he could be offered such kindness.
“I-I couldn’t afford—” he stammered, words threatening to spill from his lips, each syllable laced with disbelief.
“Nonsense,” Nezu interjected, his voice brisk and firm, dismissing Izuku’s apprehensions with a wave of his paw.
“I don’t want charity—” Izuku protested, his voice trembling as he clung to his pride.
“It isn’t charity,” Aizawa spoke up, his tone lower but resonating with conviction. He locked eyes with Izuku, grounding him with a steady gaze.
“It’s support,” he added, his words conveying the care and urgency of their situation.
In that moment, something fragile flickered across Izuku's face—a complex interplay of emotions. Disbelief washed over him, quickly followed by the stirring of hope, but it was diluted by the haunting fear of what it would mean to dare hope for something better.
Shinso, sensing his mate's turmoil, tightened his arms around him, drawing him closer and whispering softly into Izuku’s wild, green curls, “You’d be close,” he murmured, his voice soothing against the backdrop of tension. “I could scent you whenever… just like before…”
Tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes as the gentle prompt filled him with a mix of comfort and longing. The primal instincts of his panther lineage were unmistakably strong, especially now that Aizawa had become attuned to his nature.
Izuku had meticulously built the space around him like a protective den—sheltered, hidden, and carefully guarded—a retreat where he could endure the challenges of his pregnancy alone if necessary. Yet, in that moment, Aizawa finally understood why Shinso had been deteriorating a little more with each passing day apart from him. It wasn't just sadness; it was the overwhelming drive of every alpha instinct, shouting at him that his mate was vulnerable, exposed to threats unseen.
Nezu placed his teacup down with a definitive clink, his eyes glimmering with determination. “Now then,” he said brightly, a note of finality in his voice, “let’s discuss moving you before either of you stress yourselves into serious medical complications.” His gaze shifted between the two, filled with a mix of guidance and urgency, knowing that their well-being depended on swift action.
The move itself felt almost trivial in its scale.
Painfully trivial, in fact.
One worn duffel bag sat open in the back of the moving van, its fabric frayed at the seams. Beside it, three boxes—each marked with hasty, scrawled labels—contained a hodgepodge of memories from their past: tattered books, hastily drawn sketches, and a few cherished trinkets that had somehow survived the chaos. Amidst it all lay a well-worn blanket, intricately tied in a nest-like fashion with rough rope, serving as a drastic reminder of the many nights spent huddled beneath its meager warmth. And then there was the rusted tin container, a relic that Izuku clutched tightly to his chest, unwilling to let anyone else touch it. It held secrets and stories too precious to be shared. This collection of items represented the entirety of eighteen years of living—a life distilled down to just a few physical possessions.
Aizawa stood off to the side, taking in the scene with an unsettling mix of discomfort and sympathy. He had witnessed crime scenes that bore more personal belongings than what these two had managed to gather. It created a cold weight that settled heavily in his chest, a reminder of how little they had truly possessed.
Behind them, the old house loomed, crooked and forlorn against the gray light of dawn. The morning sun barely penetrated the thickening clouds, casting long shadows that accentuated the house's pitiful state. Its warped porch sagged under the weight of years gone by, a testament to the relentless rain and neglect it had suffered. The windows, boarded haphazardly from the inside, created a jarring appearance that spoke of decay and abandonment.
Unsafe. Barely livable.
Yet, despite the peeling paint and the creeping vines that threatened to reclaim it, it had still been theirs.
Izuku stood at the edge of the property, motionless, his gaze fixed on the house as if it were a long-lost friend. One hand rested gently against his stomach, a subconscious reflection of the turmoil brewing inside him, while his panther ears twitched sensitively in the chilly morning breeze. The tail swaying behind him mirrored his internal conflict.
From beside the moving van, Shinso observed him carefully, the concern evident in his eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice a mere whisper against the stillness of the morning.
Izuku nodded almost reflexively, but as the truth sank in, he shook his head, a small sigh escaping his lips. "A little," he admitted, his voice honest and vulnerable.
Shinso understood—how could he not? He felt it too, deep in his bones. That house, while a shelter that had offered them refuge, had been far from a paradise. It had been a cold prison in winter, the drafts biting at their skin, while in summer, the stifling heat turned their small rooms into sweatboxes. Leaks in the roof threatened to rain on their dreams, and broken plumbing made every visit to the bathroom a gamble. Countless nights were spent with sleep just beyond reach, hearts racing at every creak and groan from the house, listening for signs of danger lurking in the shadows.
But within those walls, they had carved out a sense of belonging that neither of them had ever known before. It had been the first place they had truly felt safe.
Safe enough to rest, deep and untroubled.
Safe enough to allow laughter to echo in the empty rooms.
Safe enough to evolve from mere survivors—two abandoned kids moving from alley to alley—into something more, something brighter.
Izuku's lips curled into a faint smile as he stared at the house, a glimmer of warmth breaking through the chill. “We were so proud of this place when we found it,” he mused, nostalgia lacing his words as he remembered the hope they'd felt during those early days.
Hizashi paused in the midst of loading boxes onto the back of a truck, a sudden stillness overtaking him as memories flooded back. Nearby, Izuku chuckled softly, the sound laced with nostalgia. “It had four walls,” he mused, a fond smile softening his features. “And only half the roof leaked.” His ears flicked back and forth, a sign of his amusement. “We honestly thought we’d hit the jackpot.”
Shinso, leaning against the truck with a playful, wry expression, snorted in response, a hint of laughter in his voice. “A raccoon was living in the bathroom.”
Izuku couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “He worked as security for rent.”
Shinso shot him a teasing glance. “That’s not how rent works, idiot.”
The back-and-forth felt so effortless, so ingrained in their relationship, that All Might had to look away for a brief moment, a pang of emotion gripping his heart. These kids—so resilient—had built a life for themselves out of the scraps that were handed to them, turning their misfortunes into memories that held warmth.
Aizawa leaned against a nearby car, arms crossed tightly over his chest, observing with a careful scrutiny as Izuku descended the creaking porch steps for what felt like the final time. The old wood groaned under his weight, the familiar sounds pulling at his heartstrings.
Halfway down, Izuku paused, his foot hovering above the last step. He turned back, a moment of silence enveloping him as he took in the sight of the old house, its weathered façade a testament to both shelter and struggle. For a heartbeat, the world around them faded away, and an unspoken understanding filled the space.
Izuku’s vibrant green eyes shone with a mixture of emotions—grief for the parting, gratitude for the sanctuary they’d found, and relief that they were finally moving toward something brighter. This house, with its peeling paint and patched-up roof, had been their refuge when nobody else would take them in. It shielded them from shattered foster systems that had failed them in countless ways. It had provided warmth during the bitter cold of winter nights and a safe haven for Shinso to hold him through the heavy heat of their intertwined instincts. It was a place where they could dare to dream dreams they never truly believed they would achieve.
Yet now—here they were, on the cusp of a new chapter, ready to leave it all behind because they had finally found somewhere better to go.
With a slight bow of his head, Izuku offered a silent thank you to the house that had given them so much. The gesture was bittersweet, filled with love and recognition of the journey that had brought them to this pivotal moment.
As he turned away, Shinso instinctively reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining with reassurance and certainty. The contact was immediate and familiar, their bond a lifeline.
“You ready?” Shinso asked, his voice low and comforting, filled with an understanding that only grew in the shared silence between them.
Izuku looked up, meeting Shinso’s gaze fully for the first time in weeks. He truly saw him—the tired, deep purple of his eyes now brightened with rest, the warmth of his scent surrounding Izuku like a protective cloud. In that moment, he could see the future stretching out before them, alive and vibrant.
And then, Izuku smiled—a small, genuine smile that radiated hope and promise.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice steady and filled with conviction.
For the first time in years, he meant it.