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Shouto’s hands are shaking.
It sounds silly even just inside his head, his hands shaking in a tiny aisle in the pharmacy when he’s done so many harder things with steady hands (and sometimes clenched teeth and nails digging into his palms while the corners of his eyes stung even if he knew he didn’t have time to cry), but this is—
Well, the lights are too bright, fluorescent and flickering a little in that way that reminds him of hospitals, which isn’t that far off, and there’s so many options in front of him and it seems kind of, like, fundamentally cognitively dissonant that a good deal of them are pink, one or two with actual hearts on the package.
Shouto’s only seventeen. He doesn’t want hearts on his pregnancy test, god.
Although, to be fair—
This is Bakugou’s fault, too.
Because Bakugou smells like a campfire and Bakugou calls him princess with those rough hands parting his thighs and Bakugou’s eyes look endlessly soft when Shouto is safely tucked into his lap, warm and cozy waiting for his knot to go down so it can slip out of him.
So they don’t always… you know.
(So, sometimes, Bakugou is so wound up after training he’ll push Shouto facedown on the bed with a hand on the back of his neck before getting on his knees just to get him loose with eager drags of his tongue where Shouto’s all slick and swollen, and then he’ll slip right in because of course Shouto was wet enough for him from the start, and the thought of protection is the last thing on his mind when all Shouto wants is to be filled up, to keep his alpha’s come in him like a good little omega.)
His heat is only three days late, but still.
Shouto bites his lip. Maybe he should have told Bakugou beforehand? You know, before he ended up contemplating the least embarrassing pregnancy test option you can buy for yourself as a seventeen year old unmated omega.
Bakugou would probably mate him if Shouto asked, though.
And that thought just has more heat rising to his cheeks, because maybe all that’s standing between Shouto and wanting those hearts on the packaging is a handful of years, and not much else? Certainly not—not how Bakugou might react or if he wants Shouto like that or if they’d be good together.
They are.
They’re really, really good together. And Shouto knows, even while the urge to cry prickles at his throat, that Bakugou would be holding his hand right now if Shouto had bothered to ask him, would scoff and pick out one of the boxes himself so Shouto stops spiraling about it, and then tell him it’s gonna be alright, sweetheart, we’ll figure it out together.
But Bakugou isn’t here.
No, instead Shouto’s alone, and his cheeks burn with shame at the mere thought of asking the pharmacist for help, and—
And just as that sharp prickle of warmth in the corners of his eyes turns into an actual tear slipping down his uncomfortably hot cheek, a hand settles on Shouto’s shoulder, and suddenly a familiar voice is saying, “Are you okay, sweetheart? You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“Oh,” says Shouto, sniffling a little despite himself. “I’m—I’ll figure it out.”
And Bakugou Mitsuki of all people huffs at him, says, “You don’t have to act tough, kid.”
Shouto turns to look at her. Her scent is a lot like Bakugou’s. Distinctly alpha, if a little softer. Muted with age and a little more self-restraint, probably. Shouto pictures Bakugou snarling at him if he said that much out loud, saying something like I’ll show you self-restraint, you spoiled brat only to demonstrate the exact opposite with remarkable alacrity and maybe his teeth dragging over Shouto’s throat, and that—
That has his mouth twitching with amusement despite it all.
“You’re, ah, a lot like Bakugou,” Shouto says, because it’s probably a little rude to think about your boyfriend biting you in front of his mom. “His scent, I mean, it’s—”
And now he’s blushing anyway, which is just—great, actually. Yeah, awesome. 10/10 experience right here.
Mitsuki squints at him. “You need a little help, honey?”
Shouto bites his lip. “I’m not sure which one to get,” he admits, gesturing vaguely towards the rows of pregnancy tests. “There’s so many.”
Mitsuki tips his chin up. “No need to cry about it,” she huffs, pulling a handkerchief out of her bag and dabbing it at the corners of his eyes with a lot more care than her tone of voice would imply. “What useless alpha left you alone for this, anyway?”
Shouto’s teeth dig into the inside of his cheek. “Um,” he says, face burning even more.
It’s—
It’s not exactly new, the thing with him and Bakugou, but they never got around to that whole meet the parents thing. There wasn’t much to meet, on Shouto’s end, and besides Bakugou already knew most of his family, for better or for worse, and—
And he never thought of Bakugou as the type of person to hold his hand under the table during family dinner, even if he probably would as long as Shouto asked. They were busy, Shouto thinks. Busy surviving a war and then busy trying to figure out what you do with the blood still buzzing in your veins when it gets quiet and that somehow turned into busy letting Bakugou take him out on cutesy dates where he pays for Shouto’s cat-shaped crepes. With extra whipped cream. And strawberries.
And now Shouto might be pregnant.
It feels like they skipped a few steps.
Mitsuki squints at him. “Oh,” she says, knowingly, and then she’s actually leaning in to sniff him, god, right at the collar of his shirt, and of course Shouto smells like Bakugou, he’s always scenting him, and the only reason it might be harder to tell for her is because it’s so similar to her own scent.
Not the same, though. Not the same, and not clinging to Shouto’s throat, so close to a mating spot there’s no room for doubt.
“Guess this is the part where I offer to babysit if you need it, huh?”
Shouto would like to die now, thank you very much.
“Bakugou-san,” he says. “I—”
“It’s not your fault,” Mitsuki interrupts. “Look at you. Of course it’s not your fault. It’s an alpha’s responsibility, you know. Taking care of their omega.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Shouto admits. “I’m not even sure, it seemed silly. I just—no one told me.” And now he’s sniffling again. “No one—I figured, if you do one really hard thing, then the other things get easier? But this doesn’t, um, it doesn’t feel easy.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Mitsuki says, matter-of-factly. “You’re what, eighteen?”
“Seventeen,” Shouto says, which also feels shameful, for some reason. Like his youth and inexperience is another thing to hold over him. Like the world is mocking him by still being Too Big and Too Bright and Too Loud after so long living in it. Like he should have learned its edges by now, especially after how hard he fought to keep everyone he loved safe. And now they’re all safe, and Shouto is still sniffling in the pregnancy test section of the local pharmacy. “Bakugou is—he’s older than me.”
Mitsuki laughs. “Bet he holds that over your head,” she says. “Tells you to listen to your elders?”
“Just when he’s trying to get me to eat less cold soba,” Shouto says. “He wants me to try more things. But I don’t have his spice tolerance.”
Mitsuki ruffles his hair. “Don’t let him bully you.”
“He’s sweet,” Shouto says. “He’s really sweet, actually.”
“Huh,” says Mitsuki, eyebrows shooting up. “Guess he finally found something to help him calm down.”
And it’s that, out of everything, that makes Shouto feel like he might catch fire entirely unaided by his quirk. Because—Mitsuki-san isn’t wrong, exactly. Bakugou does knock on his door with his shoulders too tense and muttering under his breath about how everyone sucks and he hates them only to pull Shouto into his lap and settle when he starts purring because his alpha smells good.
It makes Shouto feel like he’s floating, knowing he’s all his alpha needs when he’s having a bad time.
“I’m making trouble for him,” Shouto says. “For you too, now.”
“It’s no trouble, kid,” Mitsuki tells him. “Everyone needs a little help.”
And the thing is Shouto knows she’s right, but it feels like maybe he’s the one person on earth not allowed to ask for it. Like he gets to figure it out on his own, because it’s what he’s always done. And—and even now that he knows he doesn’t have to, shame prickles right under his skin anyway, because—
Well, he’s gotten spoiled. Bakugou spoiled him. (Bakugou calls him sweet things and makes him food from scratch and takes care of his heats, warms up his hands to help with the cramps and places them low on Shouto’s belly until the need gets sharpsharpsharp and Shouto’s the one whining for more, and the only thing he demands in return is Shouto’s company.)
Shouto sniffles some more, can’t help it. Apparently, the pharmacy just brings out all these feelings in him. Maybe it’s all the pink hearts. “Thank you,” he says, bowing low to hide his teary face even for just a bit. “You’re sweet too, Bakugou-san.”
“Don’t mention it, honey,” Mitsuki says.
She helps him pick out the tests—two different brands, just in case—and even pays for them herself, scoffing at Shouto’s offer to reimburse her.
“Come to dinner sometime,” she says. “I’m sure Masaru would love to meet you. Might make him feel better to know his son’s got such a pretty omega. He was so worried ever since Katsuki started kindergarten, you know. Thought he’d drive everyone away with all the yelling, and then he’d still be living at home without an omega of his own when we got old and our bones started creaking.”
Shouto blushes. “Oh, um,” he says. “He’s got me now.”
“Yeah,” Mitsuki says. “I can see that.”
…
[alpha (mine)]
hey, halfie?
why did the old hag just text me a link to a book titled The Consequences of Thinking with Your Knot?
looks like some kinda… parenting manual? like teen pregnancy for dummies, or some shit
you uh
you got something you wanna tell me, princess?
um, about that
maybe you should come home first
hold my hand a little
…
(The tests come back negative. Both of them. When Bakugou notices Shouto’s pout (stupid omega instincts), he tips his chin up and whispers, Later, okay? into his mouth and Shouto thinks, Yeah, later, melting into him, so content he can’t help it.
They’ve got time.)