Chapter Text
Weeks turn into months and before Izuku knows it, he can no longer fit in his school uniform. It happens on an innocuous Tuesday morning as he’s zipping up his pants when he can’t suck in enough to get the fly all the way up.
“Dammit,” Izuku huffs tearfully, flopping down backwards on his bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his pregnancy forever, but with his fit build, he was kind of hoping he’d get lucky enough that no one would even know he was pregnant until the baby came out.
He sends a quick SOS text to his friends' group chat then throws his phone across the bed. He’s suddenly filled with dread over the prospect of informing the class of his… state. He knows at least some of them have to expect something along these lines by now, though thankfully, no one has brought it up with him directly - except for Denki that one time, who was promptly blasted in the face by Kacchan before he could get the words out.
“Dammit,” Izuku cries once more as the thought of Kacchan fills up his mind. They haven’t really talked since about two months ago when Kacchan had delivered his homework to him. To be fair, Izuku’s almost constantly been flanked by his friends since the incident, so Kacchan couldn’t really approach him without being floated, iced out or super sonically kicked into yesterday. But still, Izuku can’t quite shake the feeling of guilt that fills him when Kacchan holds his gaze a little too long when passing back worksheets, or when they lock eyes across the cafeteria.
He’s not stupid, he knows Kacchan wants to talk - Kacchan isn’t a villain here, Izuku knows that much. But at the same time, he’s unwilling to engage when he already knows that Kacchan’s mind is made up that this is Izuku’s responsibility alone, and Izuku can’t stomach Kacchan’s only incentive for getting even peripherally involved must be some twisted sense of chivalry, guilt or a mix of the two.
A knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts and he quickly sniffles, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.
“Yeah?” He croaks.
“It’s me!” Uraraka’s voice comes from outside the door. Izuku beckons her in and she slips in the next moment, carrying an armful of clothing.
“Aw, Deku-kun…” Uraraka frowns immediately upon the sorry sight of him sprawled out on his bed, pants around his hips and teary eyed.
“It’s fine. We all knew this day was coming…” Izuku sighs wetly, peeling himself up into a sitting position.
Uraraka joins him on the bed, patting his back consolingly.
“Well, on the bright side you made it to 22 weeks without looking too suspect, so I’d call that a success!” Uraraka says brightly, and Izuku hums noncommittally.
“But uh, there is some bad news…” Uraraka continues, offering Izuku the pile of clothing in her arms. “These are from Yaomomo. I didn’t tell her anything specific, per se… just that I needed a boy’s uniform with an elastic waist and extra room in the shirt and blazer. She knew it was for you…”
Izuku sighs, taking the proffered clothing. He inspects Yaoyorozu’s work. The uniform doesn’t actually look obviously like a maternity fit, which Izuku is thankful for. Honestly, people probably wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference unless they were specifically looking for the elastic waistband under the blazer. On the other hand, the shirt and blazer are let out at the waist in a way that Izuku knows is eventually going to accentuate rather than hide, probably sooner rather than later.
In any case, if Yaoyorozu already knows, that probably means most of his classmates have already figured it out too, so Izuku supposes the fit of his uniform probably doesn’t really matter so much at this point.
“Um… Uraraka, can you do me a favor?” Izuku asks, biting his lip.
Uraraka perks up. “Sure, Deku-kun! Anything!”
-
When Katsuki walks into the dorm that evening after his workout, he does not expect to see the entirety of Class 3A swooning around Izuku in the middle of the living room.
“Oh my God, Mido, we all knew it, we just didn’t want to say anything before you were ready!” Ashido is cooing, hugging him around the shoulders.
“You already look so glowy! You are going to be so cute with a little round belly!” Hagakure squeals to a blushing Izuku.
The girls descend on him with various levels of excitement while the boys gather around, patting his back and voicing their support.
“Yeah, man, you look great! Even I could tell something was up, you’ve been looking a little thick around the waist - in a good way, in a good way!” Denki cries, then chokes as the girls yell at him while Kirishima lands a smooth karate chop to his jugular and Sero promptly tapes his mouth shut.
The interaction has Katsuki’s palms popping with tiny explosions so quickly he can’t close his hands to mask them before Izuku notices and locks eyes with him. He looks a bit stunned to see him there, and quickly breaks their gaze to give Uraraka a pleading look. She looks in Katsuki’s direction, eyebrows shooting up, before sharing another look at Izuku and mouthing something that looks like, ‘so sorry!’.
Katsuki’s had enough. He ‘tch’s, rolling his eyes before storming off towards the elevator without attracting further attention. He has a feeling they tried to plan this around his schedule. Katsuki would have typically been at the gym a half hour longer tonight, but to be honest his schedule has been kind of fucked lately. His Alpha brain keeps nagging him to get back to the dorm, check on his omega - not his omega, Katsuki irritably supplies - and he’s been powerless to fully stop the instinct.
Whatever. His hindbrain is satisfied now that he knows Izuku is safe and surrounded by his ‘packmembers’, even if Katsuki’s human brain is swirling with rage and, irritatingly enough, jealousy at not being included.
He pushes the button for the elevator with more force than necessary and, thank God, it’s already on the ground floor. As Katsuki steps in, he turns around to come face to face with a huffing and puffing Kirishima skidding into the elevator after him.
Katsuki closes his eyes and flares his nostrils, already knowing where this is headed.
“What,” Katsuki grits out, forcefully hitting the ‘door close’ button, followed by his floor number.
Kirishima is quiet for a moment, reading as weirdly contemplative for him. Finally he lets out a sigh and places a firm hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki blinks his eyes open, narrowing his gaze down at Kirishima’s hand before glancing up at his eyes, which are staring through his fucking soul with unabated sympathy.
“Bro, you know I’m here for you if you need anything,” Kirishima says seriously.
Katsuki blinks, a bit shellshocked. It’s the first time anyone has actually acknowledged his involvement in this whole fucking shitshow with anything besides disgust and malice. The sentiment, annoyingly, hits Katsuki right in the chest.
He intentionally breaks eye contact with Kirishima, staring unseeingly at the corner of the elevator as the door finally opens on their floor.
“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, devoid of any real vitriol as he shoves Kirishima’s hand off his shoulder and trudges his way to his room. Kirishima silently trails him on the way.
Katsuki bristles when he still feels Kirishima’s presence behind him as he shoves his key in his door.
Katsuki breathes through he nose before repeating tersely, “I said fu-”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, I get it and I will, just… Bakugou, I dunno exactly what’s going on, but whatever it is… it doesn’t seem super cool of Mido and his gang to ice you out.”
Katsuki furrows his brow. He hadn’t realized Kirishima had been watching their interactions so closely, but then again, he’s been surprised in the past by how perceptive he can be behind all that shitty hair blocking his brain.
“I’m just saying, you know I’ve got your back, bro.”
Katsuki is quiet for a minute. He twists the lock and opens the door.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He doesn’t wait around to see Kirishima’s reaction before closing the door behind him with uncharacteristic softness and leaning against it.
“Fuck, how did this all get so fucked up,” he sighs out gravelly, throat tight as he sinks to the floor.
That’s fine. If Izuku and his crew don’t want him talking to him, he can work around that, but for once, hair-for-brains is right. They don’t get to ice him out when it’s his fucking kid, too, and that’s final.
Katsuki pushes himself up off the floor with a new resolve, walking over to his desk and yanking open his laptop.
“Alright, extras, get fucking ready,” he grins, furiously typing into the search bar.
‘How to be the best dad detailed instructions’.