Katsuki Bakugo had never been the type to hesitate. When he wanted something, he fought for it—fists first, words later. But when it came to him, the omega who’d somehow made every explosive instinct of his heart go quiet with a single glance back in U.A., Bakugo didn’t know how to act. Not really. Because wanting him wasn’t something Bakugo could punch his way toward. It was fragile and terrifying. And now, it was even more complicated.

Three months ago, everything had changed.

He remembered the day he found out. The omega—his omega, though he never had the guts to call him that—walked into the agency with eyes darker than usual, lips pressed in a thin, unreadable line. And then he said the words that stopped Bakugo’s heart cold.

“I’m pregnant.”

The father was no one. A mistake. A one-night stand after a rough mission, too much alcohol and loneliness pulling at old wounds. The guy had vanished, and good riddance. But the damage had been done. Or, at least, what some might call damage.

Bakugo didn’t.

He remembered the faint scent shift, the way the omega's pheromones had started changing subtly over the weeks, sweeter, warmer. It hit his alpha instincts like a truck, made his chest ache and his blood boil with the need to protect. And he’d done just that. Since that day, he’d made it his silent mission to be the one always within arm’s reach. Carrying extra snacks. Making sure the desk assignments were light. Staring down anyone who looked at his omega the wrong way.

He still hadn’t said the words, though.

Not “I love you.” Not “I’ve wanted you since we were fifteen.” Not even “You’re not doing this alone.” He just showed up, every day. Until showing up became expected. Until he—the omega Bakugo had been hopeless for—started calling him when the nausea got too rough. Started leaning on his shoulder during late paperwork. Started trusting him with the quiet moments when it was just the two of them and the baby kicking faintly beneath warm palms.

Bakugo lived for those moments. For the way the omega smiled when he felt the pup move. For the way he said Bakugo’s name like it meant safety. Like it meant home.

Now, they were at the agency, the late afternoon sun casting long golden beams through the windows of the common office. Most of the others had already headed out for patrol or called it a day, leaving just the low hum of electronics and the occasional rustle of paper. Katsuki sat at his desk, pretending to review reports, though his eyes kept drifting across the room.

There he was. His omega. Bent over a spreadsheet on the couch in the corner of the break area, a soft crease between his brows, one hand cradling the underside of his growing belly. He’d been transferred to desk duty a month ago, and while the change had been hard for someone so used to the field, he took it like everything else—with strength Katsuki never stopped admiring.

The scent of his nesting blankets still lingered faintly in the office, and it tugged at Katsuki’s instincts in the worst way. It was calming, warm. Home. He kept a water bottle filled and within reach for him. Stocked the break room with crackers and fruit and protein bars. Quiet, subtle things. No one mentioned it, but everyone saw it.

Especially him.