MHA smut

ICEHOLE

Never happy, Katsuki slams their (fragile! handmade!) door, and begins to whistle for the dogs.

"Jerk," Izuku mutters.

Somewhere in the field there is an echo of;

"I heard that!"

Izuku grabs one of the pillows and groans into it. Subsequently, it is Kacchan's, and it doesn't help him any.

The scent calms him down like liquid medicine, and he almost hates that even more. To know that biologically, Kacchan is his cure to everything...what a joke.

His hearing isn't that of an alpha, but Izuku has spent too many years fighting to stay alive out here not to develop a keen survival instinct. Izuku waits and listens. For footsteps in cushy wet snow. For the two-fingered whistle of Kacchan's call. For howling wolves and bleating sheep as the dogs push them towards the windbreak.

Izuku lets out a breath. The hut is warm from the fire. It's a spacious yurt built from their own hard work, with weapon racks, cedar chests and an assortment of pillows and fur. It's home – but sometimes it's not.

He brings a hand to the engagement collar around his neck to feel the cool, smooth surface of the proposal stone.

Kacchan is already edgy, and to be completely honest, Izuku doesn't blame him. His heat is early. Like, an entire season early – and with the cover of snow, it will be that much harder to defend their home with one less functioning human around.

He's been nauseous all day. He will be for another week or so. Izuku hates the useless feeling of forced bedrest, and it's even worse to sit around and watch Kacchan cover his chores. There's no easy solution for this (or, no solution Katsuki is willing to accept), so Izuku rides it out every year. Year after year. After year. After year.

Occasionally, when Kacchan isn't looking, he slips his fingers under the collar and presses down into the smooth side of his neck. It makes his scent fill the hut; not so much to the distaste of his own nose, but to the horror of Kacchan's.

You stink, he spits, like Izuku can control it at all.

Izuku sighs, lulling his head and rubbing the sore gland under his skin. It aches right where a bite would be, if they were truly married.

But they are not. And if there's anything Katsuki hates more than snow, it's an inconvenience. And Izuku is just chocked full of them.

Sometimes. Sometimes. In the pit of his heart, he does wish it was real. Just like the fairytales mom used to tell; on robinhood heroes in the trees, and great wizards off in the mountains. Magic is real, she would say. Wishing gets you nowhere in this life, but Izuku sure does a lot of it.

❆❆❆

Seventeen felt like a horrible age. Too young for respect, but too old to be coddled. It was as if he had no control over his life, and yet far too many decisions to make.

"I don't want it," Izuku admitted. Sat far apart on the hills, watching the sun set in an orangey color. Kacchan had looked at him through the crook of his arm and grunted with little patience,

"Be specific."

"An alpha," Izuku said. "I don't want another alpha."

Kacchan said nothing, but it's not like he expected him to. Eventually he rose from his seat in the grass, and Izuku stayed to pick flowers until his fingers were stained yellow.

❆❆❆

It's an unforgiving world they're in.

You're either born a somebody, or you're not. And if you're incredibly unlucky, you'll be born something worse. Izuku always wanted to be a somebody. But you can guess what he got.