Chapter Text
The first snowfall of the season always brought with it a sense of tranquility. A blanket of white coated the earth, pristine and unsullied–and though the frigid snap of leafbare often came with the burden of illness, dwindling game, and wilting crops, the beauty of winter’s purity was a splendor that Izuku Midoriya had learned to appreciate despite its hardships.
Perhaps it was naivety—but as fur-lined boots sank into the snow underfoot with a satisfying crunch, wide green eyes glittered with mirth. Izuku’s head tilted back, one glove-clad hand resting at his forehead to act as a visor against the glare of the slow-growing sunrise. The bite of the brisk breeze left his freckled cheeks ruddy but he paid no mind, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he surveyed the quiet serenity of the world before him.
The barren branches glimmered overhead in the thin, gray light of dawn, a filigree of frost webbing its way through each individual frond. Only the chirping of a few lone birds could be heard in the distance, gentle and melodic in spite of the cold snap. Somewhere in the distance, the gulch nestled at the mountainside babbled quietly.
Venturing past the outskirts of his village at the cusp of daybreak was a risky task–something Izuku knew better than most; he had been scolded far too many times for tumbling back into the village while his mother spent the wee hours of dawn looking frantically for him, fretting with her brows pinched and lips twisted into a concerned frown.
The thump on the ear was always worth it, though, and as Izuku lifted up the woven handbasket tucked under his arm to show her the spoils of his early-morning foraging, she’d sigh, shake her head, and gently herd him back to their hut.
Warm bread was always waiting for him on the table along with a plate full of hand-churned butter and an assortment of jarred preserves–and as Izuku plopped into his seat, he’d rattle off to her all the wonderful things he had seen in his solitary trek. A fledgling winter wren stretching its wings for the first time, a rabbit’s burrow full of downy fluff to shield a litter of small, pink, wriggling kits, a particularly stunning spider web with fractals of ice clinging to each silken thread, glittering like foreign jewels in the shallow light…
While the modest but thrumming village of Musutafu proved to be a beacon of safety and comfort for its residents, his mother was quick to look at him with reproach. Every day, while Izuku slathered warm slices of bread with butter and preserved apricots, she’d remind him of one indisputable fact: wandering out in the woods unprotected is dangerous, especially for an omega.
The lecture was a tired one–and after a while, he had given up on listening altogether. His mother was a kind woman, a beta with a worrisome temperament–and though her endless fretting never wavered, Izuku found it far easier to concoct ways to bypass her warnings rather than heeding them.
The poultice of crushed burdock root and chervil fronds leaves the sensitive skin of his neck twinging with a subtle sting; the heady bitterness of the burdock mingles with the sweetness of the chevril, marrying together into a paste strong enough to mask even the most potent of pheromones. It was a concoction of his own making–and after slathering the paste onto the waxy side of a Gardenia leaf, all Izuku had to do was fasten it to the sensitive scent glands at the base of his neck.
It left his scent masked completely, rendering him almost undetectable as he darted through the maze of high-arching tree-trunks and thinning foliage hugging close to the snow-coated grounds. His mother would never be placated with his shrewd attempt at going unnoticed in the heart of the woods–but Izuku had always been too crafty, too witty to be left tethered to the village when there was a world of unexplored wonders just a stone’s throw away.
Izuku lifted a hand to let the pads of his fingers skim idly over the thick, glossy ridges of the leaf tucked against his scent gland–and once he was able to ensure that it was securely in place, his lips curled into a smile of thinly-veiled acceptance.
He didn’t have much time; the fingers of his free hand curled into the handle of the woven handbasket Izuku had grown fond of before he bounded forward, savoring the sound of the snow crunching beneath his boots. The crisp air of leafbare left him with his breaths collecting in a visible plume at his lips–but he paid no mind.
After all, there wasn’t much time before the warriors left for their first hunt. Demeter only knew what a spectacle it would be if the war chief’s collective of young alphas stumbled across a lone omega from their village frolicking about in the woods without an escort. It was already bad enough that Izuku had garnered a reputation amongst his neighbors for being unruly.
Omegas were meant to be caretakers, blessed by Demeter, herself, with the gift of nurturing new life. They weren’t destined for a life of roughhousing and violence. Bruises and scraped knees were meant for the alphas, the protectors and the fighters; they were the ones who would bear the burden of baring their teeth and bloodying their knuckles. It was a privilege for an alpha to protect their territory–and omegas, despite their divine blessings, were just another piece of society under the alphas’ supervision.
The idea of a life resigned to the never-ending task of tending to the hearth, however, was something that made Izuku’s stomach turn. He was never meant to be an omega, anyway–and no matter how hard Inko, the kind-hearted and well-meaning beta that she was, tried to plead with her son to at least try and assimilate with the other omegas his age, Izuku held his head high and refused to give in.
His presentation was always something he’d consider a mistake, an ugly scar that marred what would’ve been a promising career as an alpha warrior–but Demeter, while kind in her motherly divinity, had seemingly chosen not to smile upon the boy named Izuku Midoriya.
The years were slow-moving—but as with all wounds, time showed Izuku ways to salvage the fractured pieces of his broken dreams enough to give him a sense of purpose.
His daily adventures outside the watchful gaze of his mother soon grew into a much-needed escape for the boy with the wild mane of bouncing green curls. It was a comfort, a moment of stolen solitude where Izuku had no one to answer to but himself. He’d forage in peace, collecting plants and herbs both familiar and foreign until his basket was brimming with the spoils of his endeavor, before returning to the familiar (and sometimes droll) backdrop of Musutafu.
As the quiet chirping of the winter pheasants grew more pronounced, Izuku noted that he had the better part of an hour before he needed to duck his way back into the village. He trudged his way through the thinning undergrowth, wide green eyes flickering this way and that.
Izuku paused every few steps to inspect a cluster of mushrooms clinging to the decaying bark of a felled tree or to pick at a bundle of clovers—and as he slowly amassed a menagerie of clippings, roots, and stalks, he felt his chest swell with pride.
His early morning forage was fruitful despite the cold settling in with the season’s first snowfall and as he approached the familiar gurgle and babble of the gulch, Izuku exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. He plopped himself at the edge of a large, craggy stone sticking out over the shallow drop above the running water. There were flecks of ice glittering in the gray dawn light, forcing him to take care as he situated himself.
Poking through his basket, Izuku gave a small hum of appreciation. Fresh marigold buds, a collection of juniper berries, a healthy bundle of yarrow leaves, a single winter pear Izuku had found on a low-hanging branch, and a few edible mushrooms for his mother’s stew—it was a fairly modest haul, but with the colder seasons always came a weaker harvest and Izuku wasn’t the kind of person to be ungrateful for what little he could salvage from the powdery coating of fresh snow.
“Mom’s gonna love the mushrooms,” the omega chirped softly to himself, teeth worrying into his lower lip to conceal the small smile threatening to tug its way across his soft features. He set the basket aside, ensuring it was safe from tipping over and sending his curated collection toppling into the frigid water.
Izuku took his time to squat by the frothing crests of the running water splitting around the rocks jutting above the surface, cupping his hands enough to splash the ice-cold liquid against his face. It was frigid and left his flushed, freckled cheeks frost-bitten—but as Izuku gulped in a deep breath of the sharp winter air, he felt his senses grow invigorated. It was always refreshing to take part in nature’s beauty uninterrupted.
A part of him knew that letting himself unwind out in the open was a risky gamble, but as he reached up to feel for the waxy dressing keeping the paste of crushed leaves and roots slathered over his scent glands, Izuku clicked his tongue. They were still securely in place, the bitterness of the burdock marrying with the subtle, herbal sweetness of the chevril to fill his nose with every inhale.
Izuku wished for a brief moment that he could show his mother just how easily he had adapted a method to masking his scent out in the open, chest swelling with pride–but he knew in his heart that, despite Inko’s endless adoration and care, her worrisome demeanor would win out over everything else. At the end of the day, Izuku was still her omega son–and his penchant for tumbling about in the forest with scraped knees and bloody knuckles would only land him in a world of trouble in due time.
He paid no mind; Izuku had learned long ago to let sleeping beasts lie. He couldn’t change his mother’s mind, nor could he convince the village that an omega like him would make a fine warrior, regardless. Toshinori had been the only one to see the fiery passion burning in his chest–and even then, the retired war chief could only do so much to try and sate Izuku’s ever-growing desire to become stronger, to become independent.
As he reached a hand into his handbasket to pluck the pear, Izuku unfasted the thin dagger he had carved from the soft, malleable material of a growing buck’s shed antler from the belt fastened around his hips. The blade was just sharp enough to bite through the tender skin of the fruit, carving through it in careful, circular motions until a spiraling thread of green peel freed itself from the supple and juice-filled flesh. He exhaled a breath of a purr, the sound rattling in his chest before he lifted it to his mouth.
The first bite was always the sweetest. Juice dribbled down his chin as the pleased rumble within him grew louder and stronger. It was crisp and while the fruit itself was just a touch tart, it was a simple joy that Izuku savored. He sighed, dagger nestling back into its slotted hilt at his waist before he took another large, crunching bite from his breakfast.
Legs swung idly over the edge of the boulder he had taken residence on, wide green hues skimming over the babbling river, watching the subtle glitter of fish writhing beneath the frothing surface and a handful of dragonfly nymphs buzzing over the surface. The peaceful beauty of the woods was always Izuku’s safe haven and the longer he sat, the more he wished he could stay here forever.
As Izuku tilted his head back to study the thin, wispy clouds blocking the light of the blossoming sunrise, he found his thoughts wandering. He couldn’t help but recall memories of a time long gone–a time where he had scampered through the undergrowth with childish glee and pleased squeals on his lips. He wasn’t alone back then, though; he had companionship, a strong protector that was just as overzealous to take the world on by its horns as he was.
Back then, the woods were a place for laughter and play-fighting.
A place for two young pups to join hands and make promises neither one of them would be able to keep.
The memories felt faraway and faded, an old portrait deteriorated by years of wear and tear. He chewed slowly and all of a sudden, the sweetened flesh of his winter pear began to taste bittersweet. Nostalgia, Izuku decided, was far less welcoming than he was once led to believe. His brows furrowed and he forced himself to swallow the mouthful of now-soured fruit.
Izuku tilted the pear in his hand, studying the large chunk he had already bitten off. His mind swam for another brief moment. Flashes of blonde, glimpses of jewel-toned reds, and recollections of wild, raucous laughter–they felt just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers only to rush away with the endless bubbling of the gulch he sat above. Suddenly, his freshly-foraged breakfast no longer looked as appetizing as it had initially.
Quietly, deft fingers plucked his dagger back out to slice the pear into smaller, bite-sized portions. He arranged them atop the smooth surface of the boulder, freckled cheeks puffed from his steady concentration. At the very least, Izuku thought, a hungry snow hare or wandering shrew would come across the pear and gorge itself on the feast until its belly was full and sated.
Izuku discarded the core before tucking his dagger away. Another breath puffed past his lips, collecting in a visible cloud before he moved to stretch his arms high above his head. His muscles trembled from the strain, a yawn leaving his eyes watering all the while. Maybe if he got up now, Izuku thought, he’d have enough time to see if he could find a bushel of yarrow. His stock back home was beginning to dwindle and it would do him some good to…
His thoughts, however, came to a grinding halt as the piercing caw of a murder of crows cut through the peaceful silence. Izuku’s head snapped back, brows pinching together as he surveyed the horizon. As quickly as their harsh cries echoed through the woods, an array of black, winged figures took to the skies.
Wonderful. The hunt was about to start.
Every morning, the warriors would descend upon the forest with their teeth bared and spears in hand, tasked with the glory of bringing fresh-kill back to Musutafu to feed the many hungry mouths of their village. It was a daily tradition–one that Izuku had hoped to participate in with bright eyes and a bushy tail.
His time for that had come and gone with no fruits of his labor to show for it–so now, Izuku had no choice but to watch from a distance as War Chief Todoroki’s latest team of freshly-minted warriors took to the woods to prove their chops.
… Which meant Izuku had to make his way back to the village. Fast.
The last thing he needed was for any one of the war chief’s brutish, knot-headed alphas to find him alone in the heart of the wilderness.
Or, at the very least, Izuku wanted to avoid one very specific alpha among War Chief Todoroki’s ranks, in particular.
Izuku knew that the apprentices that had recently been inducted into the official warrior ranks were fairly benevolent–if a little juvenile in their behavior. They were loud and boisterous, laughing at jokes better suited for rowdy teenagers than proper alpha warriors–but they were noble and uncomplicated. Painting them all with such broad strokes was certainly an injustice. Even Izuku knew that much.
Still, though; of the handful of alphas gunning for the role of future War Chief, the one Izuku hoped to see the least would surely prove to be the biggest problem if he stumbled across the omega all on his lonesome this far from the village border.
With a low sigh pushing past his lips, Izuku braced his weight on his knees and forced himself up. He swiped up his handbasket and used his free hand to adjust his cloak, ensuring that the waxed leaves holding the scent-blocking salve in place were still attached.
Drawing in a deep breath, Izuku felt his chest swell. The trek from the gulch to the village would end up crossing the path the warriors often took during the early part of their hunt, leaving the omega with only one other option.
As Izuku pulled the hood of his fur-lined cloak over his head, concealing a mess of wild verdant curls, he breathed out a low sigh of resignation.
“Guess I’ll have to take the long way home.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ *. ☽ .* ｡ﾟ . ───
Sure enough, the winding path Izuku chose to take proved to be an arduous journey.
Where it had only taken him the better part of an hour and a half to make his way from the village’s main square to the rocky overhang, Izuku barely managed to trudge past the threshold of Musutafu by highnoon. He had long since memorized the warriors’ hunting routes–and though the quietude that had managed to settle over the woods when he was three-quarters of his way back to the village implied that the boisterous pack of young alphas had concluded their hunt, he didn’t dare risk cutting through the foliage diagonally.
With his luck, he’d find them lying in wait, accusatory and slitted pupils surveying him with thinly-veiled amusement mingled with derision.
It’s how everyone looked at him–from the village elders to the curious young pups that ventured past their nurseries only to come across an omega with a scent that hardly registered and more bruises than sense. While Izuku had grown immune to the watchful stares and the muted whisperings, it was far easier to avoid an awkward run-in than not.
There was a narrow fringe of trimmed hedges tucked away on the western border of the village; it protected a fenced-in slope where the village donkeys grazed, long ears flicking away any flies that deigned to buzz around them. It was rarely guarded, making it Izuku’s favored form of re-entry away from any lingering eyes.
The small, prickly leaves of the foliage scraped uncomfortably against his skin as he pushed his way through, hands reaching up to swipe away the waxy leaves resting at his scent glands before he wiped away the excess slave clinging to his skin. He huffed, brows furrowing as the thin thorns of the foliage prickled his skin. He paid no mind, however, managing to step his way through the bushes and into the fenced-off pen.
“Good morning, Moony,” the omega murmured in greeting as he skirted past the gray-furred equine. One hand moved to gently pet her snout before the donkey flicked its ears–in amusement this time. She bleated shortly, a low and unintelligent sound, but as Moony reared her head only to bonk her muzzle against the palm of Izuku’s outstretched hand, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright, alright,” he relented, feigning defeat. Izuku rummaged through the interior pocket of his cloak before procuring a handful of dandelion greens.
Moony had been so gracious to keep his secrets for all this time and Izuku found it to be a horrific disservice to return to his dutiful keeper empty-handed. He had tried carrots before and even a handful of berries, but Moony the donkey seemed to have a rather strange predilection for greens and herbs. She was a strange one–much like him–and he couldn’t begrudge her that.
The smile on his lips grew as Moony bleated once more, the fuzz against her wet lips tickling the heel of his palm. He could feel her blunt teeth scraping against his skin but Izuku didn’t waver, his other hand reaching to smooth out her bristly mane and pick out any stray pieces of hay clinging to it.
“You know, Moony,” the omega cooed gently, voice little more than a murmur, “you’re probably one of my only friends here.” The donkey flicked her ear and made a non-committal noise, head bowed over her gift of greens. Izuku chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I promise I’ll try to find some mustard greens next time.” The donkey reared its head, wide nostrils flaring with a gruff noise as she turned dark, shiny eyes up at him. Izuku leaned forward, gently bonking his forehead to her muzzle in a show of affection. “I gotta go, though. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
She swished her tail, wiry bristles slicing through the air and knocking a few flies off in the process.
Izuku spared the animal one last smile before gathering his handbasket and adjusting his cloak. All he had to do now was make it back to the town square in time to fetch a loaf of bread before the fresh batch was sold out…
“Why did I know you’d be here talking to the donkeys at this hour?”
The sound of a calm, almost demure drawl forced Izuku to damn near stumble over a pile of donkey dung. “Shoto!” The name slipped past his lips with a slightly pitched squeak. Green eyes grew wide as Izuku caught himself against the wooden picket of the enclosure’s fence, head flying up to catch sight of his newfound companion. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you’d go to the square without me!”
Standing at the edge of the wooden fence was a beautiful omega with soft and supple ivory skin, pale as the moon and just as ethereal. Neatly styled locks were split down the middle, one half a deep, fiery red while the other was a shock of pure snow-white. Peering out from beneath the fringe of his bangs were a pair of bi-colored eyes–a sharp, penetrating blue and a smooth slate-gray–sparkling with mild curiosity. His features were just as delicate, dainty and sweet.
Everything about the War Chief’s youngest son exuded the essence of the picture-perfect omega. Well-bred, well-kept, and well-mannered–albeit somewhat unexpressive. There were times when Izuku often felt embarrassed to stand next to him but after years of cultivating their friendship, the green-haired omega couldn’t help but beam over at him.
Izuku hopped over the fence with a quiet grunt, legs swinging over before he landed in the dirt patch to Shoto’s right.
Shoto lifted an eyebrow at him with mild curiosity, side-stepping to give Izuku enough space to shake out the dirt clinging to the thick material of his cloak. He eyed him with subtle suspicion, lips pressing together in the only betrayal of his unimpressed distaste. “You smell like a barn,” Shoto supplied plainly.
With a scoff, Izuku rolled his eyes. He raked his fingers through the wild mess of his curls, grimacing only slightly as he picked out a stray twig and a handful of fallen leaves out of them. “Well, considering I did just make my re-entry through the stables…” Izuku puckered his lips and blew a stray curl coiled loosely against his forehead. “Smelling like a rosebed doesn’t seem all that possible.”
As Izuku rummaged through the remaining items in his handbasket, Shoto breathed out a low sigh of defeat. He reached out without another word, thin fingers wrapping around Izuku’s wrist with a light squeeze. “Come,” he murmured, his lilting voice gentle and as soft as satin, “the longer we waste our time here by the mules, the less time we have to peruse the market.” Shoto tugged his arm, already beginning to wander forward.
“Alright, alright!” Izuku couldn’t help but breathe out an amused chuckle, stumbling behind the other omega in his haste to keep up. “Her name’s Moony, by the way.”
“You’re the only one who calls her that,” Shoto retorted, the faintest hint of a scoff coloring the edges of his voice. The silken material of his robe brushes against Izuku’s wrist, tickling his dirt-caked skin.
It always amazed him how someone so different from him, someone who not only accepted his role as an omega but embraced it, could be bothered to grant Izuku the privilege of his mere presence.
Where Izuku was covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat at any given time, Shoto was scrubbed clean with baby-soft skin and shining, silken locks. Where Izuku yearned to wrestle his way through the world, Shoto found solace in the coddling an omega of his status was not only afforded, but entitled to.
They were not only different, but from entirely different worlds. There was once a time when jealousy would send sharp pangs through his chest as he thought to himself–his mother would’ve been happier with a son like Shoto, a son who didn’t rebel with his teeth bared and his hands curled into fists. Maybe she’d worry less. Maybe the permanent crease that had etched itself on her forehead in the spot between her brows wouldn’t have formed, at all.
“I keep telling you to take an escort with you whenever you want to leave the village.” Shoto’s gentle chiding pulled Izuku from his thoughts. “You wouldn’t have to sneak your way back in and get yourself covered in donkey manure.” His voice, while calm and complacent, held the slightest edge of a taunt to it.
Izuku found himself biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt at quelling the smirk threatening to pull its way onto his lips. “You know, I read in one of the books in your father’s library that in some nations, manure is utilized as a way to keep your skin soft and rejuvenated.” He gave a suggestive waggle of his brows. “Maybe I’ll scoop up a handful and slather it all over you…”
He clicked his tongue before shooting Izuku a look of mild irritation through narrowed eyes–which only pulled another flurry of barely-concealed giggles. Izuku barely managed to squeak out a sorry! before Shoto made it a point to stomp on his foot as they walked.
“Enough with your dirty habits.” Shoto’s tone, while cool and collected, held the faintest hint of a tease. “If I don’t get a loaf of Mrs. Shindo’s milk bread because you were making me late, I’ll never forgive you.
In spite of himself, Izuku grinned. “Yeah, yeah! Whatever you say!”