Chapter Text
Izuku sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, the glow of the television flickering across his round cheeks and wide eyes. His little hands clutched tightly around a worn but beloved All Might plush, the toy’s once-bright fabric dulled from years of use. Dressed in his All Might pajamas, patterned with the familiar red, white, and blue symbols.
His lips moved in sync with the booming voice coming from the speakers. Every line, every declaration, he repeated in a soft whisper, word for word. He had memorized it all, watched it so many times that the dialogue lived inside him like scripture. To him, All Might was proof that the impossible could be reached if you wanted it enough.
The spell of the show was broken only when footsteps sounded softly behind him. Inko appeared. “Zuku,” she said in a voice so tender it could have been mistaken for a lullaby, “it’s time for my shows now.” Her words held no demand, only a soft request that Izuku always obeyed without hesitation. He turned his big eyes toward her, nodded, and pushed himself up with the determination of a boy whose entire world revolved around pleasing his mother.
Carefully, he reached for the remote resting on the coffee table, thumbed the button to shut off the video, and placed it into her hands. Then, without complaint, he curled onto the sofa beside her, his small body fitting perfectly against her side.
Inko slid the new channel on at just the right time. This was her ritual, the one program she always watched without fail. The screen lit up—a woman with tears in her eyes, clutching the hand of a man who looked at her with longing. “This can’t be… we can’t be together,” the woman cried, voice trembling. “I’m a beta… and you’re an… alpha.” She collapsed against him. Izuku, already heavy-lidded with the drowsiness of late afternoon, shifted so his head rested in his mother’s lap. Inko’s fingers instinctively threaded through his curls, stroking gently, the touch lulling him toward sleep even as the story on the screen grew more dramatic.
But tonight, the words caught his attention. The man on the screen pulled the woman into his arms and whispered, “There is something we can do. A powerful spell. A spell of true love. It can turn you into an omega.” The woman gasped, tears streaking her face, before nodding with desperate joy. “Yes,” she said, “for you, anything. To be with you, always!” Izuku blinked at the glowing screen, the strange words pulling him back from the brink of sleep. He tilted his head upward, looking into his mother’s face, confused. “Mom… why did she turn into an omega?”
Inko paused, her hand halting in his hair before resuming the soft strokes. She looked down at him with a small frown. “Because she loves him, and he loves her,” she explained gently.
Izuku’s brows furrowed. “But… why does she have to change?” he pressed, a child’s attempt to puzzle out a complicated world.
His mother sighed quietly, eyes softening as she searched for the right words. “Because… a beta and an alpha can’t be together,” she said,
Izuku’s lips parted as if to argue, but all that came out was a small, confused protest. “Why? I thought you said… You said when two people love each other very much, they’ll try to do everything they can to… um…” He trailed off, words slipping away
“To make it work,” Inko finished for him, a smile tugging at her lips as she cupped his cheek. Izuku leaned into the touch instinctively, seeking comfort in her warmth even as the answer left him unsatisfied.
“Yes, Zuku. That’s true. But in the case of alphas and betas…” She hesitated, her gaze flickering back to the screen for a fleeting moment before returning to her son. “…things don’t always work like that.” Her smile strained at the edges,
Izuku held her gaze, waiting for more, but she only sighed and stroked his cheek again. “In our case, we betas…” Her voice faltered, breaking just enough that she had to look away. “It’s better if we stick to each other. Leave the fantasy as just that—a fantasy. The kind where a beta can turn into an omega, where love alone makes the impossible possible. Sometimes the world doesn’t work the way we want it to, Izuku. But don’t worry, you’ll understand one day.” She leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, ending the conversation.
*
*
Years passed, and the memory of that night never truly left him. Now, in his mid-twenties, Izuku understood what his mother had meant.
When people talked about alphas and omegas, everything they did was seen as magical. The world treated even the most ordinary things as special if an alpha or omega was the one doing them. The fact that a male could give birth? The fact that an alpha could bear sharp fangs and press them into their lover’s neck, leaving behind a mark that everyone else would recognize as a “claim”? It was romance, destiny, the kind of thing entire industries of books and movies thrived on. Whenever alphas and omegas touched each other’s worlds—the result was always described as cute, amazing, breathtaking.
But when it came to betas? Every story, no matter the medium, has an alpha and an omega front and center. The beta might show up, sure, but only as a supporting character. Doctors, staff, the neighbor who listens, the best friend who gives advice but never gets to live the story themselves. And even in the rare cases when a beta was involved with an alpha or omega onscreen, the relationship was never celebrated. It was played as controversial, a temporary obstacle, a plotline to stir drama before the “real couple” finally came together.
If a beta was ever paired with an omega or an alpha, the story always went the same way. Sooner or later, the beta would change. Or be changed. Whether by magic, science, or some romantic twist, they would “shift” into whatever their partner needed most. The world demanded it—stories demanded it. After all, what made a beta special if not their ability to adapt? They weren’t rare. They didn’t emit those intoxicating pheromones that made heads spin. They didn’t have ruts or heats. They were neutral, and in a society obsessed with extremes, neutrality wasn’t desirable. It was invisible.
So when people asked, “What makes them special?” they weren’t really asking. They were answering. Nothing.
*
“What makes you special?”
Izuku flinched at the suddenness of it. His train of thought derailed completely as he looked up, startled, to meet her eyes. “E-excuse me?”
Mitsuki exhaled, pushing her chair back and standing. The papers in her hand fluttered slightly as she paced the length of her office, heels clicking against the floor. “You’re a beta,” she said, scanning his file as if she’d already memorized every word. “Good grades. Good university. Excellent references from previous employers.” Her tone was even, detached. “But there are hundreds like you, Midoriya. Hundreds of betas who would kill to have their name on this file. So I’ll ask again: what makes you stand out?”
Izuku straightened his posture, “I know what this job entails,” he said quietly, but firmly. “And I won’t back out—”
She interrupted without missing a beat. “Past this point, everyone knows what this job entails. You’re not the first one to say it.” Her hand flicked the edge of the file shut. “You’ve signed the NDAs. You’ve gone through the medical requirements. You know the testing schedule—every three months, at minimum, to confirm you’re in top physical condition. You’re aware of the restrictions, the confidentiality clauses, and the risk assessments. I’ve heard it all before. You’re hardworking, reliable, adaptable, good under pressure—but I don’t do scripts, Midoriya.”
Her tone sharpened, and she stopped pacing long enough to look him dead in the eyes. “And my son is picky. I can’t hire someone too basic or too stiff to mold. I can’t give him someone too basic or too fragile. So tell me… what makes you special from all the other betas lined up outside?”
Izuku knew this part— if he said the wrong thing, he’d get that polite smile that really meant this will be all, followed by the gentle dismissal and the warning to keep his mouth shut about everything he’d seen.
He took a slow breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I know what my job is,” he said, repeating it.
Her brows drew together in mild impatience.
“I’ve always been close to alphas and omegas,” Izuku continued, each word chosen like a step on thin ice. “Closer than most betas are allowed to be. In school, I was always placed near them during assignments. Teachers said I had a knack for mediating conflicts. When my classmates went into heat or rut, I was the first one they trusted to help. I can walk into their spaces without setting them off. I’ve learned to read their body language, their pheromones, the shifts in tone and posture most people miss. I know what makes alphas tick, and I know what makes omegas uncomfortable. I know when to step back and when to intervene.”
He swallowed, the words starting to flow faster now that he had her attention. “And I know not to get caught up in emotions when instincts take over. I understand that, to them, it’s not personal—it’s biological. That’s something a lot of betas can’t handle.” His voice softened, but didn’t waver. “I know you’ve probably gotten thousands of applications. There are a hundred betas waiting outside for their chance to be interviewed. You’ll never run out of candidates. But with me…”
He drew in a breath, then finished simply, “You won’t have to worry about the most important thing. Falling in love”
Her expression shifted ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t disapproval either.
“In this specific job,” Izuku continued carefully, “it’s more important than ever to throw feelings out the window. To treat it like what it is—a job. I know my role. I’m here to support. I can handle being pushed around if that’s what the situation demands.” His lips twitched into a small, humorless smile. “I can handle a bit of rough housing.”
A low laugh slipped out of her then— amused. “Oh, Midoriya,” she said, finally taking her seat again. “It’s going to be a bit more than roughhousing.”
“I know,” Izuku replied quietly. And he did. He’d done his research.
Mitsuki leaned back in her chair, tapping the folder against her knee. “Alright. One last thing.” Her tone shifted .“For legal reasons, I need you to verbally confirm what this job is, in your own words. Don’t read from the contract. Don’t quote the paperwork. Just tell me.”
Izuku nodded, feeling the faint heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks, though he kept his voice steady. “This job is to take care of your son, Katsuki Bakugo.”
“Be specific,” she pressed. “Explain what ‘taking care of’ entails. And why I need a beta to do it.”
Izuku hesitated, his fingers curled against his thigh. He could feel her gaze on him, testing how far he’d go—how honest he’d dare to be.
“Because your son is a prime alpha,” Izuku began, his voice even though his palms were slick with sweat, “it means his instincts are stronger, more animalistic, and harder to regulate than those of an average alpha. Even with suppressants and regulation meds, they don’t… always work. That’s why you’re hiring a support beta—to help manage those needs when they become too much.”
He paused, glancing up to see Mitsuki's unreadable expression. He continued carefully, “The job involves being the subject of neck biting, sometimes snapping, and handling pheromone surges that most alphas or omegas physically can’t tolerate. You need someone who won’t react to those pheromones, someone who can’t get pregnant or go into heat. Even omegas who are sterile can still be affected just by proximity. I understand that as a beta, I don’t produce scent unless it’s artificial—cologne, soap, nothing instinctive. It’s easier for his instincts to tolerate me.”
He hesitated, his cheeks beginning to flush. “And we can… ‘surrender’ when necessary,” he said, raising his fingers to air-quote the word, “to appease an alpha’s instincts, while still staying in control of ourselves enough to keep the situation safe.”
His voice faltered. He forced himself to finish. “I understand that this job can become—” he stumbled on the word, his throat tightening, “—sexual in nature, depending on his condition and how far his instincts go during a rut or a flare-up, and—”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Mitsuki interrupted briskly, cutting him off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You know what you’re signing up for. Spare me the details. It’s not like I want to keep hearing about strangers sleeping with my son because his alpha instincts are too wild for an omega to handle.” She sighed heavily and rubbed her fingers against her brow. “I’m tired of people seeing him as a feral dog instead of a man. Trust me, this isn’t something I want to deal with either.”
She dropped her hand and looked at him again. “You have the medication to help your body adjust if you take this job, right?”
“Yes,” Izuku said quickly, his face now fully red. He’d been prescribed stabilizers—pain management, muscle relaxants, and suppressant boosters meant for betas in contact-heavy support work. He’d memorized every side effect by heart.
“Good,” Mitsuki said, tapping the edge of his file. “You’ll need them. A beta can’t handle a hard knot without help, even with prep.”
Ugh
“I know,” Izuku murmured, nodding. He straightened his shoulders again. “I also understand that I’ll need a flexible schedule. Your son moves around a lot—photoshoots, film sets, press events. I’ll need to be available at all hours. I know he functions normally most of the time, but during the episodes, he’ll need someone close. Someone who can help regulate the instincts when they start breaking through.” He trailed off, noticing Mitsuki wasn’t looking at him anymore—she was staring down at the file again, flipping through his papers, not convinced.
Izuku’s throat felt dry. He swallowed and tried to fill the silence. “I...I was also trained in basic care protocols,” he said, trying to sound confident. “I can cook. I can make nesting environments if they help with stabilization. I—” He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes caught a photo on her desk: Mitsuki and her husband sitting on a couch, their younger son—Katsuki, maybe six or seven—wrapped in her arms and grinning wide, his little body swallowed up in an All Might onesie.
Izuku’s mouth moved before he could think. “All Might,” he said softly, pointing to the picture.
Mitsuki’s gaze snapped back up, a faint edge of irritation in her tone. “What about it?”
“I—uh, sorry,” Izuku said quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s just… when I was a kid, I had one too. An All Might onesie. My mom said I practically lived in it. I don’t even remember taking it off.” He smiled awkwardly. “I guess I just really wanted to be like him. You know, help people.”
Her expression softened just slightly, though she didn’t say anything.
Izuku took that as his cue to finish. “I know you care about your son, Mrs. Bakugo. You wouldn’t have spent six months screening people if you didn’t. I understand how much went into this—paperwork, interviews, background checks, training modules. I passed every test because I want this job. I know what to expect. I know that my neck and throat might end up bandaged if I don’t wear an omega collar during a flare-up. But I can help him.”
He stopped there, his chest rising and falling with each breath, waiting for a reaction.
Mitsuki tilted her head. “You’re really leaning into that whole ‘beta role’ thing, huh?” she said dryly.
Izuku let out a nervous chuckle. “What can I say? We’ve had it hammered into us since birth what betas are good for.” Good at being nothing at all.
That earned him the faintest smile. “Well, Midoriya,” she said, flipping his file closed and setting it aside, “I’ll give you this—you don’t stick to the script.”
Izuku blinked. “Wait—does that mean—?”
Her grin widened, sharp enough to flash her alpha fangs. “Before you start celebrating, listen.” She rose to her feet, standing with her arms crossed. “Even if I hire you, my son might hate you. If that happens, you’re out. No notice, no severance. Understood?”
Izuku shot up from his chair so fast it nearly fell over. “I—I understand! I’ll do my best. I promise I won’t—”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” She reached out and shook his hand once, her grip firm enough to make him wince. Then she turned, walking him toward the door. “You start tomorrow. Bring a change of clothes. You’ll receive his address tonight, and I’ll alert the staff and security. You’ll also be issued a guard collar—omega-grade ones won’t hold up against my son’s teeth.”
Izuku swallowed hard. “Understood.”
She opened the door for him, still holding the handle as he stepped out. “And just so we’re clear,” she added, her tone back to business, “I’ll already be looking for your replacement. Don’t get comfortable. You’re not special in this kind of job.”
Izuku nodded once, the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. “I understand,” he said quietly.
The door shut behind him. For a moment, he just stood there in the hallway, eyes closed, trying to breathe. Then he let out a muffled groan against his hands, half frustration, half disbelief. When he finally pulled his hands away, he realized the line of other applicants waiting their turn was staring at him. He gave them a strained, awkward smile before turning sharply on his heel and walking as fast as he could toward the exit.
It would be fine. It had to be fine. After all, this wasn’t personal—it was just a job. And besides, he reminded himself bitterly, a beta could never really be with an alpha anyway.
TBC