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Watching Kaminari and Kirishima become tooth-rottingly adorable together had made Katsuki think that he’d never get to experience anything similar. Over time they’ll calm down and lose some of the PDA, settling into a kind of terrifying synchronization that only comes from spending your life with someone. But at that moment they had sat across the table from Katsuki and sucked face like their lives depended on it.
Katsuki had been able to feel the sneer on his own face as he tilted back in his chair and regarded the ceiling moodily. They were out to eat, trying to celebrate the first sale Katsuki’s new business had made. It wasn’t much but it was something. And if he could keep things moving he’d eventually have enough money to move off of Kirishima’s couch. Soon, hopefully, because ever since these fucking idiots had hooked up he’d been forced to hear them having sex more times than he truly wanted to think about it. Just when he’d finally blocked one memory he’d walk in on them in the laundry room, or the kitchen, or even on the couch. Where he slept. Kaminari didn’t even live with them!
Yeah, he had wanted his own place more than anything else in the world.
Well, almost.
The door to the little cafe had opened with a tinkle. It was a quiet place, tucked away in the busy downtown, and offered a respite from both weather and other people alike. In had strolled a small group of practitioners, witches probably, their magic like electricity in the air around them. And there, in the middle of them all, like a beacon, a lighthouse light outshining mere candles set at its base. Izuku Midoriya.
Every practitioner in the city had known of the shifter, had spoken his name with reverence or jealousy or contempt. Katsuki had liked to pretend he was among the last group, but he knew better. He had watched the group pile into a booth on the other side of the restaurant, Izuku in the middle of them all, their hands on his shoulders, arms, hips, their words pretty and sweet to bend him to their will. He had smiled at them all, seeming to enjoy the attention.
And yet.
At the time Katsuki had wondered, feverently, if the smile on Izuku’s face was real. There was a desperation to it, a sadness and a yearning that he couldn’t believe nobody else seemed to notice. Couldn’t they see how miserable he looked? Even right then, surrounded by others who clearly wanted to be in his favor, his smile was lacking.
But maybe that was just wishful thinking, projection even, though Katsuki shied away from the thought. Regardless, it had never been his place to comment and it wasn’t in that moment either. Izuku never looked twice at him, eyes passing right over Katsuki, and the witch could never blame him. His reputation preceded him everywhere he went.
Katsuki had turned back to his own table and snapped at his friends until they’d separated, completely unrepentant.
They were the first two friends Katsuki had made after…well, after. In a few months he’d meet Mina as well, and then Iida and Tsuyu through her, though he’d never grow as close with them. But right then he’d been sitting with his only two friends in the world.
Most practitioners express their affiliation fairly young, especially the more powerful ones. So of course Katsuki had been known as an ignis witch as a child, and with it had come the stigma. A boy of six, seven, eight, whispered about behind his back by kids and adults alike about how dangerous he was, how unpredictable, and immoral.
He’d heard, and listened, internalized their cruel words even as he tried to fight them off. And like any self fulfilling prophecy, he’d crashed and burned. It had started with physical fights with other students and had escalated from there to his first high school being burned down to the concrete by his unchecked magic.
No school would take him after that, and he’d never graduated.
What future was there for a violent, impulsive ignis witch with no high school diploma? None, he had thought. Abso-fucking-lutely none.
So he’d fallen in with rough crowds. His memories of exactly what he’d been up to are vague at best, nonexistent at worst. Clubs and backrooms and dirty, stinking alleys; drugs and alcohol passed between hands, though he knows he’d never indulged over much because when the time came for change he’d had no addictions to fight. No, his memory loss was from the depression and misery that had clung to him at the time, the way he’d moved through life like he hadn’t been living at all. A puppet with his strings cut, pulled this way and that by whomever was closest and strongest.
Then he’d met Izuku.
Sort of. Not really. But he’d been out with some ‘friends’ of his, and he’d felt magic stronger than he’d ever come across wash over him as Izuku walked by him on the sidewalk. He’d been hanging off of someone’s arm even then, even as a mere teenager.
His presence had set off titters and jokes from the people Katsuki was with.
“Heard he’ll let you use his magic if you fuck him real good first,” one had said.
“No, no,” another had broken in with a giggle, “you buy him things and then he lets you use and fuck him.”
“I’d pay to get a chance at his ass.”
“Gross, dude,” the first had laughed. “Talk about sloppy seconds.”
And so it had gone. But Katsuki had been silent, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and search for curly green hair and a button nose. He’d never seen anyone look as miserable as Katsuki himself felt. Just that one, brief glance, like looking in a mirror, had shaken him to the bone.
A week later, Katsuki’s parents had died in a car crash. He was legally an adult by then, coming up on his twentieth birthday, but it had still hit him hard. He hadn’t even talked to them in a few years at that point, too angry and hurt to ever do anything but fuck up their relationship even further, so he hadn’t bothered to try.
And just like that, they were gone. No goodbye. No closure.
It should have finally broken him, sent him spiraling so hard he’d never have been able to recover, all that guilt and pain. But his spine was made of steel; there was no crushing him. And being at rock bottom meant that there was no longer a ‘down’ for him to go. So he’d done the opposite. He’d gone up instead.
A month later he’d met Kirishima, and through him Kaminari. They were his first real, actual friends, people who looked beyond his magical affiliation and past alike, who got him into anger management, who had helped teach him magical control. He’d started going to the practitioner gatherings, learning from his elders and peers even if they often sneered at him as he passed. Just like when he was young he’d started a few fights, blown a few things up. But unlike when he was young, he’d brought himself under control afterwards, made amends where necessary, and learned from his mistakes.
A year later and he and Kirishima were going into business together and he crashed on his friend’s couch for several months just so he didn’t have to live on the bad side of town anymore.
With Katsuki’s skills, honed through sheer determination and as an outlet for his anger and other negative emotions, the business had grown rapidly. He’d found himself smiling more, even laughing on occasion. He’d bought a house. Then a car. He’d thought that, maybe, his parents were proud of him wherever they were.
It was perfect contentment.
And then a small, terrified bunny had run up underneath his car, shaking from nose tip to fluffy tail, so pathetic that Katsuki hadn’t had the heart to just shoo it away. As the saying goes, the rest, after that, was history.
Had you asked him years and years ago if he thought he’d be here, in that same little cafe, having lunch with his friends with Izuku halfway perched on his lap, he would have laughed in your fucking face.
Yet here he is.
Izuku is a warm weight against him, one of Katsuki’s arms tucked around his waist. There’s seven of them all pushed into one booth: Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina, their new neighbor that Izuku has befriended, Uraraka, and Iida, who is making pitiful heart eyes at the small girl.
They’re a rowdy bunch all together, but the waitresses seem more amused than annoyed. Probably because they come here fairly often and always tip well. They’re not fucking animals after all; minus Izuku.
His husband.
The title still leaves Katsuki reeling sometimes, despite the fact that he’d been the one to propose. It had been in what was once his kitchen and is now their kitchen, early morning light spilling across a sleepy, rumpled Izuku, looking far too cute for his own good in Katsuki’s oversized t-shirt and nothing else. There had been something irresistibly domestic about his soft, freckled thighs and horrible morning breath, something that had made Katsuki forget about trying to find a perfect moment, or plan the perfect event.
What could have been more perfect than them just being themselves? Izuku stumbling and slurring his words still, eyes slowly getting brighter and brighter the more he’d woken up, and Katsuki’s skin still warm from the bed they’d left behind, hair a mess, making breakfast the only thing on his mind until the moment it wasn’t. He’d pushed Izuku up against the counter, boxed him in, pressed gentle kisses against the shifter’s face until he’d been giggling. Then soft, so soft, just between them, “Will you marry me?”
Green eyes had gone huge and despite being perfectly human in that moment, Katsuki had been able to picture perked bunny ears and a twitching nose in his mind. Then Izuku had thrown his arms around Katsuki’s neck, kissing him soundly between little murmurs of, “Yes,” and “Of course,” and “I want matching rings.”
He’d been able to feel their heartbeats echoing each other as they’d pressed chest to chest, another thing that still blows him away sometimes. That Izuku is his familiar and his spouse and his friend, all rolled into one completely fucking perfect package.
Even now Katsuki can feel Izuku’s heartbeat in his own chest, and the soft waves of happiness his husband is giving off. His laugh echos when Kirishima makes a stupid joke, and his smile stretches his mouth wide. It’s authentic, Katsuki thinks. There’s not a damn thing about it similar to the smile he used to have, all those years ago. Pride and affection swell within Katsuki, knowing that he’s part of the reason that smile exists at all.
Feeling the emotions, Izuku turns to him, cocking his head to the side in question. His eyes are still sparkling with amusement, and there’s a gentle quirk to the side of his mouth.
“Nothing,” Katsuki replies, using his free hand to cup Izuku’s cheek, thumb drawing along his lower lip. “Just thinking about how happy you look.” It’s unbearably sappy really, and Katsuki should be embarrassed he’s saying shit like that in front of his friends.
But none of that matters when Izuku smiles knowingly at him, leans in for a quick kiss. They haven’t perfected sending whole thoughts through the bond, but Katsuki gets the gist anyways.
You make me the happiest person alive.
Katsuki kisses Izuku again, then again and again and again, until something small and slightly soggy hits his cheek. He jerks back and then glares at Kirishima who is holding another ketchup laden french fry at the ready.
“Oh how the tables have turned,” he coos, popping said fry into his mouth. Izuku giggles, taking Katsuki’s face in hand to clean his cheek before he can launch himself across the table or chew Kirishima out.
“Bastard,” he says instead. Kirishima just blows kisses at him, sending the whole table into laughter.
Katsuki settles back against the faux leather booth, unable to help the way the corner of his mouth curls up on one side. Izuku is a warm, solid weight against him, one leg tossed over Katsuki’s and his smaller frame leaning into the witch as he talks about something or other with Uraraka. The cafe is loud with laughter and familiar voices. The sun is shining outside.
He’s happy.