Chapter Text
Izumi Kouta had never considered himself lucky.
Not blessed, not fortunate, not any other hashtag at the end of a self-important social media post. He hadn’t grown up in a household of clean, streamlined furniture or had a parent to coo and coddle him during sick nights or draw him a cool bath for his first heats. He’d grown up too angry and jagged around the edges to make any friends that stuck, and as he’d grown, the only people receptive to him were those interested in the perceived weakness between his legs.
The deep country had never been kind to Omegas, and certainly not the rarer males like him. And while his aunt had been kind, like a person is kind to a dog they adopt from a shelter, Kouta had grown to hate her as much as he hated anyone else.
It had never been fair to her, and Kouta had recognized that after all of it—after the running away and the hospital and the going home only to come back. He’d realized it wasn’t fair to her, either, that a four year-old boy had been thrust into her care when she too was another big damn Hero who wanted to save everyone but the people closest to them.
Kouta hadn’t hated her because of how she’d treated him. He’d hated her because, for the longest time, he could still remember what it had felt like to have parents who loved him, really fucking loved him, and now that it was gone, there was no one and nothing who could or would ever make him feel that kind of love.
Most of all, he hated his parents for taking that love away, because now he knew what it meant to lose that which was most intrinsic to living.
“I can’t fucking breathe in this thing,” Bakugou snapped in the face of an unruffled Sero, who continued to resolutely tie the loose, black and gray striped hakama pants of the groom. “How tight you gonna tie that, motherfucker. You want all the blood cut off from my dick to sabotage my wedding night, hah? I will hang you up by the balls in the shrine and make a wish on your corpse.”
“Jeez, dude,” Kirishima said with a strangled laugh from where he lounged in a velvet chaise, picking at a bowl of bright green grapes. His own kimono matched that of Bakugou’s pack, all of them having agreed on the drape of deep, earthly maroon and cream.
Kouta had never been to a wedding before—had never given it even the barest thought—so it was kind of cool to see the packs between Bakugou and Izuku differentiated by their own colors. One side of the wedding aisle and the other weren’t simply for blood family, but blood brothers and sisters.
“It’s not even tight,” Sero said, finishing up with a jovial pat on Bakugou’s shoulder and a mile-wide grin. “You’re just having a panic attack.”
“Like hell I am,” Bakugou snapped, his spicy scent going acrid and smoky in Kouta’s wrinkled nose. “I’m fine. You’re not fine. I’m fine.”
“Dumbass,” Mina said from her perch beside Kouta, placed much too close for a mated Alpha and an unmarked Omega ten years her junior to be sitting. Kouta felt all kinds of. . .something about that, but comfortable was not one of them. He wouldn’t say so, though. That wasn’t cool. “You’re already mated. What’re you nervous about? You think Izuku’s gonna realize he has way better prospects in Shindo Yo after all?”
“Do not say that fucking name in front of me,” Bakugou hollered, waving an arm to swipe off Sero, who approached with the black haori. “I will spill blood on my wedding day!”
“I mean,” Denki said from his spot at the table of champagne and glasses. “That would be very traditional. Like, strictly speaking or whatever. Didn’t the Alpha use to give their Omega a human sacrifice of a weaker Alpha as a gift? Like how my mom’s cat leaves dead animals on her pillow.”
“I’ll be bringing back that tradition in about two seconds if you don’t shut your trap.”
“But I’m not an Alpha!” Denki wailed, looking genuinely fearful as he skirted the table upon Bakugou’s half-threatening jolt in his general direction. “Kacchan, don’t bully me, I’m scared!”
“You’re all idiots,” Kouta muttered, slouching back into the couch, arms folded across his chest as he eyed the room of full-grown Heroes who bickered and joked more than the teenagers at his new school. “Show some decorum, for fuck’s sake. It’s a wedding.”
“Watch your mouth, shit snack,” Bakugou said mildly as he turned back to the mirror and actually allowed Sero to help him into the luxuriously draped haori fabric.
“Watch yours, cinder brains,” Kouta replied with even less heat, already bored with the exchange. Why wasn’t he allowed to drink? This sucked. “When do we get this show on the road? I’m bored. You’re all annoying. I bet Izuku’s room is having fun.”
“Shut up and sit down,” Bakugou said, even though Kouta was already sitting, which earned an eye roll and a glare between them. “You stay with me. You’re my—”
When Bakugou stopped and frowned, Kouta backed off too, narrowing his eyes at Bakugou’s sober profile.
“We should probably find our seats, though,” Mina said, heaving a great and obvious sigh of exaggerated exertion as she braced a pink hand on Kouta’s shoulder and pushed to her feet. She too wore the kimono of deep maroon as well, and in Kouta’s opinion it didn’t suit her at all, but she was the only one who wore black underclothes with it, and it made her look more striking, sharper than the rest. Aside from Bakugou, she was the only other Alpha in this pack, after all.
“Thank fuck,” Kouta said, also standing and pausing to brush the wrinkles from his own sedate black and grey kimono.
“Oh no,” Mina said quietly, leaning in with those big gold eyes and big lips and big boobs and holy hell, Kouta hated puberty more than he enjoyed anything about it. “Hasn’t blondie told you? The son of an Alpha stays on the Alpha’s side for the ceremony. More traditions, I’m afraid, though far less bloody and exciting.”
“The—” Kouta’s teeth cracked shut so quickly that his jaw ached, eyes wide as he cut a sharp look between Mina’s close face and where Bakugou was murmuring something to an eager, nodding Kirishima. “That’s not—I’m not—”
“Honey.” Mina’s voice was all warmth, all motherhood and soft embraces as she brought a palm to Kouta’s flushed cheek. “Aren’t you, though? Don’t hang onto that loneliness, kid. It’s more deadly than murder. You’d know.”
With that, she lightly ruffled his artfully spiked hair and winked before making her way from the room. She paused in the doorway to plant a smacking kiss on Bakugou’s cheek, ignoring his warning growl, and said,
“Don’t fuck it up today, buddy. Any of it. Save that for the rest of your lives together.”
“Gee,” Bakugou hissed, “aren’t you the paragon of moral fucking support.”
“You don’t need moral support, big guy. You need someone with a good leash to lead you in the right direction.” She grinned at Bakugou’s scowl and flounced away. “And you’re lucky as hell you found him!”
“Ridiculous,” Bakugou muttered to himself, crossing the dressing room to unscrew the cap of a water bottle and guzzle it all in one go.
Kouta just watched, his guts churning with Mina’s words, trying to make them sink or swim, trying to figure out which was worth it.
“So,” Bakugou said, outright startling Kouta from where he’d been chewing on a thumbnail.
Quickly, Kouta collected himself into a usual pointed glare. Much more his speed and not so. . .terrifying as being vulnerable to Mina’s influence.
“So, what?” Kouta said.
“Tsch.” Bakugou gritted his teeth, his hands moving to stuff into pockets, then growling when he found none, so he only turned and made for the small carry-on suitcase he’d brought. “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are ya, kid.”
“As a general rule, yeah,” Kouta drawled, making a point to slouch into the couch with little care as his heart raced. When Bakugou turned with a small box in his hand and a look like sour milk, Kouta scoffed a laugh. “S’that? Your ring for Izuku? Don’t lose it, dumbass.”
“Dumbass,” Bakugou shot back, presenting the box to Kouta with cheeks rising in color. “It’s for you. Take it already before I change my mind.”
“Uh.” Kouta didn’t reach for the box and Bakugou didn’t open it. “No? What—hell no. That’s gay.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Bakugou shot back. “I’m gay and that doesn’t even make sense to me.”
“But why the hell are you giving me a ring? Is this normal?”
“Since when is anything normal anymore,” Bakugou snapped, but his face was slowly seeping red and his eyes had dropped to the box as he opened it and thrust it forward, bumping it into Kouta’s chest so that he was forced to catch the box or drop it. “If you must fucking know—”
“I really do—”
“It’s a promise,” Bakugou said flatly. He paused then, the gravity of his statement sinking into Kouta’s heart, filling in some of the old, worn out gaps. “From us. Me ‘n Izuku, to you. We know your parents are always gonna be your parents and we ain’t interested in covering up who you were and are. But we promise we’ll be here for the rest of who you become.”
Kouta stilled and stared at the open box in his palm. The ring was sturdy and black, some kind of material he couldn’t begin to recognize. Inlaid around the center was a streak of shimmering ocean blue, mottled sparks of turquoise and sea green flashing with a surprise of pinkish red in the depths. Wordlessly, Kouta removed the ring from the box and turned it in the light, watching the bright water inlay flicker and refract the light. He didn’t understand what he was looking at, but it was beautiful in ways things just weren’t in the real world.
“I didn’t pick it,” Bakugou said into the stretching silence. “I uh, I mean. I approved it, but Izuku’s always better with this kinda shit. The, uh, the center part going ‘round is an abalone shell. S’why it’s all rainbow shiny or whatever. Izuku thought it suited you. So. . .”
“This is still pretty gay,” Kouta deadpanned as he put the ring on his middle finger and held it out to wordlessly admire while Bakugou sputtered. “Thanks, though. It’s cool, I guess.”
“You guess,” Bakugou replied flatly, but when he rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked grin. “Y’know, whenever my ma was pissed at me, she’d say she hoped I’d have a kid exactly like me as payback.”
“You can only dream.” Kouta tossed the ring box toward Bakugou and scoffed when it was effortlessly caught. “For now you’ll have to deal with one better than you.”
Bakugou’s bark of amusement surprised a short laugh out of Kouta in return. He immediately squealed, his newly-lower voice cracking as he protested the bulky arm hooking around his neck and dragging him into a rough side hug.
“Smartass,” Bakugou said with a warmth that Kouta didn’t know how to accept nor turn away. “Let’s get out there and get this over with.”
“So you are nervous.”
“I’m never nervous,” Bakugou said as he needlessly fucked around with his hair in the mirror.
“Yeah right. I was there when you tried to move that statue of Chisaki and his head bust through the wall and into the hall. Nearly shit your pants when Izuku started up the stairs.”
“The ceilings are low! I had no room to move him! Fucker keeps shifting my gym shit every time Izuku lets him into the damn house!”
“I thought he had a house key.”
Bakugou stilled.
“He does not.”
Kouta snorted at the dawning horror in Bakugou’s voice.
“Okay, but he does.”
“What do you know. Tell me!”
Laughing riotously, Kouta burst into the hall and slammed straight into a wall of mellow, cologne and subtle Beta scent. His grin dropped as he glared up on instinct, only to find himself looking into the face of a handsomely aged version of Bakugou Katsuki.
“‘Sup,” Kouta said flatly as he stepped back and promptly bumped into Bakugou.
“Dad,” Bakugou said, his heavy hand rising to rest on the back of Kouta’s neck, an instinctive familial scenting. Kouta wondered if Bakugou even realized how often he pulled people into his Alpha circle of protection, or if it was so a part of him that these touches went utterly unnoticed. Or maybe Kouta was special. That would be a weird fucking concept.
“You ready, son?” Masaru said, his smile kind and nothing like his kid’s feral, boyish demeanor. He was a real chill dude and Kouta kind of liked him from the few ‘family dinners’ he’d had to endure with the lot of them. Masaru and Izuku were safe, nonthreatening, warm.
“Hell yeah I am,” Bakugou replied, beginning to lead Kouta down the corridor by the scruff of his nape. Kouta ducked out of it and slapped his hand back to connect with Bakugou’s arm, but Bakugou must have been in a real banger of a mood because he didn’t even snap at him or start shit over it.
“Everyone’s seated,” Masaru began—
An abrupt, angry ringing railed through the muffled calm of the corridor and Bakugou’s easy demeanor dropped like a stone. Before Kouta could voice his concern, Bakugou had turned to rush back into the room.
“Work,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared.
“What the fuck,” Kouta monotoned.
“At least he’s not bringing it with him to the alter,” Masaru said, unfazed as he ever seemed to be. “He has always been work first, life second.”
Kouta wanted to disagree. The image Masaru painted didn’t correctly overlap with the Bakugou Katsuki that he knew. Bakugou checked in with Izuku often, especially on his longer shifts. He answered his texts and assured Izuku he wasn’t injured when some kind of pain or horror carried through their bond, and he always left his shift on time to be home when he said he’d be. Bakugou was boringly devoted to living a balanced life.
After a short wait, Bakugou’s low voice too mumbled to understand from the hall, Bakugou reappeared with a sallow complexion and sweat dotting his brow. He strode up to them, expression stony as he handed the phone to Masaru.
“Hold onto that ‘til I get into a proper suit, old man. And don’t tell anyone you’ve got it on you. Meet me back here after the ceremony.”
Kouta frowned, his hackles high, a chill clinging to his arms and spine as he looked between Bakugou’s stoic visage and Masaru’s sober nod.
“What’s wrong?” Kouta asked as he quickly fell into step with the two much taller Bakugous. When no one answered, Kouta sped up and grabbed at Bakugou’s arm. “Hey, are you—”
“It’s just work.” Bakugou spared Kouta a glance as he increased speed. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“But you’re worried.”
“It’s my job to worry, not you.”
“Oh, well, wow, thanks for the advice,” Kouta snarked as the sound of the hotel’s venue hall started to rise with proximity. “I’m fucking honored to absorb such wisdom.”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Bakugou shot back, but it was too careless to carry any heat. “Hey. Hey, stop.”
Kouta whipped around, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he glowered. Bakugou ran a hand down his face and when his big palm fell, he looked easier, his sharp features softer as he met Kouta’s eyes.
“Look, I’m over it now. Work is work. The city is the city. Someone else gets to take care of it tonight. And I’m gonna get married. Sound good to you, boss man?”
Kouta narrowed his gaze, searching for signs of subterfuge. Then he sighed, his shoulders dropping.
“Fine. Whatever. Go get married already.”
Bakugou grinned and reached out, squeezing the back of Kouta’s neck again.
“Nothin’ could stop me.”
And as Kouta came to sit in the front row and watch the fanfare play out with great, grand romanticism, it hit him right in the chest.
The thing about Bakugou and Izuku was that they were, like, seriously in love. True Mates in love, whatever that felt like. Dedicated to each other and shit.
Kouta remembered how his parents had looked at each other; how they had put the others’ needs above everyone and everything, but Kouta couldn’t romanticize their relationship enough to say it was like this for them.
There was just something about the way Bakugou and Izuku gravitated around each other. Looked to each other. Finished each other’s sentences when telling a story. Ordered the right food for each other. Mimicked each other’s hand movements when speaking.
Despite the vast spectrum of their differing personalities, there was almost an eerie twinness about them. A person would have to hang out with them for a while to catch on, but once Kouta had noticed, there was no ignoring it.
Was that love?
Kouta didn’t fucking know. He was the last person to be able to comment. But he thought maybe all of these things were the side effects of love.
The real love was the way they gave into each other when it wasn’t worth a fight, but stood their ground against each other when it mattered. How they worked as a team even when they disagreed. Stood up for each other. Told off each other. Reached out, held, kept, comforted.
Kouta had been so young when his parents had passed that he didn’t exactly have a direct line to understanding what a healthy relationship looked like anymore. But he liked to think he was getting a crash course in it now. Even watching his unofficial guardians fuck up with each other, bicker and nitpick, separate and return to apologize, was a learning experience in real time.
Now, watching them exchange rings, their hands linked, their eyes cast over each other like a true religion before they smiled into a sealing kiss, it really fucking hit him.
I’ve hated Heroes for as long as I can remember, but these two might be the best thing that ever happened to me.
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I got lucky.
“Baby,” Katsuki said the moment the dressing room door shut behind them. Izuku was already in his arms and pressed against the wall, Katsuki’s hand at his hip and the other smoothing right up the large sleeve of Izuku’s kimono, palming skin and desperate for more, immediately.
Izuku’s breathless laugh sent delighted, sparkling chills through their bond and down Katsuki’s body.
“Stop with the baby,” Izuku managed, humor quivering each word as they avidly untangled each other’s sashes and yanked open layers of ceremonial cloth.
Katsuki’s palms smacked against the wall at either side of Izuku’s head, caging him in as Katsuki leaned in with a sharp, predatory smile.
“My Omega. My Alpha. My mate. My husband. Fuckin’ mine. Now kiss me already.”
“So demanding,” Izuku rasped out, his eyes large and dilated, his forest floor scent soaking the room in dark humidity, clinging to the back of Katsuki’s panting mouth.
Heaven was the pliant give of Izuku’s body against his own, like sinking into the damp earth until the world became a muffled and muted surrounding. The wet velvet swipe of his tongue and the strong, hurried hands pulling at Katsuki’s clothes, guiding them toward the gilded chaise lounge.
Izuku splayed out against the cream and gold tapestry of the chaise, his forest curls stark and lush around his rosy face. Katsuki eased between his spread legs, swallowing hard against the whisper of heavy fabric brushing against folds and drapes of more fabric, Izuku’s skin all flushed at the sharp, stark vee of his neckline. Calling him, the full moon mark of Katsuki’s teeth calling him as he leaned in to lap at it in slow, purposeful licks. Izuku’s breath hitched and held as Katsuki’s nipped at the spot and moved to his ear, breathing in that come-hither scent radiating hot and wet from Izuku’s hairline.
Izuku keened, a high Omega call of submission, the sound echoing through the quiver of their bond. Katsuki rumbled low in Izuku’s ear, an instinctive response as his hand dragged down Izuku’s hip and fingered back the folds of ceremonial cloth to slip past Izuku’s waistband. Smooth, fevered skin greeted him and Izuku’s frame arched up like a plucked string, their bond bowing and glowing in turn.
“How wet’re you gonna be for me, Omega?” Katsuki whispered against Izuku’s temple as his hand and arm traveled lower, palming over Izuku’s softly furred leg, fingertips just skirting the taut band of his underwear.
“Kacchan,” Izuku gasped out, hips flexing forward.
A knock cracked through the tension and broke it in two. Katsuki pulled back sharply, his teeth bared on automatic.
“THE FUCK YOU WANT,” he bellowed. Izuku giggled below him, the saucy little fuck.
“You okay in there, bud?” said his dad through the door.
Katsuki actively felt his libido wilt. Ugh. Parents. Suddenly he was glad he had no sex drive to speak of during his teens.
“I repeat,” Katsuki hollered as he pulled back and began to adjust himself in his pants. “The fuck you want?”
“You asked me to come, remember?”
Cold realization cut through any remaining heat worked up in Katsuki’s body as he quickly made for the door. Through his bond, he felt Izuku’s instant curiosity pulling and plucking at the taut connection between them.
“Leave it,” Katsuki said low, not bothering to cast a look over his shoulder. They were so in tune, he knew Izuku would hear.
With a sigh, Katsuki cracked the door open just enough to shove his face through and glare.
“Bad timing,” he snapped.
Masaru gave him a placid look of a father who notoriously gave no fucks but kept the attitude neatly blanketed beneath his eternally amiable demeanor.
“Here,” he said, holding out the work phone.
Katsuki quickly snatched it up and shoved it in his pocket. He wanted to check for updates, for confirmation that an apprehension had been made, for anything, but with Izuku just feet away, he had no chance of doing it in a low profile way.
“No messages,” Masaru said, as if reading his mind. He made a show of glancing up over Katsuki’s head. “It was a lovely ceremony, son,” he called out to Izuku. “Just let me know if you boys need help tying the tie on those suits of yours!”
“Thanks!” Izuku sounded distant and muffled, like he was already changing clothes in the bathroom. Opportunity lost.
“I’m considering strangling you before I do,” Katsuki snapped as he stepped back from the wood and moved to pocket his phone. He growled at the reminded that he had no fucking pockets and promptly checked the notifications for himself and, disappointed, tossed the phone on lounge. He looked up and found his dad leaning in the doorway, looking on with a serene set to his curved mouth. “What,” Katsuki said tiredly. “ Thought you’d gone.”
“Whatever emergency is happening out there,” Masaru said quietly as Izuku rummaged around in the bathroom, “can be handled by people who were trained to handle it. You’re not the only competent Hero in this city, Katsuki.”
“I’m the best one though.”
Masaru smiled a little wider and inclined his chin.
“Maybe you are. But tonight is your night to live your life. So live it to the fullest.”
Katsuki felt his shoulders slump at the reassurance.
“I’m trying,” he admitted. He didn’t mean tonight, or what danger lurked around the corner, but his entire life. Embracing being more than a Hero, a star, the best of the best.
Embracing being, because living meant more than achieving.
“I know you are.” The hug shouldn’t have caught Katsuki by surprise, but it did. Katsuki melts into the firm, unyielding confidence of his father’s embrace; breathed in his subtle scent of childhood comfort, and released.
“KNOCK KNOCK,” hollered the most obnoxious intrusion known to man, only then followed by a jovial rap on the open door.
Katsuki jolted from his dad’s arms and glowered at a grinning Shinsou and mutely amused Todoroki.
“The fuck’re you—”
“Here to help you into your suits,” Shinsou said as he glided in with an air of importance. He flashed Masaru a slow smile and eyed him from top to bottom. “Hi, Daddy Bakugou.”
“CAN WE ALL PLEASE STOP WITH THE DADDY,” Katsuki screeched as he shoved his beaming father out the door.
“Who is we?” Todoroki chimed in. “Who is calling who Daddy?”
“Oh, hey!” Izuku entered the room, stripped down to sinfully cherry red underwear. Katsuki hate-loved him so much in this moment. “Who’s Daddy?”
Shinsou hugged Izuku and shot Katsuki a shit-eating grin over Izuku’s shoulder.
“That’s what we’d like to know.”
“I’d like to know if I’m going to survive this night with the way you idiots are carrying on,” Katsuki said, but they all carried on like school kids and took twice as long to get ready for the after party.
From the elevated length of the honored guest seating, Hitoshi relished not only his place as Best Man, but his view over the array of round tables extended across the hall, and all the drama that followed.
Izuku sat front and center beside Bakugou, totally lost in his husband and mate, while on Hitoshi’s other side, Chisaki Kai stewed in his secondary place as a groomsman. Talking Chisaki’s ear off was Inasa, who had never been to a wedding and acting absolutely darling about it. Bakugou had Kirishima, followed by a surly Shouto who kept flashing sulky eyes down the table at Hitoshi, with Mina leaning into him with active chatter. Each table was capped by Eri and Kouta, neither of which looked particularly thrilled to be the book ends to the mayhem.
Ignoring the warring scents of displeasure, adrenaline, and joy filling the hall, Hitoshi brought a champagne flute to his curved lips and leaned toward Chisaki, using the glass to subtly hide his mouth as he spoke.
“Aren’t you supposed to give a speech at some point?”
Neither of them needed to point out how Hitoshi’s own speech was a landslide hit. Laughs had echoed across the venue and everyone had smiled as he’d delivered a flawlessly fun and faithful narrative of their friendship from love at first punch to this very day. Even Kirishima’s bumbling, but enthusiastically heartfelt speech was met with excessive approval.
Chisaki didn’t stand a chance. More than half of the people here were Heroes, after all, and knew full well who he was and what he stood for. Barely mattered that he stank of Inasa these days—it would take more than that to warm this audience to an anti-Hero crime lord ever clever enough not to get officially caught.
From the ill pallor of Chisaki’s cheeks, Hitoshi had a feeling the reality of that was hitting harder than ever. He knew Chisaki well enough to recognize that this man didn’t give a shit about what these people thought about him—but how he reflected upon Midoriya Izuku, new Omega sweetheart of the general public, and adored by every single person in this room—
Well, there was work to be done.
“Aren’t you supposed to be paying attention to anyone else but me?” Chisaki snapped back as he meticulously flattened the napkin on his lap for the tenth time. “Let’s not forget the short leash your overbearing Alpha keeps you on.”
Oh, and no one managed to get Hitoshi going from zero to sixty like an asshole who fucked him through all of his high school love-interest lamentations. He knew way too much about Hitoshi’s yearning, broken, and mended heart than either of them ever let on.
Except tonight. Apparently stress really got Chisaki going.
“Oh please.” Hitoshi took the smallest sip of his champagne, just enough to cool himself from cutting too deep. He was older than that, and better than the man next to him. “You know I love a good leash.”
Chisaki flashed him the most unamused glare, hardened amber and a tautness about his starkly stunning features without the mask. Shinsou briefly remembered being stuck on that face for a good chunk of Third Year; if not the personality.
Chisaki had once casually offered to take out Todoroki if Hitoshi would only give the word. Shinsou sometimes had to remind himself of that when he and Chisaki butted heads too hard.
This was the kind of man who would do anything for a person in his care. Even when he and Hitoshi had only been an assured body to each other.
With some effort, Hitoshi sighed and set down his drink. Left his hand on the table and allowed his pinky to just brush Chisaki’s wrist. The kind of comfort for which a man like Chisaki Kai might break off a finger.
Instead, his gaze dropped to the tiny point of touch. He didn’t move away, nor did he speak. Hitoshi sighed, knowing that his ability as an Omega to comfort others didn’t work on a hard-headed Beta, but he’d do what he could.
“You know, whatever you say, Izuku is going to be thrilled that you said it. Because it’s you.”
“As if I need you to—”
“So don’t be such a coward and start acting like the Chisaki Kai everyone is so fucking scared of. You speak, they listen. How many protests have you spoken at? How many have you started yourself? Say something important or don’t waste your time, Kai. Come on, now. What are you so scared of?”
Their gazes met and held.
Perhaps they’d never be as close as they were during that scant but significant window of their lives so many years ago, but Hitoshi wasn’t one to forget that Chisaki was once someone to whom he could safely confide. Hitoshi would continue to be that for Chisaki, even if his services were never used.
“You talk so much shit,” Chisaki eventually replied, turning his attention away to the elegantly set table. He minutely adjusted a crystal flute of champagne just inches to the right, turning it slightly as it refracted the fairy lights’ glimmer.
“You love that about me.”
“When have I ever loved anything about you. Brat.”
Hitoshi had to laugh at that. A short sound of surprised delight at a nickname he’d heard more than once, so long ago. That was enough for him to know they still had a chance at being a pack in the long run.
“Who’s being a brat right now?” Hitoshi threw back, tossing a grin on for good measure. “You can’t even make a silly speech because you’re too busy sulking.”
“For the love of—” Chisaki abruptly stood, his champagne flute in hand, and began clanging his spoon against the edge with unrelenting vigor. “Excuse me. I said excuse me.”
Hitoshi honked a laugh despite himself and slouched into his seat, leaning back on two legs of the chair until he caught Izuku’s eye. Izuku sent wondrous eyes from Chisaki to Hitoshi, a smile breaking out as Hitoshi waggled his eyebrows in reply while the room swept into tense silence.
“One of the first things I ever taught Midoriya Izuku was that he didn’t need a Hero in his life.”
Not exactly the winning opening line Hitoshi had been hoping for, but he merely smirked and fixed his gaze up at Chisaki’s stoic expression.
“He was young and so much brighter than anyone in the room. Not simply in intellect, but integrity and drive. I immediately wanted to protect him in ways that I knew the outside world would not. In ways that we all understand the world to be callous and cruel and accustomed to chewing up and spitting out a heart like his.”
Chisaki shifted, his attention dropping to an already red-faced, wet-eyed Izuku.
“I suppose I wanted him to be his own hero before anyone else disappointed him. To believe in himself more than he believed in an ideal of a government-produced action figure brought to life.”
Chisaki paused, his voice quieting.
“And he is that,” he softly said. “He saved himself right from under my nose. I didn’t have to be an Alpha to smell his power. His self-actualization despite the duress of this small-minded world.”
With that, Chisaki glared out at the audience. His voice was clear, impactful, and full of care.
“The only reason I approve of this mating, this marriage, is because Izuku will always be his own savior before anyone else can claim to be. Bakugou Katsuki can spend the rest of his life catching up with him, and I think I’d enjoy watching him try. Thank you.” He glanced at the couple; Bakugou agape and Izuku, biting down on a laugh through the tears. “I wish you both the best of luck with each other. I anticipate you’ll need plenty.”
Hitoshi wasn’t sure who clapped first, but it was an enthusiastic race between Inasa, Izuku, and himself that lit the rest of the room up in applause. Confused conversation overlapped some murmurs of approval from the crowded tables before them, and Hitoshi imagined the great and terrible Chisaki Kai had just made his first real dent in a world that had previously shunned him.
“See.” Hitoshi put every drop of smug into his smirk as Chisaki neatly took his seat. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Don’t speak to me,” was Chisaki’s clipped reply as he allowed Inasa to scoot his chair unreasonably close beside him and place his giant paw over Chisaki’s delicate hand.
“No promises.” Hitoshi grinned. “I mean, we’re practically family now.”
With Chisaki suitably horrified for the remainder of dinner, Hitoshi continued to lord over the event, content in his place in this world and with these people.
Izuku had no qualms sneaking out halfway through dessert. The scents and sounds of that many people in one confined space, lubricated by an open bar, and surrounded by fit, famous Heroes in every direction was enough to send him into a tailspin of panic if he didn’t get five minutes to himself.
“This is my day,” Izuku reminded himself as he released a long breath into the sweet night air of the hotel courtyard. The stone paths weaved through neatly raked sand and small pebbles, casting waves across the soft ground, only punctuated by a few perfectly trimmed trees. “My day,” Izuku repeated as he flopped onto a bench and pulled at his tie. “I can do whatever I want.”
“Get lost?”
“Oh!” Izuku lightly clutched at his chest and exhaled with instant relief as a broad, dark figure strolled forward. “Mr Aizawa, hi, hello. It’s—no, not lost. Just, um, breathing.”
When Katsuki’s old teacher silently sat beside him and lit up a slim black cigarette with a long drag, Izuku worked his jaw, his tongue twisted in his mouth as he searched for something to say. He’d never met the man in earnest until now. Spying him from across the room at a cat cafe like half a year ago did not count.
Izuku opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid and startled when Aizawa offered him the smoke. They exchanged a look, unreadable but still somehow comforting, and Izuku nodded a little before accepting. Aizawa lit up a second one, and for a time they simply blew smoke into the smoggy night sky. He smelled like a worn leather jacket and tobacco wrapped in a winter hibernation kind of heat.
“It’s just overwhelming,” Izuku said as he neared the stub of the absolutely rank cigarette. He really needed to give up stress smoking, especially when it led to him accepting whatever in fresh hell this thing was.
“Marriage?” Aizawa huffs out smoke in what may have been a laugh. “I imagine so.”
“My life, I mean.”
Izuku shot an alarmed look at Aizawa’s placed countenance, instantly panicked by an admittance he hadn’t meant to make. He was meant to be fine now, wasn’t he? His life was going places. He was better. He was fixed.
“N-not that I’m not grateful for it! But it’s just—”
“You’re good,” Aizawa said. He had a simple way of speaking that left no room for argument, and Izuku found him clamping his mouth shut and blotting out the butt of his cigarette on the arm of the bench. “Just because other people say this is the happiest day of your life doesn’t mean it has to be, kid. Happy and sad aren’t opposites. They’re hand in hand, married in their own right.”
“I’m not sad,” Izuku said, jutting his chin forth, his jaw going hard against the very idea.
Aizawa shrugged and flicked his cigarette into the darkness, the cherry burn of it a brief glow among the neat waves of gray.
“Excitement confuses the brain sometimes,” Aizawa said, rather than arguing the point. “Happy versus sad, hating someone versus wanting to fuck them—”
Izuku huffed a laugh as he relaxed into the bench and tilted his head back to the sky. Aizawa’s deep, dark voice moved through him better than the nicotine.
“Life’s always going to be complicated like that. You either find peace with it or fight the whole way through. I’ve tried both and I recommend the former.”
Izuku felt his smile fade, but a sense of calm did sit within him more steady than it had when he’d faked a bathroom break and blindly ran down the corridor to escape everyone who was here for him.
“Life happens so fast,” Izuku found himself saying, quietly, like a secret. “Every moment is gone as quick as it happens and before you know it you’re standing somewhere you didn’t even see yourself arrive.”
“Wait ‘til you get older, kid.”
“I already feel old.”
“I get it. How’s that breathing going for you?”
Izuku paused and took stock. Inhaled and exhaled. Shifted to aim a smile at Aizawa’s dark, handsome face, all silent and expressionless, watchful.
“Better. It’s just—there’s a lot of people in there. And most of them aren’t mine.”
Aizawa’s face did something subtle, maybe a wince. He didn’t seem like the type who loved a crowd either.
“Much as it pains me to say it, you chose someone beloved by much of the world. S’how it’s gonna go. Forever, probably.”
“I know.” Izuku nodded to himself, gaze downcast. “I know. I did choose him. I wouldn’t take it back. It’s just a lot of eyes on me and I’ve spent a lot of my life hiding from that. From them. Judgment, I guess. I’ve been trying to keep my peace for a long time.”
“Well, it’s lucky you married a peacekeeper yourself, then.”
“Kacchan?” Izuku looked up, pouting in thought. “I guess so. I never thought of him that way.”
“It’s hard to remember beyond all the explosions.”
Izuku snorted a laugh and caught the brief curve of Aizawa’s stern mouth.
“It is. But he’s a good person. The best person for me.” Izuku hesitated, but felt no negativity emanating from this man. He was practically another father figure to Kacchan, for fuck’s sake. If Izuku couldn’t say it here, where could he? “But even after all this time, I still can’t fathom how I’m the best person for him.”
Aizawa merely grunted in reply, looking out over the moonlit zen garden.
“Only person who can convince you that you’re worth good things is yourself. Believe me.”
Izuku hummed his thoughtful assent. Couldn’t argue that. He only had himself to work on.
After allowing himself another centering breath, Izuku shifted on the bench to fully face Aizawa. He offered a soft, small smile and swore Aizawa mirrored it in his own minor way.
“Hey. Thanks for coming. And, uh, talking to me, I guess.”
“I just came out for a smoke. You happened to be here.”
It was such a Kacchan thing to say that Izuku chuckled and shook his head.
“Yeah, okay.”
Aizawa rocked away from the bench to stand, his movements lithe and taking up little space, like he was accustomed to keeping in the shadows. Vaguely, Izuku recalled how Aizawa had trained Shinsou for years, and a lot about both of their personalities suddenly made sense.
“But I’m glad it’s you. All Might’s kid.”
Izuku stood quickly, shock hurtling from his seat with too much fanfare.
“What? How did you—”
“He’d be the happiest man on earth today, if he could see his two boys together,” was all Aizawa said. He eyed Izuku from head to toe as if taking stock and approving. Izuku wanted to ask a dozen questions and a dozen more about the man who made this life possible, but he didn’t know where to start and wasn’t sure Aizawa was the kind of man who would offer more than he was willing to give.
“I—wow. I’m—thank you,” Izuku managed.
Aizawa nodded.
“Just saying it like it is.” He turned and headed for the set of glass doors from which Izuku had burst through a lifetime ago. Aizawa raised a hand without looking back. “See ya back in the action, kid. Go find your man and don’t let go.”
“I—” Izuku realized he was smiling. “I will.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand how we came to be here,” Inko said, holding back another sniffle.
Mitsuki’s coral lips faintly curved, her gaze lowered and intent as she efficiently repaired the damage done to Inko’s concealer and eye makeup. Her effort was deft with the skill of someone with more lifetime expertise than Inko ever had in such things.
“What, in the bathroom?”
“No.” Inko blotted at her nose and eked out a smile when Mitsuki batted it away and gently used her ring figure to pat down the fresh concealer. “Well, perhaps that too. This entire situation.”
“Situation?” Mitsuki frowned, her bright, sharp gaze darting between Inko’s eyes, inspecting her work. “You mean our boys.”
“Yes, the boys,” Inko whispered. It all still seemed too good to be true for her little boy. To end up with an Alpha so strong and noble and heroic. Her vulnerable little Omega, always in a scrape, always with his feelings hurt, always pushing for that which he could not have, had finally found someone to keep him safe. Inko couldn’t wrap her mind around their luck.
“They seem to do well for each other.” Mitsuki rummaged through her designer purse and emerged with mascara. “Are you really that worried about them? That kid of mine has and would protect yours with his life.”
“Oh, no!” Panic railed through Inko at the slightest implication that she was anything but ungrateful. Her small hands fluttered around as she scrambled for proper wording. “I—that’s not—not what I was thinking about. It’s just—don’t you find it utterly fantastical to think that our children would marry? I used to cheer for you from the bench at our volleyball games. You cheated off my history exams and I copied your math homework. Never would I have thought our lives would be so intertwined as they are now.”
Mitsuki considered her for a moment and shrugged a slim shoulder sheathed in a pearlescent silk blouse. Unscrewed the mascara wand and waved it at her with a smirk.
“I hadn’t really thought about it. It is nice, though. How life works out for us sometimes. Now look up and don’t move.”
Inko obeyed, silent, and imagined Mitsuki didn’t worry about much at all. She’d always sauntered through life with a confidence and magnetism Inko could only dream of and admire.
“We raised good boys, you know,” Mitsuki said, her voice low with focus as she worked. “Good for each other. It takes a special kind of person to embrace the kind of man my son can be.”
With that, Mitsuki pulled back and put away her beauty products while Inko glanced over her shoulder to the full wall of glitzy, well-lit mirrors. She no longer looked blotched or distressed, but even through the makeup, she could see the same old unsure Inko gazing out from green eyes.
“I don’t know how much of Izuku is because of me anymore,” she softly admitted to her disappointed reflection.
“I couldn’t say.” Mitsuki said, her candor as frank as ever as she leaned a place on the marble counter and leaned in to inspect herself and fluff her fine hair. “I was hardly there for it. But I know you love him and I know you fear for him. And I think it’s about time you admit that Midoriya Izuku is one of the strongest people we know and should be treating him accordingly.”
At Inko’s pointed silence of doubt, their eyes met in the mirror. Mitsuki’s spine straightened as she turned, hands on her slim waist.
“My son wouldn’t settle for less and I won’t take kindly to anyone thinking otherwise of my son-in-law. Understood?”
Inko slumped, gaze casting to the ground, then back up to Mitsuki’s searching expression.
“He’s just so small,” Inko said.
Mitsuki’s face twisted and she scoffed, lightly swatting at Inko’s shoulder.
“He’s not. You just need to expand your opinion of him to be able to encompass all he is. And he is. So much more than you or he can imagine for him. You’re both doing him a disservice by minimizing your expectations of his abilities. Got it?”
Inko couldn’t help but smile, her chest swelling with faith in the future.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. You always have.” Mitsuki threw an arm over Inko’s shoulders and led her toward the door. “Now let’s get you back on the dance floor. That nice, haggard Detective Tsukauchi was eyeing you up like a snack.”
A giggle burst out unbidden and Inko failed to clamp it down with her hand.
“Mitsuki, no!”
“Inko, yes!”
Giggling away like the school girls they once were, Inko let herself be led into the light of the possibility.
“Hello, darling,” Shinsou’s warm voice instantly smoothed through the taut, heavy static stand-still Todoroki’s body was caught in, sitting stiffly at a table on the edge of the dance floor. His Omega’s body draped over his back, long arms slinging over Todoroki’s shoulders to present a stocky, cut glass tumbler full of amber liquid and oversized ice. “I bring you respite.”
“You’re my respite,” Todoroki said, tilting his head back enough for his cheek to meet Shinsou’s. Inhaling deeply, Todoroki let his eyes fall shut as the aroma of night jasmine and lemongrass, sweet green tea and evening breezes pacified and pleased him to the bone.
“Uh huh,” was Shinsou’s disbelieving reply. Words had long stopped impressing Shinsou Hitoshi; not when he was the king of manipulating them. “Take your medicine anyway. We won’t stay until the end, I promise.”
“I want to stay,” Todoroki replied with a frown. He accepted the glass and gripped Shinsou’s wrist with his free hand, leading him around to sit in the chair opposite. Instead, Shinsou all but lounged atop Todoroki’s lap; seating himself sideways, one long leg crossed over the other, and one arm closely hooked around the nape of Todoroki’s neck.
Todoroki eased, his rigid frame sapping and leaning into Shinsou’s. They rarely exchanged this much touch in public and he was going to bask in it while he could. Shinsou preferred to keep their relationship to themselves; Todoroki always supposed that working in a world of undercover missions and espionage had led Shinsou to being more enigmatic about his life than he inherently was already. Todoroki didn’t care one way or the other. Wanted nothing more than Shinsou’s presence and the symbiotic ease between their soothing bond.
“Then we’ll stay as long as you’d like,” Shinsou said, his mouth pressed against Todoroki’s temple.
Shinsou shifted to look out at the dance floor and Todoroki’s attention followed his mate’s. Bakugou and Izuku stood in the center, pooled in light, smiling widely in each other’s faces. Bakugou looked his age in ways that Todoroki had never realized he’d been missing. His brother through bloodshed and a lifelong bond had long been wearing a hard, callous mask for the world. Seeing it slip off in the face of Midoriya Izuku was close to witnessing a miracle.
Izuku had somehow returned Bakugou’s youth to him—a chunk from nearly every Hero which was too soon torn out.
“Do you ever feel jealous,” Shinsou murmured, his gaze sulky as he watched their friends take slow, enraptured turns around the floor.
Shinsou often said things that made zero sense to Todoroki. He’d long stopped questioning from where such bizarre thought processes emerged and tended to just let Shinsou run with them until he grew exhausted with his own convoluted thought processes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Todoroki said, because he didn’t.
“Them,” Shinsou said, as if that explained anything at all.
“You want to marry me?” Todoroki asked, floundering to find the logical line of this conversation.
“Are you asking,” Shinsou replied flatly, casting his discerning, mercurial gaze over Todoroki’s face.
“I’m asking if I should be asking, I think.”
Shinsou’s hard look went soft, his wide mouth curving with familiar, welcoming warmth. Their both faintly pulsed, a steady, shared heartbeat between them.
“No, I’m not asking you to ask me to marry you.”
“Are you asking me to do anything specific at all right now?” Todoroki asked, parsing through the peculiarities of their conversation.
Shinsou’s thoughtful hum lightly shook with humor as he turned his gaze back to their friends.
“No. I’m just being ridiculous. Wondering if you wish you had a True Mate like that. Stronger bond, better match, all that.”
Todoroki had no idea what to do with that. This was almost as ludicrous as the time Shinsou asked if Todoroki would still love him if he were a worm.
“The concept has never occurred to me,” Todoroki said, studying Bakugou’s face and once more marveling at the breadth and devotion of his smile. “As someone who had planned never to mate or even date, I feel lucky every morning I wake up beside someone who fought to be with someone like me.”
Shinsou scoffed and turned on him. Carefully took the untouched tumbler in Todoroki’s hand and placed it on the table before taking Todoroki’s face in his hands. Todoroki obediently looked up at his Omega, beautiful and ethereal, stormy and unpredictable on any given day—and entirely belonging to him.
“Someone like you,” Shinsou murmured, drawing Todoroki closer, his voice deep and his mouth welcoming, “deserves the world.”
“In that case.” Todoroki tipped his face higher to press a gentle, lingering kiss to Shinsou’s lips. “I have it. The world.”
Shinsou reeled back with a laugh, nearly toppling off Todoroki’s lap if not for his fast reflexes, both arms wrapping around Shinsou’s waist.
“Who has been teaching you to talk like that,” Shinsou asked, incredulous but smiling all the same.
“You,” Todoroki replied. “Who else?”
“Okay, I deserved that.” Shinsou’s arms lounged around Todoroki’s neck, their scents playing together with proximity, dreamy jasmine and winter’s bite. “I might be a little drunk,” Shinsou mumbled into Todoroki’s shoulder.
“I figured,” Todoroki said. He didn’t say how he knew. Shinsou tended toward sulks and scowls and martyrdom when sloshed. It was kind of cute, as long as no one dared rile him up about it.
From between them, Shinsou ducked his head and unearthed his phone from a pocket. Todoroki bowed his head to glance down between their bodies. Shinsou’s work phone scrolled with updates.
“Any word?”
Todoroki had been keeping as alert as he could, but because Bakugou had pulled them aside to stress how important it was that everyone enjoy the day and act in no way suspect, he’d also been doing his best to do just that. Have fun, let the Heroes on duty do their jobs, heighten security outside the hotel, and in no way alert Izuku to what was going on.
“Negative,” Shinsou said, pocketing his phone with a scoff. “Every Hero worth a damn is here and we’ve got our backups running around the city in search of one person who—”
An upbeat song ramped up through the venue and cheers rose up.
Not wanting to dance but not wanting Shinsou stewing on the sidelines either, Todoroki stood and held out his hand with a smile.
“Dance with me?”
Shinsou gave his hand a suspicious look but took it.
“Only because you know I’m weak for Beyonce.”
Swiftly pocketing his phone upon the approach of his husband, Katsuki aimed a winning smile at Izuku and basked in the champagne glow lapping at the seal of their bond. He’d been learning more and more how to compartmentalize the worries of work in favor of quality time with his mate, and tonight more than ever deserved the entirety of his attention.
“Stop scowling at your phone and come dance with me,” Izuku said, not missing a beat as ever. He offered his ringed hand, glinting in fairy lights, and Katsuki wouldn’t have been able to turn him down in a million years.
Leisurely music dripped with love and longing, and Katsuki didn’t care enough to even voice a complaint on principle. Izuku’s fingers threaded easily with his own, their bond gilded and growing between them, a golden ring of feedback as they slowly circled the dance floor. Katsuki’s palm found the curve of Izuku’s lower back, a warm home in which to press his fingers and ease them closer.
“There’s still time for you to take my last name,” Katsuki murmured, his posture reverent in the way he curled his frame low to speak in Izuku’s ear. A laugh puffed warmly against Katsuki’s shoulder.
“Absolutely not,” Izuku said with a clear smile in his voice.
“Worth trying.”
“Why don’t you take mine instead,” Izuku asked as he pulled back, his deep lake eyes glinting with humor. Katsuki clucked his tongue and turned them with more confidence than he actually felt in slow-dancing.
“Mine carries more weight.”
Izuku’s brows jolted toward his hairline, his cheeks and mouth rosy as he grinned.
“I’ll carry your ass home where you can sleep on the couch.”
Katsuki hummed and leaned in, brushing his lips against Izuku’s forehead.
“Always loved your sweet talk.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely what had you falling for me,” Izuku replied dryly.
“It was. Part of it.”
Izuku huffed through his nose and pulled back enough to properly look at him as they idly wandered the dance floor in their handsy embrace.
“What, the way I hated you on sight?”
Katsuki matched Izuku’s smile.
“You didn’t hate me on sight.”
Izuku gaped, but was interrupted by his own baffled laughter.
“No, I promise I did.”
“Well, whatever.” Katsuki’s face pleasantly ached from his own smile as Izuku only heaved a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes. “I mean, the way you stood up for yourself. Punched me in the fuckin’ face. Talked back. No one does that.”
Izuku’s eyebrows meaningfully rose.
“Maybe they should.”
“I think living with you is more than enough humbling per day.”
“At least you’re learning your limits.” Their dance eased to a halt as Izuku rose to his toes and placed a lingering kiss on Katsuki’s mouth. They lazily parted, a happy noise high at the back of Izuku’s throat before they both opened their eyes to gaze upon each other in the luxurious light. “My handsome husband,” Izuku whispered.
Katsuki smirked, cocky and sharp.
“Aren’t I?”
Izuku patted Katsuki’s cheek with a little too much force, the two of them grinning through it like idiots.
“How about you not talk, we enjoy this dance, and I get to look at your face without it making noise?”
“How about you kiss me again instead?”
“And you say I’m the smart one,” Izuku replied, his smiling mouth already rising to meet Katsuki’s own.
They barely got to touch lips before the song faded and overlapped into a boisterous, bass-heavy beat that had the entire crowd bounding from their tables and back to the dance floor with hoots and hollers of glee. Quickly they were surrounded and soaked in high energy, bright and bubbly scent, sound and touch as the sing-along and dance blew up the room.
Caught in the whirlwind of friendly hands feeling over his body, Katsuki lost his suit jacket and the top buttons of his shirt, sweat soaking the thin vee of white as he laughed like he couldn’t remember the first or last time. Izuku was never far, enveloped as he was by their packmates, spinning him into Katsuki’s arms and yanking him back out when they started to feel each other up. Every time their eyes met it was that spark and flame, flint to stone, heat and hunger, promising a life of this and more.
Katsuki couldn’t fucking wait.
Panting and grinning, Katsuki broke from the crowd and grabbed a bottle of champagne on his way out of the main venue. He needed to piss like a storm and even so he freely chugged from the bottle as he meandered unsteadily down the marble hall toward the restrooms.
Bleary and humming to himself, Katsuki vaguely remembered who he was aside from a blissfully happy husband and took out his phone to review any updates on the work he’d so expertly evacuated from his brain.
Frowning, he scrolled the frantic conversation between the agency’s skeleton crew on duty due to every big name Hero having attended this very function. Worry crept cold and heavy over the sparkle of his day.
“Kacchan!”
Katsuki abruptly looked up, his loose hand dropping his phone in surprise. Caught out, he licked his lips and squatted to collect his cell, hoping to recuperate enough to face Izuku as he approached. The women's restroom door swung closed behind him.
“Uh, what’s—”
“You looked so happy,” Izuku said.
Katsuki’s frown deepened as he stood.
Something was wrong. The freckle on Izuku’s eyelid was missing. His eyes were the wrong color green. And their bond wasn’t reacting to their proximity.
“Ha-happy?” Katsuki asked, scrambling to assess the situation through the champagne.
“So happy,” said a woman’s voice.
Izuku evaporated in a puff and the knife scythed and slicked through Katsuki’s guts before he could process the pain.
Camie, gaunt and grinning, hair lank and greasy around her face, stood in the wake of Izuku’s ghost.
“I would have made you happier, B,” Camie whispered, her smile lengthening and growing teeth as Katsuki dropped to his knees. In the distance, screams of horror on the dance floor. Scarlet blotting out their bond. Izuku. Izuku! “But since you all decided to fuck me over, you get what you give.”
Obscene, pulsing pain beat hot and dark around Katsuki’s consciousness and closed in, black, bleak.
“‘Zuku,” Katsuki eked out, clutching at the knife in his stomach, his arms shaking with the effort to yank it out. The blood spilled over his hands, but the cold was quicker than his blood was hot, and the shivering had already set in.
“Oh my fucking god.” Camie rolled her eyes from above, hands on the hips of her garish Tartarus uniform. “And to think I almost felt bad. You could at least say my name before you die.”
Katsuki’s head dropped, too weak to hold up, and in his hands pooled red, failing completely at keeping himself together. Before the nothing took him, the last thing he saw was his gold ring winking through the nightfall.