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In a move that leaves the post-apocalyptic wasteland vermin that is his social circle staring at him in mouth-gaping shock, Shōta doesn’t give much actual thought to the finer points of dating Izuku.
Or, to be more accurate, the finer points of dating Dekiru.
It all kind of just ... happens.
In Shōta’s defense, the last thing he’d been expecting when Nedzu had announced, whiskers twitching with manic glee, that he’d managed to secure Dekiru himself to come and host a series of guest lectures, was to be swept up in a borderline whirlwind romance with the #1 Can Do Hero himself.
While Shōta had always had a … healthy appreciation for Dekiru, as well as his effective if slightly reckless methods and impressive arrest record, he’d still been fully prepared to go into damage control mode after Nedzu’s announcement.
Dekiru might do good work even by Shōta’s standards but, as a limelight hero, there was sure to be a massive difference in opinion between what Dekiru and Shōta both considered reasonable and acceptable ideas and advice to pass on to the current crop of students.
The last thing Shōta had wanted was to have Dekiru, someone who had been hand-crafted for the #1 position by All Might himself if the rumors were true, fill his student's already worryingly empty heads with false expectations as to what hero work really entailed.
Shōta had been prepared to lay the law down to the hero no matter how Nedzu cackled and clapped more and more in the background as Dekiru’s first lecture came closer and closer.
Which, of course, means that all of Shōta’s carefully laid out plans and arguments had gone completely out the window.
Because meeting Dekiru in person had gone nothing like how Shōta had been expecting it to.
Mainly because Dekiru had shown up fifteen minutes late, hands empty and costume still smoking, to his first lecture.
Shōta had been less than impressed when Dekiru had proceeded to stammer and blush his way through an apology, no matter how disgustingly charming and outright cute even he’d been forced to admit the entire thing had been.
Although the way Dekiru had stared, wide-eyed, around at the packed auditorium like the Heroics and Support students who’d been assembled might actually eat him had been pretty amusing.
But then …
Then Dekiru seemed to gather himself, straightened his shoulders and focused, and finally started talking.
Twenty minutes into the most informative and blisteringly brutal lecture on quirk analysis that Shōta had ever experienced outside of Nedzu’s office, Shōta had pulled a pen and a flipbook from one of the pouches on his belt and started taking notes.
By the time the full hour had passed, Shōta hadn’t been the only person in the auditorium frantically scribbling away.
Much to Dekiru’s flustered awe, the ten-minute question and answer session he’d promised at the beginning had been stretched into a full half an hour. More than one student had taken the opportunity to outright beg the hero to come back soon or to just stay at UA forever.
Shōta hadn’t been surprised to see more than one fellow teacher nodding along.
Afterward, once the students had all been dismissed and Nedzu had somehow managed to herd Dekiru into the faculty room, Shōta took advantage of the fact that Dekiru had chosen to sit in one of the free chairs closest to Shōta’s desk as an excuse to approach.
The last thing he’d been expecting was the way that Dekiru lit up at the sight of him.
“Eraserhead,” Dekiru had practically breathed Shōta’s hero name out, stars basically glittering in his eyes.
And that, Shōta’s not even remotely ashamed to admit, had been the beginning of the end for him.
Or maybe as Izuku, emotional leaky faucet that he is, likes to say, it was the beginning of the rest of their lives.
Because what Shōta had vaguely intended to be a short conversation had snowballed into something more.
They’d spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening sitting there talking. Dekiru had become Izuku in an honestly short amount of time and Shōta had found himself just a bit entranced with the blushing way Izuku had called him Shōta for the first time.
Even after everyone else had left and Shōta had long since waved both an incredulous Hizashi and an inexplicably smug Nemuri away absently, they’d stayed.
Eventually, once Nedzu had cackled his way through the room again to deliberately physically cut the staff room lights out despite Shōta knowing he could have done the same thing from his office, they’d ended up wandering off campus together as well.
They’d ended up in Shōta’s favorite cat cafe and had stayed there until old lady Kinato had also kicked them out well past closing.
They’d wandered off together again from there and somehow, and Shōta is still not exactly sure how, ended up at Izuku’s apartment.
They’d talked late into the night, eventually falling asleep on Izuku’s sinfully soft couch together.
Shōta had woken up the next morning feeling more relaxed than he could remember feeling in roughly forever with Izuku sprawled across his chest.
It had honestly spooked him just a bit, how comfortable and right the entire situation had felt.
Not to mention how reluctant he’d felt about leaving.
But he’d had classes to teach so he’d ended up slipping out of Izuku’s window and heading back to UA, intending to grab his go bag and showering in the staff locker room before the day officially started.
He’d spent the entire day distracted and deliberately ignoring the curious poking and prodding from Hizashi and Nemuri.
What he hadn’t expected was for Izuku to show up in the staff room that afternoon once classes were dismissed, a shy smile on his face and a cup of Shōta’s cafe order from the night before in hand.
Shōta had found himself waking up on Izuku’s couch again the next morning to the scent of a traditional breakfast cooking in the kitchen and a warm sort of contentment settling into his bones.
He’d been dazed the entire day again and had barely registered the fact that he was eating a homemade bento for the first time in his adult life during his lunch break. He’d come back to himself mid-push kick when Vlad had reached out towards the cat head onigiri Shōta had been saving for last.
Shōta had still, somehow, found himself wandering back towards Izuku’s apartment later that evening though.
And Izuku, fresh from his own daytime patrol, had opened the door with a smile.
Eventually, after weeks of sweet texts, long phone calls, more bento boxes and tiny, thoughtful gift-peppered visits, Shōta had found himself back in Izuku’s apartment yet again, this time with an overnight bag in hand and no real idea of what he was doing.
Unlike Izuku who, with his sweet smile and sweeter heart, seemed to have everything in hand.
So, for once in his life, Shōta had just … gone with the flow, content to let Izuku set the tone and the pace.
Which brings Shōta to where he is now.
Four months into the longest and best relationship of his entire life with the literal #1 Can Do Hero, heading home after a long patrol to the apartment he somehow ended up officially moving into last month, with a bit of precious cargo tucked securely into the folds of his capture scarf.
Kimchi, because that’s what Shōta had found the kitten attempting to eat in the dumpster it had so obviously been tossed into, is a sauce-covered ball of gray fur with an attitude roughly three times her size.
Shōta already loves her desperately.
Hopefully, the people down at Shōta’s go-to shelter will be able to find her a home quickly.
But that’s a problem for Monday morning Shōta.
Right now Shōta gets to spend the weekend with Izuku as well as cuddling and socializing a kitten.
Life, Shōta can for once say without even a hint of sarcasm, is good.
~~~
Shōta doesn't think anything of it at first when Izuku pokes his head into the bathroom, looks at Kimchi who is busy biting at Shōta’s fingertips while he scrubs her clean in the sink, and then leaves again.
Instead, he goes about his normal routine of cleaning the kitten up, taking the time to carefully and gently pick the few fleas he finds out of her fur and scrub gently between all of her toes.
It takes him a solid half an hour or so before he’s satisfied that she’s clean but once he is Shōta wastes no time in wrapping her up in one of the entirely too big but luxuriously soft towels Izuku had bought.
Then, with Kimchi properly swaddled and tucked close to his chest, Shōta pads into the kitchen to pull out the emergency food that had migrated over in one of the three boxes and two duffles full of stuff Shōta had carried with him into Izuku’s apartment.
One entire box had, of course, been filled with the cheap but sturdy cat supplies that Shōta’s always used whenever he found a new stray to bring in off of the streets for a day or so.
Although this is the first time it’s happened since he moved into Izuku’s place.
Shōta gets as far as cracking open the can of food when he’s interrupted.
“Don’t feed it that,” the disgust is so thick and clear in Izuku’s voice that Shōta immediately freezes.
Shōta turns slowly towards the balcony where Izuku’s voice had come from, suddenly deeply aware that he hadn’t even bothered to greet Izuku when he’d come home and had instead just b-lined straight for the bathroom.
Only, before he can open his mouth to apologize, Shōta stops and stares.
Because Izuku is standing just inside the balcony door, one hand clutching at least a dozen or so shopping bags with the other raised to steady the massive box he’s balancing on his shoulder.
“I meant to throw all of that food away ages ago,” Izuku continues as he comes further into the apartment, stooping down to set the box on the floor by the door before he moves to place all of the bags on the island in front of Shōta.
He scoops the can of food out of Shōta’s hand and tosses it into the garbage without even looking.
“They’ve had three recalls in the last two years, Shō,” Izuku says as he reaches into one of the bags. “I’d just rather not risk it with the baby so I went out and picked up a few things.”
Shōta keeps staring.
“Now,” Izuku just smiles as he pops the top off of a can of luxury cat food that Shōta’s never even thought about buying before because of the absolutely eye-watering price tag, “what did you name it?”
~~~
Twenty minutes later, with a full and purring Kimchi settled on his lap, Shōta watches from the couch as Izuku assembles what has to be the single largest and most elaborate cat tree he’s ever seen in his entire life.
Because, apparently, Shōta won’t be taking Kimchi to the shelter on Monday like he has every other stray cat he’s come across over the years.
“I love you,” Shōta finds himself saying because this might actually be his version of paradise.
Izuku lights up in that way he always seems to do for Shōta for some reason, eyes shining and face flushing with joy.
“I love you too,” Izuku says even as he sets the piece he’s been working on aside and crawls across the floor so he can kneel in the v of Shōta’s legs.
The kisses he presses against the line of Shōta’s jaw and then his mouth have Shōta melting further into the cushions, a steady sort of warmth seeping into his bones.
~~~
As seems to be their pattern, things snowball from there.
Because Kimchi isn’t their last cat.
Not by far.
Because Dog comes next.
And then Branch who is followed rapidly enough by River and Bastard both in the same month.
It’s a lot, Shōta knows that it is.
And yet each time Shōta shows up with a new cat in tow Izuku just smiles, pulls out the tote he’d labeled and stored in the hall closet, and picks out a collar for their newest addition. Then, depending on the time of day, he’ll wander off to call up their vet who, for some reason, sends them flowers pretty regularly now.
There’s never any talk of shelters or how they don’t need another cat or anything of that nature.
Except, of course, on the rare occasion that Shōta brings home something that refuses to be socialized with the cats they already have.
But, in Shōta’s defense, it had been late, he’d been tired, and the rain had been coming down in sheets outside.
Anyone else in his situation would have made a similar mistake.
Plus everything turned out well in the end in Shōta’s opinion.
Snipe had fallen in love from the first picture that Izuku had sent the group chat that Shōta was somehow now in with all of his coworkers. He had jumped at the chance to take Shōta’s newest find off of their hands and, luckily enough, the adoration seemed to somehow be mutual.
Now they all get regularly spammed with Snipe and Nook The Raccoon’s various adventures.
Shōta’s pretty sure there’s even an official social media account or two dedicated to the pair now.
Shōta is nine cats in, not counting Meow-Might, the massive, three-legged, one-eared orange cat with a purr like a squeaky belt that Izuku himself had come home with one day, when it finally happens.
“Mm,” Izuku hums from where he’s laid out on the couch, head on Shōta’s thigh as he lets Blackwhip skitter around the living room floor, much to the delight of the cats and Trashbag in particular, in a show of quirk control that always makes Shōta sigh a bit. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Shōta teases.
Then he hisses at the way Izuku turns his head enough to bite meanly at the meat of Shōta’s thigh.
“Careful now,” Shōta warns, a hand moving to tug at Izuku’s hair.
“Promises promises,” Izuku snips back “In all seriousness though, I think we’re getting a little cramped here with the two of us and the ten of them.”
Shōta’s not disappointed, really he’s not.
Nine cats, ten if he counts Izuku’s pet monster which Shōta tends not to because he’s still not entirely convinced the thing isn’t somehow secretly a yōkai of some sort, is roughly nine cats more than Shōta had thought he’d ever own.
“I get it,” Shōta agrees. “It’s probably for the best.”
“Glad you agree,” Izuku gives a small cheer like the dork he not so secretly is as he rolls off of the couch and onto his feet, Blackwhip unfortunately fading away. “Hold on just a second.”
Izuku darts out of the room, Shōta hears his office door open and then close, and then Izuku’s back in front of him with a thick stack of folders in hand.
“I know you hate change,” Izuku says as he folds himself down onto the couch at Shōta’s side, the folders moving to rest on their pressed-together thighs, “but I already put together a portfolio of places for us to look at so really all you have to do is give a yes or no vote and go to a few viewings once we hit that stage.
Shōta pauses.
Runs the last few minutes of conversation back through his head.
“What.”
“I know, I know,” Izuku gives an embarrassed sort of shimmy, “it’s kind of presumptuous, but I figured this way I could spare you from my spreadsheet phase as I narrowed down the field. Although if you’ve got any particulars I haven’t already accounted for please say so. I don’t want us to end up in a house you’re not happy with too, you know.”
“You,” Shōta says slowly, feeling as if his brain is somehow misfiring, “want us to buy a house.”
“I just don’t think going for another apartment would work for us,” Izuku defends as if that’s the issue here. “I know you hate having such close neighbors even here. Plus a house with a yard of some kind would be best for the League of Nyanians, I think. And any new members we might add in the future.”
“Please don’t call the cats that,” Shōta says automatically just as he always does.
“Besides,” Izuku blows past Shōta’s complaint just as he always does, “between my pay and everything Toshi-sensei left me it’s not like there’s a price point we can’t cover. And that’s not even touching your pay or your investments. So we might as well get something that has everything we need and want.”
“You love this apartment,” it’s all Shōta can think to say.
“Yeah,” Izuku blinks up at him, “but it’s not big enough for us anymore. Besides, I’ll love wherever we end up too. As long as we’re together.”
“We could just stop getting cats,” Shōta offers, a true testament of his love.
“Why would we do that?” Izuku asks.
Shōta blinks.
Izuku blinks.
Shōta reaches out a hand to tangle his fingers in the thick of Izuku’s hair before he tugs him close for a long, deep, kiss.
Izuku’s flushed and panting just a bit when Shōta finally pulls back.
“Show me what you’ve got so far,” Shōta commands, something slick and almost syrupy sweet bubbling to life inside of him.
Izuku grins and shifts to hold up the first folder.
“Wait,” Shōta says suddenly, something Izuku had said before finally registering for him. “I don’t have investments.”
Shōta has a bank account, go-bags stashed in various locations across the country, and six and a half semi-legal alternate identities for a rainy day, but he very firmly doesn’t have investments.
“You all really should pay more attention to the things Nedzu has you sign during staff meetings,” Izuku tells him with an amused sort of pat to the thigh.
~~~
The move goes almost unrealistically smoothly and quickly.
Within a month Izuku and Shōta have not only picked out a house but they’ve closed on the sale well under the already shockingly low initial asking price.
Which is how Shōta finds himself hauling the last of the cat carriers into a suspiciously new and perfectly outfitted two-story house that’s suspiciously close to UA a mere six weeks after that night on the couch.
By this point, Shōta is practicing deliberate ignorance toward the finer points of how all of this came about out of self-preservation.
“You know,” Nemuri says as she slides up beside him, hair pulled up in a high tail and eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll never get over how easily he tamed you. He batted those eyes and petted you a few times and now you’re eating out of his hand.”
“I’ll never get over how often you speak total bullshit,” Shōta shoots back as he places River’s carrier into the newly minted cat room and pulls the door closed behind him.
“Keep telling yourself that sweetheart,” Nemuri pats him on the cheek before she turns to saunter off towards where Izuku and Hizashi are huddled together in the truly massive kitchen. “The only thing missing is the collar and leash. For now.”
Shōta stands there for a moment, mind click click clicking away.
And then he turns, reopens the door to the cat room, and goes inside.
That can be something for future him to think about.
~~~
As it turns out, the future ends up being a little over two months later.
It is, somehow, already Izuu and Shōta’s first anniversary.
“Ah,” Izuku mumbles, panting and flushed, from where Shōta’s pulled him around to rest on his chest, “still need to give you your present.”
“That wasn’t my gift?” Shōta asks, hands lovingly massaging Izuku’s wrists and arms.
Izuku swats at him with his free hand, a tired little giggle escaping him, the sound of which makes Shōta feel almost unbearably smug.
A tendril of Blackwhip spirals into existence and slides underneath the bed only to come back up with a ribbon-wrapped folder that’s promptly dropped onto the mattress beside Shōta’s bare hip.
Unable to tamp down his curiosity, Shōta shifts around so that he can pick it up and pull the ribbon free.
He flips the folder open and then stops.
Stares.
“This is …” Shōta’s not sure he’s really and truly seeing what he thinks he is.
“Auntie Kinato said it’ll be a few long years yet before she’s ready to leave,” Izuku says, “but she was glad to go ahead and sell to me. Especially once I told her it was for you. Plus this way we can make the renovations you’ve been saying the place needs. Figured she can keep running things for us, with a substantial bump in pay and some extra help of course, for the meantime.”
“You bought me a cat cafe?” Shōta isn’t ashamed of the way his voice squeaks just a bit as he stares down at the deed of his second favorite place to be.
“Happy anniversary,” Izuku practically chirps. “And don’t argue that it’s not logical. I can more than afford it and this way you’ll not only have unlimited access to the cafe but we’ll have something else to do besides UA whenever we eventually retire. Plus now we can keep any cats who don’t mesh with the League and help them find homes.”
Shōta’s mind settles on the only appropriate response.
“I’m going to marry you,” he announces, half-dazed.
There’s a pause.
“Well,” Izuku’s voice is just a shade off shy and there’s suddenly another tendril of Blackwhip slinking down beneath the bed, “I was going to wait until next year, ease you into it a bit more, but if you’re really sure now then …”
Shōta finds himself staring at yet another folder dangling in the air in front of him.
All he can do is laugh and pull Izuku closer.
Collar and leash indeed.