Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You idiot sun, you beautiful blade,
you leap where even gods are afraid.
I count your scars like rosary beads,
and hurt each time you bleed.

So go, love, run at hell with open arms,
I'm here to burn the world and keep you from harm.

Five-year-old Katsuki Bakugou marched ahead with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared like he owned the place. Behind him, Izuku Midoriya trotted to keep up, clutching his limited-edition All Might figure in both chubby hands.

“Kacchan, wait!” Izuku called, voice bright and breathless. “I’m gonna jump from the top of the slide this time! Just like All Might jumping off the building in episode twenty-three!”

(Katsuki had become Kacchan when Izuku couldn't say Katsuki, and was used to adding 'chan' after every word.)

Katsuki whipped around so fast his ash-blond hair flopped into his eyes. “The hell you are, Deku!”

(Izuku had become Deku the day Katsuki pointed at the kanji for 'Izuku' and had jokingly showed him how it can also be read as “deku,” and Izuku had laughed so hard everytime Katsuki said it, that he hiccupped.)

Izuku skidded to a stop, blinking big green eyes. “But—”

“No!” Katsuki stomped over and grabbed Izuku’s wrist before he could bolt toward the playground equipment. “Last time you tried jumping off something you almost broke your stupid arm and cried for, like, the whole day.”

“I only cried for one hour and forty-two minutes,” Izuku corrected solemnly. 

Katsuki scowled at him.

“…Fine,” Izuku mumbled, looking at the ground. “We can just play normally.”

Katsuki grunted, satisfied. He dragged Izuku toward the swings instead. “You sit. I’ll push. And don’t try to jump off when it’s high, got it?”

Izuku climbed onto the swing, kicking his legs happily. “Yes, Kacchan!”

Katsuki pushed, slowly at first, then harder because Izuku kept squealing “Higher! Higher like All Might!” Every time the swing went too high and Izuku leaned forward like he might launch himself into the sky, Katsuki’s palms sparked nervously.

“Stop leaning, nerd! You’re gonna fall on your face!”

“I won’t!”

“You will!”

“I believe in myself!”

“I believe you’re an idiot!”

Izuku just laughed, bright and loud, the sound echoing across the park. Katsuki glared at the back of his messy green head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Later, they moved to the sandbox. Izuku immediately started digging a moat around his All Might figure “to protect him from villains.” Katsuki built a fortress next to it, complete with exploding walls (he demonstrated by slapping the sand and yelling “DIE!” while tiny pops went off in his palms).

A bigger kid, maybe seven, wandered over and kicked the edge of Izuku’s moat, collapsing half of it.

“Hey!” Izuku yelped. “That’s All Might’s castle!”

The kid smirked. “It’s just sand, crybaby.”

Katsuki was on his feet in half a second, standing in front of Izuku, “You got a problem?”

The bigger kid looked at Katsuki’s sparking palms and suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be. He muttered something and bolted.

Izuku peeked around Katsuki’s shoulder. “Wow, Kacchan… you scared him off! You’re so cool!”

“Course I am,” Katsuki huffed, cheeks pink. “Nobody messes with you except me, got it?”

Izuku tilted his head. “But you’re nice to me.”

“That’s—shut up!”

Izuku beamed and leaned over, planting a sticky kiss on Katsuki’s cheek before Katsuki could dodge.

Katsuki froze, eyes wide. Tiny explosions popped in his hair like fireworks.

“DEKU!!!”

Izuku just giggled and hugged him around the neck. “Thank you for protecting me, Kacchan. You’re my favorite hero.”

Katsuki grumbled, ears scarlet, but he didn’t push Izuku away. After a long second, he awkwardly patted Izuku’s back with sandy hands.

“…Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd. Just don’t do anything stupid for the rest of the day.”

Izuku saluted with his All Might figure. “I promise!”

(He lasted exactly ten more minutes before trying to climb the jungle gym with no hands because he was holding rescuees and Katsuki tackled him halfway up and carried him down fireman-style while Izuku laughed the entire time.)

You see, Katsuki was five years old and already convinced that Izuku Midoriya needed full-time supervision.

They were in the Bakugou backyard, which for Izuku was basically a minefield pretending to be a garden. Katsuki knew this because Izuku had already tripped over the hose twice, tried to climb the wobbly fence once, and almost got attacked while attempting to pet a stray dog. 

Katsuki grabbed the back of Izuku’s shirt right before he could dunk his entire head into the kiddie pool.

“Izuku. What are you doing?”

Izuku blinked up at him, wide-eyed and damp with a sincerity that made Katsuki feel eighty years old. “I was checking if the bottom is different from the top.”

“It’s water, nerd! It’s the same! You’ll choke and Auntie Inko will kill me!”

Izuku nodded very seriously, as if this was groundbreaking information, then immediately wandered toward the rickety plastic slide that Katsuki’s mom kept promising to throw out. Katsuki lunged again, catching him before he could climb the side instead of the steps. 

"Use the ladder Deku!"

“I forgot!” Izuku said, smiling sheepishly.

“You forget everything,” Katsuki muttered, guiding him up the actual steps and then standing at the bottom with both arms out like Izuku might fall off a three-foot slide and die.

Izuku went down, landed fine, giggled…and immediately tried to run back up the slide part again.

Katsuki grabbed him. “Why are you like this?!”

Izuku just laughed, grabbing Katsuki’s sleeve as if expecting him to follow, as if it was obvious Katsuki would always be there to keep him steady.

And of course Katsuki followed. Of course he did.

Later, when Izuku got distracted by a ladybug and nearly stepped off the edge of the porch, Katsuki yanked him back so hard they both toppled over.

Izuku landed on top of him, breathless and blinking. “Kacchan… Are you okay?”

“No,” Katsuki grumbled, arms still wrapped tightly around him. “You’re gonna die before you turn six.”

Izuku’s smile was small, warm, the kind that made Katsuki’s chest feel weird. “But you always catch me.”

“Stupid,” Katsuki said, rolling his eyes but not letting go. “Somebody has to.”

After evenings in the park, they always walked back home together.

They turned onto the familiar street without needing to discuss it. The Bakugou house sat at the end like it always did, porch light already on because Mitsuki had a sixth sense for when her son was bringing home his stray. The gate creaked under Katsuki’s hands, and Izuku slipped through after him, fingers grazing the back of Katsuki’s jacket.

They dumped their bags by the door. Izuku toed out of his red shoes and lined them up next to Katsuki’s like he’d been doing it for years (because he had). Katsuki stalked toward the living room, yelling at his mom about Deku's shenanigans of the day.

Mitsuki poked her head out, apron smeared with sauce, one eyebrow raised. “Fifteen minutes, brats. Go sit down before I make you set the table.”

Izuku brightened instantly. “Can I help anyway, Auntie?”

“Absolutely not. Go wash up and sit."

His mom never made Izuku do any of the chores, because in her words, he was too sweet of a kid. His dad said it was because he was a guest which made no sense to Katsuki because,

“Every day,” Katsuki grumbled, flopping onto the couch. “He’s here every damn day.”

Izuku padded over and dropped down right next to him,

“Hi,” Izuku said softly.

“Hi yourself, nerd.”

Katsuki let his head fall back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, and put his tiny arms around Izuku when he felt him settle in closer, and pulled him  in like this was exactly where he belonged.

Later at dinner, they sat at the low table, legs folded under them. Izuku had his All Might chopsticks and was narrating the entire superheroes in space arc between bites like a sports commentator.

“—and then All Might punched the alien so hard it went flying into the stratosphere—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know, Deku,” Katsuki muttered, shoving a piece of pork into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to admit it was cool the 47th time.

Izuku, mid-gesture, decided the only logical way to demonstrate the punch was to recreate it with his chopsticks. But he forgot they were still holding a giant piece of steaming-hot katsu.

He reared back dramatically.

“Deku—”

“PLUS…”

He swung forward with all the force a five-year-old hero otaku could muster.

“…ULTRA!”

The katsu launched off the chopsticks and splattered directly onto Katsuki’s forehead with a wet splat. Sauce dripped down his nose.

Izuku’s eyes went perfectly round. “Uh-oh.”

This other time, when they were having dinner and Izuku's place, Izuku was leaning so far over his bowl of rice that his entire forehead was hovering an inch above the soy sauce dish.

“Izuku,” Katsuki said sharply.

Izuku didn’t look up. “Mm?”

“You’re gonna—”

Izuku slipped.

His elbow knocked the table and the bowl tipped. The soy sauce dish wobbled, flipped, and splashed directly onto Izuku’s hair as he blinked up, bewildered. 

Katsuki slammed his chopsticks down, already reaching across the table with a napkin. “I literally told you!”

Izuku sat frozen, soy sauce dripping down his fringe, cheeks puffed in tiny mortification. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“You never mean to!” Katsuki hissed, scrubbing Izuku’s forehead while Inko tried not to laugh into her tea. “You can’t just put your whole face into dinner! What if it was hot miso? What if it burned you? What if it blinded you? What if—”

“Kacchan, it’s okay,” Izuku mumbled, small and grateful and sticky.

Katsuki kept wiping, kept fretting, kept muttering threats about “helmets at the dinner table” and “no leaning ever again” as Izuku watched him with big, sheepish eyes. 

Later, when everything was cleaned and Izuku was slurping his food with significantly more caution, Katsuki kept shooting him warning glances every time he leaned even a millimeter too far. And if Izuku did do something stupid again, Katsuki would help him fix it. 

With a dramatic sigh, of course.

Contrary to popular belief, Katsuki actually got into most of the trouble at school because of Izuku. But nobody ever knew, because the little shit could hide it really fucking well. 

Once, some third-grade bullies decided the quirkless kid made a perfect target. They cornered Izuku by the drinking fountain and started shoving him, telling him to “make himself useful and cry.” Katsuki walked around the corner, saw green curls disappearing under three bigger kids, and lost it. Tiny pops turned into real bangs and one kid went home with singed eyebrows. Another swore he saw his life flash before his eyes when teachers arrived to find Katsuki standing over Izuku like an angry hedgehog, palms smoking, snarling, “Touch him again and I’ll kill you.”

It had resulted in his parents being called.

His mom yelled for an hour.

Izuku brought him homemade cookies and apologized for “making Kacchan explode people.”

Then there was the hamster incident.

Izuku was convinced the school wasn't feeding the hamster very well, and had decided to feed it himself instead. He “borrowed” the class hamster during lunch.

The hamster did not want to be part of this. It escaped.

Cue twenty screaming seven-year-olds, one escaped rodent, and Izuku diving under desks to catch it. Katsuki barricaded the door so the hamster couldn’t get into the hallway, blasted a perfect smoke circle to herd it back toward Izuku, and took the full blame when the teacher walked in on chaos and saw Katsuki standing on a desk. 

One time, Izuku had watched All Might do a three-point landing on TV and decided he could absolutely nail it off the swing set.

He got on the biggest swing, pumped his legs like a rocket, and at the highest point yelled “I AM HERE!” and let go. Katsuki, who had been timing how many times he could blow up a dandelion before it fully scattered, heard the battle cry and looked up just in time to see a green bullet hurtling toward the ground.

He dropped his half-exploded flower, sprinted, and slid across the gravel, catching Izuku an inch before face-meets-asphalt.

They rolled.

Izuku landed on top, perfectly safe, eyes sparkling. Katsuki’s elbows and knees were shredded. The teacher saw only Katsuki dragging Izuku off the ground by the collar and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Detention again.

Izuku spent the entire detention drawing “Thank you for saving me Kacchan ♡” in red crayon and slipped it into Katsuki’s desk.

Second grade, February 14th.

Everyone was supposed to give cards to the whole class and Izuku had spent three nights making the most elaborate card in existence for Kacchan: pop-up explosions, glitter that Inko couldn't get off the sheets for weeks, tiny hand-drawn panels of them as heroes together.

He was so excited he ran full-speed into the classroom, tripped on the doorway threshold, and the entire box of valentines went flying like confetti.

Half the class had laughed. One kid called him “Deku the Disaster.” Katsuki stood up so fast his chair fell over and five minutes later the kid was crying because “Bakugou said if anyone laughs at Deku again he’ll explode their desk and tell the teacher they peed themselves.”

Katsuki got sent to the corner with the dunce hat (yes, their teacher still used the dunce hat). Izuku waddled over, put a paper hat he made himself to match Katsuki's and sat with him in the corner for the rest of the period eating Pocky that Izuku had got him, together.

Cutest detention photo Auntie Inko has (she laughed when the teacher sent it home).

On first-grade sports day, they had partnered up to participate in the three legged race. Katsuki was determined to win. Izuku had... different ideas.

The whistle blew and everyone started hopping. Izuku decided they could win faster if they just ran normally.

He took one heroic leap and the ribbon snapped.

Izuku kept going as Katsuki face-planted. Izuku then realized his partner was missing, turned around mid-race, and ran back to get him.

They finished dead last.

Katsuki stood up, face covered in dirt, tied the broken ribbon around both their wrists like a promise, and screamed at the crowd: “SHUT UP! WE’RE STILL NUMBER ONE, MORONS!”

Then he dragged Izuku to the podium anyway, climbed the first-place step that was meant for someone else, and planted their tied-together hands in the air like they’d won gold. Teachers didn’t have the heart to pull them down. Since then, they began practicing the three legged race at home, and won first place everytime. 

When Izuku lost his first tooth, Kacchan had gotten into trouble once again.

He was so excited to show Kacchan he ran across the playground holding the bloody tooth like a trophy and tripped (on thin fucking air, Katsuki swore to this day). 

Tooth went flying into the grass. Izuku immediately dropped to all fours searching and crying because “the tooth fairy won’t come if I lose it!” Katsuki got on his hands and knees too and they had missed their class. (But it's okay because they found it and Izuku ahd hugged him so hard they both fell over.)

Later when they got home, Katsuki demanded a sleep over and 500 yen from his mother. 

He put it under Izuku’s pillow himself and told the “tooth fairy” story so fiercely the next day that Mitsuki and Inko still talk about it between themselves. 

One day, Izuku got the giggles listening to the whale song that the teacher had put on during nap time. The teacher had told him to put his head down or get a sad face on the behavior chart. Izuku tried. Failed and laughed harder.

Katsuki, who was actually asleep for once, woke up, grabbed both their mats, and dragged them to the detention corner where they napped shoulder-to-shoulder for the rest of the period.

By the time they were seven and a half, Katsuki had:

• Been banned from the sandpit (twice)
• Lost recess privileges for half the year
• Written “I will not use my quirk unsafely” five hundred times
• Become the unofficial school legend of “don’t mess with Bakugou or you’ll get blown up”

Every day at school, Katsuki got in trouble. Every day, Izuku stayed safe and smiling. And every day, Katsuki kept saving the dumbest, bravest, kindest kid in the whole world.

With exasperation, of course.

Aizawa told everyone to line up alphabetically for attendance.

Midoriya Izuku, who had spent the entire morning vibrating with excitement, d triple-knotting his shoelaces (only to have one come mysteriously undone anyway), tripped, careened forward (his hero-analysis notebook went flying. His balance went with it.) andd accidentally activated One For All at 8% just to catch his balance.

He didn’t mean to. He really, really didn’t mean to. But physics is unkind to teenage boys who suddenly gain superhuman power while falling forward. In less than a blink he was airborne. He shot forward like a green missile, rocketing straight toward the flagpole that had stood proudly in U.A.’s courtyard since All Might’s own student days.

Twenty pairs of eyes tracked the trajectory and Katsuki (who was already pissed about standing behind “Half-n-Half bastard”) saw the trajectory, and snarled at Izuku.

“NOT ON THE FIRST FUCKING DAY, DEKU,” and AP-shot himself across the courtyard.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, already glowing red, but even he was half a second too slow.

Bakugou intercepted Midoriya at the apex of his arc, one gauntleted arm slamming around the smaller boy’s waist, spun 360° to bleed off momentum, and landed in a perfect hero pose… with Izuku bridal-carried against his chest.

He dumped Midoriya unceremoniously onto the ground. Izuku landed on his butt with a yelp, still clutching the front of Kacchan’s uniform.

~

“...So, in a training scenario, when exactly does ‘simulated combat’ cross the line into assault under the Hero Public Safety Commission’s guidelines?”

Half the class stared blankly. Kirishima raised a hesitant hand and guessed “When somebody bleeds?” which got a tired sigh from the front.

Then Midoriya’s arm shot up so fast it made a whooshing sound.

Ectoplasm pointed. “Midoriya.”

Big mistake.

Izuku stood up like he’d been called to accept an Olympic medal. His eyes were practically glowing.

“Well, technically, the threshold is defined by Article 17-B of the Revised Quirk Regulation Act of 2009, which was amended after the Tokyo Incident to include intent-to-harm modifiers, but the real gray area is when accumulated micro-trauma exceeds 4% of baseline cellular durability. Because that’s when the body’s natural quirk-factor repair cycle gets overridden, and courts treat it as equivalent to second-degree battery! Also, teacher credentialing requires a Level-3 Combat Adaptation Certification if the instructor’s quirk has a lethality index above 0.8, which yours does, sensei, because multiple duplication bodies create distributed consciousness liability, so actually U.A. is in compliance only because Principal Nezu co-signs every training plan with overriding legal—”

He was still going. The entire class had slowly turned to watch the train leave the station, gain speed, and set itself on fire.

Izuku’s voice started climbing in pitch the way it always did when he realized he was monologuing but physically couldn’t locate the off switch.

“—and that’s why All Might’s old Texas Smash training drills were retroactively grandfather-claused in 2018 even though they technically violated—”

Sensei gave him that long, blank stare. Katsuki, seeing Izuku about to spiral into a full breakdown, muttered just loud enough, “Wrap it up, nerd.”

Izuku immediately stopped talking. Sensei misinterpreted it as Katsuki “undermining classroom authority” and gave him an extra evaluation form. Izuku filled it out for him in apology. 

As they left the room, Izuku whispered, “I can forge your signature in four different styles now Kacchan.”

Katsuki shoved him into a locker (gently, by his standards) and snarled, “Next time I’m letting you ramble until your lungs explode.”

But they both knew he wouldn’t. And if Katsuki's face turned scarlet when Izuku pressed a sweet kiss on cheek, it was...

With embarassment, of course.

~

Izuku had meant it as a small thing. Tiny, really. Katsuki hadn't lost his temper on their classmates a single time the whole day so when, Izuku had tried to make him katsudon as a thank-you for listening to him. He had been excited. 

He had then proceeded to misread the cooking instructions, put way too much oil in the pan, and created an eruption that set off the smoke alarm. Izuku yelped and footsteps thundered down the hall.

Katsuki stormed in angrily, grabbed the pan, pushed Deku aside, handling the disaster like he’d been cooking for twenty years. He killed the gas, slapped a lid on the inferno, and yanked open the window with his elbow.

Ten minutes later, when Sato walked in and saw Katsuki holding a smoking pan, he assumed the worst.

“Bakugou, why did you explode the kitchen?”

Izuku was running around waving a spatula, shouting, “It was me! It was me!”

No one believed him. Bakugou had blown up all by himself enough times to make it unbelievable. 

Katsuki had then slid the finished bowl across the counter, golden egg fluffy and perfect, pork glistening, and rice steaming. He jabbed a pair of chopsticks into it and shoved it toward Izuku.

“Eat your damn apology food and quit confessing to crimes I didn’t commit, nerd.”

Izuku took the bowl with trembling hands. The class watched him take the first bite and immediately start crying because it tasted exactly like home.

~

The training ground that day was “Urban Collapse Scenario No. 7”: a five-story mock office building rigged with progressively weakening supports. The objective was simple. Hero Team (Midoriya & Uraraka) had to retrieve the “bomb” from the top floor while Villain Team (Bakugou & Kirishima) stopped them. Standard stuff.

The whistle blew. 

Izuku did what Izuku does best. The moment All Might shouted “Begin!”, Izuku didn’t so much start the exercise as catapult himself into the building like a projectile.

“Uraraka-san, float the debris so I can get a running start—Full Cowl twenty percent—SMASH!”

He saw the direct path to the stairwell, miscalculated the load-bearing nature of literally everything, and aimed a beautiful, perfect Detroit Smash straight at what was very obviously a primary support pillar.

On the monitor in the observation room, All Might’s skeleton nearly launched out of his skin.

“Young Midoriya is about to drop the entire structure on his own head!”

Katsuki was waiting on the villain team’s designated floor for the element of surprise. He had a whole plan—corner Izuku, bait him into overthinking, use the building layout to his advantage. He watched as, Izuku’s eyes widened. “Oh no—”

Kirishima, stationed on the third floor, heard the incoming freight train that was Midoriya and hardened on reflex. “Uh, Bakugou, your boyfriend’s coming in hot—”

Izuku started calculating his escape, but before he could a pair of arms wrapped around his middle and launched him sideways. He hit the ground with a startled yelp, rolled twice, sat up and watched the ceiling come down exactly where he’d been standing.

Katsuki had abandoned all strategy, blasted through three walls, and had  arrived at the exact moment Izuku’s fist connected with the pillar. He'd tackled Izuku out of the way, and tanked the collapsing ceiling with his own body.

All Might, watching the feed: “Young Bakugou just… shielded Young Midoriya?”

Katsuki (pinned under rubble, coughing dust): “SHUT UP OLD MAN THIS ISN’T A RESCUE IT’S A MURDER ATTEMPT”

They both lost the exercise.

“You absolute suicide-bomb of a human being—if you ever pull that brain-dead shit again I will end you, you hear me?”

Izuku, tears cutting tracks through the dust on his cheeks, managed a wobbly smile. “You caught me.”

“Always, you idiot,” Katsuki muttered, so low no one was supposed to hear it.

The microphone caught it anyway.

Kirishima, watching from the hallway he’d been abandoned in, just sighed and radioed in: “Yeah, Villain Team forfeits"

All Might wiped a proud, suspiciously shiny tear from his eye. “Young love is so energetic.”

Aizawa finally looked up. “Detention. Both of them. For property damage and reckless strategies."

Really, Deku was stupid, what would he do without him? Katsuki muttered...

With anger, of course.

~

The shift from “rivals who keep saving each other” to “actually dating” happened so quietly that half the class didn’t even notice for the first two weeks.

Katsuki had walked into Izuku's room, admitting he was scared of thunderstorms because they sounded like the sludge villain’s gargling last breath, and the only thing that shut the memory up was Izuku’s heartbeat under his ear. If anyone noticed them coming out of Izuku's room together the next morning, they didn't say anything. 

When Denki plopped down next to Izuku like always, Katsuki had appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the back of Denki’s shirt, and relocated him three seats down with a flat, “That’s my spot.”

Denki: “Since when??”
Katsuki: “Since I fucking said so.”

they had begun to notice. 

Aizawa had handed them a stack of extra counseling forms titled “Healthy Communication in Romantic Relationships Involving Explosive Quirks.” Katsuki used them as fire starters. Izuku had cried laughing.

And the quiet moments no one else saw:

Katsuki tracing the scars on Izuku’s arms like he was mapping every time he’d failed to protect him, whispering “Never again” into freckled skin. Izuku learning that Katsuki only ever says “I love you” when he thinks Izuku’s asleep—soft, reverent, and terrified of saying it when it's daylight. 

(He’s always wrong. Izuku’s never actually asleep for those.)

And in Midoriya Izuku’s kisses, he realized that the war would never truly end outside, that the guns and the villians and the ash would still linger like ghosts, but within him, in the battleground of his own chest and the trenches of his own mind, everything fell silent, all the fear and rage and suspicion collapsing like walls in ruins, for in Midoriya Izuku’s kiss he was whole, whole, whole, every shattered piece of himself stitched together with the simple gravity of his mouth, the gentle insistence of his smile. 

Katsuki knew in that moment that empires could crumble, cities could burn, armies could dissolve into smoke, but in the light of his grin, even the strongest walls of my own despair melted, and he could breathe freely for the first time in a lifetime.

(And in the curve of his collarbone Bakugou Katsuki found a steadiness he had never known, in the dip of his waist he found a warmth that made the ache of the long years seem distant, and in the way he called his name, soft and sweet, Katsuki was at peace, every tension unwinding, the battle within him finally laid down, and he could simply exist, whole, with no need for fear or fire, only the unshakable presence of Midoriya Izuku holding him together. Bakugou Katsuki was finally at peace.)

Six months in, All Might found them on the dorm roof at sunset, Izuku’s head on Katsuki’s shoulder, Katsuki’s fingers combing through green curls and the former Symbol of Peace smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.

“Young Midoriya. Young Bakugou. I’m… very proud.”

Katsuki flipped him off without looking. Izuku waved happily.

~

The first time Katsuki said “I love you” while Izuku was actually awake, it wasn’t romantic. It was three a.m. in the infirmary, three days after a mission went sideways and Izuku came back with a hole in his side big enough to fit a softball.

Katsuki hadn’t left the plastic chair once. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice raw from yelling at doctors, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking no matter how tightly he clenched them.

Izuku drifted in and out, pain meds making everything soft around the edges. When his eyes fluttered open again, Katsuki was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at him like Izuku was the only thing keeping the planet spinning.

“You absolute fucking moron,” Katsuki whispered, voice cracking down the middle. “You almost—you almost left me, you bastard.”

Izuku tried to smile. It came out wobbly. “’m still here, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s hand found his—careful, like Izuku was made of glass—and threaded their fingers together so tightly it hurt.

“I love you,” Katsuki said, fierce and terrified and furious all at once. “I love you so much it’s stupid. It’s embarrassing. I hate it. Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

Izuku’s heart monitor beeped faster. He squeezed back with every ounce of strength he had left.

“I love you too,” he rasped. “Have for years.”

Katsuki made this broken sound (like a laugh, like a sob) and pressed his forehead to their joined hands.

“Good,” he muttered against Izuku’s knuckles. “Because you’re stuck with me, nerd. Forever.”

And if Katsuki's hands shook while he held Izuku, it was...

With fear, of course.

~

And when Izuku tried to give him a quick cheek kiss before a patrol, he misjudged the timing, bumped into Katsuki’s shoulder, and nearly knocked them both over the railing.

Katsuki caught him, held him upright, face burning, and muttered, “You’re gonna die doing romance, aren’t you?”

Izuku nodded earnestly.

“Dumbass,” he murmured, voice warm. “If you’re gonna kill yourself trying to kiss me, at least aim for the mouth next time.”

Then he closed the distance himself, slow, perfect and kissed Izuku stupid against the sunset, forty stories above the city, like the entire world could wait until they were done.

When they finally pulled apart, Izuku was dizzy for reasons that had nothing to do with the drop behind him.

And when Izuku smiled, tugging Kacchan with one hand, saying “Come on, Kacchan." he followed.

They’d come back from patrol bruised, filthy, and bickering about whose fault the collateral damage had been (Katsuki’s, obviously, but Izuku let him win the argument because he was too tired to do anything else). 

Katsuki kicked off his boots, tossed his gauntlets onto the counter with a clang, and muttered something about needing a shower.

Izuku followed him anyway.

The bathroom light was harsh. It caught on every scar, every new cut, the smear of soot across Katsuki’s collarbone. Izuku watched him strip out of the top half of his costume without thinking, hands moving on autopilot, and then Katsuki looked up, caught him staring, and the air changed.

Katsuki’s voice was low. “You planning to stand there all night, Izuku?”

Izuku swallowed. “I— no. I just—”

(Hands tore at costumes still half-zipped from patrol: gloves flung, belts clattering, the rip of velcro loud in the quiet room. Katsuki’s palm slid under Izuku’s shirt and dragged it upward, breaking the kiss only long enough to yank it over his head and throw it blindly toward the desk. It knocked over a stack of hero analysis notebooks. Neither of them cared. When Izuku’s palms slid beneath the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, lifting it away like peeling armor from a wound too old to name, Katsuki did not flinch. He let himself be stripped bare, scars and pride and trembling want, and felt the air around him grow gentle around the places Izuku’s gaze settled. Those green eyes, still bright with the same impossible faith he held for Katsuki when they were five, now looked at him as though broken things were still beautiful because they had survived.)

Katsuki’s mouth was everywhere, down Izuku’s throat, teeth scraping over the freckles he’d memorized, sucking bruises into collarbones like he was claiming territory and Izuku arched off the bed with a choked gasp when Katsuki’s hand shoved between him, palming him roughly through the thin fabric of his compression shorts.

They found their rhythm the way they found everything else: together.

“Quiet,” Katsuki hissed against his lips, even as he crooked his fingers mercilessly, finding that spot on the first try because Bakugou Katsuki was the best at everything. “Walls are fucking thin, Izuku.”

“Then stop—ah—stop being so goddamn good at this—”

Katsuki added a third finger just to watch Izuku fall apart, green eyes blown black, freckles stark against flushed skin, mouth open on silent screams. When he finally pulled his hand away, Izuku whined (actually whined) and dragged him down, nails raking red lines down Kacchan’s back hard enough to sting and Katsuki loved it.

“Look at me,” Katsuki whispered, voice cracking just slightly as he lined himself up. “Izuku. Look at me.”

Izuku did.

“Mine,” Katsuki whispered against his mouth, voice cracking on the word. “Fucking finally—mine—”

The stretch burned, perfect and overwhelming, but Katsuki went slow, agonizingly slow, watching his face like he was trying to memorize it.

Katsuki’s hand found his, fingers lacing tight, grounding them both as the pace built faster, deeper, until Izuku was clinging to him, nails digging into Katsuki’s back, muffling moans against his shoulder. They moved together like they fought together. Instinctual, perfectly in sync, reading every shift and breath and shudder.

“Yes—yours—Kacchan—” Izuku broke on his name, back bowing off the bed as he came untouched, spilling hot between them, clenching so tight Katsuki followed with a quiet curse buried against his neck.

They moved together the way rivers move toward the sea (inevitable, unhurried, ancient). Every roll of Izuku’s hips was a promise kept after a thousand broken ones; every gasp torn from Katsuki’s throat was a white flag finally raised. There was no urgency now, only the steady, devastating rhythm of two bodies learning that peace felt like this: skin on skin, breath shared, the quiet thunder of hearts deciding, at last, to beat in the same direction.

Katsuki collapsed on top of him, both of them shaking, slick with sweat and each other. Izuku’s arms came up immediately, wrapping around Katsuki’s back.

Tomorrow the dorm would wake up, someone would inevitably notice the marks on their necks, and the teasing would be relentless.

But tonight, in the tiny bed that had barely fit one growing boy and now somehow held both of them perfectly, they were exactly where they were supposed to be, and when Izuku pressed inside him (slow, relentless), watching every flicker across Katsuki’s face, Katsuki’s head fell back against the pillow, throat exposed, hands clawing at Izuku’s shoulders like he needed to anchor himself to something solid or he’d come apart.

Izuku moved like he’d been dreaming this for years (because he had), every thrust deep and claiming and controlled in a way that only came from knowing someone else’s body better than your own. Katsuki met him stroke for stroke, legs locked around Izuku’s waist, heels digging in, urging him harder, deeper, like he could take all of Izuku inside him and still never have enough.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, and the name was a prayer and an oath and the sound of every wall Katsuki had ever built crumbling at once.

Katsuki opened his eyes. In them, Izuku saw the war end.

After, they did not separate. Izuku stayed inside him, arms trembling as he lowered himself carefully, until Katsuki’s legs stayed wrapped around his waist by choice rather than need. He came up to face Katsuki.

“Hi,” Izuku said softly.

“Hi yourself, nerd.”

Their breathing slowed together. The city outside kept burning and rebuilding itself, but in the small universe of that bed, the only sound was two hearts learning how to rest.

And in the quiet gravity of Izuku’s body fitted perfectly against his own, in the soft exhale against his throat that said stay, stay, stay, Katsuki understood that some victories were not won by force.

And if Katsuki whispered Izuku's name in the dark it was...

With devotion, of course.

Smoke choked the sky over what used to be Shibuya Crossing. The villain called “Collapse” had turned half the district into a collapsing maze of steel and concrete, rebar twisting and buildings folding in on themselves. Civilians were already evacuated. This was pro-hero territory now.

And Deku was was having a hard time alone.

Katsuki saw it the second he blasted through the wall of dust on the far edge of the battlefield.

Izuku was on his knees. Full Cowling flickered around him like a dying lightbulb, green sparks stuttering, One For All barely holding together at 47%. Blood poured from a gash across his ribs, soaking the green of his costume black.

Collapse towered above him, quirk coiling, ready to drop an entire high-rise on Izuku’s head.

Izuku was still smiling.

“Kacchan…” Izuku rasped, "is coming."

And his Kacchan did indeed come, landing between Izuku and the falling skyscraper within seconds. 

The explosion punched upward, shattering the entire falling structure into harmless gravel that rained down around them like hail. Collapse was thrown backward a hundred meters, chest caved in, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Katsuki spun, and dropped to his knees. 

“Izuku—hey, hey, look at me—”

Izuku’s eyes were half-lidded, glassy. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.

“’m… sorry…” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Katsuki snarled, hands shaking as he pressed them over the worst of the wounds. Blood seeped between his fingers, hot and too fast. "You don’t get to—fuck—don’t you dare close your eyes, Deku!”

Izuku’s good hand came up, weak, trembling, curling around Katsuki’s wrist.

“You… came,” he breathed, like it was a miracle. Like Katsuki wouldn’t have torn the planet apart to get here. “Knew you would…”

Katsuki’s vision blurred. He didn’t know if it was smoke or tears. Probably both.

“I’m always coming for you, you idiot,” he choked out. He bowed over Izuku, forehead pressed to his, both of them trembling. “I’m here,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’m here, I’m sorry I was late, I’ve got you…”

There were sirens in the distance. 

Katsuki sat in the waiting room, head in his bloodstained hands, and for the first time in his life, he prayed.

And when Izuku opened his eyes, looking over at Katsuki and smiling tiredly, he relaxed, body sagging...

With relief, of course.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, thick with excitement.

“For the first time in history, we have a hero duo at the very top! Please welcome the unbreakable duo, the wonder duo, the duo who captured more villains in a single year than most pros do in five—Dynamight and Deku!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

Katsuki stepped onto the stage first, hands shoved in the pockets of his custom made, sleek black suit (orange and green accents at the collar in a quiet nod to the idiot that would walk over after him). He didn’t smile. He hated smiling for the cameras, but the set of his shoulders was prouder than usual, his chin tilted just a fraction higher.

Then came Izuku.

And Katsuki’s whole world narrowed to one person.

Izuku was beaming. Wide, unguarded, and so stupidly bright it made something in Katsuki’s chest ache like he’d taken a full-force punch from All Might.

Izuku waved at the crowd with both hands, eyes shining under the spotlights, freckles standing out against flushed cheeks. His tie was slightly crooked. Katsuki had fixed it three times backstage and Izuku had messed it up again every time because he couldn’t stop bouncing.

The emcee handed them the twin plaques, sleek black marble with gold lettering: #1 HERO (DUO) that Izuku took his with shaking hands.

“Thank you!” Izuku shouted into the microphone.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, staring at this ridiculous, stupid nerd who used to cry when he scraped his knee and now stood at the top of the world, smiling like the sun rose and set on every single person in that arena. He was vaguely aware of cameras zooming in, zeroing in on his face as he looked at Izuku, but he couldn't look away, and he didn't care.

Let the whole world see.

Let them all see who Deku belonged to, and exactly how whipped the Number One hero really is.

And if Katsuki's chest swelled when Izuku got off the stage it was...

With pride, of course.

He had rehearsed this a hundred times in his head (on rooftops, in the shower, during stakeouts where the only thing keeping him sane was the thought of coming home to Izuku’s stupid, bright smile). Every version had sounded either arrogant or pathetic. Now, in the quietness of this kitchen where Izuku had grown up believing the world could be saved by one smiling boy, the words felt too big for his mouth.

Inko waited. She had always been good at waiting.

He reached into his pocket with shaking hands and pulled out the small box and opened it. Inside was a simple band (tungsten, because Izuku’s quirk would destroy anything softer), etched on the inside with tiny explosions and the date of the day Izuku and Katsuki had first met. He'd confirmed it with his mother.

“I’m here to ask,” Katsuki said, voice barely above a whisper, “if you’ll let me marry Izuku. If you’ll trust me with the rest of his life the way he’s trusted me with every broken piece of mine. I promise-" His voice broke. "I'll try really hard to be the man he deserves."

Inko reached across the table and closed his hands around the ring box, her small fingers warm over his scarred knuckles.

“Katsuki-kun,” she said, tears falling freely now, “you listened to my son cry himself to sleep for years because he thought he wasn’t enough. You carried him home when his legs gave out. You held his hand in hospital rooms when I was too scared to look at the monitors. You learned how to make his favorite katsudon because he missed it on bad days. You love him with every fierce, stubborn inch of your heart.”

She squeezed his hands tighter.

“You asked for my permission, but Izuku gave you his heart a long time ago. I’m only giving you my blessing, something you’ve had since the day you first dragged him home after he fell off the monkey bars because he was trying to copy All Might. You carried him on your back the whole way, yelling at him for being reckless while your own knees were bleeding and I found you both on the doorstep, you refusing to put him down because we both knew Izuku would run off to do somehting careless again."

A shaky laugh escaped her. Katsuki smiled.

“You were six when the bigger kids at the park laughed at his mutter-analyzing. You stood between them and him, tiny palms already sparking, and told them if they didn’t shut up you’d 'kill them'. You turned to Izuku, and said, ‘Ignore the extras. Your brain’s cooler than their quirks anyway.’”

Katsuki’s eyes burned. He remembered none of this the way she did; he only remembered that Izuku’s smile afterward had felt like winning.

“You were eight when he cried because the doctors said he might stay quirkless forever. You sat with him on the swing set until midnight, kicking your legs in perfect sync, promising him that if the world was stupid enough not to give him a quirk, you’d share yours. ‘Half each,’ you said. ‘Then we’ll both be number one.’ I watched from the window."

"I meant every word.”

She brushed a thumb over the scar on his knuckle, the one he got at ten defending Izuku from a middle-schooler who thought pushing a ‘quirkless kid’ into the river was funny. Katsuki had jumped in after him without hesitation, hauled him out, and then punched the bully so hard he broke his nose.

He’d come home soaked, shaking with rage, and bowed to Inko on the genkan mat.

“I’m sorry, Auntie. I couldn’t stop it fast enough.”

Inko had dried them both with the same towel, wrapped it around their shoulders like a shared cape, and made them hot chocolate. Katsuki had fallen asleep on their couch that night with Izuku’s head on his shoulder.

“You walked him to school every day of first year even though your route was longer. You waited outside his classroom after the entrance exam because you knew he’d be crying. You trained with him on that filthy beach until your hands bled and his bones shattered and neither of you ever complained once, because you were building the same dream side by side.”

Her voice cracked.

“You learned how to wrap his fingers when they broke. You memorized which protein shakes helped his recovery. You screamed at the doctors when they said he’d never use his arms again, and then you sat by his bed for seventy-two hours straight, holding the hand that wasn’t casted, whispering that you weren’t going anywhere.”

Inko leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently to his, the way she used to when he was small and furious and hers in all the ways that mattered.

“You have been protecting my son’s heart since the day you saw him. You have been loving him since before you even knew the word for it.”

She pulled back just enough to cup his wet cheeks in her flour-dusted hands.

"You've had my blessing Katsuki, the entire time when you came back from Kamino and bowed at my feet, covered in blood, and promised me you’d bring my Izuku home.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched. A sound escaped him (half-sob, half-laugh, all relief).

Inko stood, came around the table, and pulled him into a hug the way she had when they were children and he’d pretended he didn’t need one. Katsuki folded into it like a man finally allowed to set down a weight he’d carried alone for a decade.

“So yes, Katsuki. Marry him. Love him out loud the way you’ve loved him quietly your entire life. Bring him home happy the way you’ve brought him home safe a thousand times before.”

Katsuki bowed his head, shoulders shaking with everything he could never say. When he finally looked up, his voice was raw, reverent, steady.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her shoulder, voice shattered open. “Thank you for raising him brave enough to love someone like me.”

Inko pressed a kiss to his temple, the way she used to when he was small and angry and didn’t know how to ask to stay for dinner.

“Keep him happy, Katsuki,” she said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He nodded against her, eyes burning, heart so full it felt like it might explode (quietly this time, like sunrise instead of war).

He would.

Inko smiled, bright and fierce and so, so loving.

“Then go get your boy, Katsuki. He’s been waiting for you to catch up since you were four years old.”

And Katsuki (who had spent a lifetime running ahead) finally understood that the greatest victory had never been reaching the top first.

It had always been turning around to make sure Izuku was still right there with him.

~

Katsuki opened the box with shaking fingers.

Izuku’s breath stopped. "Kacchan, what—"

“I had this whole speech,” Katsuki rasped, staring up at the only person he had ever bowed to. “About how you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to stand beside instead of in front of. About how I spent my whole life trying to be number one and didn’t realize I already was the second you looked at me like I was worth saving. But, fuck, you're so... beautiful, I—”

His voice broke completely.

“Izuku,” he said, and it sounded like a prayer, a plea, a promise. “Marry me. Let me keep you for the rest of our lives the way you’ve kept me since we were four years old and you smiled at me like I hung the damn moon.”

Izuku was crying so hard he couldn’t speak. He just dropped to his knees too, hands cupping Katsuki’s wet cheeks.

“Yes,” he choked out. “Yes, yes, Kacchan—” 

Later that night, Izuku watched as Katsuki hit call.

“The fuck do you want at this hour, you little shit?” Mitsuki’s voice barked through the speaker, sharp and fond in equal measure.

Katsuki’s throat closed. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Izuku reached over, laced their fingers together over Katsuki’s knee, and squeezed. I’m right here.

Katsuki swallowed hard.

“Mom,” he rasped.

Silence on the line. Then, wary: “…Katsuki?”

He closed his eyes.

“I asked Izuku to marry me.” His voice cracked like he was fourteen again and terrified of sounding weak. "I'm getting married, mom."

Another beat of silence.

“YOU LITTLE—YOU—YOU PROPOSED AND YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?!” Mitsuki was definitely crying. He could hear her smacking something (probably Masaru) in the background while shrieking. “Put him on! Put my son-in-law on RIGHT NOW!”

He shoved the phone toward Izuku like it had burned him.

Izuku took it gently, eyes shining, that soft, sun-warm smile spreading across his face like dawn.

“Hi, Auntie,” he said, voice thick with tears he wasn’t even trying to hide. The sound Mitsuki made was indecipherable (something between a wail and a laugh). Then:

“Izuku, baby, you said yes to my idiot son? Are you sure? We can still get you out, there’s time—”

Izuku laughed, wet and perfect, leaning harder into Katsuki’s side.

They heard Masaru sobbing now. “You… my ridiculous, impossible son. You’re getting married. You’re really—”

“Yeah,” Katsuki cut in, voice rough. He reached over and took the phone back, putting it on speaker so he didn’t have to let go of Izuku’s hand. “I'm really.”

Masaru’s quieter voice came through then, steady and warm. “We’re proud of you, Katsuki. Both of you.”

Mitsuki hiccupped. “I knew it. I knew it the day you came home at seven years old and told me you were going to marry that green-haired kid who kept following you around like a puppy. You were so mad when I laughed.”

Katsuki groaned, burying his burning face in Izuku’s neck. Izuku’s arms came around him instantly, holding tight, his smile so warm Katsuki could feel it against his temple.

“Shut up, old hag,” Katsuki mumbled, but his voice cracked again, and he didn’t pull away when Izuku kissed the top of his head.

Mitsuki just cried harder. “Bring him home next weekend brat. Izuku are you listening?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Izuku said, laughing through his own tears.

When they finally hung up (after twenty more minutes of Mitsuki alternating between threats and happy sobbing), the apartment was quiet again.

Katsuki sat very still, face still hidden against Izuku’s shoulder, shoulders shaking with everything he couldn’t say. Izuku just held him tighter, warm and warm and warmer, until the shaking stopped.

After a while, Izuku’s hands were still trembling when he opened the group chat that hadn’t changed its name since they were fifteen (“Class 1-A Trauma Bond” courtesy of Kaminari, never changed because no one could agree on anything better).

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a full minute.

Katsuki watched from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t nervous as hell. “Just type it, nerd. They’re gonna lose their minds either way.”

Izuku bit his lip, smiled that small, watery, sun-bright smile, and finally hit send.

[Izuku]
hey… are you guys free tomorrow?
need to see everyone
old bar at 10?
it’s important ♡

When everyone arrived, Katsuki began. 

“I asked Auntie for permission yesterday,” his voice rougher than he wanted. “She cried. A lot. Then she told me I’d had it since we were four, so..."

Around him at a lowly lit bar was the entire Class 1-A.

Kaminari whispered, “Permission for what, bro?”

Katsuki lifted his and Izuku’s joined hands.

“I’m marrying this idiot,” Katsuki said, jerking his chin toward Izuku without looking away from the room. “Soon. Small thing. Just family. You’re all—” His voice cracked hard. He didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re all invited. You’re all family.”

The room exploded. Mina screamed first (an actual pterodactyl screech) and launched herself across the coffee table, knocking over sake and cups of water in the process. Kirishima was right behind her, eyes already red, tackling Katsuki so hard they both hit the floor. Kaminari started ugly-crying into Sero’s shoulder.

Katsuki let them crush him. Let them scream and cry and hit his shoulder and call him every name in the book. He buried his face in Kirishima’s spiky hair when his best friend’s voice broke on “I’m so proud of you, man,” because if he looked up he was going to lose it completely.

Izuku was swarmed next, lifted off his feet by a group hug. Someone (definitely Mina) was yelling about being maid of honor. Someone else (definitely Bakugou) growled that he would blow up the first person who tried to plan a bachelor party with strippers.

When the noise finally settled into hiccupping laughter and too many arms still tangled around them, Katsuki found himself sitting on the floor, back against the couch, Izuku tucked under his arm like he belonged there (because he did).

Kirishima knelt in front of them, eyes shining, gripping both their knees.

“You two,” he said, voice thick, “you made it. You really fucking made it.”

Katsuki’s throat closed again. He managed a nod.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “We did.”

Mina flopped down beside them, resting her head on Katsuki’s shoulder the way she used to after nightmares after the war.

“About damn time,” she whispered, teary and smiling. “We’ve been betting on this since we were fifteen.”

Katsuki huffed a laugh that sounded suspiciously wet. “You’re all assholes.”

Izuku’s fingers found Katsuki’s again, lacing them tight. Their rings clicked softly together.

Katsuki looked around at the people who had seen him at his worst (screaming, bleeding, half-dead, terrified) and stayed anyway. Who had watched him learn how to be human one broken day at a time. Who had never once looked at the way he loved Izuku and called it anything less than inevitable.

His voice was barely a whisper, but the room went quiet to hear it.

“Thank you,” he said, raw and shaking and real. “For… for not letting me fuck this up. For not letting us fuck this up.”

Kirishima punched his shoulder lightly, eyes bright. “Never were gonna let you, Blasty.”

And somewhere in the middle of all the crying and laughing and promises of embarrassing speeches, Katsuki realized this was what peace felt like.

He pressed his lips to Izuku’s temple, ring cool against his husband-to-be’s skin, and let the noise wash over him like forgiveness.

They had made it.

Izuku had called his mom later that night, and Katsuki will never know what they talked about, because he had fallen asleep, head on Izuku's lap while his fiance and his mom talked endlessly into the night.

Inko told him stories he’d never heard before (how Katsuki at six had threatened to “blow up the sun if it made Izuku sad again” after a bad day; how he used to sneak extra snacks into Izuku’s backpack in middle school because he noticed Izuku gave his away to kids who didn’t have lunch; how he’d stood outside their apartment in the rain the night Izuku was in the hospital after Kamino, refusing to leave until Inko dragged him inside and wrapped him in towels).

Izuku cried quietly the whole time, tears slipping into Katsuki’s hair. Every story was another stitch in the blanket of a love that had always been there, just waiting for them to grow into it.

~

Izuku tripped on the aisle runner three times during practice. The third time he went down, Katsuki caught him by the waist without even looking up from the program booklet.

The coordinator blinked. She was a tiny woman named Hana with a clipboard the size of her torso and the weary eyes of someone who had survived too many bridezilla meltdowns, stared at them like she was witnessing new laws of physics. (She was.)

“Does he always—?”

Katsuki just sighed, adjusting Izuku upright like straightening a crooked picture frame.

“Only when he’s thinking too hard,” Katsuki said. His arm stayed locked around Izuku’s waist. “Which is always.”

Izuku apologized into his shoulder.

Katsuki muttered, “Stop saying sorry before you face-plant for real.”

Izuku’s ears went scarlet. “The runner’s just… bunched weirdly right there.”

“It’s flat, Izu.”

Hana opened her mouth, closed it, then decided some couples were simply above explanation. She made a note that probably said invest in double-sided tape and moved on.

Two hours later they were in the flower tent arguing about centerpieces.

Izuku wanted something simple, white roses and baby’s breath, the same flowers Mitsuki had carried at her own wedding. Katsuki wanted something that wouldn’t make him sneeze his lungs out on the altar.

“Peonies are romantic,” Izuku tried, holding up a fat pink bloom the size of a softball.

“They’re pollen bombs,” Katsuki countered, swatting it away angrily, “I’m not crying at my own wedding because of flowers.”

"You'll definitely cry during vows." Izuku declared.

Katsuki’s eye twitched. “Pick different flowers or I’m replacing them all with carnations out of spite.”

Izuku gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” 

Empty, empty threats.

They ended up with white anemones and eucalyptus (romantic, low-pollen, and apparently the only compromise the florist had left before she quit on the spot).

Next came the seating chart.

Izuku didn't last a second before he started spiraling.

“If we put Aunt Chiako next to Uncle Ren they’ll argue about politics. But if we move Uncle Ren next to Cousin Miki she’ll try to set him up with her divorce lawyer again. And if we put our old agency friends anywhere near the bar—”

Katsuki took the chart, drew a giant X over the whole thing, and wrote HEROES in one corner and CIVILIANS in the other.

“Problem solved.”

"Kacchan! What the fuck?!"

Katsuki sobered down quickly and started helping him. Izuku didn't often curse so it made the times he did, very serious. 

Soon Katsuki had come up with a seating plan all on his own and Izuku couldn't come up with a single complaint.

“That’s… actually genius,”

“I know. I’m a genius. Write that in the vows.”

Cake tasting was disastrous.

The baker brought out twelve different flavors. Izuku took polite, little bites and made careful notes of each of them. Katsuki took one bite of each, declared eight of them “fine,” and then stole the rest of Izuku’s slices when he wasn’t looking.

By the time they reached the strawberry champagne, Izuku noticed his plate was mysteriously empty.

“Kacchan!”

“What? You weren’t eating fast enough.”

“You’re the reason we can’t have nice things.”

“We’re literally at the most expensive cake store in Japan. We’re having the nicest thing.”

They chose red velvet with cream-cheese frosting eventually.

Later, Izuku tripped on the runner again. Hana gave up and started filming it on her phone for the “bloopers” reel she was definitely making.

Izuku’s face was crimson against Katsuki’s shoulder. “I swear the ground is uneven.”

“The ground is fine. Your brain is uneven.”

“I’m going to ruin the actual ceremony.”

“You’re not.”

“I’ll fall on my face in front—” Izuku’s voice cracked, suddenly small. “In front of everyone!" he wailed.

“Listen to me,” Katsuki said, hands coming up to cup Izuku’s face, thumbs brushing over freckles. “If you fall, I catch you. That’s the whole damn point. Always has been.”

Izuku’s eyes filled. Hana quietly put her phone away and pretended to be very busy with her clipboard.

"And if you do eat shit in front of everyone," Katsuki continued, "it’ll be the most you thing that’s ever happened. They’ll love it. I’ll love it. I’m marrying you, not your ability to walk in a straight line.”

“You’re going to be stuck with me forever, you know.”

Katsuki leaned in until their foreheads touched.

“Good,” he whispered. “Forever’s the plan.”

Behind them, Hana sniffed suspiciously loud and blamed the eucalyptus.

A few days later, Izuku only tripped once during the real ceremony.

~

Come home in pieces,
come home on fire,
come home half-dead, but come home, my lover.
I’ll kiss the blood, I’ll curse the sky,
and love you reckless till the day I die.

You are my war.
You are my peace.
My forever fool.
My masterpiece.

The ceremony was small.

Not because they wanted to keep it a secret, but because the world had already taken too much of them in stadiums and spotlights and hospital rooms. This day belonged only to the people who had carried them home in pieces and refused to let go.

Izuku was already at the altar when the music changed (something soft and instrumental that Uraraka had chosen because it made her cry every time she heard it). He wore black, collar open, the faint scar at his throat catching the last of the sun. His hands were trembling again, but this time he let them. He had waited his whole life to shake for something this good.

Then Katsuki appeared.

His hair was pushed back just enough to show the scar that cut through his brow (the one Izuku had kissed a thousand times and apologized for just as many). He did not smile for the crowd. He only looked at Izuku, and the look was so fierce and tender that half their friends started crying before he had taken ten steps.

When he reached the altar he didn’t wait for the officiant. He took Izuku’s trembling hands, pressed their foreheads together right there in front of their teachers, their friends, their found family, and whispered so low only Izuku could hear:

“Took you long enough to make an honest man outta me, Deku.”

Izuku laughed, wet and wrecked, and,

“Hi,” Izuku said softly.

“Hi yourself, nerd.”

The ceremony began.

Present Mic (officiant) cleared his throat.

“We’re here,” he said, dry as ever, “because these two idiots finally figured out what the rest of us knew in first year.”

Soft laughter rippled through the seats.

Izuku went first.

“Kacchan,” he began, and the name was a vow all by itself. Izuku got so emotional halfway through, he stepped backwards off the tiny platform. 

Katsuki grabbed the front of his suit jacket and hauled him back with one arm, never breaking eye contact, and with Izuku never stopping his vow mid-sentence.

Everyone assumed it was rehearsed.

It absolutely wasn’t.

Izuku went on, and Katsuki found himself blinking back sudden tears. 

"You don't need to buy me the moon, Kacchan," he finished, because five year old Katsuki had sworn he would. It's something he said out of habit now, after constantly declaring it their entire childhood. Izuku had made him say it way past the age they both understood it wasn't possible and he still loved to hear Kacchan say it.

The first time Katsuki ever said it, they were five and lying on the grass behind Izuku’s apartment building, on a sticky summer night. The cicadas were louder than the TV.

Izuku had his tiny All Might notebook open on his chest, but he wasn’t writing. He was staring straight up, eyes wide, mouth parted rambling on and and on about everything that happened in his day.

“Kacchan,” he’d whispered, reverent. “Do you think the moon’s lonely up there? It’s so pretty. I wish I could keep it.”

Katsuki, already half-annoyed at how easily Izuku got lost in things, kicked at the dirt. “It’s just a rock, idiot.”

But Izuku kept looking. Every night after dinner, if the sky was clear, he’d drag Katsuki outside. “Come on, Kacchan! The moon’s out again tonight. Look how big it is!”

Katsuki went because Izuku asked, and because secretly he liked how Izuku’s whole face lit up silver under it, freckles glowing like someone spilled stars across his cheeks.

One night Izuku sighed, dramatic and five-year-old tragic. “When I grow up I’m gonna live somewhere I can see it all the time. It’s my favorite thing.”

Katsuki scowled at the sky.

“Fine. When I am the number one hero in the whole world, I'll have loads on money and I’m gonna buy you the damn moon so you can stop whining about it.”

Little Izuku had gasped, rolled over, and tackled him in a hug. “Really, Kacchan? You’d do that for me?”

"Obviously.”

It became their thing.

Every time the moon was full and Izuku’s eyes went soft, Katsuki would mutter it again.

Every time Izuku had a bad day, he’d find Katsuki after school, and whisper, “Kacchan… is the moon still mine?”

And Katsuki, no matter how pissed he was at the world, would always hug him and answer the same.

“Still got your name on it, nerd. Not going anywhere.”

They grew up and the world got uglier. But the moon remained Izuku's.

“Still gonna buy you the moon one day.” Katsuki would say, when they were walking back home after a fight.

Izuku would laugh, wet and broken and healing. “I know, Kacchan. You’ve only been promising since we were five.”

“You still like looking at it?” Katsuki always asked, like he was scared the answer might’ve changed.

Izuku would turn in his arms, and say yes, nose bumping Katsuki’s, and whisper, “It’s not my favourite thing anymore though.”

"Oh." Katsuki would look down, expression turning sour. Izuku would laugh and call him silly Kacchan, saying 'Looking at you is my favourite thing now, Kacchan.'

And Katsuki would go red.

(With embarassment, of course)

Izuku sniffled. "I choose you today in front of everyone we love. I will choose you tomorrow when it’s just us and the quiet. I will choose you until the stars don't shine.”

Katsuki took one step closer, close enough that their shoes touched, close enough that the whole world narrowed to green and crimson.

“Izuku,” he started, forgetting the people around them, when he saw tears already forming in his soon to be husband's eyes. “You were the first person who ever looked at me and saw something worth following instead of fearing. You are the victory I never had to fight for, because you were always there beside me, ahead of me. You stubborn, brilliant, impossible nerd; you broke your bones for a dream and then handed me half of it like it was nothing. You made me better by never once letting me win alone."

The damned nerd was sniffling so much he had to be handed a tissue paper.

“I’m not good at gentle,” he continued, voice raw. “But for you I learned quiet. For you I learned soft. For you I will learn everything else, every single day, until the last spark in my hands goes out. You are my home, Izuku. You are the only future I want. So yeah; marry me. Keep me. I’ve been yours since the day you followed me into the fire and refused to let me burn alone.”

When Katsuki slid Izuku’s ring onto his finger, his hand was shaking so badly Izuku had to steady it with both of his own. 

“By the power vested in me by the Hero Commission and a lot of emotional blackmail; I pronounce you now married. Try not to blow up the reception.”

And when Katsuki took his husband in his arms and whispered 'I do.' over and over again it was with?

With Love, Of Course.

Chapter Text