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Love, for Katsuki Bakugou, was a sharp, jagged thing. It was a lodged shrapnel in the chest that never quite healed over, a constant ache that throbbed whenever Izuku Midoriya smiled.
For the rest of the world, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was a force of nature. Always brash, loud, and seemingly married to his work. That's why it came to no surprise that the media speculated constantly. Who could tame the angry blonde? Was he secretly seeing a model? A civilian? Perhaps fellow hero?
What they didn't know was that Katsuki’s heart had been claimed before he even knew what the word love meant. It belonged to a quirkless boy with forest-green eyes and cheeks adorned with constellation-like freckles who chased after him despite every reason not to. Katsuki hadn't dated. Not once. The very idea of letting someone else touch him, hold him, trace the scars on his body or claim a piece of his soul when every fiber of his being was already dedicated to Izuku, felt repulsive. It felt like a betrayal.
He didn't think he deserved Izuku. God knows he had spent his twenties atoning for his childhood sins. But that didn't stop the yearning. It just made it quieter. A silent, suffocating thing. Always consuming the void in his heart, as if it hadn't had it fill yet.
Izuku Midoriya, however, was a different story.
Izuku, the Symbol of Peace’s successor, the man who had lost his embers and found a life as a teacher at U.A., and then found his way back to the sky in a suit made of iron and dreams, was a disaster at love.
Katsuki watched from the sidelines, grinding his teeth, as Izuku threw his heart out only to have it handed back, bruised and battered.
First, it was Rody. That flighty bird-boy. It happened right after Izuku took the teaching job. It lasted two months. Long distance and different worlds were the polite excuse, but Katsuki knew Izuku just couldn't anchor someone whose soul was made of wanderlust.
A year later, it was Todoroki. That one stung Katsuki the most, seeing his two rivals and closest friends together. But three months in, the Half-and-Half bastard realized his heart was tangled up with someone else and he left Izuku standing alone.
Two years passed. Izuku dated a woman from the Support Department faculty. She was nice. Smart. Practical. But five months in, she wanted a ring, and Izuku… Izuku looked at her and felt nothing but panic. He wasn't ready to settle yet. Izuku was still mourning the loss of his quirk, still looking at the horizon where he used to stand. He wasn't ready to settle. So it ended abruptly.
Then came the suit.
It was a masterpiece of engineering and technology. Funded by Class A and All Might and yet most importantly, spearheaded by Katsuki. He had poured his own money, his own time, and his own desperate need to see Izuku standing next to him on the battlefield again into that metal.
The night they presented it to him, the class went to an izakaya to celebrate. The alcohol flowed, the nostalgia was thick in the air. Later, crammed into the passenger seat of Katsuki’s sleek black car, Izuku had looked at him with wide eyes.
"You know," Katsuki had grunted, keeping his eyes on the road, his knuckles white on the wheel. "If you treat everyone like they're special, Deku… then no one really is."
It was meant to be a critique of his selfless nature, of his bleeding heart that always seem to give pieces to everyone. But Izuku took it as romantic advice.
The words had stuck in Izuku’s throat like a fishbone. He realized he had been spreading himself thin, loving the world so much he forgot how to love a person. So that after that night, he reconnected with Uraraka. It seemed like destiny, the closing of a loop from high school.
It lasted two months.
"I'm sorry, Deku-kun," she had said, her eyes wet. "I think... I think I'm chasing a ghost of who we were at sixteen. And I still have feelings for someone from back then. It isn't fair to you."
Katsuki had come over because Izuku hadn’t answered his texts for twenty-four hours. He had kicked the door open, taken one look at the gloom, and started cleaning before shoving a beer into Izuku’s hand.
"You look like shit," Katsuki stated, cracking open a can of beer for himself.
"Thank you, Kacchan. Your manner is truly healing," Izuku slurred slightly, leaning his head back against the couch cushions near Katsuki’s knee.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Katsuki grumbled, though his hand twitched as if he wanted to touch Izuku’s unruly curls, before settling back on his own knee. "Dating these extras."
"I'm trying to be normal," Izuku sighed. "Mom wants grandkids. The world wants to see who Hero Deku settles down with. I just... I suck at it. I give too much, or not enough. I don't know." He tilted his head back to look at Katsuki upside down. "What about you? You never date. Not once. The tabloids think you’re married to your job."
Katsuki took a long sip, his throat working. "I don't have time. And people... they don't appeal to me."
"No one?"
"No one."
It was a lie, of course.
There was one person. There had only ever been one person. Since they were four years old, since the river, since the bullying, since the apology in the rain, since the war. Katsuki’s heart had been carved out and shaped to fit only Izuku Midoriya.
But the thought of being with anyone else made Katsuki physically ill. And the thought of being with Izuku? That was a pipe dream. Katsuki looked at his hands—hands that had burned, hands that had shoved. He didn't deserve the soft, yielding light of Izuku Midoriya. Izuku deserved someone gentle. Someone who hadn't spent a decade making his life hell before spending the next decade trying to atone.
Every time Izuku dated someone, Katsuki felt it like a physical blow. He watched from the sidelines, biting his tongue, swallowing the jealousy and the yearning until it burned like acid in his gut.
"Must be nice," Izuku mumbled, closing his eyes. "To be self-sufficient."
"It's lonely," Katsuki admitted, the alcohol loosening his guard just a fraction.
Izuku hummed. The room was quiet, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. "Hey, Kacchan?"
"What?"
"If we're... if we get to thirty, and neither of us has settled down..." Izuku giggled, a wet, sad sound. "Maybe we should just be together. You know? Save us both the trouble."
Katsuki froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked down at Izuku’s flushed face. Izuku was joking. It was a classic drunk contingency plan. A pinky promise made of vapor.
But Katsuki took it. He snatched it out of the air and held it close to his chest.
"Hah," Katsuki smirked, masking the desperate hope in his eyes. "If you're still a loser by thirty? Fine. I'll take pity on you."
"Yeah. Thirty. If no one wants us by then, we’ll just… be a couple. Save everyone the trouble." Izuku giggled. "You can cook, I can clean. We already work together. It’s convenient."
Convenient. Practical.
Katsuki smirked, a jagged, sharp expression that hid a terrifying amount of longing. "Fine. But you better not be fat and bald by then, Deku."
"I won't!" Izuku protested as he held out his pinky finger, wiggling it. "Promise?"
Katsuki stared at the finger. It was childish. It was ridiculous. They were the top heroes in Japan, sitting on a floor, making a pinky promise like kindergarteners.
Katsuki hooked his pinky around Izuku’s. "Promise."
Time, as it often did, moved faster than expected.
Izuku mastered the suit. He soared back up the rankings, the "Quirkless Hero: Deku" becoming a beacon of hope once again. He saved cities, he inspired a new generation, and he remained spectacularly single.
He still went on dates, sure. But nothing stuck. The spark wasn't there. The gentle, soft love he claimed to want never seemed to manifest in reality. That quiet love wouldn't appear as if something unfathomable.
Katsuki, on the other hand, didn't date. He worked unfazed. He trained diligently. He kept a close orbit around Izuku, chasing villains and ensuring Izuku’s suit maintenance was top-tier. He waited. He watched the calendar. Heart filled with that quiet fear and yearning.
Years passed by, Izuku turned thirty. Nothing happened. They were busy with a massive coordinated raid against a resurgence of villainy in the Kansai region. The birthday passed with a cake in the agency breakroom and a frantic patrol schedule.
Then came thirty-one.
It was a month after Izuku’s thirty-first birthday. They were sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, legs dangling over the city lights, taking a break from a quiet patrol. The wind was cold, biting at their exposed skin, but the heat radiating from Izuku’s armored suit and Katsuki’s gauntlets kept them warm.
"My mom asked me about grandkids again," Izuku sighed, leaning back on his hands. "She's losing hope."
"Auntie Inko is dramatic," Katsuki said, biting into a protein bar.
"I’m thirty-one, Kacchan. Thirty-one." Izuku groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I’m going to die alone. My cat is going to eat me."
"You don't have a cat."
"I might as well get one. Just to prepare for the inevitable loneliness."
Katsuki chewed slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had been waiting for this. He had been terrified Izuku had forgotten, or worse, that he remembered but thought it was too stupid to bring up.
"You're past the deadline," Katsuki said abruptly.
Izuku looked up, blinking. "Huh?"
"The pact, idiot. The pinky promise." Katsuki refused to look at him, staring steadfastly at the Tokyo Tower in the distance, feigning indifference. "You said if we weren't settled by thirty, we'd just… be together."
There was a long silence. The wind howled softly between the buildings. Katsuki’s heart hammered so hard he worried the sensors in Izuku’s suit might pick up the vibration.
"Oh," Izuku breathed. "I… I thought you forgot. I was joking, Kacchan."
Of course, you are. Katsuki thinks as his hands clenched into fists. "I don't make promises I don't keep." He forced himself to look at Izuku. He kept his face impassive, bored even. "I’m not dating anyone. I don't plan to. You're terrible at it. We already know everything about each other. We knew each other since we were kids. It’s… logical and convenient."
Izuku stared at him, searching his face. Katsuki held his breath.
"Logical," Izuku repeated slowly. A small, tentative smile crept onto his face. "Yeah. It is, isn't it? You know all my quirks. I know yours too. We're already practically married to each other minus the vows."
"Exactly," Katsuki grunted, his ears tinted red that Izuku failed to notice. "So?"
Izuku laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed to scatter the dark clouds in Katsuki’s mind. "Okay. Let’s do it. You and me."
"Good. We're dating then. Try not to be weird about it." Katsuki stood up, dusting off his pants to hide the trembling in his hands. "Come on. Patrol isn't over."
The changes started small, shrouded in the guise of practicality.
Two weeks later, Katsuki suggested they move in together.
"My lease is up," Katsuki lied through his teeth. He owned that condominium outright. He was just going to sell it if Izuku chose to move in with him. "And your apartment has shitty security for a top hero. There’s a place near the agency. Two bedrooms. We split the rent. Saves money."
"We make a lot in our job, Kacchan," Izuku pointed out, amused.
"Rich people stay rich by not spending money on stupid things like separate rents when we're together anyway," Katsuki countered.
Izuku agreed.
They moved into a sprawling apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows. It was modern, clean, and quickly filled with the chaotic energy of two pro-heroes. All Might memorabilia clashed with sleek, designer furnitures.
"It's stupid to wash two sets of sheets," Katsuki grumbled the first night, standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. The bed was a king-size one. "The bed is huge. Just sleep here. Don't be a prude."
So, they shared a bed. The spare room remained a spare one.
For the first few months, they slept like soldiers—stiff, backs to each other, a demilitarized zone of pillows between them.
But Izuku was a tactile creature. One night in his sleep, he sought heat and cling to the nearet source of it. He draped over to Katsuki as his arms wrapped around his waist.
That same night, Katsuki woke up in the middle of the night with Izuku’s arm thrown over his waist, Izuku’s nose buried in the nape of his neck. And Katsuki, who had spent his life pushing people away, froze. He didn't quite know what to do. After a while, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and slowly, carefully, lean back into the touch.
It was supposed to be platonic. Just two best friends, two "partners of convenience," sharing a bed because it was comfortable.
But comfort is a dangerous drug. It became a normalcy between the two of them.
Every day, Katsuki would wake up every morning with Izuku’s wild green curls tickling his nose, or Izuku’s heavy arm thrown over his waist. It was torture. It was paradise.
The dynamic shifted one evening, six months in. They were watching a movie. Izuku had had a hard day—a rescue that went sideways, a civilian he couldn't save. He was vibrating with anxiety.
Without thinking, Izuku crawled across the couch and tucked himself under Katsuki’s chin. Katsuki stiffened, then relaxed, his hand coming up to card through green curls.
"Kacchan," Izuku whispered. "Can I... i-is this okay?"
"Shut up," Katsuki murmured, scratching lightly at Izuku’s scalp. "It's fine."
Izuku looked up and lean his head as he comes face to face with Katsuki. Katsuki's breath hitched as he felt Izuku's soft breathe fanned against his cheeks and nose nuzzles close to his.
Something in Izuku’s chest pulled tight as he stared close at Katsuki. Katsuki’s red eyes were soft, unguarded in the dim light of the TV. Without realizing it, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to Katsuki’s.
It wasn't a firework explosion. It was like coming home.
Katsuki's eyes widened in surprise as he made a noise in the back of his throat—a wounded, desperate sound—and before he knew it, he kissed back. But he didn't take charge. He melted.
For all his bluster, for all his explosive power, in the dark of their bedroom, Katsuki was surprisingly, beautifully delicate and pliant. He craved the touch, craved the proof that Izuku wanted him even just for a while. He let Izuku set the pace. He let Izuku hold him down, kiss his scars, whisper praises against his skin. And boy, he was in paradise. It felt like all his dreams and fantasies came alive.
It was just like he imagined from Izuku. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was desperate, rough, and consuming. He felt needed. He felt powerful in a way that had nothing to do with quirks. He felt safe here in Izuku's arms.
"This works," Izuku told himself after coming from their highs. Voice hoarse with tiredness and satiation as he drifted off to sleep, his arms around Katsuki's waist and Katsuki’s steady heartbeat under his ear as he snuggled against the blonde's chest. "I can get used to this."
They didn't talk about it the next day afterwards. They just… continued. The kisses became a part of their routine, slotted in between morning coffee and briefing reports. The nights became tangles of limbs and heated breaths, whispered names and friction. Those nights became their secret language.
Izuku found it incredibly comfortable. It was Kacchan. His body knew Kacchan’s body better than his own. There was no awkward getting-to-know-you phase, no fear of judgment. Katsuki knew exactly where to touch, how to bite, how to make Izuku unravel.
For Izuku, the dread of relationships vanished. His mother stopped asking about marriage, content that "Katsuki is taking care of you." He had his best friend, his partner, his lover. It was safe. It was easy. It was convenient.
For Katsuki, it was a beautiful, tragic lie.
He poured everything he had into those nights. Every kiss was a confession he couldn't speak aloud. I love you. I have always loved you. I am yours.
But in the cold light of day, he reminded himself. This is convenience. He’s with you because he’s thirty-one and tired of failing. He's with you because he doesn't want to end up alone. He’s with you because you’re there.
Katsuki accepted it. He would take the scraps of Izuku’s affection and build a feast. He would be the convenient boyfriend, the roommate, the lover, as long as he got to wake up next to those green eyes every day. It was enough. It had to be enough. As long as Izuku wouldn't end up and feel lonely, it would be enough. He can't be greedy.
Yet he wish he can be. Greedy, that is.
♥
Four years passed in this domestic blur.
They were thirty-five. Their life settled. They had a routine. They even have a short tabby cat that they named King Explosion Murder—well, more like Katsuki named him and Izuku opted to call him 'King' for short cause really? Who would call a cute cat a murder? Katsuki apparently.
Their life was something they could get used to. The relationship—whatever it was—had settled into a bedrock of their lives. They were a unit. The public knew, of course. You couldn't hide that kind of synergy. "The Wonder Duo" became "The Power Couple," though neither confirmed it explicitly to the press
It was during their dinner at home that Izuku came to a realization for his feelings for the blonde. Anticlimactic yet somehow just normal that just felt right, as if it had been there all along.
They were at home. Katsuki was cooking katsudon, Izuku’s favorite. Always indulging the green-haired man.
Izuku was looking at Katsuki. Really looking at him.
Katsuki was wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants, an apron tied loosely around his waist. He was chopping vegetables with surgical precision, muttering about the price of scallions. The soft yellow rays of the light that bathed him, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He looked older now, the edges of his eyes crinkled, a few gray hairs hidden in the ash-blond spikes. He looked domestic. He looked fierce. He looked beautiful.
And in that second, the world tilted on its axis.
Izuku felt a sudden, massive swell in his chest. It wasn't the fiery rush of a crush, or the anxious fluttering of new romance. It was a tidal wave. Heavy, undeniable, and all-consuming.
This wasn't for convenience.
You don't feel your heart expand to the size of a sun for convenience. You don't feel a sense of absolute, terrifying completeness just because it saves rent money.
Izuku looked at Katsuki. At the man who had built him a suit, who had waited for him, who let him hold him in the dark, who cooked for him daily, who loved him.
He loves me, Izuku realized. The knowledge washed over him like cold water. He’s been looking at me like that for years. How did I not see it?
And then, the second wave hit him like a tsunami that builds up. I love him. I always have.
It wasn't the childhood admiration. It wasn't the friendship. It was a deep, roaring, consuming love that had been growing quietly in the soil of their "fake" relationship, nurtured by every shared meal, every quiet night, every act of devotion Katsuki tried to disguise as annoyance.
He thought back to Rody. To Todoroki. To the support girl. To Uraraka.
He remembered why they ended. He remembered the feeling of something missing. He had always thought the "something missing" was a flaw in himself, an inability to love properly.
But looking at Katsuki now, Izuku realized the truth.
It wasn't that he couldn't love them. It was that he was already loving someone else.
He hadn't been dating Katsuki out of convenience. He hadn't felt comfortable just because it was his best friend. He felt comfortable because Katsuki was home.
The gentle, soft love he thought he wanted? He had it all along.
Maybe Katsuki wasn't soft in the traditional sense. He was loud and brash. But he was the one who woke up ten minutes early to make Izuku coffee exactly how he liked it. He was the one who washed Izuku’s cape when it got dirty. He was the one who held Izuku through the nightmares of the war, his hands—those explosive, deadly hands—rubbing circles into Izuku’s back with infinite tenderness.
Katsuki was the gentle love and quiet solace he had long for. He had been overlooking it for four years. Maybe longer.
"Izuku?" Katsuki frowned as he stared at Izuku realizing he had been to quiet, wiping his hand on his apron. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Izuku swallowed. His throat felt tight. "Yeah. Yeah, Kacchan. I'm... I'm good."
He wasn't good. He was a fool. But he was a fool with a plan.
♥
A month after the internal crash out and revelation, Izuku took the lead on planning.
He reserved the small, private balcony of the restaurant where they had gone with the class all those years ago, the one Momo previously praised for scenic view.
Katsuki was suspicious. Izuku was wearing a tie. Izuku never wore a tie voluntarily.
"What's with the getup?" Katsuki asked as they sat down. The city groaned and hummed below them.
"I wanted to look nice," Izuku said, fidgeting with his cufflinks.
"You look stiff," Katsuki scoffed, though his eyes lingered appreciatively on Izuku’s shoulders.
They ate. They talked about the agency, about the new interns, about the cat. But Izuku was vibrating.
When dessert came, Izuku pushed his plate aside.
"Kacchan." Izuku started evenly, his voice taut with something that made Katsuki gaze at him seriously.
"Do you remember what you told me? That night, in the car? About how if I treat everyone special, no one is?" Izuku continued, voice not betraying anything.
Katsuki stiffened. He put his fork down. "Yeah. I remember. What about it? You want to end this? You found someone actually special?"
The bitterness in Katsuki’s voice was sharp, a defense mechanism snapping into place instantly. He looked away, jaw clenched. Here it comes, Katsuki thought. The four-year dream is over. He found someone real.
"No," Izuku said softly. "I realized you were right. I was always running around, trying to save everyone, trying to give pieces of myself to everyone. But I realized... I realized I was saving the biggest piece. The most important piece."
Izuku reached across the table and took Katsuki’s hand. Katsuki flinched, but didn't pull away.
"I was saving it for the person who was always there," Izuku continued, his voice trembling. "For the person who waited. For the person who built me back up when I had nothing."
Katsuki turned back, his eyes wide, shimmering with a wetness he refused to acknowledge. "Izuku, don't play games. If you want out, just say it."
"I don't want out," Izuku said, standing up.
He moved around the table. Katsuki turned in his chair, looking up at him, terrified.
Izuku knelt.
Katsuki let out a choked sound, his hand flying to his mouth. "What the hell are you doing?"
"This started as a joke," Izuku said, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. "A pact for when we were thirty. A convenience. But Kacchan... somewhere along the way, I forgot we were pretending. Or maybe I never was."
"Izuku," Katsuki gasped, tears finally spilling over, tracking hot paths through the dust of his day.
"You're the only one, Katsuki," Izuku said, using his given name. "You're the special one. You're the only one. I don't want this for convenience anymore. I want it for real. I want to marry you. Not because we're old and alone, but because I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you."
He opened the box. The ring was simple—silver, with a band of orange and green intertwined gems.
"So Kacchan... will you marry me? For real this time?"
Katsuki stared at the ring. He stared at Izuku—this man who had haunted his dreams, who had been his victim, his rival, his partner, and his roommate. He saw the truth in Izuku’s green eyes. It wasn't pity. It wasn't comfort. It was the same fire that had driven them to be heroes.
Katsuki Bakugou, the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, who never cried, who never showed weakness, crumbled. And as always, it was for Izuku.
He grabbed Izuku by the lapels of his suit and hauled him up, burying his face in Izuku’s neck, sobbing openly.
"You idiot," Katsuki shook, his tears soaking Izuku’s collar. "You absolute moron. Took you long enough."
"Is that a yes?" Izuku laughed, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s shaking frame, holding him tight.
"Yes!" Katsuki sobbed even more into his shoulder. "Yes, damn it! Obviously!"
They stood there on the balcony, the city lights bearing witness. It wasn't for convenience anymore. It wasn't a contingency plan.
The next morning, the press release was short and brutal, in true Bakugou Katsuki fashion.
Downright explosive. It circulated the internet through Katsuki's post.
It was a photo of their hands intertwined. Katsuki's hands displaying the inlaid ring on his finger that shook the masses of Japan. With it is an explosive caption.
@GEMG_Dynamight✓
[Attached image.]
You're stuck with me for life nerd, @Hero_Deku. As for you extras, if you have problem with it, suck it up 'cause the world's greatest hero is mine.
Izuku read it over coffee, King Explosion Murder purring on his lap. He looked over at the stove, where his fiancé was aggressively making pancakes, the engagement ring on his hands catching the morning light.
Izuku smiled. It took them a while to get the equation right, but the result was finally perfect.