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Izuku liked to think he was durable, both physically and mentally, especially when it came to Kacchan. He’d seen every version of him that existed: the furious prodigy, the relentless rival, the fiercely loyal partner. And yet, being faced with bridzilla Bakugou felt like meeting an entirely new species.
They’d started dating near the end of their third year and had been inseparable ever since. Their dynamic barely changed, still competing, still chasing after one another, even their romantic gestures turning into a contest of who could outdo the other. Now, freshly engaged at twenty-four, Izuku was wildly unprepared for just how tense Kacchan had become. He knew how much of a perfectionist he was, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when his head nearly got chewed off for misplacing (losing) his ring.
“Can you believe this idiot?” Kacchan snapped into the phone, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “I told him. Told him not to wear it at work. What does he do? He goes and fucking loses it.”
Izuku could hear cupboards rattling in the background, metal clanging against metal as Kacchan paced the kitchen. He was probably talking to Mina or Kirishima but the annoyance in his tone hadn’t softened once.
“Don’t defend that shit,” Kacchan continued. “How the fuck are people supposed to know he’s taken if he doesn’t wear his ring?”
“I said I’ll get it replaced!” Izuku shouted back, huffing out a breath and rubbing at his temples. “Stop telling people I lost it!”
“Then don’t lose your fucking ring, idiot!” Kacchan yelled, slamming a cupboard shut hard enough to make the walls shudder. “God, I have to do everything around here!”
A muffled voice crackled through the phone before Kacchan scoffed. “Fuck off, shitty hair. Mina wasn’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine when planning your guys’ wedding,” he muttered before hanging up.
Izuku thought. Hoped, that once the ring was replaced and back on his finger, Kacchan would finally cool down. That peace lasted a grand total of five minutes.
“I’m going with Mina and Ears to look at venues,” Kacchan said, already rifling through papers, eyes scanning line after line without looking up. “Jirou wants to hear how the acoustics will sound, and Mina needs to know how big of a space she is working with for decorating. I need you to sign off on the tables and chairs.”
Izuku leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of smoke and citrus. “Of course, Kacchan. Whatever you need.”
Kacchan hesitated, then leaned subtly into the contact. “And it needs to be forest green. Those are the chairs I ordered.”
“Got it,” Izuku hummed, absently stroking Kacchan’s arm, barely registering the stress humming beneath his skin. “Green’s easy to remember.”
He yawned, tugging Kacchan gently toward their bedroom. “You’ve done enough for today. Let’s go to sleep.”
Kacchan grumbled under his breath but let himself be dragged along anyway.
—
“I know you’re going for a woodland-themed wedding,” the venue worker chirped, gesturing enthusiastically, “and I thought this would pair nicely with the—”
“What the fuck is this?”
Their attention snapped toward Kacchan. His crimson eyes flared, jaw tight, the air around him suddenly thick and electric.
“The chairs you ordered?” Izuku offered hopefully, hands clasped together.
Kacchan dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as if holding back a migraine. “What the fuck, Deku. I said forest green. This is clearly emerald.”
“That’s my fault,” the worker—Kato—interjected quickly, her smile strained but polite. “I suggested this shade because it matches the backing of the chairs and the tabletops better.”
Kacchan’s glare snapped to her, sharp and unforgiving. “Was I fucking talking to you? I don’t give a shit which color matches better.”
Then his eyes burned back into Izuku.
“And you,” he snarled, “you had one fucking job.”
Izuku felt his chest tighten. “Kacchan—”
“Do you just not care?” Kacchan demanded. “First you lose your ring, and now you pick the wrong chairs. Am I the only one who wants this?!”
A sharp pop cracked through the room. Then another. Sparks flared in Kacchan’s palms, the heat stinging Izuku’s skin as an explosion went off, splintering one of the chairs into jagged pieces. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air.
“Kacchan, please,” Izuku said quickly, stepping closer and placing a calming hand on his arm. “You’re gonna scare poor Kato.”
The room fell silent except for the faint crackle of dissipating heat.
“I—it’s fine,” Kacchan said shakily. “I’m alright.”
Kacchan took a long, steady breath. Then another. Slowly, his shoulders lowered, the tension easing from his stance as the sparks faded from his hands.
-
The apartment was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against Izuku’s ears. Evening light spilled in through the windows, turning the walls amber and soft, dust motes floating lazily in the air. Izuku sat at the dining table with his laptop open, a spreadsheet pulled up and half-filled with names. That was the problem. The front door slammed.
Izuku barely had time to look up before Kacchan stormed in, jacket tossed onto the couch, boots kicked off with more force than necessary. His hair was slightly damp from the cold outside, spiking in unruly angles, a faint flush still clinging to his cheeks. He looked… dangerous. Controlled fury simmering just under the surface.
Izuku swallowed, then smiled. Gods, he was hot.
“The caterer called,” Kacchan said, voice tight. “They need a final number by tomorrow morning.”
Izuku nodded, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Yeah, I was just finishing—”
Kacchan stopped short, eyes snapping to the screen. He leaned over Izuku’s shoulder, heat radiating off him. “Why the hell is this half empty?”
Izuku blinked. “It’s not half empty—”
“It’s missing people, Deku.” Kacchan straightened abruptly, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Where the fuck is the rest of your annoying extras? Your agency buddies? The brats who worship you, and you won’t shut up about?”
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “I… didn’t think they’d want to come. Some of them I haven’t talked to in years, and—”
Kacchan scoffed, pacing now. The floor creaked under his steps. “That’s bullshit. You invite them and let them decide.”
“I just didn’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Izuku said gently. “It’s a lot to ask—”
Kacchan whirled on him. “You think our wedding is an inconvenience?”
The air snapped, sharp and electric. Izuku’s breath caught, not in fear but in something dangerously close to fondness. Kacchan’s eyes burned bright, jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck. He was gorgeous when he cared like this, when his anger came from protectiveness instead of pride.
Izuku stood, slowly closing the laptop. “Kacchan,” he murmured, stepping into his space. “You’re glowing.”
Kacchan froze. “Don’t flirt with me right now.”
Izuku smiled anyway, hands coming up to rest lightly on Kacchan’s forearms. Warm. Tense. Familiar. “You get really intense when you’re mad,” he said softly. “It’s… sexy.”
Katsuki scowled, but the edge dulled. “You’re annoying.”
“Maybe,” Izuku agreed. “But you’re upset because you want everything to be perfect, and you’re so hot when you’re mad.”
Kacchan looked away, teeth grinding. “I just—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale. “I need a number. I need it solid. I can’t plan shit if you keep leaving yourself out.”
Izuku’s chest tightened. He slid his hands up, thumbs brushing over Kacchan’s wrists in slow, grounding strokes. “Okay,” he said. “Then let’s do it together. You help me remember people I’m forgetting.”
Kacchan hesitated, then finally looked back at him. “You better not argue.”
“I won’t,” Izuku promised. “I trust you.”
That did it. Kacchan’s shoulders slumped just a fraction, tension bleeding out of him. He stepped closer, forehead pressing briefly to Izuku’s temple, breath warm against his skin. “Idiot,” he muttered, quieter now. “You deserve a full room.”
Izuku smiled, heart full, eyes drifting over the sharp lines of Kacchan’s face, the fire that still hadn’t fully dimmed. He wrapped his arms around him, content, steady.
“Yeah,” Izuku said softly. “But I’m really glad you’re the one making sure I get it.”
They finalized the numbers that night, names filling the spreadsheet until the once-empty space felt dense and real. By the time Izuku closed the laptop, his eyes ached and his chest felt pleasantly heavy. A full room.
Kacchan hovered close the entire time, correcting spelling, snapping when Izuku tried to downplay someone’s importance, muttering insults under his breath that somehow sounded like affection. When they were done, Kacchan rested his forearms on the table and stared at the screen for a long moment.
“…Good,” he said finally.
Izuku smiled.
The next morning came too quickly.
The tailor’s shop was quiet in a way that felt intentional, muffled by thick curtains and rows of fabric. Light filtered in through tall windows, pale and clean, reflecting off polished mirrors and white garment bags hanging in careful rows. They’d arrived separately.
Rules were rules.
Izuku stood in the fitting room with Ochaco, his heart thudding a little too hard as the tailor adjusted the shoulders of his tux. White felt different than he expected—softer than black, brighter, almost fragile. He flexed his fingers, grounding himself.
“You’re okay,” Ochaco murmured, squeezing his hand. “You look amazing. I’m not saying Bakugou’s going to combust when he sees you—but I am saying we should stand back.”
Izuku laughed softly, cheeks warm. Somewhere in the building, Kacchan is also getting fitted. The knowledge buzzed under his skin.
—
Katsuki was already irritated.
He stood near the mirrors with his jacket half-on, arms tense as the tailor pinned the hem. The white fabric made him look sharp, clean lines, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that filled a room even when he was standing still.
“Kaminari’s late,” he said flatly.
Kirishima glanced at his phone. “He texted and said he got called into work.”
Katsuki’s eyes snapped up. “What do you mean called into work?”
“Emergencies happen,” Mina said carefully from the doorway. “We’re heroes.”
“This was the only time we could get everyone fitted together. If he doesn’t get sized properly, it throws off the timeline. Which throws off the tailoring. Which—”
His voice rose with each word, agitation sparking under his skin.
Mina stepped closer. “Bakugou.”
“He said he’d be here,” Katsuki continued, jaw tight. “I don’t want any mismatched bullshit on our wedding day.”
The tailor cleared his throat gently. “We can schedule Kaminari separately. It won’t affect your suits.”
Katsuki opened his mouth to argue—
Then stopped. Work. A call-in. A real one.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. The tension in his shoulders loosened, just a fraction. “Tch. Fine,” he muttered. “He better show up next time.”
Kirishima smiled. “He will.”
Katsuki turned back to the mirror, finally taking in his reflection. The white suit fit perfectly, sharp and clean and empty.
His chest tightened.
“…Deku,” he muttered under his breath.
—
Izuku stood straighter as the tailor stepped back, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. The mirror reflected someone older, steadier, still him, but on the edge of something new.
“Ready?” Ochaco asked softly.
Izuku nodded. Not to see him yet.
But soon.
The weeks after the fitting passed in a blur.
Deposits were paid. Menus finalized. The guest list grew inked and permanent, no longer a spreadsheet but something real, something waiting. Kacchan’s sharp edges softened just enough to let excitement seep through, though he still snapped at anyone who suggested changing a detail last minute. Izuku learned the signs: when to step in, when to let him pace, when to simply sit beside him and exist.
Somewhere along the way, the ring stayed firmly on Izuku’s finger.
Then suddenly, there were no more plans left to make.
—
Izuku woke before his alarm.
Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and golden, and for a moment he simply lay there, listening to the quiet hum of the world. His heart was already racing, excitement buzzing beneath his skin like static.
Today.
The thought made his chest feel too full. He rolled onto his side and stared at the ceiling, smiling helplessly. No more waiting. No more counting days. Everything they’d worked toward, every argument, every compromise, every laugh that had led here.
A gentle knock sounded at the door.
“Izuku?” His mother’s voice, warm and steady. “Are you awake, sweetheart?”
“I am,” he said quickly, pushing himself upright. “I’m up.”
The room filled with soft movement soon after. Inko stepped in first, eyes bright and already shining with unshed tears. Ochaco followed, carrying a bag with both hands like it was something sacred, with Shoto, Tenya and Tsu trailing behind her, vibrating with barely-contained excitement.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” Shoto said.
Izuku laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I slept. Just… wedding jitters.”
“That means you care,” Ochaco said gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s a good thing.”
Inko brushed Izuku’s hair back with careful fingers, her smile trembling. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “My little boy.”
Izuku’s throat tightened. “Mom…”
“Okay, nope,” Tsu said briskly, clapping her hands. “Crying comes after the ceremony. We have a schedule.”
They moved around him with practiced ease, the room slowly filling with life and warmth. Steam from the shower fogged the mirror. Fabric rustled. The scent of citrus soap and clean linen wrapped around him, grounding and familiar.
When it was time, Ochaco helped him into his tux.
The jacket settled over his shoulders like it had always belonged there. He adjusted the cuffs, fingers steady now, nerves smoothing into something bright and focused. When he finally looked at himself in the mirror, he didn’t see fear.
He saw readiness.
“You look amazing,” Ochaco said softly.
Inko pressed a kiss to his cheek, her voice thick. “I’m so so proud.”
Izuku swallowed hard, smiling. “Thank you.”
His gaze dropped briefly to his hand.
His heart kicked hard in his chest—not with doubt, but with certainty.
Kacchan is waiting.
Izuku inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slow and steady.
“I’m ready,” he said.
And for the first time all morning, his hands didn’t shake at all.
The doors were heavier than Izuku expected. Not physically—those opened easily enough but the moment behind them pressed against his chest, thick with anticipation. The murmur of voices softened as music swelled, low and steady, and the world seemed to narrow down to the space just in front of him.
Inko squeezed his hand one last time. “Go,” she whispered, eyes shining. “He’s waiting.”
Izuku nodded. The doors opened.
Light flooded the aisle, filtering through leaves and soft white florals, the woodland theme alive around him—greens and warm wood and sunlight catching on glass. Faces turned, smiles blooming, a collective breath held. Izuku barely noticed.
Because at the end of the aisle stood Katsuki.
White suit. Broad shoulders drawn back, hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His crimson eyes locked onto Izuku the second he appeared, sharp and stunned and impossibly soft all at once.
For a heartbeat, he forgot to breathe.
Izuku felt it like a pull in his chest.
There you are.
Each step forward steadied him. His nerves melted into something warm and bright, excitement buzzing under his skin. Kacchan didn’t look angry. He didn’t look tense. He looked in awe.
By the time Izuku reached him, Kacchan’s jaw was tight, eyes glassy despite himself.
“Took you long enough,” Kacchan muttered under his breath.
Izuku smiled. “You’re shaking.”
“Shut up.”
They turned to face the officiant, but Kacchan didn’t let go of Izuku’s hand—not even when prompted. His grip was firm, grounding, familiar. When it was time for vows, Izuku barely heard the rest of the world. He took a breath.
“Katsuki,” he began, voice steady despite the rush in his chest. “You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember. You push me forward—even when I’m scared, even when I doubt myself. You make me want to be better, not because you expect it… but because you believe I can.”
Katsuki swallowed hard.
“I promise to stand beside you,” Izuku continued softly. “To remind you to rest when you forget. To argue with you when you’re wrong—and love you even harder when you’re right. I choose you. Every day.”
Katsuki let out a shaky breath, then huffed. “Damn it.”
When it was his turn, Katsuki lifted Izuku’s hands like he needed the contact to speak.
“I don’t do this shit,” he said gruffly. “Feelings. Words. You know that.”
A few quiet laughs rippled through the guests.
“But you?” Katsuki’s voice dropped, raw and honest. “You’re the one thing I never questioned. I promise to protect you, to fight for you, and to make sure you never feel small again. You’re my partner. My equal. My home.”
Izuku’s eyes burned.
When the officiant finally spoke the last words, Izuku barely registered them before Katsuki surged forward.
Their kiss was soft at first—careful, reverent—then deepened with quiet laughter and relief and years of shared history. Katsuki’s hand slid to Izuku’s waist, anchoring him there like he belonged. Because he did.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, Kacchan whispered, “Mine.”
Izuku smiled, radiant. “Yours.”
The room erupted around them, applause and cheers washing over everything but Izuku only saw Kacchan, only felt the steady warmth of his hand, the certainty in his chest.
They’d made it. Together. And Izuku had never been more ready for anything in his life.