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WEEK ZERO: THE GRAND PLAN
Bakugou Katsuki loved Midoriya Izuku.
This was a known fact by anyone who had ever been in the presence of them. From their former teachers at UA, Izuku's current students, and even the unsuspecting civillian who knew nothing about Pro-Heroes. The fact was as clear as day.
…To everyone but Izuku himself. Somehow, in the two decades he spent analyzing every goddamn move Katsuki made, Izuku had failed to notice the glaringly obvious interntions behind the way the blonde's sharp eyes would soften only around him, his uncharacteristic clinginess, and his out-of-way desire to always be pestering him at his place of work.
Katsuki had been patient for eight too-long years, ever since his tearful promise to keep chasing each other, but he figured that for once, maybe he could be ahead, even for just a while, so he could finally get his shit together, confess, and date the fuck out of one Midoriya Izuku.
So, like the capable Pro-Hero he was, he developed an all-encompasing, Deku-proof plan. It was a good plan, a great plan, even. It was carefully constructed, methodical, designed to ease Izuku into the idea of them without spooking him. No grand gestures, no explosive confessions. Nothing that might rub Izuku the wrong way. Just consistent, deliberate acts of affection that would gradually shift their dynamic from "childhood friend-turned-bully victim-turned-classmate-turned-rival-turned friend again" to "properly dating." He would bring coffee. He would make lunches. He would find excuses to be around Izuku until Izuku finally looked up one day and realized what Katsuki had been trying to say all along. It was completely unlike Katsuki's usual approach to anything, which was exactly why it would work.
Or at least, that had been the theory.
Three months later, Katsuki was forced to admit that his plan had one critical flaw: Midoriya Izuku was the most oblivious person on the planet.
WEEK ONE: THE COFFEE
The first time Katsuki brought Izuku coffee, he'd spent twenty minutes in line at an overpriced café three blocks from his agency, mentally rehearsing what he'd say. Something casual. Something that didn't scream "I've memorized your exact coffee order including the vanilla creamer you think nobody notices."
He found Izuku in the faculty lounge, buried under a mountain of paperwork, and set the cup down on the table with more force than necessary.
"Here."
Izuku looked up, blinking those ridiculous green eyes. "Kacchan? What–"
"Drink it before it gets cold." Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to look indifferent. "Can't have the number one hero teacher passing out from caffeine withdrawal."
"You brought me coffee?" Izuku's face lit up like Katsuki had just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "That's so thoughtful! You didn't have to–"
"I was already there. Don't make it weird."
"Still, thank you!" Izuku took a sip and made this small, satisfied sound that Katsuki definitely didn't replay in his head for the rest of the day. "Oh wow, this is exactly how I like it. How did you–"
"Lucky guess."
"Kacchan, you really don't have to keep doing this."
"I know I don't have to." Katsuki said in a careful cadence, unsure of how else to respond. "I wanted to."
"That's really sweet of you." Izuku's smile was so genuine it hurt. "You're such a good friend."
Friend.
Katsuki felt something in his chest crack. He'd been so careful with the coffee — making sure to get it exactly right, proving he paid attention — and Izuku had taken it as a sign of fucking friendship.
"Yeah," Katsuki managed. "Friend. Right."
He left before Izuku could see his expression.
Despite his intial failure, bringing coffee had become routine. Every morning, Katsuki would show up with Izuku's order, and every morning Izuku would thank him like a friend doing a nice gesture.
Katsuki was going to lose his mind.
WEEK FOUR: THE BENTO BOX
Katsuki had woken up at seven in the morning on his off day to make Izuku a damn bento box. He deemed it more than enough time, given UA lunch being at 12:30pm and his apartment being an expertly chosen five minute flight across the city to the school. Plus, he'd been an excellent cook his whole life, preparing Michelin star graded food for the extras back at 1A Alliance.
So, why was he having such a hard goddamn time with this goddamn bento box when he was supposed to be the fucking best?
He'd carefully arranged the rice, the tamagoyaki he'd made three times before getting it right, the vegetables cut into precise shapes. And those stupid octopus sausages — he'd watched a tutorial video twice and still nearly gave up when the first batch looked more like mangled blobs than anything edible.
But Izuku liked them. Had mentioned it exactly once, months ago, in passing. Something about how his mom used to make them.
So the only logical next step would be for Katsuki to make octopus sausages at 7 AM like a complete idiot.
When he showed up at UA during lunch with the bento box wrapped carefully in an All Might themed furoshiki, Izuku was at his desk, of course, eating what looked like convenience store crap.
"The hell is that?" Katsuki demanded, setting the bento box down.
Izuku jumped. "Kacchan! I didn't hear you come in. What, my onigiri? This is my lunch!"
"That's not lunch, that's a sorry fucking excuse of a meal." Katsuki pushed the bento box toward him. "Eat this instead."
Izuku unwrapped it slowly, his eyes going wide. "Kacchan, did you—did you make this?"
"So what if I did. What's it fuckin' to ya?"
"The octopus sausages!" Izuku exclaimed, blissfully ignoring his last statment as he looked up at him with this expression that made Katsuki's chest tight. "You remembered."
"Yeah, well." Katsuki sat on the edge of the desk, trying to play it cool. "Can't have you surviving on pre-packaged junk. Someone's gotta make sure you eat real food."
"This is incredible. You didn't have to do this."
You're worth it, Katsuki thought. You're worth getting up at the ass crack of dawn and making stupid sausages and everything else.
"Just eat the damn food, Deku," he supplied instead.
Izuku picked up his chopsticks, and Katsuki watched him take the first bite, his eyes go soft, and that small smile appear — the one that made like explosions were going off in his chest. So much so, that he had to put a hand on his chest to quell the beating of his heart and look away, for fear he might internally combust.
"Are you feeling okay?" Izuku asked suddenly.
Katsuki blinked. "What?"
"You're not sick or anything? This is really nice, Kacchan, but you didn't have to go to so much trouble–"
"For fuck's sake, I'm a grown man. Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do." The words came out more forceful than Katsuki intended.
"Fucking shit. I was an emotionally constipated coward and couldn't even look at the nerd when he was enjoying the food and now I look like I'm a sick idiot," his thoughts berated him simultaneously.
"I know, but—" Izuku's expression was earnest, concerned. "You've just been so thoughtful lately. The coffee, and now this. I really appreciate it. You're such a good friend."
There it was again. Friend.
Katsuki had made him a bento box from scratch. Had remembered a throwaway comment from months ago. Had put in effort that he never put in for anyone else.
And Izuku thought he was being friendly.
"Yeah," Katsuki said flatly. "Friend. Got it."
He watched confusion flicker across Izuku's face at his tone, but Katsuki was already standing up, already heading for the door.
"Kacchan, wait–"
"Gotta get back to patrol. Eat your lunch."
He made it outside before letting himself grimace. This was harder than he had thought. Way harder.
But he wasn't giving up. Not yet.
WEEK EIGHT: THE WINDOW
Katsuki had rearranged his entire patrol schedule for this.
He'd convinced Kirishima to swap routes, had moved three meetings, had done everything short of begging just so he could have his lunch break coincide with Izuku's teaching schedule.
The window to Izuku's classroom was on the third floor. Easy enough to reach with his quirk. He'd checked the class schedule — Quirk History, which meant Izuku would be lecturing, which meant minimal movement, which meant Katsuki could just... be there.
He landed on the windowsill with more grace than he felt and knocked.
The entire class turned to stare. Izuku's eyes went wide.
"Dynamight? What are you–"
"Yo." Katsuki climbed through the window like this was a completely normal thing to do. "Thought I'd check out what you're teaching these brats. Make sure you're not filling their heads with All Might propaganda."
"I do not teach All Might propaganda–"
"Your entire curriculum is basically a love letter to the guy."
The students were watching them with ogling eyes. Katsuki ignored them, moving to lean against Izuku's desk. He was close enough to smell his shampoo, a strawberry scent that was mixed with something woodsy. Unabashedly, he took another deep breath. Sue him.
"Kacchan, I'm in the middle of class!"
"So keep teaching. I'll just observe." Katsuki gestured at the board. "Pretend I'm not here."
Izuku tried. He really did. But every time he turned to write on the board, Katsuki would shift position. Every time he asked a question, Katsuki would mutter commentary just loud enough for Izuku to hear. When Izuku leaned over his desk to grab a paper, Katsuki gave in to impulse and rested his chin on Izuku's shoulder.
He felt Izuku freeze. Felt the exact moment his breathing stopped.
"Fucking finally," Katsuki thought with satisfaction. "Finally getting through to you."
He waited with bated breath for Izuku to stutter something adorable, struggling to form coherent sentences as his exhales blew warm arm down his neck, having finally gotten to the teacher.
"Sorry, it's just that you're blocking my view of the board. Do you mind sitting on my desk chair while I lecture? I promise it's comfy!"
One of the students — a girl with sharp eyes who Katsuki was pretty sure was the class president — had the audacity to let out a short chuckle that suggested she knew exactly what was happening and what he was doing.
Now, when would the man of all his desires notice?
When the bell rang, the students practically sprinted out of the classroom. Katsuki still didn't move.
"That was a good class," Izuku said casually, packing up his briefcase.
"Really? Half your kids weren't even paying attention," Katsuki said grimly, annoyed at the fact that every move he made during class was to blind green eyes.
"Yeah, they were! I think you being in class today really honed them in on the material at hand today–"
But Katsuki was already at the window, already launching himself out before Izuku could finish that sentence. Before Izuku could dismiss it as friendly behavior again.
He flew back toward his patrol route, replaying the feeling of Izuku's racing heartbeat, the way he'd completely lost his composure.
That wasn't a friendly reaction. That was something more.
He just had to make Izuku realize it.
WEEK TWELVE: THE VIDEO
Katsuki was in the middle of patrol when Kirishima sent him the link.
Shitty Hair: bro you need to see this
Shitty Hair: midobro's students are WILD
The video loaded, and Katsuki nearly dropped his phone.
"EXPOSING THE DYNADEKU SITUATION (UA DRAMA REVEALED)"
What the actual fuck.
He watched in growing horror and disbelief as Izuku's students presented their "evidence" with the dedication of investigative journalists. Security footage of him entering UA. Screenshots of hero gossip forums. Student testimonials describing in excruciating detail every lunch visit, every lingering glance, every moment Katsuki had thought was subtle.
Apparently, he'd been about as subtle as one of his explosions.
The kicker came at the end, when the class president looked directly into the camera and said: "We'd like to make a formal request to Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight: please, for the love of All Might, just ask our teacher out already."
Katsuki stared at his phone.
Then he started laughing.
He couldn't help it. Three months of carefully orchestrated courtship, of bringing coffee and making bento boxes and climbing through goddamn windows — and it had taken a group of meddling teenagers making a viral video to force the issue.
Well. Fuck subtlety, then.
He checked the time. Just after 7 PM on a Friday. Izuku would still be at UA, probably grading papers and spiraling about the video.
Katsuki pulled up his messages.
To: Izuku — just watched your brats' youtube video
He didn't wait for a response, just launched himself toward UA.
Izuku's classroom was empty except for the man himself, hunched over his desk exactly as Katsuki had predicted. The lights were still on, papers spread everywhere, and Izuku's phone was face-down on the desk like he couldn't bear to look at it anymore.
Katsuki didn't bother knocking and instead opted to push the door open hard enough to make it bang against the wall. Izuku jumped, his head snapping up. His eyes were wide, face pale, and he looked like he was on the verge of a panic spiral.
"Kacchan?"
"I've been trying to ask you out for three months."
The words came out before Katsuki could second-guess them. Izuku's mouth fell open.
"What?"
Katsuki walked into the room, letting the door close behind him. "So much for a grand plan," he thought. "The coffee. Every single morning. That wasn't me being nice. That was me trying to show you I was thinking about you."
"I thought–"
"The bento box. I got up early on my day off to make you octopus sausages, Izuku. I don't do that for just anybody."
"But you said…"
"I know what I said. I was trying to be chill. Normal about my feelings. Was trying not to spook you." Katsuki moved closer, and he watched Izuku back up until he hit his desk. "But what we've had has never been normal, so let me be crystal fucking clear."
He was close now, close enough to see the confusion and dawning realization in Izuku's eyes and the way his breath had gone shallow.
"I like you," Katsuki said. "Fuck, I've loved you, for a long time now. I rearranged my patrol schedule just to eat lunch with you. I climbed through your classroom window because I wanted an excuse to be near you. I've been trying everything short of skywriting to get you to notice that I want more than friendship. Let me date the fuck out of you. I want whatever's going on between us to be forever."
"But Kacchan–"
"No buts, I don't want anyone but you." Katsuki hands came up to brace on the desk on either side of Izuku, caging him in. "I want you. Just you. How is that not obvious?"
"I didn't think–" Izuku's voice cracked, and Katsuki watched his eyes go suspiciously shiny. "I've probably loved you since the day we met, Kacchan, but I never thought you'd want–"
Katsuki let his fiery insticts get the best of him, and charged in for a searing kiss.
It was sudden and slightly desperate, and Izuku's surprised gasp gave Katsuki the perfect opportunity to deepen it. For a moment, everything else fell away — the video, the three months of frustration, the fear that maybe he'd been reading everything wrong.
But Izuku's hands came up to fist in Katsuki's shirt, pulling him closer, and that was all the confirmation Katsuki needed.
They broke apart only for air, both breathing hard as Katsuki rested his forehead against Izuku's.
"Say that again," he demanded. "What you said earlier."
"I—" Izuku's face was bright red. "Do I have to reiterate it? I always thought it was so obvious. I guess since — I don't even know when it started, maybe when we were four? Obviously it didn't start as romantic, because that would be kind of weird, maybe in middle school? It just kept becoming more as the years went on and–"
"Good." Katsuki couldn't help but interrupt him, the smile blooming across his face fierce and genuine. "Because I'm taking you on a date. How's that ramen place you keep talking about sound?"
"A date." Izuku said it like he was testing the word, like he couldn't quite believe it was real.
"Yeah, nerd. A real, actual, no-more-bullshit date." Katsuki pulled back slightly, all of a sudden uncertain. "Unless you don't want—"
"No! I want–" Izuku grabbed the front of Katsuki's hero costume before he could retreat further. "I've wanted this for so long I didn't let myself believe it could be real."
The relief that flooded through Katsuki was almost painful. "Well, fucking believe it." He brought one hand up to trace along Izuku's jaw, satisfied when Izuku leaned into the touch. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm done with this friendship bullshit."
"My students are going to be insufferable," Izuku said, but he was smiling now — that wide, genuine smile that Katsuki had been trying to earn for months.
"Let them. They earned it." Katsuki's grin turned sharp. "Took a viral video to get your head out of your ass, but we got there eventually."
"I can't believe I didn't notice–"
"We'll work on your observational skills." Katsuki laced their fingers together, marveling at how right it felt. "Starting with you noticing that I'm about to kiss you again."
"I'm noticing," Izuku said, already leaning in.
This kiss was slower, sweeter, and Katsuki let himself savor it and have this moment he'd been working toward for three solid months but wanting for a third of his life.
When they finally broke apart, Izuku was smiling so hard it had to hurt, and Katsuki felt something in his chest settle. This. This was worth every early morning coffee run, every carefully made bento box, every rearranged patrol schedule.
"So," Katsuki said, still holding him close. "Tomorrow night at seven. Don't chicken out on me."
"I won't." Izuku squeezed his hand. "I promise."
"Good." Katsuki pressed one more quick kiss to his lips. "Now come on. I'm taking you home before you stress yourself into an early grave over that video."
"But I need to finish grading–"
"It's Friday night. The grading can wait." Katsuki pulled him toward the door. "Your boyfriend, however, cannot."
"Boyfriend?" Izuku's voice pitched up in that way that Katsuki found unreasonably endearing. "We haven't even been on a date yet–"
"Apparently both of us have been waiting long enough, haven't we?" Katsuki glanced back at him. "Unless you want to wait another three months for me to officially ask you out?"
"No!" Izuku said quickly. "Boyfriend is — boyfriend is good. Great. Perfect."
Katsuki's answering smile was soft and genuine, the one he saved only for Izuku. "Yeah. It really is."
As they walked out of UA together, hands intertwined, Katsuki thought about the past three months. All the careful planning, all the subtle gestures that Izuku had completely missed.
It had been frustrating. It had been exhausting.
It had been worth every single second.
Because now he had this — Izuku's hand in his, Izuku's smile bright even in the evening darkness, Izuku finally understanding what Katsuki had been trying to say all along.
His plan might have needed a little help from some meddling teenagers, but in the end, it had worked.
And that was all that mattered.