who fell first v.s. who fell harder
— preference | fluff | gn!reader
— ft. k.bakugo, i.midoriya, s.todoroki, t.iida, h.shinsou, e.kirishima
— author’s note : first post, please be kind world!
Second week at U.A. and you were already head over heels for him. No one really understood why—it was Bakugo Katsuki, after all. Always yelling, always scowling, always furious at the world. He barely looked your way. Mina and Denki joked that you must have a death wish whenever you brought him up.
But then… things changed. Quietly.
For some reason, he never yelled at you. Not even once. Not even when you threw yourself in front of Tsuyu during a practice mission and ended up needing to be carried out of the building.
He just muttered, “Dumbass” twice, while lifting you up and walking you to Recovery Girl.
After that came the water bottles. Every time training ended, he’d toss you one and mumble, “Stay hydrated. I’m not carrying you again.”
Kirishima was the only one who noticed he always kept an extra bottle, just in case.
The real turning point, though?
That poor boy from Class B who dared to ask you on a date.
Bakugo nearly exploded. Kirishima had to physically hold him back to stop him from lunging at the guy.
And before you could even respond, Bakugo grabbed your wrist and started walking.
“Bakugo—what are you doing?”
“Me and you,” he said gruffly, eyes locked straight ahead.
That night changed everything.
No one dared to tease him after that. Not when he made it so clear you were his. And he didn’t care what anyone thought.
He loved you loudly, fiercely, intentionally—until the whole damn school stopped questioning why you had fallen so hard for him.
And by then, he had already fallen harder.
He knew he liked you—really liked you—the moment you used your quirk to throw the ball so far that everyone realized: if someone was getting expelled that day, it definitely wasn’t you.
Admiration wasn’t the reason he noticed his feelings.
Most of your classmates were impressed by your control, your power, the precision with which you handled something so seemingly simple.
But Izuku? He didn’t reach for his notebook. He didn’t ramble about your technique or potential. He just… watched. No notes. No muttering. Just silence.
He saw the way your shoulders relaxed when it was over. The way you laughed at something Mina said, and how you smiled when Bakugo threw in one of his backhanded compliments. He noticed everything.
He never admitted it, but when he broke his finger to launch that ball across the field, it wasn’t just to prove himself.
Yes, he wanted to stay at U.A. Yes, he wanted to make All Might proud.
He just wanted to stay long enough to see you again.
Even if that meant going through Aizawa’s “one of you will be expelled” threat every week.
(He was so relieved when no one actually was.)
But you—sweet, clueless you—you fell harder.
Everyone knew how smitten Deku was with you. And deep down, so did you. But when you called your mom late one night, asking for the recipe of a pastry you knew he loved, something shifted.
You spent hours in the kitchen baking batch after batch, trying to get it just right. You barely slept, but the next morning you showed up, cheeks red, handing him the best one you had.
You both blushed your way through breakfast that day, and when he smiled—really smiled—you knew you were done for.
Eventually, you started dating.
Yes, he is your biggest supporter. He loves you loudly and earnestly.
You’re his biggest fan—collecting every merch, magazine, and article with his name on it.
And he tries to act like it doesn’t get to him.
And it makes him happier than he’ll ever admit.
You had already fallen for him years before he even looked at you that way.
It all started when your parents arranged for both of you to train when you were 8, to make out of you enemies who would eventually compete to be the #1 pro hero.
Both of you would fight each other, week after week. You, technically, weren’t allowed to exchange pleasantries—after all, you were there to compete. But you would always find a way to talk to him, about anything really. Once you started to talk about how much you missed eating candies, he didn’t answer, but a timid smile formed on his face.
As the years passed, you started to develop feelings for him. He would catch you staring for too long, you made it seem as if you were analyzing him or just zoned out, but deep down, both of you knew.
As both of you made it into U.A., your friendship finally had a chance to grow. To have actual, not rushed conversations. But you never pressured him, never talked about your obvious feelings, you knew he needed time to heal, as much as you did.
But, eventually, he fell harder.
Maybe it was during that night patrol in second year, when he almost got hit by debris and you shielded him without hesitation—burning the edge of your hero costume in the process. He didn’t say much that night. Just looked at you with those stormy eyes and asked, quietly, “Are you okay?”
Or maybe it was the moment he realized you had memorized his favorite tea, the exact way he liked it. That day, you passed him a cup without saying a word, and he froze, fingers lingering on the ceramic longer than they should have. You always noticed the small things—especially when he didn’t say them out loud.
It was never loud, the way he loved you.
But it was there—in how he always sat next to you during strategy meetings, how he started calling you after rough patrols, how he waited for you after every exam. You never asked him to. He just always did.
Eventually, one evening after training, when the sun was sinking low behind the U.A. dorms, he looked at you and said,
“You were the first person who treated me like I wasn’t broken.”
You looked at him, startled by the confession.
And then, softly: “You never were.”
He didn’t say anything back.
But that was the moment he knew he was yours—fully, irreversibly.
And that he had fallen far too deep to ever come back up.
Maybe it was the way he apologized with his whole soul after accidentally bumping into you in the hallway.
Or the way he always remembered to pull a chair for you before meetings.
Or how he waited outside your dorm when he knew you’d had a hard day—without saying a word, just… being there.
Maybe it was how fiercely protective he was of the people he loved. The way he fought for his brother’s name, for what he believed in, even when it left him bruised.
Or maybe it was after that mission, when you were gravely injured, and he carried you all the way to the nurse’s office, gripping you tightly, whispering your name, running faster than even he thought possible.
You didn’t remember it well—you were slipping in and out of consciousness—but he did. Every second.
And the next day, he came back.
And the neatest notes he had ever taken—if that was even possible, just so you could study.
And hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
He was kind. Loving. Unintentionally funny. A gentleman through and through.
Of course you fell first.
He tried. Honestly, he did. You were both studying, you were both young—he told himself that again and again. But he never got past those two excuses. Not really.
He stayed up until 3 a.m. with Sato trying to recreate that chocolate cake you always praised, just to cheer you up after your injury.
He spent the entire night debating whether to visit you before classes.
But he left the tray outside your door anyway, carefully arranged. And still came back later, awkward but devoted, with more pastries and a hundred unspoken words.
Somewhere between all the long hours, the careful notes, the conversations under low dorm lighting—
He fell. Harder than he’d ever thought possible.
For him, it wasn’t just affection.
You were a promise. A reminder that he could build something good in this world—with you in it.
And when he saw you cry once, quietly, under the staircase after another grueling day, something broke in him.
He sat beside you. Took off his gloves. Held your hand.
It was the first time he’d touched you, skin to skin.
And his hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
From then on, he never tried to hide it again.
He memorized your schedule.
He read your favorite books.
He learned to brew your favorite tea, even though he didn’t like tea.
You noticed. Of course you did.
But you didn’t say anything.
Not until he showed up at your door one night, fists clenched, eyes wide, tie slightly crooked, and said:
“I know this may be reckless and horribly timed, but I am—truly, entirely—in love with you.”
Because by then, he didn’t need to say it.
You’d fallen first, but he made it impossible not to fall harder, too.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious.
And at first, he told himself it was just curiosity.
When he joined the Hero Course and became part of Class 1-A, you were the first to look at him—not like the guy with the “villain-ish” quirk, not like a threat to be watched, or a weapon to be handled carefully.
You didn’t treat him with stiff politeness or cautious distance.
You treated him like a classmate. Like a potential friend.
You laughed at his jokes, tossed back your own sharp comments.
You noticed when he pulled away from the group.
You called him out when he got too closed-off—but you always gave him space when he needed it. Just… quietly shared it with him.
The moment he realized something had shifted was probably stupid.
You complimented his eyes.
You had the audacity to step a little too close, stare straight at him like you were trying to see through all the walls he’d spent years building.
He had no idea what to say.
You just laughed—soft and satisfied—
He thought about it for days.
He didn’t understand what he was feeling.
But then he started bringing you extra snacks after training.
He slowed his pace just enough to walk beside you.
He stood just a little too close during sparring.
It wasn’t intentional. Not at first.
But for him, you were stronger than gravity.
You knew it the night he texted you out of nowhere:
Hey. Don’t come to training tomorrow. You looked tired today. Take a break.
You stared at the message for ten minutes, rereading it.
He’d noticed. He noticed you.
And he was looking out for you, in his strange, quiet, Shinsou way.
You didn’t listen, of course.
You showed up to training anyway—just to see him roll his eyes when you winked at him.
You memorized the rhythm of his voice.
You learned the little signs—when he was overwhelmed, when he needed silence, when he needed you.
You started recognizing how he fidgeted with the capture weapon Aizawa was teaching him to use—especially when he was nervous about a mission.
And somehow, that made you fall even harder.
And now, he doesn’t know what to do with the way your hand lingers on his sleeve.
Or how his pulse stutters when you whisper his name.
He hasn’t said it out loud yet.
When you heard him say he didn’t think he was “manly enough” to be a hero, you just wanted to hug him—wrap him up in every reassurance you had, tell him that of course he was manly enough to do anything he dreamed of.
You suspected your feelings then, but shoved them under the couch, hoping no one would notice.
Mina noticed. She always did.
When he laughed too hard at one of Denki’s terrible jokes and immediately looked embarrassed, you blushed.
But when he stepped in front of a child during a villain ambush and said,
“Don’t worry. I’m unbreakable.”
that was it. You were done for.
It didn’t show all at once.
In the way he trained just enough to always be paired with you during sparring.
In how he memorized your favorite techniques so he could practice them with you.
In how his quirk—his actual, physical walls—cracked a little when you hugged him after a hard day, and how he turned bright red trying to play it cool.
Someone else confessed to you.
And he just… walked out. Silent. Stiff.
He came back hours later.
“I know I’m not smooth like Todoroki, or cool like Bakugo… but I think I’m strong enough to protect your heart.”
steal this and katsuki bakugo will personally find you.
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