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itzariafiles · 7 hours ago

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new barista in town

— one-shot | fluff | gn!reader

— ft. k.bakugo

— file brief : Katsuki Bakugo was just there for coffee. Then he saw you.

— sensitivity log : pure caffeinated fluff | characters are 19 just because lol

— author’s note : shoutout to all the cute baristas out there ;) | thinking about making this idea a preference hm

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Katsuki Bakugo was never one to get coffee. Too bitter. Too hipster. Too much waiting in line with caffeine-addicted extras who didn’t know how to shut up.

But after barely sleeping, with an exam in two hours and a migraine threatening to decapitate him, even he had to admit he needed something strong.

There was this little café just outside U.A.—famous for being “Instagrammable,” whatever the hell that meant—and apparently for actually decent coffee. It had WiFi, too, which meant the nerds swarmed to it before exams like bees to sugar.

He’d gone a couple times. Mina had dragged them all once. Kirishima kept trying to make it a ritual. He usually bailed. But this time… yeah, he was desperate.

The place opened at 7. He was already fourth in line.

“Tch. Should’ve just used Sato’s damn machine,” he muttered, glaring at the students ahead of him like it was their fault he was tired.

Eventually, the line moved. He scrolled through Instagram for the first time in months just to kill time, and before long, he was at the register.

“Hi! Welcome! What are you getting today?”

“Cappuccino. …Please.”

“Of course! Your name?”

“Bakugo.”

“Alrighty, Bakugo! That’ll be—”

“Card.”

“Got it!” said the barista brightly.

Too cheerful for this hour, he thought, biting back a scowl.

“My coworker will have your order ready in just a sec! You can pick it up over there. Have a great day!”

“Tch. Thanks.”

He moved to the pick-up side, already debating if the headache was worse than this sensory overload. A couple baristas worked fast behind the counter—steam, clinking metal, the hiss of espresso shots.

And then he saw you.

He hadn’t seen you before. And he would’ve remembered—because no way he’d forget a face like that.

(Not that it matters.)

You were laughing at something a coworker said, joy written all over your face, hair pulled back in some soft-looking updo. The way you moved, focused and quick, graceful and just… annoyingly pretty.

He immediately looked away.

Nope. Not happening.

Except of course you were the one who grabbed his coffee.

“Bakugo? Your order’s ready!”

He flinched. Didn’t mean to. Just—whatever.

He stomped forward, same resting scowl in place.

“…Thanks.”

You looked right at him. Your eyes crinkled a little. Why the hell was that cute?

“Of course! See you around!”

Simple. Bright. Unbothered. You turned away to start another order.

He sat down. Opened his notes. Tried to study.

Didn’t work.

His eyes kept flicking back to the counter.

To you.

Dammit.

Over the next few weeks, he started showing up more often. Too often.

He learned your shifts without meaning to. Started using his name at the register just for the stupid excuse of hearing you say it. He never used your name, though. Not even after he caught it from some conversation across the bar.

Until one morning, he showed up earlier than usual. The place was still quiet. Barely open. No line.

And this time, you were the one at the register.

“Hey, Katsuki!” you said, bright-eyed like it wasn’t way too early to be that happy. “Good morning!”

His heart absolutely did not stutter.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Your usual?”

He nodded, trying not to look directly at you.

“Alright! Tap or swap whenever you’re ready.”

He paid. Eyes lingering on you for a second too long. Ears already tinged pink.

“Um… do you need something else?”

A pause.

“…You free Saturday?”

He wanted to punch himself in the mouth the second it left.

You blinked, then grinned.

You dared to grin.

You grabbed a slip of paper and scribbled something. Then moved over to the bar, picked up his coffee, and handed it to him with a smile and a folded note.

“Here’s your drink,” you said. “And here’s my number. I’m free Saturday.”

He blinked.

“…Tch. I’ll text you later.”

He didn’t look at you when he left. Wouldn’t survive it.

But he texted you. That afternoon. Right after training.

Because of course he did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

steal this and bakugo will personally explode your entire browser history.

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itzariafiles · 7 hours ago

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I really love how you write (Shoto) Todoroki, could you do very busy with here work Shoto x very busy with other hero work gn!y/n on like, Christmas? I love ur fics already 💗

shoto and reader trying to have a holiday while being overworked heroes?? romantic.

noted and very much added to the list!! 🤍

thank you sm for the kind words!! also, i’m so happy you like how i write shoto!! he’s so dear to me it’s not even funny lol

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 7 hours ago

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you’re writing is literally unbelievable and it fits the character so well Plus the stories r mad cute🥹 PLS MAKE MORE SLICE OF LIFE !!!!!

STOPP you’re seriously too nice 😭 thank you sm!!!

i have so much love for slice of life stuff, and seeing this just made my whole day 🤍

(alsooo if you ever have specific slice-of-life prompts? drop them. yell them. manifest them into my inbox lol)

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 8 hours ago

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I loved a culinary tragedy! I’m a very good cook now but when I first had to start cooking for myself and my S/O I was a disaster I made my fair share of disasters so it’s always funny to read stuff the reminds me of when my s/o would say “we can just scrape off the burnt parts” and then realize it’s completely charcoal (never step away from an oven if you’re not sure how long to cook something)

you heard the expert 😌 thanks for the tip and the love!

i’m honored this reminded you of your own lil burnt chronicles — that memory is honestly adorable (and relatable).

now i’ll be thinking about “we can scrape off the burnt parts” as a love language 🫶🏻

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 8 hours ago

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I'm so happy I found you! Your writing is amazing! The Deku one broke my poor little heart!

omg thank you so much!! i’m so glad you found your way here!

and sorry about your heart (i promise deku is okay. probably.) 🤍

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 1 day ago

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a culinary tragedy

— preference | fluff, slice of life | fem!reader

— ft. k.bakugo, s.todoroki, e.kirishima, i.tenya, t.amajiki

— file brief : You try to cook. They try to survive. Love wins.

— content log : post timeskip, pure fluff

— author’s note : written for all of us who try to show love through food and end up committing mild culinary crimes. we’re doing our best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

⭑ Katsuki Bakugo

You tried, really. He knew you did.

And he also knew why you insisted so much on taking over the kitchen.

Since you moved in together, if he didn’t cook, you both survived on takeout. Everyone at U.A. had already known you couldn’t cook to save your life—he’d seen the microwave incidents.

Burned cookies. Deflated cakes. Mysterious jelly that had once wiggled off the plate and haunted his dreams.

But this. This was a crime.

You’d spent three hours in the kitchen. Your left cheek was smeared with rice. There was something unidentifiable in your hair. Your hands were still sticky. Your face held a terrified, hopeful almost-smile.

Your boyfriend stared silently at the dish in front of him.

A single onigiri.

A very deformed, weird-textured, slightly off-color onigiri.

The nori was barely hanging on. It leaned like it wanted to escape.

He poked it with a chopstick. It jiggled.

Onigiri wasn’t supposed to jiggle.

“…The fuck is this?”

“…An onigiri?”

Why were you asking him? You made it.

He narrowed his eyes at it. Like it had personally offended him.

Then slowly—reluctantly—he picked it up and took a bite.

He chewed. Once.

Twice.

Stopped.

“…Why is it spicy?”

“I panicked! I remembered you love spicy food!”

“…You put chili oil in rice?”

“I was trying to be thoughtful!”

He paused. Blinked. Stared into the void for a moment.

Then set the blob back down with the silent precision of a man who had faced war—and somehow found this worse.

“You are never allowed in my kitchen again.”

You gasped. “That’s not fair!”

He walked toward you, cupped your rice-covered face in his hands, and sighed like a man far older than his years.

“No, what’s not fair is what you just tried to feed me.”

“But I did it with love…”

“You tried to assassinate me with love.”

And yet—despite it all—he took another bite.

“Still tastes like shit,” he muttered.

But he kept chewing.

You smiled anyway.

The next day, just to spite you, he made criminally perfect onigiris.

You weren’t sure whether to be offended or grateful.

Probably both.

⭑ Shoto Todoroki

The first time you saw your Shoto’s face light up while eating Zaru Soba, you knew you wanted to make it for him. Just the two of you, a quiet little date in the garden near your apartment.

The idea was perfect.

The execution… well, you tried.

“They’re just noodles, right? And a dipping sauce. How hard could it be?”

You kept repeating that to yourself like a mantra, but calling your cooking skills lacking was being generous.

Your mother used to tell you that you needed to learn how to cook—that no one would marry someone who didn’t even know how to keep themselves alive.

Well. You proved her wrong when, after the war, Shoto proposed to you.

Your beautiful, quiet, wonderful fiancé didn’t mind that if it weren’t for him, you’d be living off takeout and absurdly easy, child-friendly meals.

But now? It started to bother you.

So you got determined. You spent hours and hours in the kitchen.

Finally, he came back from patrol to find you nervous-smiling, a basket in your hand as you immediately dragged him outside and toward the park.

The walk was short, but your thoughts were anything but.

What if the noodles were too soggy?

What if the sauce was too salty?

What if he hated it?

What if this was the day he realized he deserved someone who could cook real food, not just semi-functional carbohydrate attempts?

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, fingers brushing yours. “You’re quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just hungry.”

At the park, you sat beneath the same tree where he’d first told you he loved you. You laid out the blanket, opened the basket, and presented the boxed meal like it was the finest bento in all of Japan.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…Is that… Zaru Soba?”

“Yes!” you chirped. “I made it myself. For you.”

He looked at you. Then the noodles. Then back at you.

“I’m honored,” he said. And he meant it.

With his usual calm, he picked up the chopsticks and dipped the noodles into the tsuyu. You held your breath.

He chewed. Slowly.

Then looked up.

“…Did you… put sugar in the sauce?”

Your eyes widened. “Was I not supposed to?! I saw a recipe online that said sweetness brings out—”

“No, no,” he interrupted gently, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s… different. Unexpected.”

“…Bad?”

He studied you for a long moment. And then, sincerely:

“It’s the best thing I’ve eaten today.”

Your heart melted just a little.

“…It’s only three in the afternoon,” you mumbled.

“Exactly,” he said, taking another bite. “Plenty of time for you to top it again.”

You bit your lip to stop the grin forming as he kept eating without a single complaint—his quiet way of loving you, even in your culinary catastrophes.

Later that night, while he ate the takeout you’d guiltily ordered (despite his protests), he kissed your temple and whispered:

“Next time, let’s cook together.”

And maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t commit crimes against soba again.

⭑ Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima wasn’t a picky eater. He’d eat anything.

You once caught him snacking on slightly burned popcorn and calling it, “Kinda smoky, y’know? Cool.”

So when you told him you wanted to cook him dinner—a real meal, no microwaves involved—he immediately said yes, gave you a high five, and started setting the table.

The problem was… you hadn’t exactly figured out how to cook that real meal yet.

Cut to three hours later: the apartment smells like something vaguely edible, your shirt has… oil stains? (one can only hope it was oil), and you’re standing in front of him holding two bowls of very, very, very questionable gyudon. (If you could even call it that.)

He looked at it with wide eyes and the biggest smile, bless his heart.

“Whoa! Did you make this all by yourself, my love?”

“…I did,” you said, with a nervous laugh. “I think I might’ve burned the onions. And the beef. And maybe the rice.”

He grabbed his chopsticks like it was the most gourmet thing he’d ever been served.

“Baby, this is amazing!” he said, the big, loving smile still on his face.

You blinked. “The rice is crunchy.”

“Chips are crunchy too! It’s fine!”

He took a huge bite. Chewed. Chewed some more.

“…So?”

He gave you a thumbs-up with both hands.

“Amazing! I’ve never had crunchy gyudon before.”

“Because it’s not supposed to be crunchy, Kiri!”

“And yet,” he said dramatically, “I love it. And I love you. So it works out.”

He meant every word—and later that night, while you cuddled under a blanket watching your favorite movie for the hundredth time and eating actual ramen, he whispered:

“You’re already perfect, but next time… let’s cook together, yeah, baby?”

He grinned, nudging your shoulder.

“At least you didn’t burn the house down. That’s a win in my book, love.”

⭑ Tenya Iida

From the moment you told your fiancé that you wanted to prepare him a homemade meal, he assumed you must be planning something special.

Maybe a celebration. Maybe a grand romantic gesture.

What he didn’t assume was that you’d end up personally battling the recipe… and losing.

You spent the entire day in the kitchen while he was out fighting actual villains.

You chopped vegetables with total, surgical concentration—and absolutely zero technique.

You memorized every step like you were defending your thesis.

And despite your best efforts, by the time he got home, the kitchen looked like a post-battle disaster zone.

“W-what happened here?”

“Gourmet tragedy,” you answered with an apologetic smile, guiding him toward the table you’d beautifully set. Fresh flowers, a handwritten card, the shiniest utensils you owned—all in place.

He glanced at the bowl in front of him. It sort of resembled ramen.

He pulled out a chair so you could sit—bless his big, gentleman heart—and then took the seat across from you.

He straightened his glasses.

“Did you follow the instructions step by step?”

“Yeah. Well. More or less.”

“More or less?!”

He made that face. The one he made when mediating conflict at the agency or trying to solve a national-level disaster.

Then, with reverence, he picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.

Pause.

Chew.

Silence.

You waited. Terrified.

“…A curious texture. Bold seasoning. I must commend your initiative.”

“Tenya… does it taste like ramen?”

“…It tastes like effort. Which I greatly admire.”

He kissed your hands gently, a soft and loving smile on his face. He kept eating. You nearly cried.

He was way too nice about this culinary failure.

Later, while the two of you cleaned the battlefield (the kitchen), Iida admitted he was deeply moved that you’d done all of this for him.

He promised to teach you how to make his favorite dish.

Step by step. With diagrams. Color-coded notes. A three-part binder. You’ll love it.

He planned the whole day himself.

And that weekend was filled with kisses, laughter, and a perfectly decent beef stew.

Which, to be fair, was a huge win—for both of you.

⭑ Tamaki Amajiki

Tamaki had a rough day.

The kind of day that left him even quieter than usual, hood drawn over his face, head low as he walked through the door.

So, as the ever-loving girlfriend you were, you wanted to cheer him up.

With food.

His favorite.

Takoyaki.

Now… was it a complicated dish?

Absolutely.

Should that have stopped you?

Probably.

Did it, though?

Of course not.

By the time he woke up from a nap and came out of the bath, your kitchen was a scene of chaos.

Steam clouded the air. Flour dusted the counters.

There was… something in your hair. You weren’t entirely sure what.

He froze mid-step.

“Hi, sunshine!” you chirped, trying not to panic.

“W-what happened here?”

“I made you takoyaki! …Sort of.”

You presented him with a plate of misshapen, slightly charred takoyaki.

They looked… afraid.

You looked hopeful.

He looked traumatized.

Still, he sat down and picked one up like it was made of glass.

He took a bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

“Darling… is it that bad?”

He shook his head.

“No. It’s… chewy. And tasty, my love. A heroic effort.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t have to finish it if you hate it.”

He looked at you—quiet, nervous, soft.

“You made it. For me. That’s… really nice. No one’s ever done that.”

And that night, he ate every last deformed takoyaki. No complaints.

Later, while you cuddled in bed watching some sappy movie, you whispered:

“Next time, I’ll order sushi. That way our kitchen survives.”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips—

Which he quickly erased with a kiss.

“Next time, we’ll cook together, my love.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

unmanly behavior detected. stealing is not plus ultra. - kirishima (probably)

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itzariafiles · 2 days ago

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HELLO YOUR WRITING IS INSANE????

- @deardaichi

HELLO?? THANK YOU SO MUCH !!😭💞

i’ll keep trying my best, hope you stick around ♡

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 2 days ago

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the time you had to say goodbye.

— one-shot | angst & hurt | fem!reader

— ft. izuku midoriya

— file brief : a final goodbye, whispered between two hearts that never had enough time.

— sensitivity log : character death, grief, emotional trauma

— author’s note : i blacked out and woke up with this draft in my hands. do with that what you will. please don’t hate me, thanks.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You knew you were done for.

You knew it the moment you didn’t feel any excruciating pain. Just… lightness. A gentle pull, getting stronger with every passing second.

Izuku ran to you, eyes already full of tears.

“No! NO! You have to fight! You can’t leave me! Not now, not now, not now…”

His voice was barely a whisper now.

“Shush, ‘Zuku. Listen to me.”

Your hand, trembling, reached up to touch his face. He immediately covered it with his own, steadying you. Grounding you.

“I’m going to be fine. And so are you,”

“You’re allowed to miss me… but you’re going to be a great hero. The best one. Mhm?”

Your eyes were heavy, but full of love. Full of him.

“My love—no, please, please don’t. We didn’t have enough time. We— we didn’t…”

He was falling apart right in front of you, the grief rushing in faster than the fucking help.

“I love you. With everything in me,”

“I love you more than life. More than anything in this world.”

“You are my everything. And I will love you until the day that I die.”

You smiled, a broken, loving smile. His words were crashing into you like waves.

“And even then… in the afterlife, I’ll find you. I’ll love you for eternity.”

His tears blurred everything. You wiped them away, gently.

Then, you kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Broken.

You were thinking about how unfair it was—how short your time together had been. But still, you kissed him with love. And with goodbye.

“I love you, Izuku Midoriya.”

“I loved you all my life… and I’ll love you for eternity. Until we reunite again.”

“I’m not scared. So don’t be scared, alright? I— I love you.”

Your voice trembled. Your heartbeat slowed.

And then… it stopped.

Izuku screamed.

Everything around him froze as he sobbed over your lifeless body.

Bakugo was the first to move. Tears flooded his eyes, his hands shaking as he walked toward you both with unsure steps.

“Izuku…”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Izuku held you close, fingers tangled in your hair, lips pressed to your forehead.

He wouldn’t let go.

He couldn’t let go.

“It��s not fair!”

He screamed at nothing, at everything. Cried harder.

The others began to gather. Iida placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice gentle:

“We have to go back to the rendezvous point.”

Bakugo slowly reached down, sliding his arms under your body.

Izuku clutched you tighter.

“No. Don’t take her away.”

“DON’T TAKE HER AWAY!”

He screamed, sobbed, but Katsuki held firm. Kirishima, silently crying, covered you with a blanket one of the medics had given them.

Iida helped Izuku to his feet. He couldn’t walk on his own. He didn’t care.

From that day on, Izuku Midoriya was a different man.

He smiled less.

He trained more.

He fought harder—to honor you. To make you proud. Wherever you were.

And every time he had a mission, he would kiss the photo he kept by his bedside…

Just wishing it was you.

Just wishing he could kiss you again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

broke my hand to see my friend smile. will break you for plagarism. - deku (he’s in time-out, dw)

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itzariafiles · 3 days ago

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Oh my gosh I just read your first post and I can’t believe it.. it’s so good 😭😭 my fav was kirishima ❤️ keep posting!! ^^

thank you sm!!! 😭 kirishima supremacy is real tbh, i had too much fun writing him

more is on the way 💞 thanks for the love!

#itzyaps

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itzariafiles · 3 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝.

Welcome to the Itzaria Files.

𝐈𝐭𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚 [𝐈𝐭𝐳] | 19 | she/her ✮⋆˙

writing for fun, studying by duty, crying for fictional men willingly.

—katsuki bakugo’s reluctant gf & gilbert blythe’s tragic modern lover.

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requests: open | inbox: open for chaos & love

[17+ blog!] | multifandom ࣪𖤐

recent files ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

‣ who fell first v.s. who fell harder (mha)

‣ the time you had to say goodbye (i.midoriya) ‣ a culinary tragedy (mha)

‣ new barista in town (k.bakugo)

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itzariafiles · 3 days ago

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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!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

⭑ Katsuki Bakugo

You fell first.

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.”

Liar.

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.

You were stunned.

“Bakugo—what are you doing?”

“Me and you,” he said gruffly, eyes locked straight ahead.

“Date. Now.”

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.

⭑ Izuku Midoriya

He fell first.

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.

But truthfully?

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.

But you?

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.

But it does.

And it makes him happier than he’ll ever admit.

⭑ Shoto Todoroki

You fell first.

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.

Much 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.

⭑ Tenya Iida

You fell first.

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.

With pastries.

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.

But poor Iida…

he fell harder.

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.

He didn’t.

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.”

You smiled.

Because by then, he didn’t need to say it.

You’d fallen first, but he made it impossible not to fall harder, too.

⭑ Hitoshi Shinsou

He fell first.

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—

and walked away.

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.

He fell.

And he fell quietly.

But you?

You fell harder.

You knew it the night he texted you out of nowhere:

Toshi:

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.

After that, it was over.

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.

You could always tell.

And somehow, that made you fall even harder.

He fell first.

But you fell deeper.

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.

But you think…

He’s almost ready.

⭑ Eijirou Kirishima

You fell first.

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.

Sero noticed.

You blamed the heat.

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.

But Kirishima?

He fell harder.

It didn’t show all at once.

It crept in slowly.

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.

The breaking point?

Someone else confessed to you.

And he just… walked out. Silent. Stiff.

He came back hours later.

Hands shaking.

Eyes soft.

“I know I’m not smooth like Todoroki, or cool like Bakugo… but I think I’m strong enough to protect your heart.”

Boom.

Done.

Unbreakable?

Not anymore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

steal this and katsuki bakugo will personally find you.

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