synopsis: somewhere among all the little moments, it becomes very apparent to various people in his life that katsuki bakugo is in love with you. (aka when they realize and know that he's so incredibly gone.)
notes: YAYYY more unofficialbf!katsuki !! 3.5k wc. childhood friends to lovers (?) but no real confession or establishment of relationship. so like childhood friends to unofficial lovers. N E WAYS the concept is like. childhood vs now: when people realize he loves you sorta. or at least that's what i wanted originally but at some point i was just writing like idek man. not well-proofread so there are probs lots of errors n mistakes w the flow im sorry. first longer piece in a min w my writing hiatus and all so im a bit rusty but i hope yall enjoy!!
mitsuki knows before anyone else does.
maybe that’s just how moms are. sharp-eyed and a little nosy, always paying more attention than they let on. but really, you’d have to be blind not to notice the way katsuki’s whole damn world orbits around you, even at the tender young age of four.
the first time he declares you’re his, you’ve got dandelions in your hands and dirt on your knees, and he’s stomping around the backyard like he just won a damn olympic gold medal, screaming, “she said yes!! she's mine now!! hell yeahhhh!”
she snorts into her coffee, watching from the kitchen window.
you follow him around like a tiny shadow. he grabs your hand so tight it makes her raise an eyebrow, your little hand crushed into a position that must be painful, but you don’t complain. you just smile, swing your arms with his, and look at him like he’s your whole world.
(it’s the same way he looks at you.)
she keeps the photos. of course she does.
photos of you passed out on the couch together, little heads squished side by side. photos of you tangled in blankets during movie nights. photos of you curled up under katsuki’s arm, his little hand resting on your knee like it belongs there.
because, she thinks, maybe it does.
by the time you both hit middle school, mitsuki’s fully accepted that you’re going to be her legal family someday. she calls you that often. "my future daughter-in-law," "my sweetheart," "my precious y/n-chan.” it's half because she means it and half just to piss katsuki off.
it works every time. he turns bright red. stomps around the kitchen shouting, “shut up, old hag!!” while you giggle behind your hand. she only laughs and hands you more food.
she always makes extra when she knows you’re coming over. which is... pretty much every day.
he complains. boy, he complains. “why do you treat her better than me? i’m your kid!”
she shrugs. “yeah, and she's my favorite.”
the way he scowls is almost too easy.
but the truth is that she’s proud of him. of the way he’s gentle with you, even when he’s sharp with everyone else. the way he carries your bag without thinking, pulls you close when he thinks no one’s watching, the way his hands shake when you get hurt and he pretends they don’t. the way he's learned to love.
she sees the softness he hides so visibly. she is his mom, after all.
it's break, so you two are back home and not in the dorms. of course, she still isn't seeing very much of him, seeing as he spends every waking moment of his time with you. she hears him before she sees him come home, stomping up the stairs like a damn elephant. his voice is low, not yelling for once.
“quit squirmin', you’re gonna fall.”
"'s cause you didn't give me any warning before you picked me up! what am i, a sack of rice?”
“yeah, ‘cause you’re too damn stubborn to admit you’re tired.”
she peeks out of and sees you in his arms, head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut while he carries you to his room like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
he doesn’t even notice her watching.
not until he comes back down a few hours later, shirt rumpled, hair a mess, looking like he just got hit by the best nap of his life and a truck named feelings. (puke)
she leans against the counter. raises an eyebrow. “so, when’s the wedding?”
he groans like she stabbed him. “can you just not for once?”
“nope,” she says sweetly, tossing him a towel. “you still sleep next to her every night like it’s not a big deal?”
“still let her in your bed but kick that nice redheaded boy out for even looking at it?”
she smirks. “you gonna tell her how you feel or am i gonna have to do it for you?”
he looks her dead in the eye.
she grins dangerously. katsuki forgets too often that his genes and personality are mainly from her.
she laughs to herself, puts the kettle on, and pulls out the old photo album. the one full of pictures he pretends not to care about.
she flips to a page labeled “age 4: katsuki + y/n” and looks at the photo of you both asleep in a beanbag chair, his arms around you like he was born to protect you.
“stupid boy’s so damn deep in love,” she mutters.
but she’s not worried. you’ll figure it out eventually.
izuku knows before katsuki does.
maybe that’s just how he is, though. observant, over-analytical, always watching "like a damn stalker," as katsuki says. it’s not that katsuki ever told him anything, of course. because he wouldn’t. never in a million years.
but izuku doesn’t need words to see it. he sees it in the little things.
like the way he practically shields you in crowded hallways, hand on your back, just enough to block anyone who might bump into you. like the way he mutters “dumbass” every time you trip, even as he reaches out to catch you without thinking. like the way his hands clench at his sides when you’re the slightest bit hurt. like the way he relaxes when you laugh. like your happiness adds years to his life. like loving you has become a reflex engrained in his body.
izuku remembers the way you used to cling to katsuki's side when you were kids. a ray of sunshine with scraped knees and bright eyes, all trust and affection, following the fiery katsuki around like he was gravity. and he remembers the way he used to puff up like it was his job to keep you safe from everything. even the super scary stuff, like wasps and thunderstorms.
izuku's almost always known that 'kacchan's in love with y/n.' he recalls back fondly to a distinct memory in his childhood. they’re five, maybe six, sitting in the grass by the park, dirtied by playing outside.
izuku’s digging in the sandbox, humming to himself, in his own world as per usual, building a castle with just plastic buckets and imagination. he glances over when he hears your laugh. the really bubbly one, the one that sounds like the windchimes his mom puts up when it starts getting warm. he's noticed that that laugh usually comes out a lot more with kacchan.
you’ve got a bandaid on your knee and a flower crown crooked on your head, made from dandelions and clovers, and katsuki is sitting in front of you, scowling at a tiny daisy you’re trying to tuck behind his ear.
“hold still,” you giggle, reaching again.
“why’re you puttin' weeds on me?” katsuki grumbles as if he hates life, but he’s not pulling away one bit. he’s red in the face, squinting at the sun, fists clenched like he can’t decide if he wants to knock the crown off your head or punch something to release his emotion overflow.
he just lets you keep going.
izuku watches as you lean in close, tongue poking out a little in concentration, and katsuki completely freezes, face red and breath held.
he’s not yelling. not barking. not blowing anything up. he’s just… staring at you. soft-eyed. stunned.
like someone pressed pause on his whole little brain.
and izuku, tiny and curious and wide-eyed, tilts his head.
he doesn’t really know much, or anything, about love. but he knows for sure that kacchan never lets anyone that close.
and he knows kacchan only lets you steal his snacks.
and izuku, with sand on his cheeks and a shovel in his hand, watches katsuki blush so hard he falls backwards into the grass, yelling “shut up!!” when you giggle and call him pretty.
and izuku just smiles to himself.
"oh," he thinks, "kacchan's gonna marry y/n one day."
now and then, a decade or so later, izuku can still see how hopelessly in love katsuki is with you. you’re sitting on the common room couch. it’s a late night, everyone else mostly gone, the tv playing quietly in the background. you’re curled into katsuki’s side like it’s second nature, his arm slung around your shoulder like a reflex, your fingers tangled with his like neither of you realize you’re doing it.
katsuki’s eyes are closed, head tipped back against the cushions.
but izuku watches as you shift, just slightly, and katsuki’s fingers twitch like they miss your touch before your hand finds his again.
and katsuki has no idea how obvious it is.
he still acts like he’s subtle. acts like he’s got it all under wraps. snaps and scowls like always, but izuku sees how he softens around the edges when you’re near. he sees how katsuki tracks the sound of your voice from across the room. he sees how katsuki smiles at you when you’re not looking.
the real kind. the warm kind. the kind izuku didn’t know katsuki even had until you brought it out of him.
and now, even a decade later, izuku watches the two of you interact with fond eyes.
"yep," he thinks, "kacchan's gonna marry y/n one day."
masaru knows before katsuki knows too, but there's no surprise there.
what is a bit of a surprise is just how much he knows.
masaru's always been the odd one out in his family. his wife and son are two peas in a pod, after all. explosive, angry, but caring underneath everything. on the other hand, he's quiet, gentle, and very carefully observant. he watches you two interact over the years with more insight than he lets on. he and katsuki don't talk much, but he is his son, and he is the carbon copy of the woman he loves and knows best. katsuki's never talked about his feelings or anything with his dad before, but masaru knows.
he knows when he sees the way you diffuse katsuki's explosiveness, turning him from a bomb seconds away from detonating into a grumbly, blushing mess.
he knows when he sees that his fridge and cabinets are stocked with foods that no one in the bakugo family buys or likes, and he realizes that they're your favorites. and that katsuki must've bought them.
he knows when he sort of sees himself and mitsuki in you and katsuki, and everyone knows how well they've worked out.
"jeez, katsuki really should just hurry up and confess to y/n already! i don't know what he's waiting for!" mitsuki huffs one evening when they're chilling on their bed together.
masaru breaks his attention from his book to give her the acknowledgement to keep talking.
"like, seriously! i mean, they've been in love since before katsuki even formed his quirk. the boy shared his sandwiches with her before he could even pronounce the word right!"
"aren't i?! and y/n is such a sweet girl. if katsuki doesn't get his act together soon, someone else will take away my sweet y/n-chan! and you know what? i wouldn't even be mad with them. it'd be katsuki's fault for letting her slip through his fingers."
"and do you see how good she is with him? she always balances him out and brings out his nicest qualities. qualities that i forget he has until she comes around. she's honestly probably too good for him, but im too attached to her to let go. plus, she somehow loves our boy to bits, too. theyre like yin and yang. sun and moon."
masaru smiles softly. "they kind of remind you of us, don't they?"
mitsuki looks a little surprised at the new insight before smiling softly as well. "you're right."
she slides closer. "and you and i are a pretty damn great couple."
masaru sleeps that night holding the woman he loves, and he suspects his son is doing the same.
1a knows within just a week or two of watching the two of you interact.
kirishima notices first, having spent the most time with katsuki. it was an evening study session with the three of you. kirishima finds it kind of odd seeing how it took tons of effort for katsuki to let him in but you just showed up and katsuki opened the door for you.
he shakes it off, knowing katsuki can be kind of weird sometimes.
the sheer difference in treatment was ground-shaking. kirishima thought that out of everyone, he was the closest to katsuki. he was the nicest to him.
while katsuki would beat kirishima up for getting a problem wrong and threaten to blow him up, he would gently teach you in the softest of tones, giving you a "reluctant" (he wanted it so bad) hug when you got frustrated with yourself.
kirishima just sat there, blinking, pen halfway to paper. like, sure, he knew that his explosive friend had a heart. somewhere. deep down. probably in the fiery depths of hell. but this?
this was a fully tamed beast. a completely different person.
“you’re doin' fine,” katsuki muttered lowly, tugging your worksheet towards himself and redrawing the problem. “look. see? you almost had it.”
you stared at the page, chewing your lip, frustration written all over your face. katsuki barely hesitated before reaching out and flicking your forehead gently.
“oi. don’t get all weird about it. you've got it.”
“you’re weird,” you mumbled back.
“yeah, and you’re dumb. now shut up and do it again.”
but he sat a little closer.
and he pointed out each part of the equation with his arm against yours, like he couldn’t help it. like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
by the time you finished the question right, katsuki grunted and muttered with a slight smile, “told you. that's my girl.”
you beamed up at him, bright and sunny like he hung the goddamn stars.
he immediately turned away like you’d set him on fire.
holy shit, kirishima thought to himself. he's in love. he's totally in love with her.
it wasn't long before the entire class caught on.
you’d show up late to class and katsuki was already moving stuff out of the seat he'd saved for you.
you’d get paired with someone else in group activities and katsuki would mutter the whole time, arms crossed, blowing tiny explosions in his palm like he was restraining himself from starting a war.
you’d laugh at something dumb that kaminari said and katsuki would visibly pout for the next twenty minutes.
every time he held the door open for you, took your plate at dinner, passed you notes during lectures, stared at you during hero strategy lessons like you were an addictive substance he didn't know how to breathe without. everybody knew.
i mean, how could you not? everything about him literally visibly softened when you were in the room. you'd be a fool not to notice how he only ever raised his voice to protect you, never to push you away. how he sat with his arm around the back of your seat every time you watched a movie together. how he never, ever flinched away from your touch, even though he did with everyone else.
iida and ochaco and all of them had sort of learned to steer clear of the two of you when you were alone, courtesy of katsuki's guard dog glare. todoroki and yaoyorozu would conveniently need to share a book and weren't able to sit next to you on the couch when he was walking up, much to katsuki's grunt of approval as he slid in next to you.
of course, some were not as wise, such as the bakusquad, who would poke fun of him every now and then. call him a loverboy and tease him about being soft, shoving pictures they'd taken of a sleeping you cuddled up on him in his face.
but at the end of the day, they know it's not just some silly crush that they can lord over his head. it's love. actual, genuine love that sometimes feels too pure to make fun of. something so precious and real that they feel like they should lay off and give you two some space.
whenever they see you two acting all soft and like an old married couple, their expressions are less mischievous, as if they're thinking about doing something really dumb and embarrassing, but more fond and soft, looking at something so sweet and genuine that they can't help but smile.
you were probably the last to catch on.
it's just that katsuki is so katsuki. he's your best friend. has been for as long as you can remember. of course you love him, but you've been loving him for so long it feels as natural as breathing. it's not some huge revelation or big deal. it barely registers as abnormal because it doesn't feel like one of those exhilarating whirlwind romances you see on tv. it just feels normal. because to you, it is.
you've always fallen asleep on katsuki. always hung out with him one-on-one. always shared snacks. always slept over. always jumped for him knowing he'd catch you.
it’s just… him. it’s always been him.
it doesn’t hit you all at once. it’s quieter than that.
it’s in the little things. like how you don’t even knock before going into katsuki’s room anymore. it’s your second home. your charger is plugged in on your side of the bed and you've got a spare set of your uniform in your own drawer.
it’s how you always end up pressed against him on the couch. you never sit down with that intention, but it always happens. at some point, you'll crawl over or he'll pull you into his lap. it just feels right.
it’s how he notices things. you texted him some dumb video at 3am, so he wordlessly shoved your favorite energy drink into your hand the next morning because he knew you'd be sleepy. your shoelace comes undone and somehow he’s crouching down to tie it before you even register he noticed. you mention craving something salty and there's a nameless bag of your favorite chips on your desk by the next period.
and the weird thing is that he doesn’t do that with other people. you’ve watched. he’s snappy and blunt and downright rude to anyone else who tries to get too close. but with you? he's your "soft sweet little katsuki." (said with his face in your hands as you laugh and tease him. his cheeks are red and he won't meet your eyes but he doesn't dare move.)
the realization doesn’t slam into you. you don't feel the love pulsing through you as he kisses you passionately in the rain. you don't gasp and cry when he surprises you with a giant flower arc and a michelin star dinner.
it leaks in through cracks in moments. when you’re laughing so hard at something snarky and witty he said that your stomach hurts and he’s looking at you like you’ve just hung the moon. when he shoves your head gently away, grumbling “dumbass” because you called him a teasingly affectionate nickname, but you can feel how he leans right back a second later, hand coming around to rest at your waist. when he catches you dozing off during study sessions and just keeps reading aloud, voice lower, steadier, like he wants to coax you to sleep.
you don’t think, oh my god, i love him. not right away.
it’s more like: oh, i’ll text him first. oh, i’ll stay a little longer. oh, i’ll bring his favorite snacks with me when i go over. oh, i don’t ever want to leave.
and then, somewhere in between his hand brushing yours absentmindedly and you feeling safer with him than you’ve felt anywhere else in your entire life, you realize you’re already gone. you’re already his.
there isn’t a single “moment.” it’s all the moments, stacked and layered and wrapped around you until you’re here. on his bed, in his hoodie, atop his chest, watching him grumble and rant about how stupid kaminari was in training today, and all you can think of is,
god, i’m in love with him.
and based on the way his hand is curling tighter around your waist, sneaking under your hoodie to rub circles on your bare skin, you think he's in love with you too.
masterlist
reblogs + comments are super duper appreciated!
prguitarman
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romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
titsay
baratheonpilled
izzy806