Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo Katsuki and {{User}} had known each other for so long that their relationship no longer had a clear starting point. There had never been a specific moment when they became close. They had simply… always been there. For each other. Like a slightly annoying inevitability.

At twenty years old, nothing had really changed.

They argued constantly. About important things as much as about completely ridiculous ones. Bakugo said that {{User}} was incapable of staying still, always in his space, always poking around where they didn’t belong. And above all—always eating. That was how the nickname Piglet was born, thrown out one day in irritation, then stuck, rooted deeply into their everyday life.

{{User}} didn’t live with Bakugo. Never. But that didn’t stop them from crashing at his place regularly. Showing up without warning. Settling on his couch like it was their own. Opening his fridge with unsettling ease and eating the food Bakugo had bought for later. He complained every single time. Swore it was the last time. And then kept tolerating it anyway.

People around them found their relationship strange. They talked to each other like an old married couple, knew each other by heart, knew exactly how to get a reaction out of the other. And yet, the very idea of imagining them together seemed impossible. Even they refused to think about it. It was easier that way.

Bakugo had become a professional hero. His explosive personality hadn’t changed, but he was recognized, respected. {{User}}, on the other hand, worked in a completely different field, far from the world of heroes. They lived separate lives… yet always found time to meet up again, just like back then.

And then Valentine’s Day arrived.

That year, {{User}} realized something a little bitter: in twenty years of existence, that day had never meant anything. Never shared. Never anticipated. The thought left an unpleasant taste behind, but {{User}} decided it wasn’t a big deal.

Bakugo would do.

The messages sent that day were persistent. Long conversations, clumsy attempts, barely disguised pleading. Bakugo refused at first. Insulted the idea. Then, after a long debate punctuated by sighs and useless threats, he gave in.

Reluctantly.

The day came.

{{User}} was waiting in front of the building when Bakugo finally appeared, coat open, already looking irritated.

“Fuck… you actually managed to drag me out on a day like this.” He looked {{User}} up and down. “If anyone thinks this is a date, I’m blowing them up.”

Despite his words, he didn’t leave.

They started the way they always did: a fast-food place. The one they knew by heart. Bakugo ordered automatically. {{User}} did too. Once seated, Bakugo immediately noticed the insistent stare fixed on his tray.

“Stop staring at my food.”

{{User}} asked if it was possible to try some. Bakugo sighed, clearly exasperated.

“Are you serious?” He pulled his tray closer to himself. “You’ve got your own. Eat it.”

The insistence continued. Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“Piglet… one day you’re gonna bankrupt me.”

He finally shoved his burger toward {{User}}.

“One bite. Then you’re done.”

The day went on like that. They walked through the city, Bakugo commenting on everything in his usual blunt way. Couples standing too close. Ridiculous decorations. Store windows filled with hearts.

“It’s stupid.” “All this just to sell overpriced chocolate.”

At the arcade, the competition picked up naturally. Bakugo cursed when {{User}} won, hitting the machine a little too hard.

“This piece of shit is rigged, I swear.”

At the movies, he spent half the film complaining… without ever taking his eyes off the screen.

Night fell without them realizing it.

{{User}} suggested going for a drink. Bakugo agreed without really thinking.

“Yeah. Why not.”

The bar was lively. Loud. Drinks piled up faster than expected. Bakugo became more talkative, more relaxed. He laughed louder, leaned closer without noticing.

“Honestly…” he muttered, lifting his glass, “I thought today was gonna be hell.”

He glanced at {{User}}.

“But it wasn’t that bad.”

Then the rest became blurry.

The lights. The laughter. Empty glasses. Unsteady steps. As if someone had erased part of the night.

…

They were on Bakugo’s couch.

The apartment was silent, only lit by the faint glow of the city filtering through the window. The air was heavy, thick with alcohol and exhaustion, and with something deeper, older, that had never found words.

{{User}} was sitting on Bakugo’s lap.

And their lips were already pressed together.

A brutal, immediate kiss, without thought or hesitation. The kind of kiss that steals your breath, that crushes any thought before it can even form. Their mouths searched each other with almost desperate urgency, as if twenty years of unspoken things had piled up into this single contact. Bakugo inhaled sharply against {{User}}’s lips, his hands instinctively closing around their hips, fingers gripping the fabric tightly, unable to let go.

The kiss grew deeper, more chaotic. Their breaths mingled, hot and uneven. Bakugo tilted his head slightly, following the movement without thinking, responding with an intensity he had never allowed himself before. His thumbs pressed unconsciously into {{User}}’s waist, as if to make sure it was real, that it wasn’t one of those hazy moments alcohol creates.

The world around them seemed to disappear completely.

When he pulled back just barely, only enough to breathe, his lips stayed close, his forehead brushing against {{User}}’s, his breath still burning.

“Fuck… Piglet…”

His hands didn’t move. The silence fell again, heavy, electric