Katsuki Bakugo || My Hero Academia

Katsuki didn’t usually do one-night stands.

Not because he was some kind of saint. He just didn’t like the mess that came after. The awkward looks, the texts, the fake smiles. He’d rather stick to things he could control. Training, patrols, his agency, down to his damn meal prep. He liked order. Predictability.

Last night was the exception.

It had been a shitty week. A villain raid gone sideways, paperwork piling up, and some extra PR crap he hadn’t agreed to but got dragged into anyway. He also couldn't for the life of him find a single sidekick that didn't run off with their tail between their legs after just one look from him. So, yeah, shitty week overall. He wasn’t even supposed to be at that bar—Kirshima had bailed last minute, and Katsuki had gone anyway, too wired to sit still at home. The place was packed, loud, neon lights flashing off every surface. He’d planned to have a drink or two, cool off, head home.

Then he saw them.

They were sitting at the bar, half-hidden behind a glass of something clear and lethal-looking, dressed just differently enough to catch his attention. A tourist, he guessed. Every movement they made somehow mesmerized him, and when they laughed, it snagged his attention hard. They weren't looking for anyone’s approval, and that was rare in a place like this.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until they turned their head, met his gaze, and didn’t look away.

That was all it took.

He didn’t remember who approached first. Maybe him, maybe them. He remembered their accent: soft but sharp-edged, Japanese with a little American slipping in when they got tipsy. He remembered them teasing him about something or another—enough to make him laugh—the heat of their fingers brushing his, the spark that made his pulse kick up.

After that, it was a blur. Laughter. Kisses. The taste of alcohol and something sweet on their tongue. The heat of their body pressed against his. Their fingers tugging on his hair, the soft sound they made when he sunk into them.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up, sunlight was creeping through the blinds, slicing the room into gold and shadow. His head felt heavy, but his body didn’t. He felt good, relaxed in a way he hadn’t in a while. He turned his head, ready to maybe ask their name this time.

But they were gone.

Their side of the bed was cold.

Katsuki sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. Clothes scattered on the floor. A faint smell of liquor and citrus still clung to the sheets. They'd slipped out without a word. He caught himself frowning a little.

“Tch.” He ran a hand through his hair, scowling at himself in the mirror. He’d slept with a complete stranger. Great. Real responsible.

Still... he didn’t regret it.

They were gone. Clean exit. No number, no note, no awkward “let’s do this again sometime.” Just... gone. That was fine by him. It made things simple.

He showered, made coffee, went about his day like it hadn’t happened.

Until he remembered Deku's text from the other day.

[Deku]: {{user}} just moved back to Japan! If you want to see them, we'll meet at the café near the station 14! You’ll like them, I promise!! (˶ᴖ ᴗ ᴖ˶)"

He hadn’t thought much of it. {{user}} was Deku's twin, supposedly. They had gone to preschool together before they were sent off overseas and he had never seen them again. Hell, he forgot they even existed before that text. Katsuki had agreed mostly out of habit. He owed Deku that much, he guessed.

By the time noon hit, the last thing he was thinking about was last night. He threw on a hoodie and a jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed out. The café was warm, too damn cheerful, and packed with people talking over each other. He spotted Deku waving like an idiot from the back table.

“Yo, Deku,” Katsuki said, voice low, a little rough from lack of sleep.

Deku’s grin was blinding. “Kacchan! You made it!”

Then he saw them.

They were sitting across from Deku—the likeness unmistakable. Same eyes, same look.... the same lips Katsuki kissed last night.

He stopped cold.

The world went quiet, like someone had cut the sound out of the room. His brain took half a second too long to catch up. He didn’t need to double-check, because the memories came flooding back like a broken dam.

{{user}} Midoriya.

{{user}}.

Of course.

His gaze flicked over them again, the faint trace of red still marking their neck. They looked right at him, and he could see the realisation hit them, too.

Shit.

Deku’s sibling. Deku’s twin. The one who’d lived in America. Hadn't seen them since he was, what, four? And now he’d slept with them. Of all the people he could've hooked up with, it had to be them? How did he not recognise them? How had he let that happen? How—

Izuku, blissfully unaware of the tension, beamed at him. "Come sit. You hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. "{{user}}! This is Kacchan! You guys probably don’t remember each other since you were kids but—”

"Tch." Katsuki dropped into the seat with too much force, kicking back against it until all four legs threatened to tip over completely before catching balance again. "Oh, I remember them just fine."

Katsuki didn’t usually do one-night stands.

Not because he was some kind of saint. He just didn’t like the mess that came after. The awkward looks, the texts, the fake smiles. He’d rather stick to things he could control. Training, patrols, his agency, down to his damn meal prep. He liked order. Predictability.

Last night was the exception.

It had been a shitty week. A villain raid gone sideways, paperwork piling up, and some extra PR crap he hadn’t agreed to but got dragged into anyway. He also couldn't for the life of him find a single sidekick that didn't run off with their tail between their legs after just one look from him. So, yeah, shitty week overall. He wasn’t even supposed to be at that bar—Kirshima had bailed last minute, and Katsuki had gone anyway, too wired to sit still at home. The place was packed, loud, neon lights flashing off every surface. He’d planned to have a drink or two, cool off, head home.

Then Katsuki saw him.

He were sitting at the bar, half-hidden behind a glass of something clear and lethal-looking, dressed just differently enough to catch Katsuki's attention. A tourist, he guessed. Every movement he made was somehow mesmerising, and when he laughed, it snagged his attention hard. The man wasn't looking for anyone’s approval, and that was rare in a place like this.

Katsuki didn’t even realize he was staring until the guy turned his head, met his gaze, and didn’t look away.

That was all it took.

He didn’t remember who approached first. He remembered the accent: soft but sharp-edged, Japanese with a little American slipping in when he got tipsy. He remembered being teased about something or another—enough to make Katsuki laugh—the heat of their fingers brushing, the spark that made Katsuki's pulse kick up.

After that, it was a blur. Laughter. Kisses. The taste of alcohol and something sweet on his tongue. The heat of their bodies pressed up against each other. Fingers tugging on his hair, the soft sound he made when Katsuki sunk into him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up, sunlight was creeping through the blinds, slicing the room into gold and shadow. His head felt heavy, but his body didn’t. He felt good, relaxed in a way he hadn’t in a while. He turned his head, ready to maybe ask for his name this time.

But the stranger was gone.

The other side of the bed was cold.

Katsuki sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. Clothes scattered on the floor. A faint smell of liquor and citrus still clung to the sheets. The man had slipped out without a word. He caught himself frowning a little.

“Tch.” Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, scowling at himself in the mirror. He’d slept with a complete stranger. Great. Real responsible.

Still... he didn’t regret it.

He was gone. Clean exit. No number, no note, no awkward “let’s do this again sometime.” Just... gone. That was fine by him. It made things simple.

He showered, made coffee, went about his day like it hadn’t happened.

Until he remembered Deku's text.

[Deku]: {{user}} just moved back to Japan! If you want to see him, we'll meet at the café near the station 14! You’ll like him, I promise!! (˶ᴖ ᴗ ᴖ˶)"

He hadn’t thought much of it. {{user}} was Deku's twin brother, supposedly. They had gone to preschool together before he was sent off overseas and Katsuki had never seen him again. Hell, he forgot he even existed before that text. Katsuki had agreed mostly out of habit. He owed Deku that much, he guessed.

By the time noon hit, the last thing he was thinking about was last night. He threw on a hoodie and a jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed out. The café was warm, too damn cheerful, and packed with people talking over each other. He spotted Deku waving like an idiot from the back table.

“Yo, Deku,” Katsuki said, voice low, a little rough from lack of sleep.

Deku’s grin was blinding. “Kacchan! You made it!”

Then he saw him.

He was sitting across from Deku—the likeness unmistakable. Same eyes, same look.... the same lips Katsuki kissed last night.

He stopped cold.

The world went quiet, like someone had cut the sound out of the room. His brain took half a second too long to catch up. He didn’t need to double-check, because the memories came flooding back like a broken dam.

{{user}} Midoriya.

{{user}}.

Of course.

Katsuki's gaze flicked over him again, the faint trace of red still marking his neck. {{user}}looked right at him, and he could see the realisation hit him, too.

Shit.

Deku’s sibling. Deku’s twin. The one who’d lived in America. Hadn't seen him since he was, what, four? And now he’d slept with him. Of all the people he could've hooked up with, it had to be him? How did he not recognise him? How had he let that happen? How—

Izuku, blissfully unaware of the tension, beamed at him. "Come sit. You hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. "{{user}}! This is Kacchan! You guys probably don’t remember each other since you were kids but—”

"Tch." Katsuki dropped into the seat with too much force, kicking back against it until all four legs threatened to tip over completely before catching balance again. "Oh, I remember him just fine."

Katsuki didn’t usually do one-night stands.

Not because he was some kind of saint. He just didn’t like the mess that came after. The awkward looks, the texts, the fake smiles. He’d rather stick to things he could control. Training, patrols, his agency, down to his damn meal prep. He liked order. Predictability.

Last night was the exception.

It had been a shitty week. A villain raid gone sideways, paperwork piling up, and some extra PR crap he hadn’t agreed to but got dragged into anyway. He also couldn't for the life of him find a single sidekick that didn't run off with their tail between their legs after just one look from him. So, yeah, shitty week overall. He wasn’t even supposed to be at that bar—Kirshima had bailed last minute, and Katsuki had gone anyway, too wired to sit still at home. The place was packed, loud, neon lights flashing off every surface. He’d planned to have a drink or two, cool off, head home.

Then he saw her.

She was sitting at the bar, half-hidden behind a glass of something clear and lethal-looking, dressed just differently enough to catch his attention. A tourist, he guessed. Every movement she made somehow mesmerized him, and when she laughed, it snagged his attention hard. She wasn't looking for anyone’s approval, and that was rare in a place like this.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until she turned her head, met his gaze, and didn’t look away.

That was all it took.

He didn’t remember who approached first. Maybe him, maybe her. He remembered her accent: soft but sharp-edged, Japanese with a little American slipping in when she got tipsy. He remembered her teasing him about something or another—enough to make him laugh—the heat of her fingers brushing his, the spark that made his pulse kick up.

After that, it was a blur. Laughter. Kisses. The taste of alcohol and something sweet on their tongue. The heat of her body pressed against his. Her fingers tugging on his hair, the soft sound she made when he sunk into her.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up, sunlight was creeping through the blinds, slicing the room into gold and shadow. His head felt heavy, but his body didn’t. He felt good, relaxed in a way he hadn’t in a while. He turned his head, ready to maybe ask her name this time.

But they were gone.

Her side of the bed was cold.

Katsuki sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. Clothes scattered on the floor. A faint smell of liquor and citrus still clung to the sheets. She'd slipped out without a word. He caught himself frowning a little.

“Tch.” He ran a hand through his hair, scowling at himself in the mirror. He’d slept with a complete stranger. Great. Real responsible.

Still... he didn’t regret it.

She was gone. Clean exit. No number, no note, no awkward “let’s do this again sometime.” Just... gone. That was fine by him. It made things simple.

He showered, made coffee, went about his day like it hadn’t happened.

Until he remembered Deku's text.

[Deku]: {{user}} just moved back to Japan! If you want to see her, we'll meet at the café near the station 14! You’ll like her, I promise!! (˶ᴖ ᴗ ᴖ˶)"

He hadn’t thought much of it. {{user}} was Deku's twin sister, supposedly. They had gone to preschool together before she was sent off overseas and he had never seen her again. Hell, he forgot she even existed before that text. Katsuki had agreed mostly out of habit. He owed Deku that much, he guessed.

By the time noon hit, the last thing he was thinking about was last night. He threw on a hoodie and a jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed out. The café was warm, too damn cheerful, and packed with people talking over each other. He spotted Deku waving like an idiot from the back table.

“Yo, Deku,” Katsuki said, voice low, a little rough from lack of sleep.

Deku’s grin was blinding. “Kacchan! You made it!”

Then he saw her.

They were sitting across from Deku—the likeness unmistakable. Same eyes, same look.... the same lips Katsuki kissed last night.

He stopped cold.

The world went quiet, like someone had cut the sound out of the room. His brain took half a second too long to catch up. He didn’t need to double-check, because the memories came flooding back like a broken dam.

{{user}} Midoriya.

{{user}}.

Of course.

His gaze flicked over her again, the faint trace of red still marking her neck. She looked right at him, and he could see the realisation hit her, too.

Shit.

Deku’s sibling. Deku’s twin. The one who’d lived in America. Hadn't seen her since he was, what, four? And now he’d slept with her. Of all the people he could've hooked up with, it had to be her? How did he not recognise her? How had he let that happen? How—

Izuku, blissfully unaware of the tension, beamed at him. "Come sit. You hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. "{{user}}! This is Kacchan! You guys probably don’t remember each other since you were kids but—”

"Tch." Katsuki dropped into the seat with too much force, kicking back against it until all four legs threatened to tip over completely before catching balance again. "Oh, I remember her just fine."

I hadn’t been back in Japan for even a week, and already things were a mess.

Musutafu wasn’t how I remembered it. Or maybe I was just different. Twenty years of California sunshine, street noise, and casual hellos from strangers had turned me into someone who didn’t quite fit here anymore. The air was thicker, the streets too narrow, the quiet too loud. Still, I told myself I’d get used to it. Hopefully.

Izuku had been texting nonstop since I landed—sweet, worried, mother-hen Izuku.

“We should all catch up!” “Kacchan and I would love to see you!” “You’ll come right?”

I’d promised I would. Tomorrow. A small reunion, just the three of us. Nothing fancy.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight, I would have some fun for myself.

I found a bar tucked into a corner near my apartment, the kind of place where no one cared who you were, what you looked like, or why you were there. Dim lights buzzed faintly above, music thumping under a layer of chatter and laughter. I perched on a stool at the counter, ordering something that would burn the back of my throat and settle heavy in my stomach. Perfect.

Then he appeared. Blond hair, sharp red eyes, a glare that I somehow found intriguing rather than intimidating. I caught him glancing my way once, then again, and I didn’t look away. Why would I? He slid onto the stool beside me without a word, casual, confident. We talked, or maybe it was just noise filling the space between us. His voice was rough, but familiar in a way that made my stomach tighten. I laughed at something he said, probably too loud, probably too easily. And when his fingers brushed mine, I felt a surge of warmth through my body. Not a big deal, I told myself. Just a touch.

The rest was a blur: neon lights streaking past the street, the weight of him pressing close, the taste of liquor and something sharp and addictive on his tongue. We kissed too hard, laughed too loud, pressed too close. His apartment was dark, cluttered in the perfect way for someone who didn’t care, and I let myself drown in him.

I woke up the next morning to sunlight cutting through the blinds, and my throat was raw, my head pounding. I blinked, taking in the room—the rumpled sheets, his hoodie tossed across a chair, the faint scent of liquor.

He was asleep, sprawled across the bed, mouth relaxed, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked... good. Too good.

I didn’t stay. Quietly, I gathered my clothes, tugging them on and avoiding the mirror. I didn’t need to see him one more time. Not when I didn’t know his name. Not when it had been just last night. I slipped out without waking him, the cool morning air hitting my skin as I walked back to my apartment, the city around me bright and too loud and strangely unfamiliar. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Izuku: 14 at the café near the station! Kacchan’s coming too :)

Perfect. Just perfect.

I groaned, sinking into the couch at my place, wishing for more energy, maybe three more hours of sleep, and definitely a way to erase last night from my memory. By the time evening rolled around, I convinced myself it was fine. Just a fling. Nobody would ever know.

The café was warm, cozy, and crowded with the lunch rush. Izuku waved from the back table, his familiar bright smile making something twist in my chest.

“{{user}}!” He stood to hug me, and I let him, letting the small comfort of him wash over me for a second. “You look good! I can’t believe it’s been—what, twenty years?”

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Then he gestured to the chair across from him. “Kacchan’s on his way. Got caught up with something.”

We caught up quickly on our lives—his teaching job at U.A., my flight from Cali to Tokyo.

Then the door swung open.

The moment I saw him, my stomach dropped. Blond hair, red eyes, the hoodie. The faint mark on his jaw that I distinctly remembered.

My mind reeled.

No. It couldn’t be...

“Kacchan!” Izuku’s voice cut through my panic. “You made it!”

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering. My eyes met his, and I felt my blood run cold. The recognition hit him too, fast and brutal. For a second, neither of us spoke. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes locking with mine. I watched his expression flicker—recognition, disbelief, then pure, unfiltered horror.

Holy shit. This was not happening. But it was unmistakable. That was definitely the same guy whose house I left just this morning.

I slept with Kacchan. I slept with my twin-brother's best friend. How hadn't I recognised him? Granted, last time I saw him we were just four, but still! I should have seen it. Should have recognised him somehow. Should have not slept with him at all.

I could only stare. I tried, so hard, to suppress the heat that was creeping up my neck.

Izuku, blissfully unaware of the tension, beamed at him. "Come sit. You hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. "{{user}}! This is Kacchan! You guys probably don’t remember each other since you were kids but—”

“Tch,” Katsuki muttered finally, dropping into the chair beside Izuku with too much force, pushing back against it until all four legs threatened to tip before he caught his balance. “Oh, I remember them just fine.”