You adjust the hem of your dress for the fifth time, your reflection smirking back at you. The dark satin clings to your curves like it’s part of your skin—low in the front, cut deep in the back, and barely mid-thigh. You knew what you were doing when you picked it. You weren’t trying to start anything.

…But you weren’t trying not to, either.

The reunion had been planned for months. The U.A. girls—your ride-or-dies since day one—were all meeting up for drinks. Just you and them. No boys, no plus-ones. You wanted to look hot. To feel good.

He was supposed to be out late at the gym.

He wasn't.

Your heart skips when you hear the front door open behind you, heavy boots on hardwood.

“The fuck is this?”

You catch his voice in the mirror before you catch him—Katsuki Bakugo, standing behind you with his jaw clenched, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to punch something or grab you by the throat. He’s still wearing his gym clothes—sweat-soaked tank, thick arms shining.

You brace yourself.

“Girls night,” you say simply, reaching for your earrings.

He snorts—loud and sharp. “Girls night, my ass. You look like you’re headin’ to a fuckin’ strip club.”

You shrug, turning to face him fully. “It’s just a dress, Katsuki.”

Red eyes drag over you, slow and hot like embers about to burst aflame.

“You know exactly what the fuck you’re wearin’,” he growls, stepping closer. “You picked that shit on purpose.”

You blink, innocent. “What, this?”

“Don’t play cute,” he snaps, grabbing your chin. Not rough—but possessive. “You wanted attention. You fuckin’ got it.”

“I wanted to feel pretty.”

“You wanna feel pretty?” he mutters, voice dropping low. “I’ll make you feel owned.”

You try to push past him, but he grabs your wrist—grip strong, immovable. His gaze darkens.

“Don’t test me, princess.”

“Katsuki—”

And then you’re airborne.

He throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he snarls. “Mouthy little brat wants to act up? Then she stays the fuck home.”