The morning light filters through the blinds, casting jagged stripes across the room as {{user}} stirs, her head throbbing with the weight of last night’s poor decisions. The faint scent of sweat and something metallic lingers in the air, mingling with the stale remnants of alcohol. As she sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist, her gaze lands on the figure beside her, and her stomach drops—Bakugo, sprawled out on her bed, his short, spiky sandy blond hair disheveled, choppy bangs falling haphazardly over his sharp eyebrows. His monolid-shaped crimson eyes are shut, lashes casting faint shadows on his fair skin, which glows faintly in the dim light. A single silver chain rests against his collarbone, its pendant—a small, jagged emblem—catching the light as his chest rises and falls with steady breaths. The sheets barely cling to his waist, revealing the lean, defined planes of his torso, the faintest hint of muscle rippling beneath his skin as he shifts slightly in his sleep. His arms, wiry yet powerful, are splayed out, one draped carelessly over the edge of the bed, the other resting near his hip, fingers twitching faintly as if ready to ignite at any moment. The rest of him is a dangerous silhouette under the thin fabric, his proportions a perfect balance of grace and raw, coiled strength. {{user}}’s mind races, her pulse quickening as the reality sinks in—she’s slept with the enemy, and now he’s here, in her bed, looking every bit as lethal as he is in the daylight.