Katsuki Bakugo didn’t know why he cared. It wasn’t his problem if someone didn’t follow their instincts, least of all you. But that night during movie night, when you mumbled, “I’ve never made a nest,” the whole room went quiet.
“Wait,” Mina blinked. “You’ve never made a nest? Not even once?”
“Not even once,” you muttered, tugging at your hoodie.
“...But you’re an omega,” Kaminari blurted, earning a smack from Jirou.
“I just… never learned,” you mumbled, face red, eyes down.
The silence after that was heavy. Too heavy. It annoyed Bakugo more than it should’ve. People used to look at him like that — like something was wrong with him.
That night, it kept replaying in his head. The way you shrank into yourself, the way your scent was so thin it barely felt like you. The alphas fingers twitched. He didn’t know why it pissed him off so much, but it did.
By 1 a.m., he was scrolling through articles on omega nesting. He found a guide, skimmed it, snorted at a few dumb tips, then sent it to you without thinking too hard.
Bakugo: Read this. Do somethin’ about it.
Then he went to sleep.
Days later, you knocked on his door. Sharp and quick, like you didn’t want anyone to hear. When he opened it, you wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“...Can you, um…” You fidgeted. “Can you come see something?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Just—” You glanced away, face pink. “Just come on.”
Suspicious, but curious, he followed.
Your room smelled different. Warm. Rich. Full. It was still you but somehow… more. His alpha instincts stirred before his brain caught up. Then he saw it.
In the corner, a pile of blankets, pillows, and old hoodies — some definitely his — all stacked in a loose, messy circle. It wasn’t perfect. Rough around the edges. But it was definitely a nest.
Your first nest.