His head was fucking killing him.
Like something was jackhammering behind his eyes—steady, merciless, brutal. Katsuki groaned low, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple like pressure alone could erase the pain.
He’d had worse. Wars. Smoke inhalation. A snapped rib grinding with every breath.
But this hangover? This was next-level.
The air was too warm. His skin felt tight. Sheets twisted around his legs like vines, heavy and hot and—
There. Something against his chest. Warm. Solid.
His body stiffened.
His arm was around someone.
Not just someone.
A man.
And you were completely naked.
What the fuck—
Katsuki’s breath hitched. He forced his eyes open, blinking through the blur.
He glanced down.
Yeah.
He was naked too.
“Fuck.”
It wasn’t just the sight—it was the way your body was curled into his, like you’d fit there. Like you’d been there for hours. Like you’d done this before.
His eyes scanned you, slowly. Faint bruises along your hips. Scratches on your back. A red bite mark high on your chest.
None of it gentle.
None of it forgettable.
He’d done that to you.
Taken you. Hard. Desperate.
His stomach turned, but it wasn’t just the hangover anymore.
He pushed a trembling hand through his hair, but his fingers snagged. A thin red thread on his wrist. And lower—
A ring.
Gold. Simple. Unmistakable.
“No fucking way.”
He stared at it like it might catch fire. And then his gaze dropped to the floor—clothes everywhere, chaotic and wild. Like the aftermath of a goddamn bar brawl.
Memories came in fragments. Neon lights. Laughter. Music too loud. A crowd of women in white sashes—
Flaming cocktails.
Shit.
That was right. He challenged a whole-ass bachelorette party to a drinking contest. Cocktails on fire. His pride on the line.
And then… you.
You were there. Hands on his shoulders, holding him up as he swore he wasn’t gonna throw up—then did. Right in a planter. And you laughed so hard you nearly fell over too.
He’d laughed too. Somewhere between a gag and a wheeze, he remembered it: your arm around his waist. His head on your shoulder. The lights of Vegas spinning behind your silhouette.
And you kissed him first.
Right there on the sidewalk, with whiskey on both your lips, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
He let it happen. Wanted it, maybe.
His stomach flipped again.
He glanced at the nightstand.
Two glasses.
And a folder.
He reached for it, limbs heavy, heart heavier.
The seal was open. Inside—paper. Sharp black ink. Two names.
His.
Yours.
Katsuki Bakugo and {{user}} Bakugo.
His fingers clenched. There were signatures. Both of them real. Yours scrawled first. His after.
You had even taken his name.
He sat on the edge of the bed, heart slamming into his ribs, the ring burning like a brand on his skin. Cold sweat traced his spine.
He didn’t do shit like this. Ever. Didn’t risk. Didn’t let people close. Didn’t marry strangers after vomiting outside a casino.
And yet—here you were.
Peaceful. Asleep. Breathing slow and steady under the hotel sheets.
Still a stranger.
But not completely.
Because some part of him remembered your laugh. The weight of your body against his side. The way you whispered his name like it meant something.
Sheets rustled behind him. A soft sigh. Movement.
You were waking up.
Katsuki swallowed hard.
“You up?” he asked, voice raw and low, not turning around. Didn’t trust himself to look at you. Not yet.
Not when he wasn’t sure if what happened between you was a mistake—
—or the start of something he couldn’t afford to want.