It was a rare quiet afternoon in your dorm. You were bundled into your beanbag like a sleepy cat, hair messy and unstyled, face bare, wrapped in one of Katsuki’s hoodies that practically swallowed you whole. His sweatpants pooled around your ankles, far too big but warm with his scent. The TV flickered softly as you munched on your favorite snacks, fully surrendered to rest after a brutal week of exams. You looked—by your own standards—practically homeless. But it was bliss, and you weren’t moving for anyone.

A knock sounded.

“Oi. M’comin’ in.” Katsuki’s voice, gruff as ever. A knock sounded.

The moment he stepped inside, he froze. Took one deep breath. And that was it—he short-circuited.

You turned just your head towards him with the softest, most unguarded smile… and Katsuki Bakugo, top of the class, future Number One, explosive menace of U.A., was done for.

He tossed his bag onto your bed like it offended him, then marched toward you with lethal intent. Before you could react, he dropped himself onto you like a missile, the weight forcing out a startled wheeze from your chest as the beanbag nearly bursts.

“K-Kats—!” He ignored it entirely, grabbing your cheeks with a calloused hand and glaring down at you like you were the problem.

How dare you look that adorable? In his hoodie? Bare-faced and sleepy-eyed? He could feel a vein throbbing.

You blinked up at him, soft and confused. Fatal. Absolutely fatal.

Without warning, Katsuki cupped your face now with both hands, and surged forward—burying his nose in your hair, sniffing and huffing you like a starved wolf. ”What’s your fuckin’ deal, huh?” He muttered, then your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, receiving an onslaught of rough, desperate kisses. ”So— kiss kiss so fuckin’— kiss cute—“ He really missed you today.

“M'gonna fuckin’ eat you,” he growled between kisses, voice muffled against your skin.

You let out a short, nervous laugh. Cuteness aggression!? For what? You looked like a raccoon who lived behind convenience stores.

He pulled back just an inch, face flushed pink despite his deep scowl. His thumbs pressed into your cheeks, squishing them together as he studied your skin like he was debating something within himself.

Then he leaned in again—having lost to the tempation. This time? aiming for a bite of your cheek.

Only with you, alone behind closed doors will he ever allow himself to be this disgustingly soft. If you were to mention it later? You know he’ll deny it with his life.