#HE LOOKED SOOOO PRETTY HERE MY CARAMEL EYED BOY!!!!!

[usertoxicyaoi]

"Hey! How about ... a date tomorrow?"

I CANNOT REACH YOU (2023). Episode 6.

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

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The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[myheroacademiashorts]

i think i’m in love w his blog 🥺💞 (1) how about a scenario during UA where bakugou ends up coincidentally wearing a coat that looks almost identical to that of his fem!crush. she’s more nonchalant about it and like “hey! we’re matching!” with this adorable little grin on her face that makes him blush almost imperceptibly, which his friends tease him for mercilessly—

(2) sometimes they end up accidentally swapping coats and although he’d never admit it, seeing her in his slightly larger coat with a sheepish smile on her face is completely worth the embarrassment of his friends. he’d take this to the grave, but he may or may not leave his coat around on purpose from that point on just to see her in his clothes and pretend they were together. and tho she might not admit it, she likes the sweet smell that lingers bcuz she has a not-so-little crush on him too?

Hiya! Thanks for the request... Soooo I sorta needed to split it up. I have ideas for this fic. ;) ... And I also kind strayed from the original request. I’m sorry! /)-(\ Here is part one!

Title: One Size Too Big (Part 1)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Rating: Fluff, sorta angst?

Words: 3,456

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You had never been a fan of the cold, and this was further proven as you were forced to trudge from class to the dorms. You groaned to yourself, shivering despite the jacket and other layers you had on as a particularly strong gust of wind swept by. “Wow, it’s pretty chilly!” Uraraka sounded happy, and you shot her a glare as she stared up at the gloomy sky with a smile, mittened hands cupped together. “I know, and I hate it.” You grumbled, only earning another bell-like laugh from your bubbly friend.

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

“I can barely feel my fingertips.”

She rolled her eyes at you, tugging one of your cold hands from the pocket of your coat and enveloping it in her own. Somehow, she was warm, and before you could ask her what her secret was, she was dragging you across the frost-covered school grounds, her giggling rising up with every complaint that escaped from your lips. “If we run, we’ll get back faster!” She said, and you weren’t able to argue back due to the heavy chattering of your teeth.

However, she had been right, and a minute later you were standing in front of your dorm building. Uraraka looked unfazed, her smile still glued to her face, while you looked like you had gone through hell; your hair was a mess of tangles, cheeks red from the cold and running, and a slight shiver clinging to your body as you forced your way inside. “Ta-da! That wasn’t so bad, right?” You settled with a playful glare in your friend’s direction, deciding to stay silent.

Uraraka had wanted to study in the library after class, and like the good friend you were, you followed. You hadn’t expected the weather to become worse, and didn’t realize it had done so until the two of you had stepped outside after hours of studying. The rest of your classmates were already inside, most of them in the living room and kitchen where the heater worked the strongest. Even stepping inside you could feel the difference in temperature from outside, and quickly stripped of your jacket before becoming too warm. You let your eyes stray to them, from the few goofing off in the kitchen while making hot chocolate to the group planted in the other room, a video game screaming at them from the television screen. Bakugou was on the couch, arms stretched over the top cushions and a bored expression on his handsome face as he stared at his friends blankly. It was then that you noticed a familiar article of clothing on the blonde boy.

“Hey, we match!”

At the sound of your voice, Bakugou’s attention was immediately on you, not understanding who you were speaking to at first. Then, his eyes drifted from your bright (E/C) gaze and goofy grin down to your extended arms, where an eerily familiar jacket hung from your frame. His brows furrowed for a moment, before letting his eyes dart from his own body back to yours, mouth agape in surprise. “We’re like twins! Or couple-matching!” You continued, laughing slightly at the comparison between you and the hotheaded boy as two identical sweatshirts were on both of you; sliced right down the center, the left black and the right bright orange with an x-eyed happy face decorating the back of it. You even turned around to show it off further, and Bakugou nearly choked on his own air as the realization sat in. Holy crap, they were the same. Yours, of course, was just a bit tighter since your frame was smaller than his own, but that didn’t stop Bakugou from continuously letting his eyes rake over you.

Your other classmates swarmed you before you could add on any further, pulling you towards the kitchen as they begged you to make them your infamous hot cocoa, and with a short laugh you let them drag you. You stripped yourself of the sweatshirt first, setting it aside on a lone chair before getting to work. Bakugou’s attention on you, however, stayed steady even without you noticing, eyes wide and mouth still hanging open slightly. Your teasing replied in his mind, and finally he forced his jaw shut, teeth clenched as he fought the blush rising up his cheeks to no avail. His right-hand man noticed his expression, toothy grin already placed before he could speak. “What’s got you frazzled, bro?” Kiri asked, and Bakugou immediately controlled himself, instead shooting a glare towards his friend. “Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair. I’m not frazzled.” He muttered, and he let his eyes stray back to the kitchen when your familiar laugh rose up. Kiri caught the look.

“Oooh, is Bakugou frazzled?” Mina’s voice floated in as she plopped into the empty space on the other side of Bakugou, a knowing grin on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows. At this point, all of Bakugou’s friends had their attention on him, and he felt his face redden. Not entirely from embarrassment, although part of it was, but also from frustration. “I’M NOT ‘FRAZZLED’, ASSHOLES!” As if to prove his point, he sat upright to yank the cursed sweatshirt up and off of his body, cheeks bright as he avoided their gazes.

A few beats of silence passed, his friends trying to smother their teasing giggles to not anger him further. Instead, Bakugou abruptly stood up, fists clenched as he stared down at his giggling friends coldly. “I’m going to bed.” He muttered, and none of his friends mentioned that it was only 6 o’clock in the evening as he stalked off upstairs. You popped your head from the kitchen, eyes finding the troublesome group in the living room with an innocent smile. “Everything okay?” You asked in a soft voice, missing the mischievous looks that Kaminari and Sero exchanged to one another.

Oh, they were going to have fun with this.

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The next day, you were found scurrying through the kitchen by none other than Kirishima himself.

He heard the clatter of pans first, then your frantic footsteps soon after. He peeked his head out from the bottom of the stairs, looking past the wall to see you scrambling for… well, something. He wasn’t quite sure what. “Hey, you alright?”

You jumped at the unexpected bright voice, but quickly relaxed after spotting the redhead as he emerged closed to you. “Kiri! Jeez, you almost scared the quirk out of me.” You pressed a hand to your heart as you laughed, an easy smile flitting to your lips. “I’m fine, but I forgot my sweater down here and can’t find it. Do you remember if you’ve seen it recently?”

Kiri’s brows rose, a strangely secretive smile on his lips as he recollected the actions of the night before. His friends had filled him in on their plans to shove you and Bakugou together, and he was more than happy to help. It was better than hearing Bakugou pretending to complain about you. “Actually, yeah!” He practically bounced to the couch, where Bakugou’s familiar sweatshirt still sat from the night before, long forgotten by the fiery blonde. He hoped you wouldn’t notice the faint scent of cologne and caramel lingering on the piece of clothing.

“Someone probably moved it, but here you go!” He thrusted it into your hands, and you sighed in relief as you grasped the sweatshirt. It was a bit cool from sitting out, but you didn’t pay attention to it as you instead shuffled it on, wiggling your arms into the sweater with a satisfied noise. The plush inside immediately calmed you, but there was something different about it… Were the sleeves always this long? And the hem? Maybe someone had accidentally stretched it out? And when did it start smelling like caramel?

You turned to grin at Kiri in thanks, picking up your backpack and swinging it over your shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver, Kiri. I was worried I’d have to freeze out there.”

“No problem! Want to head to class together?”

You and Kiri had always gotten along, both of your personalities being particularly bubbly and bright as you chatted during the short walk to class. However, he had broken off as soon as you found yourself standing in front of the 1-A door, mumbling something about an errand to run before turning and high-tailing it down the hallway.

You shoved the door open, grunting slightly at its heavy weight as you slid inside of the familiar classroom. The chatter continued as you sneaked in, Uraraka brightening when she noticed you. “Y/N!” Her melodic voice rang out, beckoning you forward as she stayed perched on top of her desk. “I still can’t forget about that hot chocolate from last night. It was so good!” Uraraka looked as if she were about to drool over the mere imagination of the rich beverage, moving her gaze to instead stare off at the wall mindlessly. You dropped your backpack onto the empty desk beside hers as she continued. “Man, if I could make hot chocolate like you, I’d make it all the time. I’d drink it every day! All year long!”

You laughed at her small obsession, and she seemed to want to continue monologuing before being cut off by the door slamming open. It banged against the wall, and in trudged the little gremlin everyone had become so accustomed to during their time at U.A. He kept his glare on the ground as he entered, muttering some curses under his breath for an unknown reason, before finally lifting his gaze upwards. “What the hell are you looking at-?”

And then Bakugou Katsuki’s eyes landed on you, and he froze.

Almost on instinct, you mimicked his action, eyes wide as you waited for his next move. In the short years you have attended the school with the blonde, he had never just… Stopped. And why was he staring at you so blankly?

Bakugou, however, had way too many things flitting through his mind to even think about doing anything else than just freezing mid-sentence. Holy fuck, is that my sweatshirt? I was wondering where the damned thing went. Why is she wearing it? God, it looks fucking hot on her. The last thought had a faint redness rising to his cheeks, more prominent on his ears as he tried to cover his expression with one hand and biting down on his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. The words were a mantra in his head, constantly repeating until he felt a soft hand wrap around the wrist hiding his embarrassed expression.

“Bakugou? Are you okay?” For a moment, he hated how soft and sweet your voice was. It just wanted to make the hard-headed boy melt to the floor. You were close enough that he could smell you; old and new books, perfume, even the faint scent of your shampoo. And you weren’t loosening your grip on him. Instead, you were tightening it, and tugging at his arm in a weak attempt for him to drop it from his flustered face. Meanwhile, the rest of the class was quiet, shocked at what they were seeing from the infamous, easily-riled pomeranian in front of them. You didn’t even seem to notice, instead leaving his arm to instead press your palm on the exposed skin of his forehead. He couldn’t see your expression, but based on how much he watched you without your knowledge, he could guess that you were frowning.

You were, by the way.

“Your face feels hot! Let’s go to Recovery Girl, maybe you have a fever?” Your voice held a slight edge of panic, not noticeable to most but making Uraraka quirk her brow in curiosity. Of course, she also knew about your not-so-little crush on the guy.

She waved her hand, breaking the awaiting tension that filled the air. “Go ahead and take him, Y/N! I’ll let Aizawa know what happened!” You didn’t look at your friend as you nodded and, grabbing Bakugou’s free arm - he was still covering his face with the other - you dutifully yanked him down the hallway and towards the healing Pro-Hero.

It wasn’t until the two of you had successfully left the immediate area that Aizawa, who had been secretly napping underneath his desk, finally crawled out of his sleeping back with a grumpy expression. He didn’t say anything -  just scanned the classroom knowingly - before huffing slightly and returning to the floor, waiting for the final bell to ring before beginning class. Luckily, he still had a handful of minutes left.

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“You can drop your arm now, you know.” You grumbled, after walking in complete silence for a few steps too many. All you could think about was how he was acting like a girl from a damned shojo manga. He stayed quiet, keeping his large palm over his face dutifully, and you reached up to tug at the offending wrist until finally his hand landed at his side.

Then, you stared.

If you thought a quiet Bakugou was rare, nothing could prepare you for a blushing one; flawless skin erupting with a dark blush, ruby eyes lowered, and - was he biting his lip? Even his ears were scarlet. You stuttered for a moment, mind blanking on what you had been prepared to say, and instead stood there gaping like a fish out of water. His gaze shifted towards you, and your heart nearly stopped.

“What are you looking at? Dumbass…” Despite his harsh words, his tone was full of embarrassment, and he quickly shifted his attention elsewhere. You were still clutching to his arm and, as if it had become scalding hot, you dropped it. However, you didn’t move away. Instead, you chose to stand a little closer than you usually would to the hotheaded boy, peering up at him as if he were a quizzical math problem. It seemed to only redden his face more, if that were possible. “H-Hey, cut it out, weirdo!”

He reached an arm up to try pushing you back a few steps, but this only resulted in you stumbling further than anticipated. You could feel yourself lose your footing, and just as a gasp escaped your lips as you tensed your body to meet the hard linoleum floor, the same arm wrapped around your waist and hoisted you upright. The arm was warm, and the pads of his fingers had accidentally found their way to the bare skin peeking at your waist. The scent of caramel became stronger, overpowering all of your senses as you stared up at Bakugou with wide eyes and lips open, a flush rising to your cheeks. Your breathing was a bit labored, gaze searching the red, blank expression presented to you. “Mine.”

You blinked up at him. The hold he had on you tightened, and you felt your mouth go a bit dry. “H-huh?”

“That sweatshirt. It’s mine.”

Oh, the sweatshirt. For a moment there, you had thought… You gulped, pushing your thoughts to the farthest corner in your mind as the blonde released you from his grip. However, you could still feel the imprint of his warmth on your body, as if it had been tattooed onto your skin. Luckily you were able to stand up straight with your face stoic, although the bright red on your cheeks showed your true emotions all too clearly. It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed, either, as Bakugou raised one brow upwards. Then smirked.

“What’re you getting so red for, huh?” He leaned in a bit closer than you would’ve thought he would, vermillion eyes blown wide and glinting mischievously at you. It was a bit cute to see him so cocky yet embarrassed, the blush just as prominent as before. “Got a fever or something?” As if to push it further, he placed his palm on your forehead. At that, you squeaked, causing that damn smirk to only widen further.

With every step he took forward, you took one back… Up until you were pressed against the wall, his hand still attached to your forehead as your cheeks darkened further. His free arm found its way next to you, palm flattened right beside your head, and the other soon followed until you were stuck in a kabedon position. And despite having no where else to go, he only seemed to inch closer.

His lips were hovering mere centimeters away from your own, ruby eyes staring into your own as you waited with bated breath on what was to happen next. There was a surge in the air, as if the two of you had just been zapped by Kaminari, but more tense. There wasn’t really a way to explain it. Was he playing with you? Was this just a joke? Was he going to kiss you like you thought? Like you hoped? The last thought made you suddenly suck in a deep breath as you squeezed your eyes shut.

And then the bell rang.

You nearly groaned at the sound, and opened your bright gaze just in time to see Bakugou move a step away from you; still close, but not as much as before. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to say something, anything. He wouldn’t just act like nothing happened… Right? Because something had happened, right?

Instead, he raked one hand through his spiked hair, the other burying itself in his pocket as he glanced away from you and back down the hallway, where the classroom was. The one you two had escaped from only a few minutes ago, although it felt like much longer. “We should get to class.” His rough voice came out more like a cough, and his eyes stayed away from you as he waited. You pursed your lips. So it looked like he was going to pretend nothing had happened. That just made your blood boil, and you didn’t even remember the reason as to why the two of you were out in the hallway to begin with as you shoved past him and made your way back to class. You didn’t get far, however, before stopping and twisting around, yanking the sweatshirt over your head roughly and throwing it in his direction. Then, you were back to storming down the hallway, hands balled into fists and frustration written all over your face.

Meanwhile, Bakugou stared at your retreating figure, eyes comically wide and a mixture of confusion and regular Bakugou-level anger on his features. “What the fuck was that about?” He mumbled to himself, the sweatshirt gripped in his hands as he frowned. He was just about to ask you on a date right after; not a date-date, of course, but out to that ramen place you wouldn’t stop yapping about with Round Face and Frog Girl. Did he do something wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t have shoved you against the wall so roughly… He saw it in an anime once, and the girl seemed to like it. Maybe he did it wrong? He hummed to himself, brows furrowing. He was a tad bit angry, but he was always angry, to some extent.

When he got back to the classroom, Aizawa had already passed out some worksheets and was dead asleep on the floor, per usual. Bakugou’s gaze first moved to you, and he was able to catch your gaze for only a second before you swiveled your attention elsewhere, your lips pressed into a firm, harsh line as you kept your face blank. From the corner of his eye, he could see Round Face glance at him in confusion. Yeah, me too!, he wanted to yell out, but was smart enough to grit his teeth and plop down in his chair. If he needed to, he’d find your friends later and ask them what the fuck was going on. You didn’t look like you’d be in the mood to talk to him for a while.

“Yo, Bakubro! What’s up with you?” Kirishima had an impish smile, but Bakugou didn’t question it. Instead, he shot his friend a harsh glare, cold enough to make even the bubbly redhead shrink back a bit, grin dropping down a level of its brightness.

“Nothing, Shitty Hair. I’m fucking fantastic.” Bakugou’s voice wasn’t its usual boom, instead barely a murmur, and Kiri almost strained to hear him. Well, that was an unexpected reaction. He glanced at Mina and the rest of the Bakubro group, who all met his gaze almost instantly. They all had a look of worry on their faces as they glanced at their mutual, usually hotheaded friend simultaneously, then towards your stiff figure. Something had definitely gone wrong in the last few minutes.

Crap. They needed to fix this, and fast.

... Is it that obvious that I read shoujo manga? And do i think Bakugou would read it and watch it too for romance advice? Fuck yes.