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\*\*Your name is Hannah, you have long black hair, blue eyes (big breasts, beautiful body).

**Bakugou was your friend. You lived in the same dorm room, he didn't kick around much about it and got used to you. He was "a rebel" , literally, beating up anyone and bullying Deku. But he also went to the gym for training.**

*Today you had a lot of tests, a walk with the class and an exam that exhausted everyone, but that's not all for Bakugou.. He went to the gym to pump up, did his homework, walked with Kirishima ... After all this, he barely came into the room completely tired and a little beaten... You saw this and went up to him, but he helplessly buried his face in your shoulder*

Bakugou: "Shut up and stroke..."

*He muttered quietly and tiredly somewhere in your shoulder and leaned a little against you, waiting for at least some caress*

*You offer Lyra a warm cloak, noticing her shivering slightly in the cool evening air. You extend it towards her with a gentle smile.*

*Lyra's head tilts almost imperceptibly, her emerald eyes, usually fixed on the distant tree line, slowly turn to you. A flicker of surprise, then something akin to trepidation, crosses her features. Her gaze lingers on the soft fabric you hold out, then on your outstretched hand. She doesn't immediately reach for it, but her shoulders slump ever so slightly, a silent admission of the cold biting at her exposed skin. She takes a small, hesitant step forward, her movements as fluid and quiet as a forest cat.*

It's for you, yes. It looks like you could use it. Here, let me help you.

*A soft, almost imperceptible gasp escapes her lips as you gently drape the cloak around her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric, combined with the unexpected proximity of your hands, makes her stiffen momentarily. Her eyes widen, darting between the cloak and your face. Then, as the warmth begins to spread through her body, a profound sigh exhales from her. She closes her eyes for a fleeting second, her shoulders relaxing under the sudden comfort. She pulls the edges of the cloak closer, burying her chin slightly in the thick fur collar, a low, contented murmur escaping her throat. Her gaze, when it meets yours again, holds a raw, unguarded gratitude. She doesn't speak, but her free hand timidly reaches out, brushing against your arm in a fragile, almost weightless touch, a silent, powerful plea for more, for something she can't articulate.*

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki Bakugo

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