The Student Council President is WHAT?! (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

Rumor

The almost-kiss that turned into a sick beating for his nose had been replaying in his mind since it happened. Bakugou had woken up, immediately had the image of your face getting closer, and sat up on the side of his bed with his hands clasped tightly together, kicking himself over and over again.

Why had he done that? He was a fucking joke.

He needed that match to happen to move past his doubts about his own thoughts on you being a pretty damn good hero, but to think it would've worked well enough to pop the lock on his restraint.

That lapse in control had opened up the fucking floodgates of hell to every intrusive thought and shitty feeling he had been pushing away; Because now, he had to come face to face with the true cause of why his body had overpowered his brain to stoop down and make a fool out of himself. There you were in front of him, standing with all of your annoying air to make a mockery out of everything he stood for.

"Godfuckindammit."

He snarled through gritted teeth and muttered a million curses under his breath while he got ready for school that morning, finally managing to shove those stupid ass thoughts down as he went over his hero lessons in his head.

Like hell he'll let what - didn't - happen interfere with his work.

But he was still in a sour mood walking to the school building, at the very least grateful that he had enough years of self-discipline and focus to always put his mind back to where it belongs, but still reeling in frustration nonetheless.

A soft fist knocked on his arm and he stiffened when he saw you walking beside him.

"You've got some nerve, Bakugou," you looked mad, still holding your arm up where you had knocked on him. His fingers twitched and suddenly he was back on that stupid mat going in for his first kiss with the annoying person in front of him.

Your frown softened to confusion at his silence and you started putting your arm down, "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt."

He snapped back to attention when his eyes darted to it, but he felt even more sick at the sight. The lightest sign of a handprint wrapping around your wrist, so light you'd have to be an expert at seeing those types of things, which of course a top hero in training that's received and given thousands of injuries would be able to do.

"Shit," he breathed, grabbing at your arm to inspect it closer. He never felt regret for throwing around his weight and not pulling his punches, but the whole reason he had set up your match the way he did was for him to not hurt you. He wasn't a complete asshole.

But he also wasn't someone who talked about his shortcomings.

"Deserved," he pushed back your arm, "For my damn nose."

Only that was the worst thing his big mouth could have said, because now all he could think about was the reason he was even bringing up his damn nose.

"I asked if you wanted to see Recovery Girl," you raised your brows, "You're such a kid."

Goddammit. He couldn't even give his usual come back at you to push you into a corner.

He didn't want to play that game of words with you anymore. He wouldn't be trying to mess with you anytime soon if it meant getting those reactions out of you. The type that made him feel the same way he felt yesterday. He was now awfully aware of the hidden true intentions he had done it with this whole time.

"Fuck off," he spat and walked briskly away, hoping you didn't follow him because he couldn't stand the fact you had placed him in a deep load of shit.