EPISODE THIRTEEN: PICK YA UP
Love Language! | bakugo katsuki x fem!reader
[ in which star student y/n finds the guy she sits besides in her foreign languages class cute the one time she comes late to class and is forced to sit at the back.]
* WRITTEN PORTION BELOW!!
< Previous Episode | Masterlist | Next Episode >
*WRITTEN PORTION BELOW!!
;
Bakugo glances at his phone once more, before looking up at the establishment. This was the only daycare present in the vicinity, so surely he wasn’t mistaken.
There are parents here and there, scattered on the field, probably waiting for their rascals to come busting down and take them home.
He looks up, then down to his phone again.
Was he nervous?
Of course not. He’s Bakugo Katsuki, he’s never nervous.
From the side of his eye, he notices an older lady coming out of the entrance to the building. He meets her gaze, and she squints his eyes at him. Bakugo frowns, before the lady’s eyes widen and she smiles.
“Oh, are you Y/n’s friend? You must be here for her, right?”
At least that saved him from awkwardly waltzing inside the daycare.
“Yes. I’m picking her up.”
The lady motions for him to follow, and he does, entering behind her not more than a meter as she treks the very colorful halls of the facility. The walls are painted with flowers and rainbows and some occasional patterns of pencils and coloring materials here and there. It suits the atmosphere, for young children that is.
“I’m Mrs. Hanami. I look over the class Y/n teaches.” The lady starts, and Bakugo just hums, not knowing what else to say at her words.
“She’s finishing up. You can wait by here, I have to attend to my office.” Mrs. Hanami smiles, the corner of her eyes crinkling and she leaves Bakugo be.
The young man only nods in thanks, looking over to the right were the door to your class is. The mahogany entrance is lined with a glass plane that let’s you take a look inside.
Bakugo, with his curiosity, takes a peek. He hears the chatters on the other side, the hushed murmurs from small little girls and the big voices from the boys and he wonders how chaotic it must be to round out snotty little brats.
He could never be bothered.
The window reveals just as much. The inside of the classroom is a stark difference to lecture halls at the university. The dividers on the corner are colored in rainbows. The shoe cubbies on the back are adorned with customized stickers that he guesses are by the choice of the students with how atrociously placed they are.
His frown deepens.
But there you are, standing in the front, by the white board, a smile on your face. Some of the students stagger to give you hugs, and you crouch to their level, your eyes soft as you talk to them, as animated as they are with you.
Some show you papers of their work earlier, others show you toys from their pockets, and you all give them as much attention as you can.
Suddenly, Bakugo’s frown disappears, and it’s replaced by a tenderness. If Kirishima, Denki or any of his friends were to see it, they’d gave a field day.
“Miss Y/n, did I do a good job?” A smaller boy with glasses, shy, shows you his painting, and you can’t help but grin.
Oddly enough, the boy reminds Bakugo of Deku. His lips twitch downwards.
You ruffle the boy’s hair. “Of course, Suho, you did very well.”
There’s a lilt of contentment in your voice, as if you’ve found absolute happiness in being surrounded with this many children. Bakugo wonders how, he could never find himself composed within more than even an hour in a room full of little people and all their noise and friskiness.
The bell rings, and you rally up the children to finally bid them goodbye. For a moment, you glance by the door, able to catch Bakugo staring so intently.
You heart jumps at his presence, and you’re suddenly conscious. Has he been here all the time?
He only nods to acknowledge you, gaze still piercing.
So much for not freaking out about him.
“Alright, kids. Remember to do your homework and be nice, okay? I’ll see again next week!”
A chorus of “Yes, Miss Y/n.” and “Babye, Miss Y/n” echoes in different tunes in the atmosphere. You push the door open to let the children out of the classroom, and Bakugo steps to the side, letting the kids run about with their little legs to their parents waiting by the front desk. He watches them shove their drawings into their mother’s faces or point at the colors they used along with their father.
“Hi.” you finally approach him.
Bakugo clears his throat. “Hey...”
“Did you wait long?” you asks.
Bakugo shakes his head, his hair swaying with the motion. “Not really.”
You nod then. “Okay, let me just get my stuff and then we can go.”
Your heart is already hammering in your chest and before you move, a tug at your jeans makes you look down. It’s one of your students, Hina, looking at you wide eyed.
Bakugo notices her too, and eventually looks down at the kid.
“Oh, hello, Hina, are your parents not yet here to pick you up?”
She shakes her head cutely. “No, my mom’s outside talking to another mom. I was just getting my pencil. I forgot.”
You smile, crouching down to level her gaze. “Did you get everything now?”
She nods her head up and down, and her pigtails are swishing at this, but then she points to your companion. “Is he your new boyfriend, Miss Y/n?”
Mortified, you look over to Bakugo, who’s eyes are squinting down at the child, as if she was a spawn of satan in front of you. You can feel the sweat tripling in your neck at the interaction.
You’ve had your fair share about pupils asking the most weird questions, some are just simple inquiries, others might cause you an existential crisis. Inquiries about your personal life come by here and there, and the question about you and your supposed boyfriends (which are really just friends either visiting to give you food or picking you up at work) surface once in a while, specially with young girls.
But Bakugo is different from the usual friends you’re pinned up with.
Before you can even say anything, Bakugo beats you to it.
“What’s it to you, ya’ brat?”
This is an absolute nightmare.
You make a save by laughing it off, ushering Hina to her mother who, by great timing, is by the entrance of the building now, waving at her daughter then bowing to you. Hina only smiles at you, as if she hadn’t created another dilemma for you to resolve.
Hands clammy, you look back to Bakugo, who’s only standing there, hands in his pockets as he seems to scowl at the fading image of the child walking away.
“I-I’m sorry for that. You know, kid’s these days with their mouth and... curiosity.”
Bakugo only frowns, and you’re positive you’ve ruined this day, and moreover this project and a supposed friendship.
“The fuck did that rascal mean by new boyfriend? Ya’ already have one?” he says, as if it was the most absurd thing ever known to man.
You pause in your place, eyes twitching.
You’re trying to control the warmth spreading in your body while also understanding his question.
“O-oh, she’s probably talking about Izuku. He usually picks me up after work, and the kids all love him. Hina asked the same thing when Shoto picked me up. Children... and their very blooming interest...”
Bakugo frowns deeper at your explanation.
Something inside Katsuki’s heart stirs at the names you mentioned. It’s peculiar, the feeling is foreign.
Letting out an awkward laugh, you don’t meet Bakugo’s gaze, too embarrassed. Instead, you go back to the room, fetching your things and tugging on your bag.
“Let’s go?” you ask, wanting to erase the situation earlier.
Bakugo hums, reaching for you, and for a second, you think he’s holding out for your head, but his hands land on your shoulder, where the strap of your bag is slung.
He tugs on it, and it gives you a signal that he wants to take it.
“Looks heavy.” he simply says before motioning his head out. He’s slinging you bag against his shoulder, his muscles flexing under his hoodie, and you make it out, despite the thickness of the cloth.
You ignore the redness creeping on your face while you walk to the ramen place, opting to distract yourself by making small talk to which he replies with hums and a short “yes or no”
And Bakugo ignores the constant thump in his heart at the closeness of your proximity, your shoulder brushing every so often.
The night is warmer than usual.
137 notes
·
View notes