When first period finally ended, Jirou whipped out of the classroom before the last chime had even gone off, abandoning all her belongings and racing for the bathroom. 

 

All through the second-half of lecture, she had wracked her brain coming up with her master plan: She would hide out until lunch, pretend she had a bad stomach ache or something, and then head back to the dorms. There was no way she could face Bakugou today, let alone concentrate on any mind-numbing lessons. Her feelings were too much of a mess. Jirou needed a day to hole-up and write. Transfer her deranged emotions onto paper. Maybe then they wouldn't stir her crazy. 

 

As Jirou rounded the corner, feet skidding roughly on vinyl, Bakugou suddenly blasted out from behind. The explosion startled Jirou, slowing her down enough for Bakugou to surge up and slam her into the nearest wall. 

 

Jirou's vision speckled, and she choked on air. Bakugou's arm dug into her windpipe, hard and heavy, pinning her in place. He leered over her, eyes blazing in contempt, lips pulled back in a fierce scowl. 

 

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that." Bakugou's growl sent shivers racing down Jirou's spine. "Picking a fight with me in the middle of class, and then running the first chance you get? What the fuck is your problem?"

 

"I..." Jirou rasped, then coughed, unable to utter more with Bakugou's arm digging into her throat. 

 

As if realizing his anger clouded-- more than fueled-- his judgement, Bakugou eased his hold, making sure to keep one hand braced against the wall in case Ears got any smart ideas to escape again. 

 

"I wasn't picking a fight." Jirou's voice came out hoarser than usual. 

 

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Bullshit."He smacked the wall, almost cracking it in his anger. "I caught you glaring at me in class."

 

Jirou sighed, surprisingly unfazed by his aggression. It wasn't new anymore, almost expected. Jirou didn't understand how someone so smart could be so shit at reading social cues. 

 

"I wasn't glaring at you." A pause. "I was just... looking." On second thought, maybe it was a good thing Jirou didn't have to explain the symptoms of infatuation to him. 

 

Bakugou eyed Jirou heatedly, as if mentally calculating her answer. His brows furrowed. The damned equation didn't add up. 

 

"What the fuck would you be looking at me for," he snarled.  

 

"I..." Jirou faltered. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. There was no way Bakugou would believe the truth. Hell, she couldn't even believe it. 

 

But the attraction was undeniable. Even pinned to the wall, Jirou found herself wanting to get closer still. She wanted to run her fingers through his exploding locks, to drape herself against his chiseled chest, to soak up his crap-stewed essence. She wanted to shut up that loud, dirty fucking mouth of his. Feel it hungrily devour hers, in a mash of teeth and tongue, and the smoky trace of dynamite. 

 

Bakugou was bottled-danger. And Jirou wanted to chuck that bottle like a grenade, and watch it blow up in a flurry of blazing embers and sky-lapped flames. Even caged, Jirou vowed she would do it. She would tame the untamable. 

 

Jirou was never good at expressing herself. But Bakugou always knew how to light her ass on fire, until she gave in and threw reason to the wind. The irritating thing was he didn't even have to say anything to do it. 

 

Jirou yanked on Bakugou's lapel, pulling him down to eye-level. 

 

"It's cause you're fucking hot, that's why," Jirou breathed, before crashing their lips together. 

 

Jirou didn't know who she was with Bakugou. She never knew she possessed this kind of confidence. It was a different kind of courage to what Kaminari could draw out. More reckless. Less innocent. But it made sense. Because Jirou was a musician—she vibed with those around her. And when she vibed with Bakugou, it was like she could set the world on fire and no one would even care. 

 

Bakugou liked the way Jirou kissed him. All death-defying and carnal. Like she was drunk on power. Maybe a little too drunk. It made Bakugou want to take back the reins. Uttering a low growl, Bakugou shoved Jirou into the wall, prying her mouth open with his. He didn't know what the hell Ears was thinking. Half the time, he never did. It was impossible when she kept herself so carefully guarded. Boundaries. It was the one thing he had innately understood about her. The one thing he could openly respect. 

 

But the boundaries had shattered. And as Jirou mewled underneath him, Bakugou inexplicably found himself wanting more. He wanted to know more about this side of Jirou no one else had ever seen; liked the complete power trip it gave him, knowing he was the only one who could make her lose her shit like this. 

 

"I thought you liked dunce-face," Bakugou rumbled as he raked his teeth down her neck, biting and suckling at the soft, pliable skin. 

 

Jirou moaned, fisting a handful of his short ashen locks. She liked Kaminari. Of course she did. Loved what a complete idiot he was, how easy he was to tease. But Kaminari was skittish in bed. Always treating her like she was too fragile and too precious. The way Kaminari treasured her... it made Jirou feel unbearably guilty and dirty to even consider wanting something else. Something unbridled and raw. Something fierce and dangerous. Something like Bakugou. 

 

"Yeah." Jirou gasped as Bakugou sucked harshly on her earphones. Fuck. If he kept that up, she was going to cream her pants. Grabbing his face, Jirou tugged Bakugou back to her lips, hoping he wouldn't deduce what she was subtly trying to hide. 

 

"Turns out I have a thing for hot blonds," Jirou muttered against his lips. "Just like them with brains once in a while. And maybe a little more spunk."  

 

Bakugou smirked. He knew Jirou was a freak. He just didn't know how turned on he'd be by that. 

 

Without warning, Bakugou buried his knees between Jirou's legs. The high, needy moan that escaped her made Bakugou go hard. 

 

"You want spunk? I'll give you spunk," Bakugou growled. "I'll give you so much, you'll leak for days."

 

Jirou's shudder wracked her entire body. Well, fuck. If Bakugou wanted to play dirty, then she'd play dirty. She'd play dirtier than Mineta's bathroom porn stash. 

 

"Promise?" 

 

Bakugou yanked on Jirou's earphones, and she keened, collapsing into him. Fucking hell.Of course the guy aiming to be the number one hero wouldn't miss out on her weak point.

 

"Won't need to when you'll be the one begging." 

 

Hot, blond, and full of shit. Yeah, Jirou definitely had a type. 

 

"You better pray that idiot never finds out, after I'm done with you," Bakugou muttered into her ear.

  

"Why? Scared Kaminari can fuck me better?" 

 

Bakugou paused for a minute, not expecting to hear such vulgar words coming from someone other than himself. But as he took in Jirou's lop-sided, taunting, grin, he slowly mirrored it with a shit-eating one of his own. Because just as Jirou had a type, Bakugou had one too; the difference was he already knew his.

 

If Jirou wanted a challenge, then he'd give it to her. He'd ram it into her, hard and good.

 

And if she could take it, then maybe he'd consider stealing her from Kaminari. A girl who could push his buttons and rile him like she did, maybe Ears was worth more than he had credited.