against the old wooden fence, watching the herd grazing lazily in the field. A dry breeze tugged at your hair, carrying the faint smell of hay and leather “Oi, quit starin’ like a dumbass Bakugo’s voice cut through, rough but teasing. You turned your head just in time to see him stride over, hat tipped low, a piece of straw hanging between his lips. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the sharp cut of his collarbone and the muscles of his chest. He adjusted the strap of his hat
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