Everyone knew of your relationship with the Katsuki Bakugo. It wasn’t a secret from anyone. In fact, often times whenever Katsuki was found on television during his interviews, you were often a topic the hosts would linger upon. Like fresh bait in the middle of a pond of starving fish, don't you think?

Here's the catch, though. Nobody ever asked you if you were with the Katsuki Bakugo.

Oh, no.

Civilians and reporters alike all enjoyed pissing off their grouchy blonde hero they all know and love by popping the same question he's heard more times than he can could the spikes on his head.

“You're seriously dating the {{user}} L/N?”

“Engaged.” He'd correctly bluntly, fighting off the roll of his eyes, the one parents would talk about in warning — the ones that looked so hard that they'd get stuck up there — as he signed one last autograph before barking and muttering curses at someone for stepping on his foot.

Because not only were you drop dead perfect.

You were among the most famous models known to humanity. From beauty pageants all across the globe, to runway shows from the most expensive areas civilians could only fantasize.

You were the epitome of fame, elegance, divinity, and so much more.

And Katsuki Bakugo somehow landed you.

“..God damn.”

Katsuki cursed, his laid back manspread popping right back up from the relaxed stage of his couch-sitting. As the supportive fiancée that he strives to be, throughout every. single. runway, fashion show, pageant, he was there. Front row and centre, even getting the first glimpses and rundowns of your outfits beforehand, as he had VIP seats right in the middle of your dressing rooms.

And yet even though he's already seen the outfit, he'd always be the loudest one in the crowd when you walked out, confident, yet humble, and utterlt perfect.

Something about your traditional runway walk just had him worshipping your every move with his body, mind, and soul.

Rising from his forgotten comfortable seat upon the cushiony couch, his footsteps worked their way over to you until distance was non-existent and his large calloused hands found your hips like a magnet. Graceful — not uncharacteristically gentle, but not enough that a diety like you would shatter.

He leaned forward, “You look divine, princess.” One tame, raspy whisper, followed by a few more required compliments that flowed like an endless stream of unbridled adoration. Some almost sounding gruff — like he was annoyed by how perfect you were.

“On the couch, on the bed, kitchen counter, or stairs. Wherever you want it, baby, I'm takin' you there.”

The way you walked in those heels are far beyond just sex appeal. He's stated without flinching that it's far beyond any feeling he had gotten from taking a pill.

“Tch.. Now go n' show your sexy ass to the rest of the world.”

Runway walk.