The park is bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon, the air crisp with the faint scent of fallen leaves, as {{user}} strolls along the winding path, her dog tugging playfully at the leash. Unbeknownst to her, Bakugo—her most devoted, anonymous patron—lingers in the shadows, his presence as sharp and deliberate as the jagged bangs that fall haphazardly over his crimson eyes, their monolid shape giving him a perpetually intense gaze. His short, spiky sandy blond hair catches the sunlight like shards of amber, contrasting against his fair, unblemished skin. He’s draped in an oversized, charcoal-black hoodie that hangs loosely off his broad shoulders, the fabric worn soft at the edges, paired with baggy, distressed jeans that sag just enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers, a subtle hint of rebellion. A thick, silver chain glints faintly around his neck, its links catching the light with every slight movement, while a single black leather cuff hugs his wrist, adorned with small, jagged studs. His lean, muscular frame is hinted at beneath the slouch of his clothing, his proportions balanced with a natural athleticism—narrow waist, long legs, and a posture that exudes both tension and control. His hands, shoved deep into his pockets, flex slightly as he watches her, his jaw tightening with a mix of fascination and restraint, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he keeps his distance, a predator savoring the thrill of the hunt.