#ghostlyburn4bakugo

[ghostlycamil4]

hiiihihi ur blog is so yummy

playfighting with katsuki pls,,,,,, cus something tells me he’d be so big on roughhousing hehe

thanku !!!!!

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐻𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑑𝑒 𝐼𝑓 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑇𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝐻𝑖𝑚 (𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑀𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐵𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡)

this was such a cute request omg thank you sm for sending it in, you were so right btw… he’d be so into roughhousing it’s ridiculous 😭 i had a lot of fun with this one.

and for the rest of u: requests are still open btw! i’m thriving off your brainrots

The lights were dim, the blankets already thrown over the couch, and the TV screen glowing with the movie menu in front of you. Kirishima and Denki had volunteered to grab drinks and snacks, leaving you alone with Bakugo in the living room, facing the most ridiculous dilemma in the world: picking a damn movie.

"Come on, just one comedy," you said, sitting on your legs with the remote in hand. "Something light, I don’t wanna watch people die in a space war."

Bakugo scoffed, half sprawled on the couch, legs wide open, one arm hanging over the backrest.

"Comedies are a waste of time," he grunted. "If I’m gonna sit for two hours, there better be explosions."

"God, you’re such a nerd. Obsessed with Star Wars."

His red eyes glared at you for a second, but the corner of his mouth twitched—barely noticeable. He watched you with that usual intensity, like every word you said just gave him more reasons to argue. To push your buttons.

"Give me the remote," he said lowly.

"Not a chance."

When he leaned forward to grab it, you pulled back, holding it up out of reach. It was dumb. But effective. Bakugo growled, rolled his eyes, and lunged at you without warning.

It wasn’t violent. It was quick, clumsy, physical. His hands grabbed your waist easily and shoved you toward the back of the couch while you struggled, laughing breathlessly. You yelled his name in protest and he just growled in return.

"Bakugo, get off!"

"Then give me the damn remote!"

"You wanna fight?" he growled near your ear, his voice low and rough. It sounded like a challenge—but there was something else in it… like he wanted you to say yes.

"You trying to provoke me?"

"I’m winning."

"Oh, really?"

His words cut off when, in your attempt to twist away from his hold, you pushed off with more strength than you meant to. He wasn’t ready for it. The move was messy, fast, almost accidental—you lost balance and toppled right over him, rolling just enough to end up half sprawled on top of him.

Your torso pressed against his, the side of your face barely brushing his collarbone. One of your legs—your left—hooked instinctively over his right one, making the contact a little too close for comfort.

The remote slid across the floor and disappeared somewhere near the couch, but neither of you noticed. Not right then.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just looked at you.

First in the eyes. Then, his gaze dropped to your lips, with a fierce intensity that knocked the air from your lungs. Just for a second. But it felt endless. Then his eyes found yours again, holding them like he was searching for a reason to get closer… or maybe not to.

Until suddenly—

"Ahem…"

You both turned at the same time. There they were, standing at the entrance: Kirishima, grinning with a six-pack in one hand, and Denki, wearing a look that screamed “you better spill everything later.”

"Are we interrupting something…?" Denki asked, clearly loving every second of it.

Kirishima faked a cough again.

You jumped off Bakugo like he was on fire. Sat up quickly, fixing your hair with burning cheeks. He just straightened up with a grunt, adjusting his wrinkled shirt and shooting Denki a murderous glare.

"You guys took forever, dumbasses."

“Yeah, sure, we’re the problem,” Denki smirked.

2 hours and 22 minutes later...

The movie had ended a while ago. Kirishima and Bakugo walked ahead down the hall, tossing around comments about the action scenes, the explosions, and the gut-wrenching ending. Their voices faded as they moved away.

You walked behind them with Denki. The hallway lights flickered slightly above, and the soft sound of your footsteps blended with the quiet he’d clearly been holding back for minutes.

"So?" he asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell was that?”

"What was what?"

"Oh, please." He leaned in a little, like you were some fascinating experiment. “You think it’s normal to end up on top of him over a remote?”

"It was an accident."

“Sure. And I’m the Symbol of Peace.”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes, though there was no judgment in his tone. More like amusement.

“Look, you can say whatever you want, but that dumbass is so gone for you, it’s pathetic.”

You glanced at him sideways, half confused, half nervous. Denki raised both hands like he was surrendering.

“Swear to god, I’m not the only one who sees it. Everyone knows. Except apparently the two of you. Y’all are out there tripping each other like it’s some kind of pregame ritual.”

"He’s like that with everyone," you muttered, still not meeting his eyes.

"No. He’s not."

Now his voice dropped a bit. Not out of seriousness, more like he was letting you in on some secret. He straightened up, walking right beside you again.

"Bakugo can be an asshole, yeah. But with you…" He shook his head with a lazy smile. “With you it’s different. He always finds an excuse to touch you.”

He glanced over at you, tilting his head.

“Have you noticed how often he shoves you? Pulls you? Picks fights over dumb shit?”

You closed your eyes for a second, thinking.

• That time you told him his shirt was ugly and he tackled you into the couch with a half-laugh.

• When you handed him a chip and he grabbed your whole damn wrist instead, grumbling, "don’t give me leftovers."

• How he always trips you when you walk side by side, or chucks a pillow just to start a war. Just to keep it going.

Playfighting.

“He’s like a lovesick grade-schooler,” Denki went on, leaning against the counter now. “If he could put gum on your seat or yank your pigtails, he would. But since he’s not eight anymore, he settles for throwing you into cushions every time you breathe weird.”

You couldn’t help laughing, though you rolled your eyes.

"Shut up, it’s not that deep…"

"Sometimes I think the only thing scarier to him than falling for you—" Denki muttered, not looking at you now, “—is you actually finding out.”

But then he grinned, winked, and gave you a light pat on the back just as you reached your bedroom door.

“Sleep tight, lover girl.”

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇𝑒𝑛 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑡, 𝑁𝑜 𝐸𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒

Can ten minutes in a dark closet change everything between two people who pretend they don’t care?

The game of spin the bottle had started out as a simple joke. A dumb way —according to Bakugo— to waste time. But when the bottle spun and landed on him… and then on you, his scowl deepened more than usual.

"Ten minutes!" Mina shouted, giving you a gentle nudge toward him, her playful gaze and cheeky wink saying it all. "Have fun," she whispered near your ear before closing the closet door, leaving the two of you locked in the dark, broken only by a faint beam of light slipping through a crack.

The walls seemed to shrink. Bakugo stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a corner with his eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor, like just looking at you might make him explode—literally.

You hadn’t said a word. Neither had he.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he glanced at you. Just a flicker. And there you were, cheeks flushed, biting your lower lip like you were trying to hold back every word you wanted to say.

"What’s your problem?" he snapped, though his voice sounded a bit strained. "It’s not like I wanna touch you."

His words hit like cold water. Your eyes widened slightly, and your already blushing expression hardened in an attempt to hide the sting in your chest.

"I never said I want you to touch me," you shot back, though your voice trembled slightly, betraying your indifferent facade.

He turned to face you for the first time since you were locked in. His red eyes were glowing with something more than irritation. Annoyance? Confusion? Want? His whole stance shifted—from withdrawn to slightly alert, like he suddenly needed to make himself seen.

"Oh yeah? So you wanted the bottle to land on someone else, huh?" His tone sharpened, but behind every word there was something tightly held back. The muscles in his jaw tensed.

He stepped forward. Each move made the old wooden floor creak. His shadow fell over you, forcing you to look up.

"It’s none of your business, Bakugo," you murmured, unable to hold his gaze.

"Who then? Deku? Shoto?"

A plea disguised as rage. A silent “tell me it’s not them” hidden under his arrogance.

"Are you jealous?" you asked suddenly, your voice shaking slightly, but this time from the courage it took to confront him with the truth.

He didn’t answer right away. He blinked once, as if your words had slammed into his chest.

"Tch… idiot," he muttered, turning his face to the side.

You swallowed hard. The knot in your throat grew with every second. The tension was suffocating, like the air was about to catch fire.

You looked at Bakugo. He was still standing there, stiff, gaze stuck to the floor, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. He’d said so much… and so little.

"This is completely messed up…" you whispered, mostly to yourself.

Maybe you’d made a mistake. Maybe it was stupid to rig the bottle. Maybe he’d never looked at you the way you looked at him.

A shaky sigh slipped from your lips. Anxiety pushed you toward the only possible exit. You crossed the few steps to the door.

But you didn’t open it.

A firm hand grabbed your arm—tight, but not enough to hurt.

He spun you around, forcing you to face him.

Bakugo.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he growled, his voice rough, low. Every word dripping with something more than just anger.

Your back hit the closet wall.

"What are you doing?" you shot back, matching his tone, though the tremble in your voice gave you away.

"Why don’t you just shut up?" he said—but not in rage. This time, his voice was low… almost a whisper.

And before you could process it, he kissed you.

Your eyes flew open at first.

The first touch froze you. But then, when his hand slid slowly to your cheek, when his thumb brushed your skin like he wanted to memorize it… you closed them.

That kiss was everything he’d been denying. Every time he looked at you and swallowed his pride. Every night he thought about you and pretended he didn’t. It was wild. It was direct.

His hand on your waist slid lower, stopped at your hip, gripped hard. Pulled you closer like just touching wasn’t enough anymore. His other hand slipped under your skirt, just a bit, the tips of his fingers brushing your skin slowly… on purpose. It burned. It made you arch into him.

You let out a choked breath when his lips left yours just to bite your bottom lip before letting go. He looked at you with that expression only he could have—brows furrowed, eyes dark, lips parted… and hungry.

Then one of his hands trailed up your thigh and pulled one of your legs around his waist, like having you that close still wasn’t enough. He held you tight, like he knew exactly how and where to touch you to make you lose it.

Your hips reacted on instinct. A small shift, just a brush—and he growled against your mouth, making you tremble.

"Fuck…" he whispered, losing it for a second.

His mouth moved to your neck, open kisses, wet, fast, desperate. You felt him trace your skin, lick, bite, taste.

"Bakugo…" you breathed, barely a whisper.

"Say it again," he demanded, lips still on your collarbone.

"Bakugo…"

This time he bit down harder.

And just when he leaned in to kiss you again—

Knock, knock!

"Time’s up!" Mina’s voice. Cheerful, clueless, teasing.

You both froze.

Your breathing was a mess. Your lips red, swollen. His hand still on your thigh, the other on your waist. Your whole body shaking.

Bakugo looked at you. You looked back.

And neither of you said a word.

• Masterlist

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑛 𝐾𝑖𝑠𝑠

• Marterlist

The training you shared, the long nights of studying—it was all behind you now, replaced by quieter, yet just as intense moments. A something more that no one wanted to admit, but neither of you could ignore.

The moment that changed everything came between flour, tomato sauce, and a promise he made about teaching you how to cook after you’d tried to poison him with a pizza even you didn’t want to taste. So you dragged him into his own kitchen, demanding he keep his word. And he agreed—grudgingly, but he did.

You were distracted. Way too distracted.

And who could blame you, with him that close? Bakugo, in profile, the warm kitchen light tracing the lines of his face, his brows furrowed in concentration as he arranged the pepperoni with ridiculously unnecessary precision. Then he bent down a bit, flexing his back to reach the dough better, and you couldn’t help getting lost in the image. That damn angle. Damn Bakugo.

Then you moved.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You didn’t think it through. It was a reflex—a need born straight from the heart.

You leaned toward him, slowly, everything else fading out except him.

You just wanted a taste.

You just wanted to know.

What would it feel like to cross that line? To touch what both of you had been avoiding for so long?

And then—just when your lips were about to brush his...

He pulled away.

Fast. Too fast.

His shoulders tensed all at once, the pepperoni still in his fingers slipped and hit the floor.

And the world... just stopped spinning.

Your eyes searched for his. Tried to find answers, an excuse, anything to tell you that you hadn’t read the signs wrong, that you hadn’t crossed some invisible line without permission.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just stared at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened too.

Had you actually tried to kiss him?!

There was no doubt now.

Bakugo’s heart started pounding—almost violently. He wanted to say something—just one damn word, one stupid excuse, anything—but nothing came out. His body was on autopilot, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to take control.

Not this time.

With slow, almost reverent movements, he lifted his hands and brought them to your face. His fingers, rough from training, gently touched your warm cheeks. There was no room for doubts. No more confusion.

He leaned in.

And he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours with an intensity that held back weeks—no, months—of restraint.

He had no idea if he was doing it right, if he should move more or less, if he should tilt his head differently… but he didn’t care. Not when he could feel you responding, not when you weren’t pulling away, not when you weren’t breaking the moment.

When you were kissing him back.

And even if it was clumsy, even if it was his first damn kiss. It said I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know it’s you. It said I care—so fucking much.

And that was enough.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

Hey queen can u pls do smth where Bakugo meets reader who’s a bartender at the bar and takes an interest in her from her chill nature then they start talking 😶

𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐: 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔

𓂃 ࣪˖ i’m so sorry it took me forever to write this TT your request never left my mind, until the whole story unfolded. thank you for the idea, and for your patience.

in this quiet little au, bakugo finds himself at a bar on a slow monday night—no clients, no company, just the hum of neon and the clink of glass. he isn’t expecting to meet someone like her. a bartender who doesn’t fawn, doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t fall for his usual tone. and that? yeah... that’s what gets him hooked. hope you enjoy the slow burn, the soft tension, and the way they quietly unravel each other

↳ alt universe | word count: 2.8k

At the end of a hallway bathed in red, where the light didn't so much illuminate as it hinted, an unmarked door marked the entrance.

The front of Red Riot glowed crimson—bold and tempting, like a promise only a few could afford.

His steps were steady, confident. The kind of elegance that only men used to wearing expensive suits without trying too hard could pull off.

He wore a black one. Perfectly tailored. The top button of his shirt undone.

No tie. That said enough.

He wasn’t with anyone, which was unusual. Bakugo always brought a client, a colleague, some idiot he needed to convince or manipulate. But not tonight.

Tonight, he sat alone.

Instead of heading to one of the VIP tables in the back, he dropped into a stool at the bar—like he wanted something a bit more... grounded.

And then he saw you.

Not right away. It was the kind of moment when someone stumbles across something unexpected but doesn’t want to admit they’re interested.

His gaze skimmed the edge of the bar, casually scanning what he could see: your crisp white shirt tucked beneath a black apron tied tightly around your waist. Your hair pulled into a high ponytail, leaving your neck exposed—unintentionally.

No flashy makeup. No cleavage.

And yet, Bakugo felt a traitorous little pang in his chest.

You hadn’t noticed him at first. You were busy arranging glassware on the back shelf, moving with mechanical precision. But there was a moment—barely noticeable—when you knew you were being watched.

It wasn’t just any stare.

It made you look up. Seek it out.

And when your eyes met his—intense, blood-red, with that tired glint of someone who’s made too many decisions—they held the moment still.

Almost magical.

Almost annoying.

You didn’t smile.

Neither did he.

You walked over to him slowly, almost bored, like the weight of his stare didn’t faze you at all.

“What’ll it be?” you asked. Polite. But not sweet.

Bakugo barely turned his head.

“Whiskey. Neat.” His voice was low, rough—gravel dragged through smoke.

You were reaching for the bottle when you glanced back at him—maybe out of reflex.

And in that exact second, his gaze met yours again, only to quickly dart away.

Like he’d just gotten burned.

“Tch…” he clicked his tongue under his breath.

He pretended to watch two women passing by in tight dresses and hollow eyes. He looked like someone used to that kind of attention. That kind of night.

And when you returned with the glass, he couldn’t help but look again. This time, closer.

He didn’t say a word.

His whiskey barely made it to his lips before he turned toward you again. No attempt to hide his curiosity now.

“When did you start?” he asked, blunt and unfiltered.

You weren’t surprised. Of course he was a regular—you could tell by the way he owned the space.

“Just over a week, sir,” you replied, steady and sharp. Someone who knows her worth, even if she’s new here.

He raised a brow.

Silent amusement.

“Sir.”

God. What a delicious level of formality.

He didn’t comment, but he leaned into the bar, like giving you permission to keep going.

“Oh yeah? And what happened to that dumbass Kaminari?”

“No idea, sir... just told I’d be filling in for now.”

“So you’re on trial,” he said—not a question, but a statement. Like he was part of the committee deciding your fate.

You weren’t wearing the gold nameplate the permanent staff wore. He’d looked for it the second he spoke to you. Wanted to know your name.

Now he understood why he couldn’t find it.

“That’s right, sir,” you confirmed.

A beat passed.

He rolled his neck slightly, like the words coming up were heavier than he liked admitting.

“Call me Bakugo.”

It took you a second.

Not because you didn’t hear him. But because you weren’t sure he meant it.

Still, you took it.

“Then Bakugo...” you said softly, like trying the word on your tongue before making it yours. “I’m Y/n.”

His hand was big. Warm. And for just a moment—just one—he didn’t let go right away.

Before the silence could stretch, a loud voice cut through it.

“Bro!”

Kirishima’s cheerful voice shattered the tension like a rock through glass. The owner of Red Riot walked up to the bar with a wide smile and open arms, like it didn’t matter it was Monday or that the place was half-empty.

The contrast was subtle but obvious: Kirishima dressed like he didn’t give a damn, but perfectly so. Dark linen pants, a silk shirt with soft patterns, unbuttoned just enough to show a slim chain resting on his collarbone. Always carrying that buzzing energy wherever he went.

“Damn, weird seeing you alone. Left the pack of wolves at home tonight?”

Bakugo scoffed, not even bothering to look at him.

“Didn’t come to babysit idiots.”

“So, you needed air,” Kirishima translated, amused, giving his shoulder a light slap.

Bakugo didn’t deny it, but didn’t answer either.

“I thought Mondays were your save-a-soul day,” Kirishima added with a half-grin. “Anyone survive this week?”

“Barely,” Bakugo muttered, finally sipping his drink. “Didn’t come to talk about that.”

Kirishima chuckled and shrugged, like he understood completely.

Then he noticed you.

“Right—” he turned toward you with a grin that could light up the whole damn bar. “You met T/n yet? My newest gem. Just a week in and already fixed the mess Kaminari left behind.”

Bakugo didn’t say a word. Just looked at you again, as if suddenly remembering you were still there. His gaze scanned you slower this time.

“She’s quick, sharp, and doesn’t miss a thing. She even helped with the orders without me asking.” Kirishima turned back to you, winking. “You see why I love her?”

Your face didn’t change, but your neck warmed.

Just a bit.

Bakugo noticed.

Of course he did.

With a wink your way and a pat to Bakugo’s back, Kirishima disappeared down the private hallway. Maybe to check books. Maybe to negotiate with ghosts.

No one asked questions at Red Riot.

And the second he was gone, Bakugo spoke.

“You’re not good at hiding it.”

His tone was so casual you could’ve sworn he was talking about the weather. Or how you wiped glasses.

“Hiding what?” you shot back, raising a brow, not bothering to mask the challenge.

“That you like Kirishima.”

That made you laugh. Not loud. But real. A short breath of honesty.

“The boss? Hell no.”

Finally, he looked at you. Slowly. Like your answer needed to be measured in heartbeats.

He was searching for something in your eyes—something he maybe hoped to find, or hoped not to.

He didn’t find it.

You passed a test you didn’t even know you were taking.

“Do you like being recognized?”

The question caught you off guard—not sarcastic, not mocking. Just... curious.

“I like feeling like what I do matters,” you said without looking at him, knowing full well he wouldn’t miss a word.

Silence.

Then the soft clink of his glass on the bar.

“That’s a good answer,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

He watched you like someone who’d just found something interesting in the middle of a boring routine.

And that... that made you a little nervous.

But not enough to look away.

“What do you do, anyway?”

Bakugo didn’t seem surprised. Almost like he’d been waiting for it. In fact, it amused him.

He gave you a half-smile—the first one that didn’t look cynical.

“Thought you already knew.”

“Nope. But I’ve got a few theories,” you said, drying a glass with a small, curious smile.

“Oh yeah?” He raised a brow, like you were teasing him without meaning to.

“You talk like the kind of guy people are forced to listen to. So I figured... politician?”

Bakugo laughed—short, rough, but real.

“Close. Lawyer.”

You turned, putting the glass back on the shelf and shaking your head slightly.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently. But it wasn’t nothing. And he knew it.

“Not bad,” he admitted, idly turning his glass. “And you?”

You blinked at the question. You didn’t know if it was curiosity... or if he just wanted to level the field.

“You don’t have the local accent. You don’t care who the clients are or why they’re here. You’re watching. Adjusting.”

He leaned on the bar, jaw tight. No condescension in his voice—just truth, handed over to see what you’d do with it.

“You’re not the type who serves drinks for fun. Or passion. I’d say you’re testing something.”

A short pause.

“And if I had to bet, I’d say you’re running from something. Or someone.”

His thumb stopped spinning his glass for a beat. A flicker of tension. But it was there.

You crossed your arms, not in defense—just out of habit. But inside, something shifted.

Not because it wasn’t true.

But because he saw it first.

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Nothing,” he said calmly. “If you did, it’d be to deny it... and I don’t think you want to lie to me tonight.”

Silence. Thick. Like cigarette smoke. A kind of tension that doesn’t break—just changes shape.

“And you know what?” he murmured. “Bet you can’t make me more than four decent drinks in a minute.”

You crossed your arms again, eyebrow raised.

“Four?”

“Four good ones. None of that ‘throw ice and juice in a glass and call it a cocktail’ bullshit.” His eyes sparkled—not mocking, but genuinely interested.

“And if I win?” you asked, calm—even though your heart was thudding in your throat.

A pause. Jaw flexing. Then a slow, sideways smirk, arrogant—but damn sincere.

“I owe you respect… or an invitation,” he said. His voice dropped a notch—just enough to make you lean in by reflex. “Not to the bar. Something better.”

It took you a second to process what he meant. Or didn’t say. What he suggested without offering.

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Lawyer?” you said, the “Mr.” dripping with teasing sweetness.

Bakugo didn’t laugh.

Didn’t flinch.

“I’m offering you options,” he said. His tone had edge—but not anger. It was honest. Serious. Real. “Take ’em or leave ’em.”

The silence after that was thick as hell. A kind of tension that didn’t dissolve—it shifted.

He held your gaze like stone.

And you knew—whatever this was, it wasn’t a game.

Not for him.

Not for you.

“Start the timer, Bakugo,” you murmured, voice steadier than your own heartbeat.

And for the first time that night, he smiled with something damn near pride.

“Three... two... one.”

Your hands blurred into motion. Two shakers—one in each hand—packed with ice. Fresh-squeezed lemon juice. Syrup. Bourbon. You moved like time didn’t apply to you; like your body knew what it was doing before your brain even caught up.

Bakugo, still leaning on the bar, said nothing. Didn’t even blink.

The counter shook under the rhythm of your movements. You shook hard, in sync. Two drinks at once. Poured, garnished with surgical precision. A cherry on each rim. A thin slice of orange you cut without even looking. The glasses lined up in front of him like little soldiers.

When the timer hit exactly one minute, you slammed both shakers down with a clean, controlled thud. The last glass perfectly finished. Silence settled.

Six.

Six damn whiskey sours. Foam untouched. Presentation flawless.

“See?” you said, a hint of pride curling your lips.

Bakugo lowered his phone, stared at the lineup of drinks… and then at you. Slowly. Like he didn’t know what he was more impressed by.

“Shit…” he muttered.

It was the closest thing you’d get to a standing ovation from him.

Then he turned his head slightly and motioned to the nearest server.

“Take ‘em. On the house.”

“How generous, sir,” you teased as you wiped the bar with that same damp cloth, unable to hide the grin still tugging at your mouth.

“You just made me spend more than I planned tonight,” he muttered. No trace of annoyance. Just that ambiguous tone of his—hovering somewhere between business and... something personal.

He slid a card across the bar like he was laying a weapon on the table.

You picked it up with mild curiosity, feeling the smooth weight of it between your fingers. Sleek. Classy. No frills. Just like him. Matte black, silver embossed letters catching the low bar light. His name —Katsuki Bakugo— centered in a clean, bold typeface.

Beneath it:

Legal Representative – Bakugo & Associates.

And below that, the detail that made your stomach flutter just a bit:

His personal number.

Plain. Direct.

An invitation without an invitation.

And when you looked up to say something—anything—He was already gone.

Just his empty glass left behind.

His shadow dissolving into the haze of music and smoke.

No warning.

No second glance.

Just that.

But somehow—you knew. Somewhere between your throat and your pride, you felt it:

This man was going to ruin your life. And you weren’t sure you wanted to stop him.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

Hii!! Can u pls write a masked reader where no one in the class has seen her face before but one day she finally reveals it and Bakugo just goes like “oh damn they’re pretty” or smth so he falls for her thankiess 💕

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝐼𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼𝑡 𝑌𝑒𝑡

thank you for being patient with this one, i was trying to find the right quirk that would actually explain why she wears the mask... plus i really wanted that soft, vulnerable moment with her and bakugo to hit just right.

Quirk: Solar Light Reaction.

Her skin absorbs solar energy uncontrollably. If exposed to sunlight, her body begins to overload with energy, leading to pain, fever, or even involuntary explosions. The mask and her full-body suit help regulate this energy and prevent an overload.

Context: Bakugo and Y/n were paired for a special training exercise against a pro hero.

The fight was so intense that Y/n had to push her quirk to the limit. She unleashed a massive amount of energy to secure the victory… but it left her completely drained.

Right after the match ended, she collapsed unconscious in front of everyone.

Recovery Girl walked out, hands clasped behind her back. When she saw him there, so still, she looked at him over her glasses with a raised brow.

"Ah, Bakugo. Something wrong?"

He took half a second to react.

"Tch... No. Nothing. Just…" he cleared his throat, turning his face slightly. "Is she okay?"

She looked at him with a mix of tenderness and restrained surprise. Then she nodded, without losing that look in her eyes that said she’d noticed everything.

"She’s stable. Still unconscious, but no major damage. What she did out there was reckless," she said with a sigh. Then, studying him. "You can go in if you want. Just don’t go yelling and wake her up."

And without waiting for an answer, she walked off down the hallway.

He didn’t move right away. He looked at the open door. Took a deep breath.

And then stepped inside.

Lying on a cot, covered in a blue hospital gown, no trace of her hero costume. Her hair—that was always tied up or hidden under the mask—fell loose over the pillow, messy, wild. He stared at it, confused, like he couldn’t match it with the image he knew.

He took a step.

Then another.

Each one slower than the last.

He didn’t know why, but it felt like he was intruding on something intimate. Like he shouldn’t be there. Like what he was about to see… wasn’t meant for him.

But then he saw you.

Your face. Full. For the first time.

And all the noise in his head went silent.

You weren’t just pretty. No. That wasn’t it. There was something in the way your features rested, in how your slightly parted lips breathed slow, in how your skin, now free from the pressure of hiding, looked so fucking perfect.

And your face… your face was a secret the whole damn world was missing out on.

"Shit… " he muttered under his breath, like a thought that slipped out by accident.

And then, you opened your eyes.

Quick. Instinctive. Like his presence had triggered a reflex.

Your gaze caught his immediately. He flinched a little, took a step back, but couldn’t look away from your eyes.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but firm. Direct.

Bakugo swallowed hard.

He had no answer.

Not a single useful word in his head.

He could only think about what he’d just seen. What he was still seeing.

Your eyes widened. Your hand flew to your face, like you could still hide in time.

"Where is it? Where’s my mask?!" you asked, urgently. You looked around, uneasy, like you felt exposed.

And then he spoke. Almost without thinking.

"Why? You don’t need it."

The tone was rough, but it didn’t sound like a command. More like a complaint. Like it wasn’t fair that you wanted to hide again.

You tried to sit up, pushing with your other hand, but the IV in your arm stopped you. You winced, frustrated. Not from pain, but from helplessness.

"For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna hurt yourself! You crazy or what?!" he suddenly snapped, stepping closer.

Reluctantly, yeah. You lay back down slowly. Though now you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Your cheeks, flushed. And he noticed.

And then, he thought out loud.

"You’re… really damn pretty."

The silence that followed was thick.

Your face changed immediately.

"Excuse me?!" you snapped, turning toward him with annoyance. Your brows furrowed and the blush on your cheeks deepened.

He stared at you a moment more and finally stepped back. He turned toward the door, but just before crossing it, he spoke again:

"You look better without the damn mask. Get used to hearing it."

And then he left.

No dramatics. No extra words.

And you stayed there, heart pounding like your body was soaking up light… of another kind.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐶𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ: 𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝐸𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

just a lil brainrot abt what i think it looks like when bakugo has a stupid little crush on u. he’s clueless. he’s doomed. it’s cute.

He still remembers perfectly when he felt those famous butterflies for the first time. You, as always, were talking nonstop, while he listened in silence— even though he pretended not to.

And just when his mind was drifting between your words and the way the sun hit your hair, it happened. A car, out of nowhere, slid around the corner at full speed. The sound of the brakes didn’t even serve as a warning. You were about to take another step.

But Bakugo was faster. Way faster.

In one swift move, without thinking for even a second, he grabbed you by the waist, spinning your body toward him. Your feet left the ground for a brief moment, and in less than a second, you were there against his chest, your breath brushing his neck, his hand still firm on your back.

That was the moment he knew.

He didn’t say it. He wouldn’t admit it that easily. But deep down, something in him changed.

#Jealous Bakugo

1. Hawks

Your admiration for Hawks was a direct hit to Bakugo’s ego. Every time you mentioned his name —his fighting style, his charisma, how “he’s so chill but so strong”— Bakugo clenched his jaw tightly. At first, he just listened in silence, tense, arms crossed. But over time, he couldn’t help but respond.

"All Might’s better, he’d say, like that settled it."

And if you kept going, he’d blurt out without thinking:

"I’m better. I don’t need wings to kick ass."

Because he wanted you to look at him like that. With those bright eyes. With that excitement.

2. Kirishima and Denki.

They were his friends. But there was something about the way you laughed with them that made his stomach twist. It wasn’t just any laugh. It was that laugh—your genuine one, the one he had a hard time getting out of you, the one that came when Denki did something dumb or Kirishima cracked a joke.

After a few minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d walk over with firm steps, no smile on his face, and without warning, cut into the moment.

"Oi, dumbasses, what’s going on here?"

3. The extras.

The ones outside his circle. The ones who didn’t deserve your attention or your time.

They were the worst. There was always one who got brave enough to approach you, give you a compliment, ask you out, or even hand you a poorly folded little note.

Most of the time, he held back. But if he saw them getting too close, if he noticed you smiling a little too kindly or that some idiot had the nerve to touch you, he’d step in. Fast. Firm.

Without saying a word to the guy, he’d grab your elbow confidently and pull you gently away.

“We need to train,” he’d say simply. In that low, firm voice that didn’t leave room for arguments.

#Protective Bakugo

He wasn’t going around saying he cared about you, much less that he looked out for you. But he did. And you knew it. It showed in the little things… and in the not-so-little ones too.

It all started in the training field.

If you made a mistake — even a small one — if you rushed in without thinking or overused your quirk, he was the first to notice. Not Aizawa, not your classmates. Him. He’d walk over, arms crossed and scowling, like he was about to yell at you for blowing up half the city.

"Are you insane or what? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?" he’d snap, blunt as always.

When he realized some subjects were tough for you —math, history, whatever— he didn’t wait for you to ask. One day, you just walked into class and found his notes already on your desk.

"Learn it. It’s all in there," he’d say, not even looking at you.

"I dunno how the hell you’ve made it this far if you don’t even get this."

"Tch. Pay attention, Y/n. I’ve said this three times already..."

"...fine, one more time."

But the clearest —the most brutally clear— was with Mineta.

That day, you were quietly picking up some things in the classroom when Mineta walked up, wearing that mischievous little grin that always spelled trouble. No one really paid attention until, in one fast, stupid move, he tried to lift your skirt.

It all happened in seconds.

A sharp blast echoed through the hallway, followed by Mineta’s high-pitched scream as he went flying like he’d just been shot out of a cannon. Twenty meters. One hit. A direct kick to the ass that slammed him into a wall down the hall.

Bakugo walked up to you like nothing had happened —no glance back, no apology, no explanation. He just looked you over from head to toe, making sure you were okay.

"If he pulls that shit again, I’ll bury him," he muttered, low enough that only you could hear.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

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