#ghostlysugar4bakugo

[ghostlycamil4]

Hiiiii I hope you’re doing well‼️ I was wondering if you’d be open to doing a bakugo x story with like a bratty or high maintenance reader? I just think it would be cute for him to like adore his partner even though she or they are high maintenance and can cop an attitude! I don’t know if any of this is making sense, but I hope you have a good day💞🫶

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑.

heyo! bakugo being lowkey obsessed with his high maintenance partner?? yeah. had to do it hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it <3 thank u for the sweet message btw, hope ur day’s been kind to u too!!

1. He always answers the phone. Always.

Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night, if he’s training, cooking, or in the middle of a meeting. If you call, he picks up.

"Now what?"

"Why does something have to be wrong? Can’t I just miss you without being questioned, Katsuki?"

"... "

"Also, were you really gonna go to bed without saying goodnight?"

"Tch. No. I was waiting for you to annoy me first."

And the worst (or best) part: the call sometimes turns into hours of lost sleep.

2. He knows exactly what you want. Even before you ask.

When a limited-edition pair of those ridiculous shoes comes out—only available in Paris and sold out in thirty minutes—you don’t say a word. He shows up at home with the box.

"How did you get them?"

"Don’t need to tell you everything, woman."

"Katsuki!"

"You gonna keep whining or try them on already?"

Spoiler: you cry and try them on.

3. When you’re sick… he doesn’t take risks.

Because you with a fever is a full-blown drama show.

"I think I’m dying. Don’t ignore me, Katsuki."

"You’ve got a 99.3, princess."

"That’s still above normal!"

"No virus could survive this much drama."

"Are you calling me dramatic?!"

"Yeah. And I’m still here with your soup, meds, and six velvet blankets. Happy now?"

Spoiler 2: yes, you are happy.

4. "I’m tired. Carry me."

One look. A pout. Arms extended. Bakugo sighs. You smile.

"You’ve got no shame."

"I’ve got no energy. That’s different."

"...Get on. But don’t ask for a massage later."

Spoiler 3: you do ask for a massage.

5. "I want ramen. But not just any ramen… yours."

You could’ve ordered delivery. You could’ve gone to your favorite place. But no, you want his ramen, because “it tastes better when you make it with love.”

"I’m not making it with love. I’m making it ’cause you won’t shut up."

6. "Don’t kiss me, I’ve got gloss on. You’ll smudge me."

You got all dolled up, lips glossy with vanilla shine. He leans in. You stop him with a hand on his chest.

"No. Don’t even think about it. You’ll ruin everything."

"Right. I live to look ridiculous with greasy lips."

"Exactly. You’ll look ridiculous."

He growls… and kisses your cheek. Then your forehead. Then lowers his voice:

"You better kiss me triple when that gloss’s gone."

7. "Take pictures of me. Good ones. Not like last time."

You hand him your phone, fix your hair, pose like you’re on the cover of a magazine.

"Not head-on. Use an angle. And don’t cut my feet off, Katsuki."

"I’m not a damn pro photographer."

"If you suck, I’ll hire a replacement."

8. "Why don’t you say sweet things to me? Call me baby or something."

It’s a constant thing. You love teasing him.

"Baby. Babe. Sexy. Something."

"How about ‘my spoiled dumbass’?"

"That’s not cute."

"It’s accurate."

"Katsuki."

"Love you, you whiny little princess. That better?"

Yes. That’s better.

You ask him this one night. You’re lying across his chest, skin still warm from a bath and your feet tucked under the blankets like always.

"Don’t you ever get tired of spoiling me?"

He doesn’t answer right away. He has you in his arms, your lips still shiny—gloss he already stole mid-makeout—and your body draped over his like you belong there.

The truth is: he knows. And so do you.

Because every time you call at 3 a.m., it’s not out of boredom… it’s because you miss his voice.

Because while he’s losing his mind trying to get you that crap that’s not even available in the country… you’re out buying matching pieces, so you always walk out looking ridiculously couple-coded.

Because when he’s sick, you turn into a dramatic, controlling nurse… but only because it scares you when he’s not 100%.

Because when you ask him to carry you, it’s not because you’re lazy. It’s because you want to wrap your arms around him and feel his heartbeat.

Because you ask for his food even when you could order the same thing, just because “his tastes better when it’s made with love.”

Because you say, “Don’t kiss me, I’ve got gloss on…” but you love it when he ignores you, grabs your face, and kisses you anyway.

Because you ask him to take pictures of you, but you always end up posting the one where he’s in the frame with you.

Because you ask him to call you sweet names, and even though he grumbles… you love how it sounds coming from him.

Because yeah, you’re dramatic. Demanding. Gloss-obsessed. A total headache with long lashes.

But you’re also the one who loves him back with the same fire. And he knows it.

"I like you just like this," he mutters, voice low and rough against your neck. "All of it."

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑊𝑖𝑛 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒

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Damn you.

That was the only thing Bakugo could think as he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp and falling in messy strands across his forehead, a white towel barely tied around his hips.

Your eyes wandered slowly, from the droplets sliding down his collarbone to the well-defined ridges of his abdomen. Like you were devouring him with your gaze. Like you didn’t have a damn ounce of shame.

"Staring again?" he growled, tilting his head just slightly, trying to sound annoyed. But his voice came out lower, rougher, like your very presence was tightening around his throat.

And you… you just smiled, slow, mischievous, like you knew exactly which button to push.

"It's a show worth repeating," you murmured, stepping closer to him.

Bakugo frowned, stepping back out of sheer reflex, like that could save him. Like distance could do anything against the heat rising up his neck. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t gloat. You just approached him calmly.

Your fingers lifted, one touching his chin softly, tracing that sharp line with a teasing kind of tenderness. He swallowed thickly, lips tense, but didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Then you did what you knew drove him fucking insane: your hand dropped, one resting on his abdomen —that damn six-pack he trained like perfection was a requirement— and the other slid up to his chest, in a slow, shamelessly intimate touch that seemed to freeze the air itself.

"You’re soaked..." you whispered, almost innocently, though the intention in your voice was far from it.

"You’re fuckin’ insane..." he muttered. But there was no anger. Just frustration. Pent-up want. A need he couldn’t hide, especially because the white towel wasn’t helping. He knew it. And you damn well knew it. The obvious bulge said it all, defying his words, betraying his supposed indifference.

You loved that.

Seeing him unravel. Seeing him vulnerable right when he pretended to be untouchable.

"I love how you blush," you whispered, bold, as your thumb lazily traced a circle over his chest.

He shut his eyes for a second, clenched his teeth, and took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that was starting to lose control. Every fiber of his being screamed to move, to do something. But his pride was a wall that refused to break.

"You don’t get to me..." he murmured, barely audible. But his voice cracked at the end.

You let out a soft laugh, full of that confidence that only comes when you know you’ve already won.

"Sure, baby. Whatever you say."

And you stayed there, provocative, enchanting, like a storm disguised as a caress. And him… he hated you.

He hated you with every impulse to wrap you in his arms and give in completely.

But more than anything… he hated himself for loving you so fucking much.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

ᴮᵃᵏᵘᵍᵒ'ˢ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗ, ᵇᵘᵗ ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ᵉᵃˢʸ· ᴵ ˢᵘᵍᵍᵉˢᵗⁱᵛᵉ ᵗᵒⁿᵉ· ᴵ ᴮᵃᵏᵘᵍᵒ ˣ ʸᐟⁿ

Patience had never been Bakugo's strongest virtue, and tonight was no exception. Standing next to his car, arms crossed and his scowl deeper thanks usual, he checked the watch on his wrist every thirty seconds, as if glaring at the ticking hands could somehow make her appear faster. He was just about to pull his phone out, already drafting a “Where the hell are you?” as a greeting, when the sound of the elevator doors opening interrupted his oncoming outburst.

And then he saw her.

For a brief moment, his hardened expression faltered. A breath escaped him—something between relief and resignation—because of course she looked stunning. She always did. But he was Bakugo, damn it, and he wasn’t about to melt over a smile or a well-fitted skirt. At least, not without putting up a fight.

You approached with a warm smile and kissed his cheek—quick, barely a touch… but it hit him like a jolt of electricity. His hand, almost automatically, dropped to the small of your back, claiming that space as his while he growled low in your ear:

"You took your time."

You, not losing that damn smile that already had him on edge—or rather, rattled in a way he hated to admit—replied calmly:

"I was on time. You got here early."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. He had no argument. He opened the passenger door for you with a sharp gesture, almost like it was an obligation rather than a sign of care. Then he walked around the car, got into the driver's seat, and started the engine without a word.

The silence inside the car didn’t last long. When he glanced sideways, you were smiling. That damn smile.

"Why the hell are you smiling, huh?" he snapped, not even trying to hide the edge in his voice. He knew you were smiling because of him, and that made him more nervous than any battle could.

"You look really handsome in black," you said simply, as if you had no idea what that did to him. As if you didn’t notice the way his cheeks, for just a second, threatened to betray him.

He knew you loved seeing him in a black shirt, and that’s exactly why he’d worn it tonight—to provoke that reaction, to hear something like that from your lips. But, of course, Bakugo wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of seeing him blush. Instead, he scowled even harder, shifted in his seat with an air of irritation, and muttered:

"Tsk. You say dumb shit."

You just chuckled softly, turning your face toward the window so he wouldn’t see the victorious smile you were trying to hide.

It was his turn. Damn it, his turn to take control, to make you squirm—or at least steal that smug little smile off your face. Bakugo wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge. Especially not this one.

He started the car, shifted into gear, and began to drive like nothing was happening. Like he wasn’t carefully planning his next move. His hand slid naturally from the gear stick to your thigh, fingers firm, confident, giving it a squeeze that spoke more of intent than affection. All while his eyes stayed on the road, his face serious, like the gesture meant nothing.

And then… your reaction came. But it wasn’t the one he expected.

He felt your hand on his, warm, soft, guiding it higher with zero shame. Like you were teaching him how you played. Before he could even protest—or pretend it didn’t faze him—you lifted your other leg, crossing it over the first… effectively trapping his hand between both thighs. He was stuck. Literally.

Oh, no.

His jaw tensed instantly, and for a second, the steering wheel creaked beneath his free hand. Blood rushed to his head, but it wasn’t anger. Not entirely. It was frustration. You were laughing. Not out loud, not in a way most would notice, but he saw it in your eyes. In the way you bit your lower lip with fake innocence.

"You’re impossible," he muttered through gritted teeth, voice low and rough. Like he could still intimidate you with it.

"Me? But you started it," you replied with that sweet, poisonous tone, feigning offense while your fingers lazily stroked his wrist.

Bakugo exhaled through his nose, the sound almost threatening, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He couldn’t. The heat, the skin, the contact… it was torture, yes, but he wasn’t about to back down.

"Don’t make me pull over," he murmured with a half-threat, like he was seriously considering crashing the damn car just to reclaim control of the situation.

You laughed—soft, sweet, wicked.

"And what would happen if you did?"

Bakugo clenched his jaw. He was still driving with one hand, while the other remained trapped in that delicious little trap. He considered taking the next turn, driving straight home and skipping the whole dinner charade. But no. He didn’t retreat. He attacked. And he had the whole dinner to make you pay for it. To make you beg.

Like only he knew how.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.