impwerital

[impwerital]

Get Even - Chapter 2

word count: 1.9K

cw: frat prez!katsuki bakugou x fem art student!reader. manipulation, emotional tension, morally gray behavior, and a non-verbal kiss initiated without explicit consent (though not portrayed as assault), slow-burn, psychological conflict, blurred intentions, suggestive physical intimacy.

The days following the Sigma Vex party crawled by slower than usual, each one folding into the next like pages in a sketchbook, waiting to be filled.

For most people, the party was just a wild night to forget or brag about. But for Katsuki Bakugou? It was a spark—an itch he couldn’t ignore. The sting of rejection from a quiet girl who’d barely said two words to him gnawed at his pride like acid.

And he never let things go unanswered.

So, over the next week, Katsuki transformed into something new: an observer, a silent shadow trailing just out of sight. Not the creepy kind—at least not yet—but a calculated watcher who memorized the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you concentrated, how you carried your sketchbook like a secret treasure, and the faint limp in your step when you thought no one was looking.

You didn’t expect to see him again. Not after you ditched the party like your social anxiety was on fire. Not after you’d basically sprinted out of that frat house like the ghost of hookup culture was chasing you. But there he was—Katsuki Bakugou—shoulders broad, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, standing like he had every right to be outside the art building on a Wednesday afternoon.

You squinted at him.

“Lost?” you asked, not trying to hide the suspicion in your tone.

He scoffed. “Tch. Just lookin’ for someone.”

You arched a brow. “In the fine arts department?”

“Maybe.” A smirk tugged at his lips like he knew something you didn’t.

Of course, he did.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that for the past week, Katsuki had been running silent recon like your life was a mission in a video game. He had questions. Who the hell were you? What made you so bold, so different, so mysterious, so... off-limits? You didn’t care about his title, didn’t laugh at his jokes to gain clout, didn’t try to sleep with him for status. You were just you. Sharp-tongued, quiet, weird little art girl who left a party without giving him a second glance.

And that? That shit was a problem. Because he needed to win. And winning meant playing the long game.

“You like coffee?” he asked casually, jerking his chin toward the small cluster of indie caf��s that framed the edge of campus.

You shook your head. “Can’t. Stomach’s weird.”

He already knew that, but his eyes lit up like it was brand-new information.

“Huh. What about matcha?”

You blinked. “Only if it’s oat milk.”

“No shit?” he drawled, like it was a happy accident. “That’s what I get, too.” (Lie.)

But you went along with it, even though something buzzed low in your gut like an alarm bell. It wasn’t like Katsuki Bakugou to go out of his way for someone like you. He was loud, popular, the fucking frat president. You were quiet, constantly covered in graphite dust, and allergic to social norms. Your idea of a good night was crying over a sketchpad and watching emotionally devastating anime.

Still... you walked with him. Let him buy you that overpriced matcha from the hipster café that spelled your name wrong but got the drink right.

And then he kept showing up. Every week. Like clockwork.

After your Thursday figure drawing class, he’d be leaning against a lamp post outside. Casual. Like he hadn’t timed your exit down to the minute. Some days he brought pastries. Other times he offered to drive you to your studio, always playing it cool like he was “just passing by.” You weren’t stupid—far from it—but you were curious. And when he looked at you like that, all intense and unreadable and interested, it got harder and harder to push him away. He made you laugh, sometimes. Which pissed you off.

He let you rant about your professors and how one of them said your installation piece was “visually aggressive.” He listened. Actually listened. And when you mentioned that your favorite café had just sold out of their pistachio croissants again, he showed up the next day with two in a bag and a smug little tilt to his mouth.

“What’s the catch?” you asked him one afternoon, sipping from your lukewarm matcha while his stupidly expensive car idled in the parking lot.

He looked at you sidelong. “What d’you mean?”

“You’re nice all of a sudden. Buying me drinks. Driving me places. Listening to my tangents about gender in postmodern sculpture. You’re not trying to get back at me for leaving your party early or something, right?”

His jaw flexed. Just slightly. Just enough.

“No,” he said, voice low. “I’m not.” (Another lie.)

You wanted to believe him. Wanted to ignore the tug in your chest that screamed too good to be true. But he was persistent, damn it. Not pushy—never that—but steady. Present. There. Like he’d decided that if he was going to get under your skin, he was going to earn it. And goddamn it, it was working.

One day, when you were standing outside your studio, keys in one hand and half-eaten croissant in the other, he leaned against the hood of his car and said:

“Y’know, I kinda like you.”

You almost dropped the pastry.

“What?”

“You’re not like the other people I usually hang with.”

“That’s... because I don’t hang with people.”

He chuckled, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Exactly.”

Your stomach flipped. It shouldn’t have. You didn’t know it then, but every moment—every matcha, every ride, every sarcastic comment exchanged between stolen glances—was part of something bigger. A game he wasn’t supposed to lose.

And you? You were the last person who’d ever let yourself be played. But even black sheep get lonely sometimes.

Even you.

Time passed, like paint drying over a canvas you hadn’t realized was already finished.

What started as something strategic—manipulated, observed, handled like a well-planned heist—shifted. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly. Until it wasn’t just about winning anymore.

You and Katsuki Bakugou… became friends. Somehow.

The kind of friends who shared playlists and critiques on other people’s coffee orders. Who texted during class, sent stupid memes at 3AM, and argued over whether matcha was actually good or just Stockholm syndrome in a cup.

And the weirdest part? It didn’t feel fake.

It wasn’t just that he showed up. It was that he remembered things you didn’t even mean to tell him. The way you hated silence in the car, so he started making you custom mixes. The way your fingers always fidgeted with your necklace chain when you were nervous, so he held your hand during your art presentation critique without saying a word. The way you hated when people stood too close while you painted, so he gave you space—but never too much.

And every time you smiled at him, tilted your head, laughed behind your sleeve like you were trying not to show it—his stomach did that thing. (A/N: mf that's tapeworm.)

A flip. A twist. A fucking somersault.

It annoyed the hell out of him. Because what the fuck was that? It wasn’t love. Couldn’t be. Right?

Love was messy. Uncontrollable. Weak. He didn’t do love. He did plans. He did control. He did bets.

But you weren’t playing by his rules anymore. And somewhere between the gallery visits and the long drives where you talked about everything and nothing, the line blurred. The script flipped. He was supposed to reel you in, collect his win, and be done.

But then you looked at him one day, cheeks flushed from the gallery lights, eyes wide and honest and soft in a way he wasn’t built to handle—and he couldn’t shut up.

“I think I’m fucked.”

You blinked, tilting your head like you didn’t hear him right. “What?”

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The air between you smelled like rain and gallery antiseptic. His jaw clenched like he wanted to punch himself.

“I don’t know what this is,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Silence. You stared at him. Your throat went dry.

“But then you kept… being you.” His voice dropped. “Kept laughing and looking at me like I’m someone worth knowing. And now? I’m not even sure if I’m in control of this anymore.”

“Is this a confession?” you asked quietly.

He winced. “I think it is. But—hell, I don’t even know if it’s love. Probably not. It’s something. It’s... something that’s wrecking all my plans.”

You didn’t speak right away. The cars outside kept passing, blurring into streaks of color behind the gallery windows. When you finally looked up at him, your voice was low. Honest. Maybe a little scared. “Then what now?”

And for the first time since the bet began, Katsuki didn’t have an answer. You waited. Maybe for him to backtrack. To turn it into a joke. To call you stupid for believing anything he said.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked at you like he hated this—hated that you made him feel anything at all. And then, like the last of his self-control finally snapped, he reached forward—and kissed you. No warning. No permission. Just pure need.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Wild and hungry and bruising, like he’d been holding it in for weeks and couldn’t stand another second of pretending. His hands tangled in your coat, fists clenching fabric like you might disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough. Your back hit the brick wall of the gallery entrance, breath catching in your throat, and still—still—he didn’t stop.

Because it wasn’t just a kiss. It was an admission.

A quiet, furious surrender.

You kissed him back. You don’t even remember deciding to—but your hands were in his hair and your mouth was on his and the world went mute around you.

Time hiccupped. And when he finally pulled away—barely, just enough to speak—his voice cracked around the edges.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to-”

You stared up at him. Lips swollen, thoughts scattered like charcoal dust on the floor.

“It's okay,” you whispered.

And neither of you knew what came next. But for the first time, it wasn’t about games anymore.

Katsuki’s eyes searched yours like he was still catching up to what he’d just done—like part of him couldn’t believe it either. Then he spoke, voice lower now. Rougher.

“You wanna come home with me?”

You didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. Your chest was still tight, skin still buzzing from the kiss. But you nodded—slow, deliberate—and he exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for hours.

The car ride was quiet. Not the awkward kind. Not really. He didn’t put on music. Didn’t talk. Just drove with one hand on the wheel and the other… slipping into yours.

You glanced down at the contact—his fingers wrapped around yours, thumb tracing slow circles across your knuckles like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed to touch you just to stay grounded.

And then, that same hand moved—casual at first, then deliberate—his palm grazing your thigh.

You tensed. Not in fear. In anticipation.

His eyes flicked toward you, then back to the road. No smirk. No cocky comment. Just quiet, thick tension filling every inch of space between you.

By the time he parked, your heartbeat was knocking against your ribs like it was trying to escape. The door shut with a soft click.

You followed him up to his apartment. No words exchanged. Just breaths. Just glances.

And when the door closed behind you—when you were standing in his entryway, shoes still on, jacket half-zipped—you turned to look at him.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The boy who was supposed to play you.

The boy who kissed you like he meant every second of it.

He didn’t move. Not yet. But his eyes were on you like he was waiting for a sign—anything to tell him he hadn’t just completely undone himself for nothing.

You took a step closer. And neither of you said a word.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 3 is in the making! will be finished and posted in 2 days!

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[impwerital]

─ .✦ ˚˖🌷✧˚Windows Between Us

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Bakugo’s room smells like the aftermath of something electric — scorched dust, citrus shampoo, and the lingering tang of his sweat after training. Kirishima once said it smells like wanting to impress someone.

He nearly got launched for it.

The BakuSquad is sprawled like fallen warriors across his bedroom floor — half into a video game, half into arguments about snacks. Laughter bounces off the walls, messy and unfiltered, as summer leans in through the open windows like an eavesdropper.

And then —

a thunk.

A sharp, featherlight sound against glass.

Bakugo’s gaze flickers, not startled, just… expecting.

Because he knows that sound.

It’s not the wind. Not a bird. Not a glitch in the universe.

It’s you.

The girl next door. The girl in the window across from his. The girl who throws things when she can’t knock.

A little scrunched ball of notebook paper rolls down his windowsill like it’s shy. There’s another just outside the glass — a second one, crumpled with intent. You’ve clearly missed once already.

Katsuki crosses the room with slow, practiced boredom, but his ears are already warm.

He pushes open the window a little more, and there you are — half-hanging out of yours, elbow propped, face alight with mischief. Summer clings to you like perfume. There’s ink on your fingers. Your braid is unraveling.

“Oi, Bakugo,” you call, a grin curling at your lips, “next time catch it. I’m running outta paper.”

Behind him, a chip hits the floor. Mina stills mid-bite. Kaminari’s eyes widen like he’s watching a soap opera unfold live.

Bakugo doesn’t even glance back at them.

He leans an elbow on the sill, all loose limbs and lazy confidence, but his eyes — gods, his eyes are soft like smoke just before it sparks.

“What, throwing rocks wasn’t an option?”

You scoff. “Didn’t want you thinking it was an attack. I know how you get.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“You could’ve answered.”

There’s a beat — just the buzz of a streetlamp, the rustle of the curtains, and the faint sound of Kaminari whispering oh my god, oh my god behind him like a cursed chant.

You smile wider, resting your chin on your hand. “You ghostin’ me, or are you just playing hard to get?”

Bakugo’s gaze dips to your mouth. “Wouldn’t ghost you. You know that.”

You hum. “Then why’d you disappear after last night, huh? I thought we were bonding.”

He shrugs, but his voice lowers. “Didn’t wanna say something stupid in front of you.”

“Aw,” you coo, voice drenched in teasing affection. “What, like how pretty I looked under the streetlight?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but the smirk’s already there. His hand tightens slightly around the windowsill. “You fishing for compliments now?”

“I’m fishing for attention,” you say, tilting your head. “And I caught you.”

And then, fate curses you with timing.

You lean forward just enough — and catch a glimpse in his mirror. A blur of crimson. A flash of pink. The unmistakable sound of Sero choking on his drink.

“Oh my god—” your whole body yanks back like the window frame bit you. “You have people over?!”

Bakugo doesn’t move. Just watches you vanish like mist into your curtains.

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t alone!” your voice shouts from somewhere behind your blinds.

“You didn’t ask,” he shoots back, smug.

Bakugo grins — a slow, lopsided, shit-eating thing that does things to your stomach.

“Didn’t think I’d flirt with you in front of witnesses?” he calls after you, still not glancing behind him.

You pop your head out again, mortified. “I—I would’ve worn lip balm or something!” and then you suddenly disappeared out of embarrassment.

He chuckles — low, deep, smug — and finally turns back to the chaos that is now his living room.

Mina has tears in her eyes. Kirishima is frozen in pure secondhand embarrassment. Sero’s already got a draft tweet written in his brain. Kaminari is vibrating.

“She’s adorable,” Mina whispers in awe.

“She’s doomed,” Kirishima mutters.

Bakugo pulls the crumpled paper from the sill and pockets it like it’s valuable.

Then, slowly, like a lion lounging in the ruins of his own chaos, he turns back toward the room. His face is unreadable. Except for that smile — that quiet, victorious, absolutely whipped curve of his mouth.

“She likes you,” Kaminari gasps.

“Damn right she does,” Bakugo replies, and plops back onto the beanbag like the whole world didn’t just catch him soft.

And no one says a word when he glances back at the window one last time, just to see if you'd peek again.

[impwerital]

a/n: guys this is so bad, this chapter is so poop. chapter 4 will be so much more better i have just been busy sos!

—————

Chapter 3

[Y/N's POV]

You had no business being late today, but here you were, feet pounding the pavement in a frantic race against time.

Every second was precious as you darted through the crowded street.

By the time you reached the side street where Bakugou had texted to meet, you slowed your pace, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

There he was. Standing with his arms crossed, looking just as gruff and annoyed as ever.

His eyes flicked over to you as you approached, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he handed you your phone, his movements sharp.

“Here,” he grunted, his voice low, but somehow still holding that familiar irritation.

You nodded, taking the phone from his hand. For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of his phone in your hand feeling strange almost like a small, subtle connection you weren’t sure what to do with.

Bakugou didn’t seem to notice, or care.

He just took your phone in return, quickly shoving it into his pocket.

There was no awkwardness, no lingering glances.

You both stood there, staring at each other for just a second longer than was necessary, as if waiting for something..anything..to break the silence.

It didn’t come.

“Thanks,” you murmured, the words soft but genuine, though you couldn’t help the faint heat that crept up your neck. Now that your standing face to face to him.. gaddayummm he looks 😻.. no he looked scary.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou muttered back, turning away without another word. His back was already to you, his footsteps quickening as he disappeared down the street.

You watched him for a moment, your mind swirling with the quiet tension that had hung in the air. It felt like something had shifted, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly.

---

[Y/N's POV - Later That Evening]

When you finally arrived home, you couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. The chaos of the day seemed to melt away with each step you took into your apartment.

You kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat by the door, the soft click of the door closing behind you signaling the end of a long, exhausting day.

You could feel the ache in your feet, the weight of the workday settling into your bones.

You headed straight to your bedroom, peeling off your work clothes and trading them for something more comfortable—a loose sweatshirt and your favorite sweatpants.

The soft fabric felt like an immediate relief against your skin, and you sank into bed, finally able to let your body relax.

The bed was a welcome comfort, the sheets cool against your skin.

You closed your eyes, letting your body melt into the mattress. The sounds of the city outside were distant, like a low hum you barely registered, as your mind quieted.

For the first time today, you felt like you could just... breathe.

---

[Bakugou's POV - Later That Evening]

Bakugou walked into his apartment with a tired sigh, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

His feet ached from a long day of patrol, and he quickly changed into something more comfortable a pair of shorts and a simple t-shirt.

He sank into the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

His mind was restless, though, despite the exhaustion weighing on his body.

That damn phone.

The whole thing had been a minor inconvenience, yet something about it had stuck with him. He didn’t want to admit it, but the brief interaction with you , your soft thank you, the quiet moments between the two of you had lingered longer than he cared to admit.

He rubbed his temples, trying to shake the thought away.

It was nothing.

With a growl, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the familiar weight of it feeling oddly comforting in his hand.

He stared at the screen for a while, before clicking through a few apps, attempting to distract himself from the thoughts that wouldn’t go away.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t escape the quiet, inexplicable feeling from earlier.

Finally, with a deep breath, he leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes.

It had been a long day, but for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

————-

A/n: ok guys I’ll make sure chapter 4 is extra long , forgive me for this being so bad .

Tag List: @holobean

[impwerital]

Chapter 2

---

[Bakugou’s POV]

This wasn’t his goddamn phone.

Bakugou scowled down at the device in his hand, flipping it over as if that would suddenly make it familiar. It was about the same model as his sleek, slim, definitely a newer release but it wasn’t his.

He knew the weight of his phone. The feel of the faint scratch near the corner from that villain takedown three weeks ago. The way the screen lit up when he tapped it, flashing his background—an old photo Kirishima snapped during a rooftop training session.

It wasn’t sentimental.

It just… wasn’t this.

This screen lit up with a low brightness and a lock screen of… was that a cat?

He narrowed his eyes.

No, not a cat.. a kitten. Curled up in a hoodie, pink-pawed and soft-looking,

Bakugou blinked once.

This was absolutely not his phone.

He huffed through his nose, swiping at the screen. Passcode locked, “tch,” he whispered under his breath.

He jabbed at the numbers on instinct. 0-0-0-0.

The screen unlocked instantly.

"...You’ve gotta be kidding me, this person must be a fucking dumbass” he muttered.

Who the hell used that as their passcode? What kind of dumbass security was that? Anyone could’ve guessed it. He rubbed a hand down his face, more irritated than he’d been when he got the damn patrol call this morning.

He almost locked it back out of spite but paused instead, thumb hovering over the open screen.

There weren’t any suspicious apps, nothing too flashy.

A couple of text messages at the top. Group chats. One labeled "the 3 chippetes 🎀", the other "Mom" with a heart emoji. That one made him blink.

Whatever. He wasn’t a creep.

Bakugou backed out of the screen and clicked into the phone dialer, quickly punching in his own number.

He leaned back in his office chair, arms crossed tight as he waited for it to connect. If that girl had his phone, she’d better pick up.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

"Hello—hello? Customer Services, this is—"

The voice on the other end was muffled, rushed, and definitely not a pro-hero. It was the same girl from earlier, no doubt about it.

[Your POV]

“yes, I understand your frustration, ma’am, but please— yes, I’m still here, please hold for just one moment—hello?” You didn’t even glance at the screen when the call came in.

You’d been juggling complaint after complaint, your headset starting to dig into your ear, and your manager giving you that look from across the room.

You snatched up the ringing phone and answered out of habit. “Hello—hello? Customer Services, this is—”

There was silence for a second on the other end.

“You’re the one who ran into me this morning, right?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Blonde. Hoodie. You bumped into me like a damn bulldozer. Didn’t even look up.”

It took a beat. Then your brain caught up with the voice—the one from earlier this morning, gruff and irritated and kind of… deep.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling the phone slightly away from your face to look at the screen. Your name was showing at the top, your own number in the contact. “Wait wait, wait. Don’t tell me this isn’t my phone?”

“No shit,” he snapped. “And this definitely ain’t mine. It’s got a cat on the screen.”

Heat crawled up your neck. “It’s a kitten, actually.”

“Whatever. I’m not carrying this thing around all day.”

You glanced around the floor, your coworkers hunched over their desks like zombies. Your manager was already glaring like she’d explode if you so much as sneezed wrong.

“I can’t leave,” you stammered. “My manager’s already on edge and I’m behind on tickets. I don’t get off until five.”

There was a pause. You could almost feel the irritation simmering through the line.

“Tch. Fine. I’ll survive with this thing for a few hours,” he muttered. “You better not have weird shit on here.”

You shouted, “I don’t!”

a coworker looked at you.

Another pause. You could hear faint city noise in the background traffic, distant voices, maybe even a bird if you weren’t imagining it.

“I’ll text you where to meet. Just don’t forget, alright?”

“I won’t, Promise.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

rude much?

---

[Bakugou’s POV]

The rest of the day was a blur of noise and frustration.

Patrol was uneventful, but the irritation lingered like an itch under his skin. He hated not having his own phone no custom comms, no saved logs, no personal reminders.

Just this… stranger’s phone, tucked into his hoodie pocket, occasionally buzzing with messages and one suspiciously persistent spam call.

He did his route. Signed a couple autographs when he couldn’t dodge fast enough. Got coffee. Ignored three people who tried to sneak pictures.

By four-thirty, he was back near the agency, arms crossed as he leaned against a building, the phone still glowing faintly in his hand.

Still with the damn kitten wallpaper.

---

[Your POV]

By the time the clock hit five, you could feel every bone in your feet.

You peeled off your headset with a sigh, your spine aching from hunching forward for hours. A dull throb pulsed behind your eyes, and your brain was still buzzing with phantom customer voices demanding refunds and asking to speak to someone above you.

You grabbed your things and shoved your chair in, already halfway out the door when you finally remembered—

The phone.

You fished it out of your bag, blinking at the unfamiliar weight. The kitten lock screen had been replaced with a black screen and a 5% battery warning. Right. You hadn’t touched it since this morning, and now your actual phone was probably filled with texts from some pissed-off blonde guy who thought you were the worst.

You exhaled. “Great.”

Still, you made your way toward the meeting spot he’d texted you earlier: a side street near the agency, just tucked away from the worst of the crowd.

Your legs dragged with every step, and your bag felt heavier than usual. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say.

“Sorry for bumping into you?”

“Thanks for not chucking my phone into the sewer?”

You sighed again and picked up the pace, unaware that on the other side of the street, a certain explosive man was already waiting, arms crossed, scowl ready.

---

A/N: SORRY THIS IS SHORT CHAPTER! I PROMISE ILL POST MORE TMRW! idk if this is good guys nobody is giving me feedback

[impwerital]

this is my first time writing — please tell me any tips and lmk if u like it !

you can find all of these on wattpad and ao3!

— — — — — — —

PROLOGUE

A wrong phone. A chance encounter. That was all it took for Bakugou Katsuki and you to cross paths.

a grumpy pro-hero, and you, a quiet customer service worker, neither of you realizing the accidental connection that was about to spark between you.

But when his gruff voice called, claiming *your* phone, neither of you could've known it was the beginning of something neither were prepared for..

---

Chapter One

[Y/ns POV]

You weren't supposed to start the day like this.

The shrill blare of your alarm sliced through the fog of sleep, and for a second, your sluggish brain told you it was just a dream. But when it screamed again—this time accompanied by the vibrating echo against your nightstand—you shot up like you'd been electrocuted.

"Shit," you muttered, blinking at the time.

You were late.

The blanket tangled around your legs as you scrambled out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom in a half-panicked daze. There was no time for a proper routine. A five minute shower. Three, if you skipped conditioner.The water was hot yet every drop felt so relaxing .  it helped wash away the worst of your panic.

You soon come out of the steaming hot shower and  yanked on a pinstripe shirt, shoved it into a black skirt, jammed your feet into your heels, and grabbed your bag without thinking twice

YOUR OUTFIT

( scroll down to see it — u can have the skirt longer if u want to!)

Comfortable enough for sitting  all day. You threw your hair into a low ponytail and quickly put in your essentials for the day in the bag : gum, lipgloss, phone, keys, pads, ect.

You darted to the kitchen however.. there  was no time for breakfast. You shoved a piece of buttered toast into your mouth, grabbed your phone without looking, and bolted out the door.

Today was already hell and you knew it was going to get worse .

[Bakugou's POV]

The ringing nearly got him to throw his phone across the room.

Bakugou groaned, dragging a heavy hand across his face as he rolled over and grabbed the device. He squinted at the screen. It was way too early for anyone to be calling him, especially on a damn day off.

He answered it with a low growl. "What?"

"Bakugou , sorry to bother you , last minute patrol coverage, we're down a man. Can you come in?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing at his temples. "Tch. whatever. I'll be there in 30."

He hated when things didn't go according to plan. His mornings were sacred , quiet, disciplined, predictable. This?

This was chaos.

He didn't even want to think about traffic, not this early. Screw it. The agency was close. Walking would be faster, and he could use the extra steps anyway.

He pulled on a dark gray hoodie over his tank top, slipped into his usual black joggers, and stuffed his phone in his pocket before heading out the door, scowl already etched into his face.

( his hero clothes are at the agency 😓)

[Y/ns POV]

Mustafa a sea of people, and you were a single drop desperately trying not to get swallowed up.

You weaved through the crowd, muttering apologies to anyone you brushed past. Your office building was five blocks away, and every second counted.

You reached the intersection and hit the button for the crosswalk, bouncing on your heels like it would make the light change faster.

Come on. Come on.

The second it turned red, you stepped forward, moving with the tide of strangers.

But the second your shoulder slammed into something solid as a damn wall, you nearly lost your balance.

"Ah, sorry!" you blurted, barely glancing up. You ducked down, scooped your phone off the sidewalk, and kept moving. No time. No time.

[Bakugou's POV]

He barely registered the impact.

Some girl had run right into him. He blinked, brow twitching, and muttered a low, annoyed, “Tch."

She didn't even stop. Just grabbed her phone and disappeared into the crowd.

He shook his head and kept walking.

Five minutes later, he stepped into the agency, pulled off his hoodie, and slumped into his office chair. He came 10 minutes early. Oh well he may as well get a coffee by the nearby cafe that opened. He opens up his phone with the intentions to look for reviews about it.

..

He frowned, looking at the phone in his hand.

That wasn't his background. That wasn't his wallpaper.

And that definitely wasn't his phone.

"shit.”

————————————

A/N: can somebody tell me if this is good? should I make it more descriptive? im trying to go for a slowburn vibe her and I feel like I could’ve written more but idkkkkk 😓 im so new to this stuff I wish I had someome to help me , anyway I hope this does good so I can upload a BETTER chapter 2 ❤️

[impwerital]

hey so if I made a fanfic on where reader and bakugou switches phones because they like bumped into each other and were in a rush and accidentally picked up each others phone, WOULD U GUYS READ IT ??

these are the pics I’d defo use if I was making it

[impwerital]

I need someone to write me a bakugou x reader fanfic BUT ITS BASED OF APOTHECARY DIARIES . I may be a bit weird for this but lowk im obsessed with maomao and jinshi

[impwerital]

homework can wait / k. bakugo

you fell asleep in the middle of your homework session in his room.

katsuki bakugo let out a quiet tsk as he glanced down at you, completely knocked out on his lap.

you were supposed to be helping him with the homework spread across his bed as the two of you just set up a small portable table in the middle—but somewhere between ranting about how annoying math was and stealing one of his hoodies, you’d curled up on the bed next to his and dozed off.

he was trying to ignore it. really. his pencil tapped against the page as he forced his eyes back to the textbook, but it was impossible to focus with the way your cheek was squished against his thigh, breath soft and steady.

“you dumbass,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no heat behind it.

with a huff, he leaned down just a little and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. uou didn’t stir, but you smiled in your sleep, like your dreams knew he was touching you. that did something weird to his chest, something warm and annoyingly soft.

he stayed still, pencil forgotten, one hand resting gently on your back.

bakugo sat there, completely still, like moving even a muscle would ruin the peace wrapped around you both.

you shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent as your hand unconsciously grabbed onto the fabric of his sweatpants. he looked down at you, lips twitching into the faintest smile before he rolled his eyes at himself.

“i swear, you’re such a pain in the ass sometimes…” he grumbled.

but he still didn’t move. in fact, he leaned back on the headboard just a bit to give you more space, his hand still resting lightly on your back. his thumb started to move in slow, absent circles—he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

he glanced at the open textbook on his bed. still untouched. he had half a mind to finish it, but the weight of you sleeping on him, completely trusting and at ease, felt more important than any stupid homework.

after a few more minutes, you stirred again, blinking blearily.

“katsuki…?” your voice was thick with sleep, soft and barely above a whisper.

“you fell asleep,” he said, voice low. “right in the middle of our damn homework session.”

you blinked up at him with a sheepish smile. “sorry…i just couldn't help it. you’re warm.”

he felt the tips of his ears burn. “tch. don’t say stuff like that.”

you just smiled again and closed your eyes, this time wrapping your arms around his waist like a pillow.

bakugo stared at you for a moment, exasperated and deeply endeared.

“...fine. five more minutes,” he said gruffly.

he wasn’t moving anytime soon anyway.

…

five minutes turned into ten.

bakugo glanced at the clock, then back at you. you were still curled up on his lap, hugging his waist like it was the most comfortable thing in the world. your breathing had evened out again, and your cheek was warm against him.

he should’ve nudged you awake. he should’ve told you to go lie down properly or something. but instead…

he tugged off his blanket with one hand and carefully draped it over your shoulders. you stirred a little but didn’t wake.

bakugo just sighed, running a hand through his hair. “you’re seriously gonna be the death of me.”

still no response. not that he's hoping to receive one cause that would mean your peaceful sleep is disturbed.

he leaned down a bit, letting his fingers brush your cheek in a way that was softer than he’d ever let anyone see.

“sleep all you want,” he muttered. “i’ve got you.”

and even though you still had an entire page of homework left, he didn’t care. he can do it alone for both of you if it meant keeping you close like this—peaceful, safe, and his.

masterlist

©luvvixu2025

a/n: no update for mind over matter series today but here's your daily dose of katsuki :)

[impwerital]

“You Cold or Just Miss Me?”

⸻

The apartment was freezing.

You had kicked the heater three times. It hissed at you like a sassy little demon and stayed broken. Your hoodie was nowhere to be found, and your toes were going numb. You wrapped a blanket around yourself like a sad burrito, staring out at the grey sky from the couch.

That’s when your eyes drifted to his door.

Bakugou’s room.

You knew he had hoodies. Big, warm ones.

The kind that looked like they’d feel like a hug. A grumpy, spicy, cinnamon roll-scented hug.

You waited a solid 45 seconds before you gave in, shuffled across the hall like a shivering raccoon, and cracked open his door.

It was neat. Too neat. Bed made, weights in the corner, shelves lined with cologne and deodorant and some kind of expensive-looking hair stuff.

And right there on the back of his chair: a big, black hoodie with the word “DIE” on the sleeve in angry red letters.

Perfect.

You slipped it on. It was warm. Soft. Smelled like him—spice, smoke, and the faintest bit of caramel.

And then the front door opened.

You froze.

Footsteps.

Bakugou’s voice. “Yo, you home? Heater’s still busted—”

His sentence cut off as he turned the corner and saw you.

In his hoodie. On his couch. Hugging your knees and buried in the sleeves that covered your hands like paws.

He blinked. Stared. And then, his ears turned pink.

“…The hell you doin’ in my hoodie?”

You made a dramatic shivering noise. “Freezing to death. Thought you’d want me to live.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched—he was fighting a smile.

“You got a hundred damn hoodies.”

“I lost all of them. Tragic accident. It was this or hypothermia.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you risked death just to steal mine?”

You beamed. “It’s warm. Smells good. Feels safe.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just scratched the back of his neck, trying not to look flustered. His voice dipped, softer this time.

“…It looks good on you.”

Your heart did a little flip. “Yeah?”

Bakugou shrugged like it was nothing, but the tips of his ears were so red.

“Whatever. Keep it.”

You tilted your head. “Oh? So I get to steal all your clothes now?”

“Don’t push it.”

You patted the couch next to you. “C’mon. Sit. We can be hoodie twins. You wear a hoodie, I wear your hoodie.”

He grumbled something under his breath and plopped down next to you, arms crossing like he wasn’t secretly pleased.

You leaned into his side, stealing even more of his warmth.

“…You’re not gonna give that back, are you?” he asked after a minute.

You yawned dramatically. “Never.”

And Bakugou? He just sighed—smiling now, even if he tried to hide it.

“…Tch. Dumbass.”

But he didn’t ask for it back.

⸻

[impwerital]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑛 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝐾𝑖𝑠𝑠

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.

[impwerital]

Outlets - Bakugou Katsuki

------------------------------

A/N: sorry for not being that much active y'all- I swear school hates me. And also this was inspired by Fight Club LMAO.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, fighting.

-----------------------------------

It was a silent agreement. Both of you didn't know exactly why it started, or even how at this point. Maybe it started off as normal sparring.

It's not like you cared anyway. No matter how the fuck it started, what mattered was that it was a thing. A thing you two started with eachother.

So every sunday night, at 10 PM, you'd hear your phone buzz and see Bakugou's text. 'You're up?'

You didn't need to text back, he knew you'd come. You always came. You walk behind the school until you found the quiet spot where you'd always do this. Where no one would be watching, where no one would interfere.

Dim lights cast long shadows across the concrete, and the air is thick with the kind of silence that only people like you two understand. The kind that feels more like a scream than calm.

Bakugou was waiting with his arms crossed on his chest and his usual angry scowl on his face.

"You're late." He mutters, but there's no real bite behind it.

You didn't answer. You let go of your bag, tossing it on the side like trash as you slowly wraps your knuckles and hands with tape.

The rules were simple. No talking, no quirks, nothing but pure and raw hits. Nothing but pain and blood and nothing but punches and grunts. Whatever you've been bottling up, whatever happened that day or that week, every emotions were put into punches.

Because you two struggled with words. Because you two were too stubborn to talk it out- you needed pain. And this was enough for you two.

And from there, a weird kind of relationship was developping.

Was it healthy?

Bakugou didn't care, none of his relationships were entirely healthy anyway. And you didn't care either.

Putting a label on whatever the fuck this was, was impossible. You weren't close enough to call yourselves friends, but you were sharing too many emotions and too much pain together to call yourselves acquaintances or rivals.

And so- you two start fighting.

There's no bell, no countdown, no warnings. Just the slow, aching unravel of two people who don't know how to talk like normal human beings.

The night was silent, only the noises of ragged breaths, of pained groans and shoes moving on the concrete were breaking it.

The blood from your nose fall on the ground, your knuckles bloody - and this time wasn't yours, bruises formed on your arms and face and your chest felt like fire each time you inhaled.

Bakugou wasn't any better, a cut was seen next to his eyebrow, you could see a bruise on his chin and his knuckles were as bruised as yours. A small smirk forms on his lips.

"You look like shit."

You scoffed, but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. The small banter was refreshing, a nice contrast of the fight you two were on about a minute ago.

"You're not any better."

You two stayed silent, both ready to hit or to be hit. But none of you moved. As if you two were thinking of somethint but couldn't quite grasp what.

Bakugou snorts.

"And to think people pay to talk instead..."

At his remark, you rolled your eyes at him.

"People aren't as fucked up as we are, Bakugou."

And to this, you two stared at eachother. You didn't guard down and neither did he- but for once you feel like something's shifting between you two.

As if, now you two didn't see eachother as targets, but as people, just for a second. You bit the inside of your cheek, and the next words were out before you could stop them.

"How are you?"

The blonde before you seem taken aback, you broke their first rule. The first rule of whatever the hell you created together.

You were waiting for his usual angry remarks, or for an insult or for him calling you out... but instead-

"Pissed."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, but it was all you needed to hear. All you needed to know. Normally, words weren't shared, only fists.

But today, something changed. Something shfited. You hum, as your eyes didn't leave his crimson orbs.

"I'm angry too."

His eyes didn't move, his expression didn't change, but he nodded. And he didn't need anything more. That was enough.

And you two realized at the same time, the label you've been trying to put on the weird partnership you made, on the deal you created.

Outlets.

You two, you were eachother's outlets. The one you'd go to whenever the world was too much to bear, when the noises were too loud, when everything felt like falling apart and everything felt like too much or not enough.

And this, was deeper than any type of relationships. Deeper than any words you could let out, because words didn't describe entirely what you were going through.

You looked at Bakugou for a moment, your gaze softened for a second. And a loud thought came to you, one you couldn't ignore. You realize how much this matters to you, how much these fights, these raw and painful fights, were all you had. They were you. You and your stupid feelings.

Feelings you bottled up for years, feelings you've kept that were dangerously boiling inside of you, dangerously warning you that the steaming water was about to spill.

And then, he came. You came. And no matter how unhealthy it was, you were glad he didn't let the water spill- and he was glad you were there for him too. You smiled at him.

"Thank you for being here."

It was simple, it wasn't much, but for Bakugou, this meant a lot. Enough to make his gaze softens for a very slight second. You two unconsciously created a vulnerable bond, a bond created my fists but also by feelings that couldn't be ignored any longer.

Instead of his usual snarky remark, he shakes his head.

"Don't mention it."

It was a silent 'thank you too' and you understood that.

Maybe, maybe it wasn't so unhealthy after all. Maybe, in your own twisted way, created a bound that was stronger you'd ever think of.