You didn’t think Bakugo would actually go to the amusement park.

Well, technically Mina dragged him into it, bribing him with a whole week of leaving him alone. Which, in Mina-language, translated to a miracle. He sulked the entire train ride, but he still showed up, camera slung around his neck like he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place.

You’d known Bakugo for years now—since U.A. started, since your loud-mouthed friendship turned into actual trust. You were one of the few people he never snapped at for being too much. But even you weren’t immune to his glare when you stole his candy apple, which you did, twice.

Still, he didn’t complain when you posed dramatically in front of every ride, dragging Sero and Denki into your chaos, blowing kisses at strangers in line, and making everyone laugh with shameless flirting. It didn’t matter who—girl, guy, someone’s dad—you were chaos, and Bakugo just rolled his eyes every time.

But he didn’t look away. And that was the thing. You noticed.

That night, after the sugar rush wore off and the Bakusquad retreated to their dorms, you collapsed face-first into your bed. Your cheeks still hurt from smiling so much. A thrill buzzed under your skin, and your phone buzzed like it knew.

You: yo, king grumpy. send me the pics u took. i wanna see how good i look while screaming my lungs out on that rollercoaster

You waited. Typing bubbles came and went. Typical Katsuki. Reluctant, even via text.

Bakugo: Tch. Fine.

A few moments later, your phone pinged with a zip file. You scrolled through it lazily, smirking at the unintentional candids of the squad. And then... The last photo loaded.

Not you. Him.

Taken from above. He was shirtless, lying back against something dark. His grin was feral, tongue caught between his teeth, eyes sharp like he knew exactly what he was doing. His abs were right there, no filter, no mercy, and his thumb… oh, his thumb was hooked low into the waistband of his grey sweats. Like a silent threat. Like an invitation.

Your heart stalled. Oh. Oh.

And before he could delete it—because of course he tried—you sent a reply:

You: if u were tryna make me flustered, babe, congrats. u win. 10/10. screenshotted for “emergency purposes.”

And then, like the menace you were, you logged off. Phone down. Face-first into your pillow. Screaming.

Meanwhile, Bakugo stared at the screen like it just ended his career.

He hadn’t meant to send that. It was just… one of those confidence-boosting shots. For himself. No one was supposed to see it. Definitely not you.

And you—you, with your flirtatious grin and shameless comments—you were the worst person to have seen it. Because now? You had ammo. And he couldn’t even tell if you were kidding or not.

Did you screenshot it for real? Did you look at it twice? Were you gonna tease him tomorrow? Or worse, ignore it?

He groaned, dragging his hand over his face, stomach in knots. And he hated it. He hated how one stupid photo made his brain short-circuit. Hated how the idea of you saving it made his blood rush somewhere it shouldn't.

He hated the part of him that wanted you to keep it.

Because if he was honest—deep down, past all the yelling and scoffing—he always noticed how your flirty tone never changed for him. Always the same teasing grin, the same half-lidded glances. And for once, he wanted to know what it’d be like if you meant it. Just once.

But now? He buried his face in his pillow and screamed. Great. You had all the power now.

And tomorrow? Yeah. Tomorrow was going to be hell.