Angel🪽

He wants a fight. When you're bratting off at the mouth, talking back, and making him earn every single touch instead of just handing it over—that's his favorite kind of foreplay. Brat-taming with him isn't about breaking your spirit; it's a physical wrestling match of wills. He pins you down, you buck against him, you bite his shoulder until he hisses and yanks your hair to pull you off. You'll look right up at him and smirk, "Is that all you got? Getting slow in your old age, Kats?" And his eyes just darken with this feral, hungry glare before he growls, "Say that again and see what happens."

It's a messy, aggressive clash of two people who refuse to yield, and the fact that you make him work for every inch of you is exactly what keeps him coming back. He loves the struggle, making him grip your hips so hard it leaves bruises just to hold you still long enough to fuck you.

And here's the kicker—he's not obsessed with always being the one in control. He gets off on the power struggle, not just his power.

When you get fed up with his teasing and just shove him flat on his back? When you climb on top of him, pin his wrists over his head, and sink down onto his cock exactly how you want, at the brutal pace you want? He is in absolute heaven. If he tries to buck his hips up to take over, you immediately slam your hand on his chest, glaring down at him. "Did I say you could move?" you snap. And the sound he makes—this gravelly, frustrated groan—is pure arousal. "Fucking bossy," he mutters, but he stops moving, letting you ride him exactly how you want. He loves watching you be greedy and selfish with his body, using him like a toy because you're just as insatiable as he is. He gets off on watching you chase your own orgasm, grinding your hips down hard enough to make him swear under his breath, making him fight every instinct to flip you over and take over.

He wants an equal. He wants someone who will tell him to shut the fuck up and ride him until he's the one whining your name. When you finally let him finish, he'll pant against your throat, "You're a goddamn nightmare." And you just grin, kissing his jaw, "Yeah, but you love it." For a guy whose whole life is about conquering, there's nothing more intoxicating than a woman who conquers him right back.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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"Well, it should be," you grumble as the elevator descends. "They should give you a voucher for a spa day or something after. 'Thanks for letting us invade your cervix, here's a complimentary massage.'"

"I'll give you a massage when we get home," he offers, his hand finding the small of your back. "No weird duck bills involved."

"You say the sweetest things," you deadpan, leaning into his touch despite your foul mood. "But if you try to put anything inside me for the next 24 hours, I'm setting your hands on fire."

"Deal," he agrees immediately. "No penetration. Just external stuff."

The elevator doors open, and you head toward his car. "I might bleed a little," you warn as he unlocks the doors. "They said that's normal."

He freezes with his hand on the driver's side door. "What? Bleed? Like how much?"

"Relax, explosion boy," you sigh, sliding into the passenger seat. "Just spotting. Not like I'm hemorrhaging or anything."

"That's not fucking reassuring," he mutters, starting the car. "Why didn't they tell me that when I asked what to expect?"

"Because HIPAA or whatever," you reply, buckling your seatbelt. "They can't discuss my cervix with you without my permission."

"They should make an exception for concerned partners who might set the waiting room on fire with anxiety," he grumbles, pulling out of the parking spot.

You can't help but smile at that. "You were anxious? A bit dramatic."

"Of course I was fucking anxious," he snaps, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. "It's a medical procedure. They're poking around in there with metal shit. And I know how you are with doctors."

"I'm fine with doctors," you protest weakly.

"No, you're not," he counters. "You white-knuckled my hand so hard during your last flu shot I thought you were going to break it."

"That was different," you mumble, sinking lower in your seat.

"Yeah, well, next time I'm going in with you," he declares, changing lanes. "I don't care what HIPAA says."

"They'd never allow that," you say, though the thought is oddly comforting. "It's a private examination."

"Then I'll become a gynecologist," he retorts. "How hard can it be? Look at vaginas, tell people they're healthy, go home."

"I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that," you laugh, the tension finally beginning to ease. "And I'd rather you didn't look at other vaginas all day, professional or not."

He smirks at that. "Just yours then?"

"Just mine," you confirm, reaching over to rest your hand on his thigh. "But if you start calling it 'my vagina' in a clinical voice, I'm breaking up with you."

"Noted," he says, covering your hand with his. "So what do you want to eat? My treat for being a trooper. We can hit that burger joint you love."

The thought of sitting in a noisy restaurant, surrounded by people, suddenly feels exhausting. "Actually," you say, "can we just go home? I don't want to be around people right now. I just want to collapse on the couch and not move for a week."

Bakugou glances at you, his expression softening. "Yeah, of course. Home it is. What do you want me to make you?"

"You don't have to cook," you protest weakly. "We can order something."

"No way," he shakes his head firmly. "You're not eating takeout after what you've been through. I'm making you something. How about that creamy mushroom soup you like?"

Your stomach rumbles at the thought. "God, yes. That sounds perfect."

"Okay," he nods, taking a different turn toward home. "And then I'm giving you that massage I promised."

"You're too good to me," you murmur, leaning your head against the window.

"Nah," he disagrees. "Just taking care of what's mine."

When you arrive home, he helps you out of the car, his arm steady around your waist. "Easy does it," he says as you wince slightly while walking. "Don't want to aggravate the traumatized cervix."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" you ask with a small smile.

"Not a chance," he grins, unlocking the front door. "Now go change into your comfiest pajamas while I get started on that soup."

You do as he says, changing into a soft fleece set that feels like being hugged by a cloud. When you emerge, the delicious aroma of cooking mushrooms and garlic fills the apartment. Bakugou is standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot, wearing one of your aprons over his clothes.

"Need any help?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"Nope," he says without turning around. "Go lie down on the couch and look pretty. I'll bring it to you when it's ready."

"You don't have to serve me," you protest weakly.

"I want to," he insists, finally turning to face you. "Now go. Before I pick you up and carry you there."

You raise your hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm going."

The couch is as comfortable as you remembered, and you sink into it with a grateful sigh. Within minutes, Bakugou appears with a tray containing a steaming bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a small plate of crackers.

"Careful, it's hot," he warns, setting the tray on the coffee table. "Do you want me to help you sit up?"

"I can manage," you say, pushing yourself into a sitting position. "But thanks."

He watches as you take the first spoonful, his expression anxious. "How is it?"

"Perfect," you murmur around a mouthful of creamy, earthy goodness. "You're a god among cooks."

"I try," he shrugs, sitting beside you. "Eat as much as you want. No pressure to finish it if you're not feeling up to it."

You eat in comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the soup spreading through your body and easing some of the tension. Bakugou just sits there, occasionally adjusting your blanket or refilling your water glass.

"This is really nice," you say when you're about halfway through the bowl. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Always," he says simply, taking your bowl and setting it back on the tray. "Now let's give it a bit before that massage. Don't want you cramping up right after eating."

He settles back on the couch, pulling you gently against his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, your body molding to his. His arm wraps around you, his hand resting on your hip.

"Better?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"Mmm," you hum contentedly. "Much."

His free hand comes up to stroke your hair, fingers gently combing through the strands. "You did good today," he says quietly. "I know that shit isn't easy."

"It wasn't so bad," you lie, nuzzling closer. "Not with you waiting for me."

"Always," he repeats, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. It's not his usual rough, demanding kiss, but something gentler, more tender.

Another kiss follows, this one to your cheek, then your jaw. They're light, almost tentative, as if he's afraid of breaking you. When he reaches your lips, it's just a brush of his mouth against yours, soft and questioning.

You turn your head slightly to deepen the kiss, and he responds immediately, his lips parting slightly. It's still gentle, but with more purpose now, more reassurance. His tongue traces your lower lip before retreating, leaving you wanting more.

"Katsuki," you breathe against his mouth, the name a quiet plea.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes dark with concern. "Too much?"

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Never."

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he leans in again, capturing your lips with more confidence this time. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer without being demanding. The kiss deepens, slow and thorough, tasting of comfort and home.

When he finally breaks away, both of you are breathing a little heavier. He rests his forehead against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Okay," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Massage time. Before I forget my promise."

He helps you shift positions until you're lying face down on the couch, your head resting on a pillow. You hear him move away briefly, returning with a bottle of massage oil. The cap clicks open, and then his warm, oil-slicked hands are on your shoulders.

You can't suppress a groan as his strong fingers work into the knotted muscles of your neck and shoulders. "God, that's good."

"Told you," he says, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Just relax."

He works in silence for several minutes, his touch firm and knowing. He finds every spot of tension and coaxes it loose with a practiced ease that always surprises you. His hands move down your spine, careful and respectful, avoiding the area that's still tender from the exam.

"You're really good at this," you mumble into the pillow, your body melting into the cushions.

"Tch. Of course I am," he scoffs, but there's no real arrogance in it. "I pay attention."

His hands slide lower, working the tension from your lower back. The pressure is perfect, and you feel the last of the day's stress bleeding out of you under his touch.

"Turn over," he says softly, helping you flip onto your back.

His expression is focused as he looks down at you, his gaze sweeping over your face. He doesn't move to continue the massage immediately. Instead, he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch impossibly gentle.

"You're beautiful," he says, the words gruff but sincere.

A warmth that has nothing to do with the massage oil spreads through your chest. "Even after my vagina's been 'compromised'?"

"Especially after," he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're tough. I like that."

His hands return to your shoulders, moving to the front now. His thumbs press gentle circles into your collarbones, then down your arms. When he reaches your hands, he takes them in his, massaging each finger with careful attention.

"You don't have to—" you start to say, but he cuts you off.

"I want to," he insists, his gaze locking with yours. "Every part of you."

He continues his ministrations, moving to your legs and feet. By the time he's finished, you're boneless and relaxed, floating on a cloud of contentment.

"Better?" he asks, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Perfect," you sigh, reaching for him. "Now come here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He stretches out beside you, pulling you against his chest. You nestle into him, breathing in his familiar scent of caramel and smoke.

"I love you," you murmur, already half asleep.

His arms tighten around you. "Love you too. Now rest. I've got you."

And as you drift off, safe in his embrace, you realize that despite the uncomfortable procedure, the violation of stirrups and speculums, you've never felt more cherished.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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The bed shifts as he lies down behind you, maintaining a careful distance between your bodies. The warmth of his presence contradicts the coldness still lingering between you.

"Look," he starts again after a long silence, "I was an asshole. What I said about your training methods… that was out of line."

You flinch at the memory. He'd criticized your hero work in front of his agency colleagues, suggesting you were too reckless, too emotional. The humiliation had burned almost as hot as your anger.

"I know I hurt you," he continues softly. "And I'm sorry. Not just for saying it in front of them, but for thinking it in the first place. That was shitty of me."

You risk a glance over your shoulder. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, you can see the sincerity etched on his features. This is the Bakugou only you ever see—unguarded, vulnerable.

"I don't want to sleep in different rooms," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't. Not after… not knowing we're okay."

His hand hovers over your arm before making contact, tentative and gentle. "Please talk to me."

When you remain silent, he shifts closer, the space between you shrinking until his chest is nearly against your back.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me right now," he continues. "Just… don't shut me out completely. I hate this more than fighting with villains."

You feel his breath against your neck, warm and steady. "Remember when we first started dating and I'd stay over? You told me you couldn't sleep well alone after growing up with all those siblings."

The memory catches you off guard. It had been one of those rare, quiet moments when you'd shared something vulnerable, and he'd actually listened without making some explosive remark.

"I know you," he says, his thumb stroking your arm softly. "I know you're lying there feeling miserable, thinking about everything I said. And I know that even though you're pissed at me, you don't want to be alone either."

His arm carefully wraps around your waist, not pulling, just resting there. "We can talk more tomorrow. Or the day after. Whatever you need. But tonight… just let me hold you."

When you still don't respond, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Please," he whispers, and there's that crack in his voice that always undoes you. "I'll sleep on the floor if you want, but I'm not leaving this room. I can't go to sleep knowing we're like this."

Slowly, deliberately, you roll over to face him. His eyes are wide, hopeful, and filled with something that looks remarkably like fear.

"You were really out of line, Katsuki," you say, your voice hoarse from disuse.

"I know," he agrees immediately. "Really fucking out of line."

"You embarrassed me."

His expression tightens. "I know. I'll make it right. I'll talk to them tomorrow. Tell them I was wrong."

"You need to understand that my methods work for me," you continue, your anger still present but tempered by his vulnerability.

"They do," he nods. "You're an amazing hero. I was being an arrogant prick. Jealous, probably."

Your eyebrows raise at that admission.

"You get results faster than I did at your age," he explains. "And I'm proud as hell of you. I just… I don't always know how to say that without sounding like an ass."

A small smile touches your lips despite yourself. "That's the understatement of the century."

His own lips curve slightly in response. "Yeah, well…"

He shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. "Can I…?"

You nod slightly, and he immediately pulls you flush against his chest, burying his face in your hair. The familiar scent of caramel and something uniquely Bakugou surrounds you.

"I love you," he murmurs against your scalp. "Even when we fight like dumbasses."

"Love you too," you whisper back, feeling the tension finally begin to drain from your body. "Even when you're an arrogant prick."

He chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest. "Fair enough."

For a while, you just lie there, the silence now comfortable rather than charged. His hand traces patterns on your back, slow and soothing.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow," he says quietly. "I promise. We'll talk about everything—boundaries, professional respect, all of it."

"Okay," you agree, nuzzling closer.

His grip tightens possessively. "Mine," he growls softly, though there's no aggression in it—just pure, unfiltered contentment.

"Yours," you confirm, pressing a kiss to his chest.

"Good," he sighs. "Now try to sleep. Both of us have patrol early tomorrow."

As your breathing begins to even out, you feel him press another kiss to your forehead.

"Night," he whispers.

"Night, Katsuki."

The argument isn't resolved, not completely. But as you drift off in his arms, you know that whatever comes tomorrow, you'll face it together. And for now, that's enough.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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“You’re late,” he said as you approached, though his tone was more teasing than annoyed.

“Fashionably,” you replied, taking the arm he offered. “I had to make an entrance.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You look… incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you countered, though your heart was pounding at the intensity of his gaze.

The evening passed in a blur of polite conversation, champagne, and forced smiles. You played your part perfectly—charming, intelligent, the perfect companion for Japan’s #5 Hero. But beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of desire, a secret that only the two of you shared.

Every time his hand brushed against the small of your back, you felt a jolt of electricity. Every time he leaned in to whisper something in your ear, you had to fight the urge to turn your head and capture his lips with yours. And when he rested his hand on your thigh, his fingers inching higher under the table, you had to suppress a gasp.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured during a brief moment alone between conversations. “The PR team would be proud.”

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, though your voice was slightly breathless.

“Is that all this is?” he asked, his eyes dark with meaning.

“What else would it be?” you challenged, though you knew exactly what he was implying.

Before he could respond, you were approached by a tall, handsome man with a friendly smile. “Dynamight-san, it’s an honor to meet you,” he said, bowing slightly. “I’m Kenji Tanaka, CEO of Tanaka Industries.”

Katsuki’s expression immediately shifted back to his professional persona, though his hand remained possessively on your thigh. “Tanaka-san. A pleasure.”

“I was hoping we could discuss a potential partnership,” Kenji continued, his eyes briefly flickering to you before returning to Katsuki. “My company is developing new safety equipment for heroes, and I'd love to get your input.”

As the two men discussed business, you found your attention wandering. Kenji was charming, certainly, and handsome in a conventional way. But he didn't hold a candle to Katsuki—the raw intensity, the barely contained energy, the dangerous edge that made your heart race.

“…and this is my secretary,” Katsuki was saying, drawing you back into the conversation. “She’s been instrumental in organizing our recent initiatives.”

“Ah,” Kenji said, turning his full attention to you. “A pleasure to meet you. You must be incredibly capable to handle someone as… demanding as Dynamight-san.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “He has his moments,” you said, your tone light but with an undercurrent of meaning that only Katsuki would understand.

Kenji laughed. “Modest too. I admire that.” He paused, then added, “I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime, to properly thank you for your hard work.”

You were taken aback by his directness, but before you could respond, Katsuki’s hand tightened on your thigh. “She’s a bit busy for that,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But I appreciate the offer.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent battle of wills that you found yourself in the middle of. Kenji, sensing he’d overstepped, quickly excused himself, leaving you alone with Katsuki once again.

“Was that necessary?” you asked, though you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessiveness.

“He was hitting on you,” Katsuki growled, his eyes narrowing. “Right in front of me.”

“So?” you challenged. “It’s not like we’re actually dating.”

“Aren’t we?” he asked, turning to face you fully. “You come to my office, we fuck, you come to events with me as my date… what would you call it?”

“A complicated mess,” you replied honestly.

He laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Can’t argue with that.”

Before the conversation could continue, you were approached by a reporter from a major hero magazine. “Dynamight-san! A moment of your time?”

Katsuki’s expression immediately soured, but he plastered on a fake smile for the cameras. “Of course.”

The interview was a masterclass in diplomacy—Katsuki answered each question with practiced ease, his responses carefully crafted to maintain his public image while still sounding authentic. You stood by his side, a silent, supportive presence, though you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at how well he handled himself.

“And who is this lovely lady?” the reporter asked, turning her attention to you.

“This is my secretary,” Katsuki said, his arm wrapping around your waist. “She’s been invaluable to me and the agency.”

The reporter’s eyes widened slightly at the possessive gesture, but she didn’t comment. “A pleasure to meet you. You must be incredibly proud to work so closely with Japan’s #5 Hero.”

“I am,” you said, your smile genuine. “He’s… dedicated to his work.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Katsuki muttered under his breath, though only you could hear.

After the interview, you managed to escape the main ballroom, finding refuge on a secluded balcony overlooking the city. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stuffy ballroom, the lights of Musutafu stretching out before you like a carpet of stars.

"You handled that well," Katsuki said, coming up behind you and resting his hands on your shoulders.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, though you leaned into his touch.

“Is that all it is?” he asked, his voice low in your ear. “Just part of the job?”

You turned to face him, your bodies inches apart. “What do you want it to be, Katsuki?”

His eyes searched yours, looking for something you weren’t sure you were ready to give. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “But I know I don’t want you going out with other men.”

“Like Kenji Tanaka?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice.

“Especially not Kenji Tanaka,” he growled, his hands moving to cup your face. “You’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver through you, a potent mix of arousal and unease. “Yours?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mine,” he confirmed, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

This was different from your usual encounters—more deliberate, more intentional. It wasn’t just about lust or release; it was about claiming, about marking territory. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his hands pulling you flush against him as if he could absorb you into his very being. And damn if you didn’t love every second of it.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. “We should probably get back inside,” you said, though you made no move to leave.

“Probably,” he agreed, his forehead resting against yours. “But I don’t want to.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

For a moment, you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the city lights twinkling below. The reality of your situation was settling in—this wasn’t just a fling, not anymore. It was something more, something complicated and messy and potentially dangerous.

But as you stood there, with his arms around you and his lips still tingling on yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the consequences. All that mattered was this—this moment, this connection, this impossible, infuriating, and utterly captivating man.

“We should go,” you said finally, pulling away slightly. “Before they send out a search party.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest. “Let them wonder.”

But you knew he was right. With a sigh, you straightened his tie and smoothed down your gown. “Ready to face the masses?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, offering you his arm.

As you walked back into the ballroom, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you. The lines had been redrawn, the boundaries pushed even further. And as you caught sight of Kenji Tanaka watching you from across the room, a possessive gleam in his eye, you knew that this was only the beginning of something much more complicated than you’d ever anticipated.

But for now, you were content to play your part, to be the perfect companion to Japan’s #5 Hero, all while knowing that when the night was over, you’d be going home with him. Not to your apartment, not to a hotel, but to his home. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

The rest of the gala passed in a haze of forced smiles and polite conversation. Every time you caught Katsuki’s eye across the room, there was a silent promise in his gaze—a promise of what was to come. By the time you were saying your goodbyes, your body was humming with anticipation.

The car ride to his place was silent, thick with unspoken desire. The partition was up, separating you from the driver, leaving you alone in the dim leather interior with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and the weight of his gaze. He didn't speak, but his hand found yours in the dark, his thumb tracing slow, agonizing patterns over your pulse point. When his hand slid from your wrist to your knee, tugging your legs apart so he could rest his palm high on your inner thigh, you let out a shuddering breath. He didn't push further—he just held you there, a promise of what was to come.

He lived in a high-end penthouse in one of Musutafu’s most exclusive neighborhoods, with panoramic views of the city skyline. He led you inside with a hand on the small of your back. You couldn’t help but be impressed by the space—sleek, modern, minimalist, but with touches of warmth that hinted at the man behind the hero persona.

“Drink?” he asked, his voice rough as he loosened his tie.

“I’ve had enough champagne for one night,” you replied, your eyes meeting his across the room. “But I could use something else.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I think I can arrange that.”

He closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on your waist. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight,” he murmured, his lips finding that sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Hmm… I wonder…” you gasped as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. “The way you kept looking at me… the way your hand kept ‘accidentally’ brushing against my ass…”

“It wasn’t accidental,” he growled, his hands sliding down to cup your ass. “And when Tanaka was looking at you like you were a piece of meat… I wanted to drag you out of there and fuck you in the back of the car.”

“Why didn’t you?” you challenged, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck.

“Because I have more self-control than that,” he replied, though his voice was strained. “Mostly.”

With that, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. His hands roamed over your body, mapping your curves through the silk of your gown.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he murmured against your lips. “About you, in this dress… about what's underneath.”

“Then maybe you should find out,” you suggested, your hands working to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Instead of answering, he spun you around, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress. He slowly lowered it, his lips trailing kisses down your spine as the fabric parted. When the dress pooled at your feet, you stood before him in nothing but your black lace bra, panties, and the stilettos.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes raking over your naked body. “Turn around.”

You complied, turning to face him. His gaze was intense, predatory, and it sent a familiar thrill straight through you.

“I remember telling you to keep those on once,” he murmured, stepping forward so his chest brushed yours. “But right now, I want you exactly how I want you. No games, no commands.”

He knelt. The sight of Japan’s #5 Hero dropping to his knees before you made your breath catch. He carefully unlatched the ankle straps of your stilettos, sliding them off one by one, placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle as he did. Then, standing, he swept you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you through the apartment to his bedroom.

He laid you down on his king-sized bed, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a canopy of stars. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you. His eyes were dark with desire, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Then, he began to undress, slowly, deliberately. His jacket and shirt were the first to go, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the rippling muscles of his abdomen. Next came his shoes and socks, then his trousers and boxers.

When he was finally naked before you, you couldn't help but stare. He was magnificent—powerful, muscular, with scars that told stories of battles fought and won. His cock stood at attention, thick and hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“I’ve seen better,” you retorted, though your voice was shaky.

“Liar,” he chuckled, joining you on the bed. “But I like your spirit.”

Instead of positioning himself over you, as you expected, he settled between your legs, his hands parting your thighs. His eyes were fixed on your wet folds, his expression one of pure, unadulterated hunger.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Shh,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edges of your panties. “Let me take care of you.”

With that, he hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs. His lips followed the path of his fingers, placing kisses on your inner thighs, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. When he finally reached his destination, you were already trembling with anticipation.

His first lick was slow, deliberate, a broad stroke of his tongue that sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair.

He responded by burying his face deeper, his tongue exploring every inch of your wet folds. He was relentless, his movements confident and practiced, as if he’d been doing this for years. And maybe he had—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building in your core.

Your legs wrapped around his head, your thighs squeezing tight against his ears. The desperate press of your bare feet against his back didn’t deter him—if anything, it spurred him on, his tongue moving faster, more insistently.

“Katsuki,” you moaned, your hips bucking against his face. “Don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping. He was a man possessed, his sole focus on bringing you to the edge and pushing you over. His fingers joined his tongue, sliding inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot that made you see stars.

The tension in your core was almost unbearable now, a tight coil of pleasure waiting to spring. His tongue found your clit, circling it before sucking it into his mouth. That was all it took to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure so intense they left you shaking. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, your back arching off the bed as you cried out his name. But he didn’t stop. He continued to lick and suck, drawing out your pleasure, pushing you toward another peak before you'd even come down from the first.

“Fuck, Katsuki,” you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Too much…”

“Not enough,” he growled against your clit, his fingers still working inside you.

The second orgasm was even more intense than the first, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you breathless and trembling. By the time he finally lifted his head, his face glistening with your juices, you were a boneless, sated mess.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You taste incredible.”

You could only moan in response, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. He moved up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a heady, intimate flavor that only fueled your desire.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured against your lips, positioning himself at your entrance. “Not by a long shot.”

With that, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back. “You feel so good.”

“You feel better,” he retorted, his hips beginning to move, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. “So tight… Fuck–”

“I know,” you gasped, your legs locking tight around his waist, your thighs pulling him flush against you.

The pace was frantic, desperate, a raw, primal need that had been building all night. Each stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, building the tension in your core higher and higher. His hands roamed over your body, one cupping your breast while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss.

“Say my name,” he growled, his teeth nipping at your lip. “Come on, say it.”

“Katsu–” you gasped, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. “Fuck—Katsuki!”

The possessiveness in his tone, the raw hunger in his eyes, the way he claimed your body as his own—it was intoxicating, overwhelming, utterly irresistible. You knew this was just sex, nothing more, but in that moment, it felt like so much more.

His hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. That was all it took to push you over the edge again. Your third orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure so intense they left you shaking and sobbing. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he found his own release, spilling inside you with a guttural groan of your name.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, panting and sweaty, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath of your shared ecstasy. His weight was a comforting pressure on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Finally, he rolled off you, collapsing onto the bed beside you. The cool air of the room hit your sweat-slicked skin, and you shivered. Without a word, he pulled the duvet over both of you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

You lay there in silence, the city lights twinkling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sound of your breathing gradually returning to normal. The reality of what you'd just done, of where you were, slowly started to sink in. This wasn’t his office, a place you could escape from when the sun rose. This was his home, his private sanctuary, and you were in his bed.

“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice rough in the quiet room.

“I’m processing,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been… a night.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest. “That’s one way to put it.”

You turned to face him, your head propped on your hand. “Do you bring all your secretaries home, or am I special?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re special,” he admitted, his hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. “You know that.”

“I do,” you agreed, though your heart was pounding at the admission. “But it’s nice to hear it.”

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “The way you challenge me, the way you talk back, the way you look at me like you’re not afraid of me…”

“Because I’m not,” you said softly. “You're loud and arrogant and demanding, but you’re not scary.”

“Maybe not to you,” he replied, his eyes darkening. “But to everyone else…”

“They don’t know you like I do,” you countered, your fingers tracing the scars on his chest.

“And how do you know me?” he asked, though his tone was more curious than challenging.

“I know you’re a perfectionist because you’re terrified of failure,” you said, your voice quiet but sure. “I know you push people away because you’re scared of letting them get too close. I know you act like an asshole because it's easier than showing them you care.”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You see too much,” he finally said, his voice rough.

“Maybe,” you replied, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. “Or maybe I see exactly what you want me to see.”

Instead of answering, he captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different from the frantic, desperate kisses you’d shared earlier—this one was tender, almost gentle, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. “Stay the night,” he said, though it sounded more like a command than a request.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” you replied, though you made no move to leave.

“You always have a choice,” he countered, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. “But I’d like it if you stayed.”

“I’d like that too,” you admitted, your head resting on his chest.

The silence that followed was comfortable, intimate. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting sound that lulled you into a state of drowsy contentment.

“What happens after this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We go back to the office,” he replied, his fingers stroking your hair. “We bicker, we argue, we drive each other insane.”

“And tonight?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“Tonight we’re here,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “Just us.”

You drifted off to sleep in his arms, the city lights twinkling outside the window, the weight of his body next to yours a comforting presence. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of rightness, as if you’d finally found where you belonged.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Unprofessional Conduct Pt.1

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Archive of Our Own: angel2hven

You discovered things about him, things that had nothing to do with hero work or quarterly reports. You learned the exact spot behind his ear that made him shudder, the way his breath hitched when you raked your nails down his back, and the low, guttural sounds he made when he was close to the edge. He, in turn, seemed to be memorizing every inch of you, learning what made you gasp, what made you beg, what made you scream his name.

And then there was the thing with the heels.

It was late, nearly midnight, and the only sounds in the vast office space were the hum of the servers and the distant wail of a siren. You were in his office, finalizing the guest list for the gala. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that had become your new normal.

"That's the last of them," you said, closing your laptop. The final click echoed in the quiet room.

Katsuki leaned back in his desk chair, his red eyes fixed on you. "Good. Come here."

You didn't hesitate, rising from your seat and walking around the large mahogany desk to stand before him. His gaze was intense, predatory, and it sent a familiar thrill straight through you.

"You've been driving me insane all day," he said, his voice a low rumble. "That skirt, the way you kept biting your lip when you were concentrating..."

"It's called working," you retorted, but your voice was breathless.

"Is it?" he asked, his hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. "Or is it teasing?"

"Maybe a little of both," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.

He chuckled, a sound that never failed to make your stomach clench. "Strip for me," he commanded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Your heart pounded in your chest. This was new. Usually, your encounters were frantic, clothes torn in a rush to get to each other. This felt deliberate, intentional.

You took a step back, giving yourself space. Your fingers went to the buttons of your blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. His eyes followed your every movement, dark with hunger as more of your skin was revealed. You let the blouse slide from your shoulders, pooling on the floor.

Next was your skirt. You turned around, giving him a view of your back as you slowly unzipped it, shimmying it down your hips until it fell around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad only in your matching black lace bra and panties, and the stilettos you'd worn to work.

You turned back to face him, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. As it fell away, his breath hitched. You hooked your thumbs into the sides of your panties, about to slide them down, when he spoke again.

"Stop," he said, his voice rough.

Your hands froze. "What?"

"The heels," he said, his eyes raking over your naked body. "Leave them on."

A shiver, sharp and electric, ran through your entire body. It was the possessiveness in his tone, the specific, focused desire that was so much more potent than a simple command to strip. He didn't just want you naked; he wanted this version of you—professional exterior stripped away, leaving only the sharp, dangerous points of your heels.

You didn't question it. You simply hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them. Now you stood before him, completely naked except for the black stilettos that made your legs seem impossibly long.

"Fuck," he breathed, his gaze burning into you. "Come here."

You walked toward him, the click of your heels on the marble floor the only sound in the room. He reached for you, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the smooth leather of the chair.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands roamed over your body, one cupping your breast while the other slid down your back to grip your ass.

"I think I'm starting to get an idea," you gasped as his teeth nipped at your collarbone.

His other hand moved between your legs, his fingers sliding through your wet folds. "Already so wet for me," he said, his voice smug. "Did you like that? Being told what to do?"

"Maybe," you admitted, your hips rocking against his hand.

"Maybe?" he challenged, his thumb brushing against your clit. "I think it's more than maybe. I think you liked it a lot."

You couldn't deny it. There was something incredibly arousing about the way he looked at you, the raw desire in his eyes, the possessive way he touched you. And the heels—it was a specific kink, one you'd never encountered before, but one that was surprisingly potent.

"Tell me," he demanded, his fingers teasing your entrance. "Tell me you liked it."

"I liked it," you breathed, your head falling back. "I liked you telling me to keep the heels on."

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. Then he shifted you, lifting you slightly as he freed his hard cock from his trousers. "Now ride me."

You needed no further encouragement. You positioned yourself over him, sinking down onto his thick length with a moan. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

You began to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, his eyes fixed on the point where your bodies joined. The stilettos gave you leverage, allowing you to rise and fall on his cock with an ease that was almost intoxicating.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head falling back against the chair. "You look so good like this. So fucking perfect."

You leaned forward, your hands bracing on the back of the chair as you increased your pace. The new angle allowed him to hit that perfect spot inside you with each thrust, building the tension in your core higher and higher.

"Harder," he demanded, his hands tightening on your hips. "Take all of me."

You complied, riding him harder, faster, the sound of your moans mingling with his guttural groans. The city lights blurred behind him, the world outside ceasing to exist as you lost yourself in the sensation.

His hand moved between your bodies again, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. That was all it took to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure so intense they left you shaking. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he found his own release, spilling inside you with a hoarse cry of your name.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, your forehead resting against his, both of you panting and sweaty. The reality of what you'd just done, of what you'd been doing for weeks, slowly started to sink in.

"We should probably stop doing this," you said, though you made no move to get off his lap.

"Probably," he agreed, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "But we won't."

"No," you sighed, burying your face in his neck. "We won't."

Because the truth was, you didn't want to stop. You didn't want to go back to the way things were before, when the tension between you was just frustration and annoyance. Now, it was something else entirely—something dangerous, addictive, and utterly irresistible.

As you sat there, wrapped in his arms, the city lights twinkling outside, you knew you were in deep. And for the first time, you wondered if this was just about sex, or if there was something more brewing between you and your impossible, infuriating, and utterly captivating boss.

But that was a thought for another day. Tonight, you were content to stay in his arms, your heels still on, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of his office.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Unprofessional Conduct Pt.1

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"By two minutes," you replied evenly, placing the files on his desk. "Traffic was heavier than usual."

"Excuses," he scoffed, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. "Where's my coffee?"

"On its way. I told Hana to make it extra hot today, just how you like it."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Don't tell me what I like. You've been my secretary for eight months, you should know by now."

"I do know," you countered, refusing to back down. "That's why I said it."

His eyes flashed with something—annoyance, maybe even grudging respect. "The reports from last quarter?"

"Right here." You tapped the stack of files. "All organized, highlighted, and summarized as per your ridiculously specific instructions."

Bakugou moved behind his desk, sinking into his leather chair. "Ridiculously specific? That's how we maintain perfection around here."

"Or how we maintain a 90% employee turnover rate," you muttered under your breath, but not quietly enough.

"What was that?" he growled, leaning forward.

"Nothing," you said smoothly. "Just admiring how efficiently you run things."

For a moment, you thought he might actually smile—almost. Instead, he just nodded curtly. "Good. Now get me the meeting schedule for this afternoon. And remind me why I agreed to that charity gala next week."

"You didn't agree," you replied, already pulling up your tablet. "Your PR director signed you up before consulting you, and now you're contractually obligated."

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Handle it."

"That's why you pay me the big bucks," you said with a hint of sarcasm.

"If you were paid based on attitude alone, you'd be bankrupt," he shot back.

"And if you were judged solely on people skills, you'd be working at a convenience store."

The tension in the room thickened, the familiar push and pull between you hanging in the air. This was how it always went—sharp remarks, barely veiled hostility, but beneath it all, a grudging acknowledgment of competence.

Just then, his private line rang. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. "Dynamight."

As he spoke, you took the opportunity to really look at him. Bakugou was undeniably attractive, in an intense, almost dangerous way. The hero costume did little to hide his muscular build, but in a suit, he was something else entirely—powerful, commanding, every inch the man who had fought his way to the top.

"…no, that's not acceptable," he was saying into the phone, his voice low and dangerous. "I want the full security detail reevaluated by tomorrow morning. If there's another breach like last week, heads will roll."

You shifted uncomfortably, remembering the incident he was referring to—a villain attack at a public appearance that had nearly turned disastrous. Bakugou had handled it with his usual explosive efficiency, but the aftermath had been hell for everyone at the agency.

"Fine," he said abruptly, ending the call. "Fucking idiots."

"Security issues?" you asked, already making a note to follow up with the security team.

"None of your concern," he snapped. "Just do your job and stay out of mine."

"That's hard to do when your job keeps spilling into mine," you retorted before you could stop yourself.

His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when you're in a bad mood, the entire office suffers. And when you're in a bad mood, which is most of the time, I'm the one who has to deal with the fallout."

Bakugou stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Maybe if you did your job right the first time, there wouldn't be any fallout."

"Maybe if you weren't such an insufferable perfectionist, people would actually want to work for you," you shot back, your voice rising slightly.

The air crackled with tension, his eyes blazing with anger. But then something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something else, something darker and more complicated.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Talking to me like that."

"Someone has to," you replied, your heart pounding. "Everyone else is too scared."

He took a step closer, and you fought the urge to back away. "And you're not?"

"Should I be?" you challenged, meeting his gaze directly.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a short, harsh sound that held no real humor.

"Fuck," he said, running a hand through his hair again. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

"I believe in honest communication," you said, trying to regain your professional composure.

"Is that what you call it?" he asked, moving around his desk to stand closer to you. "I'd call it insubordination."

"I'd call it setting boundaries," you countered, though your voice was less steady now that he was so close. You could smell his cologne—something spicy and expensive that suited him entirely.

"Boundaries," he repeated, as if testing the word. "Interesting choice of words from someone who crossed the line the moment she walked through that door."

Before you could respond, his phone rang again. With a frustrated sigh, he turned away to answer it, giving you a moment to collect yourself. Your heart was racing, your palms slightly sweaty. What the hell was that?

As Bakugou dealt with the call, you took the opportunity to escape. "I'll go check on your coffee," you said, already moving toward the door.

"Don't bother," he said without turning around. "I've got a meeting in ten. Just reschedule my afternoon."

Without another word, you slipped out of the office, closing the heavy door behind you and leaning against it for support. What had just happened? The tension between you had always been there, but this felt different—charged, dangerous, almost intimate.

Shaking your head, you straightened up and walked back to your desk. You had a job to do, and getting flustered over your boss's mood swings wasn't part of it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. Bakugou was in and out of the office, leaving you to handle the chaos he left in his wake. It wasn't until late afternoon that things finally quieted down.

You were reviewing the final draft of a press release when your desk phone rang. It was Bakugou's private line.

"Dynamight's office," you answered professionally.

"Get in here," he said, and then hung up without another word.

With a sigh, you saved your work and headed to his office. When you entered, you found him standing by the window again, looking out at the city below.

"You wanted to see me?" you asked, keeping your voice neutral.

He turned, and you were struck again by how imposing he was—tall, muscular, with an intensity that seemed to fill the room.

"The charity gala next week," he said, walking toward his desk. "I need you to attend with me."

You blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"As my date," he clarified, as if it were the most normal request in the world. "The PR team thinks it'll look good—humanize me or some bullshit."

You stared at him, certain you must have misheard. "You want me to attend a charity gala with you? As your date?"

"Is there an echo in here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, that's what I said."

"But… why me?" you asked, genuinely confused. "Surely one of the PR representatives would be more appropriate."

"Because I don't want to deal with some simpering idiot who's going to agree with everything I say," he replied, his eyes fixed on yours. "I want someone who'll actually tell me if I'm being an asshole."

You couldn't help it—you laughed. "You want me to be your date so I can tell you when you're being an asshole?"

A small smile touched his lips. "Something like that."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," you said, trying to regain your professional composure. "It could blur the lines of our professional relationship."

"Professional relationship?" he scoffed, stepping closer. "Is that what you call this constant bickering? The way you challenge every damn thing I say?"

"It's called doing my job properly," you retorted, though your heart was starting to pound again. "Which includes giving you honest feedback when you're being unreasonable."

"Is that all it is?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "Just doing your job?"

"What else would it be?" you challenged, though you had a sinking feeling you knew where this was going.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between you, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual brusque manner.

"You drive me insane," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Always have, from the moment you walked in here for your interview and told me my expectations were 'ridiculously high'."

"You were asking for a secretary with ten years of experience and fluency in three languages for an entry-level salary," you reminded him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"And you were the only one with the balls to call me on it," he countered, his eyes darkening. "Do you have any idea how many secretaries I've gone through in the past two years? None of them lasted more than a few weeks."

"Because you're impossible to work with," you said, though the words lacked their usual conviction.

"Or maybe because they were all scared of me," he suggested, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. "But you're not, are you?"

You should have pulled away. You should have reminded him of workplace policies and professional boundaries. But instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your body responding in ways your mind was screaming against.

"I'm not scared of you," you admitted, your eyes locked with his. "I just think you're an arrogant, demanding, insufferable—"

Whatever you were about to say was cut off as his lips crashed down on yours. The kiss was nothing like you would have expected from Bakugou—it wasn't gentle or tentative. It was hungry, demanding, almost punishing, as if he were trying to prove a point.

Your hands, which had been hanging limply at your sides, came up to grip his shoulders. The fabric of his suit was expensive and smooth under your fingers, but you could feel the hard muscle beneath. His hands tightened on your body, one sliding down to cup your ass while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. His red eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from the kiss.

"This is a terrible idea," you said, even as you leaned in for more.

"The worst," he agreed, before capturing your lips again.

This time, the kiss was slower, more exploratory. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before delving inside, and you met him stroke for stroke. The knot of tension that had been forming in your stomach for months was finally unraveling, replaced by a heat that spread through your entire body.

His hands roamed over your body, mapping your curves through the fabric of your clothes. When his thumb brushed against the side of your breast, you gasped into his mouth, arching into his touch.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips. "You're so responsive."

"Only when I want to be," you retorted, though your breathless tone undermined the defiance in your words.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest. "Is that right?"

To prove his point, his hand moved from your hip to between your legs, cupping you through your pencil skirt. You couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips as his thumb pressed against your clit, even through the layers of fabric.

"Still only responding when you want to be?" he asked, his voice smug.

"Shut up," you gasped, grinding against his hand.

"Make me," he challenged, his lips finding that sensitive spot behind your ear.

You responded by fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, your fingers clumsy with desire. When you finally managed to undo them all, you pushed the fabric aside, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest. He was even more muscular than you'd imagined, his skin hot to the touch.

Your fingers found his nipples, and you rolled them between your thumbs and forefingers, enjoying the way he hissed in response. Two could play at this game.

"Fuck," he muttered, his hips bucking against yours. "You're playing with fire."

"I'm not afraid of getting burned," you replied, though your voice was shaky.

He responded by picking you up as if you weighed nothing, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carried you to his desk, sweeping aside the neatly stacked files with one arm before setting you down on the polished wood.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said, his hands moving to the zipper of your skirt.

"Promise?" you asked, your voice laced with sarcasm and desire.

Instead of answering, he captured your lips again in a bruising kiss as he removed your skirt and panties in one smooth motion. The cool air of the office hit your heated skin, and you shivered despite the warmth spreading through your body.

His fingers found your wet folds, sliding through them with practiced ease. "Already so wet for me," he murmured against your lips.

"It's the air conditioning," you retorted, though your arching hips betrayed you.

He laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you. "Always so defiant."

"Always," you agreed, your hands working to unbuckle his belt.

When his pants were undone, you reached inside, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He was thick and heavy in your hand, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. You stroked him slowly, enjoying the way his breath hitched.

"Fuck," he muttered, his hips thrusting into your hand. "You're good at that."

"I'm good at everything," you replied, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head.

He captured your hand, stopping your movements. "Not so fast," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to be inside you when I come."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Instead of answering, he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the head of his cock. You tried to push down, to take him inside you, but his hands on your hips held you in place.

"Bakugou," you whined, your patience wearing thin.

"Katsuki," he corrected, his voice rough. "When I'm inside you, you'll call me Katsuki."

With that, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back.

"Too much?" he asked, though he didn't move, giving you time to adjust.

"No," you managed to say. "Just… move."

He needed no further encouragement. He began to thrust, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. Each stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, building the tension in your core higher and higher.

"You feel so good," he muttered, his lips finding your neck. "So tight, so wet."

"Harder," you demanded, your legs tightening around his waist.

He complied, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his release. His hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles.

That was all it took to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he found his own release, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, panting and sweaty, the reality of what you'd just done slowly sinking in. Then, Bakugou—Katsuki—pulled out, adjusting his clothes as if nothing had happened.

You slid off the desk, your legs slightly shaky as you reached for your discarded clothes. The silence in the office was deafening, broken only by the sound of zippers and rustling fabric.

"That was…" you started, but you didn't know how to finish.

"A mistake?" he suggested, though his tone was unreadable.

"Probably," you agreed, though you couldn't bring yourself to regret it.

He watched as you dressed, his expression thoughtful. "The charity gala next week," he said finally. "Are you still coming with me?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Are you still paying me overtime?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Double time–no, make it triple," he offered.

"Deal," you said, though you knew you were making another mistake. A delicious, dangerous mistake that you had a feeling you'd be making again and again.

As you walked out of his office, you could feel his eyes on you, and you wondered what you had just gotten yourself into. Whatever it was, you had a feeling it was going to be complicated, messy, and utterly irresistible.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Unprofessional Conduct Pt.2

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You didn’t hesitate—you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, placing your bags at your feet before shutting the door. The leather seat hugged your thighs, and the car still smelled like his cologne. You turned to him with a grin. “You could’ve texted me. I would've waited.”

“Tch.” He pulled away from the curb smoothly, glancing at you once before fixing his eyes on the road. “You should’ve called me. I don’t like you running around and buying shit without me.”

Your brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was low, controlled, but edged with annoyance. “Don’t use your own money for that crap. You want something? You tell me. I’ll buy it.”

You shifted in your seat, crossing your legs, the hem of your skirt riding up just a little. “Maybe I wanted to treat myself.”

“You got me for that,” he muttered, turning down a quieter street. “What’d you even buy?”

You hesitated for a beat—then smiled with that dangerous, sweet-lipped mischief that always meant trouble. “Just a couple things. Two new lingerie sets I think you’ll like.” You watched him from the corner of your eye, waiting for his reaction. “And some new toys.”

The gearshift clicked a little too sharply as his hand tightened around it. His eyes flicked to you, slow, disbelieving. “Toys?” he repeated, tone flat.

“Mmhm.” You tried not to laugh at his expression, leaning back in your seat like you’d just told him you bought a candle. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to add something new to the bedroom.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking as he kept his attention on the road. For a moment, he didn’t say anything at all.

Then, through clenched teeth: “You think you need toys when I’m right fuckin’ here?”

You bit back a smirk, tilting your head just enough to let your hair fall over your shoulder. “I don’t need them,” You said casually. “I just wanted to try them.”

That was a lie. You wanted to see what he'd do.

Katsuki’s hand dropped to your thigh, fingers sliding up slowly, possessive and warning in the same touch. His voice was low, dangerous, laced with offense and something darker.

“Oh, I’ll show you exactly why you don’t.”

Katsuki didn’t say another word after that. He just kept driving, one hand still clamped firmly on your thigh. His thumb stroked slow circles against your skin—a deceptive calm that only made your pulse pound harder.

It was quiet in the car. Quiet enough that you could hear the low rumble of the engine and the faint click of his tongue against his teeth every time he thought about your little “toy” confession. His grip tightened every few minutes, like he was reminding himself not to pull over in the middle of traffic.

Eventually, he turned off the main road and onto a more secluded one. Fewer streetlights. Trees lining both sides. A spot people used to smoke, hook up, or have shady conversations—Katsuki didn’t care which. He picked a dark corner between two empty cars and cut the engine, the headlights going dim.

They sat there for three quiet seconds.

Then he leaned across the console, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you like he was claiming stolen property.

Hot. Rough. Tongue sliding into your mouth before you even gasp. You clutched his shirt, fingers fisting the fabric as he devoured you, his teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper. The sound made him groan low in his chest, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck and drag you closer.

When you finally had to pull away for air, your lips were wet and swollen, breath shaky as you stared at him—eyes glassy, pupils blown wide, skin flushed all the way down your throat.

He didn’t give you time to recover.

“Back seat.” The words were gravel in his throat.

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me.” His voice was calm, almost too calm. “Get in the back.”

You swallowed, thighs clenching. Then you shifted forward, grabbing the back of the passenger seat as you crawled between them, careful not to kick your shopping bags. The soft leather seats creaked as you moved into the spacious backseat and sat up on your knees.

Katsuki followed immediately—pushing the driver’s seat back and climbing over with far less care. The interior lights hadn’t turned on, leaving everything tinted dark except for the subtle glow from the dash.

He shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it aside, and yanked open the first few buttons of his shirt with one hand, exposing the hard lines of his chest and the thin chain resting against his skin.

Before you could say something cocky, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap, settling you straddling his thighs. One hand slid up your back, under your shirt, pushing the fabric higher until the hem reached your collarbones. You weren’t wearing a bra—and the low sound he made when he felt bare skin confirmed he already knew.

“A skirt and no bra,” he muttered darkly, thumbs brushing the soft underside of your tits. “You tryin’ to piss me off today, baby?”

Before you could answer, his mouth was on your chest—tongue hot against your nipple as he sucked hard, leaving spit-slick marks that glistened faintly in the dim light. You arched into him, breathing uneven, hands buried in his hair.

His free hand dragged down your back and around your thigh, pushing your skirt up, bunching it around your hips. His fingers found the edge of your panties and shoved them aside just enough to feel how wet you already were.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dragging his knuckles through your slick folds. “You were this wet the whole drive?”

You bit your lip, eyes lidded. “You were being rude.”

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. Then he guided your hips forward, aligning you over the bulge in his slacks, the heat of him pressing right against where you ached.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he said simply, voice low and final. “Since you’re so eager to replace me with toys.”

Your breath hitched at the challenge in his tone—but you lifted your hips obediently, anticipation dripping off your.

And that’s exactly where shit was about to get filthy.

Katsuki didn’t waste time.

He unzipped his slacks, shoving them low enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and already leaking just from kissing you. He didn’t bother taking them off—he just gripped the base with one hand and guided you down.

The stretch made you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as the head pushed past your entrance. He watched every twitch of your face, every stutter of breath, like he was memorizing each reaction.

“Keep goin’,” he muttered, voice low and strained. “Sit on it.”

You did—slow, sinking inch by inch, your wet warmth taking him in until you were fully seated on his lap. Your skirt was bunched around your waist, shirt pushed up under your arms, breasts pressed to his chest with every breath. The car was silent outside, but in here it was wet heat, fogging glass, and the sound of your sharp inhale when he bottomed out.

Katsuki grabbed your hips with both hands, holding you there, buried to the base. “Look at me.”

You did—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, pupils blown. He groaned when he saw the state of you.

“That toy you bought?” he rasped, dragging his thumb over your clit. “Does it fuck you this deep?”

Your breath stuttered. “…no.”

“Does it make you this wet?”

You shook your head, already trembling.

He smirked, dark and satisfied. “Then move.”

You lifted your hips just enough for him to pull almost all the way out before sinking down again, slow, torturous. The wet glide made both of you groan. You rocked like that at first—deep, grinding, taking your time as you rolled your hips into the pressure of his cock. Each movement made his grip on you tighten, fingers bruising into your thighs.

“Faster,” he ordered, voice rough with restraint.

You obeyed—lifting higher now, fucking down onto him harder, the slap of skin echoing in the enclosed space. The car creaked faintly with every bounce, windows fogging over completely. Your hands braced on his shoulders, then moved to his chest, nails dragging across the muscles as you rode him.

Katsuki leaned back against the seat, shirt hanging open, watching the way your tits bounced with each movement. He met you halfway, thrusting up into you when you came down, turning each snap of his hips sharp and deep.

“Just needed some stupid toy, huh?” His voice was a growl now, breath hot against your ear as he hauled you closer with one hand on your lower back. “You think anything else is gonna fuck you like this?”

Your answer was a broken moan as he slammed into you, angling up to hit that spot that made your thighs shake. You clung to him, nails in his skin, riding harder now, chasing every ruthless thrust.

“Look at you,” he said, panting against your throat as you tightened around him. “Bouncin’ on my cock like you forgot how to behave.”

You almost choked on your own breath when he shifted his grip and started fucking up into you faster—using your weight, driving into you from below as you struggled to keep up. The rhythm turned messy, loud, filthy, your cries muffled only when he bit down on your shoulder to swallow them.

Your voice cracked. “Katsuki—f-fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he hissed, snapping his hips up again, harder. “Say my fuckin’ name. Not some toy’s.”

You came hard—body clenching around him, thighs shaking, jaw slack as you moaned into his neck. The feeling of you squeezing him that tight made him lose whatever control he had left. Katsuki grabbed your hips and fucked you through it, chasing his own high until he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a guttural groan, head tipped back against the seat.

For a moment, neither of them moved—just heavy breaths and the low hum of the idling engine.

Then Katsuki slid a hand up the back of your neck and pressed a kiss to your jaw—slow, possessive, still catching his breath.

“You’re takin’ those toys back,” he muttered against your skin.

And you were too wrecked to argue.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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You didn't answer, but you didn't stop him either. His fingers traced the edge of your panties, feeling the slight dampness that had already soaked through the fabric. He smirked against your neck—you were always so responsive, so easily aroused.

"Getting wet already?" he teased, his thumb brushing against you through the fabric. "We haven't even done anything."

"Shut up," you muttered, though there was no real heat in your voice. "It's your fault."

"My fault?" he chuckled, his fingers continuing their teasing exploration. "How is it my fault that you're horny?"

"You know how," you replied, your voice breathy as his thumb pressed more firmly against your clit through your panties. "You're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers hooking under the edge of your panties. "But you love it."

Instead of responding, you shifted slightly, giving him better access. That was all the invitation he needed. He slid his hand beneath the fabric, his fingers immediately finding your slick folds.

"God, you're already so wet," he growled, his voice husky with desire. "And we haven't even started."

You gasped softly, your hips arching slightly as his fingers explored you. He didn't rush—he never did when it came to your pussy. He loved it too much, loved the way it responded to his touch, the way it got so wet, so warm, so ready for him.

"Your pussy's perfect," he murmured, his fingers tracing your folds without entering you. "Pretty and puffy, and so fucking sensitive."

He continued his exploration, slow and deliberate. He traced, he caressed, he stroked, he circled. His fingers danced around your clit, over your entrance, along your inner thighs, but never quite giving you the stimulation you craved. It wasn't about getting you off—not yet. It was about prolonging the pleasure, about drawing out your arousal until you were trembling with need.

"Katsuki," you breathed, your head falling back against his shoulder. "Please..."

"Please what?" he asked, though he knew what you wanted. "Tell me what you need."

"More," you begged, your hips moving restlessly. "I need more."

Instead of complying, he chuckled, his fingers continuing their teasing exploration. "Patience, baby. I've got all night."

He leaned down to capture your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as his fingers continued their work. His other hand slid up your body to find your breast, kneading the soft flesh through your thin shirt.

"You're such a fucking tease," you muttered against his lips, though your body was responding eagerly to his touch.

"And you love it," he countered, his thumb finally brushing directly against your clit. "You love how I play with you, how I draw it out until you're begging for it."

You moaned softly, your hips arching more insistently now. "Please, Katsuki... I need you inside me."

Instead of complying, he slowly entered you with one finger, just to the first knuckle. He held there for a moment, feeling you clench around him, then withdrew slightly before entering again, this time a little deeper.

"Like that?" he asked, his voice husky. "Is that what you wanted?"

"More," you begged, your hands covering his as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. "Please, more."

He added a second finger, entering you slowly, deliberately. He didn't pump them in and out like he normally would when trying to get you off. Instead, he just held them there, feeling you clench around them, enjoying the way your body responded to even this minimal stimulation.

"God, you're so tight," he growled, his fingers curling slightly inside you. "Always so fucking tight for me."

"Only for you," you replied, your voice shaky as his thumb brushed against your clit again. "Only ever for you."

He continued this way for what felt like an eternity—slowly entering you, withdrawing slightly, then entering again. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to keep you on the edge without pushing you over. You were trembling now, your body taut with need, but you didn't rush him, didn't demand more. You just took what he gave you, letting him set the pace, letting him control their pleasure.

"Please, Katsuki," you finally begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need more... I need your mouth."

That was what he'd been waiting for. He withdrew his fingers slowly, earning a soft whimper from you. Then he shifted, moving to kneel between your legs as he positioned you on your back.

"Spread your legs," he commanded softly, his eyes fixed on your exposed pussy. "Let me see you."

You complied, your knees falling open to give him better access. God, you were beautiful—puffy, glistening with your arousal, the slight swelling that always appeared when you were really turned on.

"Perfect," he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your inner thigh. "Fucking perfect."

He started slow, just like he had with his fingers. He traced your folds with his tongue, avoiding your clit for now. He caressed, he stroked, he circled. He could feel you trembling beneath him, could hear the soft whimpers that escaped your lips.

"Katsuki," you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. "Please..."

Instead of responding verbally, he complied, finally taking your clit into his mouth. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You cried out, your hips arching off the bed as pleasure washed over you.

"God, yes," you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Just like that."

He continued his ministrations, alternating between gentle suction and light flicks of his tongue. He could feel you building toward orgasm, your body tensing, your movements becoming more erratic.

"Please," you begged, your voice hoarse. "Please, Katsuki... I need more."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "More what?"

"Your tongue," you gasped. "Inside me... please, Katsuki, I need your tongue inside me."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He lowered his head again, this time focusing on your entrance. He teased you with the tip of his tongue, circling the tight opening before slowly plunging inside.

"Fuck," you cried out, your hips bucking against his face. "Yes... God, yes."

He began to tongue-fuck you in earnest now, his movements becoming more deliberate, more purposeful. He alternated between shallow thrusts and deep ones, his nose pressing against your clit with each movement. His hands held your hips steady, preventing you from moving too much, from taking control.

"You taste so fucking good," he growled against you, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Could do this all night."

"Please," you begged, your legs wrapping around his shoulders. "Don't stop... please don't stop."

He had no intention of stopping. He loved this—loved the taste of you, the feel of you, the sounds you made when he pleasured you. He loved knowing that he was the only one who saw you like this, touched you like this, made you fall apart with just his mouth.

"Come for me," he commanded softly, his tongue continuing its relentless assault on your senses. "I want to taste you when you come."

That was all it took. You screamed his name as pleasure overwhelmed you, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Katsuki held you through it, his mouth never ceasing its exploration until you collapsed against the bed, panting and trembling.

"God, Katsuki," you breathed, your hands weakly pushing at his head. "Too much... it's too much."

He reluctantly pulled back, licking his lips clean of your juices. "Never too much for you."

You laughed, a weak sound that vibrated through your chest. "You're impossible."

"You still love me, right?" he replied, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a deep kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a reminder of what he'd just done.

"Round two?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

You considered it for a moment, then nodded. "But this time, I want you inside me."

"Anything you want."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Katsuki's crimson eyes fluttered open, studying your face for a moment before nodding slowly. You guided him to the bedroom, where he settled on his back against the pillows, watching you with those intense eyes that always made your stomach flip.

You knelt beside him on the bed, fingers gently tracing the hem of his shirt. "Can I?" you asked softly.

He nodded again, lifting his arms so you could pull the shirt over his head. His chest was a landscape of history—pale scars mapping his journey as a hero, telling stories of battles fought and won. The most prominent was the jagged line across his chest, a reminder of how close you'd come to losing him during his UA days.

Your fingers traced the raised tissue gently before leaning down to press your lips against it. Katsuki's breath hitched, his muscles tensing slightly beneath you.

"You always do this," he murmured, voice rough with emotion. "Kiss my scars like they're something precious."

"They are," you whispered against his skin. "They're part of you. They're proof that you survived."

You moved to the scar on his left shoulder, pressing kisses along its length. Katsuki's breathing grew heavier, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Fuck," he breathed out as your lips traveled down his arm. "You know what that does to me."

"I do," you replied with a small smile, pausing to look up at him. "That's why I do it."

His right arm was a tapestry of scars, some faint, others more pronounced. You took your time with each one, your worshipful kisses turning more deliberate, more sensual. By the time you reached his wrist, Katsuki was panting softly, his hips shifting restlessly against the mattress.

"Come here," he growled, tugging gently at your hair.

You obliged, moving up to straddle his waist. Your fingers traced the scar on his lower stomach, just above the waistband of his sweatpants. Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening with need.

"Please," he whispered, the word barely audible but heavy with desperation. "Don't tease."

"Never," you promised, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive scar. His hips bucked upward, a desperate sound escaping his throat.

As your lips worshipped the scar tissue, your free hand wandered upward to his chest, fingers circling his nipple. Katsuki gasped, arching into your touch.

"Fuck, that's—shit," he choked out as you rolled the hardened nub between your fingers. "Too much."

"Is it?" you murmured against his skin, switching to the other nipple. "Or not enough?"

"More," he demanded, his voice cracking. "Please, give me more."

You obliged, pinching and teasing both nipples as your mouth continued its journey across his scars. His breathing grew ragged, his hips grinding against nothing, seeking friction.

"Need to touch you," he gasped out, hands reaching for your breasts.

You allowed it, arching into his grasp as he squeezed and kneaded, his thumbs brushing against your own hardened nipples. The dual stimulation had you both panting, your bodies moving in sync.

"Let me take these off," you whispered, tugging at his sweatpants.

He lifted his hips eagerly, helping you rid him of the last barrier between you. His cock sprang free, already hard and leaking from the tip, against his stomach.

"Look what you do to me," he breathed out, his voice thick with awe. "Just from kissing my scars."

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his length. He was hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing with need. "You're so pretty like this," you murmured, stroking him slowly from base to tip.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips bucking into your grip. "Don't stop."

"I won't," you promised, leaning down to press a kiss to the scar on his lower stomach. "Not until you come for me."

Your thumb circled his slit, spreading the precum that gathered there. Katsuki's breath hitched, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Like that," he panted. "Just like that."

You tightened your grip slightly, increasing your pace as your mouth continued to explore his scars. Each kiss seemed to make him harder, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge.

"Close," he gasped out, his thighs trembling. "So fucking close."

"Let go," you whispered against his skin. "I've got you."

With a guttural cry, Katsuki came, his release spilling over your hand and his stomach. His body shuddered beneath you, muscles tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him.

You continued to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every last drop until he collapsed against the pillows, panting heavily.

"God," he breathed out, pulling you down for a sloppy kiss. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You smiled against his lips. "What a way to go."

He chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you. "Stay with me always?"

"Always," you replied, settling against his chest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

⊹₊⋆ likes, reblogs, replies, and follows are appreciated!

⊹₊⋆ if it could help me write better, please don't be shy to let me know!

⊹₊⋆ requests are open for now!

guys if you're interested in my other works and looking to commission a personalized fics, please check below:

MHA MASTERLIST

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