Work Text:
You were just supposed to file reports.
That was it. Just sit pretty behind your little desk outside Pro Hero Dynamight’s office, organize his paperwork, and smile politely when he barked out your name. You were a temp—barely out of uni, fresh-faced and nervous in your pencil skirt and tights, always flinching when someone raised their voice too loud in the bullpen.
But Katsuki Bakugou noticed. Oh, he noticed everything.
The way your eyes widened when you looked up at him. The way you stumbled over your words when he told you to come inside and take dictation. The way you squeezed your thighs together when he stood too close and praised your work with a rare, gravelly “good girl.”
He didn’t even have to try—and you were already so easy to break.
“C’mere.”
You look up from your computer. “S-sir?”
He’s leaning against the doorframe to his office, still in his black compression shirt from patrol, towel slung around his neck, skin still flushed from the heat. He’s not even trying to hide the way his eyes trace the line of your legs. “Told you to come in. You deaf, sweetheart?”
Heart thudding, you shuffle into his office with your notepad clutched tight. He shuts the door behind you. Locks it.
“You ever been fucked in an office before?” he asks like it’s casual. Like he’s asking about the weather.
You freeze. “What?!”
Bakugou steps forward, eyes dark. Hungry. “You wear these skirts on purpose, huh? Wanna show off how innocent you are. Bet you’d soak through those panties if I just talked real dirty to you, yeah?”
Your knees practically buckle. “I—I don’t…”
“Oh, you do. ” He grabs your wrist and yanks you forward until you’re nose-to-chest with him. You can smell his sweat. His cologne. His intent. “Bet you ain’t ever had someone make you cry just from their fingers.”
One hand slips under your skirt. Finds your heat. You gasp.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, voice low and brutal. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
You squirm. “Sir, we—we can’t—someone might—!”
“Lemme guess. Daddy raised you all polite? All perfect?” He chuckles against your neck as he pushes you back onto his desk. “Too bad. I’m not lettin’ you go until you’re a fuckin’ mess.”
He kisses you—hot, deep, filthy—and you moan right into it. His fingers push past the waistband of your panties, finding your clit like he’s memorized it already.
“You’re gonna cum for me right here, baby,” he growls into your ear. “Gonna show me how good it feels to ruin you.”
You’re not sure how you ended up flat on his desk , panties shoved to the side, tights rolled down just enough for his hot mouth to bury itself between your thighs like it was made to ruin you.
Actually—you do know. It started when he said, “Lemme taste it,” and you stupidly whimpered “okay.”
The man devours you.
His tongue flicks, circles, sucks, and teases , like he’s trying to memorize the exact way your breath catches and your thighs clamp around his head. And he’s got that cocky, gravelly growl in his throat every time you moan a little louder, like he knew you’d taste sweet and squirmy for him.
“Goddamn,” he mutters against your core, “you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, baby. You do this every time I call your name? Huh? Drip through your cute fuckin’ panties thinkin’ about how I might fuck you stupid?”
You cover your face with your hands, trembling. “I–I d-didn’t mean to—”
“Nah, you did,” he cuts in, grinning, licking up a stripe so slow it makes your toes curl. “You wanted me to see you. Sweet little intern, all shy and polite. So fuckin’ easy to break.”
Then he slides two thick fingers inside and you gasp —hips jerking, head dropping back with a cracked moan.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “Clenchin’ like that, already? Ain’t even fucked you yet.”
He starts fucking you with them— deep, slow, deliberate —while his mouth stays locked on your clit, tongue flicking with maddening skill. He’s got you on a wire, right on the edge of everything, and he knows it.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, curling his fingers just right. “Cum for me, baby. I’ll let you—just this once.”
Your body arches. He keeps going. You break.
It’s white-hot. Your thighs shake. He doesn’t stop.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he grins, pulling back with your slick on his mouth, “Knew you’d cum so goddamn pretty.”
You’re still catching your breath when he grabs your chin and kisses you— wet and deep , tongue sliding into your mouth, like he wants you to taste yourself .
Then he unbuckles his belt.
“You gonna be good for me now, sweetheart?” he says, voice low and ragged as he strokes his cock, eyes locked on you like a starved man. “Let me bend you over this fuckin’ desk and fuck you like I’ve been dreamin’ about since the day you walked in?”
You nod—weakly, hazy, already ruined—and whisper, “Yes, sir…”
His hand tightens on your hip.
“Oh, baby. Don’t say that unless you want me to make it stick.”
He turns you around, palms flat on the desk, back arched like it’s instinct. He lines himself up behind you and slides in , slow at first—thick, hot, stretching you out inch by devastating inch.
And holy shit —he’s big.
You gasp, nails curling into the desk. “K-Katsuki—!”
“Too much?” he pants, gripping your waist. “Fuck, you’re tight—shit—it’s like your pussy was fuckin’ made for me.”
You don’t answer—you can’t. He starts thrusting, slow and deep , cock dragging against your walls in the most ungodly rhythm.
Then he grabs your ponytail and yanks your head back just enough to whisper against your ear:
“Look.”
And there it is.
The floor-to-ceiling window. Glass. Exposed. Facing the skyline, twenty stories up—and anyone with binoculars and decent luck could see how perfect you look getting ruined by Pro Hero Dynamight.
“You’re mine now,” he growls, pounding into you harder, desk creaking under the force of it. “Mine to fuck, mine to tease, mine to fill up whenever I want. You get that?”
You’re crying— from pleasure. From the overwhelming filth of it. From the stretch and the dirty talk and the whimper in his voice when he moans, “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum—gonna cum inside this sweet, tight fuckin’ pussy and ruin you for anyone else.”
You gasp—choked, sharp—your hands scrambling for purchase on the desk as he thrusts in hard , one long stroke that knocks the air clean out of your lungs. Katsuki’s groan rips from his chest, ragged and full of possession , like he’s been waiting his whole damn life to be inside you like this.
You can’t speak—you’re too full, too stretched, too ruined. All you manage is a pathetic moan as he pulls back and slams into you again, rough and relentless , setting a punishing rhythm that makes your thighs shake with every snap of his hips.
“You wanted this,” he growls, teeth at your ear. “Didn’t you, baby? Wanted me to ruin you. Turn you into my little fuckin’ toy.”
You nod—desperate, barely holding yourself up, your mouth hanging open in breathless moans.
“Say it.”
“I—I wanted it,” you gasp. “Please, Katsuki—I wanted it so bad—!”
“That’s my girl.”
He shifts his angle and drives deeper , hitting that soft, devastating spot inside you that makes your legs buckle. Your nails scrape at the desk, your eyes roll back, and you sob out his name.
His hand snakes around your waist, fingers diving straight to your clit, rubbing quick, filthy circles that make your thighs tremble.
“Cum for me,” he commands. “Be a good girl and cream all over my fuckin’ cock.”
Your body breaks first.
You convulse with a cry, hips jerking, pleasure ripping through your core like a white-hot explosion. Your pussy clenches hard, fluttering wildly around him—and that’s all it takes.
“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna—”
Katsuki slams in one last time and cums deep , snarling your name like a curse and a prayer. His cock pulses inside you, spilling hot and thick, filling you until you’re overflowing, until it’s dripping out around him and down your thighs.
Neither of you moves for a moment. Just panting. Sweating. Still connected, still twitching, still drunk off the high.
Then he leans down, kisses the back of your neck, voice wrecked and hoarse:
“…you’re not goin’ back to internin’ after this, sweetheart. You’re mine now.”
When he pulls out, you’re dazed. Legs shaking. Slick and messy and dripping on the floor.
Katsuki just smirks, zips up, and leans down to press a kiss to your temple.
“Clock out early,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
You blink at him, dumbly. “F-for what?”
He grabs your chin. “Dinner. Aftercare. And round two.”