Katsuki Bakugo slammed the door behind him, the sound cracking like one of his own explosions. Sweat still clung to his skin from the mission, his hero costume half-unzipped and hanging low on his hips. You barely had time to turn before he was on you, calloused hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.
"Been thinking about this all damn day," he growled against your neck, voice low and filthy. His teeth scraped your pulse point as he shoved you back against the wall. "That tight little body of yours, waiting for me to wreck it."
You moaned when his hand slid down the front of your pants, fingers rough and demanding as they found how wet you already were. Bakugo laughed, dark and satisfied. "Fuck, you're soaked. Knew you'd be dripping for me."
He didn't bother with slow undressing. Your clothes came off in impatient tugs, fabric tearing in places, until you were naked and pinned under him on the bed. Bakugo stripped just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, twice, then lined up and thrust in deep with one brutal snap of his hips.
You cried out at the stretch, but he didn't give you time to adjust. Bakugo fucked like he fought—hard, relentless, chasing the high. "Take it," he snarled, one hand fisting your hair to keep your head back so he could watch every expression. "Take every fucking inch. This pussy's mine tonight."
Sweat dripped from his chest onto yours as he pounded into you, the wet slap of skin loud in the room.
His free hand found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your thighs shake. "Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name," he promised, voice ragged. "Then I'm gonna fill you up until it's leaking out of you."
You clenched around him, orgasm hitting fast and sharp. Bakugo groaned, hips stuttering but never stopping. "That's it, cum on my cock. Good fucking girl." He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt as he came, hot pulses flooding inside you.
But he wasn't done. Bakugo pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and dragged your hips up. "Round two," he said, already hardening again against your thigh. "I'm not stopping until you're screaming."
He drove back in, deeper from this angle, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down while the other smacked your ass hard enough to sting. The pace stayed brutal, his dirty talk constant—praising how well you took him, cursing at how good you felt, promising to ruin you for anyone else.
Hours later, when he finally let you collapse, you were marked with bites, handprints, and his release still trickling down your thighs. Bakugo pulled you against his chest anyway, breathing heavy but satisfied. "Don't think you're going anywhere," he muttered, already half-asleep with his arm locked around your waist. "This is just the start."
