Katsuki Bakugo

The dorms of U.A. High were quiet at this hour, the kind of heavy silence that only came after lights-out when even the most restless students had finally crashed. You’d timed it perfectly—or so you thought. Slipping through the shadowed hallway toward the common area’s secure terminal, your heart hammered against your ribs. The encrypted files on hero training regimens, student quirk assessments, and upcoming patrol routes were just a few keystrokes away. One more successful extraction and your handler would be thrilled. One more step toward whatever endgame your mission demanded.

You didn’t hear him until it was too late.

A low, crackling growl sliced through the dark like a lit fuse.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Before you could spin around, a rough hand clamped over your wrist, yanking you backward with brutal force. Sparks of nitroglycerin sweat popped and fizzled against your skin—hot, dangerous, familiar. Bakugo’s crimson eyes burned into yours, glowing with pure, unfiltered rage. His face was inches from yours, teeth bared in a snarl that promised violence.

“You sneaky little shit,” he hissed, voice low and venomous. “Stealing hero intel? From my fucking class?”

You opened your mouth to lie, to deflect, but he was already moving. He dragged you down the corridor with terrifying ease, your feet barely touching the ground. The door to his dorm slammed open under his free hand, then shut behind you with a bang that rattled the frame. The lock clicked.

Bakugo shoved you hard against the wall beside his bed, his forearm slamming across your collarbone to pin you in place. His other hand braced beside your head, caging you completely. The heat radiating off his body was intense—anger, quirk residue, and something sharper underneath. His breath came fast and hot against your face.

“Start talking,” he demanded, voice a dangerous rumble. “Who the hell sent you? What did you already copy? And don’t you dare feed me some bullshit excuse, because I saw you at that terminal.”

His knee pressed between your thighs, not gently, forcing your legs apart just enough to keep you off-balance and trapped. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he glared down at you, chest heaving. Up close like this, you could see the faint sweat glistening on his skin, the way his black tank top clung to his frame from whatever late-night training he’d just come back from.

You tried to shift, testing his hold. Big mistake.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, and his free hand shot up to grip your jaw, tilting your face up roughly so you had no choice but to meet his furious stare.

“I’m not playing around,” he growled, thumb pressing into your cheek. “You’re a fucking spy. And right now, you’re in my room. So you’re gonna tell me everything… or I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot in this damn school.”

The air between you crackled—literally, small explosions popping faintly at his palms. But beneath the rage, something else flickered in his gaze. A dark, heated intensity that made your pulse stutter for entirely different reasons. His body was pressed flush against yours now, hard and unyielding, and the longer he held you there, the less it felt like simple interrogation.

Bakugo leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dropped to a lethal whisper.

“Talk. Or I’ll find other ways to get the truth out of you.”

His grip on your jaw tightened just a fraction, possessive and threatening, while his knee shifted higher, pressing with deliberate pressure.