Chapter 1: Steam & Scorching Temptation
The spray was scalding, just how she liked it. Naomi tipped her head back, letting the water sluice through her platinum hair, the strands sticking to her shoulders and the curve of her spine. Steam fogged the narrow stall, the world reduced to the sound of her own breathing and the drumming water on tile. She was sore, muscles aching from the day’s brutal training, and the heat was a blissful counterpoint.
The curtain ripped back with a violent rattle of rings.
A body, all hard lines and steaming skin, crowded into the stall. A calloused hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her yelp. Her back hit the cold, wet tile, a shock against her heated skin.
Katsuki.
His red eyes blazed down at her, inches from her face. Water from the showerhead plastered his spiky blond hair flat for a moment before it sprung back. He was naked, every defined muscle tense. She could feel the rigid length of his cock already pressing against her lower belly.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through his chest and into hers. “Unless you want the whole squad to see you like this.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird. But it wasn’t just fear. A treacherous, liquid heat pooled low in her stomach. Her nipples, pebbled from the cooler air he’d let in, tightened further as they brushed against the dense muscle of his chest.
Boots clattered on the wet floor outside. Voices, loud and boisterous, echoed under the archway.
“—fucking demolished that dummy, did you see the slag?”
“Hino’s the one who melted it to a puddle, man. Her output is insane.”
The stall was too small. He was everywhere, his hips pinning hers to the wall, his forearm braced beside her head. The hand over her mouth didn’t budge. She could taste the salt of his skin.
Another voice, closer. “Bakugo in here? Saw him heading this way.”
Katsuki’s eyes never left hers. He raised his voice, a rough bark that made her flinch. “The hell are you lot yapping about? Can’t a man shower in peace?”
He didn’t move. He kept her trapped, his body a cage of heat. She felt him throb against her.
“Just saying, your girl’s a menace,” the voice—Sero, she thought—laughed. A showerhead two stalls down squeaked on. “The way she moves, though. All that power in that tight little package. Makes you think.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. A flush that had nothing to do with the water crept up her neck.
Katsuki’s jaw tightened. His thumb stroked almost imperceptibly over her cheekbone. A mockery of a caress. His voice was deliberately coarse, joining the chorus. “She’s strong. Annoying as hell. Talks too much.”
Another guy, Kaminari, chimed in from directly next to them, the thud of his shampoo bottle hitting the floor. “Strong, yeah. But come on, man. You never look? Those tits bouncing when she’s running drills? That ass in her hero suit? It’s a fucking miracle anyone concentrates.”
The words were graphic, obscene. They hung in the steamy air. Naomi felt a jolt of something sharp and dark go through her. Humiliation, yes, but underneath it, a shocking twist of arousal. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock against his.
Katsuki’s breath hitched. He pressed harder into her, his cock sliding through her wet folds, not entering, just rubbing. The friction was maddening. He leaned his forehead against the tile, his mouth by her ear, his public voice still loud and crude for the audience. “She’s oblivious. Doesn’t even know what she’s working with. It’s pathetic.”
His private voice, a hot, wet whisper against her ear as the others joked, was a different thing entirely. “You hear that? They’re all picturing it. Picturing you. But you’re here. With me.”
His hand left her mouth, slid down over her throat, her collarbone, then cupped her breast roughly. His thumb circled her nipple, wrenching a choked gasp from her that was lost in the general spray and echo. He covered the sound with his own louder commentary. “She’s all muscle and attitude. Probably fuck like a wildcat, though. All that fire.”
“You thought about it, then?” Kaminari prodded, laughing.
Katsuki’s fingers pinched her nipple, sharp and perfect. Naomi bit her lip, her head falling back against the tile with a soft thud. Her hands came up, not to push him away, but to claw at his shoulders, her nails digging half-moons into his skin.
“Who hasn’t?” Katsuki’s public tone was a dismissive grunt. At the same time, he shifted, the broad head of his cock notching against her entrance. He was huge, stretching her just from that partial pressure. He didn’t push in. He just held himself there, a devastating, promised invasion.
The conversation outside meandered—talk of rankings, of tomorrow’s sparring matches. It was normal, mundane locker room noise. A world away from the silent, desperate transaction happening in stall three.
Slowly, with a control that seemed to cost him every ounce of his will, Katsuki began to move. Not his hips, but his hand. It slid from her breast, over the quivering flat of her stomach, through the slick wetness of her pubic hair. He found her clit, already swollen and aching. He rubbed rough, tight circles, the pad of his thumb calloused and unforgiving.
Her body bowed into his, a silent plea. Every nerve was screaming. She was hyper-aware of the guys just feet away, of their vulgar praise of her body, of Katsuki’s crude agreement. And underneath it all, his expert fingers were driving her silently, ruthlessly toward the edge.
He bent his knees, lowering himself just enough to align perfectly. In one smooth, brutal thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt.
Naomi’s eyes flew open. A strangled sound was ripped from her throat, part shock, part overwhelming fullness. He filled her completely, a burning, stretching ache that tipped instantly into blinding pleasure.
“Fuck,” he breathed into her neck, the word a raw tremor. For a moment, he didn’t move, just shuddered, buried deep.
“You alright in there, Bakugo?” Sero called.
“Fine,” Katsuki gritted out, his voice strained. He began to move. Withdrawing almost completely, then slamming back in, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm designed to destroy her composure. Each thrust rocked her against the wall, the tile cold and unyielding on her back. The water beat down on them, slicking their skin, masking the wet, rhythmic sound of their joining.
His mouth was on her neck, sucking bruises into her skin, biting her shoulder to muffle his own groans. She was fracturing, her internal muscles clenching around him, each drag of his thick cock pushing her higher. The filthy talk outside continued, a surreal soundtrack.
“—bet she screams.”
“Bet she fights the whole time. Makes it better.”
Katsuki’s pace increased, becoming frantic, brutal. He fucked her with a raw, possessive intensity, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping against her ass. The tension in her coiled, tighter, tighter, fed by the danger, by his roughness, by the sheer size of him splitting her open.
“I’m gonna…” he snarled into her skin, his rhythm breaking.
That was all it took. The orgasm detonated through her, a silent, catastrophic wave that locked her throat and shattered her vision into white sparks. Her cunt clenched around him in violent, rhythmic pulses, milking him.
With a guttural curse he stifled against her hair, Katsuki came, pumping his release deep inside her in hot, endless jets. He held himself there, pulsing, as the last aftershocks racked her body.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of the water and their ragged, syncopated breathing, slowly calming.
The voices outside faded, footsteps retreating. “Later, man.”
“Yeah. Don’t use all the hot water.”
Silence, except for the drip of taps.
Katsuki finally pulled out of her, the sensation making her legs tremble. He stayed close, his forehead resting against the tile, his breath hot on her cheek. He didn’t look at her.
Naomi slid down the wall a few inches, her legs unable to hold her. The water was starting to run lukewarm.
Without a word, Katsuki reached past her and shut the spray off. The sudden quiet was deafening. He grabbed his towel from the hook, shoved it into her hands, then wrapped another around his own hips.
He paused at the curtain, his back to her. His shoulders were rigid.
“You should get back to the women’s wing,” he said, his voice back to its usual abrasive gravel, but quieter. Hollow.
Then he was gone, the curtain falling shut behind him, leaving her alone in the dripping stall, his cum already starting to trickle down her inner thigh.