If you had told Uraraka Ochako that one day she would wake up sandwiched between two of the hottest beefcakes in class 1-A—half naked— she would have laughed for an uncomfortably long amount of time before fanning herself at the mere thought of it.
Alas, here she is. One bra strap properly on, the clasp of the garment crooked and stabbing into her back awkwardly. There's warm, cinnamon-smelling breath ghosting over her face, her head rests on a solid, barrel of a chest—Bakugou Katsuki’s chest. A scarred, crooked hand is firmly around her waist; Izuku’s ( sweet Izuku’s) cheek is pressed against her left breast, his soft snores tumbling out rhythmically and threatening to coax her back to sleep. The skin on skin contact is making her overly hot and sweaty, in fact, she's sticky all over. Her room feels like a sauna, the cracked window is not at all helping.
It's still dark outside, the wee hours of the morning, but she if she strains she can see that the sky is slowly fading to a light gray. Engines of early morning commuters bumble from the street below her apartment. The city is waking up and sure enough, the two men next to her will be waking up as well. Then they’ll have a talk. Right?
Her eyelids grow heavy and the world gets dark again as they fall shut. Right.
When Katsuki stirs enough to gain two of his six senses, he is immediately disgusted. The room smells like sex and sex smells fucking awful unless you're having it.
He’s sweating like a goddamn pig and has to ignore the urge to toss Uraraka’s hot (literally and figuratively) body across the room like a ragdoll. He also suppresses the urge to hurl Deku out the window. Just be-fucking-cause.
Instead of acting on his impulses (a skill he's developed, but not yet perfected), he easily rolls Ochako off of him and slips out of bed, naked as the day he was born. As he stands, he scratches at his stomach and frowns before looking down. There's dried cum flaking off his abs and hips. He isn't sure if it's his or Izuku’s
Either way: fucking gross.
He uses the corner of Ochako's defiled sheet as a makeshift napkin. Her room's basically a pigsty as it is.
Bakugou collects his checkered boxers and black sweats; his shirt is nowhere to be found. The floorboards are creaking with each step, it's getting close to morning light outside, and Katsuki is not down for a heart-to-heart with two fucking saps about whatever the hell happened last night. After shuffling through random piles of clothes (none containing the article he’s looking for), Katsuki’s head drops back. He mouths ‘fuck’ to the ceiling before making his choice:
He’ll just have to leave the shirt behind.
Katsuki crosses the room and pulls open the top drawer of Ochako’s dresser. Underwear. He closes it and pulls open the one directly below. Bingo.
He picks out the biggest shirt he can find, pulls it over his spikes of hair, and it nearly rips, his broad body stretching the printed flower on the front to make it look like a deformed, scalloped oval. The hem barely reaches his navel. Bakugou lowers to grab his phone from the floor and hears something in the sleeve tear.
He curses before snatching up the phone and quietly making a beeline for the bedroom door.
With catlike precision, Katsuki manages to open and close the bedroom door with only a muted click.
He’s just about to cross the living room when light floods the hall in front of him and a slim figure steps out of the bathroom, running a hand through dual colored hair.
Bakugou freezes, stupidly hoping that Todoroki won't see him.
Todoroki’s mismatched eyes widen, his cheeks flushed. He has pair of gym shorts on his hips and nothing else; ghost white skin taut over his sinewy form, a couple of milky scars speckled over his arms and torso. Certainly comfortable attire for someone living with the opposite sex. Though Katsuki has to admit, he’d probably be dressed the same way. Maybe Todoroki’s gay. Whatever, Katsuki doesn’t care.
The weird roommate status between Todoroki and Ochako has never felt weirder than it does in this moment—right now—with half-naked Todoroki staring at Uraraka-dressed Bakugou with about three feet of questions between them.
“Fuck’re you lookin’ at?” Bakugou snaps, puffing out his chest slightly and tearing Ochako’s shirt more.
“I am genuinely trying to figure that out,” Todoroki replies, giving the blonde a serious once-over. Todoroki’s usual mask of apathy has morphed into one of intense focus, like he’s trying to solve some convoluted math theorem.
“I’m not waiting for your slow ass brain to piece shit together. You gonna let me by, or what?”
Todoroki’s curious expression shuts down completely and his jaw tightens before he sighs and steps to the side, gesturing lazily to the front door across the living room. “Nice seeing you again, Bakugou.”
Katsuki scoffs, “I know it is,” and stomps past the slimmer man as he makes his exit.
He doesn't have time for this shit.
Izuku snuggles into the warmth, pulling it closer, enveloping it. So soft and welcoming. He can feel rays of sun on his face and it makes his nose twitch a little, gently lulling him out of his sleep. He opens his eyes to a mess of silky brown hair and tanned, sloped shoulders that dip and dip into a waist then rise into hips before falling once more.
Izuku watches her, listens to her. It's only her here now. He isn't surprised by that. Katsuki made it clear that he wasn't going to stay. Izuku’s eyes remain on Ochako’s hips for a while, there are red marks around them, tinged with purple. He frowns before rising.
He contemplates staying, but wouldn't that be strange? With Kacchan gone, the moment is dead, the is connection severed.
Still, he can't leave Ochako like this.
Midoriya grabs his briefs and tugs them on. His jeans are missing, but he’ll worry about that later. He pulls on his crumpled ‘Everything is All Might’ t-shirt and heads into Ochako’s bathroom. He returns to her side with a warm, wet washcloth, the bed dipping under him.
He pulls down the covers a bit and she mumbles, babbling nothings until she's breathing soundlessly again. Izuku smiles and reaches forward, stroking her cheek softly. Her face has slimmed some since high school, but she still has those adorable, pinchable cheeks.
Midoriya’s face flushes at a memory from last night and he stifles a nervous sound from fluttering out. Adorable doesn't seem like the proper word for her anymore. He presses the cloth to Ochako’s bruised hips and inwardly chastises himself. He’s got to be more careful with her if this ever happens again.
Though she… didn't seem to mind?
His face reddens again and he cups a hand over his mouth. Is this going to happen again? He looks over the expanse of Ochako’s skin and then forces his gaze to the ceiling, feeling like a total pervert. Well, not this morning. That's for sure.
Once the cloth goes cold, Izuku hangs it in the bathroom and searches around for his jeans (which he finds behind her dresser along with Katsuki’s shirt).
He looks around Ochako’s room as he hesitates by the door. It's a mess. It was a mess even when they got there, but the jewelry box knocked off the dresser… that was Katsuki. The pencils and art utensils pushed from the desk… Also Katsuki.
Katsuki should help her clean.
Izuku guilts himself into collecting a few things from the floor and putting them in what seems to be their proper place. He scribbles Ochako a note and heads out.
Izuku is cautious as he crosses the living room because he could run into…
Todoroki is standing in front of the TV in workout clothes, a pink headband that belongs in the 90s, or Ochako’s closet, is around his forehead.
Midoriya glances between Todoroki and the TV nervously. “You’re...doing… aerobics?”
“It's therapeutic.” His voice is completely monotone.
Midoriya cracks a grin. “I'll bet.”
Todoroki continues to look at him, now turning on his mat to face Izuku. “I didn't know you were here.”
Izuku nods. “Yeah, I just crashed here last night. Didn't plan to, but... s-sleepovers are always fun!”
Todoroki furrows his brow. “A... sleepover... including Bakugou was fun?”
Izuku pales. So Kacchan didn't make a clean escape . “Wh-whaaat? Kacchan?! He was here? Whoooaa—”
“I saw him in one of Ochako’s shirts this morning. He probably stretched it out. Aside from his physique, he hasn't changed since high school.”
“Well, it's only been two...three years... wow.” Izuku is surprised by how much time has actually flown by.
“That's how long I've gone without seeing him.”
“Really?” Sadness pangs in his chest. He doesn't know why he expected everyone to stay together and stay connected after high-school. Sure, the heroing network exists, but it's a web that is spread globally. It isn't close knit like their class had been. And with all the crazy schedules, it's hard to make time for each other.
Shouto nods. “Really.” He glances down the hall, then back to Midoriya. “So… you didn't realize Bakugou was here…” His gaze flutters just below Midoriya’s face for a second. “Yet you both slept in Ochako’s room…”
“Well—” Midoriya’s phone rings and he quickly yanks it from his jacket pocket. “Oh wow! It's my agency! I-I better go!”
Shouto watches him for a moment, probably curious how Izuku knew it was his agency before even checking the caller, he then nods and turns back to his aerobics. The TV unpauses and the instructor continues, energetic voice giving commands like she was never interrupted. “I’ll text you later Midoriya. We should talk more.”
Midoriya agrees and he steers himself out of the house. Shouto’s social development is a true wonder of the world. He went from having no outward displays of affection to using too many and not quite understanding their implications. It’s his voice , Midoriya thinks as he walks toward the stairwell of the apartment building. Everything he says just sounds sultry. A blessing or a curse, I wonder.
Izuku realizes he forgot to answer his phone. He slips it from his back pocket and frowns when he realizes that, yes, it actually had been his agency. Surprise shift! Hooray. Izuku rubs his eyes and sighs. It’s nearly nine in the morning, a sidekick will most likely be waiting for him to start patrolling around 9:15. That gives Izuku twenty minutes to get home, shower, and get suited up.
Izuku reaches the bottom floor of Ochako and Shouto’s apartment building and does a few quick stretches in the lobby before waltzing outside with a small nod to the doorman.
“More than enough time,” Izuku mumbles, squatting.
Veins of glowing red lowly illuminate his skin, crawling up his appendages likes fast growing vines. He launches into the air, the sound of the take-off only registering once he’s gone.
When Ochako wakes up alone, she assumes her memories from last night are all part of an extensive wet dream. When she shuffles from her bed to her bathroom, she realizes that her assumption isn't true at all. Face to face with her sex-mussed reflection, whatever transpired last night was obviously a real event and not just a trip of the mind. Her hair is completely disheveled, her lips are puffy (she's that applies to more than the ones on her face), and her chest is littered with hickies. Not to mention how sore she is. God, she's all aches.
Ochako brushes her teeth, gargles mouthwash, and steams up the bathroom with a hot shower. Her nails rake her scalp as she scrubs through her hair, frothy bubbles building under her fingers. It reminds her of last night, and a small smile graces her lips.
Katsuki had been rough. That much she expected. He grabbed her hair, digging his fingers to the root and pulled. She screamed, but not from pain. Izuku’s eyes had been wide. He was ready to chastise Kacchan for being rough, but one look at Ochako’s face and something in his expression changed. His face wore something akin to his excited expression, the look he gets when he's analyzing a situation with newfound confidence and understanding.
She always thought that look was hot.
Yes, Katsuki had been rough—Ochako expected that. What she hadn't expected was Midoriya following his lead. And she certainly was surprised by how much he seemed to like it.
Ochako winces as she steps out of the shower. She feels like putty and she just wants to fall back into her bed, but the rumbling of her stomach coaxes her to do otherwise. She moisturizes her skin with scented lotion and throws on a robe. Her hair’s wet, but she’ll let it air dry. She's off today, anyway (though heroes are never technically off) .
Todoroki is in the living room.
“There's my headband!” Ochako exclaims.
“I made you breakfast,” Shouto huffs out, arms over his head, body arching. “It’s in the microwave, but it might be cold now.”
“Fine, you can have it.” Ochako mumbles.
She moves into the kitchen and reheats her food for a few seconds, then pours herself some orange juice and pops a few vitamins. She can hear that annoying aerobics instructor shouting commands from the TV speakers.
“What’s in the omelet?” Ochako asks as she carries her plate and cup into the living room, plopping on the couch.
Shouto’s kicking his legs up, a sweat building on his brow and soaking into her (now his) headband. “Mushroom—” huff , “Chorizo—” huff, “Spinachandtomato.”
Ochako wrinkles her nose. “I hate spinach.”
“It’s good for you.”
She cuts into her omelet with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dad,” she jokes.
Shouto just grunts.
She takes a bite and chews, flavors bursting on her tongue. Spinach excluded, the omelet is amazing.
Moving in with Shouto has been one of the best decisions Ochako's made in her adult life. He’s her rock. Kind of a nanny too. And a maid. Honestly, he does just about everything and all Ochako needs to do is pay rent.
Though she and Todoroki grew to be great friends through Midoriya, moving in together still seemed a bit random. He had been the one to suggest it and initially Ochako made a huge fuss. Her? One of the sole straight girls in class 1-A? Why on Earth her? But the fuss didn’t mean no, and that’s all it took. Shouto showed up to her place with his laptop, said hi to her parents, and retreated into her room, silently looking through reasonably priced flats and showing them to Ochako every now and then.
He explained the reason that day as well. Todoroki wanted to be completely rid of his father. That meant all the money he’d grown up with? His savings account? His trust fund? All that had to go. Which meant that he would be graduating broke; broker-than-Ochako broke.
And Ochako, being the frugal gal she is, couldn’t say no to saving money. So she swallowed her teen hormones and started searching on her own computer too.
So, here they are.
Ochako takes another bite of delicious omelet and chews, her eyes on the nape of Shouto’s neck where a single bead of sweat rolls and red-white hairs end. Living with a guy is easier than she had expected; taking after her dad and always being around construction workers probably helped with that. Not to mention, Shouto is way cleaner than she could ever dream to be. Plus he's basically her best-friend now that she's gone and slept with Midoriya.
She just has to tell him.
“I had a threesome last night.”