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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.

He does.

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 three...four 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.

Speaking of...

“Hey Shou?”

“— Huff—?”

She just has to tell him.

“I had a threesome last night.”

Shouto slips.


Chapter Text

“You had a WHAT!?”

Kirishima’s tone is far too loud for a café at nine in the morning. The regular Sunday jazz band is playing in the far corner of the cozy building, just far enough for Bakugou to nod to the beat absently; the woman’s voice is accompanied by piano, drums, and slow bass. He doesn’t know why he appreciates the gentle and honeyed lilt of her voice more this morning; the dips and curves like a woman’s body.

Kirishima’s outburst throws off the rhythm.

“Will you calm the fuck down, I had a threesome, not a fuckin’ aneurysm.”

Kirishima lowers his tone, mumbling, “Either is mind-blowing, I'm sure.”

Bakugou smirks. “You’re an idiot and a half.” He leans back in his chair and sips his Americano, enjoying the potent taste of espresso.

“Totally understand the emergency meeting now." Kirishima’s brows then arch to his hairline. "So..?"

“So what?” Bakugou replies.

“With who?”

“If I tell you, you're going to be the one having an aneurysm.”

“At least give me descriptions, man.”

“Well, one was a woman—”

Kirishima sputters, tea sloshing and nearly burning his hand. He hardly notices and his voice gets too loud again. “A-Aren't you gay?

An older couple, their jazz-appreciation disrupted, glances over with disapproval scribbled on their faces and Bakugou rolls his eyes; grunting a mild ‘go read an obituary’ before looking back to Kirishima.

Whether they were irritated by Kirishima’s volume, by what he said, or the color of Katsuki’s hair— he doesn't give an actual fuck. A bit reckless for a hero, but his hood is up and his incognito shades are on.

Plus, it's not like Explodo is known for his manners anyway.

He drinks more coffee. He’d gotten a large but he's already low. He’ll need a refill, but he doesn't want to pay the stupid fifty cent charge. He should've gotten a bottomless cup. Fuck, fuckidy, fuck—

“Bakugou? Helloooo??? Earth to King Explodokills ?”

“Lord. I'm the Lord of Explodokills.”

He's met with a shrug and a red roll of the eyes. “So, you're not gay?”

“There's the thing… I'm pretty sure I am gay. But… I really did like fuckin’ her.”

Kirishima wrinkles his nose. “That's kind of messed up, man.”

“Don't hate the player. Hate the game.”



“Did you like… touch them at all? That's a straight thing to do. Did you grab ‘em?”

Katsuki thinks back. He and Izuku had left her bra on. He isn't sure why Izuku did, but Katsuki didn't touch the garment because of that cute pink bow right at the center of her bust, occasionally swallowed by the mounds of flesh when Katsuki— oh… yeah, he touched them alright.

“A bit.”

“Shit, you're straight. I knew it.”

“Chill out, I like dick. I think it's just… her.

Kirishima’s eyes widen and he leans back in his chair, hands flat on the table. “Oooohhh man.”

“No, no, no, listen, idiot. I don't mean any of that special-snowflake shit. I just mean… she's the only female that I want to fuck. And have fucked. She just… I don't know. She's always seemed kind of fuckable to me. Like a: yeah, I could do that.

“So you’ve known her a while then…”

Bakugou ignores him and looks around the coffee shop. Kirishima not knowing who the mystery people are isn’t going to sit well with him. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to topics like this. A dog that can’t smell. Because he’s dumb as shit.

Kirishima is staring at Bakugou, like the answer will be written on the blonde’s forehead, when his red eyes go huge. “Oh, god… it’s Uraraka. You fucked Uraraka. I can't believe you fucked Uraraka—”

Bakugou mentally eats his words. He won’t underestimate Kirishima again. “Wha—How did you—”

“That's like finding a cute lil’ kitten and then fucking it. Or a cup of sugar and putting your dick in it. Or a cinnamon roll and just ramming it —”

“How the hell did you know!?”

Kirishima inhales and takes a long sip of his tea like it's a stiff drink. He then sets it down on its saucer and looks at Katsuki with even eyes. “You've always been a little straight for her. I could tell. You treated her only slightly nicer than you treated Midori—” Kirishima pauses; he squints. Then he mouths ‘oh shit’ with a look of parental disappointment.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Two kittens. Two cups of sugar. Two cinnamon rolls. Katsuki something is so wrong with you.”

“You're just jealous.”

Kirishima considers this before continuing, “My point remains. You have to make this right, man. It's the only thing you can do if you want my respect back.”

Bakugou’s lip curls. “The hell would I want that for?”

“You have to take them on a date.”

“Them?” His voice lowers a few octaves. “I'm not doing that.”

Kirishima instantly notices the shift in tone and lightens the vibe, waving his hands. “It's just the manly thing to do.”

Katsuki’s mouth twists. “I fucked them. That's it. That's all I wanted from them. They can do whatever the hell they want. Didn’t come back to Japan to get tied up in what-the-fuck-ever.”

Eijirou frowns in a way that almost bothers Katsuki.

The blonde scoffs and rolls his wrist, watching the creamless coffee in his cup swirl. “Get over yourself. A one night stand isn't a crime against humanity. Now let's get the hell out of this shop. I think I’m catching old age from those dust-bags over there.” Katsuki scowls at the elderly couple and they quickly turn their heads like they hadn't been looking.






Izuku is having a bad day.

Because of this, his restraint slipped just a little.

The villain screaming and holding his broken arm is evidence of that. Epithets stream from the villain’s mouth and Izuku resists the urge to knock him out, just to shut him up. My arm! My fucking arm! Aren’t you a hero!? I think it’s broken! Whew! Whew! Haaaa, ohhhh shitshitshit—

Clearly it’s broken, Izuku thinks with a frown.  It’s bent the wrong way at the elbow, and it sways from side to side with each spasm. “You think that’s bad?” He asks. “Try breaking both your legs at the same time, or all your fingers one by one.”

The villain pauses, still holding his wobbly arm like its a newborn. “That happened to you?”

Izuku nods.

“Shit, dude.”

Shit indeed. Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose, foot tapping. Usually he wouldn’t have to wait around for the police, that’s what sidekicks are for. However, his sidekick, a young hothead by the name of Allistar, hadn’t shown. He’d caught a virus that’s been going around and graciously sent Izuku the text ten minutes before he was expected to show.

Izuku usually wouldn’t mind something like that. He knows heroes and sidekicks get sick, he understands. But, today isn’t a usual day. Which is why, instead of sending an Izuku-esc text along the lines of ‘it’s all-might! Aha, get better soon!’ with some cheesy-happy kaomoji, Izuku sent half a paragraph that rivals a text from Iida Tenya, scolding Allistar about waiting until the last minute.

Then he told the young sidekick to get well soon.

Izuku will regret it when he’s back to his usual self. Until then, he’ll just keep his arms crossed and his face pouty.

He doesn’t get it. Sex is supposed to relax you; it’s meant to release pent up stress. However, since having sex with both Ochako and Kacchan, Izuku has been everything but relaxed. Maybe threesomes have a different effect? Like a double-negative making a positive? But wouldn’t relaxation be a positive? Two positives makes a positive. Though, Kacchan could be a negative. Maybe he just ruined the entire equation.

His lips purse and he can practically feel steam coming out of his ears. Math and sex aren’t meant to go together, Izuku.

Not to mention, he knows what the issue really is. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

Izuku is on edge because he’s so unsure what the next step is. Well, he’s really just scared that there is no next step. Izuku has never been one to have one-night stands for this very reason. He just can’t get himself to open up in the way he did last night to people he doesn’t care about.

What if last night was it? He leans against the brick wall of the alley, arms folded. Red and blue lights appear, flickering on his face, and the villain yells out more swears at twice the speed. Izuku keeps frowning.

“I thought I hated you, but I just wanted to fuck you,” Katsuki had admitted. Then, later, “If we’re gonna do this... No strings, got that shitheads?”

“No strings,” Izuku mimicked, breathily, reeling from the feeling of Katsuki’s lips hovering before his.

He didn’t mean it, surely Katsuki could tell he didn’t mean that.

Izuku watches a police officer haul the villain away in cuffs, replacing the rain gutter Izuku had previously bent around his wrists. He blinks away the memory and checks his watch. His patrol is over, he just needs to head back and clock out, say hey to the people in the office, then head home—where he’ll think about last night endlessly.

“It’s not finished.” He says aloud, brows knitting together. “I won’t let it finish.”


As soon as the cop car doors close and he hears the ‘thanks Deku,’ Izuku turns away, pulls out his phone, types Kacchan then Ocha, and begins drafting a message. He walks out of the alley, typing and deleting and retyping. He ends up with a short message rather than the paragraph explaining his sexuality and how sex is a beautiful thing that he wants to cultivate and cherish with the two recipients. His finger trembles, he presses send; it’s done.


I want strings.

He begins trekking back to the office, walking leisurely through the streets. He tries to distract himself by smiling and greeting those he passes, but when his watch vibrates with a notification, he almost breaks his nose swinging his wrist up to read it.




Go buy some??????


Another vibration.



He means he want to make this shit complicated, thunder thighs



?????????????????????? who r u talking to

thunder thighs???  who is that??



Are you actually stupid?



Stupid excited about this gc ;)



Deku, this shit isn’t happening.

Izuku’s grinning at his watch, walking on autopilot until he sees that last text. He frowns instantly. “Not so fast, Kacchan.”


It’s happening rn



<Kacchan has left the group>

<Izuku added Kacchan to the group>

<Kacchan has left the group>

<Izuku added Kacchan to the group>








The fuck

I’ll end you



hope you’ll be gentle

Izuku begins to laugh, attracting murmurs and whispers from people curious about what the hero Deku could be so interested in on his phone.

<Ochako sent an image>


still a little sore, yknow

He nearly trips. A flush of heat runs from his face to his dick. There's also a pang of guilt that kills his would-be-public boner (god what is he, fourteen? Everything about this scenario is so adolescent he could scream). Izuku locks his phone; he needs to get home where he can look at it unabashedly—his acute memory isn’t doing him any favors though.

The image was taken from above, she was laying down, face out of the picture, but there’s no doubting that it’s her. He could see the expanse of her stomach, dip of her belly button, mint green panties with a pink bow, barely on her hips. Below that he could see her sculpted thunder thighs, full and toned. But what he fixated on the most, perhaps the purpose of the picture, was her smooth and tanned skin. Specifically, the areas that were darkened, almost purple with hickeys and bruises.

A string.

He left a mark on her. So has Katsuki. Some primal thing in the back of Izuku’s head loves it. He feels the guilt he had felt the morning after, but… it’s a connection. Evidence.

Izuku left a mark on Katsuki, too. Ochako left a mark on Izuku, right under his collarbone, paired with Katsuki’s bites. They’re each connected now. No stopping it.

Izuku’s brows furrow determinedly and he feels his lips tugging into a grin. He wants this. Nervous excitement flutters in his stomach and green electricity surges around his legs. He leaps up suddenly, attracting gasps, and darts rooftop to rooftop back to his agency’s office.

He really… wants them.

Chapter Text

“Ochako, please.”

She won’t.

“You have to look. What’s the point if you don’t look?

She won’t stop rolling on the couch, face pressed into one of the tawny pillows. Uraraka Ochako has just sent a nude (almost). Something she’s never come close to doing in her entire life. Better yet, she sent the picture to not one, but two of her former classmates.

Her brain short circuits.

A cold, freezing cold, hand wraps around her ankle and she jolts out of her stupor. “Shouto!”

“Katsuki replied,” Shouto says, heterochromatic eyes glittering with excitement, though his voice gives none of it away. He waggles the phone and then unlocks it, grinning like a maniac. He’s almost enjoying this more than she is.

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re such a prude.”

“I’m sorry, who had a threesome again?”

Shouto ignores her. “Bakugou says: ‘cut that shit out I'm at my parents’.’”

Ochako scoffs, “Like he cares.” The image of Katsuki flustered at a Bakugou dinner is amusing though. She can imagine the blonde sneaking glances at her almost-nude under the table like he’s fifteen. She bites her lip to keep from laughing too loudly. It almost feels wrong to enjoy such a potentially embarrassing situation.

More distantly, Ochako makes a note to visit home herself.

Shouto scoots closer to her, both of them folded on the longer side of their ‘L’ shaped couch. “He isn't leaving that chat though. Take your shirt off, we’re sending another picture.”

Ochako pulls her legs up to her chest, gasping with a red face. “No! I could barely manage the first!”

Shouto reaches a hand out to ice her leg again—and Ochako prepares herself to go full Gunhead on him—when he abruptly stops. His almond shaped eyes are pinned to the screen of her phone. “Izuku sent a picture…”

Ochako’s eyes widen. “Deku-kun…?” Time seems to slow as three possibilities enter Ochako’s mind:

1) Izuku sent a picture of his reaction, maybe big wide eyes and his mouth agape. Or his hands over his face.

2) Izuku could have sent a picture of something unrelated, like All Might merch, to diffuse the situation entirely. Lame, but understandable.

3) Izuku perhaps decided to... return the favor. Unlikely, but a riveting idea.

On the off chance that the third option is accurate, Ochako lunges for her phone, which Todoroki is still squinting at avidly.

“Don't look!”

“We are a team,” Shouto hisses.

“Give me the damn phone, Todoroki!”

Todoroki tosses the phone and she catches it with ease, quickly unlocking the device and watching the image load.



Hurry up!


Ochako is stomach frothy with anticipation when suddenly the buffer circle shoots up to 99%. Then she has no words.

Third possibility confirmed.

Midoriya has jumped on the bandwagon.

She can see his bare feet against the tile of his bathroom floor, it looks like the camera was being held just under his chin, maybe in his mouth? Did he bite his phone to take this picture? He’s still in his hero uniform, but it's unzipped, clinging to his waist and giving her a perfect view of his tight chest and letting her eyes run down the rise and fall of each right abdominal, white milky scars strip is torso and arms.

There’s sweat dripping down the center of his chest and Ochako checks the time. 4:06pm?

If Ochako’s got the time straight, Izuku would’ve gotten off patrol around fifteen minutes ago. Just how fast did he rush home?

Ochako’s thighs rub together and her wide brown eyes zero in on the cluster of bites and marks below his throat. She bites her lip and her fingers immediately type a reply.



So so so hot


This chat has turned inanely sexual, but she can’t feel too guilty. It’s not like sex has no place here. They did have it after all. Still, Ochako gets the vibe that maybe she and Shouto read into the situation wrong. Maybe… Izuku meant for something… different.


Also, maybe not.



no caption?



i actually debated that before sending it



ofc u did



Kacchan you’re here!



Bc bitches wont let me leave



What caption were u thinking of usin deku?




I was thinking something along the lines of ‘thanks’










Ochako laughs and then covers her mouth, glancing over to Shouto who has migrated away from the couch during his neglect and has made a place for himself in the kitchen, boiling water (from a safe distance) with a scowl. Ochako sticks her tongue out at him and looks back to her phone.



Guess you’ll have to go to the bathroom to sneak us sum pics :)))))


“Or you could just mute the chat, dummy,” the more genuine side of her mumbles.



You got a sick mind girlie

<Katsuki sent an image>

But i’m way ahead of you.


Ochako squeals and kicks her feet, floating her phone as she flails so she doesn’t accidentally hurl it. Once she’s calm, she collects her phone and analyzes the image with intense interest.

Katsuki’s picture was a little rushed, thus a bit blurred. She wonders if he’d ever sent a provocative picture before. The flash bounced from the mirror and obscured his face slightly, but the bright lighting served the hard lines of his torso well. Love bites and bruises were scarce, but prominent and dark. His jeans are belted just below his hips, flashing the branded band of his underwear. Ochako fixates on that part of the picture longer than she should.

”You look like you’re having fun over there,” Todoroki calls from the kitchen, bitter like the tea he’s drinking.

Ochako looks up from her phone. They make eye contact silently before a catlike grin creeps across her lips.

”Fine! Get over here!” She giggles. “Also, if you ever tell them I showed you, I’ll paint every wall in this apartment red.”

Shouto’s left eye twitches. 






Katsuki sets his phone down, opening his mouth to drop the hem of his shirt back down. “The hell,” he says to his reflection. The fuck is wrong with you?

He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know.

Katsuki braces his hands on either side of the sink and hangs his head. He figured something like this would happen. Even last night, toward the end, when he was balls deep in Izuku, Ochako’s voice in his ears, Katsuki had to pause and think: they’re not going to let this shit go.

The thought only crossed his mind because he doubted he could forget either of their faces in that moment too easily himself. 

It would almost feel wrong to.

Holy shit, dude, you have feelings? His mental Kirishima asks. 

Surprise, surprise, he thinks. Yeah, he has feelings. Shoot him. Still, he doesn’t let feelings make a complete idiot out of him, like some people.

He should do his best to forget it, the threesome; he should displace any thoughts back to it.

(Vrr! Vrr!)

(Vrr! Vrr!)

However, the fucking groupchat is the culmination of not-forgetting; his not-forgetting, Ochako’s not-forgetting, and most annoyingly Izuku’s not-forgetting. It’s everything Katsuki should to be against, yet he just sent a shirtless picture, like a goddamn teenager, to it anyway.

Phone heavy in his back pocket, he sucks his teeth and washes his hands out of habit before returning to the dining room where his parents are being gross and holding hands over the table.

He looks that their hands and imagines a third.

Yeah, that shit would be weird.

So that’s that.

Or he hoped it was.

Katsuki is home now, lying in his bed, and he can’t stop thinking. It’s annoying, but every time he closes his eyes he can hear Deku’s stupid fucking laugh and Ochako’s airy voice. He can still taste the wine they’d been drinking and he still remembers the way Izuku’s eyes had glimmered when Katsuki, so smoothly, admitted to dealing with his sexual frustration, sexual orientation, and any other issues he had, by bullying Izuku.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”

That’s how it came out.

Katsuki, for all his talk, is pretty fucking shitty at saying what he means; however, Izuku knows this. Or at least Katsuki thinks he does. They’ve only known each other, what, their entire lives? The idiot should realize that.

He shifts on top of the covers, mulling over his conversations with Izuku over the past few years. The short texts while he was overseas, the calls on birthdays (Izuku calling Katsuki on Katsuki’s birthday and Katsuki acting like he butt-dialed Izuku on Izuku’s birthday). Since their senior year at Yuuei, Izuku and Katsuki have slowly began gravitating toward each other without any serious hang ups.

It’s a bit fucked up, but Katsuki sort of began to assume that Izuku would be his eventually. The assumption wasn’t new. Honestly, Katsuki thinks it started forming when they were four, trotting through the woods and running the neighborhood. Katsuki couldn’t even spell the word gay then, didn’t have a single thought about it, but Izuku’s presence by his side (and slightly behind) was just something he had. Something that was his. 

So, if Katsuki had to think hard about the subject of ‘the one’ or any bullshit like that, it would be Izuku he’d pick. Either that, or Kasuki would just end up alone.

Anyway, it’s not like All-Might had someone waiting for him at home. Number one is a lonely road.

Right. Right! All Katsuki actually wants is the spot of number one. All else is secondary. 

So why the fuck is he so hung up on this? 

Ochako, maybe. Being a female and all which is confusing and a little disturbing. But it was Izuku’s dumb ass that said he wanted strings, not Ochako. She could be replying out of courtesy and/or half-assed obligation just like Katsuki is.

He should want that, but instead the idea makes him roll his jaw unpleasantly. Katsuki’s sandy lashes flutter and he groans at his own thought process.

Ochako’s involvement was hardly capricious. Maybe it seemed that way in the beginning, but Katsuki had asked her upfront later,

“Bet you always thought about this.”

Or, rather, told her.

“Wh—ah—what?” She panted, he could see hardly see her face from below her breasts, just her gasping mouth. Katsuki had never eaten a chick out before, obviously, but of course he was fucking good at it.

He made sure to breathe hot and heavy over her, running his tongue up her slit and curling it just as he reached her clit (he was pretty sure that’s what it’s called). She whined like a wounded animal, her wrist stuttering under Izuku who was sighing out softly.  They were all trying new things, Katsuki supposed. He doubted Ochako had ever prepped a guy for anal before.

“Bet you’ve thought about me between your legs, just like this. But you never thought you’d get it. Bet you were thinkin’ it was okay to think about it because you’d never get it.” He blew cool air on her then and she flinched, trembling. Katsuki was thrilled by her sensitivity, he barely had to do anything. Of course, getting her to her peak might be tricky.

“Cocky asshole.”

“Did you think about it, Ocha?” Izuku said, his voice quiet. “I’m cu-curious, mm, now.”

“Tellin’ you she did, Deku.”

“Shut up...” Ochako hissed, but her words were too soft to mean shit, so Bakugou pressed further. 

“Answer and maybe I’ll think about using my fingers.” He smirked.

She whined.

Katsuki dipped his tongue inside of her, but only for a second. 

The woman had a will of wet newspaper. “Fine! Yes! I thought about it! Fuck! Please, please, please just use your fingers!”

Katsuki obliged, sucked on his index finger and slipped it in. He tried not to enjoy the way her thighs quivered too much.

“Speaking of fingers, Ochako—”

“S-sorry, Deku-kun. How about…” She shifted slightly, but Katsuki couldn’t tell how. All he heard was Izuku’s incredibly wanton moan. “That?” Ochako finished.

“How much?” Katsuki asked.

She huffed, “How much what?” 

“How much did you think about it?”

There was a heavy pause, simply filled with all of their breathing. Izuku even quieted as he gyrated on Ochako’s fingers, curious as to how she’d answer.

Her voice was soft; if it were material it would’ve been a sheet of thin glass, a single fracture cracked down the side. “Too much.”

Katsuki’s hard now, courtesy of his brain and the way his shitty memory works.

His face is flushed. He’s not embarrassed by the things he said. Not in the slightest because he’s said worse. However, he’s embarrassed of why he said the things he did, of why he put his face Ochako’s legs. He’s embarrassed of the lie he tried to convince himself with, but recounting it now he’s so fucking obvious. Though, Ochako is a bit of an airhead, and she was drunk so he doubts that she noticed his actual motives, his genuine intrigue.

Katsuki ate her out under the guise of experimentation. He fingered her telling himself that he was just being courteous. He wanted to, but only because they were all fucking. It just made sense.

Katsuki had refused to acknowledge that he would do it in any other scenario because no strings.

He said that.

He said that.

But he still asked her. He still wanted to know if she’d ever wanted him ever. Why would he fucking care if she wanted him outside of that moment? He shouldn’t have. Hearing that she wanted him in highschool should not have turned him on to the degree that it did.

But he’s so hard just thinking about it. 

Katsuki’s hand slips down his stomach, finding the trail of sparse blonde hair that vanishes under the cinched waistline of his boxers. He stills his fingers there, lightly running them up and down his navel, red gaze hard on the ceiling like her could burn holes through the plaster. 

He probably could if he tried hard enough.

He lets his hand drift a little lower, palming himself softly and breathing out. 

Katsuki isn’t worried about not being gay, but he is… perturbed by something else. As he continues moving his hand over the bulge in his boxers, he contemplates what it could be. The idea keeps moving around like liquid, molding and reshaping until…

Katsuki feels sleep finally tugging at him, pulling him into a dream he probably won’t remember. His hand falls to his side and his eyes close. The disturbance finds him in a question just before he loses consciousness.


Is it okay to want her too?


Chapter Text

Nearly a week has gone by since Katsuki sent Izuku and Ochako a shirtless picture from his parent’s bathroom.

The blonde hasn’t sent a single message since.

“He is busy…” Izuku mumbles, thumbing around his Twitter feed, eyes absently scrolling over the Heroics posts. He knows that Explodo has been on at least three different multi-part jobs in two different areas of Japan in less than seven days. Still, Izuku’s workload is by no means lighter and he still manages to shoot Ochako a text every now and then.

His and her replies are sometimes hours apart, but they’re still replies.

“Maybe he just isn’t on his phone a lot…” Izuku continues to speculate. Ochako is pretty active on social media compared to other heroes. She’s always posting pictures of the city, pictures with civilians, pictures of food…. And more food… and eating food. Ah, here’s a post from earlier today.

It’s a picture of yogurt with something like granola in the center and fruit neatly sprinkled along the rim of the bowl.


Got up to go to the gym, but found this instead ;)))

Acai bowl with blackberries, flaxseed, and banana! Yummy!


Izuku gawks at the number of comments. “What could one thousand people have to say about yogurt?” he utters, checking out the section.



@Uravibesthero she is my spirit animal



pls post vid u eating yogurt



Looks good!


The majority of the comments seem to fall along the lines of sweet, creepy, or a strange mixture of both. There’s also some hate that Izuku has to stop himself from replying to. How anyone could have anything bad to say about Ochako is beyond him. Especially if they don’t even know her.

Izuku squeezes his stress ball and leans back in his desk chair after he sets his phone down. It’s around two in the morning and he was trying to write a report about a hostage situation he resolved a few days ago. He’s behind in his reports, he’s got three more in waiting.

Izuku’s rarely one to complain, but on nights like this it feels incredibly pointless to write a play-by-play simply for taking down the bad guys. He knows there’s always the chance of misconduct, but god it can be exhausting after a day of sprinting around the city and now the suburbs on the west end as well. He thinks back to Toshinori’s face after a long day at Yuuei and heroing. They often grabbed dinner together, or the man would come over and chat with Izuku and his mother over home-cooked katsudon.

Inko never discovered the true identity of Toshinori; she only knew that he was a mentor of Izuku from Yuuei. She smelled the mystery though, Izuku knows his mother isn’t completely oblivious. Still, she never pressed. Izuku is eternally grateful for that.

Keeping Toshinori’s secret felt like life or death then.

In the end though, Izuku thinks, did it really matter?

He can never find an answer to that question. 

Hero, teacher, mentor, friend… How the man did it, with his condition, is still astounding to Izuku and he realizes that he has no room to complain. The melancholy leads to a burst of inspiration within Izuku and his fingers begin clicking away at the keyboard once more. Thinking about Toshinori, formerly All Might, always gets him through the less-than-pleasant sides of heroics. The sides that no one is ready for, even if they graduate from Yuuei. From things as tedious stacks of paperwork to the unforgettable, traumatic smell of burnt flesh.

Izuku finishes and submits two more reports before his phone vibrates and he leaps for the distraction. It’s now three in the morning and looking at the time makes Izuku over-aware of the strain in his eyes and the weird hyper-exhaustion he feels buzzing under his skin. He glances at the single notification and wonders if his sleep induced mind is playing tricks on him. 

Because why else would Todoroki be texting him at three in the morning?

Izuku laughs deliriously at the ridiculousness of it and swipes to open his phone. 

“What the heck, Shouto?”





That’s it. That’s the entire message.

Izuku contemplates leaving it for tomorrow (later today, really), but he’s already typing a response before he dwells on the caprice for too long

The message shows as read. Izuku never thought Shouto was the type to leave on read receipts, but people change. 

His phone vibrates violently, wind chime ringtone playing, and an old picture of Shouto with his emo-kid haircut from freshman year blows up Izuku’s screen. He snorts.

Todoroki is calling him at three in the morning.

He picks up. 

“Morning,” Izuku says cheerfully, a bit of laughter seeping into his voice. “Before you say anything I want you to realize how strange this is.”

“It’s quite strange,” Todoroki agrees, his voice gravelly and grainy over the line. “But I’m too tired to text, I can hardly focus on the letters. They’re so small, Midoriya.”

“You could’ve just waited until morning.”

“It is morning.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We’re both up now.”

“And totally out of sorts.”

“I remember you always being out of sorts.”

Izuku hums. “Mean, but unfortunately that hasn’t changed.” He scratches his head, mess of curls solidifying Shouto’s point. “Anyways, what’s the emergency?”

Izuku hears shuffling and wonders if Todoroki is in bed. His voice isn’t hushed (though he is naturally soft spoken), so clearly he isn’t worried about waking Ochako. Is she home? He wonders. I would hope she’s home… does she have work in the morning? Well, I could hardly judge it that was the case. I have work at nine. She does sleep like a rock, though. Maybe that’s why. Izuku feels the urge to ask about Ochako.

“It’s about Ochako—”

Ah, well, no need to now.

“—And what you did to her.”

Oh. Izuku’s face burns and he makes a weird coughing-choke that almost mimics a laugh. “Wh-what!? What I did to her!?”


Yes!? “Yes!?”

“Yes, yes.”

Izuku groans. “Todoroki, with all due respect, I didn’t do anything to her. I...uh... with her … you know? Like… uh,…” Why is this happening.

“This isn’t a matter of phrasing, Izuku.”

“Uh, well you make it sound like I did something wrong.”

“Oh…” Todoroki shuffles again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Izuku relaxes. “Oh. Thought you might be mad for a second there.” He isn’t sure why.

“Of course not.” Shouto replies. Briefly, Izuku suspects sarcasm, but he then realizes that it is just Shouto’s monotonous voice.  “Glad that’s cleared up then.”

Izuku nods vigorously, despite no one seeing him. “Me too. For the record, if you ever have a conversation like this again… don’t make it sound so one-sided.”

“Duly noted.”

“There was consent, Shouto,” he stresses.

“And alcohol.”

Izuku stiffens. “Yeah, that too. So Ochako told you about it then?”

Shouto’s low tone hums affirmation. “It was riveting.”

Izuku leans back in his chair rolling away from his desk and spinning. Four years ago Izuku would have never considered Todoroki hearing about his sex life from Ochako. What has the world come to? “How much did she tell you?”


“Shocking, huh?

“I just…” Shouto’s voice goes high for a moment, then it falls. “I can’t see the appeal.”

“Do you ever? In anyone?”

“I don’t like how the table is turning.”

“Well, before you turn it back, sorry for saying it was a… erm…”

“A sleepover?”

“Haha, yeah. I can’t believe you believed that.”

A pause. “Me either.”

Midoriya chuckles and gets up from his desk chair, unplugging his phone and taking Todoroki with him to the bathroom. “Mind if I brush my teeth? It’s about time I got ready for bed.”

“You don’t need to ask, go ahead.”

Izuku nods, puts Todoroki on speaker, and grabs his toothbrush. As he starts scrubbing at his teeth, Shouto speaks.

“The reason I called was just to say that you can talk to me about…This situation. You don’t have to hide it from me. Ochako likes to vent to me sometimes and when she does… it kind of, uh…” Hearing Todoroki say uh was tremendously endearing to Izuku,  “reminds me of you. When we were in high-school. You used to tell me everything about Bakugou… and Ochako, actually…”

Izuku grins cheekily at his reflection, toothpaste clinging to his lips and teeth. “Ish fuhnnay haow thingsh worhk ouht ishn’t iht?”

“One would almost think you planned this situation.”

Midoriya’s big eyes roll up to the ceiling and fix on a water stain there. Did he plan it? Maybe his subconscious did. Izuku fully acknowledges that he harbored an idol-like obsession with Katsuki since they were kids that eventually fizzled into an awkward crush; he’s also very aware of the fact that Ochako made his heart twist in the most pleasantly uncomfortable way he’d ever felt just by flashing a smile at him.

Maybe that’s why—

“I was teasing you, Izuku. Nice to know the muttering hasn’t stopped either.”

Izuku takes note of the frothy dryness in his mouth and the globs of toothpaste in the sink below. Whoops. He spits, rinses. “S-Sorry…”

“Don’t be. I kind of miss it.”

Izuku smiles before telling Shouto that he’s about to use mouthwash. In the sixty seconds that he spends in silence, swishing burning liquid from cheek to cheek, Todoroki mentions a few classmates he’s seen recently. Tsuyu on the job, Mina on the street, Kirishima at the grocery store, Sero at a district meeting… All of which seem to be doing well for themselves. Midoriya is glad to hear it. He doesn’t run into too many classmates anymore. He usually has to go out of his way to do it. It’s the way scheduling is set up, he supposes. The higher a hero is ranked, the more area they’re expected to cover; so in Izuku’s case, no other heroes are scheduled at the same time as him. It’s just him and his sidekick.

“...My mom thinks I should hold a reunion or something, but four years hardly warrants a reunion…”

At the mention of Shouto’s mother, Izuku finds his mind drifting more toward Shouto’s life and he can’t help but wonder if his mother is still in the hospital, or how his relationship with Enji is now. He spits and the stinging mint taste in his mouth discourages him from asking. That’s not an over-the-phone conversation anyway. 

When Midoriya rises, hands on either side of the sink, he looks at his reflection. His green eyes are tired but bright, a bobby pin is pushing his bangs from his forehead, curled ends sticking up like horns from the top of his head.

As Todoroki’s low voice continues on, oblivious to the fact that a minute has already passed, Midoriya remembers all the late night conversations they used to have; how he would talk and talk because he’d never had anyone to talk with so… deeply before. Shouto wasn’t his first friend, but Shouto was definitely one of his closest friends (of course, he’ll never say that to anyone, rating friends just seems backwards). The angst-filled teen didn’t always have good advice. Actually, Izuku is pretty sure most of the time he would tell Izuku, quite honestly, “I have no idea how I would handle a situation like that, but maybe...” and then he would give him some counsel that was incredibly generic and very hard to accomplish with raging teenage hormones. However, it was just talking that truly helped Izuku.

He was forced to articulate his thoughts, forced to explain himself. Something he hadn’t had to do with anyone aside from his mother… ever. That helped him grow.

Izuku’s eyes narrow as he looks over his face. When was the last time Izuku had a talk like that? He thinks it was when he had dinner with the Iidas a year ago.

Granted, Izuku hasn’t had much personal business to talk about since then. He hasn’t dated anyone in over two years. Izuku’s lips thin. Shinsou had been his last serious relationship and that ended… that ended rather messily.

He doesn’t like to think about it.

“You know what, Shouto?” Izuku belatedly realizes that he cut Shouto off mid-sentence in whatever he was talking about. “We should meet up.”

“Right now?” There’s shuffling as if Todoroki is getting in a more comfortable position. Izuku smiles at his eagerness, but 

“Shouto, It’s still three, almost four, in the morning.”

“Right, right. Well, where and when?”

Izuku’s brain, slowly shutting down, isn’t prepared for this many decisions. “Ah, erm… W-well, you could could come over?” There’s a fresh idea. “Have you seen my new place?”

“You moved?”

“Just to a different neighborhood. Same area.”

“Ah…” Shouto hums and his voice grows a little distant before sounding again. “I’m usually free in the mornings. Been doing a lot of night shifts.”

“How charitable,” Izuku comments. He prefers getting his patrols done early and enjoying his nights (with paperwork, of course).

“So I’m rarely home at night.”


“Ochako is though—”

“WELL it’s been nice talking with you Shouto, I’ll text you some days you could drop by in the morni—” Izuku stops immediately because he hears a magical sound.

Todoroki Shouto is laughing. Nothing like the quiet kitten-laughs he would behind a closed fist in high school, no. This man thinks he’s hilarious. Izuku listens to the bells of laughter, unable to hang up on Shouto after all. They exchange a few more words before the line finally ends and Izuku gets the chance to wash his face.

He can still hear Shouto’s laugh minutes later. A sound that was once so rare. Ochako definitely must have rubbed off on him, she laughs loud and proud; he could recognize it from a mile away. Izuku smiles, watered down soap dripping from his lips, eyes closed. Even if the jerk was poking fun at him, it’s nice to know that some things change for the better. 

The young hero gets ready for bed, wearing nothing but striped boxers as he tucks himself under his forest green comforter. Just as he flicks off the light, he catches a glimpse of Toshinori in his baggy suit, holding up a peace sign behind a picture frame.

Only some, he thinks.







The alarm goes off.

Her eyes pop open.

Ochako shuts the alarm up, sends a goodmorning text to Izuku, and throws herself out of bed (covers floating up to the ceiling where they’ll probably remain until she gets home). Ochako will go to the gym this morning. She skipped out twice this week and, though she hates working out before work, she’s done this to herself. The soreness to come will serve as penance.

Ochako washes her face with cold water and squeals with discomfort. She scrubs her teeth, ties her hair up, presses on an extra layer of deodorant, and strips. Within minutes, Ochako emerges from her room in capri leggings and a pink sports bra. 

Todoroki’s door is closed and she walks softly past it, not wanting to risk waking him (he’s an awful morning person and an insanely light sleeper). She delicately grabs a banana from the kitchen and slips on her tennis shoes by the door. Her pink hoodie and bookbag are already waiting for her on the coat rack where they’d been for the past few days, taunting her, calling her a lazy hoe whenever she walked past them.

Yes, Ochako is lazy.

...When she’s not being a hero, damn it! That’s exercise enough!

Ochako isn’t usually so uptight about her workout regimine, she does it three times a week and that’s usually good enough for her. Plus her job is a workout as well so that’s really seven days where she’s exercising. 

However, recent events have warped her ideology. Ochako’s body continues on autopilot as she gets caught in a reverie.


Ochako yelped  as Katsuki slammed her into her dresser, Izuku following close behind him. She could see the glint of green in Izuku’s eyes as he pressed open mouthed kisses up the column of Katsuki’s neck, watching her as he did it. Ochako could feel Katsuki’s cinnamon and wine smelling breath on her face with each of his grunts and pants, his hips rocking into her, something falling from her dresser with each movement. 

“H-Hot…” Ochako panted out. 

“I agree,” Izuku whispered. “Aren’t you hot Katsuki?”

Katsuki simply groaned and Ochako noticed a large, scarred hand snaking between them, descending down and down to palm the bulge that dug into Ochako’s hip. Spiky bangs mingled with Ochako’s as Katsuki dipped his head.


“Hm, did you say something Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice was the sound of sin. Ochako had never heard such a sultry tone from him before. 

It was exciting.

“Hah…” Whatever Izuku did stopped Katsuki short, but she got the gist.

Her lips began to curl, red eyes boring into her. She reached her hand down too then and grabbed the hem of Katsuki’s shirt instead. “‘Zuku, I think he said he’s hot…”

“Maybe we could help him out.” Ochako felt Katsuki buck into her in response to Izuku grinding against Katsuki’s ass. 

Ochako hiked up Katsuki’s shirt and her mouth watered. Her eyes traced over her ridge of his torso, the expanse of his tanned skin. Without thinking she licked a stripe up the center of his chest. Katsuki reacted amazingly. He groaned and shuddered. Ochako had never been with a guy so sensitive.  How could she not take advantage of it?

“Izuku bring him back a little…”


“Fucking why?”

“Katsuki, please?” She batted her eyelashes, unsure if he could even see the gesture in the dark. 

Izuku used the hand between Katsuki and Ochako to wrap around the hothead and pull him away. Ochako was relieved by the coolness of the air, but she did miss that heat. “So... I’ve always wondered...” She approached, lowering herself just a little. Her hands found either side of Katsuki’s waist and she asked, quite honestly. “Do guys like their nipples played with?”

“Fuck yes,” Katsuki answered instantly. 

Ochako grinned.


Her hands are tight on the steering wheel. She really needs to pay attention to the road. But… but…


Eventually, they reached the bed. Unmade and messy, but it didn’t seem like anyone cared. It was only going to get messier. Ochako had dragged Katsuki down onto the mattress with her and the blonde beckoned Izuku with a gruff, “Get the fuck down here.” Izuku seemed to be in a trance for a moment, watching Katsuki kiss up and down Ochako’s chest, teething at the bow of her bra with intrgue (“This thing’s fuckin’ cute,” he’d said after ripping her shirt off and nearly dismantling her desk with Izuku’s body). 

Wide eyes finally breaking away from their daze, Izuku peeled off his shirt and threw it before crawling onto the foot of the bed, slinking like a cat ready to pounce. It was a quick movement, but under the moonlight streaming in through the window, Ochako could count each of Izuku’s abdominal muscles with ease. She could probably follow every tight line of muscle with a marker and illustrate a perfect anatomical model of the torso (or she could trace them with her tongue… just for fun).

During the split second before Izuku joined the frenzy once more, Ochako realized how fucking buff both Izuku and Katsuki were. They could probably snap her in half if they wanted to.

Fuck, she wanted them to.


Now, Ochako… almost feels… embarrassed. There’s a blush on her face as she enters the gym. She is by no means as cut as either Izuku nor Bakugou. She’s fit, strong, but… as her followers call her… “thicc.”

Ochako’s face burns ever brighter and she doesn’t really acknowledge anything as she travels from the locker room to the treadmill. Cardio should help her displace some of this anxiety. It’s stupid. So stupid, but she’s kind of stupid so it’s okay, right?

Wait, no. It’s bad to think that way too.

Ochako’s mind spins and she steps onto the machine with a sigh. The cardio zone takes up the entire upstairs of the facility,  treadmills and ellipticals lining the center of the floor which opens to overlook the weight room downstairs. She used to appreciate the view, being able to ogle at all the sweaty men in the mirror lined room. But Ochako’s had her fill of men, her thirst is quenched. 

Or it was. 

She spots his shoulders first, then his arms, bulging and trembling deliciously as he hikes the barbell over him. Then he lowers and her eyes drift past the print of his tank top (reading: spiciest ) and fall on his black gym shorts that hug the muscular curve of his thighs and ass as he squats. Damn, she loves a good ass on a guy.

The grunt he lets out doesn’t clue her in, its familiarity echoes up to the rafters with it. 

It’s only when he sets the barbell down, after ten more squats, rolls his shoulder, and looks up that Ochako realizes.

Oh, it’s Bakugou.

Of course it’s Bakugou.

And then: Oh my god, it’s Bakugou.

Ochako contemplates leaping off the treadmill, but somewhere in her haze she’d already started jogging. She swallows and feels the familiar rake of a red gaze. It floats over her harmlessly, then it returns with the fury of one thousand suns. Ochako pants, hands sweating in their loose fists and she slowly peeks down into weight room, view bouncing up and down with her strides.

He stands on the mats, hands at his sides, spiky hair messy and pushed back with a red headband. His eyes are glued to her in a stinging glare and Ochako huffs out another pant before she decides to wave.

Bakugou does not wave back.

Chapter Text

Bakugou has to have the worst luck.

He rises before the sun every other day to go to Best Jeanist gym (Katsuki likes to abbreviate that to: The Best Gym) and bench press ‘til his arms are fucking numb (he does other things too, but bench pressing is a personal favorite). There are familiar faces in the morning crowd, for sure. He doesn’t know their names, hardly recognizes their faces, but each of them contribute some part of their general presence into Bakugou’s every-other-morning routine. Expendable side-kicks up on the second floor, bouncing up and down on the treadmills or ellipticals. Some heroes in the weight room with him and also in the endurance room with a glass wall, strengthening quirks (as much as he hates to admit it, every time he peeks in there, he thinks about Izuku getting all geeked out over the blatant quirk usage). The litany of grunts, squeaking sneakers, light chatter meshes with the irritating happy-go-lucky music that plays from above.

Sometimes, sometimes, people Katsuki doesn’t anticipate show up; wildcards like Kirishima. The fucker likes to come in randomly and press more weight than Bakugou, forcing Bakugou to up his ante. Katsuki had also seen Ashido here before, which was weird, but once she explained that she was only in the district to visit Kirishima, it made sense.

They hung out after.

It was cool, or whatever.

The point is, Bakugou, despite how he behaves, is a man of routine. It makes just makes things easy when there’s a game-plan and he doesn’t understand why more people can’t fucking do it (of course, in a fight, plans go out the window; he understands this and 9 times out of 10, he’s the one throwing them.)

So, this morning, when Bakugou looked up and saw one sidekick he recognized, a round face, then another familiar sidekick, he almost blew up some shit. His gaze immediately shot back to the flushed brunette in between.

He stared at her hard as she peeked at him coyly from behind the panel of the treadmill. Then she waved, kitten-like pads of her fingers on display.

“Tch.” Bakugou turned toward the folding wall and began adjusting his weights. He was done with squats and it was time to move on to the main event, to regain normalcy if nothing else. What the hell is she doing here? Bakugou has never seen her here before, despite her picture being on a poster in the lobby and in the male locker room, URAVITY in bold big letter under her floating feet. He never did know what to make of that picture. Coping the best he can with the change in his every-other-morning habitat, Bakugou laid back on the bench, wrapped his calloused hands around the bar, lifted it from the rack with his chest (not his shoulders like a dumbass) and pressed.

So here he is now, reclined on a gym bench, on his third rep, ignoring the girl upstairs because… well, fuck, why? Sweat drips down the side of Bakugou’s face. He watches the bar grow and shrink as he lifts and lowers, his mind beginning to go places he isn’t fond of.

He’s ignoring her because he’s ignoring both of them in the chat? He’s ignoring her because he’s… embarrassed? No, fuck that shit. Katsuki does not get embarrassed. He’s ignoring her because she’s breaking his routine? This is so annoying.

And maybe that’s why.

Because not ignoring her would be fucking annoying. Don’t get Katsuki wrong, Ochako is one of the more tolerable people he’s met, obviously. However, he isn’t ready to talk about what happened last week; he isn’t ready to consider strings.

Not yet.

And Katsuki has a lurking suspicion that talking with her will make that… difficult. Call it a gut feeling. 

He’s had job after job, plane ride after bus ride, and meeting after meeting for the past several days. He hasn’t had time to think things over and that is something Bakugou Katsuki desperately needs. 

Katsuki rests the barbell on the hinge and sits up, straddling the bench, elbows on his knees. He tugs at his tank top, letting the air billow into it and cool him down slightly. Annoying, he thinks again. 

So if Ochako could just give him space... 

Bakugou looks up and finds the treadmill vacant. 

“Hard at work I see?”

If only.

Bakugou sees Uraraka sauntering toward him from his peripheral and he leans back, starting his next rep without uttering a word to her; pretending as if he hadn’t noticed her. He can see the flash of pink shorts as she hovers beside him, the curve of her thighs right by the side of his face.

“Need a spotter?”

“No, I don’t need a fuckin’ spotter.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “You could probably press more with a spotter. Or maybe you’re comfortable where you are... ”

Bakugou’s brow twitches. Kirishima hasn’t been to the gym with him for a while so he’s been stuck at his safety weight which is around two hundred pounds. There’s no way she could’ve known that, but still Katsuki can’t help but think: Women are crafty as fuck. He frowns before finishing his rep and sitting up again. “Pass me some fuckin’ weights.” Ochako grins and Katsuki suddenly feels as if he’s encouraged a bad habit.

“How much more?”

Katsuki tells her and she doesn’t even bother trying to lift them herself. Her fingertips glow pink, and nearly ninety pounds worth of weight is carried over to him with ease. As she passes them to him, a smug little smirk plays on her lips.

It’s disgustingly cute and cheeky and agitating.

Katsuki focuses on the task at hand rather than the stretched bow of her lips. “You ever spot anyone before?” He asks, screwing the weightless weights onto the end of the barbell.

“Pssh, don’t insult me.”

A pleasant surprise, but Katsuki doesn’t buy it. “How many times?”

“Like, three.” She fiddles with her bangs. 

He barks out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“It’s not rocket science.”

“If you fuck up, I could die. S’more important than rocket science.”

“Are you actually forgetting what my quirk is?” She laughs incredulously. “I just used it, like two seconds ago.”

Katsuki hasn’t forgotten, but he hadn’t quite put together how useful her quirk could be. The morning fog hasn’t quite lifted. Of course, he can’t tell her that. “Isn’t it like… acid or something? How could that be—”

“Asshole,” she mutters.


“I said you’re an asshole, Bakugou!”

Oh, that’s a serious tone. Where the hell did this come from? Bakugou blinks a few times, genuinely shaken for the sliver of a second before he steels himself, holding his tongue and lifting his brows, signalling for her to go on.

“You know what my quirk is. Just like you know I didn’t actually come down here to spot you—”

Katsuki grumbles, “Who’s the mind-reader here?” 

“—You also know that Izuku and I have been trying to reach you. Which is honestly your fault because you knew that Izuku would want strings, especially after that entire ‘always wanting to have fucked him’ spiel. It was basically a confession!”

She’s breathing a little heavily, most likely a mix of cardio and emotion, face all scrunched up with determination. He has to give her points for not beating around the bush. He supposes she really isn’t sixteen anymore.

Katsuki realizes that anyone else may have told her to calm down or to stop making a damn scene, but Katsuki is the king of scene-making. Her little outburst is child’s play.

Nonplussed, Katsuki lets himself take the time to think of a response. Thinking before speaking is supposed to make what is said a little easier, more rational. Instead, the words twist and marinate in cruelty. The respect Ochako earned by speaking her mind is severely outmatched by the irritation Katsuki feels from the fact that she’s criticizing him for treating a situation exactly how he said he would, even if “he knew better.” She should be fuckin’ grateful he sent anything to that dumb ass chat at all. Katsuki doesn’t have to listen to this shit. He didn’t plan to do this shit today.

“So then why’s it you here talkin’ to me instead of him?” His voice is low, hands under his chin. “Actually,” he should stop, since the point’s been made; the next words come out anyway, “where the fuck do you fit in at all?”

Ochako’s eyes get so wide after that, and they’re already huge as it is; for a moment, he’s concerned they’ll pop out. The lips he was admiring earlier part in a small ‘o’ and the lower one starts to tremble. It’s a look Katsuki has seen a million times on probably a thousand different faces. The I can’t believe you just said that, Bakugou look.

His mouth suddenly tastes bitter and he rolls his jaw in retaliation.

Others moving in the weight room around them continue their workouts, some with their earbuds in, panting and sighing through their own training. There probably isn’t one person who can feel the tensions growing between Katsuki and Ochako. The entirely out of season summer-vibes music playing overhead almost cheapens the moment, but instead it sharpens the contrast. 

This is why Katsuki wanted to cut things off. He’d only spent one night with them and things are already heavy.

(He knew they would be.)

Ochako stammers between broken off words, looking left and right, up and down, trying not to let herself cry, tough-cookie face finally crumbling. He doesn’t know what’s going on in her head. He doesn’t even try to act like he knows. He just finishes his thought.

“That’s why I haven’t said anything,” he concludes. “Because I’m still trying to figure that part out.”

Ochako stiffens, then finally looks at him. Her eyes are glistening a little, but there are no tears. Good. Katsuki would’ve been pissed if she cried over that.

At himself, probably.

“Ahm…” Ochako clears her throat. “Yeah. Me too.” She sounds dejected. Or maybe he’s just unused to her speaking quietly. He’s a little surprised. He expected more of a fight, more of an attempt to wrangle him out of his comfort zone like everyone tries to do.

Instead she just stands there, rocking back on her heels.

The tensions fizzles out, crushed under the not-entirely-uncomfortable silence that falls between them.

Bakugou watches Uraraka’s chest swell as she inhales, traces the curve up to the V of her collar, follows that to the slope of her slender neck. She’s soft, he remembers. Uraraka lifts her wrist and snags her lower lip between her teeth, foot tapping a little, hip jutting out. Katsuki finds himself transfixed on her mannerisms.

Could he actually tolerate her? To the same extent that he deals with Deku?

How the hell is he supposed to know that?

“I can tell you want to drop this,” she says, and he tenses, ready to tell her no shit. “But I just want to say that you can’t have one foot in and one foot out, it isn’t fair.” She says it with such assurance that Katsuki finds part of himself agreeing.

Of course, there is the issue of not understanding what the fuck she means. “Not fair?” He repeats.

Ochako steps forward and swings a leg over the bench so that she’s sitting in front of Katsuki, their noses only inches apart, knees touching. “Izuku laid what he wanted out. He tossed the ball onto our court… courts. If you need time to think, fine. Can’t you just say that? Instead of acting like you don’t care at all?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen, he doesn’t get the chance to pinch his face back together in a scowl, she’s too close to have missed it. Ochako grins, leering closer. “Did I just beat you to it?” She asks, walking her hands closer and continuing to bring herself into his space with little scoots. “Did I just think of something you hadn’t?” Her smile is something dangerous.

(He has a few ideas about how he could wipe it off her face.)

“Tch,” Katsuki turns his head to the side, cheeks flushing with, yes, fucking yes, embarrassment. “I would’ve gotten around to it. Been busy.”

Her determined expression falls. “Oh! Right! You took care of that villian in Tokyo, didn’t you?” She punches him and he rocks with it. “Big shot hero, you are! That guy was three stars and you did it alone. Saw the news report. You did awful with the reporter, if I’m being honest; I get it though because I..” Ochako continues, somehow managing to make the conversation about herself and probably food, he isn’t sure, he’s just glad she was that easy to sidetrack. Could’ve just asked for some space, huh?  Katsuki supposes he still has some bad habits to cast aside.



Ochako tilts her head, “Katsuki, you totally spaced out. I was trying to get your attention.” She rises and presses a hand to his chest. His back hits the bench and Ochako is leaned over him for one moment and gone the next. She reappears behind him, under the folding wall. “I was saying that I still have a bit of time before I have to go home and go to work. I can spot you now.”

Katsuki’s red eyes meet hers, fluorescent lighting from above making her flyaway hairs look blonde at the tips. “Thought that wasn’t what you came down here for?”

Ochako shrugs. “Plans change, you know?”

He thinks he does.

Katsuki reaches up to grab the silver bar, Ochako’s dainty hands wrap around the center and she uses her quirk to lift from the bar from the rack. “Ready?” She asks, holding it over him. Katsuki quickly goes over his form, readjusts his grip, makes sure his elbows aren’t locked, traces an imaginary line from the center of the bar, where Ochako’s hands are, to his chest.

Finally, he nods.

“1, 2, 3, release!”

The full weight of three-hundred pounds knocks any other thought out of him.




Thirsty… Ochako thinks, smacking her dry lips. She should’ve drank Pocari Sweat or something after working out, she drained an entire water bottle before work and she’s still feeling dehydrated. 

She wound up staying at the gym, spotting Katsuki, for longer than she intended. Fortunately she keeps a spare suit in her locker at the Jeanist gym so all she had to do was run herself though the showers and get suited up before heading to her meeting point.

She sighs, of course that means she doesn’t get to regurgitate everything that transpired between her and Katsuki to Todoroki until tomorrow because he heads out for work right when she gets home. She also has to text Izuku about it so he doesn’t spam Katsuki with messages again and take them two steps back.

Ochako smacks her dry lips and glances over to her sidekick who lumbers quietly beside her. “Wanna stop for drinks?”

His thin eyes move from her to the café at the end of the block. “I don’t bring my wallet with me on patrols.”

She winks and points at herself with a thumb. “Leave it to your senpai!”

Ochako doesn’t have a cent on her, but when the barista insists on giving them the drinks for free, she plays modest. “ Oh no, I couldn’t… here, uh,”—fumbling around her belt for the money she doesn’t have—“huh? You’re sure? Thank you… Next time I’m here, I’m paying and you can’t stop me! Haha…”

In reality, anyone could stop Ochako from paying for something.

Tsubasa, Ochako’s sidekick, unscrews the top from his apple juice and tips it up. The cafe bell chimes as they leave, the silence that had fallen in the cafe bursts into chatter once the heel of Ochako’s boot clicks the sidewalk. ('Was that?’ ‘Uravity…!’ ‘...sidekick…’ ‘...she’s shorter than I…’)

They walk in silence for a bit, drinking and observing. Ochako’s lips and mouth relish in the sweet bliss of hydration. Her eyes narrow a bit as she draws the bottle away, swallowing hard. Katsuki. That man. He’s still on her mind, an angry Explodo caricature is hollowing a hole for itself in the back of her mind at this very moment. She didn’t leave the gym particularly furious or anything; actually she was in a dreamlike state for a while. Did I actually just hang out with Katsuki? She had thought. He didn’t even yell at me that much… Sugoi…!

She even told him to grow a pair! Well, actually, she told him to communicate, but the intent was there. Of course, Ochako can’t help but feel like a hypocrite now. What has she said to Izuku about the matter anyway? Sure, they text daily but that’s hardly leeway. They were already friends; she’s taken no leaps, she’s inching along while expecting Katsuki to jump.

Maybe she’s let herself get a little too swept up in Izuku’s eagerness. Yet, that’s where she wants to be.

It’s where she’s always wanted to be.

Tsubasa and Ochako cross the street, scanning around the area for illicit activities and finding none. They peer in alleys, even pick up litter. Today’s going to be uneventful, Ochako supposes, looking up at the clear blue sky. Crows fly overhead, flocking east, their shadows sweeping the street like sudden nightfall.

“Hey Tsubasa…” Ochako says suddenly.

Her sidekick jolts. He’s a skittish kid, he’s been jumpy for the entirety of their time together. At first she thought it was her being too intimidating, but eventually she realized that it’s his nature. Maybe it has to do with his quirk: Bird wings, sprouted from his shoulder blades… Maybe he has bird-like instincts to boot. His feathers ruffle, “Yes?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He winces, like the words were a physical blow. “N-No.”



Ochako hums. “Do you want one?”

Tsubasa chokes on his apple juice and doubles over. “Wh-What are you asking?”

Ochako stops walking. “What about two? Would you want two boyfriends? Tsubasa?”

He doesn’t answer.


“Uravity why?”

“Okay, scenario time:” Ochako starts as the sidekick collects himself. “Say someone that you know, and showed... mild... interest in, runs into you at the gym? What would you do?”

When Tsubasa doesn’t reply immediately, Ochako whips her head around to see him hiding his face in his hands.

“What?” Ochako questions.

“...I probably wouldn’t do anything.”

Well, if that doesn’t grind her gears. “Why!?”—Tsubasa squawks in fear— “Why wouldn’t you say anything?! What if I waved, would you wave back?”

“W-why is this person you now?”

“Would you wave at me or not, Tsubasa!?”

He nods tensely.

She squints. “Do you mean that?”

He shakes his head.

“Men,” Ochako scoffs.

“Sorry,” the young sidekick concedes, on behalf of all men, apparently.

“Are you really though?”

He pockets his hands. “Maybe he’s just shy—”

“This situation is hypothetical,” Ochako points out with a raised index finger. “And no, hypothetically, he is not shy. He’s actually a bit of a conceited jerk.”

“Probably insecure,” Tsubasa mumbles. He continues in a tone that is so quiet that Ochako can’t hear it.


“Oh, uh… I said… that in my experience… guys that are jerks are usually insecure… They have something they’re, uh… trying to protect.”

Ochako blinks. Her first thought is how dumb that seems, but she holds it in. She’s been practicing not saying everything she thinks. The results thus far are mixed. She remembers Midoriya mentioning something about Katsuki having an inferiority complex and the cogs in her brain begin to start turning.

“So,” she begins delicately. “If some girl wanted to befriend one of those jerks… How should I, er, I mean, she go about it?”

Tsubasa laughs for the first time since they’d been together. It takes Ochako by surprise, so he has her full attention when he says “If I knew the answer to that, Uravity, my life would be so much easier.”

Ochako’s lips part to respond to that when a rough vibration comes from her hip, then from Tsubasa’s helmet, followed by a distinct chime.

“A pin,” Ochako says, pulling out her work phone, thumb swiping over the curved glass. Four golden stars appear bright on her map, hovering over the city’s largest bank. Initially, Ochako thinks bank robbery … but… “Four stars?” What the hell happened?  Bank robbery turned massacre? An act of terrorism? Ochako taps the pin to see who dropped it. 

“Allistar… sidekick of... Deku...”  

She can’t help what her face does. Her blood suddenly feels like ice; her first thought is really?  Why Deku? Why now? Why four stars? 

Tsubasa’s voice snaps her out of her panic. There’s no time for it right now. “It should be fine,” Tsubasa says shakily, “it is Deku, after all—”

“We’re going.” Ochako decides.

“It’s practically in another district.”

“It’s four stars, Tsubasa. We got the pin, we are not involved in another mission currently. We are obligated to go, doesn’t matter who is or isn’t there.” He looks at her nervously and Ochako’s gaze softens. He’s scared.

Still, she can’t waste another second. 

“You can fly, right?” Ochako presses a hand to her chest, fingers glowing pink before her feet lift from the ground. “I’ll direct us. We’ll assess from above. I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. Don’t worry, okay? But also, this is what being a hero is...”  She shouldn’t have told him not to worry. She has no idea what they’re about to head into, but Ochako is a softie. “If you’re not willing to ris—”

Tsubasa doesn’t hesitate in spreading his wings. “I am.” With one flap, he lifts from the ground, arms looping under Ochako’s.

Ochako puts her work phone away and gulps down her anxiety. “Then let’s fly.”

Chapter Text

There’s a feeling Izuku gets just when something bad is about to happen. It’s like goosebumps on the wrong side of his skin, like the entirety of his body is falling asleep and he’s jolted with pins and needles. It doesn’t happen quick enough for him to ever do anything about it. It just comes as a minor warning, something to put him on edge. Izuku was standing outside of a parked food truck, mid shift, when it happened. The day had been entirely unsuspecting; clear skies, slight chill in the air.  He was on patrol with Allistar, who had finally recovered from his cold. They were on the outskirts of the city, nearing suburbia, but still licking the business district. They chatted about irrelevant things. Things like: how many followers Allistar has on Twitter, how many girlfriends Allistar has had, how many ‘get well’ messages he’d been sent, how Allistar's brother must be jealous of him (though, in Izuku’s opinion, the man just sounded proud).

Things like that.

When days are slow enough, Izuku sees no point in discouraging it. Maybe he likes the distraction, or maybe he's a masochist. Who knows.

The initial excitement picked up when they heard a shrill scream "MY PURSE!" They divided and conquered that. Izuku sent Allistar down the alley because he realized that when the purse snatcher caught sight of Deku, geared up and 'intimidating,' he would turn the other way.

It went almost exactly as planned, though the man knocked a little girl's food onto the ground as he back-pedaled. That's how Izuku ended up at the food-truck, buying juicy street tacos for a girl and her mother. 

His side-kick didn’t really see the point of it. He was leaned against the food truck, leg kicked back all 'cool-like.' 

“You’re already popular,” he’d said quietly.

That made Izuku frown. Though Allistar is a blonde (in every sense) and conceited teen, Izuku didn't expect that kind of shallowness. Is that was being a hero is really about to him? Popularity?

He sighed and ruffled his sidekick’s hair (because Alli hates when he does that, nearly as much as he hates being called Alli). For the most part, when it comes to this sidekick, Izuku is a listener. They don't have much in common, for starters,  and Izuku has learned to dial down on filterless talk when the receiving party risks falling asleep on their feet. However, as a mentor and hero, Deku couldn't let that comment slide. If he allowed that mentality go on unchecked, Allistar could become an ugly kind of hero, which unfortunately do exist.

“It's not about popularity. Izuku said. It's not about money, or looking cool. It's about saving people, Allistar. And when there's no one to save, what's important is that you're a good person.”

“You don't have to buy people tacos to be a good person,” Allistar quipped, looking down, ears tinged red. Izuku just chuckled. He didn't get a chance to reply because the tacos were being handed down to the girl and she couldn't reach them. Izuku went to help.

The feeling came just as she thanked him. Right when her slender eyes closed and her mouth stretched into a toothy smile.

Pins and needles.

Izuku inhaled.

Everything was hot. Everything was orange.

He didn't even exhale before he was grabbing the girl, grabbing the mother, and yanking the man out of the food truck through the window. With three people slung and spidered over his body, Full Cowling ripped through him, glowing through his dark green bodysuit. He leapt upward, reaching the top of a nearby building, then he leapt to the apartment building behind that.

Izuku hadn’t heard a sound yet, his eyes were wide and shaky, only watching the people in front of him and checking them over for injuries; hyper focusing on their well-being.

All three were fine, ruffled, maybe nauseous-looking, but fine.

Izuku let out the breath he’d been holding and his senses returned at once. The heat was the first thing he noticed, his back was hot, hot. The fabric might even be charred.

He slowly looked over his shoulder.

Alarms, smoke, screams, fire—all from the street he’d just been on. His heart rate picks up, he can almost feel every one of his blood cells opening up, welcoming the adrenaline.

“Are you three okay?” Izuku asks.

“Y-yes! Oh my god, I didn’t even… Oh my god!” The mother begins sobbing. Probably just realizing that she and her daughter could’ve died right then and there.

Izuku looks back to them and nods to the ice-cream-cart-man, who is bewildered, hair blown up like it’s soft-served. “Get them to the first floor as soon as possible, not sure how safe it would be to stay up here.”

A nod.

Suddenly the world gets brighter and the ground shakes. The three civilians scream and Izuku turns just in time to view another explosion, rivulets of smoke streaking through the air, red hot fire spreading on the next block. 

“Call the police,” Izuku states before leaping away. There’s no time to be more thorough than that. From a closer rooftop he can see silhouette of the carnage, but also shapes moving below.

Gas-leak? No way this was accidental.

A bomb?

A quirk?

Izuku tries and tries to remember what the first destroyed building had been. He closes his eyes… A bank! It was a bank!

He leaps from the side of the building, down into the smoke. Izuku lifts his fist and punches down as he falls, the smoke clearing instantly with whipping wind.

His stomach churns at the smell of burnt metal and plastic. Darkened cars and and cement line the street, upturned, contorted. He spies a hand, bloodied, alone. If only I had—he can’t do that right now. There’s no time.

“ALLISTAR!” Izuku shouts.

His sidekick. Where’s his sidekick?

Getting help? Dead? Dead?!

I should’ve grabbed him. I could’ve grabbed him. Why didn’t I grab him?

“Deku! Over here!”

Izuku sighs out a breath as Allistar appears, carrying two men over his shoulders. “I dropped a pin on the network. More heroes should be here soon.”

“What did you rank it?"

“This has got to be four stars, right?”

He nods. Izuku may have placed a three without thinking, but with only one hero and one sidekick on the scene, there’s no telling; four stars with grab more attention anyway. They are only seeing the after effects now. The cause of the carnage could be much worse… assuming a villain is involved. Morbidly enough, Izuku feels safe in that assumption.

“Did you see what caused the explosions?”

“No sir.”

Izuku frowns and looks to the smoking bank, or what was left of it. He thinks he can see something moving inside of it. One of the men slung over Allistar’s shoulder coughs, reminded both heroes of his predicament. Izuku doesn’t hesitate. “Get those two away from the smoke then come back and look for more survivors. I’ll check out the scene.”

“I don’t think this was a gas leak, Deku.”

“I know.”

“You should wait until I get back, or at least one other hero arrives.”

Someone has been studying protocol. Izuku doesn’t have the luxury to praise. “I know that too, Allistar.” Izuku swallows and steps forward, punching to clear more smoke. “Get those men to clear air and then help assist an evacuation.”

Allistar doesn’t stop him again.




Once they’re high enough, Ochako can see the smoke. Dark, black smoke. Chemical fire. She automatically thinks only bad things. Four stars worth of bad things.

“Guess we won’t need those directions!” Tsubasa yells over the wind, head down.

Ochako just nods, though he probably has his eyes on the sky ahead. Her brain is warring with itself. As a hero, she is operating under the assumption that Izuku is fine. But her gut doesn’t recognize that there needs to be a level of professionalism. It’s twisting and writhing and making her want to cry. She’s felt this before. When all your friends are heroes, this feeling is one you have to learn to smother, but… Izuku’s shifted out of the friend category, hasn’t he? And it’s scaring the shit out of her.

Her nose wrinkles as a gust of wind brings smoke, her visor blocks particles from her eyes, but the smell is pungent and heavy. Perhaps she and Tsubasa aren’t the most equipped for the job, neither of them have water quirks or are particularly resistant to fire. Given the circumstance, Izuku could most likely generate a wind current… so why hasn’t he?

Bystanders, maybe.

There’s no telling how many are trapped in the buildings all around them, and that’s where Ochako should come in. She specializes in rescue, after all, which is tricky in urban areas. Her and Tsubasa should check out the surrounding area of damage, lifting rubble, carrying civilians away while Izuku handles combat until more heroes come.

Can't I just see if Deku-kun is okay first? The weak part of her asks, innocently. 

“We’ll start here!” Ochako shouts, pointing to the closest ruined building, the wall of the east side collapsed, clipped by the second explosion. Ochako doesn’t miss the flash of a white t-shirt hanging from the window. Tsubasa begins their descent.

No, I can’t.




There’s a woman sobbing in epicenter of the damage, her arm is bleeding profusely and she’s holding it, leg bent and twisted, voice cracked and tired. Her dark curls of hair are in her face, he can’t tell if the liquid dripping from her chin is blood or tears.

Izuku scans the area he can see. If he leaves the woman, she could die. A potential head or abdominal injury could kill her quick, same goes for smoke inhalation. She could also be used as a hostage. Saving her is the right choice, the obvious choice. Izuku steps forward, Full Cowling dispersing and dissipating. His eyes continue scanning left, then right as he approaches the woman.

His skin is still prickling with goosebumps.

Something isn’t right.

“Miss?” Izuku calls. “Miss, I know this is a lot to ask, but I need you to stay calm.” Izuku steps over a chunk of charred cement.

How the hell did she even survive this?

“Please-Please! Deku!” She cries out. “Please h-help me... I can’t move…”

Her leg does indicate that quite well. The skin is twisted, the bone must be completely snapped. Izuku has never seen anything like it. Strangely, it isn’t discolored.

Her wails break his train of thought. His ingrained hero-instincts scream at him to comfort her. “I’m coming, don’t worry. We’ll get you to a hospital. Please, stay calm, stay with me.” He hesitates within a few yards over her trembling form. His legs lock. “Did you see the villain?”

“How can you ask me that!? I-I… Look at my leg! Oh my god!” She’s hyperventilating now.

Izuku knows how to comfort people in shock. He should be doing that right now, but he can’t shake the feeling that the threat isn’t gone.

She continues wailing and Izuku unfreezes, shoving his paranoia away. “I apologize Miss, let’s get you out of here.” Izuku crouches, and glances over his shoulder as he does.


He reaches for the woman quickly, but finds his hands slipping right through. His head whips around. Her face is melting, folding down like flesh colored putty, yet her mouth keeps moving, teeth rolling and separating on waves of flesh like slime. “Most people would think it’s unlucky for me to have Deku show up to the scene.” Her voice deepens and cracks, even her… its... clothes have turned into that disgusting consistency, and Izuku’s hands are stuck right in it. He stumbles forward, being pulled in.

Deja Vu.

Izuku presses his thumb and index finger together through the sludge.


He flicks and the sludge flings everywhere. On all fours, Izuku darts back. Something still isn’t right. His eyes narrow and scan, there’s more smoke rolling out from the ruins. What caused the—

Something hard jams against the back of Izuku’s neck and the hit reverberates through each notch of his spine. His body goes rigid and he topples over, only wheezing once he hits the ground. His fingers are twitching, his back aches. Izuku grits his teeth until dark combat boots align with his vision. Nausea blossoms in Izuku’s stomach and his vision spins. His green irises dart upward. Izuku's body is moving, but in all the wrong places. He tries to move his hands, push himself up, but the muscles of his legs constrict instead. It’s as if every action has been… flipped.

“You sent your sidekick away because you thought you were too strong for us,” the man standing over Izuku says. He crouches, Izuku can see long reddish hair, more orange than Kirishima’s, and unsteady black eyes. “But we’ve been waiting for you.”

Izuku feels something wet slide off his face. Then he notes beads of brownish sludge rolling across the ground, connecting behind the man crouched in front of Izuku so he can't see what it’s forming. With no more obvious information to gather, Izuku decides to stall. " for me?"

"Don't feel too special. Actually, we were waiting for any hero in the top twenty, you just fit our schedule."

"Why... the bank?"

A new voice speaks up. "Had to get your attention, but money is also nice." Pale arms slink around the redhead's neck and the woman reappears, her chin resting on his shoulder. Her facial structure is different from before; higher cheekbones,  plusher lips, slimmer nose. Her sludge quirk reminds Izuku of the first villain he ever “faced,” back in junior high. Though she seems to use it more cosmetically, like a type of shapeshifting. While the man... Izuku isn't sure what part of his body he used, but whatever it was flipped Izuku's motor orientation. The gross motor skills, at least. He seems to be able to move his jaw.

"The explosions?" Izuku asks. "What caused them?" Izuku wiggles his fingers. His toes end up moving. He can work with this.

"Ha! Wouldn't you like to know!" The woman cackles. Her voice seems a little lower that before. He wonders if the differences in he reconstruction were done on purpose, or due to a weakness—a inability to perfectly recreate herself. 

Interesting quirks, he can’t help but think. But both are anatomy based, there must be a third member. He doesn't think they would've blown something up to get his attention unless it was easy for them to do. Someone with a fire or explosion quirk. Izuku knows two amazing heroes with those, which is why it makes him even angrier that someone would use it for something like this.

"It's time to make our statement," The man brandishes a knife, intricate carvings along its handle, curved blade. The woman reveals a red sash with holes and begins tying it over his eyes. "You're a popular hero, Deku. You're perfect for it. Even more perfect since you contributed to putting Stain away."

“Think of all the media coverage.” The woman says. “Two blocks of disaster. One hero in the top ten dead, Deku dead.”

Izuku grimaces. Things click together now. "You're members of the Stain following."

He's ignored. 

Onyx eyes glare down at Izuku through the holes of the sash. "The news tried to hide it, but you were there when Stain was taken away. You, Igneium, and Dual. This is almost too perfect, like divine intervention!"

"Maybe since we're starting with Deku, we'll have to kill them next."

Izuku almost outright laughs at that. He wants to tell them 'you can try,' but he doesn't. Because they won't ever get the chance to.

Izuku thinks about wiggling his toes. His fingers writhe, and he manages to make a fist. One good hit. That's all he needs. He can worry about the third member after.




Clearing one block took longer than Ochako would have prefered. Though no one was injured badly on the outskirts, they were trapped in buildings and had to be removed cautiously.

Despite there only being her and Tsubasa, they fared well. 

Ochako's boots step into ash as she crosses the barren streets. She's never felt so unhappy to be a first-responder. Tsubasa is talking to some firefighters who have finally arrived, many of them with water and industrial quirks (also firetrucks, those are helpful too).

Finally, they're given the OK to go in deeper. To go be heroes. "We've got this," a firefighter tells Tsubasa, giving him a shaky thumbs up before lugging a water hose over her shoulder. Ochako nods to the woman before looking at her sidekick herself.

Ochako allows her gaze to be scrutinizing. There is no benefit of the doubt in her brown eyes, and what she sees in Tsubasa's face isn't disappointing. He's determined, still scared (he can't hide that), but he's ready. The switch is flipped. Ochako evaluates the block ahead. "We should probably fly. If we spot the enemy from above, you can drop me in. I won't break. The smoke may prevent that, though."

"I'll be able to see," Tsubasa reminds her. "I've got hawk vision, remember?"

Ochako smiles. "You know... I went to school with a guy who had a bird head. He had less bird abilities than you." Ochako makes herself weightless.


"I've told you this before, haven't I?" She says as Tsubasa snakes his arms under hers. He lifts them with a single flap.

"There are only so many bird people you can know. Thank you though."

"For what?"

As they gain altitude, Tsubasa has to yell, or attempt his own rendition of it. "For trying to make me less nervous. It won't work, but it's nice."

Well, she tried. "A-ah. You're welcome..." She wonders if she really was trying to make him less nervous. It may have been for her too. Ochako's legs dangle in the wind. She's squinting down into the black smoke below. She can't see a thing between the buildings. They really will be relying almost entirely on Tsubasa's eyes.

Ochako wets her lips. What the hell has Izuku gotten himself int—

“Found Deku.”

That was fast.

“You’re sure?”

“Who else has ears like that on their hood?”

Ochako can’t think of anyone. “Is he alone?”

They hover above the smoke, Ochako still can’t see anything but rolling black.

“No, he’s on the ground. There are two others. A man and a woman and… and… the man has a knife.”

Ochako feels sick. “Drop me.”


“I’m not asking!”  Ochako rolls her head back, unsurprised when she finds Tsubasa looking at her, the whites of his eyes vibrant through his black mask. His grip on her shoulders quivers, but he doesn’t let go. Despite her exasperation, Ochako smiles. “Are you doubting your, senpai, Tsubachan?”

He shakes his head, swallows, then gives her a nod. “O-on three, okay?”




Ten years later and Izuku recognizes the speech the man is giving as Stain’s. He’s attempting the same charisma, trying to instill fear on a crowd that isn’t there while the woman just purrs over his shoulder, pleased that they’re about to sacrifice Deku to ‘the cause.’ A cause they’ve got all wrong. Her eyes are wide tracing an invisible line between Izuku and the tip of the blade raised above him.

It’s been a while since Izuku has seen such bloodlust up close. Over the years, he has learned that few lunatics can be reasoned with. But also that few people wind up being truly insane. 

The two people above Izuku are part of that few.

The monologue is reaching its end and Izuku still hasn’t fully comprehended how he’s going to do this, but he’s all out of time. It’s now or never. Izuku imagines himself walking on his hands, he even makes moves to do it. As expected, his legs move instead. Quickly he thinks about using his legs. His arms start to push him up. 

Off balance, he’s just about to rise fully when a boot slams into his abdomen. Izuku coughs and falls back onto the ground, jagged pieces of cement stabbing into his back. He’s dragged back up by the ears of his hood (not the first time this has happened, but he refuses to get rid of them) and comes face to face with lined electric blue eyes. “While we are grateful for your presence, Hero Deku, we don’t need your active participation.”

She speaks as if it’s a mere reprimand, worthy of a slap on the wrist rather than a boot to the gut. She’s only asking me to die after all.

Izuku grits his teeth, and boots crunch as the man’s shadowy form approaches from behind her, red scarf fluttering behind his head in the thick, gritty wind. With reinvigorated frustration, Izuku can’t help but think this isn’t good.

Finding his coordination is harder than he’d—

“—EEEEEEEKKKUUUUU-KKUUUUNNN!”  The shout does nothing to prepare any of them. Pink blurs Izuku’s vision and he falls back onto the ground, collapsing beside the woman as a force crashes down on her. With great concentration, Izuku manages to prop up enough to see Ochako, Uravity, wobbling to stand tall. She looks a little green in the face, but her gaze is hard, mouth a firm line. Her eyes move down and she gasps. The woman has turned into a puddle below her feet.

Throat dry, Deku yells, “Uravity move!

Ochako springs up and slime chasing after her, growing and reshaping into an hand that finds her ankle. A half-formed person tosses Ochako like a ragdoll, but the hero doesn’t fall. 

She floats.

Ochako’s feet meet the ground on her own terms and she lunges forward. Her training with Gunhead truly did wonders. Ochako is a queen of hand-to-hand combat, but the villain isn’t rusty herself, she uses her quirk to absorb the blows and slow Ochako’s withdraw time. Uravity is suckered in for a punch, but she recovers within seconds. 

Izuku’s teeth grind. He isn’t even sure if he can walk, nonetheless fight, but he’ll be damned if he lets Ochako take on both of them while he lays on the ground, useless.

Deku does not mean useless.

Izuku looks past the fighting bodies and finds the second villain watching them through his red scarf. Cowering perhaps. They didn’t plan to take on two top heroes after all. Or maybe he’s waiting on the third member.

Whatever the reason… Deku illuminates green and shoots across the ground, thinking about his arms and using his legs. The man’s attention finds the hero too late and Izuku’s arm swings. 

He only needs one good hit.


The villain flies backward into a pile of rubble, dust floating down over him in waves. Izuku nearly topples over as he stands. He moves forward quickly, meeting the man before he can stand. Izuku grabs his collar, rips off the red scarf. Blood dribbles down the side of the man’s face. He’s young, around Izuku’s age maybe. “Where’s the third member?” Izuku grits out.

The man wheezes out a laugh. Delirium is a sickening thing. “You top heroes really are something else. Imagine if you weren’t all rotten to the core. The world might actually be a nice place.”

“The third member,” he reiterates.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen someone get used to my quirk. You aren’t all brawn. You’ve got a lot of brain up there, I bet. Or just perfect control of your body. Maybe both. It’s sad… really sad. You’re all corrupt—”

“Would killing innocent people make me a better person?”

“I ruin myself for the cause. I dirty my hands for a better future.”

Izuku pulls him close. “People like you don’t see a future. You only see what’s wrong. You only complain.”

“And all you ‘heroes’ are just paid killers.”

Izuku sees red and blue light on the man’s face and he looks over to Ochako, who has successfully apprehended the morphing woman. Officers with flashlights peering through the dust and smoke approach and Izuku tries one last time.

“Where is your third member?”

The man smiles, Izuku notices that a tooth has vanished; it’s sitting on his tongue. “Probably with the fourth and fifth… and sixth… and seventh—” Izuku shoves his hand into the man’s mouth. It wasn’t hard for him to think about his foot doing it instead. The man garbles around Deku’s gloves, but Izuku doesn’t pull away until the loose tooth is between his fingers. He crushes it between his fingers, it turns to powder.

Izuku’s eyes widen. “URAVITY! SUICIDE PILLS!” Izuku looks over and Uravity is shaking the woman, trying to open her clamped mouth. Medics rush over to assist her just as officers swarm Izuku, placing cuffs on the villain. Izuku feels his body tingle, and he wiggles his fingers. They wiggle. He sighs out in relief.

The villain is looking to his partner with something akin to worry. Whether he wants the woman to die or live is a mystery to Izuku, but when the the sound of retching meets his ears, the Stain impersonator relaxes. Lunatics have feelings too, Izuku supposes. He isn’t positive how that makes him feel.

A handful of heroes show to assist with rescue, but Deku and Uravity have to wait for the detectives to show before they can be dismissed. He finds her standing by a fire truck, watching the CAUTION tape box the initial disaster site. Her visor is up and there’s a mask over her mouth. Izuku hadn’t even thought about how much smoke she must’ve inhaled. His chest tightens at the thought.

“Uravity!” Izuku waves as he approaches. 

She looks up and her eyes crinkle. He knows she’s smiling. 

Izuku leans on the firetruck beside her with a thud. He sighs.

Ochako matches his sigh, then she coughs a little.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue back there,” Izuku says. “I underestimated what I was walking into.”

“Doubtful.” Her voice is muffled through the mask so Izuku leans closer to hear her. “You probably guesstimated the danger and went in anyway. Bet you even sent your sidekick to go help civilians.”

Izuku’s ears go pink. “A-Ah…”

“I guess I’m no better. I told Tsubasa ‘everything will be okay,’ earlier.”

Izuku snorts. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I even looked him in the eyes, just like this." She puts a hand on Izuku's shoulder and stares at him seriously.

“Just like this?” Izuku echoes, staring into Ochako’s big brown eyes. He isn't sure she gauged just how close they were.

“O-or something like it.”

Izuku licks his lips and though she has a oxygen mask on, and probably damaged her lungs, he wants to kiss her. But they’re on the clock and though unseen, Izuku is positive the press is lurking somewhere. “I sure hope not. I know what it’s like to be fifteen around you, Ochako.”

“He’s sixteen.”

With newfound confidence, Izuku chuckles. “Even worse.” 

Ochako elbows him and turns away. They listen to the world around them for a beat; shouting, radio chatter, sirens, wind. Izuku can feel exhaustion weighing down on him.

“I wanted to go to you first, you know.” Ochako says. “I didn’t, and I shouldn’t have… but I want you to know that I really wanted to, Izuku. I was so scared it made me sick.”

Izuku turns to meet her eyes again, but her head is down, hands fidgeting over her stomach. Izuku manages to fit both of them in just one of his. Her slender fingers curl around his crooked, gloved ones instantly and Izuku notes the contrast between them. Her calluses are smooth while his are jagged and bumpy. Thinking of it now, Ochako wasn’t the closest patrolling hero in vicinity. If he recalls the zoning correctly, she's quite far. He’s almost in the next district as it is. He feels his chest get tight again.

Yagi had told him once that relationships can be weak links, that they can make heroes vulnerable.

He’d also told Izuku that they can make heroes stronger too.


“Hero Deku, Hero Uravity.” The detectives arrive on the scene, flanked by Allistar and Tsubasa. The pair jumps apart and without so much as a stutter, Izuku and Ochako greet the detectives before relaying the situation, twin blushes vanishing. The officers mention how this is the biggest stunt the Stain following has ever pulled and Izuku voices his concern on it worsening, especially with the main culprit still out there. He and the detectives then evolve into theorizing while Ochako clicks her heels boredly and the sidekicks attempt a fairly one-sided conversation. They’re just on the brink of dismissal, detectives leading them off the scene, when a brash voice fries Izuku’s nerves.

“You motherfuckers missed one.” 

Izuku hears Ochako make a noise and, knowingly, they both turn.

Katsuki is in jeans, combat boots, and a black tank, dark hoodie is tied around his hips. Black smears of ash wrap around his bare arms, he’s dragging a man with bound hands behind him, rolling him under the caution tape before stepping over it himself, stepping on the man as he tries to scramble away. “He’s got a quirk like mine, but it’s shittier.”

Izuku feels himself relax just a little. The third member.

Chapter Text

Dumbfounded, yet unsurprised, Uravity and Deku watch Katsuki. The man under him is quivering and practically foaming from the mouth with malice, glaring up at the heroes and the officers like he could kill them on the spot.

Against probably every one of her natural instincts, Ochako shoots forward and grabs the villain’s face. Izuku catches her discarded oxygen mask with quick hands and watches Uravity pinch the man’s jaw. “Spit it out,” she demands. Katsuki doesn’t question her and digs his heel into the man’s back. Izuku can feel the detectives stiffen on either side of him but when the villain hacks out the faux tooth, they say nothing.

Suits just want results, after all.

Ochako coughs into the crook of her elbow, using her spare arm to hand the faux tooth to a lackey. Officers immediately swarm the villain and civilian Katsuki is relieved of pinning the man down. 

“Explodo,” The head detective recognizes, running a hand through his greying hair. “Guess we’ll have to do this all over again,” he sighs. Izuku feels like sighing too. “I’m Detective Guren, I’m leading the investigation on the Stain following.”

“Don’t name the bastards. They’ll feel special.”

“Can you just let him finish?” Izuku snaps, surprising himself. “Och— Uravity is about to pass out.”

“Was I fuckin’ talkin’ to you, Deku?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Ochako mumbles, slipping her oxygen mask back on and watching them with watery eyes.

Izuku doesn’t miss the way Katsuki looks at her and lowers his hackles; the way he calmly pockets his hands and kicks up some rubble. He feels a bit guilty because, though Ochako is on the forefront of his mind, Izuku snapped at Katsuki for reasons beyond her. Clearly, if Bakugou can just show up to a crime scene while he’s off, he could reply to a text (or twenty). Izuku broods with that thought as the debriefing finally finishes without another hitch. “I’ll be in touch,” the detective assures at the end, waving before walking deeper into the crime scene.

Izuku hates when they say that.

He hates leaving when he feels like a job isn’t done. How is he supposed to sleep knowing that an attack on this scale could happen again? The villain could’ve been lying about their numbers, but Izuku doubts it. They were willing to commit suicide, implying that they’re sure ‘the cause’ would continue without them. When he’d mentioned that to Guren earlier, the man hummed in agreement and made a wisecrack about Izuku taking his job. That hadn’t made the hero feel any better.

A police car arrives, ready to take Izuku and Bakugou home or to their respective offices. Izuku asks that the car is held until Ochako is finished being looked over. He can see her in the back of one of the ambulances, laughing about something with a paramedic and then coughing violently, making the paramedic knock over a tray with surprise; probably a new EMT flustered by Ochako’s sincere nature. Izuku understands, still he can’t help but wish someone more seasoned in their profession were at Ochako’s side instead—someone less mistake prone.

“Take a damn chill pill, Deku. They’re getting one of the quirk medics over there.”

Izuku bristles. Partly irritated by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed Katsuki approaching. Mostly irritated for other reasons. “‘Was I talking to you,’ Kacchan?”

“Cute, you’re real fuckin’ cute. Let’s be real here though, no one knows who the hell you’re talking to when you mumble like that.”

Izuku almost blushes, of course he’d been mumbling. When silence falls between them, Izuku wills himself not to break it first. He fails. “You’re off.”

Katsuki grunts. Obviously, it says.

“You didn’t have to show up. Why did you?” Izuku speaks with, despite his efforts to crush it down, hope. Being ignored stung. This is the first time they’d talked since Katsuki started dodging his and Ochako’s texts and calls. It felt like rejection, but since he hadn’t actually said no to the ‘string’ proposal (aside from when he initially did… he didn’t really mean that right? Right.), Izuku can’t help but hope. That’s how he’s always been, even when there’s nothing to hope for.

Katsuki turns, looks at him with his steely red gaze and shrugs, exuding nonchalance. “I was in the area with Shitty Hair. You know he lives in the next district, right?”


“Y-Yeah, I’ve run into him a few times…” Izuku swallows, looks away, looks back to Katsuki and notices Katsuki looking away. “...Are you lying?”

“Fuck off.”

“If you were with Kirishima there’s no way he wouldn’t have come with,” Izuku continues. Please be lying.

“He might have and I just ditched him to steal the credit for bagging the bomb fucker.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Katsuki folds his arms over his chest, ash smeared along the exposed, tanned skin of his corded forearms. His head is tilted up. “Ochako was nowhere near you.”

Izuku’s brows furrow. “Where is this coming from?”

“Your shitstain of a sidekick—“


“—said that you sent him away and went into the main explosion site to pinpoint the villains. That was a funny move for someone who was only patrolling with one sidekick. You couldn’t have known Ochako was gonna fuckin’ drop in. So, where was your backup, Deku?”

Izuku wonders if he’s mishearing. He makes a face that he’s positive Katsuki would describe as ‘dumb,’ but he has no idea what the man’s talking about. “I didn’t have any? Kacchan, I’m not fol—“

Katsuki turns on his heel, “I’ll be in the goddamn car.”

Izuku watches him, gaping. What did he say? What was he supposed to say? He swallows and clenches his fists by his sides. Katsuki managed to turn the tables and suddenly Izuku feels like he should apologize, but no. 

Izuku glares at the shifting shadow between Katsuki’s shoulder blades until he disappears from view, followed by the slamming of a car door.

Izuku doesn’t get it.

And he’s a little too upset to try.








Ochako wants to get out of the car. She just got her lungs healed by an EMT, but the tension in the air is about to choke her out like the smoke had forty-five minutes earlier. At least, this time, her lungs don’t feel like sandpaper.

It’s dead silent in the small police cruiser, the lack of conversation is like a presence, pressing against the windows of the car, expanding and crushing them all with each passing minute. The officer had on some talk show for the first few minutes of the ride, but Katsuki turned it off without a word. Not a sound aside from clicking turn signals and rumbling engines has been heard since. 

She and Izuku are sitting in the back. Katsuki is in the passenger seat. They’re being taxied to their first stop: Ochako’s. Izuku, being the gentleman that he is, asked if it was possible for Ochako to be taken home first, considering her injury—despite the fact that he lived closest to the scene. Ochako didn’t even argue, she’s beat. And now, she’s incredibly glad that she’ll be the first to step out of this smog of tension.

Every now and then she catches a glint of red in the rearview mirror on her side. If she leans to her left, she can see Katsuki looking out the window with a face that screams die. He doesn’t see her looking, so she keeps on doing it, letting her eyes trace all over his handsome features. His face is chiseled, all angles and shadows. His skin is almost opalescent in the grey light from outside, highlights running along the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. Though she doesn’t get bored, something about staring directly at such unadulterated anger (whether it’s on a handsome face or not) makes her stomach churn so she quickly looks over to Izuku and sighs happily. 

He’s like a summer breeze, a green  meadow dotted with daisies; it must be raining on the meadow, Izuku’s expression is downcast, pensive. His fingers are interlaced in his lap and when he notices Ochako, he just gives her a little lopsided smile before looking away again. She jumps when his hand finds her knee, squeezing it, rubbing it, and then just remaining there. It’s such a simple act, yet her brain short circuits for a moment. 

Katsuki must’ve said something, she assumes. Izuku had been so headstrong about wrangling Katsuki into a string-ridden relationship. Even during the week of radio silence, he seemed confident that they could wear the man down. He didn’t seem disheartened by being ignored, not so much as Ochako was.

Still, Ochako can only read Izuku’s expression as a mix of anger and disappointment. She rests her hand atop Izuku’s, frowning. What on earth did Katsuki say? She had just seen Katsuki this morning (she revels in the fact that she had seen him less than six hours ago, it feels like a new day after all that’s happened), he seemed to be more on the fence with Ochako, not Izuku. It is obvious the man wants Izuku! 

So what the hell?




Yeah, Katsuki has no idea what he was fucking thinking. How could he possibly get involved with someone who is unquestionably going to die before they hit thirty? Someone who has a fucking deathwish? He gives Izuku six years tops. Six years before he takes too big a risk and ends up with a statue and a coffin. 

Izuku didn’t feel Katsuki’s glare boring into him during the debriefing, but it hasn’t wavered since Izuku’s sidekick announced that Izuku went into an undefined situation alone. The fact wasn’t actually announced. It was just a statement; a thing that happened. No one dwelled on it. Not the blonde sidekick, not the winged sidekick, not one detective, not Izuku, not even Ochako. There was nothing unusual about it to them. 

For fuck’s sake. 

Deku is surrounded by people who encourage his suicidal tendencies and Katsuki will be damned if he is another one of them. He could just tell him that maybe, but Deku’s too far gone to change. He won’t change, and Katsuki doesn’t want to get swept up into the shit storm of emotions when something god-awful finally does happen.

Though he’s vaguely aware that it may be too late for that.

Katsuki continues glaring out the window, sourly, his face screwing up. City blocks pass in flashes of gray, people in suits stop by food vendors and stroll into buildings. The car buckles to a halt at a red light. 

Right under the pedestrian light, Katsuki spots a kiss and his gaze lingers. It’s between a man and a woman, both dressed in drab, neutral business attire. Katsuki feels no shame about invading on the intimate scene, they’re kissing on the sidewalk for all to see, anyway. They draw back, smiling, waving as they head separate ways. The man pauses at the crosswalk, looks back, then keeps walking. Just as he looks away, the woman looks back, simpers, and vanishes behind a building, hand to her lips.

Katsuki wonders if that was their first kiss. Neither seemed too shocked by it, but the anticipation and excitement of their movements was like puppy love.

Maybe that’s how shit is supposed to work when you don’t immediately fuck after a confession.

Katsuki never went through the puppy love phase. He opened his eyes one day, found dudes fuckable, and thus started fucking around. In America, he’d been in a chain of relationships though none of them lasted over a month, and none required any real sort of mourning upon ending. Not from him, anyway. Katsuki likes sex, he loves it actually, but there was still something missing from every relationship that bomb ass sex couldn’t cover up.

It was what those two office workers had. It was in the looks they gave each other over their shoulders. Katsuki thinks that he just might want that (could he just steal it?). And in an alternate universe, maybe he and Izuku could have that. Maybe if they could switch places with the couple on the corner and be regular businessmen, they could do things typically. Lunches together, dinners, dates, kisses hello and goodbye, lazy sex, morning sex… other kinds of boring couple-y things. But they aren’t regular people, they don’t have regular lives. And there’s Ochako.

If Katsuki and Izuku were to date, he’d have to treat every moment like it’s their last together and he just doesn’t know if he’s up for that; if he’s ready for that. Especially if the feeling is going to be multiplied by two. His knee begins to bounce, the silence of the car is growing to be a bit much because his thoughts are getting loud.

How the hell are those two chatterboxes staying quiet back there anyway? He swings his head around to glance back and immediately regrets it.

Izuku looks dejected, Ochako looks worried.

Katsuki feels like an asshole.



Ochako clears her throat for the fifth time since they’d gotten in the car. Her hand is still over Izuku’s like a paperweight. The area outside of the car grows more and more familiar as they near her apartment building. It’s making her anxious because leaving now seems wrong. It’s obvious they need to talk, though maybe it’s a conversation she isn’t needed for. Her thought process is totally dismantled when Katsuki, true to himself, shatters the tension… by worsening it tenfold.

“Stop the car.”

The officer jumps in his seat, finally acknowledged and startled by it. He looks to Katsuki before focusing back on the road. “H-huh? We aren’t e-even near…um…” He must feel the glare Katsuki is giving him. “...okay.”

There’s no traffic so the car just stops dead center in the road. Katsuki grumbles a thanks before getting out. Ochako can feel Izuku’s nerves permeating from his tense form. It’s giving her anxiety. 

Then Izuku, equally true to his nature, excuses himself to whirl out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Ochako swallows, her knee feels cold. She thinks about just going home, lugging herself into the elevator and slumping on the couch,  curling into a ball of self pity, until Shouto comes home and piles next to her.

“Where the hell do you fit in at all?”

The phrase has been ringing distantly in her head all day. Even though he softened the blow, it hurt to hear it. It hurt that he didn’t know. It still hurts because she isn’t entirely sure herself. After being told that, any normal person would see these two men storming away, with issues they clearly need to dish out themselves, and take the free ride home, right?

Well, with some hesitation, Ochako doesn’t. Maybe this is her being true to herself too. Or maybe she’s just a busybody who can’t leave well enough alone.

“Thanks for the ride. I think I’ll walk!” Ochako half waves at the officer up front and follows Izuku into the cold, jogging to catch up. “Guys!?”

Izuku’s curls keep bouncing, heels hot with a speedy walk. Ochako refuses to run, but she moves as fast as her tired, short legs can take her.

She loses him to an alley, and feels the cold weather slip inside of her. Now she just looks stupid. Running after not one, but two men who couldn’t care less. Even worse: she’s making this about her now! There’s no winning. Ochako’s resolve is just about to falter when she hears a loud shout (“THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM”) followed by a thud. She’s seen and delivered enough punches to recognize the whoosh of air and impact.

Men fight, Ochako thinks. Especially these two. The fated battle between men never ends. Still, she follows.

Izuku is standing rigidly and Katsuki is holding his own hand, there’s blood on it. She traces it to the scorch on the brick wall behind Izuku, dark cracks fracturing the dirty red.

“My problem?” Izuku echoes. “You’re the one wh—”

“Yeah! Your fuckin’ problem! You’re a hero, not a goddamn martyr, stop trying to be one!”

“I’m not trying—

“What? You miss All Might so bad that you wanna end up dead like him too!?”

Ochako winces at that.

Midoriya’s voice changes. “Take that back, Katsuki.”

Katsuki clucks his tongue and turns his head away. His eyes find Ochako. She stiffens, caught. A sneer splits his jaw, flashing teeth. “Why don’t we ask ‘Chako here, huh?”


Katsuki is walking toward her in long strides, Ochako can’t bring herself to move so she lets him grab her with a steaming hand and drag her into the alley.

“Look at him,” Katsuki says, gesturing in Izuku’s direction.

Ochako just looks at Katsuki like he’s crazy.

“Are you fuckin’ deaf?! I said look at him!”

She glares and snatches her arm away before slowly looking to Izuku who stands like he’s about to topple over, breathing heavily, looking as confused at Ochako feels.

“He’s reckless isn’t he?” Katsuki says into her ear, loud enough for Izuku to blatantly hear. “Always trying to get himself killed. He’s been doing it since highschool, hell, he’s been doing it forever!” His voice reaches almost-yelling volume and Ochako flinches, hot breath puffing over her cheek. “Jumping in rivers and shit like he won’t drown just because he’s trying to save someone else!”


Ochako is utterly dwarfed by the overpowering presence of unresolved issues towering between Izuku and Katsuki. Guess banging it out didn’t work as well as Katsuki thought it would. Guess Katsuki doesn’t always know best. With that in mind, she takes a step forward, leveling the mountain of problems with a hard gaze. “He’s selfless, Katsuki. It’s a good trait. It’s what makes him Deku. Everyone knows that.” The blonde’s nose wrinkles and Ochako continues. “It sounds to me like you’re just worried for him. And that’s a good trait too.”

It doesn’t look like he expected her to disagree. “Hell would you kno—“

Ochako’s voice lowers and she snaps around to face the blonde. “Don’t insult me because I’m right; I’m not stupid and you know it.” This isn’t high school anymore, she wants to say. Katsuki stops. He pockets his hands. Looks down at his shoes.

Ochako almost feels a little bad for snapping at him, her fingers itch to touch his arm, but she keeps her hands firmly by her sides. She doesn’t see the way Izuku is looking at her.




The air was even denser than it had been in the car. Katsuki lashed out at Izuku, punched the wall behind him, but somehow Izuku knew Katsuki wasn’t going to hit him. He just knew he wouldn’t. Even when he was staring the fist down as it shot forward, sparking. The Katsuki that would’ve hit Izuku was a Katsuki that Izuku couldn’t move forward with. Still, Izuku wasn’t sure where to start until Ochako.

Ochako, with her serious blushed cheeks and pouty lips stood up for Izuku countless times and is doing it again. She’s forcing his hand, now. After all, she can’t move forward with Katsuki for him.

Izuku swallows thickly, looking between Ochako and Katsuki, their faces solemn. He steps forward, puts a big hand on Ochako’s shoulder and clears his throat.

“You were worried, Kacchan?”

He still doesn’t say anything and for a minute Izuku swears Katsuki is back to his fourteen year old self, holding back hateful tears when the pressure inside builds up to be bigger than his explosions.

Then Kacchan matures, right before Izuku’s eyes.

“So what if I fuckin’ was?”

Red meets green and Izuku’s stomach does a little jump that can’t be explained by conventional means. His hand tightens on Ochako’s shoulder.

He wonders if he should pinch himself. Did Katsuki just… admit to being worried about him? The same Katsuki who claims he has been butt-dialing Izuku on this birthday for three years straight?


“O-Oh,” Izuku articulates.

“Fuckin ‘oh?’—” Whatever Katsuki was going to say falls short because suddenly his face is nearing Izuku’s. Uraraka has snaked an arm around both of their necks and pulls them together in a hug.

“There’s got to be something wrong with me,” Ochako mumbles, so lowly Izuku almost doesn’t catch it. Louder, she says, “This is the part where you kiss and make up.”

Izuku notices Katsuki’s crimson orbs dart downward, away from Izuku and toward the top of Ochako’s head. Seeing such a nonviolent look on his face up close still feels surreal. 

Izuku licks his lips and inhales. They all smell like ash and fire. Like heroes. “Ochako?” Izuku asks. Her hair is soft and warm, dragging over his lips as she lifts his head to look at him.

Without waiting, Izuku dips his head and kisses her. Salty and hot. He hears Katsuki humming lowly near his ear.

When they separate, Ochako’s face is strawberry pink, her eyes moon-wide, pupils blown. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” she starts.

Izuku doesn’t listen to her because soon his attention is diverted. Katsuki’s mouth catches his. His lips are a little less chapped than Ochako’s surprisingly, but the bite of his teeth creates a similar sensation.

There’s nothing chaste about this kiss.

Honestly, it feels like they’re still arguing. So, Izuku bites back. Ochako’s arm slides off his shoulder and Izuku takes the change in position to walk Katsuki back against the wall he’d abused, tugging Ochako by whatever part of her suit he could grab. She yelps in a way that could only be described as cute. He makes a mental note to hear it again sometime.

Katsuki thuds against the brick wall and Izuku doesn’t miss the growl of his name against his lips. A leg kicks up and hooks over Izuku’s hip, his belt proving to be the perfect hinge. Katsuki’s calf squeezes Izuku in closer, the front of his body overwhelmed with heat as it seeps through his uniform, taunting him.

But his back is cold. Izuku uses the hand on Ochako to pull her in. Drawing back to look over his shoulder. Ochako’s face is completely red and she looks just as hesitant as she did a few weeks ago in her own living room. She looks left and right like Izuku would beckon anyone other than her.

“Kaa-chan,” Izuku sings as Katsuki mouths at his neck, but his eyes remain on Ochako. “You wouldn’t have told me you wanted me without Ocha, you wouldn’t have said you worried for me without Ocha…”

“Maybe, maybe not.” It’s clear Katsuki isn’t looking to talk anymore, Izuku can tell by the way he pulls them impossibly closer and grinds

Ahn, mm—Shouldn’t we show her some attention then?” The woman in question moves forward slowly.

“Depends,” Katsuki huffs, drawing back a little and making both Izuku and Ochako freeze. “Have you forgiven me yet?” 

Izuku looks around to see a very serious face, serious and vulnerable. The split second of silence goads the blonde into continuing. “Because I can only make up to one person at a time, as of now.” 

Izuku is pretty sure he’s gaping a little, but he is speechless. Again, again, and again, Katsuki stuns him, Katsuki amazes him. He’d made the foolish mistake of underestimating Katsuki, underestimating his actions from that night, thinking that maybe he’d forgotten Ochako. 

But he hadn’t.

“So…” Izuku feels the swell of Ochako’s chest against his back, dainty hands sliding up his sides. “Do you forgive him, yet? Or do I have to freeze over here alone a little longer?”

The hesitation thaws.

Izuku’s gape finally closes into a smile. Katsuki’s leg falls and Izuku steps back only a little so he can hook Ochako into an embrace, surrounding her with the warmth of two bodies. After making sure that she’s unbothered by being squished between two torsos, Izuku looks up. “Of course I forgive you, Kacchan.” He grins. “But maybe you should practice making up to two people at once.” Izuku shrugs innocently, “For future purposes.” 

Ochako’s giggles travel up between them and Katsuki rolls his eyes. “You two are high maintenance as fuck.” 

Ochako’s head whips to face Katsuki, chin snug against the top of the blonde’s chest. “You saying you aren’t up to it?”

“Didn’t say shit.”

“You aren’t doing shit eith—” 

Katsuki grabs Ochako’s face and pulls her into a violent kiss. Izuku would laugh if he weren’t wondering if that was how they looked earlier. Ochako’s face morphs through various expressions before settling on one of contentment. Izuku spies a slip of tongue, sees a flash of teeth, hears a muffled moan, before he asking himself if it’s wrong to just watch them; if it’s strange how much he enjoys watching them.     

He loves the contrast of Bakugou’s hard body and Ochako’s soft and supple form right at his fingertips and he wants to feel both extensively. He wants to know every detail.

Which would probably require some state of undress. An entire state of undress, perhaps.

Izuku’s hand slides down Ochako’s back, following the bend and gripping right below her belt. She yelps and Izuku hears a wet sound when her and Katsuki pull away, both sets of lips sheened with saliva, glistening. It makes Izuku’s mouth water and he faces the hard decision of who to kiss first.

Ochako looks the most kissed out, so that’s how he chooses, swooping down, using her delirium to take control, shamelessly groping her through her costume (something he definitely hasn’t thought of doing before).

“Wai-mmh-wait!” Ochako pulls away, Katsuki tries to shut her up, but she presses and index finger to his lips. “We’re in an alley.”

“Your place is only a few blocks away, right ‘Chako?” Bakugou licks her finger and she squeals.

“M’good with here,” Izuku mumbles, turning away from Ochako to jerk down the zipper of Katsuki’s hoodie. “It has to be here.”

“Drama queen,” Katsuki breathes, and Izuku is ready to debate that when he’s suddenly hoisted up and moved away from the brick wall that he was so sure one of them was about to get nailed against. Still determined, he puts his all into making Katsuki stop, but the blonde merely walks and kisses, unphased by the extra effort.

“I can see the headlines now,” Ochako sing-songs, trailing after them and framing the scene with her fingers. “Bad blood between Deku and Explodo finally resolved with a searing kiss.”

Katsuki catches Izuku’s eye and grins. “Fujoshi,” they say together.

“Oh goodness…” Ochako says, sounding genuinely surprised. “I think you might be right.

Chapter Text

They make their way to Uraraka’s  apartment between secret kisses and awkward skip-runs. This confirms it, Ochako thinks. Bakugou and Midoriya are actually hormonal teenagers in men’s bodies. They can’t walk two steps without touching each other, or her, or breaking into a sprint out of nowhere. (“Kacchan! Ocha! Hurry, Hurry!” “W-wait! Kacchan slow down!” “You’re running too, Deku-kun.” “Since you can’t even do it right, I’m gonna fuck ya till you can’t walk!” “Please don’t yell that, Katsuki.”) Her heart is beating out of her chest and it’s not entirely pleasant. Every touch sends her well into a heart-attack because they are still very much in public. She is freaked. When was the last time she’s done anything so risky? Has she ever?

Granted, Ochako hasn’t actually seen anyone aside from a few passing cars, but she and Izuku are very obviously Uravity and Deku, just one picture and their careers could take some heavy artillery fire.  


“Izuku, please.” Her face is so hot she wouldn’t be surprised if it burst into flame. How can he say such things outside of the bedroom? Behind Ochako’s favorite local coffee shop? Did she mention that they are still basically in public? “We really can’t here. It’s just one more block, haah. K-Katsuki stop.”

“I’m just grabbin’ the little slut, calm down.”

“That was my ass.” 

Katsuki doesn’t reply, peeling Izuku away and kissing the hero mute. “That should last you until we get there,” he says to him. Ochako doesn’t miss his cocky, self-satisfied smirk. She can tell he just loves seeing Izuku like this. Desperate, dishevelled, needy. Actually, maybe he’s really getting a kick out of seeing the hero Deku like this. Not poised and chivalrous, scooping cats from trees, being the perfect posterboy for heroes worldwide. Ochako runs her tongue over her lips. Maybe she likes it a little too. “It’s like he’s been hit with the sex pollen quirk. Do you remember that?”

Katsuki chuckles, “God that shit was wild. Shitty Glasses was going out of his damn mind trying to get the upper hand on the situation.”

“I think that villain really had the hots for him,” Ochako comments, vaguely recalling the ordeal, thighs rubbing together with her stumbly barely-holding-it-together walk.

“You guys don’t understand,” Izuku says making space for himself between Katsuki and Ochako. “I’ve been thinking about this all week and it’s just…. It’s so amazing that it’s happening again.”

“If you cry I am absolutely not having sex with you,” Katsuki says.

“Yeah, right,” Ochako mutters, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not gonna cry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about a new way we could do it,” Izuku says. He smiles almost bashfully, pushing his index fingers together. “Actually I’ve thought of a few, but—”

“Oh thank goodness, Shou’s gone.” Ochako notes that his car is nowhere to be found as they finally make it to her block. The apartment building is shining like a silver beacon, beckoning her into its four walls of promised privacy. 

She, Izuku, and Bakugou pick up the pace and tumble into the lobby, linked around each other like survivors and rafts. Ochako nods to the doorman and he smiles politely, completely devoid of any opinion, sworn to secrecy. What do they look like? She wonders. Two heroes exhausted, bringing a civilian to his apartment? Which is coincidentally in Ochako’s building? Or maybe the doorman sees through them entirely. Three horned up adults about to do filthy things to each other, barely able to resist falling on the doormat and fucking sideways then and there.

She hopes he doesn’t.

“Elevator sex,” Izuku suggests as they pile in.

“What about all your plans?” Ochako asks.

Izuku looks around and taps the metal bar lining the back wall of the elevator, testing its sturdiness. “I think I know one we can make work.”

He’s so serious it hurts. “And if we stop on another floor?”

“Close the fuckin’ doors or give em a show,” Katsuki answers.

Ochako shakes her head. “I actually live here, so that’s a no. Also, still in uniform, remember?”

Izuku tosses her a devilish smile and then turns to Katsuki, fisting the man’s collar and walking him into the corner of the elevator as the doors close. “You can say that you couldn’t stop us.”

“She wouldn’t be lying,” Katsuki growls, hand snaking down and grabbing Izuku’s ass, perfectly displayed by his hero suit. Their mouths catch in a audible kiss. Ochako reaches out before recoiling as the elevator dings, heart leaping into her throat. 




Despite all their talk when the elevator stops, Izuku and Katsuki jump apart and adjust. Three sets of eyes exchange unreadable glances before they all break into into grins and begin giggling like children. Izuku can’t help but think it then and he almost says it too. Almost says that he just loves this. He really, really can’t get enough and barely anything has happened (or maybe everything has already happened).

Thankfully, there is no one waiting on Ochako’s floor and she slips through the silver doors, house key at the ready. Izuku follows close behind, opening his arms before scooping her up. Her brown eyes are wide sliding to meet his with a blush that spreads evenly on each cheek. She’s looking at him like he’s crazy, but it isn’t a bad crazy. It’s a What on Earth are you doing?! look, but it isn’t a stop, you’re batshit insane. Over the years, Izuku has learned himself. He knows when he feels a certain, quick thrum of his heart that he’s being rash or moving too fast. He knows that being reckless isn’t always good. Whether you wear a big smile or not; whether you save everyone or not. This—however—is a good reckless, it’s got to be, the look on Ochako’s face, the press of Katsuki’s hand, the energy buzzing between the three of them—it’s just got to be good.

Katsuki falls into step beside them, knocking a knuckle against Ochako’s boot. “That suit is going to be a bitch to take off.” 

She laughs. “You would know, Mr. Grenade Gauntlets.” Long fingers tug at the discreet zipper of Izuku’s costume and pull it down. “But, Deku-kun’s is easy!” Ochako licks a stripe along the exposed skin. Izuku nearly trips, but masks his stumble as they stop in front of her door. She spins in his arms to open it and soon after the door swings open. Izuku lets her slide out of his grip, watching her walk inside then nodding for Katsuki to go in next.




Katsuki doesn’t want to waste another damn second not fucking. He’s been walking with a raging hard-on since the first alley pit-stop and watching Izuku try to dick down Ochako behind some hipster coffee shop did not help. He kicks his sneakers off, the poor ash-covered things flop against Ochako and Todoroki’s shoe rack. Katsuki was a little disappointed to hear that her roommate isn’t home. He wanted to redeem himself after having to sneak out of Ochako’s room as the epitome of a one-night stand. He wanted that Half-and-Half motherfucker to see Katsuki now, strutting into his place, sober as can be, about to fuck his roommate’s and his best friend’s brains out.


You’re an asshole who hates Todoroki. Yeah, sounds about right.

Still the Canadian flag looking fuck’s absence does come with benefits. Katsuki is grateful that he can just tear his hoodie off and toss it across the living room, which he does. Then he crosses the floor to Izuku, who is watching Ochako loosen the subtle band of her belt and shimmy it down her hips. “Taking notes?” Katsuki asks lowly, grinning as Izuku visibly startles. He walks his hand up Izuku’s chest and begins tugging Deku’s costume zipper farther down. He peers at Izuku through sandy lashes and admits, “I’ve wanted to do this shit for so long.” 

“You could’ve…” Izuku’s voice gets breathy as he watches Katsuki sink down with the zipper, his utility belt clattering against the wood floor.

“Yeah?” Katsuki asks. “How about right after that press conference before I left? You would’ve let me unzip this green sex suit and bend you over the breakroom table?” Katsuki reaches his hands up, slipping them into Deku’s unzipped suit and feeling the tautness of his torso, every dip and ridge of smooth and scarred skin.

“It’s not a- ah -a sex suit.”

“Mhmm…” Katsuki hums against the bulge of in Izuku’s briefs. “‘Chako get over here.”

“No, no,” Ochako chimes, sounding far off. “You two get over here, as in—in my room, in a bed.

Katsuki notices the muscles in Izuku’s legs tense  and relax (because his costume is just that tight) and Katsuki can’t ignore the aches in his body. A bed does sound pretty damn nice and, from what he remembers, Ochako’s is comfortable as hell. Fingers twist into Katsuki’s hair and he looks up to find Izuku looking down at him with an unreadable grin. “Want me to walk you over?”

Katsuki pales, excitement shooting from his scalp to his crotch. There’s a streak of something that isn’t quite nice in Izuku face, it’s almost predatory and Katsuki’s never been the hunted. He jerks his head away and rises, “Those are fighting words, Deku.” Katsuki tosses some snarl into his tone, though it comes out as huskiness, betraying how little he means it (he does mean it).

Izuku simpers, “I’ve had enough of that today, maybe later Ka-cchan.”

Katsuki swallows. He’ll remember this.

Ochako’s room isn’t dark. Setting sunlight comes in through her floral patterned curtains, giving everything an alien pink glow. She’s stretched out on her messy covers, already naked. She’s watching them with big eyes, like a deer in headlights. She doesn’t stay passive for long, rolling onto all fours and crawling to the edge of the bed, reaching out, beckoning one or both of them. Something in the air shifts. Her reaching, long fingers aren’t desperate, they aren’t needing, they’re wanting. Wanting is softer, it’s calmer.

That’s probably why Ochako looks surprised when it’s Katsuki who meets her first, ignoring her hand, grabbing her face, and pressing his lips to hers. He doesn’t mean to be so slow with it, but everything is so warm and pink and fucking fuzzy in her goddamn room that he has to meet the natural tempo, alright. That’s the only damn reason. So he takes his time with her lips before parting them, breathing in a sharp gasp and feeling for her hot tongue. Their teeth bump so he bites her, but even that’s slow. He doesn’t let go of her lower lip until they drawn away, watching it snap back against her face, swollen. 

“That was one hell of a kiss, Katsuki,” Ochako whispers. 

He agrees.

Izuku’s large hands run up his back, tugging his shirt up as they go. Katsuki lifts his arms and as the cloth is pulled over his eyes he can feel Ochako and Izuku’s warmth draw nearer, surrounding him. Katsuki doesn’t like crowds, they make him feel like he’s being flanked and it’s overwhelming. He prefers being off to the side, spectating, though he rarely is with his attitude. But here, between two people who cannot keep their hands off of him, who are constantly looking at him, engulfing him with their presence; here, somehow, Katsuki finds an exception. His shirt is tossed across the room, he sees Ochako and Izuku in the reddish light once more. He supposes he’ll really have to show them that.






This is heavy petting, Ochako thinks. They’re all doing this thing, lightly touching where they know they’re dying to be touched. Rocking hips, but not grinding, licking but not sucking. It’s infuriating and she’s beginning to lose it until finally, mercifully, she finds friction as she straddles Izuku. Or, rather, takes it by rocking over his hard length dangerously. She looks down at him through her lashes and calls to her other partner. “Condoms… Bedside drawer—“

“You askin’ me go fetch?” Katsuki growls, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her off Izuku. 

“N- no …” She whines, protesting his action more than the statement. She is so over this groping thing, she wants sex. Actual sex, like, yesterday.

Izuku seeks them quickly, as if sensing her impatience, enveloping her between him and Katsuki as he threads his fingers into the blonde’s hair.  Katsuki moves a single finger down the length of Ochako’s spine, stopping short to adjust himself, then her. He nudges her thighs closer together, “Squeeze,” and slips his cock right in between. Izuku does the same without hesitation. 


Izuku’s hips pull away slightly, she notices the flex of his bicep from the corner of her eye, tugging Katsuki in for a kiss as he rocks forward, fucking her thighs. “Haah, looks like these thunder thighs are good for somethin’.”

“Fuck you,” Ochako grits out, yelping as one of them bumps her clit. Someone please do that again

“They’re so soft, you’ve got such nice legs Ochako. You always have.” Izuku grips her thighs for emphasis. If she wasn’t already flushed with heat, she’d be blushing. “Want you so bad,” Izuku continues, his cock sliding against Katsuki’s and pushing it hard on her clit. She hopes to god she isn’t drooling, but she can’t focus, her mind is swimming in euphoria and she helps herself out with a slow rock of her hips. How can this feel so good?

“Just wanna…”

“Stick it in…”

Please, Ocha.”

“Oh god, why are you asking?” She finds herself echoing the pleading tone. She doesn’t know what Izuku is even begging her for, but she’ll give it to him. To them,

“We want to fill you up so—” rock, “damn—” rock, “ —bad, baby.” Katsuki sucks at her neck. She must have at least four hickies from him alone at this point. 

“Do it,” she pants. Why aren’t they full-on banging anyway? What’s the hold up? Why are they asking all of the sudden? “Do it, please, fuck! W-wait! There, keep doing that, oh… oh..” Ochako trails off into whimpers.

“You like this?” Izuku mumbles, his forehead against hers. Ochako feels pressure on her clit again and melts

“Could make you feel even better,” Katsuki says.

With intent, he presses against her so right, hand splaying over her chest and grabbing a handful of her breast. He pinches at her nipple until it hardens and begins rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Izuku’s hand sweeps up the opposite side of her chest and mirrors his motions. Ochako almost finds herself asking how. How could it possibly get better than this? But she knows. She knows how good it can get with these two, how amazing they can be. “O-Okay, yeah, let’s—yeah.”

Katsuki wraps an arm around Ochako’s waist and lifts her to her knees without waiting for her to compose, she’s pliant as putty in his arms and he moves her like she’s nothing, spinning her to face him. Her mind is still swimming and she moans wantonly at the feeling of Katsuki’s hot and hard chest against hers. Izuku presses against her from behind and nips at her earlobe. “Gonna make you feel so full…” his cock rests against the swell of her ass, emphasizing his point before he draws away.

Languidly, Ochako turns to look at him over her sweat slick shoulder.

“Where’s the lube again, Ocha?”

Mh-mm, Bedside table, second drawer.” She doesn’t think anything of it.

Izuku eyes the drawer, no doubt noticing her small collection of sex toys. Last time she’d fetched the lube for them, almost embarrassed of what else was in there, but in this moment she couldn’t care less. Izuku pulls out the small bottle of Estraglide and eyes it, “You might need more after today.” 

She nods and stills her hips momentarily. “Am I prepping you again?”

Izuku looks at her and for a moment, he’s sheepish. “Uh, ah, well…” He grabs two condoms from the drawer before approaching and Ochako suddenly feels like she missed a cue. She looks to Katsuki, but he’s cool as can be, hands sliding up and down her sides like she needs comforting.

“What is it?” Ochako asks. 

Izuku sweeps in close, big eyes sparkling with a question. “This is, actually for uh… you?” He immediately begins peppering her shoulder with kisses, hand sliding between their bodies to move lower. Ochako blinks, looking up at her ceiling, at the fan idly whirling round and round over their heads. Katsuki’s hands move to her chest again, his lips at her neck, and she almost drifts into the pleasant web of touches once more, desire still running through her like a wild creature, but there’s just something that isn’t clicking. And it really doesn’t click until Izuku presses a cold, lube covered finger to her… other hole. 

Ochako seizes, chin hitting against Katsuki’s forehead (“the fuck!?”). She looks over her shoulder, shaken, hands fisting in the sheets one either side of her hips. “Ah, ano, Deku… w-what are you doing?”

Izuku’s big green eyes meet her with an innocence that deviates sinfully from what he’s doing. “Said we were gonna fill you up.”

We?  You, you… meant like at the—”

“Same time,” Bakugou finishes. “Fuckin’ hot idea if you ask me. Seen it done in clips before. Wonder if I’ll be able to feel Izuku poundin’ in ya while I'm fucking you from here.”

Ochako whips back around to face Katsuki. She's too turned on and nervous to think properly about this. They look like two boys incredibly excited to test out a new toy, and Katsuki excited is reason enough for worry. “I see…” They won't suggest sticking them both in the same place if she refuses, right? God she's not ready for that. She'll never be ready for that.

“What's up, Chako?”

Izuku’s finger is still swirling around her puckered hole, not dipping in yet, but making the hairs on the back of her neck raise with nervous anticipation. Ochako inhales. “I-I don't think…” she screws her eyes shut. “I've never done anal before!”

Izuku’s finger pauses. The arms around her go rigid. 

Katsuki’s shocked carmine gaze is on her. Then a grin stretches across his face. “Ho-lee shit!” He barks out a laugh. The laughter doesn't stop. He borderlines a cackle. 

Izuku presses against her back again, hands on her waist, rubbing up and down. His lips are right by her ear and she can feel his erection poke at the small of her back, hips subtly canting forward. “Kacchan, it makes sense… I didn't really think about it though. Guess that is… extra for girls.”

Ochako feels weight off her shoulders, the jittering nervousness calms as she  nods. Izuku often has that effect. “Yeah so—”

“Would love to be your first,” Izuku continues, licking up the shell of her ear. “I'll make it good, you can tell me if you need me to stop.”

Katsuki finally stops laughing, having fallen back on the bed, holding his stomach, hard cock bobbing over his flexing abdominals. “Haa, oh, back the fuck up Deku, I can't let ya have this one.”


“Nah, nah, nah. Can't let this slide. Ain't that right, Chako? Let Kacchan do you right.”

“I'm not calling you that,” Ochako deadpans.

“M’already here, Kacchan. Wanna be her first, so I'm gonna.”

As Katsuki sits up, Ochako can see the argument right on the tip of his pink tongue, but he bites it. “Know what? Fine. That ass is mine later.”

“Of course,” Midoriya says. His cool, lubed fingers are at Ochako’s back entrance again and she squeaks.

“Wai-wai-wait! I didn't a—ahh .”

In her second of distraction, Katsuki’s fingers plunge into her folds, thumb rolling over her clit. “You’re so damn wet for it though.” Roll, push, roll, push, pinch—

“Ah, fuckshit , Katsukiii….”

Fuckshit. Hear that Deku? She wants it so bad, she’s making up words.”

“That's n—“ Ochako stops herself because who is she trying to fool? There’s something about these two that just makes her insane. They rile her up so easily, she’d probably let them do anything to her. She crumbles quick, “Ah, screw it! Please, f-fill me up… Just… please be careful Deku-kun… I’ve read a lot of scary stuff—ah—about anal and—”

“Where was all this scary stuff last week? When you were watching me fuck Deku into the mattress?” Katsuki implores, scissoring his fingers.

Ochako shivers. She's so hot, too hot, the pleasure in her belly is coiled too tight. “That…”

“Felt really good, don't worry Ochako… I told you I’ll make it good,” Izuku murmurs.

Ochako’s head falls back onto Izuku’s shoulder as Katsuki pumps his fingers into her. “Al..right…”

Circle, circle, push…

Oh god, she thinks. I’ve made a grave mistake.

“So tight, gonna feel so good. Make you feel so good…”

A good mistake, she amends.

Katsuki’s fingers draw out. He presses a kiss to Ochako’s cheek and lightly slaps the underside of her breast. Her breath hitches. “Bend her over, you gotta stretch her out real nice.”

“Stop bossing me,” Izuku’s small voice replies.

“Can you just do one thing without getting all—”

“Could I bend you over Katsuki’s lap, Ocha? So we can open you up all nice and pretty?”

He knows she’ll say yes, his hand is already on her back, guiding her. How could she say no to that anyway? Who could? Ochako moves accordingly, crawling over Katsuki, lowering over his toned thighs, rubbing up against his erection and making him shiver.  She feels hands pull her hips up. Her face is on fire.

“Oh, man… ” Izuku says softly. “Ochako, baby, you're beautiful.”

“Let me see… oh damn… tear that up Izuku.”

“Tear what!?”

“Tear nothing, nothing is tearing, Kay beautiful?”

“Mhkay…” Ochako says slowly into the pillows. Katsuki’s hand rubs up and down her back, finding the side of her neck occasionally as Izuku presses on. She feels like she's floating. Like none of this is actually happening, though she knows it is.

Beautiful…  Izuku is such a dreamboat. She's already imagining talking to Shouto about this. Should she be thinking about Shouto, right now? How does even have room for one more guy in her head when Katsuki is rubbing her back and Izuku’s fingers are literally in her ass—Oh my god.

“There we go, Deku… spread her just like that, yeah. Wanna fuck you so bad, baby girl.” 


Her ass stings, Ochako squirms, her heart is pounding. She's nervous, but can't help what she says, she's so damn pent up, it’s a surprise her thighs aren’t slick with how wet she is. She wants it, something, anything, everything. “Please please please please, fuck me, I can't— ah…”

“You heard her, fuck,” Katsuki swears.

“Not done, still needs prep.”

“Hurry the fuck up, nerd.”

Dorks, she thinks.

“Kay, Ochako, I'm gonna lift you up now. How do you feel?”

“Hnn, open?” She feels tingly and really oddly slick back there. “Wet… in both… places.”

Both Izuku and Katsuki inhale. Ochako is pulled up, facing Katsuki and her lavender walls once more.

She teeters a bit and she's not completely positive this position, up on her knees, will work, but with Katsuki and Izuku’s tight grip on her, she’s sure she won't fall. A condom wrapper is torn, Ochako has a stock of them in the same drawer as the lube. Never did she think her stash would be getting used up so soon. 

“Spread your legs a little, baby.” It feels so wrong and so right to hear Izuku like this. His voice is so soft and comforting. A little cherubic sex god that's lining his dick up with her backdoor—ohfuckfuckfuck.

Ochako reaches behind her, hand slapping flat against Izuku’s ass, and coaxing him forward. She can hear him squeak right in her ear and giggles. He's still easily flustered. It returns some normalcy to the situation.

“Alright, Kacchan, Ochako, I'm gonna go in first. Sound good?”

“This isn't a fucking mission.”

“Kacchan, you are ruining the moment.”

“No, you are with this ‘I'm going in’ bullshit like Ochako’s ass is some—”

“Just stick it in, for fuck’s sake!” Ochako yells, the suspense in driving her more than a little insane.

Izuku’s hands still at her hips. “Tell me when it hurts.”


If, sorry, I meant if, mm…”

There's pressure against her and it grows and grows. There's sliding, slipping, stretching. She's panting, shaking. Her thighs quiver, Katsuki pets them. He's watching, carmine eyes ablaze. “Damn, look at you Chako, taking that cock,” he says. His voice fades into the background.

She’s trembling. It doesn't hurt, but it’s uncomfortable, her abdominals are flexing and relaxing with her panicked breathing, unsure what to do. This is too strange. It feels more like a fucked up doctor’s visit than sex. Like necessary discomfort. Until:

How is it Deku?”

“She's perfect, god, Ochako you're so perfect. You're doing so good, baby. S-so, nnh, tight.”

Baby girl.”

She whimpers. Her nails dig into Izuku’s backside, logically she knows that does nothing to control the pace, but it gives her something else to pay attention to. An ass of solid muscle.

She feels the stretching pause and Izuku exhales against the back of her neck. This isn't too bad. “Is it in?” She asks hesitantly.

Izuku makes a noise and Katsuki laughs lowly. “C’mere, baby girl.” He kisses her hotly, tongue swiping over her lower lip and sliding into her mouth. It's hot, so so hot and “M—ah!”

Now it's in.

It's so in.

There is an entire dick in her ass.

Oh, f-fuck, Ochaaahh…” Izuku mumbles bliss into her ear, licking, biting, kissing at the lobe. His fingers are like vises on her hips.

Ochako is almost marveling at the sensation. It's nothing like the sting and pain of losing her virginity (other virginity that is). This is less upfront pain and more like a discomfort she just wants to scoot away from. Ochako pulls back from Katsuki’s mouth. “Move, please, move.”


“Yes, yes, yes.”

His hips draw back and Ochako shivers, keening and pulling Katsuki close.

F-ah , Ochako, please relax baby.”

“Open your eyes.”

“We’ll make you feel good, just loosen up for me.”

Ochako slowly opens her eyes, focusing on Katsuki’s face. His eyes flutter behind her for a moment and something changes in his face. “Just like that, baby girl.” His warm voice echoes in her head and Ochako notices she's moving with Izuku’s thrusts.

“God, she feels amazing, Kacchan. You're so good, Ochako, you're doing so good. So good.” Izuku chants.

Ochako basks in the praise and leans back against Izuku, chest moving in sync with his. They breathe together. The discomfort fades with the movement… She could get used to this.

Izuku feels like he’s slipped inside of heaven. It honestly took every ounce of willpower not to cum as soon as she asked, begged, him to move. It’s been a while since Izuku was a consistent topper, with guys he usually falls to the bottom, and Ochako’s the only girl he’s been with in years. Izuku has realized his mistake. He’s spent far too long without that delicious, hot, slick heat squeezing around him sucking him in with each thrust, missing him as he draws back. 

He loves it, oh god does he love it. For a moment he even thinks I’ll never bottom again. Sorry Kacchan. But as quickly as the thought comes, it disappears. 

“Fuck, this sexy as hell to look at.” Katsuki is pumping himself, reclined so he can look at Ochako’s pale body leaned back, practically sitting on Izuku’s lap as he moves her on his cock. It probably is a pretty picture. “If I'd seen this senior year, I would've already creamed my fuckin’ pants.”

“Don't just watch.” Izuku protests.

Katsuki chuckles, but makes no effort to move. His tongue swipes over his teeth as he grins and looks to Ochako. Izuku licks up the column of her neck and then rests his forehead against her, focus blurring in the sensation of her, completely enveloped and so tight. 

Izuku wants Katsuki to get over here, but he isn’t going to wait up. He can’t.

Ochako’s voice rings out, lowly. “If you don't wanna fuck me, fine. I-Izuku, ah, is doing a pretty good job.” Her hips move in a way that makes Izuku whine. At this point, he isn’t sure who is doing the better job. 

“Oh it's like that?” 

Izuku peeks over Ochako’s shoulder, curls of hair in his eyes, sticking to his forehead. Katsuki is moving in for the kill, still holding his cock and Izuku can hear the quiet tap tap tap of him bouncing it on Ochako’s stomach like a threat. Izuku peers over further watching him roll the condom down the length of his cock, the head bulging against latex.

Red eyes flash and meet Izuku with a challenge and with one hand, the blonde pushes back Ochako’s bangs and grabs her hair. With the other, he guides himself into her, Izuku watches between Ochako’s moving breasts as each inch disappears inside of her. He can feel her entire body tense at the feeling of being this full. She must feel ready to burst, the idea makes his dick twitch. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” Katsuki growls.

“O-Ohh…” Ochako must be reeling, her lips are parted, she’s only making quiet whimpering noises and moans, but her hips don’t still. Izuku wonders if she’s close to peaking already. God, he’ll get her there, they have to get her there. She’s so full and she’s taking it so well, she’s so good. He’s almost proud.

Katsuki pulls out and slams back in, probably with the same thing on his mind. Izuku chides anyway, “Kacchan!” Yeah, Ochako’s taking it well, and Izuku wants to see just how well too, but he wanted to give her some adjustment time. 

“Warmup is over. She ain’t made of glass.”

“Can you take it, Ocha?” 

Ochako closes her next words as wisely as someone being fucked silly can. “Make me take it.”

Katsuki’s smirks at Izuku with a raised brow. “You heard her.” His hips snap up, starting a brutal pace, he leans forward, moving past Ochako’s lolling head, to lock lips with Izuku. Izuku’s groans, Katsuki’s thrusts bouncing Ochako right up and down on his cock. He meets Katsuki open mouthed, tongue slipping in easily. 


She’s rolling between two hard bodies. Bouncing, sliding, thrusting, moaning, and fucking. Izuku’s hands have strayed from her hips and are now grabbing at her breasts. Katsuki’s thrusts are bouncing her on both of their laps, sweat is building like sheets between them. Are her windows fogging? She wouldn't doubt it. Whatever breeze the ceiling fan is contributing is futile, all she feels is hot. Her bed is creaking like a bat’s being taken to it, but she couldn't care less. She can hardly bring herself to think, it’s probably due to the fact that she’s getting plowed.

Her hands claw at Katsuki’s back and she can hear him hissing into Izuku’s mouth, the green haired sweetheart is moaning for it. Uraraka's struggles to rock her hips to the fighting rhythms. She feels squeezed and stretched all at the same time and he’s—God which one—hitting such a nice spot—where even is that spot —she's, oh, she’s seeing stars.

“Right! Ah! Righthere, right there!”

Ochako howls, her head falls back against Izuku’s shoulder and he kisses her neck. They fuck her through her orgasm and she peaks again not seconds after, oversensitivity making her slur the phrases “stop” and “don’t stop” to the point that she isn’t even sure what she means.

Izuku goes rigid when her body convulses a second time, squeezing her against him tightly with the leverage he’s maintained on her chest. She thinks he might've broken her boobs.

Katsuki comes last, not long after Izuku. He thrusts up into Ochako and she can feel him twitching within her, despite barely holding onto her own consciousness.

The room is silent, then loud with breathing.

None of them have moved yet, they begin to teeter to the side as a writhing, heaving mess. Ochako expects one or both of them to pull out when they crash against her bed, but neither do.

“Fuck,” is all Katsuki says.

“H-haha…” Izuku laughs in a way that almost sounds deranged. “Uh.” He pauses. “Yeah, fuck.” 

“Fuck,” Ochako agrees.

And by fuck, they all mean: This makes things very complicated, but that was literally the best sex I've ever had and I already like both of you so what the fuck do we do.

A beat.

“Well, shit.” Katsuki sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I have to take both you dumbasses on a date.”

Izuku squeals and squeezes Ochako in his arms, lips pecking her cheek.

She just beams.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Ochako wakes up in a happy haze. Her lashes flutter as she blinks the sleep from her eyes, particles of dust drifting past the beams of sunlight that leak through her curtains. She pulls the covers over her head, moaning with the warmth that folds over her as well as the warmth inside of her. Yesterday had been something, but it’s what happened after the threesome that currently has Ochako red-faced and curling into herself as she remembers.

After stirring from a post-cotial power nap, the three detached and dressed. They all seemed completely wrecked and fucked-out; bruises from the battle and from the sex bloomed over their skin. Each of them felt their bones creaking with every step, muscles tense and sore. Yet, they moved with a reluctance to leave Ochako’s room, the only place their relationship has really existed.

So, rather than immediately departing, they began massaging each other. Katsuki had actually started it, running his fingers down Izuku’s back and then making some crude comment out how tense he was. Izuku’s shirt was shed and Katsuki’s calloused hands went to work on his shoulders. Izuku beckoned Ochako and began squeezing her claves, working his thumbs into the muscle as she winced and sighed. The massaging continued until they were all nearly naked again, but nothing sexual occured. Not because they didn’t feel it (Ochako is alone in her room now and still feeling it), but because they were all too tired to act on it. 

“This room smells fucking rank ,” Katsuki had said.

We smell fucking… rank…” Izuku agreed slowly, he’d probably never said the word rank in his life. Ochako had opened one eye and peered into the door that connected her bedroom and her bathroom. It was dark and ominous looking in the blues of evening time, but she could imagine how charming it would be if she finally lit those candles Shouto had bought her (he’s always buying her candles, for every holiday). “Let’s wash off then.”

She set it up before allowing them inside, putting the bigger candles on the sink and the smaller ones on the shelf of hair products and on the toilet. Despite the glow of the candles, she left her bedroom light on to prevent too much darkness, three adult bodies in one average sized shower, slick with water, could prove to be dangerous. She called them in when it was finished, the small bathroom aglow and smelling of fruit and spices. 

It was a squeeze, it was inconvenient. They each wanted the hot water, but there was only one shower head (thankfully detachable). The massaging resumed under a misting spray, this time with scented soap. Orange danced off the slick surface of their skin, faces dark and shiny, voices quiet and warm. Ochako can still feel hands on her, unsure whose they were, unsure who she was touching, just enjoying . Drunk on lethargic kind of bliss, she recalls it like it were a dream.

When the water went cold, it ended. 

Ochako threw on her fluffy polka dotted robe and and led the boys from her room, all of them sluggish and heavy-footed, jelly-like with relaxation. Briefly, Ochako had wondered if her neighbors overheard the sex-yowls coming from her room, though Shouto is the one who shares a wall with them. Somehow, she just didn’t care.

She opened the door for them and Katsuki was the first one out, but Izuku caught his wrist and yanked him back inside. Ochako’s heart leapt into her throat when she watched the young hero draw his lover into a soft kiss, hands cupping both of his cheeks. They pulled away, gazing into each other's eyes dreamily.

Katsuki’s face dusted in the sweetest blush and Ochako swooned.

Izuku slowly drew away and looked to Uraraka. She swallowed.

“Goodnight, Chakochan.” Izuku wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a feather soft kiss that left her bruised lips tingling and her wondering if she were, in fact kissed by an angel.

Then Katsuki slipped his hands into their hair and knocked their foreheads together, causing both of them to yelp. “Stop gettin’ sappy, idiots.”

He pulled Ochako back and smashed his lips to hers. She became weak in an entirely new way while Izuku rubbed his head, bangs pushed back, groaning.

Fixed to her doorway, she watched the two men grow smaller and smaller before disappearing with a wave and hard-to-get scowl behind metallic elevator doors. She doesn’t know how long she stayed there, looking down the halls, after that elevator, not thinking of anything at all.



Ochako sighs pleasantly, drawing her covers away and watching the blasé spin of her ceiling fan. She considers pulling out one of her old diaries and continuing where she’d tapered off. Still wrapped in her robe, Ochako pulls herself out of bed, and heads to her mess of a desk. She reaches under it, into the dark recesses of forgotten paperwork and scrapbooks, before pulling out a lavender, leatherbound book. It’s only half-full. Ironically, her last entry had been about Izuku and how he was so cute in his ‘Deku’ suit. It was followed by magazine clipping of a bunny surrounded by Easter eggs and colored green with highlighter, ‘Deku’ was written in her rounded handwriting and an arrow pointed to it. Her lips bend into a smile.

She taps her pencil against her cheek, wondering if it’s alright to pick up, five years later, with a very new kind of entry. A risque one. The tip of her mechanical pencil presses to the paper and she writes: Dear diary, last week I had a threesome with Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Last night I did it again and got fucked in the ass. I liked it, but now it hurts to sit.

Ochako stops writing.

She rips out the page.

Tosses it in the trash.

With a hefty sigh, she dates the next fresh page and tries again.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, I went on a mission and almost died of smoke inhalation, but LATER I was asked out by Bakugou Katsuki. I’m going on a date with him! And Deku! Talk about a rollercoaster of a day!

Wish me luck!

The brief entry looks so empty and plain, all the extra space below it makes her feel unfulfilled. “Old habits,” she mumbles. Ochako grabs a magazine from her bookshelf and flips through the pages until she finds images the fit her words well enough. She cuts them out and tapes them to the page, grinning.

A porcupine and a broccoli floret. Seems about right. She uses a red colored pencil to scribble hearts around them and draw speech bubble from the broccoli reading ‘Chakochan!’.

It makes her feel like a teen again.



It dawned upon Izuku at around three in the morning that he hadn’t had anyone over, aside from his mother, since he moved. The thought came in passing, harmless and exciting. Maybe Shouto will notice my new tea kettle . It’s a bright red thing that stands out atop his white electric stove. The same red as his sneakers, the same red of his couch and his Red Riot pillow covers. Izuku felt like an amateur interior designer upon buying it. He’s starting a theme

Or the French press. A housewarming gift from Tenya. Though, Shouto has always been a tea person. He might notice it anyway.

Izuku began drifting back to sleep, when he noted, that he’d been far too busy to have anyone over. The thought faded in and it almost faded out, but it got stuck on one simple fact. Izuku shot up like he’d had a nightmare, eyes wide. “Oh no,” he said to the dark.

Oh yes, it replied.

The shape of clothes piled on his desk chair looked like a figure, the multiple merch hoodies slung over his open bedroom door stare back at him like an abyss. Just from sitting up, Izuku could hear clumps of clothes falling from his bed to the floor. He remembered that the kitchen, the stovetop that he’d thought about earlier wasn’t actually very white at the moment. Actually the red of the kettle may not stand out to Shouto at all with the copious marinara and soy sauce splatters distracting from it. There are dishes piled in the sink from last week, the number of plates atop each other is probably comedic. What would Shouto even drink tea out of, should he want some? Tupperware? Izuku has dirtied all of his mugs already, they’re stacked in the sink along all the silverware and plates and bowls that he owns.

Izuku looked at the digital clock at his bedside, next to Toshinori. 3:47am. He immediately threw off his comforter and scrambled to the wall, flicking the switch and shining light on the calamity that was his room. It looked even more daunting and he almost turned the lights back off and resorted to wishing it away. Instead, Izuku manned up. It was time to clean and he would need to call in the big guns.



Inko Midoriya woke up to rapidfire of notifications. The continuous vrr, vrr led to her to think it was an alarm she’d forgotten to silence, it was her day off after all; however, her blurry vision caught sight of the text banners and what looked to be the katsudon emoji that Izuku had put beside his contact name ages ago. He heart immediately leapt into her throat and she fumbled around her bedside table for her reading glasses before snatching the phone off its charger. 

Inko didn’t bother to read the text messages, she needed to hear her baby’s voice and know that he was okay ASAP.

The phone rang twice. “H-Hello?” At six in the morning, her son sounds awake and panicked.

“Izukun, baby, what’s wrong?”

“You didn’t read the texts?” Inko can hear some clanging pots and pans in the background, running water too.

“I was so worried, I just figured calling would be faster and—“

“Oh, mom… It’s nothing to be worried about, I just need your help.”

Inko paused. “You mean everything’s okay?”


“There’s no disaster or calamity that you’re involved in?”

Izuku hesitated. “Not currently, no.”

Inko slumped back into her bed, sighing. “Izuku, you can’t do that to me.” Nearly a decade of him being involved in heroics and her heart still leaps into her throat with every call.

“That’s why you read the text messages, mom.”

Inko smiled. That maybe would’ve been wise. Izuku did get the scatterbrained trait from her, after all. “Well, since I’ve got you on the phone, what’s the metaphorical crisis?”

“Shouto is stopping by to see my new place this morning and maybe have some breakfast...”

Inko’s mind was immediately flooded with nostalgia. She remembered the first day Midoriya brought Shouto home. The first friend that hadn’t been Katsuki. The boy was solemn, he had mismatched eyes that seemed older than him. He held a certain maturity, but also timidness—nervous to be welcomed into the Midoriya home; he didn’t realize then that he’d quickly grow to become a part of it. Within weeks, Shouto came to their apartment every day after school, no longer under the guise of studying, but just ‘hanging out’ with her son. His posture finally relaxed at their dinner table, and didn’t force himself to finish all his food (Inko had been horrified to learn that he felt the need to do that). Midoriya eventually had a revolving door of friends coming in and out of their small, happy apartment, but Shouto had been the first. Inko feels herself smiling and she feels her eyes begin to water a little at the influx of memories. It’s been years since her son and Todoroki graduated. They went their separate ways, but she kept up to date with all Midoriya’s former classmates in the papers and online. They’re all doing good things, great things.

“Oh, Shouto,” she says wistfully, compressing all her thoughts. “I haven’t heard you mention him in a long time. I’m glad to know you’re still friends.”

“Of course! Just busy, you know.”

“Oh I do. It seems like you haven’t stopped moving since Yuuei.”

Midoriya laughed at that. “It feels that way too—” something fell on his end and Midoriya yelped. She heard him grow distant and then return. “So yeah, he’s coming over and… Mom… my place —”

Inko was already pulling herself out of bed. She knew good and well where this was headed.

“—is just a mess… It’s bad, Mom. I’ve been up since three cleaning and it’s still just so… bad. And you’re right, I’ve just been busy. I’ve barely been home, if I’m being honest. And when I am here, I go straight to bed or I change clothes and leave again, or I just shower—oh gosh, the shower. I’m almost scared to go into the bathroom with cleaning intentions. Shouto is going to be disgusted and then he’ll tell Ochako how sloppy I am—”

Inko raises a brow. “Ochako?”

Izuku makes a noise she’s only heard him make when he was covering for Bakugou. “They, um, live together. Roommates.”

“They’re still living together?”

“Mhm. I think they’re really kindred spirits. I doubt Shouto even needs a roommate anymore”

Inko nods, curious about the waver in Izuku’s voice, but deciding not to prod. Her son will tell her more blatantly later, whether it’s intentional or not. “Well,” she says. “I guess it’s good that today’s my day off.”

“Mom, you don’t have to work so much anymore, I keep telling you—”

“Do I look like a retiree, Izukun?”

“N-no! Of course not!”

“I’m doing fine, baby. I’m doing great. I like to keep busy, you know. Anyway, let me get ready. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you so, so, so, so much Mom, love you.”

“It’s what I’m here for. Love you too.”

Inko hangs up and sets her phone back down on the nightstand. Her gaze lingers on a picture of Izuku and Toshinori making matching peace signs toward her, behind the camera. Izuku is dressed in his cap and gown, cords dangle around his neck. She smiles at the picture, a pang of emotion hitting her square in the chest. She wills her eyes to stay dry, a difficult feat. Toshinori, All Might, had been such a force in the lives of the Midoriyas. “Izuku is everything you knew he’d be and more,” she says before leaving her bedroom.

Even if he can’t keep his own apartment clean.




Katsuki ignores him, sips his americano.


Another sip.


His tongue smarts with a burn, but he continues sipping anyway, refusing to let a single feature of his face move into any expression that doesn’t read with indifference.

“Bakubro, my man, my main man, you gotta tell me.” Kirishima is giving him puppy dog eyes from across the table. They’re in their usual meeting place, a cafe near the gym Bakugou frequents which acts as a nice halfway point between their places. No jazz ensemble today, but some relaxing acoustics accompany the grinding of espresso and chatter of other patrons. Katsuki inhales through his nose as he sets down his cup. Kirishima continues trying to chisel at his wall. “You hafta tell me. Like, you can’t just text me ‘you win’ at like ten o’clock at night and not follow up. I know you saw my texts. Only assholes keep their read receipts on. I hope you know that.”

Katsuki still says nothing.

“I hope you know that you’re an asshole,” Kirishima reiterates, pettily. He stirs his frappe with a frown, biting at the straw with sharp teeth instead of sucking it properly. He begins to pout and Katsuki honestly doesn’t want to deal with that. This week is already going to be a bitch to get through anyway.

“You said that taking those two fuckers out on a date was a manly idea. I’m doing that shit. So I’m a man, not an asshole, asshole.

Kirishima’s jaw drops, straw falling from his mouth. “No fucking way.”

Katsuki looks into his eyes. He squints a little.

Kirishima whoops, earning some annoyed glares that don’t last upon recognizing who they are. Their disguises are ineffective, as per usual. The redhead leans across the table, looks left, then right, and his left eyebrow creeps toward his hairline. “Was the sex that good?”

Katsuki doesn’t even blush. He actually smiles. “The sex was out of this fucking world.”


“Inter-fucking-stellar sex, man.”

They both begin laughing and Kirishima drums the table with his hands. “Bro, bro, bro… like, how did you guys do it?”

Katsuki hesitates. Kirishima knows Ochako and Midoriya, but since he isn’t being weird about it, Bakugou quickly decides it isn’t weird and phrases it delicately. “You know how women have two holes down under? That shit is a fuckin’ blessing.

“BROOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The annoyed glares return, uncaring that Red Riot is the source of the noise. Kirishima doesn’t notice, or doesn’t pause to care. Katsuki can’t stop himself from grinning, proud of the memories of yesterday that keep replaying in his mind. Who the hell wouldn’t be proud of snagging those two? Just one of them would’ve been noteworthy.

They take their conversation to the city streets, strolling the blocks around the cafe, to-go cups in hand. Kirishima’s hair is down under a gray beanie, red locks bone straight. He has a plaid scarf looped around his neck and he wears a black jean jacket, sweatpants, and some punk-looking boots. If he wasn’t Katsuki’s friend, Katsuki would probably deck him for wearing clunky ass boots like that. 

Only because Katsuki is wearing the exact same pair, just in burgundy. Actually, he and Katsuki are wearing practically the same outfit, save for Katsuki’s jeans and leather jacket. The look is identical though. That, of course, had been the first thing Katsuki said when they linked up in the shop. ( “Go home and change, fucker.” “Dude, we complement each other. Everyone’s gonna know we’re bros.”

They’re both vigilant as they chat, even when heroes are off, they’re still heroes. Fortunately, nothing suspicious has happened thus far. Katsuki is still a bit worn from tracking the escaped villain yesterday. It’s always difficult to fight fire with fire, or in his case, explosion with explosion. 

“So, I heard about the Stain following bust yesterday.”


“You were so at home when that shit started going down.”


“Do they know you went there because you were worried about them.”

Katsuki tosses his empty cup into a recycling bin. “Wasn’t.”

“So, no.”

“So, I wasn’t worried. They’re two grown ass heroes who are pretty damn good at their jobs. Not that good, since they let one fucker escape.”

Kirishima looks thoughtful. “You three make a good team.” He looks down at his feet, avoiding Katsuki’s eyes for a moment. “So did all that spur the… the vibes?”

Katsuki chortles. He used to be immune to Kirishima’s humor, but the shit’s worn him down over the years, rather than worn off. “Kind of. Actually I think I almost fought Deku.”

“For what, the thousandth time? I keep telling you that’s not how to get guys.”

Katsuki boxes Kirishima’s ears without warning and they shove each other lightly. “Anyway,” Katsuki pants out, adjusting his jacket collar and dusting off all traces of Kirishima. “Ochako kind of… mediated, I guess. She sort of said what you just did. That I was worried, that Izuku’s not a complete dumbass, yada yada. And she wouldn’t let me talk over her, either. It was hot. Obviously, it got hotter.”

“Obviously,” Kirishima drawls, smirking.

Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why am I even talking about this with you?”

They stop at the crosswalk, cars speed by, smelling like gasoline. The red light of the pedestrian sign picks up in the whites of Kirishima’s eyes and teeth. “Because I’m your best bro.”

Katsuki shrugs, the pedestrian sign changes. “Whatever.” They cross the street. Katsuki clicks his teeth softly as Kirishima prattles onto a tangent, lightly ghosting around the topic of Mina Ashido, as he usually does. Bakugou repeats her name and sends Kirishima into a flurry. It’s routine, but not mechanical. Bakugou actually wishes he were giving Kirishima 100% of his attention, but he isn’t.

His mind is stuck on one detail from yesterday evening, out of all the things that happened, something still stands unaccounted for.

When Bakugou wandered out of Ochako’s bedroom in search of his hoodie, he found it on the couch: folded.

Bakugou isn’t an idiot. He knows that neither of his knuckleheads would’ve done that, nor did they get the chance to. Icy-Hot was the culprit.

But fucking why.

Who the hell comes home, hears their room-mate getting banged, folds some rando’s hoodie, and then leaves? Who the hell…? Seriously, the world wonders why Explodo cannot stand the guy, it’s because they don’t know the freaky shit that he does. His quirky-ass mannerisms. 

And goddamn if Bakugou isn’t pissed that he’ll only be seeing more of the peppermint-colored fucker.



Izuku wipes the sweat from his brow, staring at the floors he’d forgotten were this white. “This really is a nice bathroom,” he notes, remembering the real estate agent insisting that point, trying to sell Izuku on it. It worked. 

“And it is going to stay that way,” his mother chides. Inko rises from her knees, pulling off her gloves and mask. She has on a green Deku apron that had been a gag gift from one of her friends, Izuku thinks they underestimated how much she’d enjoy it.  “Izukun, if your apartment ever gets like this again, I’m moving in.”

Izuku scratches his neck. “It won’t.” He silently adds ‘probably.’ 

Inko looks at her wrist and yawns. “Shouto should be here soon, from what I remember, he is one punctual young man.”

“You make it sound like it’s been years.”

“Well, it has.”

“Right.” He’ll have to apologize for that. As Izuku kisses his mother on the cheek and shows her out, his mind is elsewhere. He and Shouto were inseparable their senior year at Yuuei. How did he let them drift apart? He knew they’d be busy… but Izuku, surprise, does have down time. Given, he’s passed out or soaking in a ice bath during most of it, but there have been times where he’s vegged out on some drama, or updated his notebook (he’s been on no. 42 for a while now) in the park. He could’ve called Todoroki then. He should’ve. 

Izuku folds his arms over his chest and taps his chin. Even if it’s in the littlest way, he needs to make up for it. For all the time he’s let slip by. Izuku looks around his apartment, the wood floors gleam, the couch looks like a display. Some things, like his desk, are still a mess (he and his mother aren’t miracle workers), but overall everything is very fresh feeling. Izuku’s round green eyes fall on his kitchen and despite no one being around he slams his fist into his open palm and shouts: “I’ve got it!”

Sleeves already rolled up, Izuku hurries to his kitchen, big plans in mind.



Todoroki wakes up.

Todoroki showers and brushes his teeth. 

Todoroki makes breakfast, but doesn’t eat it. He leaves the eggs, spinach, and couscous in the microwave for Ochako. It’s a kind act. 

Todoroki takes a bag of Ochako’s dark roast coffee. He’ll give it to Midoriya as a housewarming gift. Another kind act. The world remains balanced, and it keeps spinning.

Ochako must still be asleep. 

Todoroki is disappointed by this, but it quickly fades. Donned in a blue turtleneck and light-wash jeans, he picks out his favorite scarf: a checkered scarf that’s rather ugly. Ochako made it. 

Todoroki stomps on his boots and sets out the front door, starting his journey to visit Midoriya Izuku, an old friend. A good friend. A very good, old friend.

Todoroki is excited.

Chapter Text

Katsuki patrols alone today. The morning gave way to rain showers and rumbles of thunder pushed in by a warm front, but the sun still manages to sneak a few rays through, creating fuzzy rainbows in the corners of his eyes every so often. It’s gay as hell, but also very fucking pleasing after all the biting cold lately. While he doesn’t regret working on his day off yesterday, he does wish he was offered PTO (Paid Time Off) like the other two to rest his aching body. Still, the rain is a good thing because it puts a damper on the more petty, compulsive criminals. Even they like to stay dry, Katsuki supposes. He shakes a few drops out of this hair. 


Katsuki waves at a vendor he passes just about every morning. Leo’s a big, jovial guy who runs a Greek food truck, he often gives Katsuki free falafel after lunch rushes, but this morning Katsuki’s set from breakfast with Kirishima. Leo smiles behind the curls of his thick beard and Katsuki is glad he isn’t called over. They don’t really have much in common, aside from food appreciation.

Additionally, Katsuki still needs to mull things over. Despite extensively describing everything to Kirishima, the reality and all its many, fragmenting implications are just sinking in. He’s really getting involved with them . Suicidal maniac included. Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Well,” he tells himself, “I guess it’s about time.”

The patrol drags on, lengthy and eventless, but Katsuki doesn’t mind. He’s still sore, after all, and he’s got a date to plan.



Izuku doesn’t get a single moment to appreciate his handiwork. Just as he turns the stove off, there’s rapping on his door. Like his mother had said, Todoroki has always been punctual, something ingrained by his proper upbringing. 

Anticipation makes Izuku jittery, he wants to leave a good impression after their last run-in (when Izuku was completing a walk of shame and Todoroki was doing pilates in a hot pink headband). He gives himself a passing look in the mirror and belatedly realizes how tryhard his Uravity themed T-shirt may seem. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought about it at all until this moment. He just knew it was the most breathable cotton he’s ever worn and he didn’t want to break a sweat while cooking since there wouldn’t be time to shower again. 

Another knock, followed by a quiet, tentative second. Izuku forgets about the shirt and hurries down the short hall. He leans over the genkan to open the front door.

The morning light is blinding, but Izuku’s eyes adjust, and the dark silhouette of Todoroki fades into color. Todoroki’s fringe is messily pushed back and he wears a small smile that’s almost hidden by an orange and brown scarf that looks like it was knit by a seven year old. Maybe one of Todoroki’s nieces or nephews made it for him. 

He has a small, modest messenger bag striped across his coat and he’s standing tall, still managing to seem completely and entirely humble. There’s a moment of palpable silence as Izuku continues to look over his friend, the years between them seeming to grow longer and longer by the second. As the memories without Todoroki stretch on in his mind, he starts to panic. What can he really say? It was easy on the phone, but now, in person, without distractions, he’s hesitating. Izuku sees a thin scar on Todoroki’s cheek that he doesn’t know about, and he’s suddenly realizing that he has one in a similar place and he almost says ‘Now we match,’ but he further realizes that Todoroki doesn’t know about his either. Todoroki wasn’t on call when Izuku messily ended that hostage situation and it’s not like they chatted after. There are so many things that he’s missed. How can he possibly make up for—

“Shouto!” Izuku steels himself with the simple and strong name. The first name of one of the best friends he’s ever had, holding on to a thread of hope that he’s still one of the people who can use it. Sometimes he needs to stop the constant, panicked yammering of anxiety that’s been both his savior and his cage. 

Surprise flutters over Shouto’s face, but his smile only widens. He moves to step inside (“Pardon the intrusion”); Midoriya may be imagining the tension leaving his friend’s narrow shoulders. “Izuku,” he says as he kicks off his shoes, letting the front door finally close behind him. “I come bearing gifts.” Todoroki smiles and digs into his messenger bag. And from that bag he pulls out a green, drawstring pouch with something weighty inside.

Just as Midoriya was relaxing, he tenses up to accepts  the gift with two hands. “Th-thank you! You didn’t have to—”

“There’s more.” Todoroki looks down again and pulls out yet another bag, a paper one. The rich smell of coffee hits Midoriya. 

“Shouto, you really didn’t have to—“

“Housewarming gifts are custom,” Shouto asserts.

Midoriya swallows before opening the first gift and peering inside. Early morning-like freshness wafts out and Midoriya finds a large… crystalline… rock. “It’s a rock,” he states.

Todoroki is unbothered by the blunt comment. “Himalayan Salt Rock,” he corrects. “It’s a natural air purifier, it might’ve gotten flipped while I was carrying it, but you should see that it’s also candle holder.”

Midoriya reaches in, flips it. “So it is!” He pulls the salt rock out. It’s dense like a paperweight and is almost as large as his palm. “I think I have some tea candles that’ll fit perfectly… Where’d you get this?”

“A spa.”

Midoriya smiles, thinking back to the training camp briefly. “A spa, huh?” He wonders if they’re both remembering it. His thoughts are interrupted when Todoroki thrusts the brown paper bag into his arms.

“This is coffee, dark roast. Ochako’s favorite brand and blend.”

That captures Midoriya’s attention and he briefly looks down before returning his gaze to Shouto’s almost stoic face. Warmth buds in his chest and there’s really only one thing he can think to say:  “Thanks, Shouto.”

Quickly, Midoriya shows Todoroki further inside. There isn’t much to the space, but Todoroki is, in fact, interested by all the hero memorabilia and merchandise sprinkled through Midoriya’s daily routines. He also marvels at how clean the place is, to which Izuku only offers a wobbly grin. The candle holder finds its home on Midoriya’s bookshelf, beside a small collection of Russian dolls (Todoroki chuckles because he knows good and well where those came from).

Midoriya’s bedroom was supposed to be the shortest visit because it got cleaned the least and Izuku is positive that the mere sight of it will force Shouto to rescind his prior statement, but Todoroki surprises him and rushes in. Midoriya realizes he’s moving straight for the picture of Toshinori. The hero’s emaciated form was no longer a secret, so he was probably easy for Todoroki to recognize. Midoriya simply watches Shouto gazing at the frame. “This is a great picture,” he says.

“It really captures his light,” Midoriya agrees.

Todoroki sets the picture down, satisfied. Then his eyes wander to the wall. “Is that… me?

“Okay! Let’s head to the kitchen now, alright? Alright!” Midoriya grabs Shouto by the shoulders and forces him out, closing the bedroom door behind him. “For the record, I fought tooth and nail for that poster and I am not ashamed.”

“Do Bakugou and Ochako know about theirs? Ochako was pretty flustered about that exact bathing suit shoot—”

“I am not ashamed.” 

Midoriya purposely saved the kitchen for the end of the tour. “So,” he starts as they near it. He can see Todoroki’s nostrils flare as he inhales and then speaks quickly. “I made you a little something, but I kind of thought of it too late…” As they step onto the kitchen floor, he gestures to the pot atop his stove and the sauce bowls on the counter.

“It’s… is it… Soba?” Todoroki smiles wide, but quickly corrects it into a small grin. The action nearly makes Midoriya laugh. 

“It is! Please tell me you still like soba.”

“Who in their right mind doesn’t like soba?”

“Even if it’s for breakfast?”

“Even then.”

Midoriya runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not cold, like you like it, since the noodles just finished, but maybe you could… chill it for us?” Todoroki glides past him and lifts his right hand. Midoriya flinches, “It’s hot.” 

”I’m fine,” he presses his palm to the pot of drained noodles, “this side isn’t fireproof, but it won’t burn easy either. Plus, you know… ice.”

Todoroki encases the pot in an open crystal of ice and distantly Izuku notes that the sudden temperature change can’t be good for his pot.

Todoroki wipes his hand on his pants, cold air visibly rolling off his wrist.

“It should be thoroughly chilled shortly. Frozen Soba isn’t as good as it sounds, so I didn’t go overboard.”

That doesn’t sound good at all. “Alright!” Midoriya claps his hands together. “While we wait we can talk and play—“ he scampers away from the kitchen and makes a beeline for the tv. When he reappears before Shouto, he has a thin case in his hand. “This!”

Todoroki’s eyes shimmer a little. “ Kario Mart?”

Midoriya grins. “The OG. Remember how we had Kario Mart tournaments in the dormitory lounge?”

“Denki hated me for three months after I beat him.”

“Video games were his pride and joy, you know.”

“Bakugou beat him too.”

“Well, Bakugou already hated Denki so…”

“The double standard our class held for all things concerning Bakugou baffles me to this day.”

Midoriya slinks back into the living room, cocking up a brow. “...Wanna talk about it?”

Todoroki throws him a glare. “You’re compromised.”

Midoriya’s laugh gets the better of him, but he attempts to mask it with an unbelievable show of shock. “ Compromised? I’ll have you know that I am a completely unbiased buddy. A professional pal.”

Todoroki opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, he seems to chew on a thought before moving to sit on the couch by Midoriya. He twists a fallen strand of hair around his finger before pushing it back with the rest of his displaced fringe. “I hope you’ll feel the same way after I reclaim my Kario Mart crown.”

Midoriya’s lips fix into a daring grin. 



He never stood a chance.

By the tenth course, Midoriya has come in first three times… Compared to Shouto’s seven. If there is truly a skill for Kario Mart, Shouto has mastered it. Does Midoriya hold a little animosity for Todoroki for mercilessly beating him at Kario Mart? Maybe. 

“Do you practice?” Midoriya finds himself asking.

“It’s been a few months since I last played… it was actually at Denki’s.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Well, he invited me over under the guise “catching up,” but then he asked me for a giant block of ice for an ice sculptor that was already at his house, so I couldn’t say no.”

“Oh, so just like today then.” He sees Todoroki frown. “Kidding! Denki’s always been a master of connivery.” 

“That’s what I said.” Todoroki’s character, Princess Plum, hits a banana peel and Midoriya passes her. 

“How is he doing?”

“Denki?” Todoroki shrugs, eyes on the TV. “Shorter hair, stubble, still a pervert.”


A trigger click later. “Doubtful. He is probably still waiting on Ochako, pretty much interrogated me.”

Midoriya jolts. “Eh?” Midoriya’s character, Shroomhead, hits a fake gift box and sputters behind Princess Plum. “ Dammit!”

Shouto’s gaze flutters over his shoulder for a moment. “He’s had it bad for her since Freshman year.”

“EH?!” Shroomhead spins off course.

“You mean you never noticed?”

“Never. I thought he and Mineta were always obsessed with Momo—” Izuku pauses. “Is it okay to talk about Momo?”

“Yes. We’ve always been friends.”

“But the… break-up…”

“Was three years ago, I’d like to think I’m over her. Actually… The problem was that I was never… under...her…”

“Oh god, Shouto!” Midoriya explodes into peals of laughter, despite the topic. Does that phrase even work there? Once calm, he strikes an even tone. “I always wanted to ask about that...” He pauses the game, earning a minor sound of annoyance. “I really do have to know what’s been going on in your life. I know you wanted to talk about me and…everything, but it has to go both ways.” Instantly, Izuku realizes he’s been thinking about today all wrong. They don’t need to make up for anything, they just need to fill in the gaps.

Shouto sets the controller on the coffee table and turns to face Midoriya, pulling his legs onto the couch and folding them in from of him rather demurely. “Well,” he tugs at the collar of his turtleneck, “where should I begin?”



Todoroki isn’t uncomfortable talking about his past, not the distant dark one, and not the more recent, nostalgic one. He’s grown quite a bit in that area.

His bemused expression is due to the intrigue in Midoriya’s voice. It’s similar to Ochako’s whenever she grills him about his (non existent) love-life. He’s a bit excited about it. He loves Ochako, but talking to someone else about this sort seems refreshing.

“I guess with Momo? You guys started dating after graduation, right?”

“Yes. We agreed to do it beforehand, however.”

“Agreed to date?”


Midoriya makes a face. “Well I didn’t know that. How did that even come about?”

“Momo told me she had feelings for me and I told her dating would be a good way to deal with that.”

“And she agreed?” Midoriya is leaning forward with squinted eyes, avidly listening. It makes Todoroki smile, despite the mildly embarrassing story.

“Neither of us really knew better at the time… I didn’t understand the concept of dating as I do now and she was so blinded by her feelings that she took what she could. Plus, I didn’t see any reason not too. She’s smart, beautiful, and extremely kind. Very dateable in my eyes.”

“Yet you never considered dating her before she confessed.”

Todoroki shakes his head. Back then, he never really considered dating anyone. He lifts his gaze and avoided Midoriya’s wide green eyes. Not really, anyway.

“So we waited for graduation before we really started dating. I picked her up, took her to the park, to see movies, on picnics… typical dates, you know. It was romantic and I actually found myself enjoying the concept.”

“The concept…” Midoriya echoes.

“Things changed when we kissed. The first few were fine, innocent, enjoyable, but after a few months…” Todoroki’s face heats up, exactly how it had relayed the story Ochako. At least he’s managing to keep his hands steady now, despite the urge to hide. “She, uh, wanted me to… touch her?”

“Is that a question?”


Midoriya snickers.

Todoroki continues with a sigh, “I didn’t mind, initially, but… eventually I hit a wall. It was when she wanted to reciprocate that I realized that sex wasn’t something I was interested in. She thought it was because she repulsed me… Which is a ridiculous notion, but we had a huge fight over it. She even accused me of, ah… getting it from Ochako—”



“That’s… wow.”

Todoroki inhales through his teeth. “Yeaahhh… That only made things worse because then I started saying things I shouldn’t have. In retrospect, I can see where she would get the idea, I did live with Ochako, which is rather unorthodox…”

“Unorthodox…” Midoriya repeats, quietly.

“After a week or so, I cooled off and so did she, cleared the air. I explained to her that sex wasn’t something I wanted from us. She thought it wouldn’t be an issue, but I knew it would. I mean, how was it fair? To date someone and not… offer a key component?”

Midoriya nods, listening intently.

“She loved me and I came to love her, but… it was too much to ask from her. I could see it. She didn’t want it to be important, but it was. After every date she had this dejected look, then it was after every kiss, then it was just how she looked at me. When she broke up with me, I understood. When she asked that I not go to her promotion celebration… I understood.” Todoroki’s voice wavers slightly and Midoriya’s hand goes to his knee, green eyes shining with concern and recollection. It’s comforting. “Momo and I were on rocky terms then, not angry but hurting. We’re fine now, it just took time.” Todoroki thinks he should mention how he knows that Momo has a girlfriend now, but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t add anything to the conversation.

“Have you dated anyone since?”

Todoroki shakes his head. “There’s really no need.”

Midoriya looks like he wants to argue, but he hesitates. “I guess I can relate, that’s how I felt after Hito—Shinsou.”

Todoroki doesn’t miss the way Izuku grimaces when he amends the name. He vaguely thinks about Ochako. Is Midoriya not over Shinsou? He decides it may be best to clarify before making assumptions (he knows how that saying goes).

“And now how do you feel?”

Midoriya’s solemn expression dissipates immediately. He beams, cheeks rosy. “I feel like I was dead wrong.”

Todoroki read once that someone is most beautiful when they’re in love. He thinks Midoriya might be well on his way. But what would he know?





Uraraka grins. Todoroki would be proud if he were here, she’s cleaning! Look at her go! So what if she’s using clorox wipes for everything? They’re versatile and were made for the convenience of people like her. People who don’t want to use washcloths because then they’d have to wash the washcloths (pretty redundant if you ask her). And Ochako hates sponges. She doesn’t have trypophobia or anything, but sponges are just gross when they’re not new and the sponges Shouto uses were supposed to last longer because they’re infused with antibacterial soap, but when the soap ran out he just kept using them. They’re not special anymore, Shou! Throw them away!

Ochako drops a wipe on the floor and when she leans down to get it, she notices that the tile isn’t white, but more of an eggshell. It’s something she’s never noticed before and she wonders if it’s supposed to be white. She tests this by scrubbing at the floor with a clorox wipe, loand behold the spot practically sparkles. Her lips thin.

“Maybe I should act like I didn’t notice this…”

If she leaves it long enough, Shouto the Cleaning Fairy will probably get to it. 

“Ugh, even I’m not that lazy, or lame.”

Though she does feel lame when she looks up how to thoroughly clean and whiten a floor because she will be damned if she uses an entire box of wipes. Do we even have a mop? Ochako wonders, pouring water in a bucket of bleach to dilute it. By this point, Ochako is decked out in cleaning gear. She’s got her bangs tied back with a pink bandana, a disposable face mask on, clad in a shirt and sweats that she doesn’t care about (and have more bleach stains than she can count from the last time she’s done something like this), and yellow gloves with an atrocious zebra print pattern. 

Mop or not, she’s ready, until...

Knock, Knock, Knock!

A shiver runs down her spine and she doesn’t know why. It could be a delivery person, she hasn’t ordered anything of late, but maybe her roommate has. Or maybe the scent of bleach has wafted through the air ducts and is choking out the baby across the hall—so the mother has come to complain. Or maybe she should just go find out. 

Yeah, that. Definitely that.

Ochako gets up and makes her way to the front door. She slips on some sandals as she steps down to peer through the peephole. Her breath hitches.

She can’t actually see the face of the man standing outside of her door, just his barrel of a chest and broad shoulders, barely contained in the black v-neck he’s wearing. Ochako’s mouth goes dry because this is bad and it’s the kind of bad that won’t go away by just ignoring it.

This bad will most likely come back and do damage. As the woman of the house, Ochako furrows her brows, inhales and swings open the door before the asshole on the other side can knock again.

Her brown eyes meet familiar, yet unfamiliar, blue ones.

“Todoroki-sama?” She pulls down her face mask.“What a, uh, surprise.”

The look of shock on Todoroki Enji’s face is priceless. His jaw drops as far as his astute self-control will let it and his eyes bug out in a way that nearly makes her laugh. Then he scowls, looks Ochako up and down like a stain and reopens his mouth in a much more composed manner. “Uraraka-san?”

She nods.

This doesn’t seem to dial back his surprise any further, and while Ochako is still amused, the grimness of this situation is a heavy damper. Ochako is glad Shouto isn’t here to see his shelter crumble like this, but he’ll hate to hear it. Enji’s found him. 

“What are you doing here?” Enji asks and now it’s Ochako’s turn to be surprised, jolted out of her worries. 

“Excuse me?”

“This is Shouto’s apartment, correct?”

“You tell me.”

“I am correct. I know this is where Shouto lives. His current home, so to speak.”

Ochako feels a muscle in her jaw constrict and she hopes animosity isn’t showing in her eyes. So to speak? This is Shouto’s home. And it has been for four years. Not that this dickhole would know anything about it. Did he hire a P.I.? Shouto had suspected he would, but as the years lapsed… they’d gotten comfortable. Shouto may not have forgotten, but he’d started to brighten. Even the press noticed. The dark cloud around the icy-hot hero lifted and this home is a part of that.

“Right.” Still, lying won’t do any good. “As it is mine.”

“I see,” Enji answers after a long pause. “Is there a third housemate?”


Enji’s lips press together, the seam going white, then he does something really weird with them. He smiles. Like actually smiles. Ochako isn’t sure if she should vomit or take a picture. She supposes Shouto’s princely face wasn’t just from his mother’s side, as awful as that is. It gives her the creeps and Ochako feels as if fifty pounds has been removed from her shoulders when she finally looks away. Can this exchange be over now?

“So it’s just the two of you?”

“Yes, and it’ll stay that way, thank you very much. Is there something you would like me to tell Shouto, because I have a floor to clean.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she looks up to see the shitface is actually considering her offer. “Hmm, no. Just tell him I dropped by, that should do the trick with him.”

She hates that he’s right.

“However,” Enji steps closer and for a moment Ochako is afraid he’s going to burst inside, but he stops short of the doorway. His icy eyes are piercing and shrewd. “You’ve done very well for yourself, Uraraka. If you’d focus less on rescue and more on defense against villains, I’m sure you could assert your quirk a bit more. Perhaps move up a spot or two.”

She frowns as he loses formality, even if it’s small they’re not even acquaintances. “I’m not interested in moving up the ladder, I find there are more rewarding things about being a hero than status.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t need to be when you have Shouto.”

Ochako’s eye twitches. “Pardon?” She waves a hand. “Forget it. Thanks for the awkward praise or whatever. I think you should go.”

Enji’s smile finally falls. He doesn’t like being told what to do and Ochako hates finding another similarity between the man and his son. The perfect son he could never deserve in a million years. “I’ll be on my way then.”


He turns, facial flames dancing along his tan skin.

“In case it wasn’t obvious,” Ochako throws some bass in her voice, the kind that’s reserved for villains. “You’re not welcome here.” 

She doesn’t hesitate to close the door.