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This was supposed to be the best day of Ochako's life.
The white dress her mother loved and her father cried over fit her like a glove. The pink and blue flowers she insisted were too expensive made for a beautiful walkway. The lace veil passed down from her granny still held its bright white hue. The man she said she wanted for so long was waiting at the end of the aisle, tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. A hundred and twenty-nine of her closest friends gathered in a single space just to celebrate her happiness.
It should have been a hundred and thirty, but she knew he wouldn't have shown up. She didn't even need to look in the crowd to know that he wasn't there. He told her over and over again in so many different ways that he shouldn't—that he couldn't and wouldn't be able to make it. That his presence shouldn't make or break her day, and if it did, then it should mean something. So Ochako knew not to expect him; she forced herself not to look in the crowd for burning red eyes or ash blonde hair.
Because no matter what, Katsuki Bakugo would not be there. And that broke her heart.
"You can stay here any time you want," he promised her, his lips brushing against her bruised shoulder.
"I should go tonight," she replied, trying to ignore the way heat coiled in her stomach when he kissed her neck. She held in a breath when he sucked a sensitive spot—a spot they both knew far too well. "Izuku's probably waiting for me."
"He can text you," he murmured into her skin, gentle breaths on the bright red spot he intentionally created. She'd blame it on the fight—say it was just part of the bruise the bad guy left—but they'd know what it was. It was a secret, shared only between them that shouldn't exist but it did; and it was beautiful.
"Katsuki," she sighed, lifting his head from her neck and forcing him to look her in the eyes. His chin felt like it belonged in her hands, his stubble tickling her palms, his scars dancing in the spaces between her fingers. If she was going to attempt to convince him that she should go home to her boyfriend, then she shouldn't have looked at him, because the way those scarlet eyes shined just for her set her heart ablaze.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, wrapping her legs around his waist and claiming him as hers.
The tabloids said this day was decades in the making, but really, they had no clue. Every invitation said that guests were cordially invited to the most joyous event of their lifetimes, as if they could possibly know that happiness would peak here. Ochako forced a smile as she walked down the aisle, red heels to match Izuku's trademark red sneakers, pretending that she had never been happier.
She fought weak knees that threatened to buckle with every step. She fought sniffles that threatened to escape her nose. She fought the frown that threatened to cross her face and ruin everyone's day.
She fought so many things all at once—it left her no energy to fight the tears that drifted down her cheeks. She was grateful for waterproof mascara and eyeliner because she would cry even harder if she wasted money on a makeup artist and those fucking flowers. She let the tears flow freely, and hoped that it would paint a picture of a bride so overwhelmed with love and joy and every other good feeling in the fucking universe. If her granny's veil wasn't blocking her face she'd sob right into the rhododendrons they spent eight billion yen on.
She liked him best underneath her. His clothes scattered on the floor, his hands unable to decide if he wanted to hold her hips or ass or waist of grab her by the throat, his dick rock hard inside of her, his face looking up at her as if she'd hung every star in the sky.
He was so pretty like this—outside of this Katsuki was handsome, rugged and strong looking. His battle scars made him look intimidating, his rippling muscles made him look dependable. But underneath her? He was pretty. Gorgeous even. His scarlet eyes were so blown out, they were nothing more than bottomless pools, an abyss she'd happily get lost in. His normally hard features became so soft, so pliant underneath her touch.
"Fuck, Angel, you feel so good," he sighed, his voice breathless—a dangerous thing when she was on top. Almost instantly her pussy quivered, threatening to milk him for everything right then and there. He responded like he knew her body, like he knew how close she was, like he'd bought her to the edge a thousand times before and here he was, doing it again. His hand gripped her hip hard—just how she liked, half moons pressed into her skin. His free hand slid between them, rubbing circles on her clit.
She came undone under his touch without hesitation, without warning and without begging. He followed moments later, painting her walls with his DNA, reminding her that she was just as familiar to him as he was to her.
She collapsed on top of him, her breasts pressed to his chest. He planted kisses in her hairline, not caring about the sweat they accumulated.
"You're so fucking amazing, Angel," he murmured, his voice muffled by her skin.
"I'm yours," she replied, quickly, automatically.
"You don't mean that," he scoffed.
She did—but she wouldn't argue with him.
Izuku was so patient—so kind and sweet and forgiving. He never asked why she was out so late, why she didn't come home and why Bakugo got quiet whenever she came around. No, he just accepted that that's how they were, and they both were content living like this.
After all, she told him that she loved him, publicly and privately and everywhere in between. She made sure his clothes were clean and his workbag was packed, that the house was pristine and groceries stocked. She took care of everything and promised that she'd continue to do anything to make sure that their perfect life stayed perfect.
He said she made him feel complete.
She felt terribly empty without Katsuki.
Izuku practically beamed when she made it to the end of the aisle, his scarred hands wiping away excess tears. This truly could have been the happiest day of his life, the day where he marries the girl he's been with for years—his biggest supporter, his rock that keeps him steady.
The same girl that's been sleeping with his childhood bully turned best friend for over a year.
Ochako felt awful. When Izuku lifted her veil, she felt worse. She loved him once, she promised—she'd even swear. But somewhere between being the number one teacher's long term girlfriend and being Katsuki's partner, something switched off. Her feelings got re-wired, rerouted and she re-attached to the blonde who looked like the sun—who said she wasn't fragile and respected her from the moment he saw her.
And still, she was in a fucking white dress in a fucking garden with all her fucking friends and family and she was miserable.
"You look beautiful," Izuku said.
She was going to be sick.
If tonight was going to be their last night together, Katsuki said he wanted to look at her from all angles. He said he'd commit to memory so when he's fifty alone and she's so happy she left him, he wouldn't feel as bad. She said she wasn't leaving him—but they both heard the hollowness in her voice.
Ochako Uraraka wasn't leaving; Katsuki would just have to reckon with fucking Ochako Midoriya.
He couldn't even look at the fucking invitation.
He fucked her on it. One time on her back, telling her she's too fucking perfect, she does so well for him and she's everything he needs. Twice on her side, once looking at him and the other facing the wall. The last time his dick was inside of her, she was on her stomach—the invitation far gone. He slammed into her recklessly, hitting spots only he knew were there, his hand slapping the skin on her ass until it turned cheetah print.
At least she had something to remember him by.
Her legs were so by the time they were finished, his cum dripping out from between her thighs slowly. He said he'd clean her up and send her home to her boyfriend—fiancé—in a while. Right now, he just wanted to hold her.
"…I don't want to leave," she whispered into the sheets, fully expecting him to ignore it.
"You don't have to," he answered almost immediately, sitting up.
"I'm getting married in the morning," she reminded, nestling her head in his lap.
"You don't have to do that, either."
"We already sent out invitations," she sighed, "Bought cake and flowers, rented out a garden. Everything's already set."
"Doesn't mean any fucking thing," he replied. "You have a toothbrush here. You have enough clothes to where if you don't want to go out for weeks, you don't have to. You can stay here."
Vows spilled from his lips like red wine on white carpet—they'd stain if she didn't act quickly. She took a step back, creating space between her and her soon-to-be ex-fiance. He kept his eyes on the paper, focusing on getting the words out—never making eye contact.
"I…I can't do this," she said, her words wobbling. Izuku's head shot up, but her feet were faster, and she let them guide her back through the floral walkway. They were automatic, moving on their own as she figured out what the hell she's just done.
It was no surprise that she ended up on Katsuki's doorstep, knocking on his door with her left hand. The sizeable ring Izuku bought landed against the wood heavily, Ochako unconcerned with the diamond's clarity. She was sure she'd gotten her new heels muddy and there was no telling what was caked on to the bottom of the dress.
It didn't matter. She wouldn't need it anyway.
He answered the door, surprise coloring his face.
"I walked out," she explained before he could ask. "You weren't there and I…I couldn't do it without you."
"Are you going to go back?"
"Do I have to?"
"You can stay here," he assured, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "You can stay here any time you want."