Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

10

“It’s a great opportunity.”

Ochako’s eyes glaze over.

He frantically waves his arms around. “All Might requested me personally!”

This is where Izuku launches into a full spreadsheet’s worth of information when she hasn’t asked. She’ll undoubtedly hear about All Might’s new agency or new training program or new community venture or something else that doesn’t actually get to the root cause of the villain work.

Ochako sighs, letting her hands fall beside her. The sudden movement makes her short skirt swish over her mid-thigh.

He doesn’t notice, so she drifts.

She’s only been here twice before. Kirishima is the one to invite people over while Bakugou sulks in his room. The apartment screams Kirishima everywhere except the kitchen. She has the urge to open all the cabinets and pick through Bakugou’s spices. She wants to scrutinize how he organizes them, double-check his recipe cards. She’s confident there’s no dust build-up in there, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t wipe her finger across every surface and watch Bakugou’s brow twitch in annoyance.

Except, she’s stuck in the small powder room, a hallway away from Bakugou’s safe haven.

She zones back in when Izuku practically vibrates with excitement.

Of course it’s a good opportunity. It always is.

“Come with me, Ochako,” Izuku pleads.

She bites the inside of her cheek. It's “come with me,” not “tell me to stay.” Not that she'd tell him to stay. She doesn't even know if she could get those words out let alone have them relay a fair sentiment.

But nothing about this is fair.

“My life is here.” The words tumble out even after a moment of thought like they overflow past her consciousness.

“I… I know it's a lot, but we're starting a whole new agency in America—working with the new standards for heroism…”

Ochako wishes she hadn’t finished her drink already—the third of the night so far—as she nods and the buzz of his voice starts to fade into its own regularity. He never drinks at these parties—probably reasonable for the shape he needs to be in and for the control he needs to assert.

She can't help but wonder if he'd babble more or less when drunk.

There was a time when she hoped the answer was more.

“… and Ochako, I'm part of your life too.”

She smiles weakly and places a hand on his cheek. “Of course you are. You'll always be a part of my life.”

Izuku leans in and his eyes flutter shut. He takes a stuttering breath before reopening them.

“So, you'll come? I want you there by my side.”

It's always by his side.

Maybe it's time for her center spread.

She taps his cheekbone with her index finger before dropping her hand.

“I'm gonna get another drink.” She's already turning around and opening the door when a hand grabs her forearm.

“Just, think about it?” his voice trembles and Ochako feels a sick sense of pride.

She has so little power in the grand scheme of things, but it's not nothing.

The symbol of peace pleads to her. Pleads for her.

But pleas are a desperate measure at the end of the line.

“I'll think about it.” She glances at his hand and watches his fingers reluctantly unfurl.

Time is of the essence and Izuku has been procrastinating.

9

Katsuki counts the seconds. How many more till these fuckers leave his apartment, how many more till the nerd leaves, and how many more till he can live in stasis.

They're not really even questions—more like inevitabilities.

Uraraka and Izuku have been holed up in the half-bath for 1020 seconds when the door finally opens. Uraraka pauses halfway and looks over her shoulder.

Katsuki smirks before taking a sip.

She looks the way she does in battle. Determined and confident, sure, but also sealed away so tight that the cracks forming at her edges don't imply weakness.

Katsuki has matching cracks.

She says something and slowly walks away from him and towards him. She dusts off imaginary particles from her skirt and flattens out the strays of her hair. It takes her 7 steps to be swept up by Mina, who’s obviously observant enough to glance at the man still in the bathroom but smart enough to not say anything.

“C’mon, it's an hour till the new year and you're still sober.”

“Not by choice,” Uraraka says with a scoff, getting into earshot.

The women bound over to the kitchen with Mina in the lead. Katsuki stands behind the counter, unmoving. Mina practically lives in this apartment at this point. He’s seen her with bedhead, with her ass hangin’ out in the morning, and has had a whole tit flash one shitty evening when Eijirou thought Katsuki wasn’t home.

The kitchen is his fortress of solitude in the intrusion of these parties. Living with Eijirou had it's perks but a social life isn't one of them.

Uraraka is a recent addition and a whole different story.

“Kats, what's the hardest and fruitiest drink you have?” Mina asks, breaching his walls.

His attention flicks over to Uraraka. Wide eyed and lips parted, she watches him like he watches her.

She’s changed her hair, letting it grow out past her shoulders. It’s been curled at the ends, framing the long, thin silver necklace dipping into her cleavage.

Katsuki wonders if Izuku’s noticed the makeup on her face—the gloss that’s waiting to be licked off her lips.

Mina clears her throat.

“Whiskey,” he says, tightening the space between his brows, and tipping his own glass to the cupboard where he hides his stash.

It's not hiding if it's in plain sight.

Uraraka still watches him when Mina groans.

“That's not a new year’s drink, that's a depressed old man drink.” Mina crosses her arms.

Katsuki sneers. “It's a get the job done drink.”

Mina opens her mouth when a hand appears on Katsuki's shoulder.

“Stocked the fridge with mixes and the yummy stuff is in there.” Eijirou points to the bar cart that's been moved to the living room.

Mina grins. “You stay and mama Mina is gonna fix you up somethin’ special.” She pats Uraraka's arm, scans the room, and drags Eijirou to the cart.

He's left standing in his sanctum with one of the few he'd invite in.

“You want a depressed old man drink?” He asks, holding up his now empty cup.

She chuckles wryly. “I want a get the job done drink.”

8

Time flies by when you’re having fun. This isn’t fun, exactly, but it’s the closest thing to it she’s had in a while.

Bakugou usually feels so rushed—always reaching for the next thing. The next villain, the next step in his quirk training, the next ranking. Ochako smirks, leaning against the counter. It’s nice seeing him take his time in his own space.

He’s in a black t-shirt and black sweat pants—everyone dresses up for new years except Bakugou. Reaching for a glass and then the liquor, small ripples run through his visibly taut arms. Ochako can’t help but stare.

“Ice?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at her.

He’s at least a whole head taller than her and probably twice as wide.

“I like it when it burns,” she says, tilting her head.

He freezes for a moment, eyes dilating so far that Ochako can tell even under the ambient lighting. She gives him a small smile and watches his gaze travel over her body. In high school, she might’ve become flustered with the attention of the unflappable, but she knows who she is now.

She’s had his attention for a while.

And it feels so good.

Maybe this is exactly like fun.

“I can make that happen,” he says, dropping his tone.

Their eyes meet and his flashes with something Ochako realizes right then that she craves.

The soft amber liquid settles into the cup and Ochako deliberately brushes her fingers against his when she takes the drink.

She watches his Adam’s apple bob before shoving that hand into his pocket.

“Didn’t think you’d actually be here tonight,” she says before taking a small sip. She holds the liquor in her mouth and swishes it around to coat her palate. She could pretend like she picks up on the subtle flavours—the nutty front supplanted by a rich woody aroma—but she’d really just be parroting what she’s heard from Bakugou.

“I live here.” He leans on the counter, body facing her.

“You lived here last year too.”

His eyes flick to the living room before coming back to her. He did a half-shrug, lip curling down as his shoulder peeked up. “Things change.”

She hums, swirling her drink. “What changed?”

A hand appears at the small of her back and she stiffens.

“Time,” Bakugou says, switching his focus from her to the man who’s appeared beside her. “Heard you’re startin’ an agency in New York.”

“Oh, yeah! All Might has all these connections and they’ve been workin’ on changing their hero licensing and ranking systems since the war, so yeah! It’s gonna be great, you know?”

“I don’t.” Bakugou gulps and straightens up.

“Right, well if you want a spot, I have inside knowledge that the agency is gonna need some good heroes.” Izuku chuckles, moving the hand from Ochako’s back to scratch his neck.

Where is Ochako’s offer?

Come with me isn’t a work with me.

Ochako frowns, diving her face into the cup.

“I can be number 1 right here at home.” Bakugou throws his head back to finish his drink. The cup clanks against the counter when he sets it down. Paying no mind to Izuku, he holds her gaze and wipes the rim with his index finger. The squeak of wet glass makes Ochako shudder as Bakugou licks his lips. Without another word, he walks away to the crowded living room.

Time slows when Izuku steps in front of her, taking Bakugou’s spot.

“Don’t like the drink?” Izuku asks.

“Huh?”

He points at the glass and then to her face. “You’re doing that thing you do when you eat something really sour. Like with the salt and extra vinegar chips I picked up last week.”

She throws on a tight smile.

It used to be endearing that Izuku had all these facts about everything. Knowledge is power and who’s more powerful than the wielder of One for All?

Facts without context aren’t facts at all.

“We can add some sugar to it… or I bet Eijirou has some protein drinks!”

“Izuku,” she starts, taking a step backwards, “I’m happy with what I have.”

His brows knit so she knows he’s heard her, but he’s still looking around the kitchen—trying to solve a problem she doesn’t have. A hero to the core.

He opens the cupboards, finding the jar of sugar. His exploration of the space is all wrong, and he’s reaching for a spoon before she can protest. With a sigh, she sets down her cup and looks over to the living room.

Fire shines in the dark, leading her out of the forest.

7

From the look on Uraraka’s face, Katsuki guesses that Izuku hasn’t extended her a job. Izuku doesn’t actually underestimate her—Katsuki knows this from the many hours they’ve spent talking about heroes and rankings. Everyone in this room knows that Uravity, currently ranked 37th, should be much higher.

The nerd’s just too caught up in seeing his own dreams come to life that he’s failing to notice what he’s leaving behind.

In high school, Katsuki would’ve done the same.

“45 minutes to the new year! Can’t believe you haven’t stormed off and locked yourself in your bedroom yet.” Mina sits on the edge of the chair he’s plopped himself into.

“Picked this spot for a reason, Pinky.”

The chair is in the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness and even in the blind spot of the obnoxious table-top disco ball that Denki has set up. The music is just loud enough to distract him from himself, but apparently not loud enough to dissuade Mina from making conversation.

“Oh yea? That reason ‘cause it’s in direct Chako Chip sight lines?” Mina leans over him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

He scowls and shrugs, trying to get her off, but she just squeezed to secure her grip on him.

“You know that on again, off again thing is switched off right now, right?” Mina continues just above a whisper.

“Don’t care.” He watches Izuku fumble around the kitchen. That man must be a master of ramen the way he moves through the space. He wasn’t like this at UA—helping the sugar man with baking cookies—but he’s gotten complacent now. He’s forgotten his humanity for heroism.

Katsuki scoffs when the nerd finds a jar of sugar.

“Mhmm, kinda bad timing for him to be leavin’ forever.” Mina tips her head onto his, carefully avoiding her horns.

“Doesn’t have to be forever,” Katsuki says but there’s no force behind it.

Izuku dumps a heap of sugar into Uraraka’s drink and Katsuki grinds his teeth. It’s not about the quality of the whiskey or the complete lack of awareness when sugar is blindly stirred in. It’s about Uraraka’s face in the moment—empty and wanting.

Mina hums. “Yeah. Doesn’t have to be.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes and tears himself away from the kitchen; Uraraka won’t disappear if he’s not paying attention. “I dunno what you’re gettin’ at,” he says to Mina.

She waves her hand dismissively. “All I can do is lay the groundwork.” She peels herself off him and rolls the bar cart over to the chair. “Drink?”

He scoffs and reverts his attention back to Uraraka. “You’re a shit bartender,” he tells Mina, refusing to look at her.

“I’m a ‘get the job done’ bartender,” she says with a laugh.

Katsuki doesn’t see what she mixes, but also doesn’t protest when handed a cup with the mystery liquid.

Mina bends over and leans into face, blocking his view. He huffs but before he can say anything, she speaks, “My money’s always been on you.” She places a quick kiss on his left cheek, shoots him a wide grin, and bounds off to the makeshift dance floor, taking Denki’s hand for a synchronous twirl.

Katsuki was right—Mina is an absolutely shit bartender—but it’s clear that she’s also right. Whatever this drink is burns even him.

He’s never been fireproof on the inside.

He swirls the drinks around while sitting in his corner. Music plays in the back and bodies sway around him. Some smiling, some confused, some a little too wobbly on their feet. He, however, stays glued to one scene unfolding in the kitchen.

Uraraka gives Izuku that tight smile Katsuki’s seen in interviews.

Katsuki isn’t a patient man but Uraraka moves like she’s got all the time in the world. Every smile, every tinny laugh, every hardening of her eyes. It’s deliberate. It’s mesmerizing. It’s her.

He'll never be able to look away.

She rises to the occasion, putting both forearms on the counter and looking his way.

She mouths something but he doesn't know whether it's to him or Izuku.

The once bumbling fool now wraps an arm around Uraraka's shoulder.

Her face contorts and she shudders visibly.

Izuku's arm is collateral and it returns to its owner.

Katsuki scoffs into another big gulp of his drink.

Izuku might’ve grown physically and much to Katsuki's chagrin, even sexually, but he’s still who he's always been—seeing what he wants and changing the world with willpower alone.

That doesn't quite work on people.

Katsuki's learned this the hard way.

Izuku twirls a tendril of Uraraka’s new curls around a finger. There’s a wistful look to Katsuki’s rival. Does Izuku know he’s a rival in more ways than one?

Uraraka sighs and lets her shoulders fall.

Does Izuku know he’s going to lose?

Impassive, Katsuki throws his drink back. He's used to smoke burning through his lungs, but this breath is tainted from more than just the poison of alcohol. Clicking his tongue, he sets aside the cup. Without a word, he gets up and slips into the bathroom previously occupied by the two plaguing his mind.

6

“I know it’s gonna take a bit of time to set things up,” Izuku says, running his finger along her hairline and tucking in a stray strand of hair, “but there’s great agencies there—All Might has so many connections looking for rescue heroes! You know North America is trying to shift to publicizing rescue heroes more after their over-policing problem. Build up trust in heroes again.”

Ochako doesn’t look down on the importance of publicity anymore, but she also has no interest in selling herself short. Ochako isn’t just a figure head and Izuku isn’t the pedestal.

“I’ll think about it,” she says through lips pulled taut.

Izuku nods, curls loosening with the movement. He probably hasn’t had a haircut since Ochako scheduled the last one 8 months ago.

His eyes soften. “I know… I know things have been… complicated, but we can start fresh.” His rough fingers trace down her torso, tracing the dips of her muscles underneath and snagging on the soft fabric of her top. Dipping lower, he takes her hands in his.

She has scars and callouses built up along her fingers and palms, but Izuku makes her feel soft in comparison. She closes her eyes just for a moment, basking in their history. Swaying a little with the heat of her last sip finally kicking in, she sighs.

Heavy footsteps draw her out of her stupor and her gaze snaps to the rough head of blond. He doesn’t turn toward them, nor does he even glance at them out of the corner of his eyes. He simply walks with intention and disappears behind the familiar bathroom door.

This mirror with Bakugou goes two ways.

She shakes off Izuku’s hands and polishes off the remainder of her drink—the sickly sweetness of the added sugar parching her more than quenching her thirst.

“Gotta pee. We’ll talk about it later—tomorrow?” Ochako offers offhandedly, gently shifting him toward the living room with a soft touch to his shoulder.

Izuku nods and scratches the back of his head, moving out of the way.

“NEW YEAR, NEW YOU!” Camie shouts, barreling into Ochako.

Ochako giggles and sidesteps around her drunk friend. Maybe the drunkest one right now, but the party, the night, the year isn’t over yet.

“New year, new all of us!” Ochako replies, receiving a loud cheer back.

Gaze flitting between Izuku and Camie, Ochako silently tells him to do what he does best. If he wants to be a hero, he should start now and help those around him. Not waiting for acknowledgement, Ochako rushes toward the bathroom.

“Pretty rude to lock yourself away for your own party.” Ochako leans against the closed door.

She stumbles when it opens, but she’s quickly dragged in and stabilized against a hard chest.

Bakugou faces them toward the mirror. Ochako is flushed with hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her chest heaves with every breath. Her lip gloss is now sticky and she’s leaving her mark on the cups she’s had over the night.

When she meets Bakugou’s eyes in their reflection, a jolt runs through her.

He’s hungry and fierce, ready to consume everything in his path, and right now, she’s the only one around.

“It’s my party,” he starts, holding her gaze, “and now, I’m not locked away by myself.”

The bathroom that felt suffocating minutes ago now feels too big.

She gulps. “If you wanted to be locked up with me, you could've just asked.”

She feels bold. He makes her feel that—not that she’s dependent on it entirely, of course—she's always been bold all on her own. He just unlocks the door that shuts away these parts.

“Would you have said yes?” he asks, dropping his head.

Sweat drips onto her shoulder, trickling a cool path down her chest. His breath is hot in contrast but it’s not enough to sear her. Her heart thrums like it’s his instrument. Blaring in volume and intensity, it’s all she can focus on.

“What would you have done if I'd said yes?” she asks.

His nose grazes against the shell of her ear. “The nerd’s leaving.”

“So I've heard.” She holds herself steady, the only one still strong in their reflection.

“Everyone's heard.” He crowds her space, placing both hands on the counter around her to cage her in. “But you're not just everyone—not just anyone.”

She freezes, bravado ebbing and flowing with the push and pull of his chest behind her.

“Are you?” he asks, dropping his head to her shoulder.

She’s left looking only into her own eyes in the mirror now, ashen blond tickling her cheek. His hands curl on the edge of the sink, starting to turn white. The new weight on her shoulder throws her off-kilter and the drinks throughout the night make her sway into it.

She hums, reveling in the newfound warmth. New year, new Ochako. “No, I’m not just anyone.”

Chapter Text

5

“Half an hour!!” Denki yells loud enough for Katsuki to hear through the bathroom door before the music turns up.

The room spins and his heart beats count the rotations.

Head on Uraraka’s shoulder, he lets himself be held up. She’s always been Atlas, so maybe this means he could be the world.

She tells him she’s not just anyone and he sighs in relief. He’s been biding his time, waiting and hoping that someday, she’ll figure it out.

Today can be that day.

“Stay,” he growls beside Uraraka’s ear. The puff of air sends flyaways around her face.

She raises a brow along with the edge of her lip as she turns to look above her shoulder. “What if I don’t?”

Katsuki chuckles, wrapping his hands around her waist, ring fingers pressing at the tip of her pelvis as his thumbs brush against the base of her tits. “I’ll make you.” Her clothes are thin and even though Katsuki runs hot, her warmth is nothing to scoff at.

She sinks into his touch and pride washes over him. He hums, swaying to give in to his haziness.

“Mhmm, dare ya to try,” Uraraka whispers with a smirk. The cant of her hips, the cadence of her hums, and the scent of her sweat mix with the sticky sweet of her now sugary drink.

Every point where her softness presses into his jagged edges buzzes in anticipation.

“Playin’ with fire, Cheeks,” he says with a sigh but the stiffness of his voice held a warning.

“Told ya, I don’t mind a little burn.” Uraraka giggles. “Are you ever gonna call me by name?”

He finally looks up to meet their reflection. His eyes are blown out and hers are cloudy. He looks tired—messy—and she’s not faring much better.

“What name you want?” he asks, fingers digging in deeper to steady them both.

“I like being called my name.”

He’s more than happy to call her by name here, in public, in far more private. It’s a practiced set of morae, the phonemes embedded in him. But this isn’t just a conversation, it’s a game.

Just because Izuku is going to lose doesn’t mean Katsuki is guaranteed a win.

Katsuki hums. “You gonna return the favour?”

This time, she purses her lips and her gaze darts away for a moment. She’s still in his arms, no longer shifting with the beat that rattles the door.

“What’re ya doin’ next year?” she asks, still looking away and purposefully changing the subject.

Stalemate. “Opening my own agency,” he says with a sigh.

“Here?” Now she’s looking at him—partly through the mirror but with her face turned so he can see the edges of his reflection in her pupil.

He hums and dares to bring one hand up to her face. Tracing the shell of her ear, he watches the shiver run through her. “Here,” he confirms.

She gulps and slowly turns around.

Glancing, he can see down her shirt, the silver glinting against beads of sweat. The hand at her face shifts to cup her jaw and his thumb runs across the apple of her cheek.

“You’re gonna need heroes,” she whispers.

The sound of glass shattering down the hallway is accompanied by a brief but heavy silence.

“Know any good ones?” His eyes flit to her lips.

“I got it!” Eijirou yells beyond the door.

She smiles and places her palm flat on his chest, pinky raised. Gently she pushes him back, untangling them and tethering him back to reality.

“There’s an apartment full of heroes here.”

Katsuki scoffs, letting his hands drift off her. “I’m not lookin’ for just anyone.”

She shrugs, straightening out her top and pulling down her skirt. “It’s hard to plan a life a year from now, isn’t it?” She reaches for the door, lingering before turning the doorknob.

“Not for me.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, watching her step out.

4

“Less than half an hour! Gimmie those party hat smiles!” Mina shouts over the music.

“SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS!!” Camie yells as if Mina couldn't be heard.

“Can I help clean up?” Ochako asks, squatting carefully at the mess of the broken glass.

Kirishima shoots her a sharp grin and hardens his arm. “Nah, I’m just the man for the job,” he says, gathering the small shards into a pile in one easy sweep.

Where she’s of the air, he’s solid ground, but just like her, Kirishima’s here, pretending to be unscathed even after all these years. He’s been the one fighting beside people like Bakugou—training with him. Kirishima’s bound to be first on Bakugou’s list of hires.

She nods and stands up.

“Thanks for hostin’ again,” she tells him, “wouldn’t be a New Year's without these parties.”

Kirishima’s attention is drawn behind her and his eyes widen. His stance shifts. “Yeah,” he says in a clipped tone, still not looking at her. “Guess this gonna be your last year here, huh? Better make it one to remember.”

Ochako’s brows knit. “Who said it’s gonna be my last year here?” Answering his question with a question, she mirrors his form and tone.

He drags his gaze back to her as he stands up to his full height.

Behind her, Ochako hears a throat clear when a scarred hand grazes her arm along the way to Bakugou’s empty cup. Brazenly, he lays his palm flat on the small of her back with the action, setting her alight once more. Squashing her hopes, he leaves her squirming when he simply clears his throat and walks off to the bedroom at the far end of the living room.

“Midoriya said he’s gonna be workin’ on a new project with All Might in America.” Kirishima pulls her back.

Ochako bites the inside of her cheek and crosses her arms. “And that means it’s gonna be my last year here?”

Kirishima doesn’t have to use his quirk for Ochako to feel the straining roughness in his sharp eyes.

“If you’re stayin’, you should make sure he knows.”

She’s not sure which “he” Kirishima is referring to. To an extent, it doesn’t really matter. The truth of his statement holds either way, but the mixture of frustration builds within her with no subject for its directed release.

“Stayin’ or goin’, it’s nobody’s business but mine,” she says, voice shaky.

“Businesses have investors, Uraraka.”

Ochako scoffs. “Trust me, nobody’s puttin’ in more hours here than me.”

Kirishima nods. “Probably not, but that doesn’t mean you’re the only one workin’ on this.”

Ochako purses her lips and the two stand there without speaking for what feels like an hour.

“I said, shots!” Camie comes around and hands both of them a shot glass—Ochako’s blue and Kirishima’s pink. “Don’t ask what’s in there and I won’t tell anyone what happens tonight, babes!” She winks and rushes off to the next empty-handed person.

“To the New Year.” Kirishima raises his glass. “It’s either here, or there.”

“That’s not the saying,” Ochako mutters.

“I know,” he says, leaning in before forcibly clinking their glasses, downing his shot, clicking his tongue, and walking back to the living room.

“Ochako!” A cheek squashes itself on top of her head and curls of emerald hang over Ochako’s face. “Where’d you go, I’ve been lookin’ errwhere!”

Ochako’s lips contort and she turns around. “Are you… have you been drinkin’?”

Izuku lifts his head off hers and one side of his face lazily tilts up. “Camie said I had to have her special New Year's drink—as a going away thing.”

Ochako cautiously watches him. His curls have loosened and are now drooping down to his shoulders, his eyes are unfocused, and his face is beet red. “How many of her special drinks did you have?”

He shrugs—at least, he tries to, but one shoulder goes up much faster than the other and it comes off more as a wave. “Going away prezzie,” he says with a slur, hand reaching around Ochako’s waist. “You disappeared.”

Ochako rolls her eyes. “Have you been tellin’ everyone that I’m goin’ with you?”

“You are!” Izuku pauses for a moment, blinking as he waits for comprehension. “You’re my…,” he trails off and finishes instead with a pout.

She sighs and peels his hand off her. “You should drink some water.”

Izuku nods vigorously, hair flopping around. “What would I do without you?”

With a wry chuckle, she responds, “Start an agency halfway around the world probably.”

Dodging his next attempts to grab her, she walks around the counter and pours him a glass of water. She taps its rim to get Izuku’s attention and watches him drink the entire thing in one breath.

“Another!” Camie announces, sliding a shot along the counter. It spills as it bumps into Ochako’s arm.

Refilling Izuku’s cup of water, she sighs and takes her own shot.

She’s lost count of how many drinks have crossed the threshold of her lips, but it finally feels like enough. Izuku is tucked into the kitchen counter, mumbling to himself—lost in the one person he truly cares about outside of the field.

Dazed and stumbling across the living room, Ochako finds herself at the door to the room in the far corner of the party. The doorknob is cool and there are no lights seeping out under the door. She closes her eyes, letting the thrum of the music wash over her as she turns the handle and steps in.

She wonders why she’s waited so long.

Maybe Bakugou is too similar to Izuku. Maybe he’s too different.

People think he’s too much, but that’s never been the problem because he isn’t actually too much. He’s just one thing. He’s not him.

It’s much quieter inside and the door behind her clicks shut. Illuminated only by the night sky through the large window, she watches Bakugou stir from his prone position on the king-sized bed. There’s a bottle on the nightstand—the liquid inside glimmering at half-mast. Leaning up on his forearms, stars twinkle in his eyes and before he can protest, question, or say anything at all, Ochako answers for him.

“Make me stay, Katsuki.”

3

Heeding her siren call, he’s left with no choice but to move.

His hands tremble as he forces himself to pull back—to pull himself together—when he reaches for her. A shaky breath accompanies the first real touch. His finger glides along her cheek, the roughness of his hand carving a place into the smoothness of her face.

“Say it again,” he commands.

Her breath stutters, the muscles of her neck tensing. “Katsuki—”

The sweetest song meant only for her—an aria.

He cuts her off, dipping down to finally take her lips.

He's imagined this moment more times than he can count. One nip at her bottom lip and she moans. He presses further, caging her against the door. His hand shifts from her face and traces down her necklace. Dipping between her breasts, he caresses the cool metal, letting his tongue glide along the seam of her mouth in tandem.

She opens to let him in, their harsh alcohols melding.

“Ochaaaaaaaakooooo,” a nasal voice cuts through him and he pulls away.

His own lips sticky from her gloss, he takes her in.

From their positioning, she's a head shorter than him, fighting to look up at him through a haze. Whether it’s alcohol, lust, or something he’s not enough of an asshole to hope for, he doesn’t know.

It’s just about whether he cares.

“What's wrong?” she asks. “Were so eager out there.” She tips her head back, music in the background growing louder as if in response.

With the necklace still in hand, he frowns.

If Katsuki heard the call, Ochako did too.

“He give you this?”

She flushes a deeper red and briefly looks away. “He thought this would fix things.”

His nose flares. “Did it?”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m in here, aren’t I?” Her hand travels up his chest and ends around his neck.

She pulls him down but he needs to stay afloat. Just for a few more seconds.

“Are you leavin’?” Katsuki doesn’t need to phrase it like a question.

“Does it matter?”

Cheers drown out the voice that’s ringing in his head from behind the door.

Katsuki wonders if it’s ever mattered. His whole life has been framed in terms of Izuku. He wants what Izuku wants. He wants number 1 and he wants Ochako. But, if Ochako really matters, then why is it Katsuki’s touch leaving imprints on her skin?

Ochako tilts her head and reaches around his neck. The dabs of soft vanilla at her wrists have faded, leaving only the touch of her salty sweat.

Only one thing matters right now.

Restraint has never been his strong suit. If Ochako wants him to learn then he will, but her nails dig into the back of the short hairs of his undercut and he knows she'll never ask him to stop.

Instead of responding to her question, he growls and easily lifts her by the waist. She squeaks in surprise and it takes her a moment to recover and wrap her legs around him, but when he feels her plush thighs against his waist, he knows it's time.

Ready or not is usually the not.

“How do you want me to make you stay?” he asks, searching her face.

Her skirt is hoisted around her waist, revealing bits of orange lace cutting across her hip. Katsuki chuckles. A hot hand lands on her knee. Like sand tracing the edge of an hourglass, he follows her curves. He’s methodical as he glides up her body, finding its sticking points.

Crossing her shoulder and tipping her jaw back, he dips a thumb into her mouth, parting it. “Want me to show you what you'd miss out on if you go?” His thumb pushes deeper and her lips curl around it.

“What you'd miss out on with him?”

She moans and her eyes flutter shut.

There’s a small part of Katsuki that wants her to compare. Touch by touch, breath by breath, if he and Izuku were to go head to head, who’d win?

Lowering his head to her neck, he whispered into her skin. “What you've already missed out on without me?”

Her chest heaves as saliva drips freely from her face.

He wonders if there’s a limit to what he’s willing to give her.

He drags his thumb out of her mouth with an audible pop, grips her waist hard enough to leave marks—to show the world she’s his—and throws her on the bed.

“Maybe she went home?” a voice pitched a little too loud permeates the door.

Katsuki smirks, stumbling slightly as he slaps his hands on both sides of her head. Ochako is already home, he thinks despite himself.

“They’re lookin’ for ya,” he says. It’s just a matter of fact, not a judgment.

Her eyes flit to the side for just a brief moment and her brows crease. With renewed confidence, she arches, tugging off her shirt.

“Show me what I could've had,” she whispers, a breath away from his own lips.

With every touch, every press, every space where he parts her skin around him, he’s turning back time. Making up for the seconds she’s spent outside of this bed.

He's thinking about every tight-lipped smile that could’ve been a moan.

He grunts, flipping her skirt further up and tugging on the lace. In the stolen peek at the door, he didn’t notice the delicate filigree, he didn’t notice the sheen of moisturizer along her thigh and the dampening spot at her pussy.

Katsuki pauses just to look. To steal a moment and impress this into his mind. Whatever game he’s playing, she’s on his team now.

He smirks and throws his shirt off.

Her breath hitches and he tugs her bra down. The roughness of the motion shocks them both as a small explosion bursts through his fingers. The fabric falls apart when the music behind them pauses.

A lull in the conversation of time just before the next song starts.

They hold their breaths, Katsuki’s hand hovering over the place of no return.

“Convince me to stay,” Ochako pleads and Katsuki falls.

His thick fingers are already bounding over to her clit. Swiping along it in one smooth motion, he watches her mouth fall open. He dips lower, gathering her slick, sliding between her labia. The other hand hastily grabs her left tit, kneading it in his palm.

The drinks have increased his body temperature, and he’s already dripping in sweat enough to smear her juices all over his sheets.

Her hands are tugging and scratching at his neck, biceps, and waistband. He scoffs at her attempts, swatting her hands away.

Holding her gaze and pinning down her hip, he sinks his face low, nose grazing against her pelvis. The muscles under her skin ripple, tensing for the first taste, and Katsuki preens.

How long has she wanted this?

One lap with his tongue and he’s an addict. She’s not sweet—not her heart and not her cunt. Katsuki knows that’s a mask for the rest of the world. She’s salty, she’s fresh, and she’s bold. She’s what he needs, but more importantly, she’s what he wants.

He hasn’t been to a shrine on New Year’s Eve in many years, but he feels like this counts as a prayer. Between her legs, he’s forcing them to tremble and quiver without a word. Every moan and whimper spurs him on, her hands grasping for purchase onto his sheets, his hair, and his shoulders.

He’s the common denominator.

One by one, he adds his fingers, letting them drip in the mixture of his saliva and her slick before finding a home in her pussy. Her hips buck but he’s there—he’ll show her he’ll always be right where she needs him.

With one long lick, he shifts to loom over her. Fingers thrusting, curling, pressing. He’s making space inside her, but the invitation is up to her.

“Say my name,” Katsuki grunts, forcing her to focus.

He licks his lips taste of her cunt glistening on them like it’s his lipgloss. Where should he leave its mark? Ochako watches as he continues to savour her before her whole body arches, eyes fluttering shut.

With a wet kiss, he signs her cheek using her own slick. She glances at him, eyes heavy and lips parted.

“Look at me”—he curls his finger deep, shifting his wrist in time to the flicks of his thumb”—when you cum.”

The music in the background whispers again when her mouth drops open and her voice takes center stage.

2

“Katsuki,” she keens, vision flooded with the promised burn of his fire.

She’s enjoyed plenty of sex in her life. Izuku has always been active and attentive with eager eyes and an exploratory touch.

Katsuki doesn’t explore. Katsuki charts himself onto her and memorizes the patterns. Where Izuku ponders, Katsuki inscribes.

“Need… you,” she pants, hooking her heels around the waistband of his pants and gliding them down.

This isn’t the first dick she’s seen, but maybe the dick attached to the biggest dick she knows. A warm giggle fills her internally when she peers down to sneak a peek between them.

“If you wanted a show,” he whispers, “it’s only polite to ask.”

A wry chuckle escapes her. “You still think I’m polite?”

He grins wide. A sight she sees often on screen but is rarely the recipient of.

“Not one fuckin’ bit,” he says, standing over her and gripping his cock.

She understands why he’s so hell-bent on getting number 1 now. The gleam in his eyes and the hunger with which he pumps his hand make her feel like she’s on top of the world.

His hands are big—big enough to make her tits feel almost like they’re not enough—but the cock in it right now strains his full grip. She watches the movement of his foreskin with the twist of his wrist. The bulb of his head dips in and out of the skin, leaking a little more with every pump.

Her mouth waters and she resists the urge to knock her knees together. Suddenly, she’s not sure which hole she wants him in first.

“You want this?” he goads her on, voice low. “Or you wanna go back out there?”

Ochako doesn’t even need to glance at the door behind him. It’s rattling with the steps and shouts of excitement and it seems palpably boring compared to her view.

She wonders for a moment if Katsuki can be her New Year’s resolution.

With a growl, she shimmies her hips and hooks her feet around his waist. One tug and Katsuki’s off balance, falling for her just the way she wants. She slaps a hand on him, letting him catch himself in the momentary freedom of the air.

“I told ya,” she says, letting her quirk drop and wrapping her legs around him so his cock notches at her pussy, “I’m here.” Heels digging into the cusp of Katsuki's ass, she guides him into her. It's just enough for his jaw to fall slack and for Ochako to tense in anticipation of more.

He stifles a groan and begins to move. The ebbs and flows of years built up between them are finally coming to a head. He’s thick and she’s full. Just to the brim right now, but she hopes she’ll overflow soon enough.

Still a little oversensitive from his hands and mouth, she knows she probably won’t cum again. But, that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy herself while she’s here. He likes pushing past people’s boundaries—forcing them to be their best. Ochako’s stretching like she’s never before now, wondering if this has been his goal all along.

She bites her bottom lip and arches, easing his movements along.

“Not… gonna… last,” he whines each word like just saying it will inspire his release. He’s panting into her ear, punctuating his breaths with light kisses—on her jaw, at her cheek, at the tops of her breasts. He stutters when they make eye contact, her fingers digging into his back.

“Katsuki,” she whines his name again, watching him search for the source.

His eyes flit around her face until they’re caught on something lower. He sneers and hastily grips a breast, thumbing carelessly across an already pert nipple. He lingers there before gripping the long necklace. It bounces with every thrust—a convergence point in the middle of everything.

Katsuki glares before pausing, holding himself deep within her at the edge of his control. She flexes, muscles of her cunt pulling him in and something snaps.

The necklace is thrown across the floor with a budding sharp line along her neck from the force of the thin chain breaking.

She tilts her head, pulsating her walls and watching his expression. Katsuki does like to grandstand but it’s time for the finale.

One slow and deliberate roll of her hips and his jaw falls slack.

“That all you got?” Ochako whispers, carding her fingers through his hair.

He lets out a stuttering laugh. “Fuckin’ menace.”

She hums and cups his face with both hands, forcing him to turn and look at her. “Make me your menace.”

As soon as the words escape her, the air around them shifts. His eyes steel and with a grunt, he shifts her whole body just a few centimetres. They both hover over the mattress before her back slams against it and it curls around her. Metal parts of the bedframe squeak and Katsuki grabs both of her hands, bringing them above her head.

“Think you’re fuckin’ cute, huh?”

She smells the liquor on his breath, burning her just how she wants. He eases himself out of her and she misses the stretch—misses the fullness of being marked by him.

“Want me to make you mine?” One sharp thrust follows his words and he holds himself steady.

Ochako takes a deep breath.

“Stop lyin’.” Another thrust

She bites her lip.

“You’ve always been mine.” One final thrust and she feels a gush of warmth coat her from the inside out.

The problem with resolutions is that they never last.

1

“Fuck,” he says, head dropping to her shoulder and body slumping on hers.

She’s still, fingers mindlessly running through his hair and across the back of his shoulders. He doesn’t dare look up to break this moment. It’s their slice of eternity but for Katsuki, it’s only been a moment.

She hums and her legs around his waist loosen, falling around him.

He purses his lips and slowly pulls his soft cock out, an audible squelch of wetness accompanying the act. Her legs fall, muscles loose and wobbly.

Every hero knows how to clean up a mess. Every fight leaves a trail of debris and even interviews have their casualties.

He clears his throat but it does nothing to help the swelling lump he can’t swallow. “Bathroom,” he croaks, “over there.” He points to the closed door on the left-hand side wall.

Her face scrunches together, exaggerating those cheeks. Next year, he’ll take a bite out of one.

Shaking, she sits up and nods. “Didn’t know you had a private one,” she says with a huff.

Katsuki’s face twists in her implication. She wouldn’t have found him in there, she wouldn’t have followed him in here, she wouldn’t have told him to make her stay.

There’s a fine line between giving her an opportunity and forcing her hand.

He watches the skirt flop back down over her ass when she stands up and walks to the bathroom, leaving drops of his own cum to lead him back to her.

There’s a fine line between being in here and being out there, too, he thinks.

He avoided this mess last year, having taken a mission overseas. In another life, he’d still be fighting villains tonight instead of his childhood friend.

Katsuki grabs the tissue paper on his nightstand and wipes off his dick before shifting onto his side of the bed. The wet patch where Ochako sat up remains and he wonders if it’s seeped into the mattress yet. Not all stains come out so easily.

The music outside the door dulls and murmurs are highlighted.

“Make your resolutions!” Eijirou shouts.

Katsuki scoffs, picturing Mina trying to hand out ugly party hats and those horrendous noisemakers that unfurl. A glint of metal on the floor catches his eye. He doesn’t need cheap trinkets or wishes for the New Year.

The days, months, and decades will all eventually blend together anyways. So, what’s the difference between a few minutes?

Ochako steps out of the bathroom, illuminated only briefly before she turns the bathroom light off. Her skirt is still on but she’s shirtless. Her bra is in tatters on the ground and he’s ready to incinerate the rest of her things to keep her here.

10

The countdown outside starts when their clock’s just stopped.

9

She glances toward the door and then the ground. “Think they’re still lookin’ for me?” she asks softly before a small yawn.

It’s not really a question because the answer is obvious.

8

“Does it matter?” he asks, turning his own unanswered question onto her.

If she leaves, then there’s a good chance she’s not coming back.

7

She hides her hands behind her back. Old habits die hard and he knows she’s picking at her fingerpads.

Izuku is an old habit too.

6

He reaches out to grab her waist and gently tugs her. She follows without resistance, flopping onto the bed with him.

Hair splayed out on his pillow and her weight subtly shifting the mattress, he’s confident that time can break her bad habits.

5

Tucking them into the blanket, he pulls her tight. The heat of his chest against her sweat-cooled back.

She wiggles with a grunt of discomfort to tug off her skirt before sinking into his touch.

4

“Join my agency,” he says rather than asks, tightening his arm around her waist.

“Katsuki.” Her voice is heavy and tired.

“Work with me.” He kisses the sensitive point behind her ear lobe.

3

His grip tightens as he swings his leg over hers.

She sighs and puts her hand on his, threading their fingers together.

“Be my hero, Cheeks.”

2

She hums, breathing evening out in their relative solitude.

“Stay.”