Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun shone in full-force, determined to make a brisket out of anyone who had the courage to step beyond the hallowed hideaways of air conditioning. The line where the road met the sky rippled with heat, and the asphalt could sear a steak—nicely, at that.

But it was too stifling to be hungry. Ochako yanked her helmet off to wipe the sweat dripping from her forehead, down her neck, into her suit. There was no refuge; not a single cloud passed in the sky. She was three scoops of vanilla on an unruly summer’s day. She could be melting right out of her own skin. She probably was.

To make it worse, it was a boring day. Nobody had the balls to wander out into Japan’s record high of a temperature, not even the villains, not even the crummy ones. Ochako couldn’t blame them. If she had the choice, she wouldn’t be out here either, but she didn’t, because choice is a luxury for people who have the coin to cough up as trade. Three separate people had offered her their day’s wage to take their shifts, one of them being Kirishima, and Kirishima was nothing if not tenacious in the face adversity.

Except for extreme heat, Ochako supposed. She couldn’t find any fault in that, given her current misery.

Three separate shifts, three separate patrols, she was on her last one for the day. It was almost six, and she clocked out at seven. The sun didn’t set these days until nine, and the heatwave had been in effect for the past three days. The forecast predicted it to last another five days. It made Ochako pant just to think of it. Fortunately, with the day almost over, there was more than likely nothing left to happen. If something were to happen, it’d probably happen in an air-conditioned interior, from which she’d then go straight home to bathe in ice—

Her comms crackled. “Uravity?”

“Uh”—she cleared her throat, rough with drought—“Yeah?”

“We’ve got a fire three avenues up from you—”

A fire?! Godammit!

“—lots of rubble, estimate of seven trapped inside—”

“On it.”

Ochako set her fingertips against each other and leapt from skyscraper to skyscraper until she caught sight of the flames licking at a concrete building, which meant the fire was an act of arson. Who in their right mind did that in this kind of weather?! 

Several of her colleagues swarmed the premise, all but one of them dripping in sweat. Shoto, looking effortlessly cool, raised a hand in greeting when he spotted Ochako. His other hand was occupied with summoning massive sheets of ice to cool the raging atrocity. Despite the size of his output, Ochako still felt the heat pressing against her face her from so far away.

“It’s caved in on the left-side. Three heat signatures detected on the third floor, three on the fifth, and one on the eighth.”

“Thanks.” 

Why couldn’t the citizens of Tokyo get trapped on the first floor whenever they got trapped? Why did they insist on making hard things harder? Swallowing the sigh of her heat-induced exasperation, Ochako cut the quickest path she could to the side of the building Shoto had directed her to. She got to work lifting the broken slabs of concrete until she freed up a sizable opening to walk through, then handed her helmet to a sidekick in exchange for a firefighting SCBA, which she strapped to her back and tightened over her face. After the sidekick spoke a quick notification to comms of her time of entry, Ochako began the ascent to the third floor. Without her helmet, she had no means of communication, but she’d long outgrown the need for prompting. 

Chunks of burning ceiling fell from every direction. Ochako pressed on unfazed. After so many years in the industry doing exactly this kind of work with exactly the kind of quirk she had, she knew what was and wasn’t worth panicking over. Housetop falling over her? Not a problem. Stairs falling out from under her? A minor inconvenience. Penthouse of a 30-story building with a stadium’s worth of people trapped on the roof needing to be ferried down? Child’s play.

The stairs up to the third floor had long since fallen away, judging by the blackened structural posts. Ochako examined the gaping and charred hole over her head that crumbled ever wider, then floated herself through it. Mere seconds passed before she heard a child wailing. She followed the sound, navigating confidently through the smoke and fire, until she located the family of three. The parents had had the presence of mind to wrap wet rags over their mouths, but Ochako could see them squinting, teary eyed, against the biting haze. When she neared, the little boy cried harder at the sight of the masked monster that she no doubt appeared to be, but the parents collapsed into her arms out of sheer relief.

“You’re gonna be alright now,” she soothed, helping them to their feet, then taking the wife’s hand. “You were smart to cover up. Keep hold of each other and me, we’re going to make our way to that hole in the wall so I can send you down.”

The man grabbed their son, binding him to his side, which quieted the boy. Ochako led them assuredly through and out of the destruction, even waving cheerily as they floated gracefully down to solid ground. She did it again on the fifth floor, then again on the eighth. 

With the last of the civilians taken care of, she stepped off the ledge to make her way down, only to hear the pitter-patter of running from the floor above. She tripped over the lip of the wall. The crowd beneath her gasped. Grabbing hold of the rebar jutting out of the disappearing floor, she swung herself back up, heart pounding. Below her, the sidekick who had handed her her mask gesticulated wildly.

“What are you doing?!” he screeched. “You have to come back down! You’re gonna run out of air!”

Ochako didn’t bother explaining herself before disappearing back into the fray. She could barely hear him, how was he ever going to hear her through her mask? And she sure as hell wasn’t going to take it off. 

He was right though. Her breaths were starting to come in short. Now was an appropriate time to panic, only she wasn’t going to, because she couldn’t afford to lose what air she had left. How was it that despite her peers’ combined efforts, the fire did not seem to be slowing down? Clenching her teeth, Ochako fought the slowly seeping drowsiness to send herself up one more landing.

She barely caught herself on what remained of the floor. As she pulled herself up, her skin-tight sleeve caught on a splinter. The wayward piece of wood ripped a gash through her suit, compromising its heat-protectant capabilities. Ochako hissed at the sudden punch of warmth searing over her skin, only to forget it when, from the corner of her steadily fading periphery, she glanced a child. 

“Hey!” she yelled, voice hoarse. There was nobody there. She made her way across the floor, taking breaths only when she absolutely needed to, pretending she wasn’t being cooked alive. “Hello?” she shouted over a burning chasm in what must have once been a hallway.

“Uravity—”

Ochako, shrieking at the sound of her name, whirled around to sock the villain in the face, only for Shoto to catch her punch. “Shoto!” she wheezed, as relieved as she was pissed. Why did he have to be so quiet all the time?!

He eyed the tank strapped to her back. “That’s only rated for 30 minutes,” he said through his mask. “You’re coming up on 45. They want you out.”

“There’s a kid still here.”

Shoto frowned. “There haven’t been any reports of heat signatures on the ninth floor.”

“I swear on my grave, there’s a kid still here.”

He stared at her, wasting precious seconds, before nodding once. “I believe you. You should get down, I’ll take it from—”

Ochako didn’t hear the rest of whatever it was Shoto had to say, because she passed out.

Chapter Text

She woke up gasping and coughing up her lungs, then whipped around in a frenzy to gain her bearings. Ochako found no staff, no supervisors, no friends. Judging by the crisp white of the walls and the multitude of calming landscape paintings, she was in the recovery division of the in-agency hospital. She shot to her feet and tiptoed out of the room to make her way to Shoto’s office, which was on the same floor as hers, but the opposite side of the enormous building. Pain in her ass.

He liked to work late—at least, he did two years ago. He might’ve found something to better occupy his time, Ochako wouldn’t know. They didn’t cross paths often except on the occasional mission, such as this case of arson. But sure enough, Shoto sat at his desk, spinning in lazy circles as he read over a file. The clock behind him read 11:42PM.

Ochako knocked as she entered. Shoto’s gaze slid from his paper to her face. There was an awkward wait before Shoto said, “I didn’t find any kid.”

Ochako’s heart dropped to her feet. “There was definitely, definitely a kid. We have to go back.”

“I checked again after they cleared the fire. There was nobody there.”

“Did you check every floor?”

“There wasn’t a single staircase left in the entire building, how would a child have gotten to any of the other floors?”

“I don’t know! Maybe they’ve got a gravity quirk! There’s a kid still in there, Shoto!”

He dropped the folder to his desk, brows furrowed. Ochako stared pleadingly. Sighing, he drew a hand over his face, then stood up. “Alright. C’mon.”

“Oh! Uh—right now?” Of course she wanted to go right this second. She just hadn’t expected convincing him to go so easy.

“The longer we wait, the more danger the kid is in. We took care of the most serious of the structural integrity issues, but post-recon said they expect the left half to give out sometime in the next eight hours. They couldn’t detect from where, so we left it alone for the morning clean up crew.”

Yikes. “Let me just grab my stuff, I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag. Meet you in the lobby!”

Shoto, who had already turned towards the elevators, nodded. 

—

She was in the middle of ransacking her filing cabinet for more potential first aid options when it occurred to her that maybe she was wrong?

Maybe there hadn’t actually been a kid. Maybe she’d been low on oxygen, hallucinating sights and sounds. Maybe she was about to embarrass herself in front of Shoto, who had, she thought, a shocking amount of faith in her. It shouldn’t be so shocking—they’d been classmates for so many years, then colleagues for even more—but she had enough experience now with even the best of men to know that shared pedagogy had little to do with shared trust, mutual respect, and equitable emotional labor, even if that man had graduated from UA’s most powerhouse-prolific year in all of history. 

She hadn’t called it off with Izuku seven years into their relationship over nothing.

Ochako threw another roll of bandages and an additional tube of antibiotic ointment into her bag, then hustled out of her office. The elevator dinged once, twice, thrice, before opening up for her. In the lobby, Shoto stood smack-center of the rotunda, staring vacantly through the domed glass roof. At the sound of footsteps, his attention snapped shortly to Ochako. “We should stick together,” he said, heading towards the automatic doors. 

Head empty or not, he didn’t miss a beat. Ochako nodded, falling into step beside him. “It’d be trouble if either of us got crushed alone.”

“Did you catch anything appearance-wise?”

“They looked about seven to eight years old, and they were very, very pale.”

Shoto frowned. “Why would a grade schooler get left behind in a fire?”

“Maybe their parents lost them on their way out?”

“I think they would’ve alerted us.”

Ochako wrinkled her nose. She’d encountered more than enough of neglectful parenting in her line of work. 

Shoto, reading her mind by the look on her face, shrugged. “Or maybe not.” Not as if he had personal experience or anything.

“Was the arsonist caught?” Ochako asked, pivoting away from the awkward, if mutual, understanding of child abuse.

“Yes.”

“Good!”

Shoto hummed. As Ochako expected, they fell into a void of conversation—not uncomfortable, no, just that it’d been so long since she’d last had dedicated time to talk to Shoto that she was busting at the seams to ask him a number of hugely personal questions that would unsettle any normal person.

She started gently. “What are you doing at 11PM in the office?”

“Going over case files.”

“Every night?”

“Most nights.”

“Shouldn’t you be caught up by now?” From what she knew, he, Katsuki, and Izuku split the major case files equally amongst themselves, owners of the agency and all.

Shoto gave another noncommittal shrug. “There was nobody left in the building tonight.”

“So…?”

He eyed her as if she was missing the point. “There was nobody left in the building except you. It would have been disorienting to wake up completely alone.”

Oh. Ochako flushed. “That’s… really nice of you. Thanks, Shoto.”

“It’s basic human decency.”

“Maybe you should tell that to the rest of the agency.” She was only joking. Tsuyu, Mina, all of the girls, in fact, definitely would have stayed, so she could only assume—

“I told them to go home.”

Shoto was a good boss. Izuku, too. And, to everybody’s surprise, Katsuki. In fact, Katsuki had the best work-life balance of the three of them. Shoto, obviously, stayed late. Izuku was known to spend consecutive sleepless nights in the office going over cases. Katsuki regularly put him on blast for the habit, spitting that he was useless without rest, they were all useless without rest, but he was the worst of the offenders.

Ochako thought Melissa was a stronger woman than she was for putting up with Izuku’s work ethic. In her own relationship with Izuku, it had been the sharp point of many an argument. Not just for the loneliness of it, but to have such a large share of home maintenance—they’d moved in together a year after graduating—offloaded onto her, as if her hero work wasn’t just as time-consuming or important. And it’d been only more frustrating because she knew that Izuku didn’t mean to disrespect her like that, that he truly never thought, even now, that she did any less meaningful work than he did, but it didn’t change that his very nature kept him scatter-brained and unthoughtful in that specific regard. Somebody had to go home and do the dishes, the laundry, water the plants. Izuku had only unintentionally decided that that somebody would be her.

The grudge of being relegated to a stereotype had eventually boiled into a resentment that exploded after half a decade’s worth of communication and negotiation and compromise. 

They had tried. They had tried really, really hard. 

From the dissolution of a relationship she’d once staunchly believed would have nothing but a fairytale ending, Ochako had learned that there were some ways people wouldn’t change, that nobody needed to be perfect but it wasn’t wrong to leave over certain immutable flaws, and that she was probably better suited towards some civilian who didn’t lose themselves so easily in their work.

She didn’t say any of that to Shoto, though. Instead, she asked, “Don’t you have somebody waiting for you at home?”

Shoto shot her a disturbed look. Ochako covered her mouth to prevent laughter from spilling out. “When would I have had time to meet anybody?”

“Well, whaddya do on weekends?”

“Read case files and spend time with family.”

“More case files?!” Ochako groaned. “You’re just like Izuku!”

Shoto shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. Ochako didn’t seem to know that Izuku hadn’t spared a single detail from him or Katsuki about their relationship. Shoto wouldn’t be telling Ochako that, though. “It’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

“Hobbies don’t just fall from the sky, Shoto! You have to make time for them yourself!”

“I read.”

“Case files?”

“No. Books.”

“When?”

“When I run out of case files.”

“Oh my god,” Ochako mumbled under her breath. He was a lost cause. 

“You’re one to talk,” Shoto said, not sounding at all defensive. “I know you take extra shifts.”

“Yeah, for financial reasons.”

“You do know that Izuku, Katsuki, and I have access to HR’s entire database? We know you have more overtime logged than all of our class combined. What are you saving for? A castle? You could retire now if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

Ochako squirmed. “I don’t wanna retire yet. And it’s for just in case.”

“You’re hoarding ‘just in case?’ Are you a dragon? Should I be worried?”

She burst into laughter. “No! I just—in case my parents suddenly need crazy medical care or something, y’know?”

“Ah. Because they work in construction.”

“Yeah. And I mean, you just never know, right?” 

Did he though? It was widely agreed upon that he was near perfect—considerate, gentle, slow-to-anger (though once he was, a bit explosive), and good-looking to boot—and it was no secret Shoto had grown up wealthy, was no doubt still wealthy by both inheritance and personal effort—one did not assume the Number One spot on Japan’s List of Wealthiest Hero Bachelors by simply being handsome and hardworking, no matter how much they shouted and spat and blew things up with their sweaty palms about the injustice of it all. 

So was that Shoto’s fatal flaw? An inability to understand and empathize with a pedestrian life? Momo had said in the past he’d been emotionally unavailable while dating, but that was seven years ago. People grew. 

“Ah, yeah. Never know when you’ll have to send your wife to the sanitarium,” Shoto said, with all the nonchalance of a stone. Ochako choked on her spit. Well, so much for that theory. “What do you do in your free time?”

“Read!”

“Case files?”

Ochako snickered. “Books.”

“And when you run out of books, you read case files.”

“Shoto!” She was laughing again. “Let it go!”

“I’m just proving a point.”

“Well, your point’s wrong! If I’m not reading books, I’m cooking. If I’m not cooking, I’m dragging one of the girls out to eat something I read about. After Izuku, I’m not turning into somebody who does nothing but work!”

Ah, so she did know. “Overtime excluded?”

Ochako grinned sheepishly. “Overtime excluded. I mean, I don’t have anybody to come home to either.”

Shoto chuckled. “You cook?”

“I’m not good at it.”

“Probably better than me”—this was a hard fact that their entire class was aware of—“I don’t have any hobbies besides reading.”

Ochako stifled her laughter, but at the sight of Shoto’s faint, self-deprecating smile, she let the sound free. “You know you can google hobbies?”

“I don’t have time. I’ve got case files to read. We’re here, by the way.”

Ochako did a double-take at the quick, nonsensical turn in conversation, then startled when she remembered why she was alone with Shoto in the first place. Mortified, she rifled through her bag to hide her inflamed face. How could she have forgotten the poor kid likely trembling with fear inside?

All mirth set aside, Ochako took on a mantle she wore comfortably. “Let’s start from the top.” 

Getting to the ground floor made the most sense. The risk of waiting on the top floors, then falling through due to compromised infrastructure, was too high. She’d last seen the child on the ninth floor, and, being a child, they couldn’t have gotten far climbing down.  

“Sounds good.”

Chapter Text

They started on the 10th floor, the highest floor, and an hour later, they were on the eighth floor, child undetected. Ochako cut the alcove with another sweep of her flashlight to double-check its emptiness. 

“How’s it looking on your side?” Shoto called from what looked to have once been a closet. All that still stood, barely hanging on, were a few rafters and studs.

“Nothing. Down another floor?”

“Alright.”

Like the floors before, Ochako floated down first to gauge safety. After a quick assessment of whether the flooring would hold their combined weight, she gestured upwards for Shoto to join. He sprung down easily. 

They surveyed the floor as a pair, then split—but only at a reasonable distance, it was tantamount they remained within speaking distance in the instance either encountered danger—to scrutinize every nook and cranny. They did that until, at 2am, Ochako dropped to her haunches on the fifth floor with a groan. “I swear I saw somebody.”

“If they can fly, they might have gone all the way down, or escaped themselves.”

Stunned, Ochako couldn’t help but blurt, “You still believe me?”

Shoto frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Yeah. Why wouldn’t he? Ochako puzzled over it, her assumption that she would have to make her case over and over again, that she had no argument to stand on if she couldn’t lay down verifiable fact. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Might as well.”

Shoto nodded, completely unbothered. Ochako picked herself up off the floor and followed him to the next drop. They worked in silence until they hit the first floor, at which point, the sun was rising. The only floor left was the basement, which, to the building owner’s great fortune, had endured the catastrophe virtually unblemished. It’d been too cold and damp to sustain a fire. It was likely too cold and damp to sustain a seven year old, even for a few hours. 

Still, Ochako and Shoto stared down the shaft of darkness, contemplating. Eventually, he glanced at her. “Might as well?”

“Might as well.”

Ochako leapt in first. When her feet touched solid, concrete ground, she called up for Shoto to follow. They traced the walls for a switch, finding one quickly and flooding the windowless room with dim, warm light. Then, to their immense surprise, they found a child sitting in the center of the room. He had white hair, a little messy, cut blunt and irregular, as if he’d taken scissors to it himself, but looked otherwise quite cherubic, if not for the eerie scarlet of his eyes.

The silence stood still. Then, Shoto whispered, “Did you say seven years old earlier, or am I misremembering?”

Ochako appreciated his instinct to question his own ability before he questioned hers, but he’d definitely heard right. “You’re not misremembering.”

She could have sworn she’d seen a grade-school-aged child, but this one—this practical toddler—could only have been four at their oldest. More than likely, this child had learned to walk only a year or two ago, so how in the world could they have climbed their way down from the ninth floor? Ochako spluttered desperately as she grasped at any possible explanation. It was definitely the kid she’d seen earlier, their paleness unlike any she’d ever encountered on another living being. They were nearly translucent, as if made of onion skin.

Shoto, observing Ochako’s speechlessness, waved it off. “Not important. We have to get them out.” He made his way to the center of the room, then crouched. “Do you have a name? How old are you?” 

The child stared wide-eyed for a beat, then nodded vigorously. “Takuma! Three!”

Ochako and Shoto exchanged a glance. Takuma spoke with bewildering clarity for a three-year-old who’d been alone, in the dark, for almost half a day. “Ah,” Shoto returned his attention to the child. “Would you say you’re a boy, or a girl?” 

“Boy!”

“Okay. We’re going to get you out of here, Takuma, and reunite you with your parents.”

Takuma shrank away from Shoto’s reaching hand. The excitement on his face darkened abruptly. “No,” he said, kicking farther towards the wall, growing the distance between him and them. 

Ochako and Shoto shared another baffled look. Ochako stooped over with her hands on her knees. “Don’t you wanna go home?” she cooed. “It’ll be warm! We can get McDonald’s!”

“McDonald’s?” Shoto murmured from the corner of his mouth.

“Do you know what three-year-old’s like?” Ochako mumbled right back.

“Touché.”

Takuma, scowl growing fiercer, exclaimed, “No!”

Shoto stood, unsure of what to do. Despite his experience training kids during his time at UA, he hadn’t done much more with it in the following decade. This was more Ochako’s wheelhouse, so he deferred to her for guidance. She, gnawing on her pursed lips, assessed the situation. 

It wasn’t often kids wanted to stay in the cold dark. Even skittish orphans had a hunger for company that, while their fear denied it, their eyes couldn’t help but to profess. Takuma, however, looked staunchly as if he’d rather be alone than forced out of this dingy basement, and if anyone were to do so, he would attack like an animal.

But Ochako was no stranger to such cases, either. Slowly, carefully, she came back to the ground. Shoto hesitantly followed her lead, crossing his legs once on the floor. “We won’t make you go out, Takuma. We promise. But can you come here so we can look at you?” 

Takuma inspected them warily before shuffling towards them. Ochako dispensed her flashlight from her hip holster, again without haste. She held it up without turning it on. “I’m gonna use my flashlight to look. Is that okay?”

Takuma squinted, but nodded. Switching her light on, Ochako found what she’d guessed at. Despite the cloak of his surprisingly clean clothing, he showed enough skin for Ochako to see the signs of abuse. Bright red burn marks, and not from a fire eating away at him, dotted his forearms in pools, puddles, and pinpoints, traveling beneath his sleeves and up his neck, his jaw, his cheek. He looked like a paper dappled in light and shadow through a canopy, except instead of mellow light, he was covered in tomato paste. 

Shoto made a strangled noise beside her. Calmly, Ochako asked, “Did your mommy and daddy do that to you, Takuma?” He shook his head. She kept her face light. “Did somebody else do that to you?” He shook his head again. “You can tell us, it’s okay.”

“No.”

This was not abnormal behavior, either, children defending their abusers. If he’d been on his own all this time, it could also be the result of language delays due to neglect.  “When’d you get that big one?” Ochako asked, taking another approach.

“Yesterday. The sun didded it.” He poked himself against one unblemished stretch of skin.

The sun… touched him? So he burned? Trying not to let her bemusement show, Ochako nodded. “And that’s why you don’t want to go outside?” Takuma nodded. “Okay. Then if we let you stay here, do you promise you’ll stay? You won’t move?”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Okay. Then Shoto and I are gonna leave, okay? We’re gonna come back as soon as we can.”

“Okay.”

“My name’s Ochako. Can you remember that?”

“Yeah-huh! Mister Shoto and Miss Ochako.”

“Smart boy. We’ll be back tonight, okay?”

“Okay!”

His happy demeanor had returned, no doubt because he wasn’t being forced outside. Shoto helped Ochako up, and she, once on her feet, hesitated. She hated making kids wait alone. But Takuma seemed perfectly happy for it, so Ochako made for the exit, Shoto trailing behind her.

Outside, the sun was full and creamy yellow halfway up the sky. Shoto waited as Ochako chewed the inside of her cheek. “Something’s not right,” she finally said after a good five minutes.

Shoto nodded. “We should call in Child Protective Services.”

But Ochako shook her head fervently. “No. Not yet.”

“That’s protocol.”

“I know, but… Gimme a day to think about it. Just today.” She’d told Takuma she’d be back tonight, after all. 

Shoto watched her with embarrassing acuity. “I was going to say you should take today off. You’ve been working all night, after all.”

“Same as you.”

Shoto said nothing in return. They were at a stalemate.  

“I’ll take the day off,” Ochako said, stretching her arms overhead and yawning. “You can go back to the office and finish up your case files.” She grinned cheekily at him. “Call CPS when you’re done.”

He smiled back, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds good. I’ll let everyone know you aren’t in office because you worked too much overtime. Again.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

They split on the sidewalk, heading in opposite directions, both knowing the other wasn’t being honest.

Chapter Text

True to her word, Ochako spent the day at home. She ate breakfast and lunch, mulling over the encounter with each bite. She turned the TV on to watch game shows, only to comb through the details of the morning instead. Shoto certainly wasn’t reading case files, and while he wasn’t a stickler for rules, she also knew that he tended to follow them when he had no other direction to go in—and she couldn’t blame him. Normally, she would also call CPS in for a case like this. 

But something didn’t sit right with her. The more she dredged up the memory of Takuma, the more she identified his burn marks not as cigarette burns or incendiary burns, but as sunburns. Third-degree sunburns. And the little boy had said himself that “the sun touched him.” But being in the sun for a few minutes surely wouldn’t result in third-degree burns, not even with skin that pale white. 

Pale white. Almost as if he’d been bloodless. Come to think of it, when she’d shined her flashlight over him, she’d seen no blue or purple or green veining of any kind. There’d been no reptilian skin or feathers or other material to cover it, he was certainly human flesh and bone. But not blood?

Pursing her lips, Ochako paced the short distance of her apartment with her phone in her hands. Her stove clock read 6:02pm. She still had time to call Mina and ask what everybody in the office was up to, if Izuku and Katsuki and Shoto were still there, and it wouldn’t be suspicious. But what was her ultimate goal? To stop Shoto from taking the next logical step? Why was she so against handing this case over to CPS?

Her phone rang. Shoto’s name scrolled over the screen, as if he’d overheard her thoughts. Heart pounding, Ochako flipped her screen open to take the call. “Hey!”

“I’ve been going through the quirk registry. There are no three-year-old Takumas that look like him. Four-year-olds, either.”

“You think he’s unregistered?”

“Seems like it.”

CPS would have to be notified. A quirk registrar, too. It was always a whole fiasco of government involvement, and it always took years and years and years. Takuma would likely be in middle school by the time he was properly accounted for, and without a family, that would mean being thrown into the foster care system. With everything she’d seen and the way Takuma had described the sun…

The registry and Child Protection Services worked regular business hours. They’d closed for the day an hour ago. “I’ll check on Takuma tonight, let him know he’ll be there another night. Then I’ll call CPS in the morning.”  

She heard an alarm blare on Shoto’s side. They were being called into something. “Alright,” Shoto sighed. “I’ll leave it to you.”

“Mhm. Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

There was a click, then his line went quiet. Ochako clapped her phone shut, tossed it onto her sofa, and made a beeline for her closet. She needed a bag big enough to hide a child in.

—

It was ten by the time she arrived at the site, inconspicuous in her hoodie and jeans. She’d watched the news like a hawk to time her arrival, making sure the debacle Shoto was involved in was still ongoing as she left. The bag strapped to her back was a hiking backpack, gifted to her by Katsuki for some birthday years ago. She’d never once used it, but thank god she kept it stuffed away in the overhead of her bedroom closet. She’d thrown some snacks and juice boxes in it just in case, along with the smallest sweater she had that she was sure would still be too big for Takuma. He’d been so thin.

She wound around the building to enter through the back. Just as Shoto had said, the left-side had collapsed in the time they’d been gone. Not much of the walls remained, but enough to hide her as she stepped over a header joist and ducked through collapsed beams. Tracing her steps from the day before, she found the basement entrance. Ochako clicked her flashlight on and leapt down, landing with a grunt. She swept the area with her light, jumping out of her skin at the toddler staring goggle-eyed at her from across the room. 

He was much smaller than he’d been the day before. “Takuma?” Ochako whispered. The toddler jabbered something back at her. Confused—and a little frightened—Ochako took tentative steps towards the little boy. “Takuma, do you remember me?”

He jabbered more at her, a mishmash of unintelligible words, but in the middle of it, Ochako thought she discerned a “Miss Ochako.” That was all she needed. She took a seat, pulled a juicebox out, plugged its plastic straw through the foil hole, and held it out to Takuma. 

His expression twisted, and he began to writhe and whine, throwing his head this way and that in refusal. “Okay, okay,” Ochako soothed, taking the beverage for herself (after all, she was why she’d bought them in the first place). “I’m gonna take you out, okay? It’s dark outside, so I’m gonna bring you out of here, and we’ll go somewhere safer and just as dark. Okay?”

Takuma stared at her vacantly for a long time, then nodded in a startling burst. He would fit easily in her bag, but Ochako decided instead to carry him in her arms. It felt odd to stuff a child into a bag.

The journey back was unnervingly easy. Nobody asked questions as they passed by, no odd looks directed at her, with her huge, hulking backpack and a child in her arms that was so ghostly he practically glowed. It wasn’t until she entered her apartment that she noticed how hard her heart was pounding, the way it was drumming blood up and through her ears. 

She stooped to let Takuma go, then dropped her bag to the floor. Quickly, she drew the curtains on every window in her living room, bedroom, even the bathroom. It was pitch black. She felt her way to her floor lamp, reaching for it beside the TV, and switched it on.

Takuma was gone.

“Takuma?” Ochako whispered (why was she whispering? This was her home) urgently. “Takuma?”

With every call and lack of response, her concern edged closer to panic. She searched every room, then resorted to the kitchen, though she couldn’t imagine Takuma would be there for any reason. But when she stepped through the arch between the dining room and her galley of a kitchen, she found him there, ducked over something she couldn’t make out in the dark. 

“Takuma?” She inched closer.

Takuma jerked up. Pale, pink liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth. Ochako’s eyes darted to his tiny hands, illuminated by the slice of light cutting in. He clutched a chicken thigh Ochako had left out to thaw for dinner before she’d left. The pupils of his eyes were thin and vertical like a cat’s, and when he drew his upper lip back to hiss at her, he had fangs like one, too.

Panicking for an entirely different reason now, Ochako lunged at the boy, who flinched back. When she tore the thigh out of his hands, however, he snarled and swiped at her. Ochako sucked in a sharp breath as she stumbled backwards. She reached behind her to catch the ledge, only to grab at the knife on her drying rack instead. Crying out, she snatched her hand back. Three mild scratches trailed down her forearm from the jab Takuma had taken at her, but her palm… her palm was sliced clean open. Blood gushed out in a torrent. Just the sight of it made her faint.

Head already beginning to swim from bloodloss, Ochako glanced up at Takuma, only to step back again in terror. He watched her bleeding hand obsessively, a deep hunger in his eyes. “Takuma…” Ochako said weakly, warningly.

Takuma jumped at her, knocking her to the floor. Her skull bounced off the linoleum. The world went dark.

Chapter Text

She woke with a start. Somebody was knocking at her door. 

Pulling herself up off… the floor. The kitchen floor. She was lying on the kitchen floor? “Huh,” she mumbled, then balked at the sandpaper sound of it. Shaking off her disorientation, Ochako peeled herself up to a stand and stumbled to her living room. Shoto was standing on the other side of the peephole.

Ochako reached for the doorknob, only to jerk back upon contact, gasping at the pain. She flipped her palm up and found a scab running from one end to the other. Heart in her throat, she hid her hand and opened with the other, but only enough to stick her face out the gap. She smiled.

Shoto reeled back. She was white as a sheet. “Hey!” Ochako rasped, welling up further concern in Shoto. He’d never seen her so tired. Not at school, and not as a working adult. The shadows under her eyes were an undiscovered shade of purple and would’ve put Hitoshi to shame. “What’s up?”

“You haven’t been to work in two days.”

It’d been concerning and surprising to him and everybody else in the office, but Ochako seemed the most taken aback by this news. “I haven’t?”

“Are you… okay?”

“m’Fine,” she croaked. The gap she peered through tightened to almost nothing. 

Shoto slipped his fingers around the edge of the door. “I’m just going to”—he wedged a foot through the available space, but Ochako blocked deftly, superhero reflexes and all. Shoto narrowed his eyes at her and pushed. It didn’t take much to overcome her. She seemed to have lost all her strength in the past two days. 

What he was welcomed to was alarming. Outside, the sun shone perfectly overhead, blasting Japan with its unforgiving heat. The inside of Ochako’s home was pitch black and freezing. The light spilling in from the entryway illuminated the path to her dining table, and beyond it, an arch Shoto assumed led to her kitchen. The floor at the foot of the arch… the floor was covered in blood. Dark burgundy. Dried.

“What the hell is going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Ochako couldn’t answer even if she wanted to. The last thing she remembered, she’d been… 

Takuma.

With a jolt, she sprinted into the kitchen, all her energy returning to her. There was nothing but blood. Shoto watched in stupefaction as Ochako raced from one room to the next. When she finally stopped in the living room, she was near to tears. “Shit,” she spoke, voice wobbling. “I lost him.”

He didn’t need a brain to know what she was talking about. He’d suspected as much. “You lost Takuma.”

“Yeah.”

“You brought him back without knowing anything about him. Then you lost him.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

“Fuck.”

Stole the word right out of his mouth. “Mhmmm.”

Suddenly, a door behind Ochako, the only door she hadn’t checked because why would he be in the bathroom, swung open. Ochako jumped around, hand to her heart. Shoto glanced over her head. 

A boy stepped out. A teenager. He had that dour, self-defeated look all teens moped around with. He yawned. “Hey.”

He sounded bored. Ochako tripped backwards, right into Shoto, who caught her and righted her before she could take him down with her. “Who are you?!” she shrieked.

“Takuma,” the boy shot back, looking at her like she was stupid. Then he rolled his eyes.

“Watch your tone,” Shoto warned darkly. How was it somebody nearly half his age could inject so much disdain into three syllables?

“Takuma?!” Ochako exclaimed. 

“Yeah. You deaf or somethin’?”

He sounded too much like Katsuki. Shoto was going to have to have a talk with the (grown) man. Maybe he’d bring Takuma in as an example. That’s besides the point. “What’d you do to Ochako?”

Takuma gestured like it was obvious. “Suck her blood? I was starving.” 

“For two days?”

“She was just laying there.” Takuma waved his hands and rolled his eyes again.

Ochako noticed, for the first time, the blood caking his hands. The reality of the situation came to her in a rush. “You used me as a bloodbag!” she hissed, stepping menacingly towards him. She had no idea how old he was, but he was taller and bigger than her, so he was fair game.

Takuma blinked a bit. Then, to Ochako and Shoto’s surprise, his expression shut down. “Sorry,” he mumbled, gaze dropping to the floor. “You gonna throw me out?”

The sudden shift in mood left her speechless. She turned to Shoto, only for him to return her perplexed look with a bewildered one of his own. What had she expected? She was the one who worked most with kids. She could have thrown her hands up.

Instead, she took a deep breath, propped her fists on her hips, and stepped forward. “First things first, we’ve gotta deal with clean up. Then we’ll talk.”

Takuma pulled his gaze from the floor, eyes wide as if he hadn’t expected something so easy. Ochako brushed past him to pull the necessary tools out of her laundry closet. 

“I want all the blood out of the grout. And if the blood’s stained the walls, I’m not the one repainting anything. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Takuma mumbled. “Sure.”

Ochako shoved a mop out to him, which he took meekly. Then she flung a sponge out to Shoto, who hesitated too long before receiving it. “What did I do?” he asked.

“Nothing. You’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She smiled in jest.

Well, he’d never minded a bit of cleaning.

—

Ochako kneeled at the face of the fridge, scrubbing vigorously at the splatter and spots. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, wrapped her head in a bandana, and still she was sweating into her tank top. She’d raised the thermostat after Takuma had revealed that he’d lowered it to its near-arctic levels, but perhaps that had been a mistake. 

They were halfway done when she called a timeout. “Dinner?”

Takuma looked to Shoto, which he found baffling until he realized Takuma must not be able to consume anything but blood. Shoto shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’m gonna order delivery.”

She made the call for one large pizza with everything on it, then the three of them sat in awkward silence for the 30 minutes it took to arrive. Takuma stared listlessly at the wall across from him. Shoto observed Ochako as she ate. Her pallor was not improving in the slightest. When she finished all four of her slices, she reached for her sponge. 

Shoto stopped her. “I think you should go to the hospital.”

“I’m starving,” Takuma groused.

The silence was deafening. Eventually, Shoto unclipped a forearm guard and held out his bare wrist. “Have at it.”

Takuma, shocked at such a straightforward offering, took Shoto’s arm hesitantly. After another second—he had the propriety to offer Shoto a chance to back out—his pupils thinned, his canines elongated, and his teeth sunk into skin.

There was an immediate pain, but as quick as it had come, it was replaced by a surge of adrenaline. Shoto’s skin buzzed with it, and he shifted to make a smart comment at Ochako, only to double take. 

She looked… different. Not because of the moons under her eyes or the sallowness of her skin, but something else entirely. It made him want to hook his thumb into her mouth, push her up against a wall, hike his thigh between hers. A small voice in his head shouted that these were abnormal, alien thoughts. A louder voice chanted at him to grab her and shove his tongue down her throat.

Ochako jumped out of her seat. Shoto wondered if she was drawing the same conclusion as him, that they would have to settle this in her bedroom, when she grabbed his shoulder. He groaned at the feel of it. Even through fabric, it was like being electrocuted. A livewire strung from the backs of his eyes to his navel. His unoccupied hand reached for her wrist—

Ochako tore Shoto away from Takuma. “Are you okay?” she squeaked, concern all over her face. He looked like he was about to tweak out of his skin. Either that or pass out.

Doubled over and clutching the edge of the table, Shoto said and did nothing. He was certain that if he moved, it’d only be to pin her to the table. If he spoke, it’d be to tell her what to do. He fought desperately to draw air into his lungs, and slowly, dazedly, the lust drained out of him—but he was still stiff beneath the table. Swallowing roughly, he brought his fists to his forehead, dug his nails into his palms as hard as he could, and willed his excitement away. Bright red blood ran in two tidy rivulets down his arms. He let it. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, barely able to get the words out. “m’Fine.”

“You’re really pale!”

Takuma wiped a sleeve against his mouth, leaving a messy swath of blood streaked across his cheeks. “Can’t be blood loss,” he said. “Barely took half a pint. I’m still hungry.”

Shoto knew it wasn’t blood loss. He looked up to reassure Ochako further, but caught the smug look Takuma wore. The boy grinned straight at Shoto, whose discomfort turned quickly into murderous intent. 

“Just… give me a minute,” he strained through his teeth, glaring at Takuma.

“Okay,” Ochako squeaked again.

Chapter Text

Ochako raised no questions when, upon offering to clear the table herself, Shoto only nodded, then dropped his head to the table with a thunk. He appeared to be in great pain despite that it’d been five entire minutes since Takuma had drawn blood from him. Then again, she’d passed out and spent two days unconscious, so she had no idea what it felt like to be fed on. Ochako glanced worriedly at Takuma, but the boy seemed entirely uncaring as he plucked a loose thread from his oversized jeans.

When she returned from the trash chute, Shoto was upright again, face straight as ever. He looked at Ochako and said, “We should go to the hospital.”

Her eyes darted to Takuma. Shoto’s jaw tensed. Takuma rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna go anywhere. I literally can’t.”

“Right,” Ochako nodded furiously. If he left now, in the dark, he’d be stranded once the sun came up. Sure, he could go back to the basement he’d come from, but he had nothing to eat. By the looks of it, he’d been wasting away on his own. “Okay. Well, we’re gonna go to the hospital, and you can just stay here, and… we’ll be back as fast as we can. Then we’ll talk.”

“Whatever,” Takuma mumbled, getting up to disappear into the living room. The hem of his pants dragged against the floor, and his shirt, though not as large as it’d been on his toddler’s form, still hung past his hips. Ochako was going to have to buy him clothes that fit. 

They heard the thump! of him collapsing onto her couch, then the crackle of TV static as he made himself comfortable. Ochako and Shoto gave each other a look, hers amused, his, quite the opposite. 

“Gimme a minute to change.” Ochako gestured apologetically over her blood-soaked shirt before whisking away to her room. She returned only minutes later in a large t-shirt to rival Takuma’s, a bedraggled baseball cap, and bike shorts. Shoto was still in his hero uniform. He was clean, but they were off-duty, and they probably didn’t want to garner attention. “Err,” she said, “I still have some of Izuku’s stuff. Do you wanna…?”

“No, thank you.” He probably wouldn’t fit. Izuku had grown taller after UA, but so had Shoto. 

“If you say so. Ready to go?”

“After you.”

She grinned a bit at his needless chivalry. After some fumbling around to unloop her bag from her coatrack, they left her apartment—but not without one last dangerous glare from Shoto to Takuma.

“So,” Ochako said as they ambled down the streetlamp-lit sidewalk. “Do you think he’s 500 years old, or 50?”

“I think he’s five,” Shoto answered flatly. The bloodsucker certainly acted like a child. Ochako laughed, and Shoto observed from the corner of his eye the way her face lit up with amusement. 

It was common knowledge that Ochako was of above average attractiveness. All the women in the former-Class A were, by the (debatedly) objective measure of Japan’s Top Most Eligible Bachelorettes list (even Toru, whom the public found titillating due to her “mystery.” Mina, who was very publicly engaged to Eijirou, placed regularly in the Top 10 of Japan’s Co-Gender list of Sexiest Heroes, Top 5 for the women-specific list; same with Momo, who was seeing somebody). 

It was a widely discussed shame amongst heroes that lists like those were what civilians tracked most, because the majority of those doing the actual saving were more interested in the awards given for highest protection counts, notable contributions to society, etc. Ochako was known particularly for the rescue count she racked up every year, placing first in all but one year for the past eight. Plaques tiled the walls of her office, and her shelves burst with accolades for her work with reducing recidivism, prison reform advocacy, and programs for children with “unconventional” quirks (more colloquially known as villainous quirks, though that language was largely avoided by heroes except by the most prejudiced of them). 

She also played an active, enormous part in the improving, and constantly growing, reputation of rescue-based hero work. A once sleepy subgroup of heroism that garnered little interest for its perceived lack of flashy power and explosive action, their agency now received floods of applications every year from established heroes, interested sidekicks, and upcoming graduates in the hopes of working with, or for, her. Her department and the functions associated with it comprised at least 33% of the building now, and because their agency had become an unspokenly agreed upon industry benchmark, other agencies followed suit, a fact that professionals agreed was very, very good for the industry as a whole. All this in only 10 years, seven of which she’d been tied down by somebody equally as important, but exponentially more scatter-brained.

To the public, her relationship with Izuku had only made sense. The biggest hero of the Final War with a legacy quirk and a background—once it became known he’d began quirkless—that shifted paradigms, with the most historically game changing heroine in the last century. Plus, they were each other’s first loves. It was romantic, it was exciting, it was the perfect sort of storybook romance. Their wedding was slated to be the wedding of a century, though Izuku and Ochako had never once mentioned anything like that in all the time anybody had known them, had never gotten engaged or talked about it. Mina and Eijirou were wearing rings by the second week after announcing they were dating.

When Izuku and Ochako had parted ways, the world had had a collective breakdown. Civilians held candle lit vigils. Celebrities and influencers blacked out their accounts for a week. Shops sold their IzuOcha merch at a 200% markup in case collectors came clamoring for it. It had all been very dramatic.

From the inside of it, though, Shoto had long seen it coming. Ochako was too hardworking and dedicated to her work to be reminding somebody, constantly, to eat, or that they had a doctor’s appointment (not uncommon and half the rationale for including an in-agency hospital. Even then, Izuku needed to be reminded he had an upcoming appointment). She’d even brought Izuku homemade meals every single day at the beginning of their relationship—for three years. 

Shoto could only assume that for all the long nights Izuku pulled at the office, particularly when they’d first been getting the agency off the ground, Ochako was at home taking care of the annoying things in life that had to be taken care of. The leader of their organization had been kind to her—of course, because Izuku didn’t have a mean bone in his body—and it was clearly evident that they’d had many a discussion about the division of labour in their relationship, especially towards the end of it, when Shoto would often see Ochako storm past the windows of his office with a certain look on her face. 

Ultimately, though, it’d proven ineffective. Whatever she and Izuku had agreed upon, at some point, it started falling on Katsuki and Shoto to nag Izuku, which was when Shoto had learned that while Izuku was organized and neat, he was only as organized and neat as he had to be so that he could spend time on the agency or hero work. He didn’t own much to keep tidy as a result (though he had a problematic amount of All Might merchandise), but it still wasn’t fair to burden Ochako with the gamut of home maintenance when her work was just as valuable. 

So, yes, Shoto respected her, if that wasn’t obvious. He’d respected her long before the agency, as she’d always been a purpose-driven person, in school and in her career, and he was happy for her to finally be able to dedicate time to her work and hobbies as she pleased. Finding her pretty wasn’t unusual, but to suddenly take notice of it felt reductive. He could only blame whatever the hell Takuma had injected him with. The asshole.

“Do you think he grows past his age with enough blood, or is there a stopping point?”

“I’d imagine there’s a stopping point. We’ll have to ask. Did you call CPS already?”

She fidgeted. Shoto raised his eyebrows. Grinning sheepishly, she confessed, “I don’t think getting the government involved in this is the right move.”

“Alright. What do you think we should do?”

Ochako, again, was taken aback by his immediate trust. “Uh, well, I was thinking I get a better idea of how he got to where he is now and how his quirk works. Then I’ll make decisions from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Why do you do that?” Ochako blurted.

Shoto stared blankly at her. “Do what?”

“You just… listen to me. You take me at my word.”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Most men don’t.” 

“Most” was being generous, because not even Izuku, when they’d dated, would compromise without a detailed account of what she was experiencing. He was empathetic to a fault, except with the people who knew him best. With them, he expected them to understand him and his motivations innately. That was his blind spot, his achilles heel, the whole reason he’d left UA and pursued One For All on his own all those years ago. It was a humble sort of arrogance, and Ochako probably should have taken it as a red flag back then, but she’d been too young to understand. Self-sacrifice and martyrdom were not all that attractive traits, come to find.

“Yikes.”

Ochako gave him a wry look, then burst into laughter. “How’s your family?”

“Good. We’re visiting Toya next weekend.” 

Ochako nodded. His brother’s headstone was only a few paces from Toga’s. The gravesite was a small, forlorn sort of place. Not many stopped by. Ochako visited a few times a year and spent the hours needed to keep several of the plots clean and presentable.

“Yours?”

“Oh, very good.” She was diligent about sending money back. Her parents insisted it wasn’t necessary, never spent a single yen of it, but, as she’d said: just in case. “They’re going to Indonesia at the end of summer.”

“You’re not going with them?”

“I’ve got the Children’s Hospital’s Gala. I like being there. They’ve been on enough vacations with me by now, anyway.”

“Why don’t they move to Tokyo to be closer to you?”

“They prefer the countryside! Can’t blame ‘em.”

“Do you think of moving back?”

She grinned slyly at him. “Tryna get rid of me?”

“Rumor has it that you only got your position because of favoritism.” He raised his shoulders. “Heard you slept with the founder.”

Ochako cackled, whacking him on the shoulder. “You’ve got jokes now, huh?!”

“You can thank Momo for that.”

Ochako’s mischievous grin turned soft. Momo had spelled the whole thing out for the girls of Class A when she’d called it quits with Shoto. He had been a lot to take care of—not like Izuku, who needed a level of babysitting, but emotionally unavailable, which had caused Momo a lot of grief. Shoto had apparently been more amenable to growing as a person than Izuku (and despite her ongoing frustrations with him even as her boss, Ochako couldn’t deny, even if she didn’t like it, that it took a certain unstoppability to head the most prolific agency of their time), but his change hadn’t been fast enough for Momo. She’d felt guilty over it for years no matter how much they reassured her she was in no way wrong for knowing what she wanted, when she wanted it, and making an active effort to pursue what made her happy, even if Shoto couldn’t keep up. That was not her fault, and nobody would have blinked twice at a man for breaking up with a woman who was high-maintenance. 

Shoto, to his credit, had always been very respectful of other’s feelings, even at his own expense. It’d made for arguably the most awkward all-hands meetings of all time, and for a few months after, Momo would often make little comments like, “Maybe in a few more years, we’ll be right for each other,” that the girls would smile and nod at, though they all knew the reality was that she and Shoto would both move on, because they had lives too rich to dwell on the singular romance of their young adulthood. Sure enough, in another year and a half, Momo was seeing somebody else steadily, and Shoto was no longer staring listlessly out his office window.

Ochako and Izuku hadn’t had this problem, as they’d both found it a relief to resume their relationship in a way that didn’t require the give-and-take that romantic partnership required. The unspoken and agreed upon boundaries and societal expectations of friendship suited them much better. Izuku had begun dating Melissa only a few months after—Ochako had had no issue with this (though many a tabloid had insinuated otherwise), was quite happy for the both of them, in fact, though sometimes she worried Izuku was unknowingly putting too much on Melissa’s shoulders, as he’d done with her—and Ochako had started going on dates nearly immediately. She found, though, that she much preferred to be single. 

Men, in short, were annoying. And she, to her great dismay, was straight.

Good for Shoto, though, she mused. Self-improvement was never easy and required a lot of patience, but it seemed he’d taken Momo’s qualms seriously, and he was a better person for it. “You really haven’t gone on any dates since then?” It’d been seven years. 

“I have.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to find anybody that can compare. Not that I’m still in love with her, but she suited me in a lot of ways that I haven’t found in anybody else. The way we thought about the world, her intelligence, those kinds of things. Not that other women aren’t intelligent or fair, but… there’s always something that doesn’t feel quite right?” He trailed off. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s having shared history.”

“Yeah, I get it.” 

It was the same problem she had. If it hadn’t been for Izuku’s work-life balance and unintentional sexism—because really, that was all it was at the end of the day—they would have made a swell pair. And whenever she was seeing someone new for a prolonged period, it felt lonely to be with somebody who hadn’t been there when she’d nearly died, when Toga had died, when it’d seemed like the entire world was ending. As if, no matter how well she got to know this new, exciting person, she could never feel entirely known herself. If she one day, somehow, stumbled into a relationship with a hero who had been there and who had Izuku’s values, work ethic, and personability while also knowing how to take care of himself, she would lock him down without a second thought. 

Funnily enough, Katsuki ticked all her boxes, and she occasionally had the thought when working with him that he would make a very nice boyfriend—just, unfortunately, not for her, because it was well known that Katsuki was very openly, and very outspokenly, gay. And also not interested in romance in the slightest. He had a revolving circle of (extremely handsome; Ochako gawked whenever they showed up at the office, often to drop a clean STI report on his desk) men he “got his rocks off with,” as he put it, and he was happy with that arrangement. Lucky bastard.

The rest of their walk to the hospital was spent in silence as they both contemplated the hardships of romance. At the entrance, Shoto waited for Ochako to clear the revolving doors first, then waited as she filled out the necessary forms. He’d always been a very patient person, hadn’t he?

After she returned the clipboard to the counter attendant, she asked, “You’re not gonna get a transfusion?”

“I’m fine. He didn’t take much.”

“Coulda fooled me. You looked like he was killing you.”

Shoto’s legs, which were manspread over his seat, closed a little. His eyes flicked from her to the informational poster on the wall across from them. “It was a weird feeling. That’s all.”

Ochako hummed. She wouldn’t know. She opened her mouth to ask about it, only for an attendant to step out from an office door and ask, “Uraraka Ochako?”

She shot up. “That’s me!” She turned to Shoto. “I’ll be right back, can you look after my bag for me?”

Shoto nodded, leaned back, and waited some more.

Chapter Text

Ochako reappeared an hour later, now in livelier color, most noticeably in the pink of her cheeks that Katsuki always gave her grief for. The ink spills under her eyes were gone, and the tips of her fingers were no longer white. To Shoto’s surprise, she was still pretty. Logically, that made sense. Of course she would look better in full health. His actual concern was that Takuma’s poison was still in him. Maybe he should have gotten an exchange transfusion. He was going to have to ask the vampire—in private—how long whatever toxin he’d shot him up with lingered.

“Ready?”

“As ever!”

They strode out of the hospital and retraced their steps to her apartment in comfortable silence. Halfway there, she fished her phone out of her pocket to scroll through it. Her brows creased, and she typed back with pianistic fervor.

“Do you start planning for the Gala this early?” asked Shoto.

“Oh, we start as soon as the last one ends.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Vendors are a nightmare to work with. You’d think they’d care more because it’s kids, and also because we do it the same every year, but noooo, they want to keep their opportunities open.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever, that’s work stuff. Unless you wanna talk shop?”

“I just assumed that’s what you were doing on your phone.”

“Oh, god no. Hero work is never over, but admin work? Hard stop at seven. I tell my whole team that. Patrol all you want, whenever you want, but you can stop answering emails or filling out forms or reading them”—she gave Shoto a pointed look—“at seven. Ideally six, but apparently the only people we hire are workaholics. Nah, this is for Mina’s wedding. Which kinda feels the same as planning for the Gala, to be honest.”

“Have you ever planned a wedding before?”

“Nope.”

“Why is that?”

Ochako raised her eyebrows at him. He maintained his innocence. She snickered and shook her head. “You’re not slick.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. We were really busy, and then by the time we weren’t as busy, I was questioning if I really wanted to be with Izuku like that. Sometimes I’d think about it and start to panic, like, would I basically be resigning myself to a life where I waste time every day washing dishes, half of which weren’t even mine? Or doing laundry for two people?”

“Laundry?”

“I hate doing the laundry.”

“Really? I think it’s one of the better chores.”

“You’re welcome to do my laundry anytime,” Ochako joked, nudging him.

“Hmm, you wouldn’t be able to afford my rates, it’d be too much out of your nest egg. And for the record, yes. That would have been the life you were resigning yourself to.”

Ochako laughed. “I almost felt bad dumping him on you two after we got into that fight about the dentist appointment he missed. I’d been on his case about it just that morning! I just didn’t want to deal with basically being his assistant anymore.”

“It’s fine. It built character. I never forget my own appointments anymore. Plus, I learned Izuku’s not a saint, and that I should take Katsuki more seriously, because he’s been right all along that Izuku’s not as perfect as he seems.”

“See? Good on me.”

Shoto chuckled, and she beamed. “Do you want kids?” he asked. 

“Ooh, yes. I’ll probably adopt one day. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Even after your dad?”

“Even after my dad.”

“Good for you!”

He nodded. His father had done a lot wrong and it had taken Shoto a while to forgive him for wasting his childhood—and Toya’s entire life—like that, but it helped to watch the man turn himself around. If Endeavor could do that and Shoto had found it in himself to forgive him, then parenting seemed doable. He liked to think he wouldn’t be anything like his father, and whatever mistakes he did make, there was always hope to correct them, to turn around, and to hopefully still end up maintaining a good relationship with the people around him.

Ochako smiled as she watched the wheels in Shoto’s head turn. “You’ll definitely be fine. I think you’d make a great dad.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want biological kids?”

Shoto paled. “No. I don’t think I can handle childbirth.” He’d helped with far too many impromptu births while on patrol. The things the human body could do… he’d rather not remember it.

“You’re not even the one giving birth!”

“Yeah. I know. I have to watch the whole thing happen without being drugged. And I’ve had more fingers broken by the civilians I’ve assisted with childbirth than I care to admit.”

She cackled. “Just step out of the room when it starts!”

“I’m socially inept, Ochako, not an asshole.”

Ochako could barely breathe, she was laughing so hard. “Honestly,” she choked out, “I wouldn’t blame you. That doesn’t make anybody an asshole.”

“If a woman can handle pushing a watermelon out of a hole an eighth that size—I don’t care how dilated she is, it’s supposed to be a fist-sized hole—then I can sit beside her. It’s not that it makes me sick. I’m just a coward.”

“And you’re not doped up!”

“The horror.”

Her amusement died down. Then she started snickering again. “‘Fist-sized?’”

Shoto groaned. “Stop.”

“Momo does sometimes say stuff that makes me think she’s got unconventional preferences, if you catch my drift—”

Shoto held up a hand out of mortification, not offense. “We’re not talking about this.”

Ochako dissolved into further knee-slapping laughter.

—

When they arrived at her apartment complex, they were debating the merits of protein powder in water versus milk.

“It’s a miserable time, and trying to pretend it isn’t is just lying to yourself,” said Shoto. “Mix it with water and down it in one breath. Done.”

“Um, no, mix it with milk to make it less of a miserable time. That way you can sip it throughout the day.”

“‘Sip it?’ Nobody out there is sipping their protein shake, Ochako. And you’re literally saying you’d rather be Chinese waterboarded than lethally injected.”

“That is not what I’m ‘literally’ saying at all. I’m just saying if something sucks, break it down into manageable pieces.”

“How many protein shakes are you drinking every day? One?”

“How many protein shakes are you drinking every day? ‘Cause it sounds like way too many.”

“Everybody needs protein.”

“That much?”

“Everybody needs protein.”

“You’re going to poison yourself one day. Have you seen my keys?”

Shoto reached into her bag, which he was still carrying, then tossed them to her. She caught them easily.

“Wow, I totally forgot about my bag. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They entered to find Takuma exactly where they’d left him. Ochako, surprised, asked, “Did you do anything while we were out?”

“Solved the quirk-evolution paradox. Cured quirk-induced psychosis.”

Ochako and Shoto shared a look. “Well,” she said, “we were kinda thinking now was a good time to talk.”

“Gimme 15.”

Shoto opened Ochako’s bag, pulled out an entire cache of blood bags, and tossed them onto the coffee table. Takuma’s pupils dilated, then shrunk to diamonds. Ochako eeped. “No. We’re talking now.”

“Where’d you get those?!” Ochako hissed.

“The hospital.”

“I know ‘the hospital!’ I mean how? And when?!”

Shoto replied, “Clearance,” obviously referring to the benefits he received being the formerly Number One Hero’s son as well as one of the co-founders of the most prolific agency of the century. “While you were getting your transfusion. Nobody saw me.”

“Oh, ‘cause that makes me feel better! Is this legal?!”

“Plenty of people can make blood with their quirks. It’s not a problem at all.”

“Oh. True. Ok. Huh.”

Takuma watched from between them, eyes ping-ponging back and forth over the blood bag he sucked at like a juice pouch. He pulled away from the plastic, his mouth bright red. He ran his tongue over his coated teeth. “Are we talkin’ or what?”

Ochako crossed her legs and sat on the floor. Shoto perched on the edge of the coffee table. “How old are you really?” Ochako asked delicately.

“26.”

Her jaw dropped. Shoto’s eyes shot wide open. In a single, quick snap of a motion, he yanked the blood bag from Takuma and threw it back on the coffee table, leaving a trail of red along Ochako’s carpet. If blood made him grow, he needed to be drinking less of it, not more.

“Dude!” Takuma shouted.

“You can not be 26,” Shoto snarled. Takuma opened his mouth to protest that it was basic math, but Shoto continued, “You can not be 26 while you’re here.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t catch up to or maintain my ‘real’ age unless it’s fresh blood, so I’ll probably be 18 tomorrow ‘cause you gave me your wrist, but I’ll stay 18 with these.” He reached for the bag Shoto had taken from him. “Anyway, I haven’t been 26 most of my life. I’m usually, like, six.”

Shoto pushed it away. “How do we make you six, then? How do you shrink?”

Takuma looked at him with thinly veiled disgust. “I’m not some grower-dick. I don’t ‘shrink.’ It’s called regressing, idiot.”

“Watch your mouth. And how do we make it happen?”

“Be nice!” Ochako mumbled, jabbing Shoto with her elbow.

“He’s a grown man!”

“He’s 16 years old!”

“26,” Takuma corrected.

“Are you 26 when you’re 4?” Ochako asked.

At that, Takuma scratched his neck sheepishly. “No. I regress biologically, too.”

Intrigued, Ochako leaned in. “Can you get older than 26?” 

“No. I can only be what I’ve already been once. Like, my body can’t be something it doesn’t know? If that makes sense.”

Takuma, Shoto noticed, was more receptive to Ochako. Perhaps it was her kindness. Biting back his sigh, Shoto assumed a more amiable posture. “So how do we de-age you?”

“Fresh animal blood. Or starve me.”

Ochako made a squeamish sound. It was one thing to offer her own blood, but obtaining a live animal and sacrificing it… she couldn’t stomach it. “It has to be fresh?”

“Yeah.”

She made more disagreeable, protesting noises. “We’ll just keep you at this age.”

“Fine by me. Prefer human blood anyway. Just keep it contained, or else I get a little crazy.”

Ochako looked to Shoto. “We keep blood donations at the agency hospital, don’t we?” He nodded. Ochako whirled around to look eagerly at Takuma, who startled at her sincerity. “Okay! Perfect! I can just bring home a couple of bags every night!”

“Uh,” he stammered, “okay? Cool.” 

She beamed. Takuma flushed. Shoto narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re 16.”

Takuma glowered at him. “18 tomorrow, asshole.”

“Watch it.”

Ochako clapped her hands together to interrupt the strange tension. “Alright!” She shot Shoto a look of suspicion. Why was he getting weird with a teenager? “Shoto, I’ll see you tomorrow, Takuma, you should go to… bed…”

Crap. Where was Takuma going to sleep? In her bed, yes, he was a guest, but with her? No. She would take the couch. Shoto was staring at her like he was reading her mind. He stood abruptly. “He’s coming to my place.”

“No, the paps are literally always at your place. If you bring a kid to your apartment, it’ll be all over the front page tomorrow.”

That Shoto had no immediate refutation indicated just how right Ochako was. He began to pace, muttering under his breath as he ran his hands repeatedly through his hair, throwing the demarcation of red and white into disarray. He kept stopping to groan into both his hands. It put Ochako’s lack of confidence into perspective.

“It’s going to be fine,” she assured, unable to shut her smile in. It was funny seeing Shoto freak out on her behalf. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could suck you dry!”

It went deathly quiet. Ochako began to snicker. Shoto sighed and covered his face with a palm. 

“I’m right here, perverts,” Takuma interjected, unamused. “I promise I won’t eat her. Just don’t cut yourself or something.”

“What, you can’t control yourself?” Shoto snapped.

“Literally no.”

“Dammit. Fine.” Shoto stalked to the door, pulled on his boots, then frowned at Takuma. When their eyes met, Shoto jerked his head towards the exit. “I want to talk to you outside.”

With a loud, dramatic groan, Takuma pulled himself off the couch and followed Shoto out, letting the door slam shut behind him. “What?” he grumbled.

“As far as you’re concerned, Ochako’s your mom.”

“Okay, dad.”

Shoto reeled back. “What?”

“If she’s my mom, that makes you my dad, doesn’t it?”

“No!”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever. We done here?”

“Yeah. Can you get Ochako?”

Takuma didn’t bother replying, just swung the door open, marched in, and said, “He wants you.”

Under any other circumstance, Shoto would have thought nothing of Takuma’s choice in wording. Unfortunately, the asshole slid a sly look at him just as the entrance shut, as if it was Shoto’s fault he was finding Ochako more attractive than usual, not the bloodsucker’s for pumping him through with whatever the hell poison it was. Shoto could have strangled him.   

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Ochako sprang up and rushed out in her house slippers, shutting the door gently. “What’s up?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Ochako smiled, touched by his concern. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’m coming straight here.”

“I’ll be there.”

Shoto bit his tongue, frustrated. She should worry a bit more, he thought, about everything. “Is this about Toga?”

Ochako flinched, but the way she reddened said everything. “Maybe,” she murmured, gaze shying away. “A little bit.”

Shoto stayed quiet for a while. “Alright. I trust you.”

Ochako flushed deeper. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Ochako smiled. Still pretty. “Night!”

“Night.”

Chapter Text

The next morning at work, Ochako stopped by Shoto’s office, tapped the glass, and waved as she grinned broadly. He stared unreadably at her, so she gave him two thumbs up to indicate that no harm had come to her as she’d slept on the couch last night. His shoulders heaved in a sigh, no doubt out of exasperation, and then he returned her wave halfheartedly. She ambled back to her own side of the building to go about the rest of her day.

She went out for lunch with her immediate team, and when she returned to her office, Shoto was sitting in one of the chairs opposite hers. “Hey!” she said, dropping her bag as she sat. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking. The best next step we can take is trying to figure out how to integrate him into adult society.”

Ochako stared at Shoto with furrowed brows, mouth half-open. “‘We?’” she echoed.

Shoto blinked at her. “Yeah. We should figure out how to—”

“Yeah, I got that part. Whaddya mean, ‘we?’”

Surely Ochako knew what a pronoun was. Defining it would make it seem like he thought she was an idiot. Confused, Shoto said, “You and I?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“It’s not like you have to be involved.”

He laid an incredulous look on her. “I’m not letting you parent a teenager on your own. You should have help.”

Sure, she’d said she wanted to adopt one day, which would still be parenting alone, but starting at infancy seemed different than diving right into teenagedom. The latter would be like throwing herself into the deep end. It’d be like waltzing into first year Katsuki’s dorm room and saying she was his mother now.

“I don’t really know how you can help,” Ochako said, skeptical. 

“I don’t really think that’s for you to figure out,” Shoto countered, raising his eyebrows.

Ochako, dumbfounded, could only gawk. Was he saying he’d help her without her having to tell him exactly, step-by-step, how to? That seemed too good to be true. She laughed nervously. “Uh… okay. If… if you want?”

Shoto, satisfied, got up from his seat. “I’ll stop by your place later with the blood bags. Probably sometime around 6:30.”

How did he know she was clocking out early today? Shoto stared at her, then pointed at the wall calendar to her right. “You’ve got it marked.”

“R-right.” Her wall calendar. That only the girls ever thought to check. That only the girls even knew how to find, despite it being right there, in front of everybody’s eyes, available for all to behold, but that, for some reason, none of the men she regularly interacted with in this office did. Except Katsuki. Who was gay. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Mhm. See you.”

“Bye.”

Shoto left. Ochako didn’t know why she was so embarrassed, but it was making her sweaty. She made a beeline for the bathroom to splash her face and wait for it to stop being so red.

—

When she got home, Takuma was, again, laying across the couch channel-surfing. He sucked from the tubing of a blood bag, which he’d placed on the floating shelf above the couch. Clever, thought Ochako. Also, annoying as hell.

“Have you done anything all day?”

“Finished two entire seasons of Quirk’s Anatomy.”

She flipped the light on in the kitchen, then gasped. Her dishes from breakfast, which she’d washed before leaving, were dry in the drying rack, but on the other side of the sink was an entire collection of glasses, mugs, and travel cups. They’d clearly been filled with blood, and the counter was spotted with crusty dry bits of it. She marched out of the kitchen fuming. “What the hell is this?”

“Oh, I was trying to figure out the best way to drink it, but air exposure makes it all chunky.” He grimaced around the straw in his mouth. “I guess bagged is peak.”

“Were you planning to wash any of these?”

“I mean, I figured you’d just throw them in the dishwasher.”

“I don’t have a dishwasher!” And even if she did, some of these weren’t dishwasher safe!

“Oh. I guess I didn’t check.”

Oh my god. She could scream. “Get up.”

He’d been staring at the TV the entire time talking to her, and he only finally tore away at the severity in her voice. Takuma frowned at her. “What?”

“Get up!” she snapped. Takuma rose cautiously, watching her from the corner of his eye like she was a wild animal and direct contact would activate her. “You’re washing all those cups.” Takuma gaped. “Now!”

“Holy fuck, yeah, fine, god!” He stomped into the kitchen and turned the faucet on. 

Ochako’s temper dropped a level. “Don’t forget to wipe the counter down.”

“I know! Jeez.”

Once the faucet stopped running, she checked his work. He rolled his eyes as she scrutinized every single cup in the drying rack. Once done, she nodded. “Good.”

“Of course, m’Lord,” Takuma drawled, eyeing her distastefully. “Is there anything else this sorry vassal can do to atone for his sins?”

Ochako laughed, and, upon seeing it, Takuma almost felt bad. “Thank you,” she said, snickering through it.

“Sure, whatever.”

“Y’know that you can do whatever you want while you’re here, right? Like, you don’t have to stay inside all day. As long as you don’t eat anybody, you could, I don’t know, go to the library or something?”

He was already on his way back to the TV. “Can’t read.”

Ochako, following him, faltered. “Uh—what?”

“I can’t read. Can you hear?” He looked at her with contempt and concern, but mostly contempt. 

“You can’t… read?”

Takuma rolled his eyes. “Who would’ve taught me?”

Oh. Ochako’s heart cracked. “When did your parents…” Leave you? Throw you out? Decide you weren’t worth it?

He shrugged. “Four.”

Shortly after childhood memory tended to begin. It was also about when quirks typically presented. “How do you know that?”

“Whenever I regress to that age, I get all depressed. And hungry, like, all the time. I’m, like, the least controllable then.” He mimed sucking blood.

“Takuma, that’s… I’m so sorry.” 

He shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

“No,” Ochako said gently, peering at him heartachingly. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s not. That’s really, really traumatic.”

Takuma shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well…”

They dwindled into silence, Ochako waiting for him to say anything more, Takuma wrestling with his discomfort. Ochako broke the glass first. “I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier. It wasn’t fair to you, I mean, it’s not like you’ve had to live in somebody else’s place before. That was definitely just… me getting mad over stuff I’ve dealt with in the past. But not you.”

“I figured. It’s fine, whatever. I can do your dishes or whatever you want when you’re not here.”

“That’d be nice, and I’ll appreciate it, but I think it’d be good for you to go out. I mean, how bad is your uncontrollable urge to drink blood?”

“It’s much easier to control when I’m full. I mean, human blood is always gonna make me go a little haywire, but the older I am, the better I can control myself before I can actually get to, uh, my victim. They’d have to be, like, right next to me for me to blackout.”

“Oh! Great! Then I’ll leave a spare key for you. Just keep six feet between you and any strangers at all times.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Takuma was still avoiding her gaze. After a beat, he asked, “Why are you doing all this?”

Ochako, who was getting up to change into home-clothing, stopped. “Hm?”

“Like, why are you… taking care of me, I guess? Like, why do you care?”

She blinked. “I don’t know. You seem like a good kid.”

“I’m 26.”

She scowled at him. “You seem like a good person.”

“I literally knock people out to suck their blood.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Takuma flinched, horrified at the suggestion and offended she would suggest it. “No!”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?”

“I mean, if they piss me off, sometimes. But I would never actually do it, and never just for fun or something!”

Ochako nodded. “Okay, yeah. Some people have been dealt an easier hand to survive. You weren’t. That’s not fair, and I think you deserve an equal shot like anybody else. Everybody deserves to be happy”—she eyed him very carefully, holding his gaze, wanting him to understand what she was about to say—“because everybody is worthy of happiness. And some people get twisted for whatever reason, but all we can do is try our best to help each other.”

Takuma’s expression had gone from skeptical teenager to self-conscious child. He looked away from Ochako’s intensity, ruffling his hair anxiously. “You’re kinda gross, you know that?”

“I’m very aware,” she replied spiritedly. 

Shoto knocked on the door then. Ochako, who was still in her work uniform, groaned and pulled it open. Her frustration broke into open excitement at the enormous take-out bags in his hand. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Thought I’d pick up dinner.”

“You’re the best!” Ochako yelped, practically foaming at the mouth. “If you could just put that on the table, I’ll get out some dishes. I need to change first.”

After slipping into a t-shirt and shorts, she walked into the dining partition and found everything already laid out. Shoto walked out of her kitchen with utensils, saw her, and faltered to a stop. “I, uh, went through your cabinets, if that’s okay. And if it’s not, I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

Stunned, Ochako waved her hands. “No, that’s totally okay! I mean, it’s great, actually.” She hesitated, then pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. “Just don’t do it in my bedroom.” 

Shoto’s brows shot up. Takuma choked on the fresh blood he’d filched from Shoto’s bag. Ochako, doubling over, cackled.

Chapter Text

With dinner finished, she and Shoto began catering the dirtied dishes to the sink. Takuma got up and migrated towards the couch, only for Shoto to snap, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To watch TV?”

“You see dishes still on the table, don’t you?”

Eyes wide, he shook his half-full blood bag in the air incredulously. “They’re not my dishes!” 

“This is a socialist household, brat.”

“You suck, you know that?”

Ochako giggled suddenly. Both men—well, one man, the other, what, half a man? Technically a man?—looked at her. “You suck, Takuma. Literally!”

Takuma groaned and started picking up the utensils. There was no use pursuing further discourse with Shoto now that Ochako had ruined the atmosphere. 

Ochako followed Shoto into the kitchen with the last of the dishes, then gasped when he picked up the sponge. “Oh, you don’t have to,” she said hastily, slipping her dishes on top of his and then reaching for his hand. 

He frowned, dodging her grip. “I want to.”

Ochako blinked. “What?”

Shoto inspected her carefully. She seemed to be having a lot of trouble hearing these past few days. “I want to do your dishes.”

Heat rushed to her face. “Yeah, but like, why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why?’ They’re dishes, I want to do them. Let me do your dishes.” She was turning very red.

“Dishes are annoying!”

“Yes. So let me do your dishes.”

“No, but like, they’re annoying, so you don’t deserve to wash them any more than I do—”

Deserve to wash her dishes? This was getting crazy. “Ochako, it sounds like washing dishes annoys me much less than it annoys you. I’d say it’s worth giving you the time to relax if all I have to do is the dishes.”

Ochako stared slack-jawed. “R-relax?” she spluttered.

Shoto, soaping up the sponge, glanced at her in concern. She was acting very weird. “I see you running around the office all day.”

“We’re all busy.”

“I read case files and fill out documents. In my office. Unless I’ve got patrol, I stay in my office as much as I can. I saw you giving the new hires a tour. And then you were circling the floor on the phone with a vendor or something. You were talking about baklava and cream puffs like you were upset about it.” All while wearing impractical shoes, he almost added, but decided against it. But it was weird, in general, to be out of uniform during the workday. It must have been something unusual.

“You… you’re watching me?”

Shoto reeled back, heat swimming up his face. “I’m not watching you, you’re just noticeable.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So let me wash your dishes.”

Ochako fiddled awkwardly for a second. “I guess I just feel bad.”

“Why?” Truly, this was insanity. They were dishes, for god’s sake.

“It’s not like my job is actually any harder than yours, I mean, I don’t know. Just because you sit in your office all day except to patrol doesn’t mean I can assume it isn’t as emotionally and mentally taxing as what I do all day, so I can’t justify having you do my dishes when I’m perfectly capable of doing my own dishes, too. It’s unfair.”

“You’re overthinking this. If I was so stressed that I couldn’t do the dishes, I’d tell you, like you’d tell me.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying. I wouldn’t tell you. Because then you’d tell me you’re stressed, too, just like I am, and I know it’s unfair to make you do the dishes just because I don’t want to.”

Shoto shut the tap. The dishes were done. He placed the sponge back in its holder and turned to face Ochako, folding his arms. “I’m not Izuku, Ochako. I’m not stressed all the time. My plate’s pretty light because Izuku and Katsuki work like machines.”

Ochako flushed. “We might be the same amount of stressed sometimes though.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Sure. Then we’ll flip a coin over who does the dishes.” 

Ochako couldn’t think of anything to say. It was a weird conversation, and her insides felt hot. Plus, his arms looked nice crossed like that.

Huh?! What?! Mortified, Ochako turned away sharply. “Alright, you win. Just… keep me updated on your stress levels or something.”

Shoto chuckled behind her. The low sound of it made her ears burn. “Only if you do the same.”

“‘Course,” she mumbled.

“I’m going to head out now.”

“‘Kay,” she said, then faltered mid-step. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I’ll walk with you.”

Shoto picked his bag off the chair he’d hung it on, put his boots on, then waited as Ochako fussed over whether she should put a longer pair of pants on. She walked out of her bedroom a minute later having not changed at all. He didn’t ask questions, just let her out first.

On the stairs, she said, “He can’t read.”

“I heard.” 

Ochako, surprised, ogled him. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but it’d seemed like a bad time to interrupt. She cleared her throat and said, “It gets harder to learn the older you are.”

“Yeah. Should we hire a tutor?”

Ochako pursed her lips. “I’m kind of thinking maybe we get him little again and go from there.”

“Homeschool him?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure we’re qualified, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. How are we going to de-age him?”

“Maybe we could ask Koda for animals?”

Shoto looked at her askance. “Without telling him what they’re for?” Ochako winced. Shoto kept his smile to himself. “I think it’s a good idea, but maybe we should wait. Koda should be our last resort.”  

Ochako nodded in agreement. They’d reached the foot of the stairs. Shoto stopped to look at Ochako, and she fidgeted under his sudden attention. “What?”

“What you said to him.” Ochako stared at him, puzzled. “About deserving to be happy,” he clarified.

“Oh. Yeah.” She blushed at being overheard. Not that she had a problem with it, but Takuma had been right about it being cheesy. It’d felt important in the moment to impress upon him his value, though! He’d probably thought all his life that he wasn’t worth much! She started walking again, mostly to work off the nervous energy. “I thought he should hear it.”

Shoto kept up with her brisk pace easily. “It was… good. I would’ve done the same.”

“Oh! That’s… great! I’m glad we’re… aligned.” 

Shoto shot her an odd look. “Are you also glad that I reached out to touch base so that we could take this offline and move forward? Best regards, Todoroki Shoto, sent from my iPhone?”

Ochako burst into laughter and socked him in the arm. “I didn’t know what else to say!”

“I thought you didn’t do admin work after seven?”

Still laughing, she bumped her side against his. “Go home! You’re so annoying!” 

Shoto grinned at her, one of those broad ones that people rarely saw from him. Her insides flipped. She had to look away. 

They stopped under the streetlight, as it was as far as she needed to go. Really, she could have stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Thanks again for washing my dishes,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

He smirked. “Let it go, Ochako.”

She gaped. “Fine! No thanks at all, Shoto! Go home and do your own dishes, dammit!” She was pink in the face for whatever reason, but she was smiling again. 

“Will do. Night, Ochako.”

“Night, Shoto.”

Chapter Text

She came in the next morning to find Shoto seated in her office. A cup of coffee sat steaming on her desk. He was holding his own as he scrolled through his phone. 

“Good morning?” she greeted, bewildered. She took a seat and popped the cap off the coffee. It looked the right color. She snapped the lid back on and took a sip. Her eyes widened. This was good coffee, not the stuff she made in the break room every morning.

Shoto put his phone down. “I had a thought last night.”

Ochako, who was practically guzzling the beverage at this point, stopped. “About me?” she asked. Then flushed, because what was that supposed to mean?

Shoto frowned. Why did that sound like a trick question? Maybe he was projecting. “About your apartment?”

“My apartment?”

“I was thinking you should get a sleeper sofa. That way you’ll have two beds, since you don’t have a spare room.”

“What?” Ochako asked, alarmed.

Shoto was really starting to think she needed to get her ears checked. “A couch that you can pull out to be a bed. So that you can sleep on an actual mattress instead of the sofa.”

“Oh!” Oh my god! Where was her head these days?! Why did she think he’d meant he was planning to stay over?! God, she was embarrassing. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll take a look.”

“I’ve already emailed you a bunch of options,” Shoto said nonchalantly. When Ochako didn’t respond, he looked up from his phone—checking to make sure he’d actually sent it—to find her gawking. “Uh, is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine! I was just… surprised, is all. Thank you.”

“No problem. I assumed a budget, but let me know if they’re too expensive.” Honestly though, if they were too expensive, he’d just buy one for her and pretend he’d gotten it secondhand, because he had a feeling Ochako’s financial opinions were unreasonably stringent. It was a running joke in the office—that she was totally aware of and quite proud about—that everybody recognized her wardrobe because she bought new clothing so sparingly.

Speaking of her wardrobe. “You’re dressed up today.” She had her hair up, for one thing. Everybody in the office defaulted to their hero uniforms, and Ochako usually had her hair down or clipped away from her face.

Ochako, suddenly self-conscious, reached up to fiddle with her twist. “I’ve got meetings with a couple of venues. They’re less snobby if you look done-up.”

“What happened?”

Sighing, she shuffled around a few debriefs she had to sign off on. “The museum crapped out on me for a better deal, apparently. Didn’t even know they could do that, contract and all, but I guess I didn’t read the fine print finely enough.” She rolled her eyes. “Now I have to find a new caterer, too, since the last one was packaged with the venue. And a new seating chart and everything. Ugh!”

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. At least you got me coffee. That’s more than they can say.” Shoto huffed a laugh. Ochako smiled wryly. “How’d you know my order, anyway?”

“Texted Mina.”

Oh dear. That meant Mina was going to ask her about it, probably this very day. She was going to have to come up with an excuse.

“You’re pretty dressed up, too,” Ochako pointed out, trying to distract herself. He was wearing office clothes. Very unusual. He also had the sleeves rolled up, which was very nice, because he had nice forearms. 

Oh, shut the hell up! Ochako snapped at herself, trying not to bash her head into the wall.

“Board meeting,” Shoto answered, nose wrinkling. “I could go in my uniform, but they treat us differently. More like pawns than like equals.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not even the meeting I’m worried about”—there came a smashing sound and very familiar shouting in the direction of Katsuki’s office—“and that’s my cue to leave. Have a good rest of your day. I’m planning to be at your place around 6:30.”

“Again? You know you don’t have to—” 

“Morning, Mina,” Shoto nodded on his way out. Oh, fuck, thought Ochako. 

“Mornin’, Shoto! You’re lookin’ nice! Fuck ‘em up at that board meeting!” Mina shadowboxed the air with enthusiasm. Then she slid into the seat Shoto had just been sitting in. “Ooh, it’s warm,” she crooned. “Musta been here for a while, huh? He asked me for your coffee order, too. And what’s all this about dinner at your place?”

“Nobody said dinner!”

“Oh, so he’s gonna come at 6:30 and starve for fun? Kinky. You two have been weirdly close recently, huh? Like, I saw you stop by his office to wave, and he’s showing up in your office unannounced. You two were, like, never super close.”

“It’s just the arson case,” Ochako said in exasperation. When in doubt, settle for a revised truth. 

“Oh yeah, Kirishima and I work from home together all the time. If you catch my drift.”

“Mina,” Ochako admonished. “It’s purely professional.” That, too, was true. It wasn’t Shoto’s forearm’s fault that her thoughts were stupid and unprofessional.

“Aaw, that’s so boring. Well, whatever. I actually came to ask if you’d picked out a dress yet.”

“Oh, yeah, I was gonna send you some pics and let you choose?”

“Oooh, sounds good! Can’t wait! Thanks, babe!” She swept out of Ochako’s office with a cheeky grin and an excited wiggle of her fingers.

—

The moment she got home, she kicked off her heels and laid on the ground. The venues she’d visited had given her the run-around. Takuma walked over and loomed above her as he examined her in the supine. “I got that blood stain in the carpet out today,” he said.

Ochako nearly burst into tears. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.” What a good boy!

“I recycled all the blood bags, too. They were stacking up.”

Her eyes really did well up at that. “You’re the best!”

Truthfully, he’d overheard her conversation with Shoto about the dish-washing. It had been hysterical, and also kind of pathetic, in a sad way. “It’s whatever. I was gonna watch some more TV now.”

“Sure. Whaddya usually watch?”

“Medical dramas.” He pressed the power button.

“... Huh?”

His eyes were already glazing over. “Dunno. Human guts look cool, I guess?”

Teenagers, Ochako thought. Very weird. She pulled herself up to change in her bedroom, then made her way to the kitchen to dig around her fridge. She could make curry, maybe? She had enough roux for three people. Did she have enough carrots, though? Hm.

When Shoto knocked, she nearly gave herself a concussion on the corner of the fridge. Takuma opened the door, said, “hey,” then went right back to the TV. Shoto frowned at him. He was going to turn his brain to mush, with all that TV.

“Hey!” Ochako greeted, a little out of breath. “Oh!”

He was carrying more takeout. He glanced at the carrot in her hand. “Oh, were you going to cook?”

“I don’t have to, I just wasn’t sure. I probably should use my produce at some point, though. I don’t want it to spoil.” She’d paid for them, after all. 

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Food waste is a very serious issue, Shoto.”

He dropped the bags onto her dining table and held his hands up. “I’m not denying it.” Ochako squinted at him. He shrugged, smiling faintly. She moved towards the bags.

“Annoying,” she grumbled as she scrounged through them. Then she cooed, eyes lighting up. “Ooh, I love okonomiyaki”—she gasped—“Mochi?!”

“They were having a sale.”

“Cheap mochi?!” She shoved one in her mouth immediately. “Oh man. Tastes better than full-price mochi.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thanks!”

“No problem. Oh, and I realized in retrospect that I probably shouldn’t have asked Mina.”

Ochako waved it off, then covered her mouth, which was still full. “Eh, it’s fine. I told her it was for the arson case, which is technically true.”

“I’ll get plates,” Takuma said out of nowhere, disappearing into the kitchen. Ochako opened her mouth to ask how the board meeting had gone, only to jump at the sound of smashing dishware.

She and Shoto rushed into the kitchen, where Takuma stood alarmed. “Uh, sorry—”

“No, it’s fine, are you okay?” Ochako reached out for him at the same time that she stooped to pick up a shattered piece.

“Yeah—wait, don’t—”

“Ow!” The deceptively whole piece she’d picked up snapped on a faultline, the sharp edge tumbling towards her shin, catching the skin, and cutting all the way down to her foot. In the span of a second, Shoto lunged for Takuma, Takuma lunged for Ochako, and Ochako scrambled back towards the cabinets, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

To everybody’s great relief—namely Shoto and Ochako’s, since Takuma was no longer mentally present—instead of coming for Ochako, Takuma settled for the massacre pooling around Ochako’s foot. 

Her head was already spinning. “Um,” she mumbled, “probly need help.” Then she fainted.

Sighing, Shoto did the work of cleaning her leg up and wrapping it in gauze. He slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. Her head fell back and bounced. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Takuma gave no sign of comprehension. Shoto sighed again.

What a mess.

Chapter Text

Ochako gained consciousness in the midst of having her wound healed. After another blood transfusion, the obviously starstruck nurse, whose fluttering lashes kept darting to Shoto, sent them off with a friendly wave. Outside, Ochako said, “I’m not clumsy.”

“I never said you were.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I wasn’t, actually.”

“Oh? What were you thinking about?”

“He’s probably going to be older when we get back.”

“Oh, crap, you’re right. How old do you think he’ll be?”

“In his 20s, I think. Maybe 24? You lost a lot of blood.” It was kind of miraculous, Shoto thought, that Takuma had had Ochako’s blood twice now, yet she’d avoided, both times, the aphrodisiac Takuma used to render his victims pliant. Probably for the better. Her brief comment about not going through her bedroom drawers came to mind, but Shoto banished the thought as quickly as it’d come.

“Oh, jeez,” Ochako mumbled. “I’m going to need a bigger bed.”

Shoto looked at her in alarm. “You’re going to sleep with him?”

“What? No!” Ochako said, appalled. “He’s sleeping in my room, but I sleep on a full size. He’s taller than me as a teenager, so he’ll probably need a queen size or something at his full height.”

Right. Of course. “You should just move into a two bedroom.”

“That’s overkill, it’s not like I’m keeping him forever. Plus, I like where I’m at.”

The area was very run down, and her apartment wasn’t that nice, but she didn’t care. It was cheap, her neighbors were kind and often brought her gifts, and she did the same for them. Plus, the food was great because every shop in the vicinity was mom-and-pop shops. Most everybody knew who she was, but nobody paid any heed. 

There’d been an initial distrust, of course. She was relatively wealthy, and when wealthy individuals moved into low-cost areas, it often didn’t bode well. But she’d minded her own business for a year and a half while keeping crime off the streets without getting officials involved (after all, she could technically be the official), engaging in the community events, and being particularly good about keeping the kids out of trouble, so the locals had warmed. The best part was that the paparazzi didn’t follow her because they were afraid of the area, which was nonsensical, but worked out for her.

“Then you might as well get a queen-sized pull out bed like I suggested and relegate him to the couch. That way you don’t have to replace your bed, and you get an extra mattress for future visitors.”

Ochako snorted. “What visitors?”

“The girls? Your friends?”

“I go to them. There’s more to do in the city. I put my parents up in a hotel when they come by. My only ‘visitors’ are one night stands, and they get kicked out after if they’re not worthy.”

Ah. “Got it.”

“How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Three.” More than enough to house her, Takuma, and him, if it weren’t for the cameras following him around constantly if he entered or exited. Coming to Ochako’s was a breath of fresh air by comparison.

“Ooh, wow. You could host a lot of ‘visitors,’ huh?” She snickered.

“I haven’t slept with anyone since Momo.” It felt paramount, for some reason, to make that clear.

Ochako did a double-take. “What?!” For seven years?!

He shrugged. “Hard to trust anybody.”

“You could do what Katsuki does, make ‘em file a weekly STI report.”

Shoto shot her a reproachful look for suggesting he be anything like Katsuki. She snickered some more. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that I don’t tend to like anybody easily.”

“Ooooh, you mean like emotional trust. Aw.” Ochako smiled. That was kind of sweet. 

Shoto raised his eyebrows at her coo. “When was the last time you slept with someone?”

“Hmm,” she tapped her chin, gaze falling up as she racked her brain. It didn’t take long. “Four months ago.”

That was surprising. He would have thought much longer, given her allusion to… toys. “You told me not to go through your bedroom cabinets.”

“I mean, yeah, I self-service all the time”—Shoto pretended he didn’t hear that—“but sometimes it’s nice to have somebody else do the work, you know what I mean?”

“No.”

Ochako jerked around to blink at him. “What?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

She laughed nervously. “Whaddya mean, you don’t know what I mean? You don’t want to just… sit back and have somebody else do the work?”

Shoto frowned. “That sounds boring.”

Ochako stared at him. Then stared some more. 

Shoto, who could feel it, met her goggle-eyes and asked, “Are you okay?”

She turned bright red and twisted away. Izuku had been generous in bed, that had never been a problem. The problem was that ever since, she’d never met anybody half as selfless during sex, which made the whole thing a pain in the ass. If Shoto thought five months was recent, he would be astounded to know that when she’d first become single, she had brought someone home every weekend. She’d done that for months, getting increasingly frustrated until she was going one month, then two, then three, without inviting anybody back. She was up to half a year going solo these days. Two more months and she’d be at quota.

Just thinking about it was making her mad. They needed to change the topic. “What do you even do with two extra bedrooms?”

“One’s an office”—

“To read case files in,” they said in unison. Ochako cracked up. Shoto, who’d known it was coming, rolled his eyes, but was smiling.

“The other’s a gym.”

“You don’t have a gym at your complex?”

“It’s for the entire complex.” Having people stare was annoying.

“Why not use the agency gym?”

Shoto was quiet for a beat. Then he said, “Do you ever feel like Katsuki is always in the agency gym?”

Ochako crowed with laughter. “Yes!” Katsuki only ever seemed to be at the gym or on the streets. She never saw him in his office. It was a wonder he got any paperwork done. 

“He’s noisy.”

“It’s even worse when he’s sparring with Izuku in the mat rooms.”

“Yeah. So I set up a gym at home.”

“Hm. I should probably do that too.”

Their conversation petered into silence. They were only another block or two from her apartment. “The alternative to getting a pull-out bed or queen mattress,” Shoto suggested suddenly, “is to regress him to an age he’s smaller at.”

“I was thinking that, too,” Ochako said. “If we’re already going to de-age him to teach him how to read, I might as well put off buying another mattress. And I was thinking we could talk to somebody who would know more about early education? Maybe somebody with a quirk that can speed up retention? I don’t think it’s right to keep Takuma young if he’s not actually.”

“I agree. I’ll look around.” Perhaps he could start with Masegaki Primary School?

Ochako nodded. “I’ll see if Koda knows about any… humane hunting grounds.” 

Shoto snorted, which made her giggle. They arrived at her door, which, after turning her key, Ochako pushed open as if revealing a surprise. On the other side, Takuma popped up from under the dining table. They all stared at each other for a second. Then he stood up.

He was tall, and his clothing finally fit properly. There was a sponge in his hand; it was dyed red with blood. Ruffling his hair—still the short, blunt bob Ochako and Shoto had grown accustomed to—he stared at the ground awkwardly. “Uuuh… sorry. About that.”

His voice was less squeaky, too. Ochako, curious, peered closer at him. His eyes were still that bright red. She pulled away and grinned. “It’s alright. It happens.”

Takuma flushed, but said nothing. Shoto motioned at the kitchen, which was spotless. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” the now-grown man said. “Least I could do.”

He was so… polite. Ochako and Shoto exchanged a look. Then Ochako said, “We were kind of thinking—maybe we should turn you little again? We wanna teach you how to read. And stuff. I know you just turned your real age, but… it might be… better? We want to do it so that you don’t have to be young for too long. We’re hoping to talk to some early education professionals.”

Takuma stared, eyes wide, jaw hanging. “Really?”

The hope in his voice pinched the space behind Ochako’s eyes. “Yeah!” she exclaimed. 

“That’d be… really great.”

“Great!” Ochako clapped her hands together, looking from Takuma to Shoto. “Let’s do this!”

Takuma smiled at Ochako. Shoto watched him, trying to interpret the softness in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Ochako peeked into Koji’s office. He was absorbed in his work, brows furrowed in concentration. She knocked on the doorjamb to catch his attention, and when he looked up, she smiled. 

He smiled back, tentative as usual. “Hi, Ochako!”

“Hi, Koji! You free right now?”

His hands fell away from his keyboard. “Yeah, what’s up?” He was as soft spoken as he’d been in school. 

“You’re a vegan, right?” 

Perplexed, he nodded.

“So I know this is a weird question, but do you know any places where somebody could… hunt mammals, but, um, humanely?”

Koji smiled again, and it put Ochako at ease. “I sure do. Why?”

She’d prepared for this. “My, ah, cousin got this pet, and the store recommended, well, fresh meat. As fresh as he could manage, at least.”

“I didn’t know you had a cousin!”

“Oh, we weren’t that close until recently.” Ochako tugged on one of her bangs. She was not a good liar, had never been.

“I can definitely help.”

He pulled out one of his top drawers, withdrew a neatly folded map, then spread it across his desk. With a marker, he circled several large swathes of green. “This one is closest. It’s mostly small game, with the occasional deer.” He pointed at the farther locations. “These have a lot of boar, and more deer. The government actually gives out grants to people who apply to hunt them, the populations are so overgrown.”

Ochako ogled Koji ecstatically. Her hands came together in happy prayer. “This is perfect! Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” Koji blushed, pleased with the praise. He handed the map to her. “Anything else?”

Curious, Ochako asked, “It doesn’t bother you?”

He shook his head. “It’s the circle of life. I choose not to engage because humans are a little too apex, if you know what I mean, but I don’t blame others for it. We’re all animals. Animals eat each other. I’m just an herbivore.” He grinned. Ochako laughed.

“Thanks again,” she said warmly. “Can’t wait to see this year’s species re-population numbers!”

“Aw,” he flushed again and dismissed her with a flap of his hand. “Thanks, Ochako. See you around!”

Map in hand, Ochako jogged back to the elevators to share the good news with Shoto. She nearly bowled Toru over on her way, who yelped and grabbed Ochako to prevent the collision. 

“Dang, girlie, what’s got you so in a rush?”

“Oh, I just gotta show Shoto something,” Ochako laughed, pressing the up button a few times.

If Toru weren’t in her suit right now, Ochako would see her raised eyebrows. “Are you and Shoto close now? Mina kinda mentioned it.”

Ochako flustered. “No, it’s just this case we’re working on.”

“That arson case? Momo said they caught the perpetrator a while ago.”

“Yeah, it’s something else, I just, err, had a couple ideas about preventing things like that in the future. What are you on Koji’s floor for?”

“Oh,” Toru waved her hand in the air. “My team found five entire shiploads of exotic animals on that reconnaissance mission we got, we need to borrow a couple of people from Koji’s to figure out what to do about that before any of you guys go storming in.”

“So I’ll be hearing from you soon?”

Both Toru’s thumbs went up. “You betcha! Give it a coupla more days. And keep me updated on Shoto,” she teased before skipping off and leaving Ochako blushing in the lobby.

The elevator dinged behind her, and when she turned, Shoto, to her convenience, was inside. He was frowning in irritation, likely due to the sweat trailing down his temple and neck and into the collar of his uniform. His hair was slicked back, though Ochako suspected it wasn’t gel holding his coif in place, and he had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. At the sight of Ochako, though, his agitation slipped. “You look excited.”

“And you look hot!” she laughed, then blanched. “Not like that, I mean. You look sweaty, I mean. Don’t you have a cooling quirk?”

Shoto, whose eyebrows had flown into his hairline, snorted. His suit had malfunctioned halfway through patrol, and using his quirk to keep cool that long wasn’t worth the effort, especially when Hanta kept sidling up to him to use him as an A/C. “I have to send my suit to engineering.” Ochako tutted in sympathy. “It’s scalding outside. You’re going to get a lot of heatstroke comms when you patrol. When is that, by the way?”

“Tomorrow mornin’,” she said smugly.

Shoto scoffed. “Lucky you. Did they take you off afternoon and evening patrols? You were doing a lot of those.”

She nodded. “I sent a request in to change my schedule to mornings. I’ve got a kid to get home too now, y’know?” She nudged him in the ribs. 

“Your poor savings account.”

“Very tragic,” she said solemnly, then grinned widely at his reflection in the doors. Shoto quirked a smile back, and Ochako took sudden notice of how much taller he was than her. Her stomach flipped, and she tore her gaze away to focus on something else, anything else, that might divert her from her queasiness. “What’s in your bag?”

“I stopped by UA after patrol to ask Aizawa about their new preschool-daycare division. He ended up offloading a ton of workbooks and reading materials on me.” Shoto sighed and adjusted the duffle, which Ochako noticed for the first time was made in shades of grey. Very Aizawa. “Eri works part-time there, apparently.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Yeah. I think once Takuma’s little again, we can take him to her.”

“That’s so great!”

“Mhm. Looks like everything’s working out. What’s that?” He gestured at her map.

“Koji’s reccs!”

The elevator dinged on their stop. They strode out together and down the hallway, discussing next steps. “But how are we going to get him there?” Ochako pressed, voice low. “The grounds don’t have nighttime hours.”

“We’ll likely have to trap smaller game and bring them back.” Takuma was certainly too tall and too conspicuous right now.

“I have to look up if that’s allowed. And if it is, we’re going to have to get cages. Oh, did you know Stealth and Subversion found a bunch of exotic animals on that pirate raid the agency got called in for?” They were at her office. Ochako didn’t go inside, just lingered at her door while Shoto loomed over her.

“Yeah? Maybe they’ll pick up a few cages and we can haul them out of storage. Have you eaten yet?” Shoto opened her door behind her, then laid a gentle hand on her hip to spin her around and usher her in. Ochako, heart hammering suddenly in her chest, peered up at him over her shoulder, confused. “People are staring,” he murmured.

Heat raced up her face. “Oh,” she chuckled nervously. “Whoops!”

Was it really so strange for her to be seen with Shoto? Sure, they hadn’t worked together much until now, but it was widely known they’d been classmates and fought in the war together. Wouldn’t that imply a level of familiarity and closeness? Ochako fidgeted in her seat. 

Shoto dropped the paper bag he’d been holding in one hand, then pulled out three takeout containers. One was a plastic container of broth. He pushed the recyclable paper tray towards her. 

Ochako, puzzled, glanced at him as she pulled the lid off. A katsu sandwich, tempura, and a side salad. “Oh,” she said faintly. She glanced at the clock she kept on her desk. It was 2pm. “Yeah, I haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I figured.” He was too busy prying the lid off his soba’s dipping soup to catch the stricken look she wore. 

“I swear I don’t usually forget to eat,” she blurted. 

Shoto looked up, bemused. “I know.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Ochako squirmed in her seat. Shoto, again preoccupied with his noodles, was about to take a bite when Ochako, again, blurted, “I just don’t want you to think I’m some hypocrite that dumped Izuku for never taking care of himself, while I’m over here doing the same thing.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.” She spun side to side in her seat, fingers tapping on the edge of her desk. “Thanks.”

Shoto stared a bit, then laid his chopsticks down. “I know you can take care of yourself, Ochako. You’re just busy with a kid now.”

She shook her head. “That’s not an excuse not to take care of myself—”

“It’s not an excuse, it just happens.” He paused. She still looked uneasy. “I’m sure taking care of Izuku was like taking care of a kid. You’re not resentful of Takuma since he actually is a kid—”

“A 26-year-old kid.”

“Okay, yeah, a 26-year-old kid, but my point stands. You like taking care of Takuma because it’s an obligation you signed up for, so you forget your own needs. You didn’t like taking care of Izuku, because he’s an adult and everybody expects adults to take care of themselves to some degree. But Izuku needs to be babysat. And he’s not a baby. So you were having to unwillingly sacrifice your own needs for his.”

Ochako blinked at Shoto. Her throat was closing up like she was having an allergic reaction, except she hadn’t touched her food yet, and there was an uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes. “That makes sense,” she croaked, then cleared her throat.

“Can we eat now?” Shoto motioned at her sandwich with his chopsticks.

Ochako nodded fervently, picking up her sandwich to shove it in her mouth before she could do anything like start crying. 

Chapter Text

“Momo?” Ochako hissed from her bathroom stall. 

Momo, on the partition to her right, jumped. “Ochako?” she answered at full volume.

“Yeah.” Ochako maintained her whisper, for whatever reason.

“What’s the matter?”

“Could I talk to you about something? Privately?”

They both came out of their stalls at the same time, turned their faucets on in tandem, and soaped up in synchronicity. Ochako had been trying to chase her down all morning.

“Certainly. Is my office okay?”

“Yes!” Ochako held the door open for her, and Momo nodded in appreciation. “How’s Daisuke?”

Momo blushed, smile curling up her face. “He’s wonderful, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’m good!”

She didn’t look that good, Momo thought. Her brows, for one thing, were canted up in worry. There was also a small split on her bottom lip, and when Ochako drew that same lip in between her teeth to chew, Momo drew her own conclusions. 

They came up on her office, just around the corner, and Momo let her in, then shut the door behind her. “You don’t look very well, Ochako, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I had a question about Shoto,” she squeaked, then turned red in the face. 

Momo raised her eyebrows. “Shoto?”

“You used to say he was emotionally unavailable. What did you mean?”

“Oh! Goodness, that was so long ago. I’m sure he’s grown since then! I was very blunt about why I couldn’t be with him any longer. He tends to take those things to heart.”

“Right.” Ochako twiddled her thumbs. “But, um, I’m still curious, or I guess, I know you talked about it a lot, but I was just hoping—could you remind me?”

Momo cocked her head, examining Ochako. Finally, she elaborated. “He never talked much about things that upset him, or when he was worried. I would tell him repeatedly that I was there for him, that I wanted to listen. He’d thank me, then proceed, as always, to never share anything about how things made him feel, even things that were very obviously uncomfortable or distressing. I could tell when he was happy, but he always closed off when he wasn’t.

“He’d met my family the first year we’d been together, but he never even suggested I meet his in all three years that we were together. I began to question if perhaps I was moving too fast, but when I brought it up to him, he denied it. He never took action to remedy it, though. I’d try to bring up our future, or even individually-driven plans, but he never seemed to have much to say, or he’d say something vague that I couldn’t parlay into a future for us, together.

“The breaking point, really, was the last year. I felt so pushy asking him for more, I would always end up working myself into such a state. He tried his best, I could tell, but when I cried, he was so evidently uncomfortable. It made me feel like I was a burden. Which I’d expressed to him before, and he’d reassure me I wasn’t, but he was so… he was just so uncomfortable. It was hard to believe otherwise.”

She finished on a deep sigh. Ochako felt faint. What Momo had gone through sounded worse than what she’d gone through with Izuku, because Izuku had always been very emotionally in-tune with himself, and deeply concerned with the comfort of those around him, which led to involved conversations about how he was feeling, how Ochako was feeling, what the solution could be. His singular issue had been that the solution—to give her his time in the way that mattered most to her—was impossible. But he had always listened to and heard her, had even been patient when she was losing her temper on him, but it was ultimately something he didn’t want to compromise. 

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaked.

Momo smiled wryly. “It must sound like I resent him. I don’t. He had great qualities, too, he was certainly very self-sufficient. He fed himself, cleaned himself, was altogether very well-kept. I never felt like I was mothering him, necessarily, and he always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And he had moments where he met me emotionally. They were just few and far between. All the bad things are top of mind simply because you asked about Daisuke, and Daisuke is so unlike Shoto in the ways that I need that it’s easy to remember what I went through. I did that on purpose, though. Find somebody who suited what I learned were my needs.”

Ochako nodded. “Emotional needs are very important.” She sounded like a kindergartner, even to herself. Momo laughed. “When did you realize? That Shoto was…”

“I began to suspect it after the first year.”

Ochako’s eyes flew open, wide as pies. “Why did you stay?”

“Well, there was the fact that I thought perhaps I was being unreasonable, or that I had the wrong idea about how relationships worked. That these sort of things improved with time. And perhaps if I’d been outspoken earlier instead of doubting myself, Shoto might have learned and developed earlier. But by the time I’d expressed my frustrations with him, I was already at a point where I could bear it no longer.” Momo shrugged. “I’m told many first loves go that way.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Ochako stared distantly at a spot on Momo’s wall. What she was saying sounded a lot like how she’d first felt with Izuku. Except Momo had had the good sense to stop after one year, while Ochako had drawn it out for five. 

“There was also the fact that the sex was fantastic.” 

Ochako jerked back, jaw falling open. 

Momo smiled. “Do you like Shoto, Ochako?”

“No!” she yelped a little too quickly, though she didn’t seem to notice. “We’ve just been working together, and he’s been really, well, considerate, I guess, which maybe made me suspicious, and”—oh brother, she was rambling, she needed to cut herself off—“yeah. Suspicious. Yeah. That’s all.”

“Well, if he’s still as cold as he used to be, it shouldn’t be a problem in any sort of platonic relationship. In fact, I’ve always thought it worked to his benefit professionally. You win quite a lot of board meeting ‘discussions’”—she made air quotes—“being unreadable. But it’s been seven years since Shoto and I were together. That’s a lot of time to reflect and change.”

“‘Course,” Ochako laughed. It didn’t quite seem to reach her eyes, but she rose from her seat without seeking further reassurance. “Thanks, Momo.”

“Any time.” 

Hands under her chin, Momo watched Ochako turn the corner. Then she pulled out her phone and texted Kyoka.

—

Saturday at noon, Ochako and Shoto showed up at the hunting grounds Koji had recommended. Ochako, in sneakers, a pink tank top, and baggy linen shorts, looked around at the other customers. Shoto, beside her, scrolled through his emails with one hand while carrying a cage in the other. He had a t-shirt on under his undone button-down—two layers!—and, to Ochako’s further horror, he was wearing dark wash jeans. It was boiling outside!

“I don’t think we’re dressed right,” Ochako muttered through the corner of her mouth. All the other guests were wearing camouflage. She tugged on her baseball cap.

“Mhm. You’re going to get eaten alive by the mosquitos.”

“Well, you’re going to get cooked by the sun!” she huffed back, before remembering he had a cooling quirk. Lucky asshole. 

“Guess we have to make this quick.” Shoto slid his phone into his pocket and walked up to the counter. Ochako followed suit.

A few minutes later, they stepped past the double doors leading out onto the grounds. “What do we do now?” she asked aloud.

Shoto raised his hand. In the next moment, a pair of ears perked out of the grass, and Ochako heard a squeaking noise. She rushed over to check, and sure enough, Shoto had rooted the bunny’s paws to the earth with ice, which was quickly melting. 

“Okay!” she exclaimed, ecstatic. She tapped the rabbit and floated it into the cage, ice melting off along the way. The rabbit poked its snout out through the bars, eyes forlorn, and Ochako wilted. “Oh…” she whispered, understanding why Koji was a vegan. Remembering her own qualms when the idea had first come up.

Shoto, watching her, moved the cage out of her sightline. “Circle of life, Ochako.”

“I guess so,” she sighed, pushing onward through the grass. Shoto, behind her, smiled in amusement.

Two hours later, Ochako’s tank top was drenched from top to bottom, the backs of her knees were raw from constantly squatting while drenched with sweat, and when she took her hat off to fan herself, she had appalling hat hair. Appalling. Shoto looked fine, and it made her want to kick him. 

At least they had three rabbits. “Thanks for carrying that,” Ochako wheezed. The moment they stepped back into the A/C, she stretched her arms above her head and moaned.

Her sports bra, if that was what she was wearing, was evidently very thin. Shoto looked away. “No problem. Ready to go back?”

“Gimme a second,” she sighed. She pushed back her sweaty strands, fanned herself a bit more, then nodded. She was flushed from her chest up. Shoto continued to look elsewhere. “Alright. Good to go.”

On the way back to her apartment, they picked up popsicles to share from a street vendor. Ochako split it in half, handing the blue side to Shoto, and taking the red side for herself. She made another happy sound when she stuck it in her mouth. Shoto pretended not to hear it and continued to stare straight ahead.

“I hope he likes it,” Ochako murmured outside her door, like they were about to throw Takuma a surprise party. Shoto pursed his lips to withhold laughter.

“I’m sure he will. At the very least, he’ll appreciate the effort.” Takuma’s softness towards Ochako came to mind. 

Ochako grinned sunnily at his reassurance. She turned her key, opened her door, and peeked in. Takuma looked away from the TV. “Hi!” she said, stepping in fully. Then she splayed her arms out to reveal Shoto, who held up the cage of rabbits. Their noses wiggled contentedly, having already grown accustomed to their new metal habitat.

“Oh! Uh—thanks!”

“Do you want, err, a napkin, or something? Do you need utensils?” Ochako took Takuma’s lead, kneeling to the ground when he knelt to peer into the bars, then coming back to a stand when he did. 

Takuma moved into the tiled kitchen. He blushed. He was so markedly different as an adult, it could be startling. “It’s fine. I’ll eat here so it’s easier to clean up later. You don’t have to watch.”

“Oh! Okay.” Ochako stared at him uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Okay. I’m, um, going to shower then. If that’s okay?” She glanced at Shoto for that.

“Go ahead,” he said. Then he looked at Takuma. “How long will it take you to regress?” 

“An hour, maybe shorter. It’s faster when I’ve been keeping well-fed. You can wait in the living room, if you’d like. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

“Alright. See you.” Shoto picked himself up, moved to the couch, and pulled his phone out.

After a long, cold shower, Ochako slipped out of her bathroom in an oversized shirt and bike shorts. She’d pulled her hair up to keep it off her back, but a few loose strands dampened the occasional patch of her clothing. It was quiet except for the bathroom vent, so she tiptoed into the living room.

It’d only been 30 minutes, but Shoto was asleep on the couch, head tipped back against the wall. Takuma, now looking about four years old, glanced up from the TV. He had his knees pulled to his chest. He waved shyly at Ochako. “Hi,” he said, voice quiet and high.

She smiled, heart picking up speed. He was so small and cute. “Hi, Takuma. How’re you feeling?”

He nodded, ducking his chin into his knees. “Mister Shoto helped me put the bunnies in the dirt.”

“Oh, that’s so good of you. It must have been hard work.”

Takuma nodded eagerly. “Mister Shoto digged. I putted the dirt on top.”

“I’m proud of you!”

Takuma beamed.

Chapter Text

“Ochako.”

“I’m just worried, okay?”

“This is overkill.”

“No, it’s not! I don’t want him to get hurt!”

“There’s nothing to hurt, you’ve turned him into a snowman.”

Ochako continued to smother Takuma in sunscreen. He looked like an iced cake. “It hurts when he gets burned. I just don’t want him to get hurt. You don’t want to get hurt, right, Takuma?”

“No.” The little boy swept some of the sunscreen off his lips. Ochako promptly dabbed his mouth with some more. The poor kid was nothing more than a snowdrift and two cherry lumps towards the top of its head-shaped mound. Those cherry lumps eyed Shoto warily.

“He’ll be fine, Ochako. He was fine four layers ago.” She was on her second bottle. Not travel-size.

She pursed her lips. “Okay, fine. Let me run to the bathroom one more time.”

She pattered off in her dress. Once out of sight, Shoto crouched with the towel he had in his hand and wiped Takuma down so that he was still coated, but not caked. “Thank you,” Takuma mumbled through a mouth full of cotton.

“Don’t tell your mom.” Shoto stood up, using a clean spot on the towel to wipe his hands off. 

Takuma proceeded to grab onto one of Shoto’s just cleaned hands with his tiny, sunscreen sopped ones. He was so small now, it was disorienting. “Mister Shoto, if Ochako’s mama, are you daddy?”

“Err—”

The toilet flushed and Ochako reappeared. “Ready?” she smiled, taking Takuma’s other hand. 

“Ready!” Takuma grinned.

They made their way to the train station together. Takuma stared out the window at the interchanging advertisements and scenery. It was just past morning, and both Ochako and Shoto had taken the first half of the day off to meet Eri at their alma mater. The weather was finally beginning to drop from its record highs.

“What’s that?” Takuma asked for the sixth time in ten minutes, tugging on Shoto’s hand every time. 

“That’s a telephone pole,” he said without an inkling of exasperation. By now, he’d explained cows, horses, books, bicycles, and keyrings. It was adorable, hilarious, and a little heartbreaking.

“Why?”

“I don’t know why, but it lets people make calls.”

“Calls?”

Shoto blinked at him. Then he took out his phone, dialed a “1,” and held it up to one of Takuma’s ears. Ochako, who was reading one of the books Aizawa had dumped on Shoto, started at the sound of her phone. She fumbled to bookmark her page and unflip her phone at the same time. Without bothering to check the caller, she answered. “Hello?”

Takuma stared, slack-jawed, from Shoto to Ochako. “Mommy?” he said, then giggled when he heard it from Ochako’s end.

Ochako smiled, sharing a look with Shoto. “Hi, Takuma.”

“Bye, mommy,” he giggled again, then turned away from Shoto’s phone. Then he pointed at a bird. Shoto ended the call, shrugging at Ochako, who grinned from ear to ear. “What’s that?”

“A bird?” Shoto furrowed his brow.

“No,” Takuma said confidently. “I never eated that one. It’s big.”

A couple of passengers glanced at Takuma. Ochako laughed a little shrilly and waved her hand in the air. “He’s kidding,” she explained. The adults with kids in tow laughed in understanding. 

“It’s an eagle,” Shoto corrected, understanding now. 

“It’s good.”

“You like it?” Takuma nodded. “Your mom and I have a friend who’s like a bird. A raven. Those are pretty big, too.”

Takuma gasped.

“Mhm.” Shoto began to explain, in low tones out of consideration for the other passengers, who Fumikage was.

Passive as Shoto’s face always was, his obvious interest in Takuma made Ochako’s insides do weird things. He didn’t seem emotionally unavailable, but children were different, and Shoto was hyper-vigilant about treating children well. Not that it mattered anyway, since it wasn’t like this was a thing, she and Shoto, Takuma and them, Shoto and Ochako and Takuma, the Todorokis, Urarakas, us, we, me and him—Ochako ripped open the book on her lap and forced her thoughts elsewhere.

“We’re here,” said Shoto.

Ochako shot out of her seat like a bullet. Shoto, who yanked Takuma out of the way, narrowly dodged getting clipped in the chin. “Thank you!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, then flushed when a few passengers eyed her disapprovingly.

Out on the streets, Shoto asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m just worried,” Ochako babbled, keeping an eye on Takuma as he leapt over cracks in the sidewalk. “Eight hours is so long. What if he misses us so much they can’t get him down for nap time? Or he gets bullied? What if he can’t make friends? I mean, I trust Eri, but there’s only so much she can control. And what if he feels left out at snack time? And what if they don’t put enough sunscreen on him for recess—”

“Ochako.” Shoto laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped. “Breathe. You’re freaking out. He’s going to be okay. Eri’s been doing this for a while. And she’s Eri. At UA.”

“You’re not worried?”

“I’m worried he’s going to get burnt during recess”—Ochako felt reassured that he shared her feelings on that; she would make sure to emphasize that Takuma needed at least three times the amount of sunscreen any normal being needed—“and that he’s going to ask all the other kids what a rock is, but he’s a good kid. He’s going to make friends.”

“Right. You’re right.” Ochako laughed, a little hysterically. “God, this is scary.”

“Yeah. It is. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

His palm, which had been on her shoulder, had slid to the back of her neck at some point. He didn’t seem to notice, but he gave a squeeze, then dropped his hand to catch Takuma before he tripped over an uneven crack in the ground. Shoto lifted Takuma up into the air by his sides, then deposited him over his head so that he sat on his shoulders. Despite the weather, goosebumps erupted over Ochako’s arms. 

At the new daycare center, Eri assured Ochako repeatedly that Takuma would be okay, that she and her team knew what they were doing. When Ochako apologized for being annoying, Eri laughed and told her she wasn’t being annoying, she was being a mom, and this was completely normal. And then, before Ochako and Shoto left, Eri said, “I mean, we modelled this program after the programs you’ve set up, Ochako. It’s worked so far. If there’s anybody you can trust, it’s yourself.”

Ochako did a double-take so hard, Shoto had to catch her to make sure she didn’t knock him out with her. “My programs?”

“Yeah! Aizawa thought it was smart, so he allocated funding towards a new childcare center, since he’s the new principal and all. It’s good for the older kids to figure out how to work with kids, too!”

“Wow, that’s—I’m so—thank you!”

“Mhm! Okay, have a good day, see you later!” Eri rushed over to a screeching kid.

Takuma was already wreaking havoc on the playtime carpet with the other children. He hadn’t even cried when Ochako had let him go. Meanwhile, Ochako was clearly choking back tears as they walked through the automatic doors.

“God, now I’m annoyed that I moved my patrol hours to the morning. Should I switch to afternoon shifts? But then who’s gonna pick him up—”

“I’ll drop him off in the mornings. You can pick him up.”

“That’s so inconvenient for you! We should switch, I’ll drop him off in the mornings, you can pick him up and stop by my place—”

“It’s not inconvenient for me. It’ll be easier for me to pick up dinner if I go straight from patrol, anyway.”

“I guess that’s true.” Ochako calmed. They stepped onto the train, and Shoto offered her the only seat available. Then she picked right back up. “Do you really think it’s okay for them to be using my program? I don’t even know if it’s perfect, I definitely didn’t think it was when I finally gave up on perfecting it and just pushed it out, I mean, it was more important to have something than to have nothing, right, like—”

Shoto, who was standing in front of her, released the hanging strap he’d been holding onto and leaned over Ochako to grip the back of her seat, putting his face level to hers. Ochako flinched back. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, Ochako. It just needs to be good. And you’re definitely good enough. More than. Relax.”

He was so close. Their noses were practically touching. She could feel his breath on her face, warm and cinnamon-y. “Thank you,” she squeaked, blushing when it came out breathier than she meant for it to.

Shoto blinked at the sound of it. He righted himself and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course.” Then he stared out the window behind Ochako while she stared out the window behind him. They spent the rest of the ride in silence.

At the office, they stopped between the locker rooms. “I told Eri I’d pick him up at six.”

Shoto nodded. “I’ll be back at seven.”

“I’m showing the newbies the patrol routes today, so I’ve gotta get into uniform.”

“Same. They want me tailing the Armored Trucks today.”

“Ooh. I hate bank days.”

“Mhm. Very boring. But I guess that’s a good thing.”

The conversation didn’t seem quite over, though neither could figure out what it was. “Thanks again,” Ochako said, clasping her hands behind her back so that she didn’t do something ridiculous like offer him a handshake. 

“See you.” Shoto lifted a hand in awkward salutation. 

“Yup, bye!” Ochako darted into the women’s changing room to defuse the strangeness altogether.

Chapter Text

The weekend seemed to take forever to come, but once it did, it felt as though the week had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Ochako, in shorts and a t-shirt, sat on the floor while Takuma colored in a book. He narrated every color he used and every moment he switched, and he named the objects as he filled them with haphazard crayon marks. On occasion, he spelled them. Pride welled up inside Ochako.

Eri had a teammate who specialized in memory retention. Their quirk wasn’t meant for general purposes, only emergency situations, and in the consultation Eri had had with Ochako after Takuma’s first day, she’d relieved Ochako of several worries when she’d told her that Takuma was a prime candidate for her teammate’s quirk. The teammate had assessed him to have astonishing neuroplasticity, and surmised it was because his quirk induced biological growth and regression. That likely required a level of flexibility from the brain.

Ochako was happy to know that grown-Takuma would be able to have a happy, normal life. She was sad to watch little-Takuma color and know that it’d be over soon, given how quickly the week had flown by. Wow, she thought. Parenting sucks. 

Her phone dinged. She picked it up, grinned, and snapped a picture of Takuma’s coloring. Another second later, Shoto replied.

That’s not a ladybug.

Snickering, Ochako replied, I guess you’ve never seen a ladybug before.

I don’t know what to tell you, Ochako. Ladybugs aren’t electric blue with orange zigzags.

You might be colorblind, Ochako typed back.

Maybe. That wouldn’t explain the zigzags.

Still smiling, Ochako set her phone down. “Bug,” Takuma exclaimed out loud to nobody. “B-U-G.”

Her phone pinged again. Can I come over?

Her stomach flipped. ‘Course you can!

“Your eyes are funny, mommy,” Takuma said suddenly. Ochako looked up, baffled. “Is Mister Shoto coming?”

“Mhm! You wanna clean up and get ready for dinner?”

“Bloooooood!” Takuma shouted as he raced to put away his things, then hurtled towards the bathroom.

Ochako moved to the kitchen to prep. The oyakodon was nearly done when Shoto knocked on her door. Takuma pulled the door open with what seemed to be all his strength. Shoto let him, then thanked him for the courtesy. He had a paper bag in his arms.

“I already cooked.” Ochako waved her ladle in the air.

“These are groceries.”

“Huh?”

“Your fridge looked empty last time I was here.”

She had had to do a bit of scrounging to come up with tonight’s dinner. Still, since when did he check the contents of her refrigerator? 

Shoto shot her an amused look. “I keep the blood bags in there.”

“Oh!” Right! She knew that! “Thank you!”

“Mhm.” He was already inside her fridge, putting things in place. “It’s kind of amazing that you kept Izuku in line.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stood up, shut her fridge, and grinned at her. “Nothing.”

Ochako harumphed, then asked, “How’d that board meeting go?” 

“Annoying. The government is annoying.”

Ochako laughed as she scooped rice into three bowls. “You three do a good job of keeping them as uninvolved as possible.”

Shoto nodded contemplatively. “It works surprisingly well. Izuku does the actual brokering, Katsuki wears them out until they’re too tired to fight back, I intimidate them into submission.” He paused, frowning. “Am I scary?”

Ochako scoffed. “You have a kid’s festival named after you.”

“My name isn’t Five Weenies,” he said frankly, though his frown turned up at the corners. 

Takuma, who had just walked in, looked up at Shoto. “Your name’s Weenies?”

Shoto laid upon Ochako the most loaded of blank looks she’d ever seen. She swallowed back her laughter. “How’s planning going?” he asked, warding off Takuma’s question on nomenclature. Takuma brought his things from the living room to the dining table and pestered Shoto to watch him as he colored. So Shoto watched Takuma as he colored.

“The venue keeps wanting to add things because they know there are going to be reporters and PR reps everywhere, and I keep telling them the point is the kids, not how fancy their venue is. And I don’t want to waste my time picking out balloon colors when the recent initiates still need to be onboarded.”

“We’re surrounded by idiots.” Shoto set the saucier on the table.

“Unfortunately,” Ochako sighed, passing a rice bowl to him. Then she returned to the kitchen to wash her hands. Takuma bolted to her, and she lifted him to do the same. 

Shoto followed her in. “Do you need somebody to babysit the evening of the Gala?”

“Are you offering? Because you’re on the guest list.” She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say anything but that he wasn’t going. Takuma squirmed out of her hold to dig through the fridge for blood.

“Does that make it mandatory? I’d actually want to go if there were kids, but it’s always just heroes, and all they want to talk about is work. Or the rankings. I’m surprised you like going, if it weren’t for the fact you organize it.”

Shoto, reaching back into the fridge because Takuma couldn’t, realized belatedly that he didn’t sound exactly supportive, but Ochako didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she made nothing of it. 

“The food is good,” she said nonchalantly. His brows shot up. Ochako giggled. “I don’t know, it’s fun because it’s silly. The girls and I have this gag where we make bets on lots of stuff, or we have to drink every time somebody mentions something. Like rankings. And then at the end of the night, there’s tons of money for the hospital. And the rehabilitation center! I can handle talking shop for a little, if that’s what it takes. I also get very drunk, so there’s that. People love to talk about the rankings.”

“I’ve gone every year, just so you know. You should’ve told me there were bets ongoing.”

Ochako smirked at him. “I wasn’t gonna be offended if you said you never go. Katsuki has never been, not even to the first one.”

“You’re going to have to stop using Katsuki as a standard of measure if you want to sustain our friendship.”

Ochako cracked up. “You’re so easy!”

“Not true.” He changed the topic deftly. “If half the city is invited to the gala except Katsuki—”

“Oh, he’s invited, he just doesn’t come.”

Shoto corrected himself. “If half the city is invited to the gala and Katsuki’s just an asshole”—Ochako snickered—“we could drop Takuma off with him?”

Ochako looked at him in surprise as she wiped blood that had splashed onto Takuma’s cheek. “But we’d have to tell him.” 

“Have you ever known him to be a gossip?”

Takuma pranced away. Ochako folded her arms, leaning into the sink and biting her lip. “Touché.”

“Hungryyyyy, I’m huuungryyyy,” Takuma whined from the dining table, desperately kneading at his now-empty blood bag. 

Ochako extracted a second blood bag from the fridge. “We can talk about it after dinner.”

“Mm.”

—

Takuma was in the bath. Ochako had worried initially, when he fussed and wanted to be left alone in the tub, that he would drown on his own, but soon found that he never stopped talking while bathing. In moments of silence, she called out to check, and he promptly called back, then launched into another litany of battleship noises and incomprehensible explanations of said battleships.

Still, she sat outside the bathroom door. Shoto accompanied her, back against the other side of the door. They looked like bodyguards. 

“I’ve never seen you with a date at the gala,” she said.

“Is it necessary?”

“If it were necessary, you wouldn’t have been allowed in, don’tcha think?”

“I’m a co-founder of the agency. I’d be appalled if I was barred entry from an event a colleague within my own agency organized.”

“Oh, so you think you deserve special treatment just because you did something important?”

Shoto smiled, but didn’t answer. Ochako rolled her eyes and nudged his knee with her slippered foot. “No, I don’t. And to answer your previous question, I’d rather not be attached to someone all night.”

“Who said you have to be attached all night? It’s just nice to have a fallback to talk to when everybody’s busy schmoozing.”

“I never see you with a date.”

“I’m too busy schmoozing, I always ditch my date two drinks in.”

“Always? How many times have you gone with a date?”

“Every year. It’s an easy way to ward off people I don’t wanna talk to.”

“You? You have people you don’t want to talk to?”

“The older men can be a little handsy.” She grimaced. “Some of the younger guys, too.”

He frowned. If Katsuki never went and she no longer attended with Izuku, there was nobody in their class left to be intimidating enough to discourage foul play. Koji and Mashirao, despite their sizes, had faces too friendly to fear (this was a popularly held opinion amongst the masses. It made them very effective for good cop-bad cop operations, though), Mezou went every year with Toru (this, everybody knew), and Fumikage paired off with Tsuyu for all events. Hitoshi, come to think of it, always seemed to disappear halfway through the evening.

“Who have you gone with?” he asked, unable to think up any alternatives.

“Well, after I split with Izuku, I kinda just defaulted to Inasa. We have a standing agreement, actually. Takuma?”

On the other side of the door, Takuma, who had gone quiet, began to babble again. Shoto, meanwhile, stared at the flooring as her words wound the cogs in his head. “Inasa?” he parrotted, dumbfounded. “How do you know Inasa?”

“We met on an app.” Using Mina’s phone. But Ochako did not elucidate any further. 

“Oh.” Shoto did not want to hear the rest of the explanation. Except something else she’d said picked at him. “Standing agreement?”

“He goes with me to the gala, I go on a date with him. Basically.” After a beat, she felt the need to clarify, even though she knew it didn’t matter. Heat flushed up her ears. “It’s not romantic. He wants the paps to catch us. It boosts his social media numbers.”

Shoto’s eyebrows flew up. As far as he’d known, Inasa was a good guy, even to people who didn’t deserve it. He would know. “That’s shady.”

“Well, actually, he also does a lot of advocacy work for kids, which is why I agreed in the first place. The more popular he is, the better his efforts go, too. And that benefits me, since I care about that stuff.”

That was more in-line with the Inasa that Shoto knew. It also, for some inexplicable reason, irritated Shoto. “Were you planning on defaulting this year, too?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty good company, so it’s easy.”

“I never heard that you two were dating.” Her romantic endeavors tended to make tabloid headlines.

Ochako winced. “‘Cause we never did. He’s a good guy, and he’s easy to talk to. He’s just… got some quirks.”

“We all have quirks. I even have two.”

She batted him on the arm, smiling reproachfully. He smiled faintly, though he didn’t meet her eyes. It made her a little nervous. “He chews with his mouth open.”

“Yikes.”

“Right?! I can get over the snoring, but—” Ochako stopped abruptly. “We slept together a few times,” she admitted immediately, knowing there was no way to recover from her slip up. Not that she was ashamed. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had that whole conversation with Shoto about sleeping with other people since their break ups. But she knew Shoto knew Inasa personally, was even friends with him, and it felt weird, for whatever reason.

Shoto leaned back against the doorjamb. So Inasa was worthy of staying the night. Interesting. “Considering the benefits you both receive from your standing agreement, I’m assuming you’re not looking to replace Inasa?”

Ochako stared owlishly at him. “It’s not off the table,” she answered, voice sounding far away to herself.

“Ah. Good to know.”

They petered out into silence. Which, a few seconds later, Ochako realized. “Takuma?!” she shouted.

Takuma shouted back, elated, and again began exploding more battleships.

Chapter Text

Tuesday evening, Ochako picked Takuma up. In the middle of dinner, her emergency buzzer went off. “Oh, fuck!” she spat, tearing up from the table to throw her suit on.

“O-fuck?” Takuma repeated, looking up from his blood bag. 

“No, no, don’t repeat that, it’s a bad word. Mommy’ll be back, okay? Be good, please? If you’re good, we can watch TV before you go to bed!”

“Be good” meant “don’t color on anything but paper, don’t play with the knives in the kitchen, don’t use the bathtub, and don’t climb the shelves or the tables.” The last three were Ochako’s fears. The first was a reality, one she’d spent three hours scrubbing off the walls yesterday evening.

Takuma’s eyes lit up. “How much?”

“30 minutes.”

“Okay! Bye, mama!”

It was inevitable that this would happen, yet she, for whatever reason, was not prepared for it. Ochako fidgeted desperately as she waited, after knocking, for her neighbor to open her door. Eventually, a little old lady peered through the gap, bespectacled eyes bleary in that old-person way. “Ochako, dearie! How are you?”

“Hi, Miss Akiyama! I’m so sorry to bother you, it’s just, I have a work emergency, and I have to leave my, um, nephew who’s visiting, at home alone. I’m worried he might hurt himself, so I was hoping you could check if you hear any loud noises through the wall?”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart!”

“Thank you so much!” Ochako handed her a spare key.

“Of course, pumpkin. Now, you best be on your way! Stay safe!”

Ochako was never really sure if Miss Akiyama knew who she was or what she did. Still, she waved behind her as she leapt off the railing. “Thanks Miss Akiyama! I’ll be back in a few hours!”

As if on cue, there was a loud shriek, then a violent explosion in the distance. Ochako yelped at the vibration that hit her and the way it made her ears pop. The closer she bounded towards the city, the more of her peers appeared alongside her. She was too busy trying to force the equilibrium back into her sinuses to notice when Shoto slid up beside her.

“What are you doing here?” he yelled over the roar.

Ochako stumbled in the air. “Whaddya mean, what am I doing here?! This is my job!”

“I mean if you’re here, where’s Takuma?”

“I had to leave him at home! It’s not like anybody could babysit, they’re all here! And I don’t know where Eri lives! And even if I did, it wouldn’t be fair to make her babysit on such short notice!”

“What if he draws on your walls again?”

“I asked my neighbor to check if she hears any loud noises!”

“Your neighbor doesn’t look like she can hear.”

“RudeACK!”

Shoto yanked her aside. A needle skimmed her uniform, leaving a thin gap. “I’m distracting you. I’m sorry.” 

She sighed and shook her head. At least he recognized it. 

Blood began to seep out of the wound, more than Ochako expected. Tsking, she pressed a hand to the wound to staunch it, then planted her feet on Shoto’s slide, grabbed the back of his collar, and released the gravitational pull on both of them. They flew down the decline, then raced up the next incline from sheer momentum until Ochako grabbed a telephone pole and launched Shoto towards the epicenter of the havoc with a shove of her legs. On the forward swing, she let go and followed after him. 

“Uravity!” Katsuki bellowed from behind her. With another sigh, she held out her hand. Katsuki slapped it as he blasted by. He turned into a blur. 

“—three floors evacuated in the southeast building on—”

“—two targets heading for the northwest wing of Suzuki Bank HQ, requesting backup—”

“—we’ve got a couple of families stranded on the roof south of—”

Ochako punched a button on her headset for the agency line. “Shoto, can you set up a slide for every building around the perim”—

“Got it.”

In an instant, ice erupted from the ground, carving towards the roof of every building in the vicinity. The pavement iced over. Ochako skated up one slide, checking windows for stragglers. There were entire crowds waving, panicked, through the glass.

She sighed once more. Looked like a long night.

—

They finished at 10pm. Ochako had just set a civilian down in a safe park nearby when the quaking settled. The huddled masses got up slowly. Then, seeing the air beginning to clear, they cheered.

“—we’ve got Deku closing up the perimeter for cleanup—”

“—nice job everyone—”

“—can somebody give me Lemillion’s coordinates? He told me to hold onto his underwear—”

“—aaaalright, that’s my cue to sign off, night everybody—”

“—yeah, sounds like you all have it handled, I’ve gotta get home to my—”

Ochako shrieked when she was swept off her feet. “Hey!” she snapped, struggling in Shoto’s arms. Her twisting re-opened her earlier wound.

“You’re bleeding.”

Ochako gave him a look like ya think? “There must be an anti-coagulant in that guy’s horns.”

“Can you walk?” Shoto crouched to set her legs to the ground.

Ochako took one step forward—”Of course I can walk!”—then promptly collapsed. She ogled Shoto in bewilderment. “I swear I was walking five minutes ago.”

“One of them had poisoned needles. You probably got hit at the beginning by him, he was running around the perimeter. The adrenaline must have kept the poison at bay.”

“Anybody else get hit?”

“No.”

Well, that was good, though it was just her luck. Shoto was far more cut up than her, but of course she had to be the one to get poisoned. Ochako, groaning, allowed Shoto to pick her back up. She looped her arms around his neck, then wrinkled her nose. “You can have the first shower.”

He chuckled, and she felt the sound against her body. Heat raced up her face. She pulled away slightly. Shoto was skating through the sky on his ice at an all too leisurely pace. “People are gonna see us,” she commented.

“Hey guys!” Toru, riding on Dark Shadow with Fumikage, shouted as she passed by. She wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Have a good niiiiight!” The trio swerved left, away from Shoto and Ochako.

The duo watched in silence. Then Shoto said, “Guess so.” He smiled to himself when Ochako whacked him on the chest.

15 minutes later, Shoto dropped Ochako gently to her feet. She wobbled a bit, but was able to keep herself upright. Miss Akiyama, hearing their landing—Ochako pinned Shoto with an I-told-you-she-can-hear look—returned Ochako’s key.

“You treat my Ochako nice now, you hear, dearie?” she said to Shoto in that feeble way old people sometimes spoke. 

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Thanks again, Miss Akiyama,” Ochako flustered, bowing and dragging Shoto away. He waved pleasantly at Miss Akiyama, who watched in that harmless way clueless people often did.

Inside, Shoto tore his boots off. Takuma stumbled up to them, excited. “TV?”

“Gimme a minute, Takuma,” Ochako said, heading for the kitchen to wipe up the worst of the dried blood.

“I shouldn’t take long,” Shoto said from the hallway as he pulled from the spare pile of clothing he left in her linens closet.

“Take your time,” she called back. 

The showerhead squealed when first turned on, gave a few spits of water, then hissed into a strong, steady flow. The spray drowned out the sound of Takuma chattering at Ochako that floated in through the wall butted up against the kitchen.

10 minutes later, Shoto turned the faucet off and toweled himself dry. In the middle of pulling a pair of pants on, he realized how eerily quiet it was. Pausing, he frowned and listened closely. Still nothing. Perhaps Ochako had already put Takuma to bed? But earlier when they’d come in, Takuma’s plea had made it sound like Ochako had promised him TV time.

Shoto pushed open the bathroom door. Every hair on his body rose, instincts kicking into high gear. He bolted around the hallway corner, the kitchen partition, then ripped Takuma off Ochako, dragging the little boy, kicking and screaming, into Ochako’s bedroom. Shoto shut the door, froze the lock, and blockaded the whole thing with a solid sheet of ice so that no sound could come through. Then he sprinted back to the kitchen, sliding to Ochako on his knees. 

There was dried blood running down the length of her left arm. It was the first wound, the one from the fight, and just above the gash, two pinpoints. Takuma’s fangs. The wound must have reopened, but it was already scabbing over. Ochako reached a hand tentatively to the drying scar, but faltered when Shoto moved towards her.

His hand hovered over hers. “How long was he—”

Ochako blinked up at him. The usual brown of her gaze was darker. Syrupy. “Shoto?” she breathed. Her hand came towards him instead, the rest of her body following suit.

Shoto inched back, away from her outstretched fingers, alarm bells blaring in his head. “Ochako—”

She whimpered. “I want you. I want you so, so bad.”

Chapter Text

He was 16 again, the way his dick rose instantly to the occasion. And somehow, he still managed to scramble backwards, away from Ochako, only to back into the cabinets on the opposite side. Ochako crawled up to him, climbing into his lap, pressing her fingers against his chest. Her breathing hitched. She bit her bottom lip and peered through her lashes at him. The space behind his navel jerked. 

“Shoto,” she whispered, pulling into him, closing the space between them. Her lips found his. She pulled away, then pressed her mouth to his again, over and over until she was completely flush to him, arms looped around his neck, hands in his hair. His hands found her hips and grabbed a hold to roll them over his. “Oh my god,” she breathed, already panting. “You feel so good.”

Shoto groaned, pulling himself further upright against her cabinets, bringing her with him, sinking his fingertips into her uniform to pull her in tighter, closer, like her skin wasn’t already slick against his. She squeezed him between her thighs; he bit down hard to keep from tearing into her completely. 

He had to let go. He needed to let go.

He yelped when she reached into his sweats and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking up. “Fuck,” he blurted, grabbing her wrist. “Ochako, you’re—”

“Oh god,” she whined, wiggling against him. “You’re so hard”—his dick jumped in her grip—“Please. Please…” she trailed off, too distracted by his heat in her hand to finish her thought.

“‘Please’ what?” Shoto growled through grit teeth, moving his hand over hers, but failing to stop her from her languid ups-and-downs. 

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t trying at all.

“Please fuck me,” Ochako whimpered, sounding on the verge of tears.

Groaning, Shoto dropped his forehead to her shoulder. When her palm, wrapped snugly around him, slid down, his hips jerked up. When she slid up, he gripped her hand tighter, urging her over the head, over the pre-cum pearling endlessly from the tip, over and over and over until the room spun. Her touch could burn a hole through him. 

“Fuck,” he spat, voice tight. “You’re killing me, Ochako.”

“Just fuck me,” she begged.

What did it matter, anyway? Takuma had probably injected her with a truckload of the venom. Waiting it out was out of the question—who knew how long it would take until her body neutralized it? It’d be torture for her. And knocking her out felt too violent. Too barbaric. But wasn’t this just as barbaric? She wasn’t in her right mind.

Which only meant that the most salient of reasons for why he wasn’t stopping—why all his rationale sounded thin even to himself—was for the simple fact that he really, really didn’t want to.

Shoto grabbed her from under her thighs. Ochako startled, released him, then cried out when he pulled her up with him. He’d barely set her on the countertop before Ochako tugged him by his waistband, scooting herself up the counter for him. She kissed him again, and he followed desperately until the crown of her head met the wall. 

He slid a hand around her neck, up through her hair, bringing her into him again, biting her lower lip. “Okay,” he murmured against her open mouth.

She melted into him. “Okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through her strands, stopping at the ends, fisting them. He pulled back gently, tipping her face up, forcing her hazy gaze to meet his. “I’ll fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” she sobbed, breathless, tears welling up in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Her hands worked furiously at his pants, shoving them only far enough to free his dick. He found the hidden zipper at the back of her suit, underneath her respirator, and tugged down, following the seamless line of her spine, which arched under his touch. As he pulled, the fabric fell away from her. She slipped her arms out of her sleeves, and her uniform pooled at her waist. Shoto stared, clenched his jaw, and swallowed. 

“Shoto, please,” Ochako rasped, wiggling out of her suit, hooking a calf over his hips, using him as a lever to slide up the smooth surface towards him. Her other leg came up. She hugged him between her knees and rocked against him.

Their bodies met. Shoto jerked over her, grabbing her hips in one smooth motion. He held her down as he moved against her, watched her lips slide over the length of his cock, heard the way she whined when the head caught at her entrance. He licked his thumb and pressed it to her clit, smoothing a tight circle over the button over and over until she was writhing underneath him, clutching his forearm.

“Oh my god,” she moaned, nails biting into him. “Shoto—Shoto—!”

He leaned over her, drawing one of her nipples into her mouth, sucking, felt her arch deeper into him, felt her hands search for purchase in his hair—

“Oh my god,” she cried. “Oh my god, I love you—”

Every part of him came to a hard stop. “What?”

Ochako didn’t even register the change. She panted against the counter, one hand reaching for him, the other coming to the breast he’d abandoned. “Shoto,” she whined.

Shoto stumbled back, suddenly overwhelmed. Nausea rolled into him, turning into a tidal wave, accompanied by an inexplicable disgust. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drew long breaths in and out. When he peeled his lids open, Ochako was soundless and still. Panicking, he skid across the kitchen to check for her pulse. Her chest rose and fell evenly. There was a beat beneath his fingertips. Relief blazed through him.

He zipped his fly, washed his hands, and turned his brain off. Then he cleaned Ochako up, wrapping her wounds and dressing her before setting her on the couch while he unbloodied the kitchen. He wondered if this was what serial killers felt like disinfecting their crime scenes. Once he was done, he lifted her again. She was limp in his hands as he maneuvered her, her head lolling back grossly with every step.

The ice blocking her bedroom was still solid. Shoto dissolved it, opened the door, and found Takuma, now looking six or seven, curled up on Ochako’s bed, fast asleep and swollen-eyed from crying, abandoned and trapped in a stiflingly silent room as he was.  

Shoto set Ochako down beside Takuma, pulled another comforter from the linen closet, snapped it over the both of them, then pulled his t-shirt from the bathroom over his head and left. 

Chapter Text

Shoto was avoiding her. He still picked Takuma off in the mornings, but he didn’t linger, and he hardly said anything at all to her except “Good morning.” The first few mornings, she’d thought he was particularly tired, but by the fourth day, she realized what was happening, especially when he stopped coming by after patrol. When she waved at him in the office, his gaze swept right over her. When she entered a room he was in, he left. When she made to speak to him, he found somebody else to talk to. He was never in his office.

Shoto was avoiding her, and she didn’t know why.

Ochako racked her brain for what could have happened the night before she’d woken up with bandages wrapped around every wound she’d acquired in the emergency call. She recalled the fight, that she’d been poisoned, she recalled Shoto being in her bathroom and she being at the kitchen sink inspecting her wounds, but there was nothing after that. 

That same morning, Takuma had startled awake soon after her, and immediately, upon seeing her, began to bawl. To Ochako’s shock, he was older. She’d had enough sense to put two and two together: one of her wounds must have opened up, Takuma must have leapt at her, and Shoto must have cleaned up the mess. She didn’t know why that would make Shoto dodge her the way he was. 

It was rude. It hurt her feelings. Worse yet, Momo’s words rang in her ears. If she’d done something to bother him, he was shutting her out for it.

That, more than anything, pissed her off. She didn’t break up with Izuku to have to go around telling more men what she needed from them, which, in this case, was that Shoto needed to communicate. And he’d been the one to say he’d tell her if he was stressed! Well, she wasn’t going to remind him. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to tie up the final details of the gala, onboard the new department hires, and patrol—as well as make sure Takuma succeeded educationally so that he could move on with his life. Shoto’s emotional state hardly mattered anyway, so long as he pulled his weight with Takuma, and if he did start pulling away there, she was fine doing it on her own, or asking for an additional hand from her friends. After all, that’d been the plan from the start.

Her pen bled ink as she scribbled her signature furiously across the debrief in her hands. Men sucked.

After work, she picked Takuma up, thanked Eri profusely, and stopped by the grocery store. Takuma, at six years old, was surprisingly taciturn. At four, he’d pestered Ochako incessantly when going down the store aisles with her. At six, he did a lot of longing staring without actually asking. He seemed like a child who’d learned it didn’t matter what he wanted, which broke Ochako’s heart.

At dinner, she asked, “How was school?”

Takuma pulled away from his blood bag and dropped his gaze to the table. He shrugged. 

Ochako blinked. Eri had put him up a grade in one of her other classes to be with kids his age, but he was behind academically. Ochako needed to hurry up and get him back to a more appropriate age for his skill-level. “I’m sorry it sucked.” She gave his hand a squeeze over the dining table. “Wanna watch TV? And have a popsicle?” 

She’d started freezing some of the blood bags into a mold she’d bought. He seemed to like eating in forms other than from a bag, though that was most convenient. Takuma’s eyes got bright, and he nodded. After TV, a bath, and blow-drying his hair (which was growing long, Ochako noticed), they crawled into bed. She read to him from the pile they’d picked up at the library over the weekend, and when he fell asleep, she turned out the lights.

The next morning, she woke up first, which was unusual. In the middle of brushing her teeth, Takuma joined her in the bathroom, looking like a zombie. He sniffled. Then he sneezed. As he brushed his teeth, he crouched and curled over his knees on the floor, as if he barely had the strength to hold himself up.

Ochako, starting to panic, rummaged through her kitchen cabinets for her thermometer. The last time she’d gotten sick was years ago. She did everything in her power not to, since it derailed the tight deadlines she kept at work. She ushered Takuma back into bed, trapped the thermometer under his tongue, and waited.

A mild fever. “Are you not feelin’ good, buddy?” Takuma hesitated, then nodded. “You can tell me, y’know? How you feel is important.”

His eyes watered. “No school?”

“No, no school. It’s better if you don’t go, you don’t wanna get the other kids sick. Go back to sleep.” As she smoothed his hair back, his lids fluttered shut.  

She hadn’t even known he could get sick. They’d confirmed a while ago that he had no heat signature, so she’d assumed he wasn’t exactly “alive.” Apparently, though, he had an immune system. Go figure.

Once he was asleep, Ochako picked up her phone and went to the living room to call Mina, who picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Ochako! You’re late to work!”

“m’Sick, Mina,” she said, playing up her illness. “I think I’ll be out for the next few days. Could you let the guys know?”

“What are you callin’ me for? Just tell Shoto!”

“We’re not talking,” she said sourly, forgetting for a second to feign her cold. She cleared her throat quickly. 

Mina was quiet for a while. Then, voice flat, she went, “Men.”

“Tell me about it.” Ochako gave a dramatic sniff.

“‘Kay, I can let ‘em know. Feel better!”

A few minutes later, her phone pinged. When she saw the contact, she rolled her eyes.

You’re sick?

Takuma’s sick.

The convo ended there.

Without her laptop—which she hadn’t brought home, but perhaps she should start doing that, she thought—she couldn’t work. She called Eri up to let her know Takuma couldn’t come in, then paced a little bit to determine what to do with her day. She was a sitting duck.

Lunch came around. She sat Takuma, who was still dazed and hazy-eyed, up against the headboard and helped him eat. Afterwards, she took his temperature again. It was higher than it had been in the morning. She tucked him back in and soothed him to sleep without letting her anxiety show.

How did one cure a sick vampire? If she took him to a pediatrician, would they treat him well, or be prejudiced? Ochako gnawed at her thumb as she walked a trench into her living room carpet. She jumped when somebody knocked at her door, then flung the door open to apologize to whatever salesman and explain now wasn’t a good time.

“Sorry,” Ochako whispered, distracted as she checked over her shoulder. She turned around. “Now’s not a—oh. Shoto! Hi.”

“Hi.”

He had a takeout bag in one hand and her laptop in the other. Frustrated as she was with him, she could have kissed his feet for that alone. “Thank you!” she said, reaching for the device, eager to have something to do other than worry. Plus, she needed to google pediatricians in the area.

“I didn’t know he could get sick.” Shoto handed her the takeout bag. 

“Me neither.” Ochako peered inside. Soup. She frowned at Shoto. “He can’t eat this.”

“That’s for you.”

“I don’t need soup.” She didn’t want his soup, actually.

“You’re probably going to get sick, too.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about that. It was nice of him, even if he was emotionally bankrupt. Ochako smiled. “Thanks. See you tomorrow, hopefully!”

She made to close the door, only for Shoto to shove his boot into the gap. “Can I see him?”

Ochako, bemused, said, “He’s asleep. Not much to see.” Shoto stared at her blankly. It made her nervous. “Okay, just a few minutes though, I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Thanks.”

They made their way into Ochako’s bedroom. Shoto sat on the lip of the bed beside Takuma, which woke him up. Ochako tutted. “I told you!”

“Sorry,” Shoto murmured. 

Takuma blinked blearily at him. “Mister Shoto?” he croaked. He sounded worse than before. Ochako leaned against the wall, chewing her lip and trying not to cry. Was he dying? Was it her fault?

“You’re sick,” said Shoto.

“Uh-huh.”

“Feel better.”

“Uh-huh.” Takuma went right back to sleep.

Shoto got up, and they went back to her door. Ochako had to admit it’d been nice to see them interact, short as it was. “Thanks,” she said again, genuinely meaning it. 

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

Ochako raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”

She, again, made to close the door, but Shoto, again, shoved his foot in to stop her. What was his problem? Was he trying to become an amputee? “You don’t look like you believe me.”

“I don’t,” she said bluntly.

“Who would you call otherwise? I’m your only option.”

Ochako snorted. “Inasa.”

She wasn’t saying it to be vengeful. She really had thought about it and come to the conclusion that Inasa was the best option. He was kind and patient, he could keep a secret, and he wasn’t prejudiced. Takuma would probably like him, too, since Inasa was like a kid himself, just in much, much larger packaging. Really, truly, she wasn’t trying to provoke Shoto in any way.

So it annoyed her that seeing the pique of irritation in his brow satisfied her. “Inasa.” Shoto deadpanned.

“He’s a good guy.”

“He’ll blow out Takuma’s eardrums.”

“Maybe Takuma needs it. He’s so quiet now.”

“Nobody needs to have their eardrums blown out.”

Ochao’s mouth thinned. “You’re right,” she said perfunctorily, done with the conversation. “I’ll do everything myself.” 

She slammed the door. Shoto grabbed the edge, stopping it before it could shut. “I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Bye now.”

“Ochako,” he growled, pushing back at the door. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, and I said thanks,” she snapped. “That means you’re allowed to go now.”

“I’m not saying sorry just to say sorry!”

She wrenched the door all the way open, furious at having her time wasted. “Did you come here just to fight? Because I’m not interested. I’m very busy.” She waved her laptop in the air.

“I assaulted you!” Shoto yelled. The birds in the trees behind him flushed out of the branches.

Ochako gaped. There was no way Shoto could have assaulted her, because if he had so much as breathed in her general direction with sexual intent, she would have been putty in his hands. Also, this was probably not a conversation they should be having where anybody could hear it. She dragged him into her apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“What?” she squawked.

Astonished, Shoto said, “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Takuma bit you!”

“I assumed as much!” Ochako gestured over her bicep, where the instigating wound showed, raised and pink. Takuma’s twin pinpricks had closed up quickly, and without leaving behind a scar.

This time, Shoto gawked. “That’s why you’ve been acting so weird.”

“I’m acting weird?”

“You’ve been so normal!”

“I’m weird for being normal?!”

“You should be terrified of me!”

“First of all, people who have been assaulted can respond however they want”—this was besides the point, she just wanted to knock him down a peg out of her current vexation—“Secondly, why would you assault me? You’re not like that.”

Apparently I am, he thought bitterly. “When Takuma bites, he releases a toxin. I don’t know how it works, but I suspect it’s an aphrodisiac to make the victim more willing.”

The truth crept up from behind her, then mauled her all at once. Heat exploded over her face. “So I attacked you?”

Shoto did a double-take. “You weren’t in your right mind.”

“That’s not an excuse." Most men were never in their right minds, in her opinion, about anything. Sex just happened to be the most typical and blatant display of their delusions of grandeur.

Bewildered, Shoto shook his head, as if trying to dispel whatever reality this conversation was. “I didn’t stop you. I encouraged you.”

Ochako frowned. “Did he bite you, too?”

Shoto blinked. Then he grew as red as her. “You’re an attractive person, Ochako.”

Ochako shot him a perplexed look. “I know that. I mean, thank you, but that’s not what I’m asking.”

He grit his teeth, scowling over her shoulder to avoid meeting her eye. “If you’d been conscious and willing, we would have consummated with very little struggle from either party.”

It took Ochako a minute. Then it hit her like a brick. Consummated! What a word to choose! With very little struggle from either party! Wow, was this a court trial or what! Ochako let that spin in her head until it blitzed itself into a fine powder. “I see!” she exclaimed suddenly, voice high. “Thank you for sharing!”

Unable to ignore her twitchiness, Shoto’s gaze tore back to her. “Are you okay?”

“Well, it’s a lot to process!” The whole thing was humiliating. She’d assaulted him, yet he was also admitting that he was as base as many men were, happy to shove their dick into whatever mildly receptive (and that was debatable) receptacle that came their way. Where did they go from here? “I’m sorry I did that. I don’t condone the way you reacted, but I don’t blame you for it, either. I know now that I absolutely cannot let Takuma bite me without safety measures, no matter what.”

Shoto, baffled by her computational response, took a minute to figure out how he ought to respond. “That’s why I’m sorry,” he said. “An accident happened, and I took advantage of it when I shouldn’t have. And it won’t happen again.”

“Thank you. Does this mean you’re still going to help out?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Ochako nodded resolutely. “Next time, please just tell me, even if it’s uncomfortable for me. Especially if it’s uncomfortable for you. If you’re stressed out, tell me, and I’ll tell you if I’m stressed out.”

Shoto smiled wryly at having his words repeated back to him. Ochako returned the look. “Will do.” Ochako’s smile widened, and he felt a weight fall off his shoulders. “I’ll be back in the evening.”

“Oh.” Her brows creased. Shoto tensed again. “I think—I mean, maybe? Probably? It’s just my opinion. It’s just, well, it might be better not to. You can have him in the mornings when you’re dropping him off, and I’ll take care of anything after that. I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need specific help with.”

Shoto stood there, dumbfounded, stalling but not able to come up with an argument against it. “Okay.”

“Oh, actually, he does need something to regress. Eri put him in an older class to match his age, but he’s falling behind academically. Would it be okay for you to handle that? Or I can get someone else.”

“I can do it.”

“Thank you! I’ll see you around, then.” She waved, then shut her door.

Shoto clenched his jaw, inhaled slowly, then exhaled hard. Consequences of your fucking actions.

Ochako, on the other side of the door, thought, God. I really need to get laid.

Chapter Text

It took Takuma the rest of the week to recover. Halfway through, Ochako, just as Shoto had predicted, ran a fever. She was better by Saturday, and on Sunday, Shoto stopped by with a rabbit in tow. They sat awkwardly in the living room, both of them in masks, as Takuma fed in the kitchen. Shoto offered to help clean. Ochako waved him off politely. 

On Monday, she texted Shoto. I’m working from home today. I’m taking him to a doctor to get an opinion, and I don’t know how long that’ll take.

You think that’s okay?

Ochako frowned, taking offense. Yes.

Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.

She didn’t respond. Shoto, in his office, stood up from his seat and walked across the room to lean his forehead against the wall to cope. I just mean, he typed, do you think the doctor will be fair?

Ochako softened. If he isn’t, I’ll beat him up. A second later, Shoto’s phone pinged again. And report him for discrimination.

Sounds good :) 

Ochako shut her phone, then doubled back. Sure enough, he’d used a smiley face. Shoto didn’t seem like the kind of person to use emoticons. Well, whatever. She beckoned out the door for Takuma, doused in sunscreen, to follow.

Katsuki, who passed by Shoto’s office, faltered, then took a few steps back. “What the hell are you doing?” he barked.

Shoto, still tipped against the wall, now with his eyes shut, opened them to glare at Katsuki from the corner of his eye. Best friend or not, now was not the time. “Stay out of it.”

“You need to get laid,” Katsuki grumbled before moving on. Shoto fought not to strangle him.

Towards the end of the day, with the slow exodus of employees, he texted Ochako again. What did the doctor say? 

Not a second later, her contact information lit up his screen. When he picked up, she immediately began speaking. “He was very nice. He thinks since Takuma’s not really dead, but not really alive, either, he probably just has a weaker immune system than somebody fully alive, but that at least he has an immune system at all.”

“I see. Yeah, that’s good.”

“Also, could you look after him Friday evening? I’ve got something.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!”

Neither hung up. Shoto, sitting back in his seat, asked, “What are you doing Friday evening?”

She cursed herself. That’s what she got for not hanging up right away. “Meeting somebody,” Ochako replied vaguely.

“For work?” The gala, maybe?

“Not really.”

Shoto squinted. “‘Not really?’ It either is, or isn’t.”

She huffed. It popped and crackled on his end. “It’s a date. I’m going on a date.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Is it, err, an overnight date?”

“Oh god, no, I’ll be back before 11.”

His eyebrows flew up. “That’s pretty mercenary.”

“That’s pretty presumptuous.”

He winced. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re not wrong, anyway.”

His jaw clenched. She was going to give him an aneurysm. “Who is it?”

There was a long, long pause. Shoto was too curious—to his annoyance—to care how weird it was to ask, and Ochako was too stunned to evade the question. “The doctor,” she stammered. 

“What doctor?”

“Takuma’s doctor.”

“The one you just met?”

Ochako sighed. “Do I have to spell this out for you?”

“I’m just impressed.”

“You don’t sound impressed. You sound judgmental.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“Then why are we still having this conversation? I have to go. Bye.”

She didn’t mean to be so abrupt, but the tension in the conversation was palpable, and for what reason? It wasn’t her fault they’d almost had sex, and that, to her great disappointment, she couldn’t remember a lick of it. Forgive her for wanting to remedy her frustration. 

Rolling her eyes, she wound Takuma into her arms with their bagged groceries, and walked the rest of the way home as he chattered about how excited he was to see Miss Eri tomorrow.

—

Friday morning, Ochako handed Takuma off to Shoto in the morning like usual. Takuma rushed to the stairwell, but Shoto, to Ochako’s confusion, idled at her doorway.

“Wouldn’t sleeping with his doctor complicate things?”

This again?! He hadn’t brought it up all week! “Complicate things how?”

“I don’t know. Manipulate results.”

“Is he going to make up that Takuma has a respiratory infection? To, what, heal him to death? Overdiagnose him so that I, what, like him with my super sick kid? I’m already going on a date with him.”

“Mister Shoto, hurryyyyyyy!”

“Just a second, Takuma. Not necessarily. But it seems… it’s one of those things that isn’t illegal and there’s nothing wrong with it, but it still feels kind of illegal, for some reason. Dating your kid’s pediatrician.”

Ochako sighed, eyeing Shoto warily. “What is this really about?”

“You don’t think it’ll be confusing for Takuma?”

She snorted. “It’s one date. I’m not marrying the guy. I might not even see him again.” 

Shoto went quiet for a bit as they both followed Takuma down the stairs. Eventually, he asked, “How’s the gala going?”

“It’s all set up!” Ochako answered, spirits lifting. “Right up to the deadline. Unbelievable.”

“You’re the only person who could pull it off.”

She smiled, touched. “Thanks. Bring a date!”

As soon as she said it, a hot zap of jealousy peeled through her. When Shoto said, “If you say so,” she grinned a touch too zealously. 

“Good! Alright, see you!”

At the fork in the road, Takuma waved unstoppingly to Ochako as he shrunk farther and farther down the street. Ochako stood and waited, waving back, until she could no longer see him. Then she spun on her heel to make her way to the city and start her patrol route. 

Who did Shoto even know? He had friends, but he wasn’t that sociable outside of Class A. Oh, what does it matter! Ochako threw the thought out of her head. More importantly, she was going to have to find a babysitter, preferably one that would let Takuma stay overnight if it came to that. Especially one that the paps wouldn’t have a heyday with when they caught her handing Takuma off.

“Oi. Cheeks. Pick up the pace.”

Ochako whipped around. Katsuki, powerwalking as if that was his career and not heroism, lapped her easily. It was anybody’s guess as to why he didn’t just run. 

Sprinting to catch up, Ochako reached for his collar. Katsuki snarled in outrage when she successfully latched on. “Katsuki!” she yelled. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“No!” he spat.

“You know the gala?”

“I’m not goin’!”

“I know, but can you babysit?”

His outsized indignation turned into outsized incredulity. “Like, do I know how to babysit? Do I know what skills are required to do the task? Theoretically, do I have the capabilities to perform a babysit? Or are you asking, literally, if you can give me a baby to take care of for a designated amount of time?”

“The last one.”

“The hell do you need that for? I think I’d know if you had a—” He came to an abrupt stop. The blood drained from his face. His heavily gloved hands began to shake violently. “Did some fucker take advantage of yo—”

Horrified, Ochako waved her hands frantically. “Oh my god, no!”

“Holy fucking hell, Cheeks! What the hell is with that buildup?! Are you tryin’ to give me a hemorrhage?!”

“Can you?”

“Do you have a secret fuckin’ love child somewhere that I don’t know about?!”

“No, but I kind of picked up a kid in a rescue—”

“Illegal!” Katsuki snapped. “You’re stealin’ now?! If you need a raise, take it up with HR!” He stomped away.

There was so much wrong with what he’d just said. Ochako chose not to pursue it. “It’s not stealing if he’s not anybody’s and nobody wants him,” she said, jogging up to him. “He’s not even registered. He said his parents left him when he was four.”

Katsuki halted again, quiet. “Alright,” he growled. “I need more to work with.”

They turned into a shadowed alleyway, continuing on their patrols together. Ochako explained Takuma fully, including Shoto’s involvement—minus the personal parts. By the end of it, Katsuki was his usual self.

“Huh. So that’s why Icy Hot was staring at the wall the other day.”

Ochako shot Katsuki a perturbed look. “What?”

“Monday morning. He was on his phone looking stressed as hell. Must’ve been ‘cause your kid was sick.”

“Oh.” By Monday, Takuma had long been well. Shoto knew that. Ochako crossed her arms, stomach woozy.

“Yeah, I can take the kid in for a night. Next Friday, right?” Ochako nodded. “Yeah, I got nothin’. He can even stay the night.” Katsuki wrinkled his nose. He was as aware of Ochako’s dating habits as she was of his. 

Ochako squealed, bouncing around him with her gravity removed. “You’re the best, Katsuki!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“Thank you! Thank you!”

“But you’re gonna have to tell the others soon. People are startin’ to catch on that you and Icy Hot are up to somethin’. They’re gonna get the wrong idea.”

She sobered. “Yeah. I’ll deal with that.” Frankly, it was already dealt with. She would not be touching Shoto again, not even with a ten-foot pole.

“Alright.” There was a beat, then he started spitting all over the place again. “Get the hell back on your route, slacker!”

“On it!” Ochako saluted, back straight, then right-flank-marched onto the street she was responsible for.

Chapter Text

Five minutes before Shoto arrived at the time they’d agreed upon, Ochako debated climbing out her window to flee. She didn’t want to see him while she was like this. It felt weird. Her solution was to throw her longest coat over herself, nevermind that the weather was still uncomfortably warm despite the nearing end of summer.

At the door, Shoto looked at her askance. “Are you going somewhere cold?”

She laughed nervously. “Who knows!” Shoto raised his eyebrows, but Ochako chose not to prolong the awkwardness. “Thanks again. I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Then she leapt off the apartment ledge in her heels. 

Shoto didn’t know what to make of her comment, but it didn’t matter. She was gone. He sat cross-legged beside Takuma, who colored busily into his book and announced the names of random animals every so often, following shortly with a sometimes associated noise, but most of the time an unidentifiable one. 

Later in the evening, an hour after they’d eaten—Shoto eating real food while supervising Takuma to make sure he didn’t chew straight into the plastic, which he sometimes did—in Ochako’s bed with Takuma under the covers and Shoto laying over them to read through a picture book with him, Takuma asked abruptly, “Do you and mommy kiss?”

Shoto reeled back. He searched the page for anything that might have prompted the question, but it was only an elephant holding a balloon talking to a mouse. If Takuma thought of Shoto or Ochako as any of those three things, and what that might have to do with kissing, they would have to discuss with Eri. 

“How do you know what kissing is?” asked Shoto.

“Mommy does it to me. Here”—he poked his forehead—“but I saw Hideo’s mommy do it to his daddy. And Miss Eri said that’s kissing. And I told her you and mommy don’t do it, and then she laughed and said maybe it was secret. Do you and mommy secret-kiss?”

Shoto had the vague recollection that when they’d first rescued Takuma, he could barely string a few sensible words together. Now he was effusing grammatically correct nonsense. Maybe they should pull him out of school. For multiple reasons. “No, we don’t.”

“Why not?”

Shoto shut the book and faced Takuma. “I’m not your father, Takuma. I’m just helping Ochako.”

Takuma stared cluelessly at him. “But you’re here all the time.”

“Not all the time.” Ochako had made sure of that.

“Yeah-huh.”

Shoto took his turn staring at Takuma. Maybe to a kid, it really did seem like all the time. “I guess I am. Is that okay?”

“Uh-huh. I like you. Even if you’re not my daddy. Is mommy gonna get a daddy?”

“Err—”

“Hurry up and read, Mister Shoto!”

Shoto was thankful for childrens’ warpspeed attention spans (and also a little afraid of them). For the rest of the book, Takuma continued to ask questions throughout, but none to do with the state of Shoto’s relationship with Ochako, to his great relief.

Two hours after Takuma fell asleep, Ochako opened the front door gently. Shoto, laid out across her couch reading a book she hadn’t seen him come in with, glanced in her direction, then sat up. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she whispered, leaning down to undo her shoes. “Did he go down easy?”

Her hair, which had been clipped up when she left, was loose. The coat she’d worn leaving now hung neatly over one of her arms. When she kicked off her shoes and rose to her full height, her dress was black, the straps were thin, and it fell to her mid-thigh. She’d been wearing lipstick earlier, and the only reason he knew was because her lips were now a different shade.

“Yes,” Shoto answered. 

Ochako hung her coat on the rack and took a seat on the couch, leaving a healthy space between them. “Whatcha readin’?”

“A book.”

“Sorry I don’t have any case files.”

He smiled faintly. “How was it?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Mediocre.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Very.”

“No second date?”

“I’m going to have to find a whole new pediatrician for Takuma.”

“Yikes.”

“Good thing he wasn’t attached.”

Shoto chuckled. Ochako smiled at the sound. 

“He spelled ‘giraffe’ today,” said Shoto, suddenly remembering.

Ochako’s eyes brightened. “Really? We’ve been working on that one for days!”

“It’s kind of complicated for a four-year-old, isn’t it?”

Ochako nodded. “Eri throws in some harder words to get a gauge on where he’s at. She said we can probably grow him to a five-year-old soon.”

Considering the conversation Shoto had had with him, they could definitely age him to five now. Maybe even six. “Hm,” he said instead. 

“Yeah.” There was a beat. “Oh, I asked Katsuki to babysit the night of the gala. I told him everything, including you being part of it. Except for, well, that other stuff. The stuff he probably doesn’t need to know.” Shoto nodded at her rambling, his mouth quirking with amusement. “When I first asked him to babysit, he thought somebody had knocked me up!”

“That would be his first murder.”

She laughed. “It’d be an honor! I think.”

Shoto smiled. “It would be.”

A contentedness fell over Ochako. She drew her knees to her chest, laid her arms over them, then rested her chin on top. She stared at Takuma’s surprisingly legible scribbles strewn about the coffee table. Off to the side was the book Shoto had set down. One of her romance novels. She snickered and opened her mouth to poke fun about his choice, only for Shoto to ask, “What constitutes mediocre?”

Ochako looked at him sideways. “Huh?”

“You said the doctor was mediocre. What does that mean?”

She flushed. “Err, well, y’know. Run-of-the-mill sex.” Shoto blinked at her. The fire in her face burned hotter. “You know! He gives me head then expects me to give him head back, he likes it when I gag, so I gag—I’m great at making myself gag—then we do missionary, I make myself cum, he thinks he made me cum, he cums, the end.” She talked so fast, it ran together at the finish. “That’s mediocre sex.”

“Mediocre sex,” Shoto echoed, looking thoughtful. It was unsettling.

They devolved into a strange silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Ochako considered asking him to leave—it was late, after all—but in the aftermath of what was so far a pleasant conversation, her mind wandered elsewhere. “I’m sorry for being so rude to you,” she said softly.

“I think it’s deserved,” Shoto answered wryly. 

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I guess that’s what happens when you put two attractive people in a room and inject one of them with an aphrodisiac.” She giggled. Then her eyes popped open. “Wait. When Takuma bit you on the wrist, you…” She jerked to look at him in alarm.

Shoto sighed and ran his hands over his face. “Yeah.”

Ochako covered her mouth to prevent the gut-busting laugh from escaping. Once she finally contained it, she whispered, “That’s why you were sitting there for so long! I was so worried about you, but you were just horny!”

“I wasn’t just horny,” Shoto replied testily. “I was fighting it.”

“Hmm,” Ochako hummed, smiling into the middle distance, remembering that evening before the hospital trip. He’d looked like he wanted to eat her. 

It really was the greatest shame she couldn’t remember having almost-sex with Shoto. Why couldn’t Takuma have injected her with just a little bit less poison?

“I should probably go now,” murmured Shoto.

“I guess,” Ochako replied.  

He took his time getting up. She was in no hurry, either. At the door, they loitered. Shoto took an inordinate amount of time putting on his shoes. Ochako made a big fuss of making sure he had everything he came with. When there was no longer any way to stall, Shoto said, “Night, Ochako.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and smiled. He smiled back. “Night, Shoto.” 

Chapter Text

“He’s on numbers right now, so make sure he reads and spells numbers. He’s obsessed with animals right now, so he’s going to try to tell you about animals, but he needs to learn numbers.”

“I know.”

“One bag for every meal is fine. Don’t give him more, otherwise he throws up and it gets everywhere and he smells it and gets stuck in this rabid loop, and he’ll probably bite you, and you can’t let him—”

“Bite me. I know.”

“When he takes a bath, make sure to check if he’s still talking, otherwise he could be drowning. It hasn’t happened, but I’m worried it might. Sometimes he does this thing where he goes underwater to blow bubbles, so it might get quiet, but as long as you hear talking at some point, he should be fine. I put his boats in a ziploc, they’re on the right side pocket. If he has any problems, just call me, I have to find him a new pediatrician—”

“I KNOW, CHEEKS,” Katsuki spat through his teeth, verging on apoplectic. “You’re not the first person to give me this fucking spiel! Icy Hot had his panties in a knot, too!”

That was news to Ochako. For a second, she was stunned by the information, but then another concern battled to the front of her mind. “Pleeaaasseee don’t curse in front of him,” Ochako begged. “I said ‘oh, fuck,’ around him once, and he wouldn’t stop repeating it for a week. Eri called me about it because he got the other kids on it.”

“I won’t say ‘fuck,’ ‘shit,’ or ‘bastard.’ But he’s not taking ‘hell’ or ‘damn’ from me.”

“That’s fine.” It was only kind of fine, actually; in fact, the primary reason Ochako had decided Inasa was a more appropriate co-parent despite Katsuki’s surprising patience and generosity with kids was because Inasa was significantly more PG-rated.

“‘Shit?’” Takuma cocked his head. “What’s ‘shit,’ mommy?”

“It’s a word you don’t say, Takuma.”

Katsuki grimaced. “It’s weird as fu—hell to hear something call you that.”

“He’s a boy, not a thing.”

“Just get outta here, Ochako,” he growled.

“Okay, okay, I’m gettin’ outta your hair now. Thanks again!” She bowed obsequiously with every step back towards his balcony. Katsuki rolled his eyes so hard that if he’d been crying, he could have powered an entire city. “Bye, Takuma!”

“Bye, mama!”

Ochako climbed easily onto the railing, removed her gravity, and leapt off. Halfway up in the sky, she heard Katsuki roar, “Get off that, brat!” and tried not to worry. 

—

She’d come two hours early to make sure everything was in place. It was three hours later now, and she was three drinks in, encouraged first by Inasa, who’d downed a shot with her the moment he’d stepped past the entrance (and exclaimed how fantastic it was, despite that he’d only seen the exterior at that point), then second by Mina, Eijirou in tow, who’d seen her drink with Inasa and promptly wanted to be included, and third, by Izuku, who’d handed her a champagne flute, congratulated her on an amazing job for another year in a row, and then fallen into rattling off the names and quirks of all the emerging heroes in the building, most of them having just graduated and now joining the scene. 

Ochako entertained the back-and-forth for a while—after all, it had never been Izuku’s interests that bothered her, had shared them with him, in fact—but upon realizing she’d been swirling her long-empty glass for well over 10 minutes now, she asked, “Where’s Melissa?” 

Izuku, suddenly stricken, went, “Crap! Thanks, Ochako!” then dashed off. 

Ochako snickered into her palm as she set the flute down. The room was swimming nicely, the music was musicing nicely, and her colleagues had all taken the dress-code very nicely. Which, speaking of the dress-code, Ochako noticed that the reporters had again gathered obsessively near the entrance. Camie waded through the center of it. Like every year before, she was dressed fashionably, spectacularly, and a little bit almost-naked. This year was no exception, as the slits on either side of her near-sheer, strapless dress came up so high that it was a wonder she didn’t flash everybody every time she took a step. Every time a camera went off, the beading sparkled back. 

Ochako admired her from the bar. She looked lovely, she always did, and she was funny to boot—not on purpose, it was just the way Camie talked, but she knew, and she didn’t mind, and she was nice. She always brought a date, someone different every year, and Ochako always thought they were a very lucky guy. Especially when Camie dragged them into the bathroom.

When Camie pulled this year’s date with her into the lens of an enthusiastic paparazzo, all of Ochako’s goodwill dropped swiftly dead. Camie threw up a peace sign. Shoto, blank-faced, stared straight down the camera. Ochako whipped around, ordered a liquor-heavy drink, and fought the enormous tide of jealousy she experienced every-so-often, but always since birth, and always when she felt like she might have to fight for affection from people she loved: her mother’s when she’d cooed at other children in her own childhood, her father’s when he’d praised her friends as she’d grown up, and then Izuku’s, when she had still cared.

This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She didn’t have that kind of relationship with Shoto, and she didn’t want it. She appreciated his volunteerism with Takuma, liked that he was obviously fond of the little boy (the teen version of him was debatable, and remained to be seen), and that was all. She was probably just getting her wires crossed because they’d had almost-sex.

The bartender slid her drink across the counter, Ochako thanked him with a bright smile, then downed it in one go. Right on time, too, because Camie came flying at her with one arm outstretched and the other around Shoto’s. 

“Queeeeen!” she screeched, freeing Shoto and jumping around Ochako in four-inch heels. “You cooked, ohmigod! The group chat? This Mojo Dojo Casa House? It’s giving! This place is so frikkin’ gas, you should do it here every year, no cap! Now I’m gonna go find someone with actual rizz—no shade, Shotoroki, but like, you’re moggin’ everyone here anyways, t-b-h, so, like, slay, but also, like, I’m thirsty and I ship this”—she darted a finger between Shoto and Ochako—“so I gotta go find my own situationship to vibe with, and they gotta be, like, a whole ass meal, y’know what I mean? K, bye!”

She zipped off into the crowd, leaving Shoto with Ochako, who asked, “Did you get any of that?”

“No. She sounded hungry. And violent.”

“Violently hungry.”

“Sounds about right.” Shoto slipped his hands into his pockets and relaxed into the bar counter as he surveyed the crowd. 

Ochako stood beside him, pin-straight, swirling the straw of her empty drink. “Camie, huh?”

Shoto’s gaze flicked to her. “Katsuki said no when I asked him”—that made Ochako smile—“she was the only person still available that I’m comfortable around.”

There was another ping of jealousy. Ochako batted it away. “You look nice. I’ve never seen you in a full suit before.” Waistcoat and everything. Not extravagant or carpet-worthy like some of the invites, who took artistic liberties with the dress-code to boost their rankings in whatever way possible, but very classically dapper.

“I wear a full suit to your gala every year. You’re pretty serious about it in the invitation.”

“Oops,” she snickered behind her hand. “Sorry, Mister Co-founder, I guess I never noticed you before. And I’m only annoying about it because if I’m not specific, I get too many emails asking what ‘anything ranging from business formal to black tie’ means.”

“Hand those off to your underlings. Isn’t that what they’re for?”

Ochako, laughing out loud, socked him in the arm. “I don’t have underlings! I have a team of people, each of whom I respect and cherish for their unique personalities and capabilities.”

“Hmm, sounds like you practiced that”—Ochako jabbed her elbow at him, but he dodged it deftly, smiling mutely—“You look nice, too, by the way.”

Ochako looked at him slyly, ready to catch him in the trap she’d fallen into earlier. “I wear the same thing every year.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “You look nice every year.”

Oh. She blinked. “Thank you.”

“It looks like the girls want you.” He nodded at the circle lingering just outside the bar, eyeing her and Shoto a little too greedily.

Oh, god. She smiled apologetically at Shoto. “See you later?”

“Sure.”

Ochako waved over her shoulder. He lifted his hand in reply, then turned around to order a drink. Ochako let the girls drag her into their witching circle. 

Tsuyu handed her a glass. It was light on the alcohol, and Ochako shot her a grateful look for that. “I thought you and Shoto were on the outs, ribbit?” asked Tsuyu, immediately obliterating Ochako’s appreciation.

She sipped, then shrugged. “Can’t be an out if there’s no in.”

“I thought you were in,” Kyoka said, glancing at Momo. 

Ochako gaped at Momo in betrayal. She whined. “Oh, it was so exciting, Ochako, and at the end of the day, I’m just a girl like any other!” She did a little stomp. Wow, she’s really drunk, thought Ochako.

“It’s nothing, we’re just working together on a project—”

“That arson case was closed weeks ago,” Toru said, tone reprimanding. “Give us the truth or give us death!”

“I said ‘project,’ I didn’t specify what kind of project—”

“So what kinda project?” Mina teased, grinning with all her teeth. They closed in on her, leering.

“It’s just a kid,” she mumbled, looking everywhere but at them.

“Huh?” Kyoka cocked her head and leaned in. They shared their puzzlement amongst themselves..

“We found a kid when we were working on the arson case,” she repeated, raising her voice slightly. “He didn’t have parents. We’re figuring it out.”

There was a long silence. Then, Tsuyu said, “You’re co-parenting with Shoto?”

“I wouldn’t say it like that—”

“Wow, zero to a hundred, huh, Ochako?!” Tohru laughed, bumping Ochako with her shoulder.

“It’s not like that—”

“What is it like?” Momo inquired, curious glint in her eyes. “I used to imagine Shoto as a parent. His summer festival is one thing, but having to raise his own—it escaped me.”

Ochako squirmed. “He’s good at it. Um. Takuma likes him.”

“Takuma?” Mina squealed. “That’s so cute! Can we meet him? Can we?”

Relieved to move the conversation away from Shoto, Ochako nodded, giggling. “I mean, now that the cat’s out of the bag, I can dump him on you guys to babysit, right? Just don’t let him bite.”

They all cocked their heads at the same time. Breaking into laughter, Ochako explained. 

Chapter Text

At the end of the night, when the last of the stragglers trickled home, Ochako helped with clean up. It was another hour and a half until she was out, carrying a stack of boxes in her arms with the leftover decor that she would have to find a space for in the office. The staff waved at her as she trudged down the steps. She had a good feeling about hosting here next year.

“I can help with that.”

Ochako jumped. Shoto appeared beside her. He’d removed his jacket at some point during the night—it’d gotten warm in the banquet hall with all the moving bodies—and he hadn’t bothered to put it back on, letting it hang over his shoulder instead. 

“God, Shoto!” Ochako huffed. “Don’t do that!”

He chuckled and exchanged his jacket for her boxes. “Oh,” he said, once he had them in his arms. “These aren’t heavy.”

“It’s like I’ve got a gravity quirk or something, huh?”

He smiled. “Where are we taking these?”

“Back to the office.”

While the days were still overtly, unusually warm, the nights were drastically cooler. Ochako drew Shoto’s jacket over her shoulders and folded her arms. Shoto, with his annoyingly convenient temperature quirk, looked completely unbothered by the weather. Lucky bastard. Why’d he even bother taking off his jacket in the first place?

“Did you have fun?” she asked.

“Camie’s always interesting company.”

Ochako swallowed her monster. “See? Isn’t it better with a date?”

“Mhm. Did you? Have fun.”

“Mhmm. I told the girls about Takuma, and now we have more babysitters.” She preened at a job well done.

“Is that what they asked you about? It looked like they were ganging up on you.”

“Yeah. They only had bits and pieces before tonight, so I guess they wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Bits and pieces?”

Ochako faltered. “Just the arson case, really.” He didn’t need to know about her appraisal of him as a co-parent.

“Ah.”

“Didja meet anybody new?”

Shoto shot her a look of resignation, sighed, then went about describing the physical characteristics of several newbies he’d met, none of whose names he could remember, but that Ochako indicated easily, along with the agency they were at if not theirs.

They arrived at her office. Shoto dropped the boxes on her desk, then asked, “How much did you raise this year?” He leaned back against the windows looking out.

Ochako smiled wide, hopping onto the edge of the table to sit. “We’ll find out this week, after I do the math. Now move, you’re blocking the view!” 

Shoto turned. Her view was nothing more than the canopies of the windward side of the cliff the building sat on. In the darkness of the night, there was very little to see. “Not much of a view.”

She stuck her tongue out. “It’s much better in the daytime. And when I open a window to sit, it’s the best!” 

Shoto looked at her sideways, then exited her office. 

Ochako, spluttering, got up to follow. “Where’re you going?!”

“My office. Better view.”

“It’s not a competition!” Ochako harumphed.

In Shoto’s office, though, she padded up to the windows and stared, mesmerized, at the city aglow. Her hand came up to touch, as if she might be infused with some of the magic through the glass.

“Alright,” she pouted. “You win.”

He laughed, perching on the lip of his desk. “It’s nice when I’m working late.”

“You really shouldn’t work so late all the time!”

“Well, I wasn’t for a bit.”

Ochako’s head snapped around to look at him. He grinned widely at her. She squinted at him. “Well, gosh, you don’t need to be so passive-aggressive about it,” she joked. “We’ll re-instate the privilege if it’ll keep you out of here so late!”

“I appreciate that.”

Ochako rolled her eyes good-naturedly and took a seat beside him. “We’re gonna have to age him up soon.”

“Mm.”

“There should probably be two people there. To make sure one of them can help if Takuma takes too much.”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking maybe you could be in the bedroom while I feed him in the kitchen, and you just come out and check after five minutes. And then, y’know, you can drag me kicking and screaming into my bedroom, lock me in on my own, and wait it out with Takuma outside.” Shoto shot her a reproachful look. “You got any better ideas?!”

He shook his head, sighing. “I don’t like thinking about you like that.”

Her heart skipped. “I mean…” Ochako sat back onto her hands, kicking her legs and watching the light and shadows play off them. “I give you my full consent.”

Shoto glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the pink of her cheeks darkening. “Full consent?”

“If I get out of hand after,” she said, explaining but not really. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Not minding is very different from wanting it.”

“Okay. Fine. I would want it.”

“You would, or you do?”

Ochako groaned. “Nevermind.”

Neither of them said anything. The clock on his desk flipped to midnight and beeped. “Is Takuma staying the night at Katsuki’s?”

“Yeah. He’s got his bedtime, y’know? It’s way before the end of the gala, he would’ve been asleep by the time I picked him up, so I figured it’d be better to let him sleep than to wake him up for it. I wouldn’t want him to throw a tantrum because he’s sleepy.”

“Takuma, or Katsuki?”

Ochako barked out a laugh. Then she pulled her hands into her lap and looked out the window studiously. “I’m surprised,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, “that you didn’t go home with Camie?” Shoto watched her with an unreadable expression. “You said you were comfortable with her.”

“I did say that.”

She hummed. Then, “Have you ever slept with her? Before Momo, I guess?”

Shoto looked at her askance, leaning back onto his hands the way she’d been before. “Are you jealous?”

She jerked to look at him as heat raced up her body, exploding in her face. “No!” she exclaimed.

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Because I was a little frustrated when you were with Takuma’s doctor.”

Ochako blinked. Her heart began to pitter-patter in her chest. “I guess,” she said, “I’m a little jealous.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s kind of annoying that I don’t remember what it was like to almost have sex with you.”  

Shoto looked at her sharply, but Ochako was staring at her twiddling thumbs. 

“And I guess it kinda irritates me that somebody else might know, while I don’t because of a technicality.” She paused again. “Momo said you were really good, and I guess that got to me.”

“Momo? Why would Momo tell you that?”

She turned bright red. “I asked her about you.”

“About having sex with me?”

“No!” Ochako cried, glaring at him, only to double-take at the expression he wore. The heat in her face sank, traveling lower. She turned away. “About something else. It doesn’t matter.”

She’d said too much. She hadn’t meant to, it had just slipped out, not because of liquor—she was as sober as she’d been before the gala—but because she was too comfortable. Now the air was heavy. 

Heart in her throat, she pushed herself off Shoto’s desk. “Okay! Well, I should go home now. You’re welcome to stay here and read case files,” she teased, then spun around to leave. “You can come over after work tomorrow, if you want, Takuma will like that, and anyways, we have to make him five years old now—”

“Ochako.”

Ochako, hand on the door, jumped. Shoto, who she hadn’t heard come up behind her, reached over her shoulder to shut it. 

“I’ll sleep with you.”

Embarrassment flushed up her face at the same time heat pooled in her stomach. “That’s not what I was—I wasn’t, like, propositioning you—”

“I know. I want to. Do you?”

Ochako’s stammering stuttered to a stop. “Um,” she breathed, twisting to look over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Sorry, I… n-now?”

“I can’t think of a better time.”

“I…”

He was rolling up his sleeves, staring at her mouth. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. “It’s a yes or no question, Ochako.”

“Y-yes?”

His eyes darted to hers. His face was completely straight. “You don’t sound very sure.”

She turned fully to him, hands behind her, palms pressed against the door just in case this was a joke. “Yes,” she repeated, nodding a little. 

The windows iced over, turning the city lights into firefly glows. “Get on the desk,” he murmured, voice low. 

She stepped cautiously towards the desk, turning around when she met it, but not sitting. Her fingers gripped the edge, her entire body trembling. 

Shoto moved towards her as he loosened his tie, pulled it off, then undid the top buttons of his shirt. “I said ‘on,’ Ochako.”

He backed her into the desk; she tripped into a seat, head spinning with the smell of him. His hand came to his opposite wrist, unclasping the watch around it, and Ochako squeaked, “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, eyes clearing as he examined her. His brows furrowed, and he looked ready to back away, but Ochako grabbed his arm. “Um. You should keep the watch on.”

He blinked at her, then huffed a laugh. “God, Ochako.” He clipped his watch back in place.

“What!”

“Nothing.” He pushed his jacket off her shoulders, crowding into her to lay it over the desk behind her. Then he placed his hands to either side of her thighs and leaned into her, hovering a breath away from her mouth and peering into her eyes. “You’re sure?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she answered, voice shaking. 

He kissed her then, and it was like being set on fire. When she pulled away, desperate for air, he chased into her, and all she could do was hang on to him for dear life, fingers trying to find purchase in his clothing, then scrabbling over his shoulders when that failed. In another minute, she felt him reach under her to slip her shoes off her feet. He found the button securing the collar of her dress around her neck, popped it open, then smoothed a hand down her bare back until he found the zipper. He pulled. Her dress puddled to her waist. 

His breathing hitched. His palm found her breast. He pressed his mouth to hers again, biting her bottom lip. She hiked her hips up, and he parted only far enough to wrench the whole dress off in one swift motion, lips still moving against hers, coming back to feel her heat before Ochako could register her dress was gone. He kissed her like she was air and he was drowning, driving her back hungrily until she was flat on his desk. 

When he backed away—to move along her jaw, suck on her neck, trail towards her shoulder, before moving back down the centerline of her body—Ochako reached down to unbuckle his belt. She was too naked, and he wasn’t naked at all. 

But he stopped her, taking both her wrists in one hand, and held them aside. “Not yet,” he murmured, then freed her to continue his path down.  

Ochako squirmed. It was cold. His touch was hot. Was he using his quirk, or was this just how he was? It occurred to her that in their day-to-day, they didn’t touch much. She panted like she was running a marathon instead of laying under him. He took his time and kissed the jut of her hip bone before running a finger under the band of her underwear. She whimpered. “Shoto—”

He drew it out, kissing down her leg with every inch he pulled her underwear down. When he finally slipped the pair over her feet, he raised one of her legs, bit gently at her ankle, and then kissed the same path up, eyes glued to hers, fingers sinking into her thighs, the tips teasing just before her entrance, until he could hook her leg over his shoulder. By the time he had his head poised where she wanted it most, she was more than wet enough to take his dick then and there.

“God”—she bucked against him, urging him into her, or over, or at least in some direction that would land his mouth anywhere on her. “Shoto—please—”

He chuckled, and the heat of his breath warmed her core. Then he ran his tongue flat over her slit, drawing a startled gasp out of her. When he closed his lips over her clit, she stiffened. When he sucked, she cried out immediately, hand shooting out to grab him by his hair. The leg she didn’t have hooked over him struggled to find footing, slipping off his back over and over again as he alternated between licking and sucking. “Oh my god,” she moaned. “Oh my god—”

He didn’t even have his dick in her and it was already too much. She bit her bottom lip to keep from getting any louder, tugged relentlessly at his hair with a hand to release the tension building inside her, but she couldn’t. It refused to quell. She could cry. She wanted to scream. When he pulled away, she whined, reaching with her other hand—the one that had been clenching the edge of his desk, knuckles and nails white—to force him back. 

He came back without her assistance. He came back, replaced his mouth with his thumb, and, with the same hand, slipped two fingers inside her. 

Her hips flew up off the table, heels driving into him, body too doped up on whatever cascade of hormones Shoto was inducing in her to care if he was in pain. It was too good. She wanted more, but thought she might not survive even this. She must have been blubbering, or else crying, or whimpering, or something pathetic, because Shoto kept murmuring, “You’re fine, Ochako,” over and over as he held her down and finger-fucked her while her brain melted out of her ears. 

“I can’t,” she heard herself say, the wantonness of it foreign to her. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Shoto answered smoothly, voice low. “You’re doing perfectly.” 

She sobbed. His thumb moved in tight circles, undeterred by her writhing, and when he added a third finger, Ochako shot up off his desk, thighs shaking and slipping off his shoulders. She bowed over him with a cry, grasping his wrist. “Shoto! Shoto—”

Shoto lifted his head to watch her intently, eyes dark, lids heavy, as he continued to stroke inside her. Her hands flew to his collar, fisting it like it was a lifeline as she panted against his forehead, eyes shut, hips chasing after his fingers when he pulled away, grinding desperately when he pushed in, nearly falling off the desk in her pursuit if not for the hand he gripped her hip with. “I need you—” Inside me!

His hand left her hip to catch her jaw. He tipped her face so that she had to look him in the eye. Her gaze was half-there and hazy, her lips parted as she struggled to take in breaths. “I know,” he answered, so calm, as he continued to work her. “Bear with me.”

He was so good. So good. So good. “Oh my fucking god—please…! I’m so—you’re so—” good so good so good!

Shoto dropped his gaze to kiss her before ducking down again and freeing his hand to hold her up once more. Ochako’s breath caught when his mouth returned to the juncture between her thighs to join his fingers. When he latched on again and sucked, she fell apart. 

It swept over her like a tidal wave, pulling her under. Her knees came together, trapping his hand, his head, between her thighs, and she shook as she fell backwards, too gone to catch herself on her elbows. Shoto grabbed her around the waist, dropping her back gently as he followed her forward. 

Her head emptied, ringing silence replacing every thought she’d ever had. When her lids fluttered open—when had she closed them?—she found Shoto standing between her legs, working furiously at his belt buckle. Dazed, she thought to rise to her elbows and help, but Shoto gave a tug—the sound of leather hissing against leather and metal clipping the floor sparked goosebumps up her arms—unzipped his fly, and fell over her, holding himself up on one hand.

She was boneless underneath him, gaze languid and molten and lidded, lips parted as her chest rose and fell in quick bursts. He felt every breath against his cheek. Shoto swallowed and dropped to his forearm to press his mouth to her neck. She tasted sweet.

“How do you want it?” he panted against her. He reached between them, down, pulling his dick out and catching the head at her entrance. Ochako gasped, twitching. Her nipples, pebbled and sensitive now, brushed against him. He was still fully clothed, and she was far, far from it. 

“H-huh?” she stammered, distracted. When she tried to move towards him, to sink his length into her, he held her down. She thought she felt teeth against the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She whimpered.

“Rough? Or slow?”

“Rough?” she echoed, confused. Rough what? Slow what?

Shoto rose from the mark he’d sucked into her skin, gave her a dark look, then slammed his hips into her.

“Fuck!” Ochako shouted, nails digging into his wrists. He did it again, and she cried out again, and her ankles crossed behind him as much as they could, but he was driving too hard and too fast for them to stay crossed. He looped an arm around her waist, still holding himself up with the other, to draw her tight into him. “Oh god,” she moaned, hands flying around his shoulders, clutching his back. She’d barely recovered from her last orgasm, and yet here she was, hurtling towards her next. “You’re—so—deep!”

Shoto growled into her shoulder. She was a vice around him, inside and out. He could feel her nails in his skin, felt her warm heat wrapped around him and the way it welcomed him when he pushed, and begged for him back when he pulled. The noises she made—muffled desperately against his skin or cried eagerly into his ear—lured him closer to the edge. She pleaded. Begged. Swore and sung praise. He hit a spot inside her that made her cunt clench deliciously, forced a noise out of her he’d be hearing in his dreams, and his hips jerked hard.

Ochako held on tight, pressing her chest against his, trying to meet his thrusts with her hips, but it was impossible. His desk scraped against the carpet beneath them, racing towards the windows. “Shoto!” she keened. His hold on her tightened. She was going to have fingertip-shaped bruises for days.  

“Ochako, you…” He couldn’t finish his thought. It dissolved into a moan. “Fuck.”

“Harder”—she choked trying to catch a breath—“Harder, I’m gonna—”

Shoto pulled up; Ochako gasped at the rush of sudden cold, then again when he sank his hot fingers into her waist. He railed into her, pulling her towards him when he pushed.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ochako sobbed, hands flying to her mouth. She twisted in his hands, body trying to escape and submit all at once, back arching and undulating to meet him. Her heels slipped against his back, on the side of the desk, over the backs of his thighs. Then Shoto wrenched her off him. “No,” she whined, already clawing into him again. “No, please—”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, though his words were strained as he spun her around. She caught herself on her hands, only for him to cup her breast in one of his, pull her up so her back was flush against his chest, and, with his other hand, slip his cock back inside her and split her open slowly. Tears welled in her eyes. He dragged his freed fingers over her lower lips, drenching them, at the same time that he rolled a nipple between his other thumb and forefinger. Ochako jerked and cried out. Then he pinched her clit.

“Oh my god—”

“God, Ochako,” Shoto snarled, pulling out abruptly to slam back into her. He was so, so, so deep. He was so good. She saw stars. “You’re so—fucking—perfect—fuck—”

Even she felt the way she squeezed viciously around him. He continued to pound into her, and her hands scrambled for something to grasp as she neared the edge. She was straining up on her toes, she didn’t know why or when it’d started. Shoto pressed her down against the desk, mercifully relieving the ache in her calves. He did the work of holding her hips high as he kneaded her breast and continued to run his fingers over her clit exactly the way she would have done if it’d been her own hand. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he said through grit teeth, voice tense, right into her ear. They both groaned when Ochako gave another involuntary squeeze. “Where do you want it?”

She could hardly think. “Um—ah—”

Shoto kissed her shoulder. “C’mon, Ochako. Fuck. Fuck.” His hips jerked out of rhythm. His hand faltered over her clit. He really shouldn’t be playing with fire like this, but she felt unbelievably good, and the thought of leaving her heat, even for just a second, was unbearable.

It was so much. Too much. She couldn’t handle the sound of him practically inside her, couldn’t handle his mouth on the slope of her neck. “Inside,” she blurted, arms shaking under her.

His hips snapped forward before she even finished the word, pressing so deep it sent her to her toes again, so deep it almost hurt. She let out a sharp cry and came, collapsing against his desk, gasping every time she felt him pulse. 

He fell with her, arms wound around her, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as he spun out. The darkness behind his closed eyes grew still darker at the corners, and he felt more than heard the sound vacuum out from between his ears. He felt every rope of cum that left him, every clench of her eager cunt trying to milk everything out of him, felt the overflow slide out and drip onto his lingering fingers, down her leg.

Their chests heaved in tandem. When his lids flickered open, he noticed the ice he’d put up over the glass of his windows clearing. Steam rose from her back. With the last of his strength, he rolled off her, facing the ceiling. She did the same, turning awkwardly, then crossing her arms over her bare chest to hide her nakedness. It was funny, it was endearing, it deepened the ominous pit growing in his gut that filled with slow, familiar nausea.

He’d suggested fucking her to satiate her curiosity and relieve some of the pressure he’d felt since the mishap with Takuma. That pressure seemed only greater now, despite that she hadn’t said anything incriminating this time around. 

Shoto wondered what she was thinking. Maybe he was projecting, but their shared silence had an unusual quality. He shifted in place, opening his mouth to speak but not knowing what to say. He licked his lips, and, voice uncomfortably loud even to himself, said, “Mediocre?”

Ochako burst into laughter, filling the room with warmth and dissolving whatever tension he’d imagined. She twisted towards him to whack him in the arm, then pressed her forehead to his shoulder as she shook with pure mirth.

Chapter Text

The ice had melted off his windows by the time they finally sat up. Her nipples were still pebbled from the cold, and Shoto debated going another round. But she was talkative as she slipped back into the gauzy rose of her dress and wiped inside her thighs with her underwear. When it wasn’t enough, Shoto offered her his tie. She almost died laughing, but took and used it, thanking him through breathless mirth. He shoved both her panties and his tie into a pocket. 

Now clean, she tapped her fingers together, held her breasts, and adjusted them to sit properly in her dress, Shoto barked a laugh. She giggled back. He crouched to pick up her shoes.

“Where’d you learn that?” Ochako asked over his head as he helped her into her sandals. There was no need to specify what.

Shoto slipped the other shoe on for her, then came to a stand, leaning into Ochako with his hands on either side of her. He shrugged, taking his time with answering. “Camie.”

There was that age-old sting of jealousy, but it was softer this time. “That makes sense.”

“Momo liked it slow.”

“Mm. That makes sense, too.” She would have to ask for it slow one of these days. Just out of curiosity.

“Are you ready to go?”

Ochako hopped off the desk, grabbed her clutch, and came to his side. Shoto doubled back to grab his jacket and pull it over her shoulders. It was the right move, because when they stepped back out into the world, the grass was dewy and the air was brisk. Fall was finally turning around the corner. 

The city was night-time quiet this late. “I guess fist-sized hole wasn’t actually about Momo, huh?”

Shoto groaned. “Let it go, Ochako.”

She laughed, peering at him from the side. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was distant, in fact. Something nervous settled in her chest, but she shook it off. They walked the rest of the way to her apartment in silence. At the door, she asked, tentative, “Do you wanna come in?”

Shoto shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Okay. See you…?”

“Monday. Let me know if he needs anything over the weekend.”

If he needed anything. Takuma. Not her. Ochako waved off the feeling. “Right. Okay. We’ll age Takuma up this week?”

He nodded. “Whenever you want. Just let me know.”

“Okay.” She fidgeted and chewed her bottom lip. “Um. Good night?”

Shoto gave her a long look, then swept a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re fine, Ochako.”

“I know!” she said a little too enthusiastically. “It’s just. We just had sex for the first time, and we’re coworkers, so it’s a little weird, but… it’s fine!”

“We’re fine.”

“Good night, Shoto.”

He stepped back, then turned away. “Good night, Ochako.”

—

Takuma raced into her arms when she arrived at Katsuki’s in the morning. Then, when he realized she was there to pick him up—to retrieve him from Katsuki—he began to cry, clinging to Katsuki’s sweatpants.

“What did you do to him?!”

“What did I do to him?! I don’t fuckin’ know, be awesome?!”

“Takuma, it’s okay, you can still come to Katsuki’s all the time! You just have to come home for now!” She beckoned desperately. Eventually, they soothed him enough—Ochako with some wheedling, Katsuki with his blunt, pragmatic kindness he seemed only to reserve for children—for him to climb into Ochako’s arms.

When she stood and smiled thankfully at him, Katsuki blinked and said, “Huh. You got laid.”

Ochako flinched, squeezing Takuma to her. The little boy was too distracted by a bird in the sky to hear Katsuki. “Are you crazy?!” she hissed. 

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. After a beat, he grunted, “huh,” then slammed the door in her face.

She hurried out of Katsuki’s complex. Did she look like she’d been very thoroughly, extremely fucked? She patted her hair, checking for stray strands that might give the impression it’d been tousled about. She’d spent a grueling amount of time this morning covering the visible marks Shoto had left on her, but now she was self-conscious. When she raised her hand to the one on her neck, it was tender to the touch. She winced and pulled away quickly.

At home, Takuma trailed after Ochako obsessively. “Popsicle?” he chirped as she was making lunch. Ochako smiled, pulled one out of the fridge, and handed it to him, coming to a squat.

“What’d you do with Mister Katsuki, Takuma?”

“He told me aaaaaall about All Might.” His fangs, which were so tiny when he was small, sank into the treat. He never seemed to experience brain freeze. “And he told me stories about him and All Might. And Mister Izuku that he said he was friends with but he said I don’t know him and he said I was better for it. But he said I could meet him one day maybe-probably too. And he read me bedtime stories and he did all the voices.”

Go figure. Ochako grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Suddenly, Takuma began to cry. Fat pearls dropped from his eyes, trailing down his cheeks and into his mouth as his popsicle fell out. “I miss Mister Katsuki!” 

Good grief, Katsuki had really left an impression on him. Trying not to laugh, Ochako patted his head. “That’s okay, Takuma. You’ll see him again!”

To her bemusement, Takuma sucked in his breaths as though trying to contain them. He curled into himself, dropping his popsicle, burying his face in his knees and rocked. The occasional choke escaped him. 

“What’s wrong?” Ochako asked, alarmed.

“No crying,” Takuma bleated. “No crying allowed.”

Oh. Ochako blinked away the tightness behind her eyes and gathered Takuma into her arms. “No, no, crying is allowed. Crying is okay, it’s good. You cry as much as you want. You cry as much as you want, and you can cry when you see Mister Katsuki again, and he’ll like it a lot, too. It’ll make him soooo happy, Takuma, that you cried for him.” It really would. Knowing Katsuki, he would gloat for days.

The little boy shook his head furiously, flailing and knocking Ochako’s shoulder painfully with his chin, trying to get away but also weeping noisily, unhindered. He huh-huh’d and aah’d a lot, the way children do when they wail. Ochako sat with him, rocking back and forth, patting his back or rubbing in circles. It was a while before Takuma’s breathing slowed. 

“I can see Mister Katsuki soon?” he hiccuped.

“Yes, you can!”

“Can I see him tomorrow?”

“Oh! Well…” Katsuki went on day-long hikes on Sundays. He left at the deadly, agonizing hour of 4am and returned 16 hours later. Ask her how she knew. “Mister Katsuki’s really busy on Sundays! Maybe next Saturday?”

“Can I see him Monday?”

God, why did Eri teach him the days of the week? She bit the inside of her cheek in consideration, brows wrinkling.

All the girls knew now, anyway, and if they knew and Katsuki knew, what did it matter if the rest of the class found out? Izuku certainly wouldn’t care. Her colleagues wouldn’t care, either, she would only have to explain the situation to them, her concerns with throwing him into the foster care system, her intention of setting him up more successfully before initiating the grinding legal process. They would understand.

Plus, other than the girls and Katsuki, it wasn’t like anybody needed to know how Shoto was involved.

 “I… I guess you can see him Monday,” she said hesitantly. Takuma lit up, aching forgotten like he hadn’t just sobbed his little heart out. He wrestled out of her arms, picked his popsicle off the floor, and injected his teeth back into it, pink-eyed and smiling. Ochako plucked a paper towel from the roll on the counter and handed it to him. “Help mommy clean up?”

Happy and compliant, Takuma took the paper towel, crouched to the floor, and wiped. Ochako washed and dried a few of the dishes in the sink, then collapsed into a seat to—finally—eat.

Chapter Text

On Sunday, she took Takuma to a park. He made friends with strangers, and nobody suspected otherwise that he lusted for blood. Across the field, a boy tumbled and scraped his knee, and Takuma watched for a minute. Ochako held her breath, waiting in case she had to make a grab for him. 

But the little boy turned back to her and sat. “Am I gonna see Mister Shoto on Monday, too?”

“Mhm.”

“Is Mister Shoto my daddy?”

Ochako choked on her sandwich. “Huh?!”

“Hideo said there’s supposed to be a mommy and a daddy. Or a daddy and a daddy. Or a mommy and a mommy. He said it has to be two people. Two people kiss and then a bird gives you a baby.”

She was about to protest, but paused. In fact, she’d never heard of a quirk that could produce true, unique people. Duplication quirks and clone quirks, and quirks that created empty shells, sure, but not life itself. “Well, two people did make you, Takuma. But the bird accidentally delivered you to me instead.”

He eyed her dolefully. “Don’t lie, mommy.”

Ochako startled. She put her sandwich down. “Okay. You did have a daddy, and a different mommy. Or maybe a daddy and a daddy or a mommy and a mommy. But then you didn’t, and I found you.”

“They didn’t want me.” He ripped blades of grass out of the earth in a fistful, then unclenched and watched them fall. He picked at the pieces stuck to his palm. “They didn’t like me. Because of my quirk.”

“They didn’t,” Ochako nodded, heart sad. “But I like you, and I want you. I saw you and thought, ‘I’m gonna pick him!’ And that’s more important.”

Takuma stared at her. “Is my quirk bad?”

“No, your quirk isn’t bad. There’s no such thing as a bad quirk, just a misunderstood one. Any quirk can be used for good or bad.” 

“But I eat people.”

“Well, maybe that can help people one day.”

“Like how?”

“Well, maybe if somebody had poison in their blood, you could suck it out? But you have to remember to spit it out, Takuma. If it’s bad blood, you have to spit it out, okay?” Not that she really knew if his quirk worked that way, but theoretically.

“Okay.” Takuma continued to pluck at the grass. There was a long pause. He looked back up at Ochako a moment later. “Am I yours, mommy?”

Her heart seized in her chest. Then Ochako reached for him, tickling his sides. “You are mine, Takuma!” She drew him into her arms, squeezing tight. “Sometimes I want to eat you! ‘Cause you’re so cute!”

Takuma shrieked, struggling out of her arms giggling, leaping up to run away. Ochako sprung to her feet to chase him, catching him easily, swinging him around whenever she did, kissing him all over his face. They played until the sun began to set, and Takuma, exhausted, sat in Ochako’s lap, head falling forward occasionally as he dozed off.

Ochako picked him up, grabbed the blanket she’d brought, and made her way home. Drooling against her shoulder, Takuma mumbled, “I love you, mommy.”

She smiled, patting his back. “I love you, too, Takuma.”

—

Monday morning, she examined the bruises up her neck. They were fading, but still evident. She covered the highest of them, then zipped her suit up and latched her respirator around her neck. Takuma raced to her side at the door. 

She’d texted Eri to tell her Takuma wouldn’t be at school on Monday. Eri had given her the ok, then added that until Takuma was six, there was really no need for him to come to class unless he wanted to play with his friends. He was too advanced. Ochako swelled with the pride of it, as well as the pain of it. It always felt like she didn’t have much longer with him.

In the office, she held Takuma’s hand through the lobby, up the elevator, and onto her floor, pointing and explaining things along the way that she thought he might find interesting. She drew curious looks, but ignored them. 

“Bring your kid to work’ day, huh?” Eijirou grinned. Mina must have told him everything. Knowing Eijirou, he wouldn’t speak a lick of it to Shoto.

“What’s wrong with your teeth?” asked Takuma, pointing fiercely up at Eijirou, who squatted to the floor and grinned even wider.

“Nothin’, pal. What’s your name? Mine’s Eijirou.”

“Takuma. Can I touch them?”

Snickering, Eijirou let him run his finger over the points. When Takuma pulled away, Eijirou snapped forward, making the little boy yelp. But he laughed after, eyes sparkling. 

Eijirou stood. “Alright, I’ve got a meeting to catch, then I’m heading out to patrol. See ya later, bud!”

Ochako led Takuma down the hall, taking the left split for her office, only for Takuma to stop dead in his tracks. He yanked his hand from Ochako’s and sprinted down the hall, head down like he meant to bullrush his target. “Katsuki!”

Katsuki started into the air, back arching and hair raising like a cat’s. He spun around just in time to catch Takuma with a hand to the crown of his head, preventing the little boy from wrapping himself around his calf. “Shit, kid, be louder, why don’t ya? And don’t run in the hallways.”

Katsuki glanced up at Ochako, raising his eyebrows. She shrugged, coming up to him. “He cried when he got home ‘cause he missed you. He cried, Katsuki. Like, bawled.”

She saw the smirk coming. He ruffled Takuma’s hair. “Smart kid,” he chortled, eyes warm despite the arrogance all over the rest of his face. 

“Oh my god,” Mina, who’d stepped out of her office to check on the commotion, shouted. “Who’s that cutie?!”

She skittered up to Takuma, then crouched to his eye-level. “You’re really pink,” he said.

“I know, right?”

Takuma blushed, turning shy. “You’re pretty.”

Mina laughed. “I know, right?!”

Several more people waded out of their cubicles, interest piqued. Denki popped his head out of the office he shared with Kyoka, who was already leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded. Momo peeked out, too, mug of coffee in her hands. 

There was a lot of high-pitched chatter and play and mischievousness. Shoto, spinning languidly in his seat as he signed off on debriefs, paused to glimpse out the windows showing into the office. His colleagues were gathered in a gaggle, more chipper than usual in the morning hours. 

He stepped out to ask what was happening, and saw Takuma. Their eyes met. Takuma flew at him like a bullet, arms out, face ecstatic. “Daddy!” he shouted, and the room collectively went mute. Shoto received Takuma into his arms, lifting him up.

Ochako and Shoto eyed each other, then at their friends. “I told him I’m not,” Shoto said, at the same time Ochako said, “I told him he’s not.” Then they both did a double-take at the same time, regarding each other with bewilderment.

The rest of Class A shared looks amongst themselves, then devolved back into teasing and playing with Takuma until they had to break for their duties. Ochako brought Takuma to her office, closed the door, and begged him to sit on the other side of her desk and play. It took lots of coaxing and bartering, but he eventually acquiesced, promising to sit and color until lunch time (for 30 minutes of TV before bed).

Katsuki, watching the exchange from across the floor, then turned to enter Shoto’s office, which was just beside his. He shut the door behind him, leaned back into it, and crossed his arms. “Cheeks, huh?”

Shoto looked up from the folder in his hands. He didn’t deign to respond, instead returning to the case file.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Katsuki waited for a response. When he got none, he continued. “Since you’re emotionally constipated and she cares too much.”

Shoto shut the folder and stacked it on top of the others. “This is cutting into your gym time.” Katsuki shrugged with that overbearing expression he always wore. “I’m not emotionally constipated.” Not since Momo, at least.

Katsuki’s mouth thinned skeptically. “It takes more than one bad relationship to fix emotional constipation.” He would know. He’d had a severe case of it at UA, after all, and boy, had he paid for it.

“We had sex one time. You’re overreacting.”

“I’m just sayin’ if you’re gonna have casual sex with somebody, pick someone who doesn’t throw up their heart every time they open their mouth. Spare the rest of us from the shit show.”

Shoto sighed, irritated now. “It’s not going to happen again.”

“Better not.”

Katsuki flung Shoto’s door open and swept out. Ochako, to Shoto’s great discomfort, appeared next. “Yikes!” she exclaimed, watching Katsuki stomp off. She turned plate-sized eyes on Shoto. “What’s got him all worked up?”

He bit his tongue. “Nothing. What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’! I was just thinking we might as well get it over with and feed Takuma today.” She peered cautiously over her shoulder, then spun around sheepishly. “I don’t know how much longer I can handle him in the office,” she whispered. Takuma had already broken his promise.

Shoto blunted his laugh with a cough. “You can bring him here for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t want him to distract you.”

“So he can distract you instead? I’m less busy than you are.”

Ochako, taken aback, blinked rapidly. Then her expression softened. She looked down at his table, smiling to herself. “Alright. I’ll bring him here after lunch. I’ve got patrol in the afternoon, anyway, I traded with Hinata since he’s got a doctor’s appointment. Could you bring him straight to my place after?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” Ochako grinned and left, only to reappear a second later, poking her head in from the outside. “Don’t forget to eat!”

Shoto glanced up, but Ochako had already bounced away. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

Chapter Text

They met outside her door. Takuma, seeing Ochako, wiggled out of Shoto’s arms and raced towards her. “Whoops,” she said, fishing out her key. “Guess I should get you a spare, huh?”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t waiting long.”

“Mama, you took forever!”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!”

Shoto took the keys from her as she tickled Takuma. “It was only five minutes.”

Takuma raced into her bedroom to change. Ochako motioned at the catch-all tray by her entryway. “Take it anyway, I can just make more. Lemme shower first, then we’ll get this show on the road.”

Half an hour later, Ochako reappeared, smelling like soap and cherry blossoms. Her hair, clipped up, dripped at the ends, leaving spots on her t-shirt. Shoto glanced up from where he’d propped himself up on his side to watch Takuma entertain himself. Still pretty, he thought.

Smiling, she came to her knees. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

They got up and migrated to the kitchen, all three of them taking to the floor. Ochako held her wrist out and said, “Not too much, Takuma. Okay?”

He had a hungry look in his eyes. “Okay!” Then he grabbed her forearm and sank his teeth in. 

Ochako’s breath caught. Shoto watched as her pupils dilated, as the blood rose to her cheeks. One minute, then two, passed. The color began to drain out of her, so Shoto folded a hand over Takuma’s shoulder and pried him away. The little boy whined a bit, but allowed it. 

Shoto ushered him into Ochako’s bedroom. He’d take Takuma out and replace him with Ochako the moment she was cleaned up. “Stay in here. We’ll be back soon.” 

Takuma’s tiny face disappeared behind the door. Shoto made his way back to Ochako, whose eyes were still blown out. Upon seeing Shoto, her lips parted, her lashes fluttered. She held her dripping wrist to her chest. “Hey,” she said, breathless and weak. 

Shoto knelt to the ground. “Hey.” He pressed the hand towel they’d prepared in advance over the wound to staunch it. Neither made a sound. Shoto waited, tense, for the moment he’d have to defend himself from Ochako’s advances, but she was oddly subdued. The faucet dripped above their heads, the pings echoed against the walls.

“Can I kiss you?” whispered Ochako.

Shoto looked at her sharply. She stared back at him, wide-eyed and hopeful. Swallowing, he said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You have my full consent.”

He jerked away, brows furrowing. “Ochako?”

There’d been a part of him that had thought, perhaps, in the moments when they were dazed and confused, it might not really be them. Maybe, he’d thought, if conscious-Ochako couldn’t remember what happened when she was unconscious, then unconscious-Ochako couldn’t remember her real life. Two different people. It would explain his sudden, foreign attraction to her, and her similarly uncharacteristic interest in him. 

“Yes?” she said.

She was leaning into him, as if eager to hear his thoughts, but there was nothing to say. Shoto inspected her for a minute, the pert bow of her lips, the soft rise of her cheeks. He slid his hand behind her head and kissed her.

It was different. Not crazed like before. She drew back, seemingly satisfied, but Shoto pushed forward, his other hand coming up on the cabinet behind her. He kissed her again, heart pounding in his ears. He took his time. And when they stopped, he took his time once more, then another time, then one final time. 

It didn’t feel like enough. He had the sinking feeling it never would. Ochako peered at him through her lashes sleepily. “I love you,” she murmured, leaning into his hand, which had drifted to her jaw. 

Shoto peeled back haltingly. “Err—”

She smiled gently, lids falling shut. “That’s okay,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss his palm, then falling asleep.

His blood rushed through him for a different reason now. Too thick, too hot. Viscous disgust welled up inside him. Gritting his teeth through the physical revulsion of it, he picked her up and brought her to her bed to sleep off the poison. Takuma crept out with Shoto, following him into the living room.

“How old are you now?”

“Seven.” His burgundy eyes fell away to the floor. He looked resigned to a fate Shoto didn’t understand. Then again, three years was a long time to feel rejected by society.

Shoto sat with him in the quiet. They’d overshot it a little, but Eri had told him one morning that the next time he might overgrow, she’d put him at an academic level slightly below his level. it was better, she explained, for him to be older than the academic level than younger. Feeling behind was hard on a kid’s confidence, as opposed to being able to provide guidance and leadership to peers when ahead. She’d probably place him into a nearby first grade class, as UA didn’t have a primary school, and supervise him there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

Takuma’s gaze, too tired for a seven-year-old, shifted to him. “Am I starting over again?” 

Shoto said nothing for a while, then nodded. “Kind of. You’ll have Ochako, though.”

“What about you?”

Surprised, Shoto hesitated. “If you want.”

Takuma nodded, looking relieved. “Okay.”

They lapsed into silence. Shoto thought perhaps he should ask if he wanted to do something, but Takuma seemed perfectly happy to sit beside him and do nothing. He had a faraway look on his face, like he was imagining himself somewhere else. Shoto decided not to bother him. He knew the feeling.

“Does mama get sad ever?” he asked suddenly.

“Of course.”

“About what?”

Shoto shrugged. He tipped his head back against the couch and read the cracks in the ceiling. “When the people she cares about get hurt.”

“Do people hurt mama?”

Shoto’s stomach gave a nasty roll. He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the split of red and white. “They do.”

Takuma frowned. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you get sad?”

“Of course.”

“What about happy?”

Shoto stared evenly at Takuma, who repaid his vagueness in kind. “I am.”

There was a long beat. “Okay,” said Takuma, voice soft.

Ochako exited from her room then, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. She gasped at the sight of Takuma. “It worked!” she cheered. Takuma brightened, coming to a stand. Ochako hugged him, cooing happily, and his eyes welled with tears.

“I don’t think it’s ever not worked,” Shoto said. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s always worked a little too well!” 

Shoto searched Ochako for recognition, but she only laughed and returned his inspection with no change in personality. She didn’t remember, despite that Takuma had taken significantly less from her this time. He’d been spared that first time simply because Takuma hadn’t had the chance to inject him with much at all.

“We can go to Eri together tomorrow morning. Yuna needed to switch her schedule, so I’ve got another afternoon patrol.”

“Okay.”

She let go of Takuma and got enthusiastic again. “We should celebrate! It’s not easy turning seven after you were just four! Whaddya wanna do?”

“Can we go to the park?” Takuma asked tentatively.

“Okay! Right now?” 

He shook his head. “In the morning.”

“Oh, okay! So the weekend!”

Takuma nodded. Ochako glanced at Shoto. “Do you wanna come?”

Shoto’s instinct was to say no, but Takuma looked at him sideways. His gut twisted. “Sure.”

Ochako beamed. 

Chapter Text

Ochako insisted on accompanying Shoto and Takuma to school the next morning despite Takuma’s protests. He had seemingly, overnight, decided he did not want Ochako to be there, but Ochako wanted to know how Eri was doing since they’d last seen her, what she thought would be the next best steps for Takuma, and whether she was still making music (something she remembered randomly the night before. Shoto got the feeling Ochako hadn’t slept). Shoto saw her enthusiasm for what it really was: anxiety.

Ochako’s expression remained bright and eager when they dropped Takuma off and heard from Eri. The moment they left, though, the facade fell. She didn’t say anything on the way to the office, only chewed her lips absentmindedly. Up the elevator and down the hallway, she didn’t seem to register that Shoto was with her. They split for their offices without a goodbye.

He rapped on her doorframe at lunch, startling her. She smiled upon seeing him. It was subdued. “What’s up?” she chirped with suspicious enthusiasm while shutting her laptop and folding her hands on top.

Shoto walked around her desk, stopping behind her, paying no mind to how she craned her neck to watch him dubiously. When he reached over her shoulder and laid a hand on top of her laptop, she stiffened. “What are you working on?” he asked.

“Nothing!”

“You’re at work doing nothing?”

“No, that’s not—I’m working, just normal stuff!” She grew indignant. “Even if I was doin’ nothin’, that should be okay! I’m workin’ all the time, maybe I just need a break! Maybe I just need to do nothin’ for a little bit! And that should be okay!”

“Ochako,” Shoto chuckled, interrupting her obviously nervous diatribe. She turned pink at his easy read on her. “You can’t stand to do nothing. Just open the laptop.”

Sighing, Ochako acquiesced. Her search bar read “my seven year old is so quiet.” Shoto pursed his lips to stop from laughing. “You’re diagnosable,” he teased, stepping away to smile at her.

“I think this is normal,” Ochako snapped, folding her arms and pouting. “You don’t think he’s weirdly quiet?”

“I think he’s scared,” Shoto countered gently. 

Her frustration quailed, becoming concern. “Scared? Of what?”

“How many four-year-olds do you know that become seven-year-olds within an hour? He’s been starting over his entire life.”

Her gaze grew distant, then snapped to clarity. Eyebrows canted with worry, she stared at Shoto like he had all the answers. “But he didn’t mind that you were dropping him off. It was just me he didn’t want there.” She looked on the verge of tears.

Shoto shrugged. “He likes routine.”

Though he did suspect there was something deeper to it. Telling Ochako that, however, would send her spiraling. Case in point, nothing he’d said was incriminating in any way, yet she continued to fidget with her fingers and worry her bottom lip.

Shoto spun her seat so he could face her. He placed his hands on her armrests and leaned into her. Ochako pressed away, sinking into the cushioning. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, looking her in the eye meaningfully. 

Her caution faded line by slow line until the tension in her mouth dropped away and the crease between her brows smoothed. “Thank you,” she whispered, expression turning to soft sunshine. 

She smiled up at him. His dick jumped. Unthinkingly, he raised his thumb, pressed it against her bottom lip, then dragged it down to watch it spring free. Ochako flinched, going still. Shoto’s gaze flicked to hers. The usual warmth of her eyes had gone dark and syrupy again.

“Um,” she breathed, chest hitching. Her fingers curled into her seat.

Shoto straightened, ran a hand through his hair, then said, voice low, “Follow me.”

Her chair spun as she left her office to trail behind Shoto, heart thumping against her ribs. The floor was nearly empty, most of the heroes and sidekicks at lunch or finishing up morning patrol. Shoto opened the door of the storage closet across from the elevator, placed his hand on the small of Ochako’s back, and pushed her in gently. Then he locked the door, brought both his hands to her waist, and turned her around to kiss her.

Ochako stumbled backwards at the suddenness, yelping. Shoto’s hand shot up to grab her head before it could knock into the metal shelving behind her. He slid his hand to her respirator, reaching behind it for the zipper of her suit. As he pulled, she worked her shoulders and arms out of the sleeves, then pressed her hands, trapped between their bodies, against his chest.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” he murmured. She peered doe-eyed up at him as she nodded eagerly, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Shoto felt himself stiffen below his belt. 

Her suit pooled at her hips. He caught himself staring, then she pressed herself against him to lift her legs behind her, unclipping her boots and tugging the rest of her uniform down her legs. Shoto hiked his thigh between hers the moment he could, raising his shin to rest on a shelf and impervious to the way it dug into his flesh as he listened to her gasp and watched her tits bounce. Her boots fell off, landing loudly. Ochako winced. Shoto, too busy admiring the rise and fall of her chest, didn’t notice. 

Ochako shifted her weight to encourage the rest of her suit to drop from her ankles. It inadvertently set her grinding against him, and she lost track of her purpose at the feel. Her suit did slip off, but by then, she was clutching his shoulders and wantonly riding his thigh. Shoto held her at her waist, guiding her against him, entranced by the roll of her hips. His dick strained against his belt. 

She whimpered, gasped, breathed in short little bursts. Her hands crept up his shoulders, behind his neck, kneading desperately in lieu of crying out. The fabric of his suit grew dark and damp where she was grinding herself. He grew harder.

Shoto’s eyes darted to hers. She was staring keenly at him. When their gazes met, she flushed and turned her head, but he pressed his thumb to the side of her chin and coaxed her back. He lifted his knee just a little higher, held her a little closer; she slid further into him, right up against his dick. She moaned. 

Shoto cut her off with a kiss. She returned it eagerly, hands winding through his hair. When he pulled away, he kept his forehead to hers. “Shhh,” he whispered. 

“I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered, lashes fluttering. Shoto nodded, staring intently at the way her pupils blew out, eating into the ring of dark brown. His fingers sinking deeper into the plush give of her body. Another minute later, she tensed in his hold, squeezing her eyes shut and biting hard into her lip to keep from shouting. 

When it was over, Shoto dropped his knee slowly, holding her up as she gained her bearings. Ochako giggled, then stopped abruptly when he reached a hand between her thighs. “Wha—”

She jerked when he ran a finger between her folds. Shoto blinked, then glanced at her. “You’re soaked,” he said, voice low and incredulous.

She would blush if she could, but she was already completely red in the face. “Well, I just… you just… we… I came!” she blurted in an embarrassed whisper.

Even so, she was disproportionately wet. It dripped down her thighs. It was still dripping out of her, down her thighs. Shoto came to his knees. Ochako made a noise of bewilderment, but instinctively hooked a leg over his shoulder. 

“C’mon,” he murmured, prying her other leg off the floor and encouraging it over his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her safely aloft and pressed her into the shelving; Ochako didn’t even notice the bite of it against her back, too caught in his gaze on hers. When her ankles finally crossed behind him, he said, voice dark, “Good girl.”

Ochako managed to flush darker still, letting out an astonished squeak, only to choke on it when she felt the wet slide of his tongue against her inner thigh. He mouthed a thick stripe up, burning a trail into her skin, then did it on the other side, finished it with a kiss, then pressed his mouth over her core, eyes glued to hers. Her hands flew to her mouth, body bowing over him, as he began lapping at her.

Ochako panted into her palms. When the coil in her stomach wound too tight, she grabbed his hair in one hand and bit into her knuckles with the other. “Shoto!” she cried, muffled. She couldn’t help herself. He stared back at her as he lured her to the edge, watching, mismatched eyes shades darker than usual.

She came hard and fast. When she stopped twitching, Shoto slid her legs off his shoulders, catching her when she collapsed. Ochako caught her breath as she clung to him. Once she found her strength, Shoto stooped to help her into her suit.

Ochako, though, blinked at him in confusion. Her gaze darted to the noticeable tent in his pants, then back. Brows furrowed, she said, “But I want you.” Shoto did a double-take. “Inside me,” she added, as if he might need the clarification.

Shoto’s lips parted. After a beat, he licked his lips and said, quietly, “The hour’s almost over.”

“But I need you?”

He began to laugh, quietly, under his breath, in disbelief. “Okay,” he whispered, backing her into the shelving again, reaching over her with one hand to clutch the rack above her head while slipping the other hand between them, his gaze trained on hers. Ochako heard his utility belt drop to the floor, heard him tug at a zipper. Then he looped his arm around her waist, lifting her. One of her legs came up around him. The seam of his dick slid against her cunt. Ochako sucked in a sharp breath, glancing down. 

Shoto gave another low, incredulous laugh. He nudged her face up with his nose against hers and kissed her. “I’m not kidding, Ochako,” he said against her mouth, words soft. “You need to be quiet.” 

She nodded frantically, pulling away and dropping her gaze. He chuckled, then slid into her. The heat and friction was immediate.

“Oh, fuck,” Shoto groaned, tensing at the feel. He groaned again when her cunt gripped him eagerly at his reaction. He’d told her to be quiet, but it seemed he was going to be the problem. “Fuck, Ochako,” he rasped, then immediately began to pant.

“Sh, sh, sh!” Ochako urged, matching him breath for breath, fingers fluttering over his chest. Her legs had found their way up, crossing themselves behind his back.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he ground out, voice strained. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck. She felt him swallow. Both his arms wrapped under her, propping her up, and he stepped away from the shelving, stumbling a little as he backed into the opposite wall. 

Every step rocked her against his cock. She cried out each time. Shoto dropped a hand from underneath her to hold it over her mouth. Nipples pert and begging for friction, Ochako wiggled up against him until his dick threatened to slip out of her. Then she fell back onto him.

Shoto choked and slid to the floor. Ochako landed roughly on her knees, crying into his palm when his dick shoved deep into her on the drop. She began to bounce, and Shoto snapped his hips up, matching her rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he hissed and dropped his hand from her mouth to her waist so he could watch the full extent of her face: the tilt of her brows, her parted, swollen lips, the way her eyes kept trying to roll back. “You’re so fucking pretty riding my dick, Ochako. You feel so good.”

She whimpered. Shoto reached around her head, pulling her down to meet his mouth. Her back arched. Her knees splayed wider—too wide to continue her frantic up-and-down. Shoto readjusted, grabbed one of her hips, and slammed up into her, bullying her insides over and over. 

They didn’t break to breathe. She cried into his mouth, fingernails biting into his shoulders, leaving little moons. They heard the elevator ding suddenly from outside, footsteps and voices pouring into the hallway. Somebody gave a loud whoop of laughter, and Shoto felt Ochako seize up in his hands.

She came. Instantly. Hard. She nearly squeezed him out. Shoto, stars in his eyes, ripped his mouth off hers to bite his tongue and shut himself up as he painted her insides white, back of his head banging against the wall. Ochako collapsed against him, liquid limbed and clammy to the touch. She twitched and whimpered every time he pulsed inside her. 

Minutes passed. Footsteps faded, voices disappeared. Shoto ran his hands over her back, warming his touch to stop her shivering. When he slipped out of her, she gave a clipped little moan, too quiet for anybody but him to hear, and, to his disbelief, his cock gave one last, stubborn jerk at the sound. His spend trailed out of her. 

With the high waning, the sinking feeling returned. This wasn’t good. This was a problem. Something inside him whispered he shouldn’t be doing this to her.

Ochako, trembling, sat up. She blinked at him sleepily, then leaned down to kiss him chastely, sweetly, too tired to make anything of it. The tip of her nose pressed up against his. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking, breath warm against his lips. 

Lids heavy, Shoto blinked back at her. He wound a fist in her hair, pressed her back to him, and kissed her again.

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

Chapter Text

She slipped into Shoto’s office more frequently, no longer knocking, often to sit on the edge of his desk for no good reason except to tease him for all the case files in his to-be-read pile. When she didn’t stop by, Shoto wandered over to her office at lunch. Every time, Ochako’s eyes flew intently over her screen, brows furrowed, lips between her teeth. Then she would look up, see him, and smile, entire face relaxing. He would lift up the bag in his hand, and somehow, she managed to be happier.

Ochako would leave his office to return to hers. Shoto would leave hers to return to his. Katsuki always seemed to pass conveniently by Shoto’s windows after those moments, glancing sidelong into them with narrowed eyes and a reproachful set to his mouth. Shoto pretended not to notice.

Sometimes, when they were alone in the elevator, often a convenient coincidence, Ochako typing furiously on her phone while she chewed her tongue, Shoto iced over the security camera, backed her into a corner, and kissed her. When the doors opened, she’d blink owlishly as he swept out into the hallway, ducking his head at any colleagues who greeted him. 

Then Saturday came. It’d only been a week. Ochako, in a hoodie with leggings underneath her shorts, reminding Shoto of her highschool self, laid out a blanket on the grassy knoll Takuma had scouted out. She sat at Takuma’s side. Shoto took a seat on his other. Nobody said anything, though Ochako kept bowing her head to peer at Takuma, growing increasingly concerned. 

Takuma finally looked at her. Her expression brightened. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, casting his gaze down again.

The worry cascaded over her again. She looked at Shoto over Takuma’s head, heartbroken. Shoto’s eyes darted away, to the bathrooms. Ochako stared at him for an uncomprehending second, then jumped up and said, “I have to pee.”

She got up and practically sprinted away. Shoto bowed over to catch Takuma’s eye. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Tears immediately began to well up in Takuma’s eyes. Mouth wobbling, he said, “I’m scared.”

Admitting it broke the dam. He began to gasp like he couldn’t breathe. Shoto, out of his element—he was used to screaming, stomping kids, kids like Katsuki—reached a hand out. Takuma immediately curled into him. Shoto, nonplussed, wrapped his other arm around him. “What are you afraid of?”

“Don’t wanna”—he choked—“make mama cry.”

Shoto froze. Takuma gave a particularly hard jolt, prompting Shoto to resume patting his head, heart in his throat. “Why do you think you’ll make her cry?”

Takuma shook his head furiously. He stuttered trying to get the words out, but couldn’t. He dissolved more into his tear-ridden frenzy. Shoto, mind spinning, tried a different angle. “What about making her cry scares you?”

Takuma curled into his knees, burying his face in them. “She’ll hate me.”

“She won’t,” Shoto said instinctively, before his thoughts had time to turn over. “I don’t think she knows how to hate.”

There was a lot of proof to list, but it was the sort of thing that was as obvious as day was to night. She’d been like that for as long as any of Class A knew her; it was the first thing anyone would realize about her within ten minutes of speaking to her. Even her initial dislike of Toga had swayed far too easily.

Takuma’s breathing evened. He trembled in Shoto’s arms, but no longer quaked uncontrollably. “But I’m different,” he whispered, turning up to meet Shoto’s eyes with his swollen, reddened ones. He dropped his gaze almost immediately. “Nobody likes me.”

Shoto shrugged. “I like you.” Takuma’s expression screwed up again, but he didn’t cry. “Your friends seem to like you.” 

When they’d commuted to UA in the mornings, he’d had plenty of other four-year-olds skipping up to him at the entrance, excited to see him. He’d been excited to see them, too; it’d been the only thing that could shut him up on the way to school, a brief trip he chattered endlessly through, exhausting Shoto. 

But he was at a new school now. “I understand, though. My dad hit me a lot when I was little. I wasn’t allowed to make friends, not even with my brothers and sister. My mom had to leave because she accidentally hurt me, and she was the person I liked the most. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

Properly distracted now, Takuma stared at Shoto. He looked sad for him. “Is that why your eye is like that?” 

Shoto, who’d forgotten about his scar after so long a while, hummed and nodded. 

Takuma looked away. “But you’re nice.”

Shoto cocked his head at Takuma. “You’re nice, too.”

His bottom lip shook. “I eat people.”

“Not really,” Shoto replied. It was a good thing Takuma wasn’t looking, because he couldn’t help the smile sidling up the side of his face. He dropped his expression the moment Takuma glanced up again. 

“What if mama’s lying?” he whispered, afraid to be heard.

Shoto gave Takuma a long look. Eventually, he said, “Ochako’s not your old parents, Takuma. You can just ask her. She won’t lie.”

Takuma blinked down to the floor, staring at the grass. “Okay.”

Ochako returned, perfectly timed. When she saw Takuma, she ogled his puffy face with alarm, speechless. “He’s fine,” said Shoto. Ochako, still baffled, took her previous seat cautiously. 

“Do you like me, mama? Takuma blurted, starting to water again.

Ochako jumped at the suddenness of his question. “Like you?” she parrotted. Then she brought her fingers to his sides, tickling before pulling him away from Shoto to squeeze him. “I love you!”

Shoto’s brain tripped. He thought of Takuma’s earlier fear. When Ochako grinned over Takuma’s shoulder at him, he smiled back, gut twisting.

—

They returned home late at night after walking around the park in unending circles, Takuma’s verbosity returning to him. Ochako, somehow, kept up with his meandering thoughts. Shoto kept a few steps behind unless prompted to join the conversation. They stopped only for dinner, settling into a stray picnic table. Takuma sucked out of what they’d begun fondly (mostly Ochako) referring to as his “juice bags” while Ochako and Shoto chewed through a variety of convenience foods. Neither had been proactive enough to prepare food, something that made Ochako snicker.

After tucking him in, Ochako crept to the coffee table where Shoto sat. She scooched in between the couch and the other end, beaming at Shoto across the table. “That went well! What’d you talk to him about?”

“He was afraid you’d hate him.”

Ochako startled. “For what?”

Shoto shot her an amused glance. “For being himself.”

Her expression fell. “What? Do you think I made him think that? Did I do something?”

“No. You’re fine.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but after a second or two, her lips came together again. “Thank you.”

Shoto nodded. Then he crossed his arms over the table, leaned forward, and tipped his head in curiosity. “You were in the bathroom for a while.”

She laughed. “I was checking emails. Aizawa sent out the invitation for that annual seminar they do for the kids now. You’re probably going to get it, too.”

“I doubt it. They usually send it to Izuku.”

“Izuku can’t make the dates, he’ll be at a conference.”

“Katsuki, then.”

“Katsuki’s going with him.”

Shoto raised his eyebrows. “Katsuki?”

“I know, right?” Ochako leaned in, too, propping her head up on one hand. “Izuku said it’s because Katsuki wants to look at the engineering showcases.”

Shoto sat up to pull his phone out of his pocket. He tapped into his inbox. The first email at the top was a forward from Izuku. It included a long chain of discussion between him, Aizawa, and Katsuki (who always capitalized appropriately and typed exclusively with periods, which many new hires found aggressive and frightening). Izuku’s most recent message, sent two minutes ago—it was 10:02 at night—said: I’ll forward this to Shoto! I’m sure he can make it!

“Hm,” Shoto said, exiting and sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Guess I’m going.”

“Gosh,” Ochako snickered. “You really do have it easy, huh?”

“Perks of being the number two hero.” Lemilion was yet to be kicked out of first. “I sit around and do nothing because I single-handedly maintain our public image.”

Ochako snorted. Shoto smirked. “You read case files. And sign off on debriefs. That’s not nothing!”

“Mm.” He bowed over the table again, resting his weight on his arms. “My wrists are so tired flipping pages, holding pens, and”—he gave her a pointed look—“doing other things.”

Ochako flushed and rolled her eyes, but was very obviously biting back a smile. “Go home, Todoroki.”

Shoto slipped her another smile, this time subdued, then rose to a stand. “See you on Monday.”

“Oh, wait!” Ochako scrambled to her feet. “Takuma and I are going mattress shopping tomorrow. Wanna come?”

“Mattress shopping?”

“Since he’s growing. Eri said it’ll only get faster from here.”  Her expression grew wistful. “I’ll probably buy a pull-out bed. Maybe I should just move into the next vacant two-room here.” She sighed, then shrugged. “Whaddya think?”

She waited for his reply so hopefully. He couldn’t help himself. “And you need my help testing mattresses because…?” He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively. 

Ochako’s face burst into bright red. “Oh my gosh! No! That’s not what I meant! I was just—nevermind! Nevermind, forget it!”

“I’m kidding, Ochako,” Shoto chuckled, heading towards her door. “I’ll come.”

“Well, don’t you dare lay on a single mattress! Don’t even sit!”

“I’ll try my best.”

Outside her door, she scowled up at him, trying to fight a reluctant smile. He grinned down at her. Slowly, her disdain softened. His amusement followed similarly. 

“Night, Shoto,” she whispered.

“Night, Ochako.”

There was a beat. Then she came to her toes at the same time he leaned down.

Chapter Text

Takuma flew on the mattresses. He dove, backfirst, and let the springs send him up. Foam mattresses disappointed him. “Can we get this one?” he yelped after every mattress, every bounce.

Ochako scanned the expanse of the showroom. “Do mattress stores have pull-out couches?”

Shoto pointed to a corner of the store, at a low sign across the wall that read “sleeper sofas.” 

Ochako squinted in the direction he gestured towards, then frowned at him. “I don’t see anything.”

Shoto frowned back. After a second, he crouched to her eye-level. “Huh.” He began to chuckle.

Ochako watched him in his lone mirth. A scowl began to set over her face. “What?”

She was too short to see past the dividers of the current section they were browsing. She could easily use her quirk—but Shoto wasn’t going to tell her that. “Nothing,” he said, brushing it off and walking past her. 

Ochako jogged up to him. “What?!”

“Nothing.”

“Shoto!”

He stopped. Ochako ran into him and yipped on impact. “It’s nothing, Ochako.”

“You’re laughing! I wanna know, too!” She glowered at him.

Shoto smiled and leaned down towards her, as if to kiss her, but Ochako jerked back. He backed off, perplexed by her reaction. Face red, she tipped her head towards the windows. “There are, um, photographers,” she mumbled.

“Ah.” His expression smoothed into his usual mask. He turned around and continued walking through the aisle. Takuma was too enraptured by the mattresses to notice.

Ochako, flustered, followed several steps behind. His face had fallen quickly. Because of her, or because of the cameras? He’d never tried anything publicly before. 

Photos with Takuma were no problem. She’d found early on, to her immense surprise, that he didn’t show up in photographs. When she’d shown Shoto, he’d hummed and commented, “Must be his Quirk.”

Men, however, were a different story. After her breakup with Izuku—practically an international emergency—she was photographed if she so much as looked at a man. The public obsession with her dating life had waned by now, but the knee-jerk vigilance to spotting a camera remained. Plus, she’d never been caught kissing anybody in public. Never. She could only imagine the hellfire that would result. 

It wouldn’t do Shoto any good, either, to be caught being emotionally intimate with somebody. It was commonly understood that personal romantic relationships hindered popularity rankings. Fans liked to imagine themselves with heroes, and when heroes were romantically involved, it shattered the illusion. She and Izuku had often joked, while together, that if they hadn’t been dating, they probably would have been higher on the ratings list, despite their renown and popularity as the industry’s titular Power Couple. And in spite of the public meltdown after their separation, they were proven right a few months later: Izuku shot up three ranks; Ochako, seven.

Not that Shoto cared much for his popularity ranking. But it was odd that he would try to kiss her in public, given that he’d kept every part of this thing between them—relationship? Situationship? Ochako didn’t know what to call it—private thus far. With Momo, Shoto had had the occasional tabloid photo, but never anything beyond a shared smile or hand-holding. 

Maybe Ochako was projecting. She wanted Shoto to kiss her and so interpreted his actions as such. He could have been coming to bite her nose off, for all she knew. That made more sense, since Shoto wasn’t a very affectionate person as a whole. Reassured, she caught up to Shoto and Takuma. 

Two hours later—Takuma had begun to grow antsy, a sign that a tantrum was oncoming—Ochako walked out with a receipt for three purchases, two more than she’d planned for. One queen-sized sleeper sofa, as hoped for and intended. Then, a queen-sized bed frame with a queen-sized mattress, forcibly prescribed by Shoto. 

“Why?” she snapped as they exited, waving the receipt about. “I don’t need either of these!”

“You have so much money,” Shoto exclaimed. “What’s the point if not to improve your quality of life? It’s meant to be spent! What else are you going to do with it?”

“Donate it!” she railed back. 

“Then donate it!”

“I-I do!” she stammered, defensive.

“Then why do you still have so much?”

“B-because I donate the other money I save!”

“You have more?!”

“I’m a little financially anxious, sue me!”

“Maybe I should!”

“Don’t say that! It makes me nervous!”

“It’s a bigger bed, Ochako, it’s not your firstborn!”

“A firstborn would make more sense, financially! Who’s going to hold me at gunpoint for my bed?!”

Shoto groaned out loud, exasperated. “It’s not like I made you buy it! I didn’t make you say yes, you said it yourself!”

“You convinced me to buy it! You were listing all these things to convince me, and then you convinced me! Are you mad that you convinced me like you were trying to convince me?!”

“Stop saying ‘convince!’ It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore!”

“That’s your fault!”

“You’re not easily convinced! Why now?!”

Out of nowhere, a shutter clicked. Ochako, who was deeply invested in making her point, flinched. Every thought in her mind sublimated as she searched over Shoto’s shoulder for the source of the sound. 

Shoto noticed her abrupt change in mood. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pitch dropping in concern.

She squinted behind him, then shook her head. She grabbed Takuma’s hand and began to walk quicker than normal down the sidewalk. Shoto kept up easily, returning Takuma’s weary look with a bemused one. “I thought I heard a camera,” she mumbled. 

“Oh.”

They made their way to the station in silence. On the train, Takuma sat in Ochako’s lap while pins and needles pricked down her legs and at her feet from his weight. She stared resolutely ahead, intent on minding her own business and not appearing any which way. Shoto stood in front of her, watching her with curiosity. 

At home, Takuma retired to her room to read the books they’d picked out at the library that morning. He seemed to have caught onto Ochako’s paranoia early on and left her a considerate berth. Shoto pushed a mug of hot chocolate across the table towards Ochako, who, freshly showered, dropped herself into a seat at the dining table to sulk for reasons he couldn’t understand. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Shoto.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

“No.”

“I don’t really care about the bed thing. I’ll probably be glad about it later. Once I actually sleep in it.”

“I think so, too.”

“I just don’t want any of them to follow me back here, y’know?”

“I do.”

“Especially with Takuma.”

“Yeah.” 

“Can you say more than four syllables, Shoto? I’m kinda freakin’ out.”

It wasn’t a big deal. She knew that. Even if the photographer had caught a photo of them—if the photographer was even after a photo of Ochako or Shoto—it wouldn’t have been a very valuable photo. She’d been mid-argument with Shoto, what was there to see? But still, the anxiety of what might be made up about her for headlines anchored deep in her gut.

Shoto smiled a bit—she frowned at him—and reached across the table, flipping his palm up. Ochako eyed it skeptically, but set her fingers on top. Shoto curled his hand around them. “I’m sorry that happened. I don’t think I helped, since I was being inconsiderate of you to begin with. I’m sorry about that, too. I really don’t care if you buy a bigger bed or not, I just got carried away messing with you, and then I got carried away fighting with you, and the whole thing is pretty ironic, given that I’m terrible at identifying when I’m being messed with, so I don’t know why I did it to you. Which is maybe why that went so poorly. But whatever happens, if anything happens, I intend to help.”

Her expression had softened, and her eyes watered. “Thanks,” she sniffed.

“Of course.”

“Oh my god,” she said suddenly, straightening in her seat. “Your email!”

“My… email?”

“The one you sent about pull-out beds! I never checked it!”

“I barely remember that email. I’m sure none were the right size, anyway.”

Ochako smiled a little. “Y’know,” she said, “I feel like I’ve never seen you get worked up about something silly. Usually it goes over your head. Or, like, when you get mad, it’s about something pretty serious.” She inspected him closely, as if his face might provide an explanation for his behavior.

Shoto hadn’t noticed, either. At a loss, he said, “I guess you bring it out of me.”

Ochako flushed in surprise. Then she grew shy, her attention falling to the wood grain of her table. She traced a swirl with her finger. “Me too.”

Shoto searched her face. “You too?”

She peered at him through her lashes. “I let you convince me,” she said quietly, one corner of her mouth turning up.

Shoto stared at her, chest tight.

Chapter Text

One night, after dinner, while Takuma was bathing—he no longer required supervision—Shoto, while foaming up the dish sponge, said, “Eri told me this afternoon that we can age him up again. She recommended nine or ten this time.”

Ochako, who was reviewing and editing her talk-track for the seminar at UA, balked. “Already? He was barely seven!”

“He’s been seven for a month now.”

“Most kids are seven for a whole year!”

“‘Most’ kids?”

“Are you sure she said nine or ten? You didn’t mishear? What if she said eight?”

Shoto, soapy-handed, turned to face her and tried not to laugh. “She said, and I quote, ‘Takuma’s super ready to move up, I’d recommend nine or ten sometime in the next week. His retention’s been improving exponentially, and I have a feeling it’s going to keep moving in that direction. His growth is going to get even faster until he hits his late-teens, when it’ll start slowing down drastically the closer he gets to his real age.”

Ochako gawked. A moment later, she exclaimed, “Even faster?!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I just want him to stay little forever!” 

“Why would you want that?”

Ochako spluttered, waving her hands around, grappling for some sort of sensible explanation. “You saw what he was like as a teen!”

Shoto abandoned all pretense of doing the dishes to lean against the counter and indulge in Ochako’s emotional frenzy. “That’s every teenager.”

“Not me!”

“You were an exception, not the rule.” Shoto paused, frowning in thought. “Izuku, too. You were both oddly filial for teenagers. But that’s beside the point. Takuma was fine as an adult, you won’t have to deal with him being a teen for long.”

Yes, that was true. Adult Takuma had seemed kind and responsible, patient and soft spoken, the kind of man any caring parent would want their child to grow into. Not unlike Shoto, in fact. But he’d felt far away, like a new roommate. Not at all like little Takuma who, at four, had babbled her ear off about boats and telephones and birds and told her he loved her with grubby, sticky hands; who now, at seven, was a whirlwind of movement that insisted on breaking even the most unbreakable of things and, above all else, wanted her love. 

At 26, Takuma had felt like a stranger.

Ochako wrung her hands in her lap, eyes casting downward to examine her nails with academic rigour. “I… I want to deal with it. I don’t want it to end.”

Shoto, who’d found the discussion amusing thus far, softened at the sight of her aching. “I think you’re losing sight of the goal here, Ochako. We can’t keep him.”

She bit her lip. Her eyes watered. Shoto rinsed his hands off, came around to her side of the table, and took the seat beside her. He rested his head on his hand and examined her. “What’s really the problem?”

“He’s just growing up so fast,” she said softly. “He’s going to be gone before we know it. Then what?”

“He’s not dying, Ochako. You can still see him all the time once he’s… off to college, or something.”

“But he’s not going to be little anymore. He’s going to be a totally different person. It won’t be the same.”

“We’ll just spike his juice with some fresh animal blood for a day.”

“Shoto!” She glared at him, but her mouth wobbled a little with reluctant mirth. 

Shoto smiled back at her. “With his consent, of course.”

Ochako shook her head fiercely. “I don’t want that. I want him to keep moving forward. Always. Not regress to make me happy. Or anyone!”

Shoto examined her, the light on her face, the shadows. “I understand,” he replied, voice soft. “But I don’t think he’s going to change as much as you think he is.” He recalled the soft way Takuma had looked at her.

“Do you think he’ll still love me?” she whispered, unshed tears clinging to her lashes.

“I do.”

His confidence reassured her. Ochako took a deep breath in, wiped her eyes, and let her shoulders ease. She nodded slowly, then peered up at Shoto. “What about you?” 

Shoto faltered. Heart tripping into his throat, blood rushing into his ears, he heard himself ask, “Will I still love you?” 

Ochako blinked at him, then smiled a little. “No, I mean, do you worry about whether Takuma will still love you?”

Oh. Relief ripped through him. Dread, too. Feeling sick, Shoto stood from the table to make his way back to the sink. He turned the faucet back on, letting the sound of it work through him. “I don’t,” he responded stoically, picking up the next dish. “I don’t think he loves me to begin with. I think he sees me as an attachment to you, because he thinks parents are supposed to come in duos, and since I’m around the most, I’m part of your duo. He’ll probably get over it once he’s a teen.”

“Really? ‘Cause I think he loves you. I think he’d be sad if it wasn’t you around. And even if he does see you as an attachment to me, I’m pretty sure he can tell we make a good team. He likes that it’s you.”

Shoto focused on the next dish. “Ochako, you make a good team with anyone.”

She laughed. “Anyone but Izuku, huh?”

Shoto bit his tongue and set the dish in the drying rack before moving on to the next.

—

They tucked Takuma into bed together. Shoto was unusually subdued, even for himself. Ochako shut her bedroom door carefully, then walked alongside Shoto down the hallway. At the arch, Ochako went left towards the couch while Shoto went straight.

Ochako rerouted herself to the door, watching in puzzlement as Shoto put on his shoes. “Tired?” she chirped, giggling. Takuma, who wore down after a warm bath, always found a second wind at the mention of bedtime. Shoto had taken the brunt of his energy tonight.

“A little.”

“Thanks for doing the dishes.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you ready for the seminar?”

“The one that’s in a month?”

Ochako smiled slyly. “You don’t have anything prepared, do you?”

“Not for something a month out, no.”

She laughed out loud, her entire face lighting up with it. She was so eager. Her eyes were so bright. Shoto glanced sidelong at the stairwell. 

“I can help,” she said. “I’ve been around the block a few times, if y’know what I mean.” She nudged him with her elbow. Shoto smiled faintly, like usual, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Ochako’s grin muted slightly. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Just tired,” he replied.

“Okay.” Her voice, for some reason, dropped to a whisper. “I won’t keep you then. Night, Shoto.”

Ochako watched him with withheld anticipation, hands behind her back. Shoto, staring back, fought himself. The corner of her mouth curled upward, as if she already knew what was going to happen. He leaned down, and when his hand touched the side of her face, she leaned into it, lids fluttering shut. 

Shoto, helpless, kissed her. “Night, Ochako,” he murmured against her mouth before pulling back and leaving.

Chapter Text

Ochako knocked on Shoto’s office window at lunch, grinning at him through the glass when he looked up from the folder in his hands. She swung in through the entryway and, with an easy hop, made herself comfortable on his desk. “How’s your presentation for the seminar going?”

“I haven’t started. How long is it supposed to be?”

“I try to stick to around 10 minutes.”

Shoto’s brows flew up. Ochako giggled. “That’s not very long,” he said. He’d expected to have to make things up for a solid 30 minutes.

“They ask a lot of questions if you give them just the right amount of information. Izuku’s got a habit of talking on and on, and I can tell every year exactly when he starts losin’ people. Wanna guess?”

“Ten minutes.”

Ochako snickered, leaning in. “A plus, Mister Todoroki. See me after class.” Shoto shot her a baleful look that made her cover her mouth to stop from snorting with laughter.

“Did you come here just to patronize me?

She smiled toothily. “Actually, I came to tell you that I’m thinkin’ of taking Takuma to get his hair cut this weekend. Whaddya think? I’ve been looking through hairstyles with him, but I don’t think he really cares. Should I just tell them to shave him bald?”

Shoto shrugged. “Might as well. Will he mind?”

“Being bald? I don’t know. Maybe?” 

Shoto stared at Ochako, the crease between his brows growing steadily deeper with each passing second. Ochako stared back, uncertain why Shoto was taking so long to respond. Suddenly, Shoto’s concern lifted. He looked at Ochako incredulously, then burst into laughter, holding the case file to his face to hide the tears forming in his eyes. 

“No, Ocha—no,” he forced out between breaths. “You asked me what I thought, I’m saying we might as well cut his hair, but will he mind having a stranger touch him for so long?” Shoto barely got the words out, wheezing towards the end of his sentence before dissolving into another round of laughter, this time silent. “‘Being bald?!'” he choked out, imitating her. “Ochako!”

Ochako ogled him. She’d never seen him laugh so hard before in her life. When he doubled over his knees, hanging onto his desk for support, her insides grew warm, heat pooling in her gut. It took Shoto several more minutes to get over it, but when he finally did, he looked up to find her eyes dark and warm. 

His gut jerked. “What?” he asked, voice rough with expired mirth.

Ochako smiled to herself, shaking her head. She fiddled with her fingers. “Nothing.” Shoto narrowed his eyes, distrusting. With a mysterious little grin and a sharp exhale, she shook off her butterflies and brought them back to the original point of discussion. “Takuma’s been fine with Eri and his classmates, though.”

“He trusted Eri immediately because we trusted her. It’s taking him a bit to warm up to his current classmates.”

Eri had mentioned that Takuma seemed more shy at seven than he’d been at four. Ochako sighed, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. “Whaddya think we should do?”

“I could ask Fuyumi.”

“Your sister?”

“She cut my hair growing up.”

Ochako’s eyes grew wide. “Really?” 

In school, Shoto’s hair had been the topic of many a discussion. There was the obvious question of whether the split in his hair color was natural. Sometimes the topic meandered to what hair products he used. More sparingly, but most titillating, was what it might be like to touch his hair; he was, after all, widely agreed to be the most handsome of the boys in Class A. Was his red hair warmer and his white hair cold? Was one side softer than the other, and if so, which? And why? Somehow, Ochako thought, here she was years later knowing what his hair felt like because she’d run her hands through it many times more than she ever thought she’d have the chance to. 

Blushing, Ochako swatted the thought away. Shoto, watching the roulette of expressions she underwent in the matter of a second, wondered what she could possibly be thinking about. “Mhm. I think she’s free this weekend. I’ll ask.”

“The weekend? I don’t wanna make her work on a week—”

Shoto, taking out his phone to text his sister, said casually, passingly, and not at all calculatingly, “You probably won’t have to pay.”

Ochako’s jaw clapped shut. A moment later, she chirped, “This weekend? I can do this weekend.”

Shoto grinned at her. Ochako looked away innocently. “You’re so easy,” he said, borrowing her own words. 

Ochako gawked. “It’s not my fault I keep having to spend money on Takuma! You try dressing a kid that grows and shrinks in an hour! The only plus side is that I don’t have to pay for his meals. Imagine trying to buy human blood.” 

Shoto laughed again. Ochako rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling along. A second later, his phone pinged. “Fuyumi’s available this Saturday.”

Ochako beamed. “Do you wanna look at hairstyles?”

“She’ll probably just cut his hair how she used to cut mine.”

Ochako made a skeptical sound. “I don’t know about that.”

Shoto raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t like my hair?”

“That’s not what I said,” she snickered, but didn’t elaborate.

She made to bounce off his desk, but Shoto caged her between his arms and crowded into her. “You didn’t like my hair?”

Ochako, giggling, grabbed the collar of his uniform and pulled him into her. She kissed the tip of his nose. “I liked your hair just fine. I just don’t think it’d suit Takuma!” Then she pushed him away, but Shoto resisted, fighting her forward until she lay flat on his desk. “Here?! Now?!” Ochako hissed, eyes wide but bright. She bit back her smile.

It was the lunch hours, that hallowed length of time between 11am and 3pm. Few people stayed in office, especially when the weather was so nice out, and currently, there was nobody on their floor. Under the soft, buttery sunlight streaming through his windows, Shoto pressed his lips to the underside of Ochako’s jaw. Her breath hitched. His blood stirred.

He slid a hand under her waist, coaxing her to arch. Her hips pressed into the tent in his uniform, and she gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening around his suit. Her tongue was soft against his, languid almost. Would it really be that bad, thought Shoto, if I loved her?

Soon, Ochako was reaching under his belt to grasp his zipper. “We can be fast,” she whispered against his lips, giggling again, hand reaching into his pants. She’d barely wrapped her fingers around him when somebody knocked loudly against his door—wide open—and cleared their throat. More accurately, they banged on Shoto’s open door like they were trying to blow the entire building down, and then coughed, snarling, with violent, murderous intent. 

Ochako yelped and shoved Shoto off, leaping to her feet. Shoto fell easily and conveniently into his seat, rolling forward in one smooth, nonchalant motion under his desk to hide his open fly. Ochako stood the wrong way around, determined not to face their intruder. Katsuki, sweaty, no doubt having just come from the gym, glared daggers at the both of them, but mostly Shoto, whose expression remained as neutral as always. 

“Rest of the team’s makin’ their way back in,” he growled through his teeth. “So get your fuckin’ pants back on, pervs.”

Katsuki stomped off. Ochako, face in her hands, sprinted to her office. Shoto sighed, opened a case file, and bored his erection to death.

Chapter Text

Shoto came by Saturday afternoon to find Ochako and Takuma sitting on her couch folding laundry together. They both stared, mesmerized, at the TV screen. He locked her door, filled himself a glass of water in the kitchen, then sat at the foot of the couch. It was a children’s animated show. Ochako, wordlessly and without tearing her eyes from the events occurring in technicolor, handed Shoto half of her pile. By the time the episode ended, they’d long finished the laundry. 

Ochako turned the TV off. Takuma raced to her bedroom to change. She asked Shoto, “Where are we meeting Fuyumi?”

“My house.”

Ochako, laundry basket in her arms, frowned. “The paps are always all over your place.”

Shoto followed her into her room. “Yeah. That’s why we’re going to my house, not my apartment.”

Ochako set the basket down outside the closet and waited for Takuma to finish dressing inside. If not at his apartment, then what “house” could Shoto mean? Did he have some other home? Maybe somewhere more private? Was that how he avoided being in the papers all the time? For as long as she’d known Shoto, he’d never mentioned having any kind of vacation home or alternate place of living. She wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, considering his wealth, but Shoto never took vacation days. If he owned another house, he was just throwing money at it. Maybe his family used it? But Endeavor wouldn’t need favors like that from his own family. He was rich, too. His money was his family’s—

Ochako’s jaw went suddenly slack with revelation. “Your house-house?!” When Shoto shot her a confused look, she said, “The one you grew up in?!”

“Yeah. That’s where Fuyumi lives.”

“I thought we were gonna meet her at a park or something!”

“Do people cut hair in parks?” Shoto asked, genuinely curious. Ochako spluttered.

“I can’t go to your house-house!”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s your house-house! Your dad’s gonna be there, and your mom, and—don’t you have another brother?”—Shoto nodded—“Your brother will be there! And your sister!”—she’d almost forgotten about Fuyumi—“They’re all going to be there, and then I’ll be there!” Her pitch rose higher and higher with every word. “I’ll be there with all of them there!”

“That’s generally how it works,” said Shoto, who was growing concerned for her. “And Natsuo won’t be there. He moved out after the war.”

Momo’s words rang in her ears: of all her three years with Shoto, he had never once suggested meeting his family, despite meeting hers in their first year. Now Ochako stood there with Shoto expecting her to meet his family, while she’d never once brought up her own, not in any meaningful capacity! 

Sweating, she said, “It’s just really sudden.”

“We don’t have to. I can tell Fuyumi we need to reschedule.” Shoto said, puzzled. “You’re usually okay with meeting new people.”

Well, Momo wasn’t socially anxious, either, so why hadn’t Shoto ever suggested it to her? Was it because that had been right after graduating, so he’d still had family drama at the time? Shoto hadn’t wanted to subject Momo to that environment? But after the war, he’d seemed at ease with his family. Then again, Ochako didn’t know what his family was like behind closed doors. It could have been tense. If that was the case, ten years was a lot of time to smooth things out.

Ochako, unmoored, gave a quick shake of her head. “No, it’s okay! I’ll go. I just wish I’d known ahead of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I mean, of course we’d go to where Fuyumi is, and since Fuyumi lives in your house-house, that means we’d be going to your house-house, so I guess it’s my fault, really, for misunderstanding. I’m sorry!”

“Are you… okay?”

Takuma, now dressed, exited Ochako’s bedroom, only for Ochako to rush past him in a blur. Was she supposed to wear something specific? Her initial plan, when she’d assumed they’d be going to a park, had been a t-shirt and jeans, but now she felt like she had to be more presentable. A skirt? A skirt with a blouse? She didn’t want to arrive overdressed though, that would be awkward, too. A skirt with a t-shirt? 

Shoto followed Ochako into her room. He leaned against her doorjamb as he watched her, half-dressed, rifle through her drawers and throw around the clothing they’d just folded. She was freaking out, but unlike usual where she rambled while anxious, she was a whirlwind of action.

“You don’t need to dress up,” Shoto said, guessing at the cause of her frenzy.

“So I can just show up in a trash bag?” Ochako huffed, digging through a box in the back of her closet for a solid minute before realizing these were her high school clothes that she intended to donate.

“They’d be okay with it.”

Ochako stopped rummaging to throw Shoto the deadliest look he’d ever seen from anyone. “I’m not showing up in a trash bag.”

“Okay.”

“You’re making me nervous!”

“Should I wait outside?”

“Yes! Please!”

She resumed her scrounging. Several minutes later, she stepped out of her bedroom in a dress that Shoto had seen hanging right at the front, on the first rack. Ochako, harried, adjusted one of the spaghetti straps and smoothed her hair. 

“You look nice,” Shoto said.

Ochako smiled dryly. “Thank you.” 

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Takuma?”

Takuma hopped off the couch and bounded towards them. Once outside, he grabbed ahold of one of Shoto’s hands, then Ochako’s in his other. It was awkward maneuvering down the stairs, but he insisted, and Ochako was wont to deny him. Of course, halfway to the station, Takuma wriggled his hands out of theirs to chase ahead.

On the train, Ochako, voice low out of consideration, murmured to Shoto beside her, “I was thinking we can age him up when we get back?”

Shoto’s heart jumped briefly into his throat, but he swallowed it back. “Sounds good to me.” 

Ochako watched Takuma through the reflection in the window opposite them. “I can’t believe this is the last time he’ll ever be seven,” she whispered to Shoto, fingers curling against her thighs. The billow of her cotton skirt rustled.

Shoto examined the softness of her features. She was an open book, her pages practically falling out. He slid a hand over one of hers, squeezed, then released. Ochako, startled, blinked at him. He smiled, subdued, and she flushed and smiled back.

The day’s balmy warmth began to cool on their way to Shoto’s childhood home. Along the way, Ochako stopped at a beautiful gate to admire it. “Wow,” she chirped, crouching to inspect the professionally tidy pattern of the flagstone path. Takuma followed suit, eyes wide as he hung on to Ochako.

Mom and dad would approve, thought Ochako. Maybe she’d send a photo. This home had been built with a lot of care, it was obvious to anyone with a trained eye. She rose to her feet; Takuma scrambled up with her. She found Shoto observing her with intrigue. Grinning, she explained, “It’s built really well. The owners must have cared a lot.”

“You think so?” Shoto stepped up to the gate and pushed a button on the speaker. Ochako blinked. “Hey, Fuyumi,” he said, shooting Ochako a smug, sidelong glance. Her jaw dropped. “We’re here.”

Ochako made many sounds, not a single one intelligible. “You live here?!” she managed to hiss. He hadn’t told her anything! He’d left her completely unprepared! Shoto hid his grin behind a cough.

The front door slid open before Shoto could respond. Fuyumi, whom Ochako had met at the occasional school or work event, beamed at the sight of them. When she saw Takuma, her hands flew to her mouth. “Look at you!” she gasped. “You must be Takuma!”

“I like your rock floor!” said Takuma. Ochako covered her face. Shoto chuckled beside her. 

“Thank you!” Fuyumi enthused. “That’s so nice!”

“Are you cutting my hair?”

“I am!”

“Can I go inside, please?”

“You sure can!”

Fuyumi let Takuma through. The three of them watched him take his shoes off in the foyer, set them aside neatly, then run freely from the living room to the kitchen to the living room to the hallway. Fuyumi turned to Shoto and Ochako, hands to her heart. “He’s so polite!”

“Thank you!” Ochako blushed fiercely, trying not to preen. “He makes it easy, he’s a really good kid.” Takuma really didn’t give her much trouble. She counted herself lucky.

“Thank you so much for coming! I’m so happy to have you here!”

“Thank you for cutting his hair!” For free! Ochako almost added. Shoto, who had an inkling of an idea what she was thinking, pursed his lips to stop from laughing. 

“I’ve got everything set up in the kitchen. Feel free to watch, it shouldn’t take long! Or if you want, Shoto can give you a tour?” Fuyumi looked between the two of them. “You’ve never stopped by, have you?”

Izuku and Katsuki had visited long, long ago, Ochako knew. The three of them still had dinner with Shoto’s family once a month, from what she heard, but it was such a normal occurrence for them that they never spoke of it. She’d never wondered what Shoto’s childhood home was like, not even recently, but being here now opened the floodgates. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see an unintrusive altar. “I’d love to look around, but only if it’s okay!”

“Of course!”

“Where’s mom and dad?” Shoto interjected.

“Visiting the coast. They’ll be back for dinner. Are you staying?”

“Err…” Shoto glanced at Ochako. “Would you like to stay for dinner? You don’t have to.”

It felt rude to reject the offer, and if Ochako was honest, she was really, really curious about Shoto’s mother. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not at all!” Fuyumi exclaimed, sparklier than before. 

Takuma re-entered the living room then, hair wild and out of breath. “You got a garden!” he shouted, excitement oozing out of his pores. “You got a pond! Mama, there’s alotta fish!”

Ochako looked at Shoto, who shrugged and nodded. Holy jeez, Ochako thought. Talk about rich. “I’ll make sure to check it out. You should go with Miss Fuyumi now.” She gestured towards the kitchen.

“Okay! Bye!” Takuma raced in the direction she motioned. Fuyumi followed after, waving at her brother and Ochako before disappearing behind a screen.

Ochako made immediately for the altar. There was a framed picture of a boy, presumably Toya. He was slightly older than Takuma was now, and looked how Shoto had looked during those first days at UA before he’d made any friends: straight-faced and unreadable. Instead of Shoto’s straight, two-tone split, though, Toya had a messy mop made entirely of white. Behind this photo were a few of a younger Toya with red hair. 

Toya looked sad in his formal picture, but like a child in all the others. Dabi was so different from either, from what Ochako could remember, but she could see what had made him. “I wasn’t there for that fight,” Ochako said softly. 

“Yeah,” Shoto answered bluntly. “You were busy dying for the betterment of mankind.”

“I heard you were, too.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And now we’re both alive.” Her heart ached.

“Good for us.”

The cost of it went unspoken. Shoto stared out the hallway, expression neutral, but with a strain to his jaw. Ochako spun around and joined his side. “Wanna show me the rest?” she asked, voice soft.

“Yeah.” They stood there for a second. Ochako took his hand in hers, wove their fingers together, and squeezed.

Chapter Text

Shoto showed her the bathroom nearest to the living room first for practical reasons, which Ochako found hysterical. After, he guided her to the garden Takuma had exclaimed starry-eyed about. It wasn’t as big as Ochako had anticipated, which was a relief, though it made sense that a seven-year-old would find it enormous. There were a few koi, fat and happy, most of them red and white. Ochako snickered at their coloring. Shoto couldn’t understand what was so funny.

Down the hallway, he pointed out his family’s respective rooms without entering, until they reached the end, where he pushed the last door open. The interior matched the rest of his home—tatami flooring, low-to-the-floor furniture—and his dorm room when they’d gone to school together, with one noticeable difference.

“Didn’t you sleep on a futon at school?” Ochako dropped onto the edge of the bed, bouncing heartily. Her head twisted and turned in every direction as she took in her surroundings. She didn’t have to do much of it; there wasn’t much to see.

Shoto sat beside her. “They changed it to a guest bedroom when I moved out.”

“Do you guys get a lot of guests?”

“No.”

Ochako chuckled. Apart from the change in sleeping accommodations, it was still, very clearly, a room that had once housed a kid, and a studious one at that. Denki, Hanta, and Mineta’s dorm rooms had been plastered with posters (Class A did not speak of Mineta’s posters), while Izuku and Katsuki’s, littered with All Might paraphernalia (Katsuki had the wherewithal to do it slightly more subtly than Izuku). Shoto’s dorm room, and bedroom, were, in comparison, sparsely furnished. There was a desk with a few trophies, likely the overspill of what was on the bookshelf, which was filled to the brim with books and awards. If not for the bed, the room would have been even more scant. 

Ochako got up to examine the content of his shelves. If the book wasn’t a textbook, it was academic in one way or another. Shoto followed her up, then crouched when she took a seat at the foot of the shelf. He’d never had a girl in his room other than his sister and his mother. Ochako, sitting comfortably on the mat as she perused the collection, made his gut twist. She didn’t feel wrong or intrusive, though. Maybe his stomach turned inside out because she fit. 

He watched the emotion flicker in her eyes. The last of the bright, lush sunlight for the day, before the sky would start fading into the oranges and purples of oncoming evening, poured in softly through the gauzy curtains of the window, turning the brown of her gaze amber-gold. She looked a little sad. Or nostalgic. Maybe both. 

Would anything have changed if they’d been friends sooner? Not his childhood—that was an eternal wash—but at UA, if he’d been even half as close to her as he was now, would the past 13 years have been different? Ochako stopped running her pointer finger down the spines of his books long enough to smile sideways at him.

“You’re staring at me,” she whispered.

“You’re nice to stare at,” Shoto replied, matching her volume. 

Ochako gave an amused little huff. Before she could return to scanning the titles, Shoto took her chin between his fingers, turned her head, and kissed her. The slide of her lips against his warmed him instantly. 

Fuyumi knocked on the door, a delicate rat-tat-tat of her knuckles against wood. Ochako pulled away from Shoto, but he didn’t let go. “Shoto?” Fuyumi asked. “I’m going to pick up groceries for tonight’s dinner. Takumi wants to join me, did you and Ochako want to come?”

Shoto looked to Ochako for a response. She shook her head a little, flushed. “No,” he answered, then leaned into Ochako once more. Behind them, Fuyumi’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway. They heard her call Takuma’s name from the foyer, and the responding pitter-patter of his racing feet. Shoto kissed her through it, then through the sound of the front door sliding shut.

They were alone now. Shoto drew her into his lap, fingertips sinking into her waist. Whenever Ochako pulled away to breathe, he pulled her back in, until she was giggling against him every touch of her mouth to his. Finally, he freed her, but only far enough to still feel her breath against his lips. 

He committed the color of her eyes, the shape of her smile, the flush of her cheeks to memory. “You’re really pretty,” he murmured.

Ochako blinked, then giggled again. “You’re kinda cute, too,” she teased. “Preeminent pretty boy of Class 1-A, I heard.”

He pressed into her again, pushing her back. She grabbed his shoulders to keep steady and upright, but he eased her down, down, down, until she was lying under him on the floor.

“Here?” Ochako asked, surprised. 

“We can move to the bed.” Shoto was already nosing up her neck. 

“I mean in your house-house!”

He grinned into her skin. “They won’t be back home-home for a while.”

Ochako, laughing, gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder. Shoto picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him drop her on the bed. Her hair spilled around her in a halo. 

Shoto slid his hands under the skirt of her dress, pulled her underwear down her legs, then kissed up the inside of her calf, her knee, her thigh. Before he could kiss any higher—or deeper—she smoothed her fingers through his hair and tugged him gently up. He obeyed, pulling her dress up, up, up, trailing his lips against every inch of skin revealed, until he pulled the whole piece over her head and found her lips again. 

Her touch, cool, hinted shyly under the hem of his shirt before gliding up. Her eyes, filled with wonder, met his gaze. She’d never had the chance to touch him before. Shoto grabbed behind him and slipped out of his shirt. Ochako, eyes bright, bit her lip. “This is the most naked you’ve ever been around me.”

“You’re prettier to look at naked,” said Shoto. Ochako laughed, breathy. He kissed the swell of her breast, one of his hands coming up to cradle her.

“I kinda just want you inside me,” she breathed, reaching for his zipper. Shoto let her, and once she dragged it all the way down, he worked the rest of his jeans off. He brought a knee to the bed; then, when she began working her way farther up the mattress, he followed, climbing over her, helping her hook her ankles behind him. 

She was already wet and took him inside her easily. The feel of him filling her, crowding her, the pressure and the drag of it, stole the air from her lungs. She breathed in short bursts, hands curling behind his neck.

“Relax,” Shoto murmured into her ear. He held a hand to the small of her back, encouraging her to let go, to lay back. When he slid out of her, she gasped and fisted the sheets, but she pulled her breaths in and out slowly, evenly. He pressed back in, and she moaned, all air. 

He watched her lids flutter like butterfly wings as he pulled and pushed. One of her hands came to his chest, fingers splayed, palm burning against his heart. He ducked, nudging his nose against hers, and she kissed him, soft and desperate. Her lips found his collar next, then the plane of his chest. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. He found one of her hands and wound his fingers through hers.

They moved like this, slow, unrushed, until her breathing couldn’t keep up and she drew in shorter inhales, quicker exhales. “Sh-Shoto,” she whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m…” Her insides clenched around him.

Just like that, his own gut clenched. “Ochako,” he groaned, moving against her faster. She cried out faintly, hand squeezing his, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. His forehead came to hers, her breath dewy against his face. 

He kissed her. She fell apart and dragged him with her. When they opened their eyes, the room was orange with the setting sun.

They dressed without saying a word. Ochako finished first and found his shirt, handing it to him. He pulled it back over himself, and when he was done, Ochako rose to her toes to kiss him. Shoto held her face and kissed back. 

They heard the front door slide open, Takuma’s strident, seven-year-old voice entering with him. There was the sound of several pairs of feet stepping in, shucking their shoes, and setting them down. Shoto and Ochako entered at the same time the rest of his family, sans Natsuo, gathered fully in the foyer and shut the door. 

Enji towered over Takuma, who, with the back of his freshly cut hair to the living room as he took his shoes off, blabbered endlessly. Shoto’s father, despite his broad smile, wore a strange expression on his face that Shoto couldn’t parse. His mother looked charmed, soft and faraway as she listened to the little boy. Then Takuma turned around, and it became clear. Even Ochako gave a little “oh!”

Takuma, with his new hair, looked just like the boy on the altar, if Toya had had bright red eyes instead of blue. Shoto stared at him, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, the pump of his heart violently loud. “Isn’t he cute?” Fuyumi asked. She sounded distant, hollow, like his head was being held underwater.

Shoto, drowning, glanced once more at Enji. The matching blue of his father’s gaze met his mismatched pair, and Shoto wondered if, in a few decades more, he’d hold the same pain in his.

Chapter Text

Dinner was an awkward affair. Takuma, the primary source of this awkwardness, continued to ramble and rave in blissful, naive nescience. Enji engaged with good nature and humor. Shoto, the secondary source of tension, kept his eyes off the duo and wondered if his father felt at all like he was atoning for past sins. If Takuma was a placeholder.

Shoto had thought, before tonight, that he’d forgiven his father. When Dabi had succumbed to his wounds in Central Hospital, he’d been 24 years old. When Toya had died, he’d been 13, but abandoned long before that. They could imagine a different life, one where the gaps between the first crack and 13, 13 and 23, 23 and the final break were filled, but that was all it was: imagining. Fuyumi and Natsuo, their mother and father, even Shoto himself could imagine all they wanted of what could have been, but it would never actually be, and it was easier to put to rest the things that could never be. That never were.

Sitting here and listening to Takuma, knowing what he looked like, was knowing what could have been with just a change in the color of his eyes, and it set to light the vast depth of Endeavor’s failure. It was a chasm. A canyon. And to know that Endeavor had only ever done what he’d thought was right, even if, in hindsight, he saw how wrong it was, stole the absolution Shoto had offered for so long right out of his palms. 

Natsuo had been right to leave.

The evening dripped along. Shoto kept silent the rest of the night. Ochako peered at him every so often, squeezing his leg under the table, trying to read him, but he remained unreadable. At the end of the night, they bid their farewells, and Fuyumi, who had disappeared a bit while Ochako and Takuma entertained Enji and Rei at the table, handed Ochako a box of clothes she could give to Takuma as he grew. They were Shoto’s old clothes.

She pulled Ochako aside, regret in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to make Takuma look like Toya. I just did what I thought felt right, and it wasn’t until I held the mirror up to let him see himself that I realized.”

Ochako shook her head frantically. “It’s not your fault! It’s not anybody’s fault! It’s just hair. Who woulda thunk?” 

Fuyumi smiled, though it was an anxious smile. She waved with the rest of her family as Ochako, Shoto, and Takuma disappeared around the corner. Takuma, standing between Ochako and Shoto, swung his hands in theirs. 

Quietly, Ochako broke the night. “We don’t have to age him tonight. We can do it another time.”

Shoto shook his head. “Let’s get it over with.”

His wording unnerved her, but Ochako nodded anyway. Neither spoke a word for the rest of the journey. Even Takuma seemed to pick up on the unease, because he kept quiet the entire time, train ride included. At Ochako’s apartment, she opened the door, and the interior seemed dimmer than usual.

After changing into more comfortable clothing, Ochako knelt to the floor and held her wrist out. Takuma imitated her, coming to his knees across from her, and took her wrist in his hands. Shoto sat between them, completing their triangle. Takuma sank his fangs into the give of Ochako’s flesh and sucked for seven minutes before Shoto startled out of the blank space of his mind and ripped Takuma away. He dragged Takuma, who snarled and snapped, into Ochako’s room, and iced the lock so he couldn’t get out. 

In the kitchen, he washed, soaped, and dried the wound. Ochako, woozy and not entirely there due to seven entire minutes of toxins, slouched against Shoto and the counter. Shoto held her up with one arm around her waist as he applied antibiotic ointment, then wrapped and taped gauze around her wrist. By the time he finished, his heart sat on his tongue, waiting for what he dreaded. 

Shoto guided her to the floor, holding her up as she sat across his lap. She leaned against him, her head falling to his shoulder. “Shoto?” Ochako mumbled sleepily. She couldn’t seem to track him with her eyes.

“I got distracted,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Her lids fluttered. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“You look sad.”

“I’m not.”

Ochako stared at him, inspecting him despite the weave to her gaze. Eventually, slowly, the crease between her brows faded. She sat up, stumbling a little, but making every effort to meet his eye. “I lo—”

“I know, Ochako,” Shoto interrupted, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I know,” he breathed, gut heavy.

Did she really love him, or was it poison and fumes? Why would she? How could she? He’d done nothing to deserve it except simply be the way he was; the same reason Toya died. The circumstances of his survival over his brother’s were nothing more than a matter of years and an immutable difference in genetics. An inequitable and sick game of chance, one chromosome away from being relegated to the same fate as his brother. The circumstances of her love, if it was even that, were equally as nonsensical. Wrong place, wrong time. 

Wrong person.

At 20, hitting Number Two on the Hero Billboards, Endeavor didn’t know what he didn’t know, except that he’d never be number one if he didn’t try something different. At 21, he tried something different. At 22, he tried again, and again at 23, and again at 27. He took what he so desperately wanted, and in the end, the fallout had been apocalyptic. Every year, every time Shoto visited Toya’s headstone, the grass grew over the grey block of him, eager to leave nothing left. He cut them back, and still, they grew.

The risk of failure was so high, and the consequences of failing, so damning. He wanted her that much, the way Endeavor had wanted, but if he took what he wanted, who was to say what the repercussions might be? If they stayed like this, her never asking more of him and him never admitting that this was too much for him to stomach, yet still not enough to fill the gap that couldn’t reconcile why he wasn’t the one who’d had to pay for his father’s failures, then maybe they could spin like this forever, perfectly imperfectly happy—until they weren’t anymore, because wasn’t that inevitable? Ochako cared too much to let herself spin in one place for eternity. Even poisoned, she sought more, always. And then, when they weren’t happy anymore, it wouldn’t fall. It would collapse. 

And Toya would sit one room away, eyes red with judgment for Shoto, who knew the mistakes their father had made, and chose to make them anyway.

Chapter Text

Takuma was sick again. Ochako texted Shoto, letting him know she’d be working from home for the week. Shoto sent a thumbs up emoticon in reply. Ochako thought nothing of it.

Her team covered her patrols, and she thanked them endlessly for it. She spent the days commuting between the dining table, where she kept her laptop, and Takuma, checking and re-checking his fever. It ran unusually high for unusually long bouts of time before cooling suddenly, but never hot or long enough to rush him to the hospital. At night, she sat at his side, brushing sweaty strands from his forehead and holding a bucket up when he retched. She didn’t sleep for days.

Takuma finally recovered after a week and a half. Ochako took three days off and slept through two of them. Takuma, now 14 years old, took himself to school. Eri, shocked at the large jump in expected age—she had recommended 10, yet Taluma stood before her double his previous age—decided she would tutor him privately until he was caught up to peers closer to his age. At home, Takuma did nothing more than lay about on the pull-out couch, sucking from his juice bags and watching medical dramas. Sometimes he did half his homework.

On the third day, Ochako stepped out of her bedroom, saw Takuma, and yelped, throwing herself at him in joy. Takuma grimaced, leaned away from her, and fended off her happy kisses. “God, mom,” he muttered, even as he blushed and relinquished himself to her. “Chill out.”

“What did Shoto say?” He hadn’t mentioned anything to her.

Takuma shrugged, eyes glued to the TV again. “I was asleep when he put you to bed.”

“But in the mornings. When he came to pick you up?”

Takuma shot her a disgruntled look. “I’m 14. I don’t need to be walked to school anymore.”

It was odd, Ochako thought, that Shoto hadn’t shown up even on the first day, but she shrugged it off. He was a busy guy, and with the UA seminar coming up, maybe he’d realized he was going to have to do a lot more than wing it.

When she returned to headquarters after her patrol on the fourth day, she stopped by Shoto’s office before everybody started heading out to lunch, only to find his seat empty. Ochako knocked on Mina’s office and poked her head in. “You seen Shoto?”

Mina’s smile grew three times its usual size. “Need a mornin’ pick me up?” Ochako pouted at her for her suggestiveness. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he took the day off.”

“Oh. Huh.” Shoto never took time off.

“I know, right? He’s a changed man.” Mina winked.

Ochako smiled, then turned away quickly in case her face gave away her unease. There was always tomorrow. And what was she doing worrying, anyway? Shoto was free to do as he pleased, it had nothing to do with her, and it wasn’t her job to nanny his schedule. She was overthinking it.

The next day, Shoto, again, was absent. This time, when she peered into his office, then glanced quizzically around for any indication of where he might be, she found Katsuki leaning against his own office entry and watching her. “Icy Hot’s out of town,” he said, tone clipped. “Got called on a collab mission with Seiji’s team.”

“That one Toru’s heading? The undercover one?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki replied, gauging Ochako’s reaction. “The one with Camie,” Katsuki added. 

Despite her neutral expression, she tugged one of her bangs. “Yeah.”

“He’s on backup, so he’s just monitoring and instructing the actual team that’s going under until they bust the group they’re after.”

“Mm,” Ochako said distractedly. “That’s right up until your conference, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s why I opted out of the mission.” Katsuki took a beat. “He should be back in time for the seminar.”

“Well, that’s good.” Ochako smiled at Katsuki. He noted the brittleness of it. “Thanks. When’s your next patrol? It’s been a while since we had one together.”

“Tomorrow morning. Heading around the Scramble and whatever.”

Her grin turned true and broad. “Same!”

“Guess I’ll see ya then. I’m headin’ out to the gym. You tryna come?”

Ochako wrinkled her nose. Working out with Katsuki was a whole thing, which was why she tended to avoid the hours he was there (which was near impossible, but she found a way). “Maybe some other time.”

Katsuki squinted at her like he knew what she was doing, but scoffed and strode off, duffle bag slung over his back.

Takuma was already home by the time she got back. Ochako had the epiphany that she could take afternoon patrols again, but decided there was no reason to disrupt a routine that was now settled. At dinner, she asked, “How was school?”

He shrugged. Gone were the days Takuma spoke more than a fistful of words at once. It’d only been two weeks, but it felt like he’d been seven forever ago. “Want me to look over your homework?” Ochako attempted again.

“Where’s Shoto?”

Ochao balked. Since when did Takuma call Shoto by his first name only? “On a work trip.”

“For what?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Cool.” His eyes never left the phone Ochako had handed him once he’d recovered from his illness. He clenched the straw of his blood bag between his teeth to keep sucking as he typed something, thumbs flying over the screen.

“Can we put our phones away when we’re having dinner together?” Ochako asked, with an edge that suggested it wasn’t a request. “That’s supposed to be for emergencies.”

Takuma looked her in the eye, rolled his, and sighed like he’d never in his life been asked to do anything more exasperating. He clicked his phone on hold and slid it away face down, which Ochako appreciated. He sucked his blood and did nothing else. 

“Who are you texting?” Ochako asked, curious if he’d made friends. Eri had let her know she and her team would be privately tutoring Takuma beginning now, since as soon as he learned the material, he’d be aged up, but that he’d still participate in the social aspects of school. Asking Takuma outright about his classmates, however, didn’t seem to be working these days.

“Nobody, since I’m not using my phone right now,” Takuma said, leveling her with an incinerating glare.

Ochako grit her teeth. Can you not take that tone with me? she thought to say, but it came out, “Don’t take that tone with me.”

“I’m not taking a tone.”

“You are.”

“I literally do not have a tone,” Takuma snapped back.

Ochako’s blood pressure spiked. She couldn’t even send him to his room, because the only closed bedroom in this apartment was her room. She should have followed that hunch to move into a two-bedroom when she’d had it. “Fine. You can leave.”

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, pushing out of the table and migrating to the living room. 

The TV came on. Ochako buried the heels of her palms against her eyes and breathed in on a count of four, out on a count of seven. She was overthinking things, she assured herself as she moved to the sink to soap and rinse her dish. Shoto could take care of himself—and so could Takuma, it seemed.

Chapter Text

Katsuki waited for her on the street corner they always met at when they shared patrols. She bounded up to him waving only minutes after his arrival, eager and bright-eyed. “You’re late,” he snapped.

Ochako raised her eyebrows. “I literally watched you come up to the signpost one minute ago.”

“Yeah, which means you’re one minute late.”

Ochako rolled her eyes, but a smile slipped up one side of her face. “What’s new with you?”

“Shitty Hair’s killin’ me.”

Ochako lifted a hand to cover her snicker. Katsuki glowered at her anyway. “Mina’s a total breeze. I sent her my dress last week and I don’t think she even looked at it, just told me ‘yes.’”

“Pull up in a clown suit. How’s the twerp?”

Ochako hesitated. “Hey. Question. Were we bad as teenagers?”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes at her. “No,” Katsuki said with far too much mettle for someone who’d spent 98% of their teen years speaking at 140 decibels or louder. “We were any teacher’s wet dream.”

“Are you… being sarcastic?”

“No! Why the hell would I joke about that?! Look, you don’t get into the top hero school and be the top class of that school by fucking around when you’re a kid. Our whole class always knew what they wanted out of there. Sure, some of us had shit personalities, but the easiest people to teach are the ones who know what the hell they want. What’s Takuma doin’ that’s got you askin’? How old is he now, anyway?”

Count on Katsuki to read between the lines. “14. He’s just... He’s got an attitude.”

“Damn, you barely gave me any time to have fun with him. Now he’s just gonna be fuckin’ annoying.”

“Katsuki!” She was reassured, though, that it wasn’t wrong for her to find her own kid irritating and unbearable to be around.

“What?! He’s 14! They’re annoying! And it’s only gonna get worse until he’s 25 and has an existential crisis about you being just a regular person that’ll die one day!”

“Katsuki!” 

He shrugged. Ochako wasn’t mad at him, but his words had hurt, and not at the thought of her dying, but at the thought of leaving Takuma alone again. “I’m not dying—”

“Good fuckin’ luck with that.”

“Until he’s good and ready for me to go! Jeez, do you ever just let people finish what they’re saying?”

“No.”

They’re communicators both crackled to life. “Uravity, Dynamite, we’ve got a hold up three blocks from you, Froppy and Phantom thief requesting back up, three perps armed, four equips each, two perps unarm—”

“Be there in 13 seconds,” Katsuki barked back, Ochako already on his back. She slapped her hand against his waiting palm, and they rocketed towards their destination.

—

Ochako skid around a corner chasing after one of the two remaining perps. Tsuyu leapt from sidewall to sidewall over head, slinging the debris Ochako ran her hands over as she sprinted down the walk. Monoma had copied Ochako’s quirk to clear the immediate area of civilians, but they were moving dangerously near the crowds outside the perimeter.

“Dynamite,” Ochako spit into her communicator, “I think he’s heading towards Takeshita, come around the corner on—”

“Got it.”

Ochako rolled her eyes and let Tsuyu grab her and fling her towards the perp. She flew, gravity-less, past dead end alleyways and narrow sidestreets, closer and closer to the man on the run, when she caught a familiar face from the corner of her eye. 

Ochako, bewildered, tripped and stumbled into a roll. The perp dashed away, but she didn’t notice. “Takuma?” she yelped. 

Takuma looked up from the girl he was trading something with. “Mom?”

It looked like money that he was exchanging. Alarm bells went off in Ochako’s head. “What are you—”

“I’ve lost sight of you, ribbit.”

“I’ll be there in a second, go without me!” Ochako said in reply to Tsuyu. Then she shot Takuma a nasty look. “We’re talking about this when I get home.” 

Ochako shot upwards to gain a vantage point and get back to her team. 30 minutes later, all the perpetrators were rounded up and escorted off the premises in quirk-annulling cuffs. She thanked the surrounding officers for their hard work. The moment there was nobody watching, her smile dropped, and she kicked a telephone pole, denting it. 

“The hell? What’d that pole ever do to you?”

Tsuyu, walking alongside Katsuki, emanated more pure-hearted concern. “What’s wrong? Is that why I lost you at the end, ribbit?”

Katsuki jerked, ogling Tsuyu with alarm. Before he could demand an explanation from Ochako, she said, “I caught Takuma skipping school.”

Katsuki managed to look even more appalled. “What?!”

“I know!” Ochako wailed. “Do you think it’s my fault? Is he not getting enough attention at home? Am I a bad mom?”

Tsuyu laid a hand on her arm. “I don’t think it’s you, Ochako. He’s just being a teenager.”

“He’s not going to tell me if I ask him why!”

“Talk to Eri,” Katsuki growled. “I’m surprised she hasn’t already told you.”

That was true. Ochako sighed, shoulders slumping forward. “Yeah. I forgot about that. Thanks.”

“You tell Icy Hot yet?”

Ochako had forgotten about him completely. In a strange way, that was a relief. “I’ll text him after I sort it out.”

“Text him?” Tsuyu cocked her head. “Don’t you think this is the kind of thing to call about?”

There was a long, mutual silence between Ochako and Katsuki, one that had Ochako glancing, brows furrowed, at Katsuki. His face was straight, and he seemed no more or less aware of Shoto’s radio silence. “I don’t want to bother him,” she explained.

Tsuyu frowned, but said nothing more. The three of them dwindled into silence. At the street corner, Tsuyu split from Ochako and Katsuki to finish up her own patrol. 

At the end of their time together, standing at the hallway split, Katsuki asked, “You want me to talk to the brat?” He cracked his knuckles.

Ochako shook her head, heaving another sigh. “I’ll let you know if it comes to that. I’m gonna try handling this on my own first.”

“Alright. Just say the word. Catch ya later, Cheeks.” He threw a hand over his shoulder by way of goodbye.

When Ochako got home, Takuma was laying across his bed and watching TV like she hadn’t caught him in the middle of an act of delinquency that morning. Their eyes met, and he didn’t hold an ounce of shame or regret in his. Her blood immediately began to boil.

“Why are you skipping school?” she asked, gripping tight to her temper. Takuma shrugged. “Takuma,” she ground out. He continued to ignore her. “Why were you giving her money? Who is she?”

“Classmate.”

“Is she your friend? Is she making you skip school?”

Takuma rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s making me do anything. She has a doppelganger quirk. We’re not friends.” Before Ochako could ask, he said, “And I’m not doing drugs. Chill out.”

Ochako put two and two together. That’s why Eri hadn’t contacted her. Takuma was paying his classmate to make a copy of him so he could skip school for whatever it was he wanted to do instead. She was going to start putting his allowance straight into the savings account she kept for him. “You can’t do that, Takuma.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not kidding. You have to go to school.” You have to grow up. Takuma nodded without paying her any attention. “Takuma.”

“Okay.”

“Takuma!”

“I SAID, I KNOW, GOD!”

Takuma stormed into her bedroom and slammed her door shut. Ochako gaped. The nerve! Fuming, she stepped outside and dialed Eri’s number. 

“Ochako?” 

“Hey, Eri. I just found out Takuma’s been using a doppelganger for school. I caught him skipping while I was on patrol.”

“Oh!” Eri exclaimed. “That would explain why I thought he was acting a bit weird. He’s been really quiet.”

Ochako blinked. “Is he not usually?”

“He’s pretty talkative,” Eri said, chipper. “He’s a really fast learner. You’ll probably be able to age him up in another week. We’re flying through material!”

Ochako’s heart clenched. “I’m glad!”

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll keep an eye out if he starts acting weird again.”

“I’ll be following him in the mornings to make sure he’s actually going,” Ochako said, voice low.

“Not Shoto?” Eri asked.

“He’s out of town.”

“Oof,” Eri grunted in sympathy. “Takin’ the full weight of a teenager on your own, huh?”

Hearing it like that, Ochako’s gut twisted. She forced a lighthearted laugh. “I’ll survive. It’s just another week and a half.”

“You’ve got this!” Eri cheered. 

Ochako smiled. “Thanks. See ya tomorrow!”

“Yup! Bye, Ochako!”

Ochako hung up, heart heavy. She sent a text to Shoto: Takuma’s been skipping school. She didn’t hear back.

Chapter Text

The sun barely broke the horizon when Shoto entered the headquarters. He’d split from Toru’s team, citing minor admin work, which wasn’t untrue, but wasn’t the whole story, either. Toru hadn’t sounded entirely convinced when she bid him goodbye, but hadn’t pressed on it. Everybody knew his nonsensical work hours and let him be.

To Shoto’s surprise, when he stepped out onto the floor, there was already a light on. Across the room, he saw Katsuki, in his own office, standing in front of his laptop—chair behind him, but refusing to sit—and mashing furiously at his keyboard while his duffle bag lay open on his desk. Katsuki, sensing being watched, stopped typing long enough to look up. He grimaced at the sight of Shoto.

“You’re here early,” Shoto said at the mouth of Katsuki’s office. It was 5:03AM. 

“Yeah, well, my flight’s in five hours. Don’t wanna be late.”

“The airport’s barely 30 minutes from the office. You can fly.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki sneered. “I said I don’t wanna be late. You got hearin’ problems?”

Shoto chose to move past this. “Why’d you come in?”

“Goddamn admin stuff I gotta finish up.”

“Ah. Got it. I’ll leave you alone then.”

Before Shoto could so much as turn around, Katsuki leapt over his desk and grabbed Shoto by the collar. “We need to talk.”

“Seems serious,” Shoto said, unperturbed. 

Katsuki dropped him. “You talk to Cheeks yet?”

Oh. Shoto shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been busy.”

“Never stopped you before,” Katsuki grumbled. “Your kid’s skippin’ school. She tell ya?”

He’d seen the text. His gaze moved to the window behind Katsuki. “Yeah.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You’re ignoring her,” Katsuki said, flat. 

“I’m not. I’m busy.”

“You volunteered for that mission when Toru stopped by my office. You knew what you were getting into, and as far as I know, ‘time management’ isn’t on your development plan because you don’t have problems with it. So if you’re saying you didn’t think about how you were gonna have to deal with home shit when you picked that case up, you’re a lying asshole.”

Shoto bit down, jaw tensing. Katsuki honed in on the gesture right away, face flaring with fury. “So that’s it? You’re bored of her?”

“I’m not ‘bored,’ and it’s got nothing to do with you—”

“No, because here’s the thing: it does. If it’s Cheeks, it does. Everybody at UA underestimated her until the tournament, where I had to tell everybody what the hell they were looking at—and Monoma, which is fucked as hell—then I watched her waste seven years of her life with someone I could’ve told her from the start that it wasn’t going to work out with, but she wouldn’t have listened! Meanwhile, she’s done more for the industry than Izuku and All Might did combined, and she did it while busting her ass at home and at work. But all this city of extras ever talks about is how tight her ass is! 

“She, Mina, and Toru tie constantly for favorites with the new hires because they’ve got their hands so deep in recruitment—work that nobody else but Eijirou signs up for, because nobody else has the personality to tolerate it, or the patience to do all that fucking paperwork! She flipped the fucking chart with Nejire for five months before she stuck, and that was after she and Izuku split. She was crying at me for nine months because she thought she was the reason that Izuku didn’t work out, that she didn’t try hard enough. She couldn’t have given less of a shit about the charts, but she still stuck her ranking, and I still don’t know how she did it, except that if she hadn’t been wasting time crying over some dickwad in a uniform, she probably would have done it faster and better! 

“So yeah, I’m not about to risk incapacitating one of the best heroes at this agency because another dickwad in a uniform fucks her over. If you’ve got a problem with her, sort it out. Capisce?”

“She’s not the problem,” Shoto grit out through his teeth, nerves hanging on a tightrope. 

“I know she’s not the problem, so what the hell is yours?!”

How was he supposed to explain this? Scrubbing his face in his hands, Shoto deliberated on his wording. “Every time Takuma injects her with his toxin—”

“I don’t want a play-by-play of how you two get—”

“—she tells me she loves me.” Shoto shot Katsuki the nastiest of glares.

Katsuki snorted. “Sounds like her.” 

Shoto found that mildly offensive, for whatever reason, but he continued to explain. “I don’t know if she means it. She’s never said it while conscious.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean ‘is that all?’ That’s a pretty serious allegation.”

“‘Allegation?’ Holy hell, you’ve really picked this shit apart. Are you the judge, jury, and executioner in your imagination? Nevermind. Look, you said it yourself, she hasn’t said it while she’s conscious yet. She might not even mean it.” Katsuki’s expression screwed up with distaste. “If it’s really an aphrodisiac, it might just be a spur-of-the-moment, oxytocin thing.”

Shoto frowned. “Isn’t that worse? If she doesn’t mean it?”

The disdain Katsuki wore shed itself line by line until he was watching Shoto with a detached sort of interest. “I don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me.”

Katsuki raised his eyebrows at Shoto’s sudden defensiveness. The idiot didn’t even seem to notice his own tone of voice. “If Ochako walked in here, 100% herself, and told you she loved you, how would you feel?”

Shoto scoffed. “This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid. Now answer the fucking question.”

If Katsuki was trying to get on his nerves, he was doing a great job of it. “I don’t know,” Shoto said, words clipped. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“What? What the fuck does that mean? ‘Supposed to do with it,’ what? It’s not a fucking can opener. It just exists. People just fuckin’ love other people, you weirdo!”

“It doesn’t just exist, it happens for a reason, it grows out of something—”

“Oh, spare me the fuckin’ Hallmark card. Do you like me?”

Shoto reeled back. “Yes?”

“What do you like about me?”

Shoto shrugged. “You’re hardworking, driven, funny—”

“I’m not funny—Forget it! I’m hardworking and driven. Does that mean you love me?”

“Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“Fucking am not! And you know what I mean!”

“If you mean romantically, no, I don’t.”

“There you have it, ladies and gentlefucks!”

“I don’t understand.”

Katsuki stomped around a bit, snarling into the air and bemoaning his plight before stabbing a finger at Shoto. “You like me for the same reason you like plenty of other extras, but you don’t love me or any of them. People love each other for no fuckin’ reason. I’m as hardworking and driven as you are, she trusts me as much as she trusts you, but you don’t see Ochako climbin’ all over me, wanting to be around me all the time, given’ me stupid eyes!” Katsuki retched at the mere thought.

“You’re gay.”

“If I wasn’t!”

“But you’re different than I am,” Shoto said through clenched teeth. “Izuku is different than I am.”

“What the fuck is so hard to get here? It doesn’t matter who it is, people just pick someone one day and then decide to pick ‘em everyday. People just love somebody else for no goddamn reason—”

“Not me,” Shoto snapped. “People don’t just love me.”

There was a prolonged silence. Katsuki’s mouth parted, then his jaw dropped, lower and lower with every passing second. No sound came out, not for one minute, and not for two. Eventually, he said, “Holy fuckin’ hell, Icy Hot. You’re a therapist’s wet dream.”

“Great. Thanks. Have a good morning.”

“No, get back here, asshole.” Katsuki grabbed Shoto and slammed his office door shut. “If you’re gonna leave Cheeks high and dry ‘cause you’ve got daddy issues, I need to hear you say it.”

“They’re not daddy issues—”

“Mommy issues, dead brother issues, what-the-fuck-ever. If you’re giving up on Ochako, say it.”

“I’m not ‘giving up’ on her—”

“Do you love her?”

The words in Shoto’s head came to a screeching halt. He stared, speechless. Katsuki, eerily calm, did nothing to fill the gaping silence. “Does it matter?” Shoto finally muttered, tearing out of Katsuki’s grasp and turning away so he didn’t have to look him head-on. 

“It’s the only thing that matters,” Katsuki growled. 

Behind them, the office lights all turned on at once. Katsuki looked up, Shoto glanced back over his shoulder. A handful of interns scattered in, Tenya leading the flock. 

“I’m goin’ to the gym before Four Eyes holds them hostage there.” Katsuki zipped the bag on his desk, heaved it over his shoulder, then pushed past Shoto. “Whatever the hell it is you’re so afraid of, figure it out. Otherwise she’ll leave you in the dust, and it won’t be because she chose it.”

Shoto, left to himself, sighed.

Chapter Text

Ochako never received anything back from Shoto, but she forgot about it by the weekend. For the rest of the week and half, until her visit to UA, she hardly had time to think between worrying about Takuma, trying to get him to talk to her, and then deescalating the fights he kept picking with her. Most nights, she was at her wit’s end. Most mornings, she was just glad to see Takuma show up at school.

Izuku had flown out two days before to prepare for the conference, but Katsuki was slated to leave this morning. Ochako, after pacing Tsuyu’s office and venting at random for half an hour, decided to spare her best friend from the rest of her self-perceived lunacy, and picked a different target for her racetrack thoughts. She stormed to Katsuki’s office to catch him in his last hour before he left, only to stutter to a stop outside Shoto’s. 

She’d forgotten about him. He was sitting in his chair, tapping away at his keyboard. Sensing that he was being watched, Shoto looked over. Ochako broke into a smile. 

“Hey!” she said, every knot in her stomach untwisting and growing wings. She relaxed against the doorjamb. “You’re back! I haven’t heard from you. Almost forgot you existed.” She grinned.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I’ve been swamped.”

Ochako blinked at his lackluster response. Well, it was stressful to get back from one of those kinds of meetings and then have something involved the next day. “‘Course! How was it?”

“It went well. Kudos to Toru.”

“That’s good! You ready for tomorrow?”

Shoto smiled wryly. Ochako’s insides lit up at the sight. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Lemme know if you want any help.”

“Mm.”

Ochako stood there for a second, wondering if there was more. Shoto returned her waiting gaze, but said nothing. Eventually, she stepped back out into the cubicles. “‘Kay, well, see you tomorrow morning?”

“See you.”

“I’ll update you on everything with Takuma on the way over.”

“Sounds good.”

“‘Kay.” She lingered. Shoto watched her. She raised her hand, smiling a little. “See ya later.”

“See you.”

Ochako spun around, took a few steps, and landed at Katsuki’s office doorway. She peered up at him, forgetting what she came to talk to him about in the first place. “What?” Katsuki scowled.

“Have a safe flight!”

His expression softened. “Thanks. Talk to Mina if you need somethin’.”

“Like what?” Ochako grinned wide, showing all her teeth.

His glower returned, full force. “Like whatever!” He clipped Ochako on the way out. “I’m headin’ out early, don’t lose your entire goddamn mind while I’m out.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do my best.” He was only going to be gone for three days. What was the worst that could happen?

—

In an uncharacteristic act of self-disposal, Takuma let Ochako watch a movie with him that night. They picked out a fantasy together, the first of a trilogy. In the middle of it, Ochako’s phone lit up.

I’ll be over at 7 tomorrow morning.

Sounds good! 

Takuma’s attention flicked from the screen to Ochako. Her gaze was warm and liquid. “Is that Shoto?”

“Yupp!”

“He’s back from his mission?”

“Mhm!”

“What exactly are you two?” he asked bluntly. Ochako frowned at him in puzzlement, and he clarified, “Like, are you two dating? Or what?”

Her entire face turned bright pink. “No! I mean—it’s not like…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Anyways, why are you so interested in my dating life?” She snickered.

Takuma rolled his eyes, but caught the way Ochako pursed her lips, brows furrowing, when she thought he wasn’t looking. At 30 minutes left in the movie, he feigned sleep, letting his head drop to Ochako’s shoulder. She made a happy little noise, smoothed his hair back, and kissed his forehead. 

There was no world where her role in his life made sense at his current age—he was 14, she was 28. She should be his sister, more than anything. It would continue to get weirder, he was sure, once he was 18, as Eri had next requested, then 20, then 26, his actual age. But right now, at 14, even when she annoyed the hell out of him for reasons he couldn’t explain except that she just did, and even despite that he’d never known a mother’s love, Ochako felt like what he thought that was supposed to feel like.

When the movie ended, Ochako lifted his head to slide a pillow underneath his head. She folded the comforter over him, then didn’t leave for a minute or two. Finally, she padded out of the room, flipping the living room switch and sinking the room into darkness. 

The next morning, Shoto pushed her door open and found Takuma lying on his back on his bed, sucking on his first blood bag of the day as he stared at the ceiling. His backpack was poised at his feet. At the sound of Shoto’s entrance, Takuma sat up. He still looked like Toya’s ghost. Shoto’s throat closed up, and he bit his tongue to keep the unnameable feeling at bay.

“Mom’s almost done,” Takuma said, falling back again when Shoto said nothing interesting. 

“How are you?”

Takuma shrugged. “Good. Where’d you go?”

“I had a mission.”

“I know that,” Takuma drawled in a way that suggested Shoto had barely two brain cells to rub together. “I’m asking where.” 

Shoto frowned. “Watch your tone. And I’m not allowed to say.” Something suddenly came to mind. “You shouldn’t be skipping school, that’s not going to help you in the long-run.”

Takuma came to a sit again, leveling Shoto with a dead-eyed stare. “You’re not my dad. I don’t have to listen to you.”

Shoto did a double-take. It was true, but it was strange to hear, after Takuma, younger, had sung such a different tune for the past few months. “I’m twice your age,” Shoto scoffed after collecting himself. The nerve. “I don’t need to be your dad for you to not be an asshole.”

Takuma’s lip curled. “Look who’s talking, grandpa.”

“Twice your age is only 28.” And what was that supposed to mean, anyway? He wasn’t a hypocrite.

“Yeah. That’s what I said: grandpa.”

“This conversation is over,” Shoto grumbled, running a hand over his face. He wasn’t about to get into a verbal altercation with a teenager. 

“Mooom,” Takums shouted, unnecessarily loud in the one-bedroom. “Hurry the hell up, would you?”

Shoto’s attention snapped back to Takuma in incredulity. From her bedroom, Ochako shouted, “Language!” in a way that suggested she’d grown tired of repeating herself.

“I’m trying to go to school, y’know, the thing you said I have to go to?”

Ochako skid out of her room, smiling when she laid eyes on Shoto. “Sorry, I got caught up re-organizing some of the details in my talk-track. We ready?”

“We’re literally waiting on you,” Takuma said, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He slammed out the door ahead of Shoto and Ochako.

Ochako took a deep breath in and glanced at Shoto, who returned the look appalled. Her cheery smile from earlier turned dry. She shrugged. Shoto opened the door for her, shaking his head in disbelief.

Chapter Text

The weather was questionable. The clouds in the sky—grey, large, and billowing—cast sweeping shadows over the ground and suggested imminent rain. Shoto felt the first wet pellet halfway to the train station. 

Despite Ochako’s elation upon seeing him, they walked the pavement, sat in the train, and made their way to UA without exchanging a word. Where the quiet between them had always been comfortable, there was now a strain to the silence between them. 

Softly, Ochako asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired,”

She nodded. “‘Course. You’d tell me if you were stressed.” She said it as if assuring herself, rather than asking him.

Shoto bit down on his tongue. After an uncomfortable beat, he asked, “Is he always like that?”

Ochako glanced at him wryly. Her familiarity turned Shoto inside out. “Yeah.”

“Kind of unbearable.”

She snorted. “Yeah, and that was just five minutes. I’ve been dealing with it for two weeks.”

There was no accusation in her tone, but Shoto felt it anyway. He had, after all, deliberately inserted himself in the mission he’d overheard Katsuki turning down while Ochako had been out of office taking care of Takuma. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

She shrugged. “I googled it, and it’s normal. He has his sweet moments, too.” Her expression grew wistful. “And anyway, Eri said we can age him up to 18 soon, so hopefully he’ll be out of this phase then.” 

She was always so ready to forgive, Shoto thought as they sat quietly in the train, the crowd more sparse than usual due to the weather. The moment they stepped out, a smattering of rain pelted them. 

“Aw, no,” Ochako bemoaned. “They’re gonna cancel the live demonstrations! That’s the best part!”

“Maybe it’ll clear.” Shoto held his hand out to test for more drops. 

The sky took this as a challenge and opened abruptly to unleash a torrent of rain. Ochako yelped and broke into a sprint. Shoto began skating towards their destination, grabbing Ochako along the way. She removed his gravity to speed up their travel. Once at UA, he slid straight up to the doors, pushed them open, and ushered Ochako in quickly, to get out of the rain now blowing into the building.

Inside, he began to steam slowly, drying steadily. When he was done, his suit was wrinkle-free, his hair was dry, and he looked as though he’d never been touched by rain in his life. 

“Do me!” Ochako exclaimed, awed. She held her hands out to him, palms up, and waited. 

The tension between them dissolved with nothing more than her eager appeal. Shoto stared at her, at the hands she held open to him, and knew there was no use fighting it. He took her chilled fingers in his and stepped into her, winding her arms behind him. Ochako sunk her fingers into his back and grinned up at him, eyes molten. Shoto wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders. 

Ochako, heart skipping beneath her ribs, cooed at the warmth and squeezed tighter. It didn’t take much heat to evaporate the water, though it seemed to take longer for her than it’d taken for Shoto. When he finished, he didn’t let go. Ochako, ear pressed against his chest, listened to the steady thump beneath bone.

“I missed you,” she murmured. 

Shoto said nothing, heart strangling in his throat. She didn’t seem to care at his lack of reciprocation, which only made it worse. “C’mon,” he murmured, pulling away. 

They found their way to Aizawa’s office (which was not where Principal Nezu’s office had been, to their surprise). At the sight of Shoto and Ochako, Aizawa blinked sleepily, stood from his seat, and brushed past them. Shoto and Ochako followed obediently. 

“No live demonstrations today,” Aizawa said. “We’ll have you come back another time, Uraraka. Ask Bakugo if he’d mind coming with you. You two together give a better idea of support and frontline combat.”

Ochako nodded along. Once they were outside the doors of this year’s Class 1-B, Aizawa gestured for Ochako to go through. The door shut behind her, and her voice, clear as day, rang through only seconds later.

Aizawa led Shoto to Class 1-A. “You get the whole period, then you two switch.”

“Alright,” Shoto said, striding in with his typical unbothered ease. He spoke in lower, cooler tones.

After 50 minutes, Shoto and Ochako met midway in the hallway. Ochako shot him a small wave with a sweet little smile. Shoto ducked his head at her. Another 50 minutes later, the students filed out noisily for lunch, many of them thanking Ochako on their way out. 

Room emptied, Ochako strolled to the back and took her former seat. She still fit easily, but not quite as easily as she did 13 years ago. She stared at the podium at the front of the classroom and recalled mornings just like this, before anybody else had entered. Early day sunlight sweeping in through the windows, the clean chalkboard. Her friends would filter in before the morning bell, and her heart would stutter when Izuku walked in. 

Shoto wandered in. He raised his eyebrows at Ochako, who smiled at him, heartbeat on her tongue. Then he took his former seat, two aisles over from her, and it was strange, Ochako thought, as she held his gaze over the single desk between them, that she’d never really noticed him before, despite how close he’d always been. She’d seen him and known him, but only as the boy who’d gotten in because of his official recommendations, son of the Number Two Hero, best friend of Izuku. Smart, good-looking, and comically serious. 

Now she knew he was like sunshine breaking through on a cloudy day. He made her happy. Shoto smiled back at her in that muted way of his, and without meaning to, it spilled out of her like light in the dark. 

“I love you,” she said, the feeling of it crisp in her chest.

When Shoto failed to respond, when his smile slipped slowly from his face, Ochako remembered it was still raining outside.

Chapter Text

“Here’s that roster, and all their profiles. Lemme know who you need by end of day, I’ll brief ‘em tomorrow mornin’!” Ochako handed the folder to Kyoka. Denki was several floors down, handing Rikido a similar file. “I’d reach out to Ryukyu, too, she’s got people that fit the bill.”

“Thanks, I’ll shoot her an email. Did you see Mina’s text?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve already got an email in my drafts with a list of destinations. I’ll send that out at after lunch.”

“Already? It’s only been a day. Actually, I think it’s only been nine hours.”

Ochako shrugged. “I had the time.”

Kyoka gave her a long look. “Are you okay?”

Ochako, bemused, said, “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re doing that thing you do when you’ve got too much going on.”

“What thing?”

“You do more.”

“I don’t do that.”

Kyoka raised her eyebrows. “You definitely do.”

“I definitely don’t, and even if I do, I’m fine!” Ochako chirped. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Okay.” Kyoka, mouth a flat, worried line, watched Ochako swing out of the office with more good cheer than usual.

With that done, Ochako worked her way through the entire office checking things off her to-do list. First to engineering, where they had prototypes for the gauntlets they wanted her to try, then to Izuku, who wanted her opinion on re-shuffling some of the teams, then to the medical center for her quarterly checkup, then to the gym before Katsuki could monopolize it for the next three hours. By the time lunch hit, she’d finished everything on her list for the next week (save for the gym, that was a daily thing), and was in the middle of making a new list for tomorrow.

Somebody rapped their knuckles against her window. Ochako glanced up from her laptop to welcome them in, only for her throat to close up. She recovered quickly. “Hey! What’s up?”

“What’re you doing here?” Shoto asked, expression neutral. 

She spluttered. “I work here!”

“It’s lunch.”

Baffled, Ochako glanced at the time, then gasped and shot out of her seat. The papers beside her fluttered to the floor. “Shoot!” She scrambled to pick them up, set them back, and then yanked her jacket over her arms as she brainstormed excuses for showing up 30 minutes late. “Thanks!” she yelped on her way out. 

Shoto grabbed her wrist before she could disappear, and the space behind Ochako’s eyes went hot. She shook the feeling off. “Are you okay?” He asked, brows creasing.

“Why does everybody keep asking that?” she huffed. “I’m fine!”

Shoto dropped her wrist. Ochako shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Everybody keeps asking because everybody sees you running around the office. You’ve logged more steps than Izuku and Katsuki combined these past two days alone, and you know how much Izuku paces and how long Katsuki spends doing HIIT on the treadmill,” said Shoto.

Ochako reeled back, startled. “How do you know that?”

“Medical sends me any noticeable changes in employee health. It’s in the disclosure everybody updates during their annual review. I’m allowed to bring it up with anybody who has an unusual change, as long as they sign off.”

“Oh.” She really needed to start reading fine print. “You do that?”

“Izuku handles HR issues, Katsuki handles financial issues.”

“Ah!” Ochako said, nodding enthusiastically. “Man, you guys do the whole delegation thing really well! I guess that’s why it’s you three and not, like—”

“Is this about last Wednesday?”

Ochako’s jaw slammed shut. After her nonsensical outburst last week she’d corrected herself frantically and effusively. She loved him like she loved any of them—Izuku, Katsuki, Tsuyu, Mina, Kyoka, Eijirou, the list went on and on. She loved all of them, it was hard not too, and Shoto, whom she’d always loved but had never known, well, now she loved him better because she knew him better. That was all. That was all she’d meant. And she’d thanked him profusely for his help with Takuma, who she also loved, by the way, no matter how much of a mean 14-year-old he was being, which was way more than she could ask from anybody, he really was amazing for that, the best, really, she really did love him for that!

Laughter bubbled out of her. Did she have her wallet? “No!” she answered distractedly, checking her pockets before realizing her bag was still hanging off the back of her chair. She circled back around her desk to grab it. At the door, she smiled at Shoto. “I’ve just got a lot going on. Takuma’s turning 18 tonight, by the way, if you wanna stop by. Oh, but you’ve got that thing Izuku asked you and Katsuki to show up at. That’s okay!”

“If you can wait until tomorrow, I can—”

Ochako grimaced and waved it off. “I figure I’ll get 14 over with as soon as I can, y’know? I’m planning to ask Miss Akiyama to check if she hears any weird noises. I really gotta go now, but thanks for checkin’ on me, I totally woulda just—”

Shoto grabbed her by her arm again. “Are we okay?”

The moment it left his mouth, he winced. Ochako recoiled, but caught herself immediately and composed herself. “We’re fine,” Ochako said, tentatively raising a hand to the one he had wrapped around her. She smiled reassuringly. “We’re okay, Shoto.”

She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t lying, because it was true. And even if she were lying, it wouldn’t matter, because he’d stopped telling her the truth first. It didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened. “You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I wasn’t lying, I really do care about you, as much as anybody on this team.” 

Which didn’t explain the kissing and the touching and the everything else, but that was her own fault. Shoto had offered, she’d taken the offer, then ran with it, so hard and fast, never once questioning what it really was. She’d gotten carried away, misconstrued affection for attraction, kindness for something more than it was. Her experience with Izuku, it seemed, made her think that responsibility and consideration towards her meant more than they did.

Mild irritation piqued at the suggestion that he was only part of a larger group of people to her, but Shoto knew he was being unreasonable. Still, instead of leaving right then like he should have, he slid his hand to her waist. His gaze darted to her mouth, then back to her eyes. 

Ochako forgot how to breathe. Heart in her throat, she stepped out of his hold and turned away. “I should really go now though, ‘cause there’s only 15 minutes left, and the girls were already gonna eat me alive when I was 30 minutes, so I really don’t wanna know what they’re gonna do if I’m 45 minutes late! Bye, Shoto!”

Ochako swept away, chewing on the inside of her cheek and willing away the tightness in her chest.

—

Takuma was withdrawn and laconic when Ochako got home. Getting him into the kitchen was like pulling teeth, convincing him to sit down was a whole other thing, and now, she argued with him about feeding at all.

“I just don’t want to, okay?!” he snapped, rising up from the floor. 

“No, not okay!” Ochako grabbed his sleeve. She didn’t pull him down, but she didn’t let him go, either. “What do you mean, you don’t want to?!”

“I just don’t want to!”

“Why?!”

Takuma grunted unintelligibly, unable to explain himself except knowing that he didn’t want to. He alternated between shrugging and waving his hands. “I just don’t want to! It doesn’t matter why!”

“But you have to!” Ochako cried, strained, exasperated. She was ten minutes into kneeling on tile. Her knees were begging her for reprieve. 

“I don’t have to do anything!”

“You literally do! You have to grow up! Takuma, please.”

Takuma snatched his arm away from her and strode out the kitchen. “Why do you want me gone so fucking bad?!”

Ochako rose to her feet and followed, fists clenching. “No, that’s not what this is, I’m trying to help you, I’ve been trying to do that this entire time—”

“You just think I’m annoying now, you don’t wanna deal with me—”

“If that were true, I’d turn you back into a four-year-old,” Ochako said through her teeth. The backs of her eyes began to sting. God, she was exhausted.  “Can we just do this? Can we just get this over with?”

“Where even is Shoto?”

Ochako groaned, tipping her head back to plead with the heavens. “He’s busy! Why do you care?!”

“We never do this without him.”

“First time for everything!”

“I’m not.“

“Takuma.”

“I’m not!”

“Takuma, please. I am begging you, god! Please!”

“Not without Shoto!”

“Oh my fucking”—Ochako seethed—“You have to. Takuma, you have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything you say!”

“Yes, you do, you’re literally living in my house, I’m the one who’s been taking care of you this entire time, I’m the one who—”

Takuma whirled around. “I never fucking asked for that! Any of that! You literally stole me out of a building, by yourself, made a shit ton of decisions on your own and dragged me along whether I liked it or not! I never had a choice! The one person you asked for help doesn’t even want you anymore, and now you’re acting like you get to call all the shots, but you don’t, and I don’t have to listen to you, because you’re not my guardian, you literally don’t have papers or anything!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “You’re not my fucking mom!”

Takuma breathed heavily across from her, then folded his arms self-consciously. “I hate you,” he said simply. “You ruin everything.”

Before now, Ochako hadn’t known that anything could hurt more than watching Toga die. In the deathly quiet of her apartment—pull-out bed still pulled out, several blood bags sitting fresh in the fridge, Takuma’s book bag lying out on the floor—it became too much. All of it. She shut down.

Voice cool, she said, “Fine then. Let’s make a deal.”

Takuma’s scowl faded slowly, replaced with hesitant curiosity. Ochako held out her hand, as if to shake his. Then she turned it over, offering the pale underside of her wrist.

“Drink. As much as you want. Until you’re 26, if that’s what you want.” She stared at him hard. “And then you can leave. You can go wherever you want, do whatever you want. I’ll let you go.”

Takuma glanced at her palm. Red crescents dotted the soft flesh where her nails had bitten into them. Ochako flexed her hand harder; a few of the moons stressed open, weeping the tiniest pricks of blood. Takuma’s canines elongated helplessly as his pupils thinned to razorblades. He took her arm in both his hands, leaning down.

But before he bit, he peered up at her one more time, filled suddenly with a sense of foreboding. Ochako looked down at him, unflinching and unfeeling. 

“Go ahead,” she said. “You were never mine, anyway.” 

Chapter Text

Somebody was banging on her door. They were extraordinarily aggressive with it. Ochako peeled her eyes open, then squeezed them shut again, groaning. The kitchen light was blinding.

“Cheeks,” Katsuki shouted. “I’m counting to three, and if you don’t open the fucking door, I’m breaking it. You better haul ass if you want your deposit back!”

True to his word, he began to count. Ochako forced herself up. She winced as the room spun with her motion, nausea escalating with every stumbling step she took towards the door—Katsuki snarled out a “two”—and twisted the lock open. Dried blood ran down her wrist. She barely dodged the swing when Katsuki slammed it open. “Hey,” she croaked.

Katsuki balked. “What the hell happened to you?”

Ochako flinched. God, why was he screaming? Well, he was always screaming. But could he not, right now? “Fed Takuma yesterday. Musta got carried away,” she grumbled, chewing out the words with great effort. She could taste her mealy tongue between her cheeks. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“What am I doing here? You haven’t been to work for two days! And where’s the brat anyway?”

Ochako frowned, looking over her shoulder to check. The motion was like trying to maneuver a bulldozer without her quirk. “School, I guess?” she said. There was nothing of note behind her, so she turned back around. Her legs felt like they might give out any second now. “I haven’t been to work?”

“His backpack’s right there, Cheeks.” Katsuki grew increasingly concerned with every syllable out of her mouth. 

“Can you be”—she searched for the word in her head—“quiet? My head is…” Killing me.

“Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” she drawled, dropping her head to the back of her hand, which gripped the edge of the door for support. Not this again. “m’Fine. Lemme jus’ take the next day off, too, then I’ll be back. Probly jus’ los’ too much blood.”

Katsuki was silent for too long. Ochako looked at him and found his mouth flat. She huffed and rolled her eyes. Katsuki finally relented. “Call me or Pinky if you need anything.”

“Mhm.” She smiled, slow like syrup, and waved as he left. Katsuki glanced back over his shoulder every few seconds.

Once there was no trace of him left, Ochako shut the door, slid down the back of it, and drifted into dreamless sleep once more.

—

She woke the next day, lids popping open with ease, neck uncomfortably stiff. There was blood in the kitchen grout, and the pull-out bed was still out. The sheets were all made, though, which was nice. Ochako folded it all up, stacked them in her linen closet, then folded the bed in. The space in her living room seemed to double. Pleased, she got to work scrubbing her tile flooring.

She finished by evening, sweaty, grimy, and definitely ripe. She ran the shower, worked off her caked on suit, and washed. After that, she ordered delivery, sat on her couch, and watched sitcoms while she chewed. Before she climbed into bed, she stored away the extra pillow and returned her own to the middle, where it used to be. She hardly filled the queen sized space. Her throat closed up. Ochako shut her eyes and ignored it.

The next morning, she rose early and easily. With all the extra time and no other obligations, she made herself a cup of coffee. While she waited for the machine to start spitting, she found her thermometer on the counter. She pulled up the record for the last measurement. An alarmingly high fever. Ochako frowned. For her, or for somebody else? Had Takuma felt sick before leaving?

She felt the worry come along. Lips thin, she dropped the device into a drawer and shut it. As she sipped, she tried to recall the evening Takuma had fed. Unlike her usual memory loss, it came back in bits and pieces. With every blurry image, her heart sank farther. She felt sick. Along with the nausea, a sort of sadness dripped through her the longer she dwelled on it, so she packed her thoughts away and caught up on emails. Without somebody to bring to school or check on before leaving for work, her morning was eerily breathable. When the time came for her to leave, she set her mug in the sink, slipped her laptop into her bag, and clipped her boots back on. Her stomach continued to churn.

She’d just stepped out and locked her door behind her when Ochako felt the gag before it happened. Fumbling with her keys, she shoved her door open, sprinted back into her home, and tripped into the bathroom. She didn’t make it to the toilet and wretched into the sink instead. 

She heaved once, twice, three times, losing count until she saw all her coffee, and what she was pretty sure were chunks of last night’s dinner, spiral down the drain. Ochako turned the tap on, wiped her mouth, and washed her hands as her heart raced. 

Her hands were clammy, she’d broken out in a sweat, and her breathing was shallow, but that was all exertion from vomiting. Right? Ochako, shaking, made her way back to the kitchen and retrieved her thermometer again. After a minute, it beeped. No fever. Her throat wasn’t sore, she didn’t feel tender anywhere, and she’d had energy just minutes ago. 

She had an IUD. She didn’t get her period anymore, so she couldn’t check for a missed one, but she had an IUD. Issued and inserted indiscriminately to anybody in the agency, so long as they wanted it. There was an option for pills, a shot, even a patch, if anybody was disinclined towards shoving a piece of plastic up their hooha. But she had an IUD, a hormonal one, and the chances of getting… she couldn’t even think it. The chance was so, so small, there was just no way. No way, no way, no way.

Clutching the counter, Ochako forced herself to breathe. I’m not. I’m not. I am NOT, she chanted, like that might make it real. I’m just sick. The high fever of the thermometer must have been her, probably half-awake after Takuma had fed from her and left, or maybe when Katsuki had stopped by. Half-conscious her was smart, too. 

More than anything, she needed to get to a doctor. Not anybody at the agency, either; if things went sideways, Shoto didn’t need to know. Ochako pulled her phone out and texted Mina.

Hey! I’m feeling kinda sick, so I’m gonna stop by a doctor’s first. I should be back after lunch. Let Katsuki know? He was freaking out.

Mina answered in less than a second. Got it girlie! See ya soon!

Tears straining at the backs of her eyes, Ochako whirled out of her apartment and towards the nearest hospital.

Chapter Text

“Well,” the doctor said, “You’re not pregnant.”

Ochako nearly collapsed off the exam table with relief. She could have cried. She wanted to fall to the floor and kiss the feet of this man, who smiled so kindly at her. Instead, she returned his smile with a strained one of her own and wondered if she was going to have to make him sign an NDA. “Could you, um, not tell anybody?” she whispered, unable to find her voice after all the anxiety.

He ogled her, stricken. “Of course! That’d be a violation of your privacy.”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, tears finally pricking at her. Guilt filled her at the thought of the blood bags Shoto had stolen from this friendly, caring, generous, wonderful hospital. Hopefully they’d never noticed. “Thank you so much.”

The lines around his eyes wrinkled with soft concern. He looked like a grandparent, and right now, she felt like he was hers. “Of course,” he said gently before hesitating. “There is something strange, though.”

The anxiety rose up again. She tasted bile in her throat. “What?”

“Your blood tests indicate you’ve been poisoned. Do you know what that might be?”

“Oh, um, well, I’ve been kind of accidentally injecting myself”—the doctor’s eyes widened with shock—“regularly with, like, this thing that makes me feel really, um… happy? Um, romantically happy? If you know what I mean? And I always forget about it after. It’s a complete accident, I only found out today that I was doing it.” Ochako lied, laughing nervously. “Not that I’ve assaulted anybody!” she added hastily. Not recently, as far as I know.

“Oh,” the doctor shook his head, shoulders sagging with relief. “You’re talking about your elevated hormone and neurotransmitter levels. No, that’s fine. You’ve got a bit of extra gamma-aminobutyric acid and dopamine flying around your system, but nothing more than a drink or two’s worth. What I mean is that there’s actual poison in your blood.”

Was he saying she was drunk? “Um,” Ochako stuttered. “Uh. Well, I haven’t been poisoned recently. The last time I was poisoned…” She couldn’t remember how long ago it’d been. It felt like forever ago, and yet, somehow, also very recent. “Um. I can’t remember. A month ago? Or two?” Could be three, even? Really, she had no idea anymore.

“Hmm… Either way, too long for it to still be in your system, especially if you’ve been okay since then.”

“Right.”

“Well, if you notice anything strange, please talk to a doctor. I can send your history over.”

There was an uncertain tilt to his smile, like he didn’t quite believe she should be leaving just yet, but that he couldn’t keep her for further examination. Ochako hopped off the table, wobbling a little on nervewracked, jelly legs, then grabbed her bag. “Thank you,” she said again.

She paid and signed out at the desk, then made her way to the office. It was blessedly empty, given that everybody was still at lunch. On the elevator, she inspected her reflection in the door. Her lips were bleached of color and she was an unsightly shade of white, but the shadows underneath her eyes were gone, and the pink bloomed back across her cheeks, even if the color was ridiculously garish against her pallor. 

The ding of arrival caught Ochako off guard. She flinched away as the doors opened. It was Shoto on the other side. She could have melted into the floor. 

At the sight of her, the blank slate of his face twisted in bewilderment. “You look sick,” he said. 

“Thanks!” Ochako yelped, skirting past him and trying to tame her panic. 

Shoto, who’d pressed the down button on the elevator, abandoned the waiting area to keep after her. By the time they reached her office, Ochako was practically sprinting, but she couldn’t very well slam the door in his face. Flushed, she kept her back to him as she set her bag down and crouched at the cabinet in the back of the room, pretending to search for something very important.

“What happened?”

“Nothing?” she answered, voice high.

“You were gone for three days.”

“Thought I’d finally take advantage of all that PTO.”

“I stopped by on Saturday to check on y—Takuma, since you said you were doing it Friday.”

She’d been knocked out since Friday?! It was Wednesday when Katsuki had nearly bowled her door over!

“You didn’t answer when I knocked on the door.”

“We must’ve been out.”

“Katsuki saw the blood on your wrist.”

Goddammit, why was Katsuki always telling people things! Ochako, unable to think up an excuse, shrugged stiffly. The tension in the room was suffocating. Shoto said nothing, which only made it worse. Ochako stayed her silence until she couldn’t bear the choke of it anymore, the way her blood pounded in her ears. She slammed the filing cabinet shut and stood, whirling around. 

“Takuma left,” she said through her teeth. She was not going to cry, because Takuma was right: she’d made her bed, so now she had to lie in it.

Shoto, confused, repeated, “Takuma left?” Ochako had the magnanimity to level him with a flat look. “When?”

“I don’t know. Friday, I assume.”

“After he fed off you?”

“Why not?” she dropped into her seat, then bowed into her hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes like maybe if she couldn’t see anymore, it’d erase everything she’d already seen in this life. “I told him to.”

“You… told him to?”

Did he need to get his ears checked? “He wanted it.”

“What did he say to you?”

She pried a hand off her face long enough to wave it in the air. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Ochako.”

There was a beat. “He said he hated me.”

That was impossible. “He’s always said he loves you, why would you believe now that he hates you?”

“He loved me when he didn’t know better,” Ochako snapped, raising her face to glare at Shoto. “What four-year-old doesn’t think they love their own mother? I could’ve treated him like shit, and he wouldn’t have known that that’s not love!” Takuma’s real mother had treated him like shit, and he’d still, at four-years-old, lamented that his mother hadn’t wanted him! “Of course he thought he loved me!

“Ochako, every 14-year-old hates their parents.”

“He didn’t hate you,” she answered tightly. “He asked where you were. He kept saying he wanted you there.”

I am the problem, Ochako thought abruptly, and the rationale percolated with slow, steady clarity. She had been the problem with Izuku; if she’d only been more chill, more communicative like Melissa, things would never have turned out the way they did. She was the problem with Shoto; if she’d exercised more discretion, practiced actual common sense, they wouldn’t be swimming in this awkwardness. And she was the problem with Takuma, forcing what she wanted and what she thought was right onto him.

She was, Ochako remembered suddenly, heartbreakingly, the problem with Toga, too. If she had only empathized earlier, bridged the gap sooner, then maybe Toga could have lived.

Shoto watched her go somewhere far away. The urgency dripped out of her, like a leak in a balloon. First, the lines on her forehead, around her eyes, smoothed. Then her brows dropped. Finally, her mouth parted. 

Her gaze flicked to his. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, eerily calm as she rose from her seat. “If he took as much blood from me as I think he did, he’s an adult now. He’s free.”

“He’s unregistered. He’s not going to be able to get help when he needs it.”

Ochako shook her head. “He knows where to find me if he needs it. And if he doesn’t want that, I’m sure he can figure it out. He’s a smart kid.”

She wasn’t washing her hands of him. She was just accepting things as they were. Making the best of a bad situation. Ochako rifled through her bag to find her wallet, then shot Shoto a weak smile. “I’m gonna grab lunch. You want anything?”

He shook his head. She nodded, then brushed past him with a resigned look on her face. 

Chapter Text

Anybody who didn’t know better would have thought Ochako was fine. She bounced into the office with her usual cheer, checked off her to-do list with her usual vigor, and answered emergency and standard calls alike with her usual focus and drive. Occasionally, behind her back, Class A shot each other worried glances, but every time Ochako turned around, chattering about something or other, they resumed good practice.

Mina swanned into Ochako’s office every so often and shut the door behind her, presumably to discuss wedding things. Loud laughter and excited noises, muffled through glass and wood, always followed. Then Mina would make a round to all the other girls’ offices doing the same, though with a much more obvious lull towards the end, when their voices hushed to worried whispers. 

It was obvious to everybody else what was happening, but Ochako was blissfully ignorant of it. She was the only one who didn’t realize that, when she thought she was alone in the break room, she tended to stare past her coffee, into nothing, the light in her eyes going flat. Sometimes, when Shoto happened to pass her office, he caught her with the same distant look on her face. She’d snap to consciousness a second later, then smile and wave at him like nothing had ever conspired between them. Shoto bit his tongue and ducked his head in acknowledgment, balling his hands into fist to stop from doing something stupid like grabbing her. 

Izuku, four weeks after Takuma left, stopped by her office, and, with a sheepish look on his face, said, “Hey. Katsuki told me everything.”

Ochako blistered bright red. “Everything?!” she choked out, skittering behind Izuku to shut her door, as if there were still people left in the office who didn’t know all that had transpired.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t been… I should have known you were… I’ve been a bad friend. I’m sorry.”

Ochako shook her head frantically, flapping her hands in the air between them. “You’re so busy, I understand! And, seriously, I’m more happy that you were, like, the one person who didn’t know,” she laughed. “But I guess you know now! And, err, you said Katsuki told you, err,  everything-everything?”

Izuku smiled wryly. “If you’re trying not to say Shoto—”

Ochako groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t mind!” Izuku yelped, as frantic as she’d been a second ago. “I don’t care! Really! I mean, there’s no clause that says employee relationships aren’t allowed, I mean Mina and Eijirou, y’know, and Kyoka and Denki, and even me and Melissa, so it’s totally—It’s bound to happen—and fallout is normal, work dynamics change for all sorts of—I just wanna make sure you’re okay!”

Ochako, giggling, said, “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Izuku gave her a long look, then, astoundingly gently, said, “You always say you’re fine, Ocha.”

In the ensuing silence, the smile slipped atom by atom off Ochako’s face. At the end of it, her eyes cast down to the ground, she murmured, “I’m fine, Izuku. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he answered, still in soft tones. “And I’m not saying this to kick you while you’re down or something, but I know the way our relationship ended… colored a lot of your approach to relationships since. But you never did anything wrong, Ochako. It was never you. You shouldn’t give up.”

Tears sprung to her eyes. As troublesome as Izuku had been in their relationship, she’d been the one to hold her breath the entire time, trying to fix it over and over and over, hoping maybe this time the solution—a new one, or an old one, or a same one, or a repeat one—would stick. She thought she’d learned her lesson, that some things weren’t worth trying so hard for, yet here she was now, beating back the hope that maybe she could fix things with Shoto. 

But really, what could she do? Her hatchet with Shoto, for all intents and purposes, was buried, even if unsatisfyingly. He’d decided she wasn’t enough, and she couldn’t force him to change his mind. And there was Takuma, too. It was only a matter of time before she stopped waiting, every evening with bated breath, for Takuma to knock on her door. It wasn’t like she could find him—and it wasn’t like Ochako hadn’t tried. Wasn’t still trying. Desperately, the way she always seemed to be trying. She didn’t know when to give up. She wished she did, no matter what Izuku encouraged otherwise.

“I hear ya,” she said to Izuku, gut twisting. “Thank you.”

Izuku, with one last, uncertain glance, took his leave. He left her door open behind him, and Ochako found Shoto watching. He turned his indecipherable, mismatched gaze from Izuku to her, and all Ochako could think to do was shoot him an awkward thumbs up before zooming out of her office to gather herself in the break room. Today was a wash, but tomorrow would be better. She would make sure of it.

The next day, Ochako swept herself into her routine with zeal. Fall was coming to an end, which meant applications were flying in. People all over the country—and world!—wanted to get a spot working with her in fieldwork, or in research. She had plenty of ideas, namely with addressing the foster care system—she’d been meaning to get to that for a while—so if she could gather more to her team, she might finally make headway there. 

Maybe, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, it’d help her swallow the feel of her own hypocrisy.

Ochako took interviews until lunch, ate a sandwich over the sink while she read a case file, then started her afternoon signing debriefs. An hour of that later, she began organizing the profiles of the individuals she had interviewed that morning. Some of them would fit better in other teams, so she sorted them out and stacked them into piles, then made a round through the building. 

She saved the ones she most dreaded for last. At 5:49PM, 11 minutes before everybody left the office and an hour and 11 minutes before those on patrol could sign off, Ochako tapped on Shoto’s open door. He looked up from the folder in his hands and set it down when he saw her. Shoto blinked at her, mouth parting as if to speak.

“Hey!” Ochako chirped, waving the stack of folders in her hand. “I was interviewing people this morning.”

“I saw.”

She did a double-take. “Oh.”

“You were alone and your door was closed.”

He probably wasn’t watching her. It would be strange if he was. Flustered, Ochako looked anywhere but at him. “Right. Um, well, I did that and there were a couple of people I think might be better for your team. Very super offensive fighters, but ranged, y’know what I mean?” Ochako laid the folders at the edge of his desk. “‘Course you know what I mean,” she mumbled to herself.

Shoto fought the smile. Ochako still caught it though, because a reluctant smile pressed up her own face. She rolled her eyes. It was nice, she thought, that they could still be like this. “Okay,” she said, feeling somewhat lighter. “See ya later, good luck with recruitment.”

“How’s that going for you?”

Ochako stumbled a bit on her way out the door, retreating backwards to blink at him owlishly. “Hm?”

“Recruitment.”

Shoto’s undiluted attention, which had never bothered Ochako before, was suddenly so nervewracking. “Oh, well, I’m still interviewing, but I feel like I’ve got a ton of candidates so far! Some of them are so young, too, which is crazy, like, I wish I’d been that proactive at their age”—oh great, she was rambling—”and then there are a lot of older people, too, and it’s like, ‘wow! I hope I never stop wanting to learn, too!’ So yeah, all in all, I’d say pretty good! You?”

“Yeah. Good.”

His eyes were all soft. He smiled faintly, and Ochako smiled faintly back. Then her stomach rolled. She clapped a hand to her mouth, tripped to Shoto’s side, and yanked the trash can out from under his desk. She hurled into it once, then twice, then three times. 

“Are you okay?” Shoto asked, baffled.

Well, she’d just thrown up three times, so, no, she wasn’t okay. But Ochako’s head was spinning too hard for her to say so. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pulled it away to inspect the damage. It was dark and purple.

Ochako looked up at Shoto in confusion, then saw black.

Chapter Text

Sometime in the middle of the night, Ochako woke with a floundering gasp. God, she really needed to stop passing out. She coughed, it was wet, and the phlegm she spit up was dark, viscous, and lumpy. She glanced up for help and shrieked when she saw a figure in the dark.

It was only Tsuyu. “Holy moly, Tsu,” Ochako rasped, then choked up some more bits. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” Tsuyu croaked. “We’re all outside, but they thought it’d be best for me to break the news, ribbit.”

“‘Cause you’re one of my best-best friends?”

“That, and because the rest of the girls are crying too hard, Katsuki stormed off after breaking the seat he was sitting in, Izuku had to sit down and he can’t seem to hear any of us, Shoto’s obviously not an option, and the rest of the class doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening. Which I don’t blame them. They’re too shocked.”

“Wow. That sounds pretty bad.”

Tsuyu sat on the edge of Ochako’s bed. “You’re really badly poisoned, Ochako.”

Ochako groaned. “I kind of thought that was what it was. At least I’m not pregnant.”

Tsuyu gave her a long look, but didn’t pursue the comment. “The quill that hit you,” she explained, “the quirk, it’s a time-release poison. It multiplies every day until your system can’t handle it. The doctors don’t know how you lived this long, Shoto said it’s probably because Takuma was sucking a substantial amount of it out of you every two to three weeks. They already tried an exchange transfusion, but the poison’s been in you so long that it’s multiplying faster than the transfusion takes.”

Oh. That was why Takuma kept getting sick after. And the thermometer on her counter—that must have been him, too. Takuma had been sick when he left. Very sick.

Ochako’s breathing grew shallow. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I need to talk to Shoto,” she wheezed, feeling the panic start in her fingertips, numbing them. 

Tsuyu nodded and left without question. A minute later, Shoto returned. “They’re going to put you in a coma,” he said, tone exceptionally flat. “To hopefully slow it down and give them time to figure out how to stop it.”

“That’s fine,” Ochako nodded furiously. Shoto reeled, mouth twisting in protest, but Ochako stepped in too quick. “I think Takuma’s dying,” she blurted, then dissolved into tears. “I found a thermometer on my counter when I woke up, it was one degree below hospitalization, I thought it was mine.” She couldn’t breathe. “You have to find him.”

“You’re dying.”

“If you find him, I’ll live. He’ll know what to do, and he’s faster than an exchange transfusion. Every time he got sick, it was after he took too much from me. Just find him, and then tell him to spit, not swallow.”

Shoto looked at her incredulously. “What?”

“He’ll know what you mean!” she snapped, exasperated. She was dying, for god’s sake! Where was the sense of urgency!

“I don’t know where he is!”

“You’ll figure it out!” she rushed out. The corners of her vision were blackening, her stomach was roiling again. Goddammit. Before she passed out, Ochako had the brief, terrifying realization that Takuma may not care whether she lived or died. 

Shoto wasted a second staring at her pale face, then stood up, walked out of the room, and said, “I’m going to the park.”

“Which park?” Hanta asked, voice thick. Shoto was already out the door.

—

There was something unsettling about the park at night. It was empty, alone, and unlived in. The thought of Takuma being here was depressing, but so was the thought of never finding him. Shoto circled the field a few times, then trekked up the grassy knoll they’d visited.

He found Takuma right away. He sat at the foot of an overlooking tree, not at all hiding. Shoto suspected Ochako had come looking for him several times, which meant Takuma had hid from her. 

He was tiny again, tinier than before, sick and pale and starved thin. There was a rabbit laying flat and dead beside him. His face was buried in his bony knees, and he shook from cold, not fear. “Takuma,” Shoto called out. 

Takuma’s little head jerked up. His bottom lip wobbled. He was four again. “Daddy?” he asked, voice muffled.

Shoto took a minute to look past the ghost of his brother. “Yeah,” he eventually said. 

Takuma burst into tears and stumbled to him, clutching one of his legs. “Does m-mommy hate me now?”

Shoto lifted him up, held him to his chest, and started back down the hill. “Not even close,” he murmured.

—

Class A agreed unanimously that Takuma should be at least a little older before he “cleaned Ochako up” (as they were now referring to it). Shoto volunteered easily, and for once, he was the one to pass out from the blood loss. Before it happened, though, he grabbed Takuma, and, slurring, said, “She said spit, don’t swallow.” The rest of Class A looked at him in stupefaction. Then he let himself go. 

He woke up an hour or two later, hooked up to an IV, which he pulled out. Everybody was still waiting outside Ochako’s ward. Through the glass pane of the door, Shoto saw Takuma, older, take a seat beside Ochako and bring her wrist to his mouth. There was a large steel basin beside him, and he spit into it every so often. He must have been 16.

A nurse came in every quarter hour to replace the blood going into Ochako, and every half hour to replace the bucket. A doctor came in with her on the half hour to measure the particles in each batch. He would dip his finger in, and odd little nodes would sprout. Then he’d nod, provide a contextless number, and disappear. 

The number lowered steadily with every pass. They did this for a few hours until finally, the doctor (a new one after a shift change, which was jarring for the class) returned and announced that there were no particles left in the last bucket. They would cycle one more bucket to be sure.

Class A watched through the tiny glass pane in rounds, waiting, holding their breaths. Mina cried out when she saw Ochako sit up slowly, like she was being raised to life. When Ochako saw Takuma, she flung her arms around him, tears streaming down her face, grinning emphatically. Then, slowly, like a flower wilting in the heat, she slumped against him, corners of her mouth turning down. She shook against him.

Takuma walked out soon after, circles under his eyes. He was sick, that much was obvious. Ochako would likely be sick in a few more days, too, but at least she wouldn’t be poisoned. Takuma shut the door gently behind him, then, eyes to the ground, said, “Um, you probably shouldn’t visit her for the next few hours. She’s pretty hopped up on, um, the toxin I release.” His gaze darted to Shoto, too fast for anybody but him to notice. There was an apologetic glint to it. 

Class A, understanding without knowing the details, filed out of the hall. Takuma stopped Katsuki, last in line, before he could leave. “Um, Uncle Katsuki?” Katsuki did a double-take, face twisting with disgust at the title. “Can you talk to her?” Takuma whispered, eyes still to the ground.

Katsuki, taken aback, took a second to process. The grimace fell from his face until he was unreadable. He nodded, opened the door, and strode in. Shoto watched through the window as Katsuki sat awkwardly across from Ochako, one leg hanging off the hospital bed like he expected to run at any second, the other bent towards her and leaving enough space for her to lean in. Ochako, sobbing, covered her face with her hands and curled into him. 

She asked, chest heaving, voice muffled through the door or maybe her hands or maybe through tears, “Is it me?” Katsuki patted her back as he shook his head. “Am I unlovable?” she cried.

Takuma, ashamed, said, “I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to see you,” he mumbled. “m’Sorry.”

“It’s not an aphrodisiac, is it?” asked Shoto. 

Takuma shook his head. “It’s a disinhibitor,” he replied softly. 

Shoto was quiet for a long time. “Your parents tried to feed you at first.”

Takuma nodded. They said nothing more.

Chapter Text

Her friends visited regularly. It was no problem with any of the girls and many of the boys, but, with Takuma’s toxin lingering in her system because of just how much he’d pumped into her while sucking out the poison, she was prone to tears around Izuku. Izuku continued to visit her anyway, but he always left shaken. He spent a lot of time locked in his office with Katsuki, who could be heard berating him at max volume for sins Izuku thought Ochako had long absolved him of. 

Shoto didn’t visit. Takuma advised him not to. Katsuki, after long hours with Ochako, never spared Shoto a single look as he passed his office, which was big of him, because if it were anything less, he absolutely would have crowed in Shoto’s face, “Fuckin’ told you so!”

Shoto had a sniffle for a day or two. Ochako got sick about three days in, and she got the works. Takuma, similarly ill, sat beside her all day. He kept apologizing, and Ochako kept laughing and patting him on the head while she hocked loogies. She was so happy to have him back.

“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did,” Ochako said, holding his hand. “Or said the things I did. I’m so sorry. Even if you’re not mine, I do really, really love you.”

Takuma shook his head. “I wanna be yours. You picked me. I just suck.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Because of the toxin, she wept freely, and she kept repeating, over and over, “You don’t suck! Don’t say that! You’re just super young!” 

Takuma didn’t move away, even if he was a little stiff. He blushed excessively and pat her awkwardly on the head.

—

A week into Ochako’s recovery, Shoto thoughtlessly accompanied Toru to the hospital wing as they discussed the remaining details of the subversion mission. At the door, Ochako, who had been chuckling at the magazine Mina left her, looked up, saw Shoto through Toru, and promptly erupted into tears. 

“Oh, shit!” Toru hissed. She flapped her hands at Shoto. “My bad! Go go go!”

He spun on his heel at once, peeling back in the direction he’d come. On the way to his office, he made an impromptu pit-stop at Momo’s. She looked at him and smiled ruefully. Shoto frowned, chest tight.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“I’m guessing you stopped by Ochako’s?”

“Yeah.”

“She gets a little jealous whenever I visit, so I remind her that you and I haven’t had any romantic association for seven years now, and that, additionally, I’m affianced to Daisuke. Then she becomes extremely apologetic.” Momo said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Right.”

She pursed her lips to withhold her mirth at Shoto’s reticence. “What did you want to ask?”

Shoto hesitated. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

“But you feel responsible,” Momo said regretfully. Shoto, after a contemplative beat, nodded. Momo sighed. “Well, that’s a start. That’s more than I ever got out of you.”

“I felt guilty with you,” Shoto said, somewhat indignantly. “Whenever you told me how you were feeling.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You certainly never told me that.”

Shoto opened his mouth to refute, but faltered. He’d never told anyone, actually. “Why does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. It’s how you feel. I didn’t tell you how I felt for no reason.”

“If I told you back then that you made me feel guilty, what would it have changed? What’s the point?”

“The point is that you feel a certain way, and knowing how you feel alters the course of plenty of conversations. If I’d known how you felt, I would have wanted to discuss more. How you feel, how I feel, why we feel that way, and hopefully, we’d arrive at a solution. But you never shared, Shoto.” 

Shoto gave her a sharp look. “So, what, I’m just supposed to tell her… what?”

“Whatever it is you’re so afraid of.”

He bit down hard, irritated. “And then what? Figure it out from there?”

“Yes.”

Shoto sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? “And if we can’t figure it out?”

Momo inspected him. It was unnerving. “Well, what would it be that either of you can’t figure out?”

Shoto opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came to mind. For as long as he’d known Ochako, she threw herself wholly and stubbornly at any problem that presented itself to her, so long as any progress could be made. Even in Izuku’s case, she’d persisted until their relationship had come to an undefeatable head. Even in Toga’s. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t figure out… so long as it was willing to be figured out.

Momo watched him knowingly. Shoto swallowed and shook his head. “I’m not her problem.” 

“That’s the thing about loving people. They become your problem.”

It set his teeth on edge to hear it. Ochako’s problems were one thing: she didn’t know when to give up, she could worry something to its bones, she cared too much. His problems, though—his problem, singular—eclipsed any of hers.

He couldn’t explain it, except that it made no sense for her to love him, just like it made no sense that he lived while his brother lay six feet under. It had nothing to do with Ochako, it never had, except that she’d spun into his life and now had the power to decide when her inexplicable, nonsensical, irrational love for him dissolved, the same way he and his brother’s fates had been determined by something arbitrary and unpredictable. 

He didn’t deserve it in the first place, but now he desperately wanted it, yet he had no way to maintain it without knowing why she loved him in the first place. It could go at any time, at any moment. That was terrifying. And he was just supposed to ask her? What if she had no answer?

Momo watched the strife playing out over Shoto’s usually indecipherable features. She felt sorry for him. He didn’t pursue further questioning, though. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, turning out of her office to return to his.

—

Friday afternoon, Ochako’s doctor discharged her from the hospital. She no longer burst into tears when Izuku visited, and she could look at Shoto with a straight face (not that she had many opportunities to test that). When she stepped out of the building to go home for the weekend, Takuma was waiting for her at the entrance.

He was older than when Ochako had last seen him. At Ochako’s surprise, Takuma blushed. He gained an intense interest in the floor. “I went to see Miss Eri, to, um, apologize for ditching her, and she told me I was probably good to go without her now. So I just thought…”

Ochako wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you!”

Despite how much taller he was than her and how close they were in years, Takuma felt the same swell of emotion he always did when Ochako crowed over him. He hugged her back, eyes stinging. “Sorry I was a jackass.”

Ochako tutted. “Aren’t we all at 14?”

“I’ve got it on good authority that you weren’t. Izuku, either.”

“Who told you that?” Ochako sniffed, put-out.

“Katsuki.”

Ochako harumphed. “Is he the one that fed you up to 26?”

“Err, no,” Takuma twiddled his thumbs, looking very much like Ochako as he did. “Shoto, actually.”

Ochako did a double-take, but recovered quickly. “That’s nice of him!”

They fell into an awkward silence. “Um,” Takuma stammered awkwardly, “speaking as a peer and not, uh, your son”—wow, was it always going to be this weird?—“I think Shoto feels bad.”

“Well, he should,” Ochako snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry. I don’t really mean that. Just kinda defensive.”

“Yeah! Totally makes sense! Totally get it! Just kinda thinkin’ about how you’re probably gonna have to work with him to get me registered, so I don’t want it to be more awkward than it already is—”

Ochako laid a hand on Takuma’s arm, smiling ruefully at him. “We’ll be fine. But thank you for worrying, Takuma-as-a-peer.”

“Okay. Cool. Awesome. So, um, Takuma-as-your-son, though, kind of, like”—his voice kept climbing higher and higher—“misses him?”

Ochako covered her mouth to hide her laughter. He was such a sweet kid—well,  person (wow, was it always going to be this confusing?). “We’ll work something out. Shared custody, or something.” Takuma shot her a horrified look, and she snorted with mirth. “I’m just kidding. You can do whatever you want now, Takuma. You’re literally only two years younger than me. Go wherever you like, even if it’s to hangout with Shoto. I’m not gonna be mad.”

Katsuki had assured her repeatedly that she wasn’t the problem, not with Izuku, not with Toga, not with Takuma. He’d practically upbraided her with the fact—when Ochako had relayed the details of their relationship—that Shoto had been the one to say that he’d tell her if he was stressed, and he hadn’t. She was the one who had asked him several times if he was okay, if they were okay, and he’d lied. How was it her fault for catching onto the fact that Shoto didn’t want to hear the truth? 

Fuck Icy Hot! Katsuki had spat. He’s an idiot! And then he’d backpedaled when Ochako cried harder.

She’d thought she’d been transparent, but perhaps, she’d asked Katsuki, she hadn’t? “I don’t think I ever told him when I was stressed,” Ochako had mumbled, then bawled, then muted back into snotty sniffles.

“‘Course you were fuckin’ stressed! You were raisin’ a kid! You shouldn’t need to say ‘golly fuckin’ gee, I’m stressed!’ when it’s fuckin’ plain as day!”

So yes, Katsuki was right, but still, Ochako couldn’t shake the feeling that if she’d only done something more, something better, Shoto wouldn’t have pulled away. Still, without him saying so, there was nothing she could do. She could only try her best and hope for the same in return.

Maybe that was all it was. Maybe she’d simply become too greedy by the end of it.

Ochako shook her head, dispelling her rumination. “What’re you gonna do next?” she asked Takuma.

“I think I wanna go to college.”

Ochako brightened. “Really?! Have you looked at any?!”

“You don’t think I’m too old?”

“Nobody’s ever too old to learn!”

Takuma scoffed. “God, you’re cheesy.”

“And you love me for it!”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Ochako whacked him on the shoulder. Takuma grinned.

Chapter Text

Shoto, sitting at his dining table, flipped absent-mindedly through a case file, seeing words but not understanding them. After the fifth re-read of the same paragraph, he sighed, shut the folder, and folded his hands to glare over them at his refrigerator. 

It’d only been a few months of spending weekends at Ochako’s, but he couldn’t remember what he’d done for years before that. If it’d really been reading case files, well, clearly he’d been miserable. It wasn’t like he could go home, either—Fuyumi kept glancing nervously at him when he was around, and Enji had taken on a weird reticence in his presence. Only his mother acted normal, but she was modest with her speech to begin with. 

It was just so quiet everywhere, all the time, and somehow, in the past few months, quiet had become distracting; made worse by how much sprawling space there was in his apartment, in his home, even in his work office. Three rooms was excessive, wasn’t it? How much space did one person really need? One kitchen, one living room, one bathroom, one bedroom—one pull-out couch—was fine. Wasn’t it?

A timid tap at the door drew Shoto out of his ruminating. Bemused, he waited for another knock, in case he’d imagined it. There were only a handful of people he’d listed under his apartment to be let in without buzzing his home first. Fuyumi would have texted him first, as would his father, his mother, or Natsuo. 

Ochako didn’t know where he lived. She knew the building, but she didn’t know the apartment number. And even if she did, she hadn’t spoken to him since she’d sent him to find Takuma. But if it was her…

There was another tap-tap-tap, even gentler this time, as if the person on the other side of the door was losing steam. Shoto rose from his seat haltingly and pulled the door open without the thought of checking first through the peephole. 

He and Takuma blinked at each other for a beat. “H-hi,” Takuma said, lighting up pink. “I thought maybe I got the wrong apartment.”

Had he ever listed Takuma as one of the names allowed in? Shoto searched his mind but remembered no such moment. For the majority of the time Shoto had spent with Takuma, he hadn’t even been old enough to own a phone. How would he have even navigated here to begin with?

Actually, come to think of it—“How do you know my address?”

“Oh!”—wow, he sounded like Ochako when he said it—“Um, I asked Uncle Katsuki. I stopped by his apartment first. And then, when they asked for my name at the front desk, I, err, gave Ochako's name.” He laughed, high and nervous.

“Does Ochako know you’re here?”

“Err, she knows I’m out. I didn’t specify to where. She probably thinks I’m out looking for apartments.”

Shoto’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you moving out?”

Takuma scratched his nose awkwardly. “Kinda seems like I should. I just, um, feel kinda guilty about it. Leaving her alone, y’know?”

There was a long silence in which Shoto nurtured the creeping suspicion that Takuma had an agenda for visiting. To his credit, Takuma held Shoto’s gaze for as long as Shoto examined him. Eventually, Shoto stepped aside and let Takuma in without a word.

“Wow! It’s huge!” Takuma exclaimed, head swinging from left to right like it was stacked on a swivel. “Oh, and, um, nice. Super nice,” he added quickly. Other than the short hall that he assumed went to the bedrooms, the whole space was open. The windows went from the ceiling to the floor. It was otherwise very plain, though, as if Shoto didn’t expect to spend much time at home.

Shoto turned to a kitchen cabinet to distract himself from laughter. Takuma’s reaction was exactly how he imagined Ochako’s would be, if she ever saw his living quarters. She’d probably start talking about how beige everything was.

“You like the color cream, huh?”

Biting his tongue, Shoto set the filled glass on the kitchen counter and slid it towards Takuma, who took it gratefully. “What did you actually come for?” Shoto asked, amused.

Takuma flushed. He slumped into one of the table seats and raised his glass to stare through it as he swirled it uncomfortably. The tension grew thicker the longer he sat and stirred. Finally, he mumbled, “Why’d you leave?” 

Shoto sat, too, and, like Takuma, fixed his gaze on the glass of water he held between his palms. “For the same reason you left.”

Their eyes met, Takuma’s wide and wounded, Shoto’s resigned. “It’s not the same,” Takuma replied with an edge. “She wanted you there.”

“She wanted you there, too.”

“She felt responsible for me.”

“It’s not mutually exclusive. If we’d found you and she didn’t feel like she could take care of you, she would’ve found the best solution for you without taking you on herself. She felt responsible, but she wanted to. She thought she could feel responsible for you.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” Takuma’s mouth wobbled. He returned to inspecting his water glass for comfort. “You didn’t want me anymore?”

Shoto balked. His stomach plummeted. “No, I—”

“Because I thought you were so cool. From the start. I wanted you to like me so bad, and I kind of thought you did. I kind of thought you might even love me. But then you left.”

A slow, late onset of horror filled Shoto. This all sounded so familiar, and Takuma, sitting across from him, still looked the way he did, hair still cropped and white. “I didn’t know I was so important to you.”

“You were.” Takuma’s cheeks burned as he struggled to articulate his feelings. “I loved her—I mean, what kid doesn’t love their mom, they don’t know better—but there was this huge pressure to be good enough for her—you know, you get it, ‘cause like, we’re both the ones that dipped”—they both winced—“whether she meant for there to be or not. I didn’t have to, with you. I mean, you know. You were the one I cried to about it, even if I didn’t know how to say it better than that I didn’t want to make her cry. And then I still did it.”

The air sank between them, their shared knowledge weighing it down. Did she cry? When I left? Shoto thought to ask, but it was a stupid question. “Were you ever going to come back?”

Takuma, lips pressed thin and brows furrowed, said nothing. Then, shamefully, he murmured, “I don’t think so. If it hadn’t been you, I don’t think so.”

“And now you’re okay with it?”

For the first time in a long time, Takuma raised his face to look at him. There was a stubborn set to his mouth, and his eyes could have been carved in stone with the way he was trying not to make what he was about to say mean anything more than it was. 

“When my parents fed me, they would get poisoned and tell me they would have been happier without me, that I was the reason they hated each other but were stuck with each other now. The night I left Ochako, she started crying and telling me she just wanted me to be happy, even if that meant not being with her. I should’ve stayed, that should’ve been all I needed to hear, but it was… With my parents, it was like, I can’t fail if I’m already failing. I just didn’t care. But with Ochako, I did care. And I had no idea how to handle that. I still don’t. 

“You know she looked in the park every day? I always hid when I saw her. But there was this one night—she was the last one in the park, and she always came right after work—where she kind of just… curled up. I thought she was drawing in the dirt at first, but when I got closer, she was crying. And I just kind of had the thought that even if being with her was terrifying, at least we were both happy. Running away just made both of us miserable. If all I had to do to make her happy was be with her and not be so… afraid, the choice was easy. Sure, change isn’t easy, but it’s not like she’s ever wanted much else from me.”

“But you don’t think you would have gone back,” Shoto pointed out.

Takuma’s shoulders caved. “The longer I hid, the less I knew how to come back from it. On the first day, you think, ‘I’ll say sorry tomorrow, I can’t today, I’m too afraid,’ and then tomorrow comes and you think, ‘How do I explain why I didn’t say sorry yesterday? I need to figure that out, then I’ll say sorry tomorrow.’ Then on the third day, you’re having to rationalize why you couldn’t bite the bullet two days in a row, because being afraid isn’t a good enough excuse. Suddenly, a whole month has passed, and it’s paralyzing, thinking about how hiding from her for so long would hurt her. 

“And at the same time, the whole time, you’re thinking ‘Why’d I do that? What if I’d stayed and it really hadn’t been as bad as I thought it would be?’” Takuma looked at Shoto meaningfully. “It would’ve sucked if you never came.”

Shoto drew in a long, careful breath, mind numb. He rose slowly from his seat and made his way to the door. Takuma followed suit, expression anxious. Back of his throat tight, Shoto said, voice rough, “I get why you came. I appreciate it. But it’s different.”

“I just really don’t think it is,” Takuma stressed, even as he backed politely out of the doorway.

“I strung her along romantically. I liked her, and then when I realized what that could look like in the future, I ran,” Shoto replied darkly. “You’re afraid of disappointing her. I’m afraid of ruining her life.”

“You kind of already have. A little bit,” Takuma added hastily. 

Shoto clenched his jaw. “Yeah, so I should stop while I’m ahead.”

“No, I think it’s only up from here. You just have to say sorry. Ochako would never let anybody get away with ruining her life.”

“It doesn't matter, because it’s too late anyway.” Shoto ran a hand over his face. “She’s incapable of hating you for doing what kids do by accident. But I had a choice, and I made it.”

“What, you think she hates you now?” Takuma asked. Shoto sighed and didn’t bother dignifying him with a response. Takuma gave him a sorry look like he was the stupider idiot of the two of them. “Not even close,” he said.

Shoto flinched, eyes widening. Takuma shrugged, a little apologetic, but mostly factual, then left.

Chapter Text

Monday after patrol, Ochako, over an enormous lunch, printed the forms required to register Takuma and filled out the parts she could independently without dripping soup onto any of the pages. After signing her name on the last of the papers, she made her way across the floor to Shoto’s, but not without stopping first at the breakroom to dump her recyclables in the appropriate bins. She took her time, insides sick with nerves. She probably shouldn’t have eaten so much—didn’t want to embarrass herself (again) by throwing up and fainting (again).

Shoto was, as usual, reading a case file. Ochako didn’t need to knock, he looked up instinctively. They shared an awkward glance—they hadn’t spoken since Ochako had tap-danced on the teeth of Death’s great maw—and then he said, “Hey,” while rising from his seat like he was glued down with molasses.

“Hi!” Ochako squeaked. “Uh, you don’t have to get up, I was just dropping some stuff off.”

It was too late. He was already standing. Ochako shuffled forward, holding the papers out. “We’ve gotta register Takuma. I’ve filled out the medical forms and signed ‘em, but I figure having an extra signature would only help, especially yours, Number Two Hero and all,” she joked nervously as she flipped through the pages, pulling out specifics for him to see. Shoto loomed over from her side—she’d forgotten how much taller he was than her, and her pulse picked up its pace. She ignored that as much as she could. “I printed out the testimonial form for you to fill out whenever you can, and mine’s in there if you wanna corroborate anything.”

“Got it. I’ll get that done today. Thanks.”

Ochako nodded. “You can drop ‘em off on my desk when you’re done, I’ll stop by City Hall after work.”

Shoto’s brows furrowed. “That’s out of your way, isn’t it? I can do it”—he hesitated—“if you’d like.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m visiting Toga today.”

“Ah.” Shoto shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m visiting Toya today.”

Ochako’s eyes widened. “Oh!” She usually tried to visit around now, in case the holidays got too busy. Otherwise she had to visit after the holidays. She’d never seen Shoto, though, before or after. “Do you usually go now?”

“I try to. In case the holidays get too busy. Sometimes I can’t go until after the holidays.”

“Same,” Ochako said, smiling warmly. He returned the look in his usual, subdued way, and her heart skipped. Flustered, she backed out of his office. “Well, I hope you have, um, a good time. With your brother. Well, I mean, as good a time as you can. Well, not like—well—you know what I mean! Maybe we’ll bump into each other!” she bleated out a skittish laugh. “See ya later!”

“Ochako,” Shoto said, before she could turn away fully. “Could we… Can I talk to you?”

Ochako, face red, said, “Now?”

Shoto began to turn pink, too. “I should probably fill out these forms. But after we’re both done, I can meet you at the cemetery.”

“Very romantic,” Ochako teased, then blanched. “Sorry, that was—”

“It’s fine,” said Shoto, smiling wryly. Ochako giggled a bit out of stress.

“Okay. I… I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she whispered, gaze falling to the floor. “See ya.”

There was a beat, then, gently, Shoto said, “See you, Ochako.”

Her head jerked up in surprise. At the light in his eyes, Ochako whirled around and sped away, heart pounding too fast to be fair. For the rest of the day, she worked with a frenzy, trying not to think about the evening and thinking about it anyway.

She dawdled while dropping the forms off at the government building. It would take months to process, and that was only the second step of a grueling process. There were multiple interviews that she’d likely have to attend with Shoto, so, as Ochako made her way to the cemetery, she considered that this was a great time for them to tie up their loose ends.

It took her an hour to sweep up and scrub Toga’s headstone. Shoto was an easy glimpse away, which was nervewracking, but the force it required to take off any buildup on the gravestone was distracting enough. At the very least, she could excuse her racing heartbeat as being a result of the effort it was taking to scrub off the algae and weeds fighting her every step of the way, rather than because of her impending denouement with Shoto. 

With a final pour of water, Ochako lit her incense, kneeled to the ground, and offered a short prayer. Once done, she stacked several snacks against Toga’s headstone and laid a bouquet across the shrine. Then she made her way to one of the benches at the entrance of the cemetery. Shoto was already there, looking as nervous as Ochako felt. She’d never seen him so visibly uneasy, she thought. 

“Hey,” she said, taking a seat beside him and leaving a polite space between them. She folded her hands in her lap, studying her finger pads like they were new to her. “How was it?”

“He’s still dead, so either really good or really bad, depending on how you look at it. You?”

Ochako snorted, moving to smack him on the shoulder, then blushed and stopped herself. “I think she’s happy with me. Before Izuku and I started dating, I’d see her in my sleep, or, like, hear her voice.” Shoto raised his eyebrows, and Ochako plowed on, committing, red-faced and rambling, to her babbling loonery. “I figure if she’s not making more cameos, she probably doesn’t have any extra beef with me. I half expected to hear her nagging me about Takuma at night. ‘You’re doing it all wrong, vampires need more sunscreen than that, blah-blah-etc.-etc.’”

Shoto gave her a gentle look that made her fidget. “There’s nothing to nag you about. You did good.”

“You did, too. Thanks, by the way. I’m sure I didn’t make it easy.”

Shoto winced. “You did nothing wrong, Ochako. I was the one who left you hanging at the end.”

Ochako chewed her lip. It was hard to believe she didn’t play a part in scaring him off, but relieving to hear him own up to it. It made it worse, though, to know that he thought she’d been perfectly good, and had still run. 

She shook off her unhappiness. What did it matter anymore? “Well, it was scary for you. I saw how you froze up that night at your parent’s. I had a feeling, y’know? He looks scarily like Toya. And it’s not like I wasn’t planning to help Takuma on my own from the start.”

“You’re making excuses for me.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

They fell quiet. Ochako laced and unlaced her fingers. Should she say goodbye now?

“I was… terrified,” Shoto confessed.

Ochako nodded. “It’s terrifying.”

“You were scared?” he said, surprised.

“Raising Takuma? Yeah. Being with you? That felt easy in comparison. You made it easy.” Ochako stared at her hands. “I felt safe with you. You were always telling me it was going to be okay. I thought you were just… okay with everything. Nothing bothered you.”

“Nothing did, until something did.”

She sighed, looking out across the headstones. “Yeah. And then you didn’t even give me a chance to be there for you. You just gave up on me without even trying.”

Shoto heaved a sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I fucked up.”

Her eyes stung. She fought it back. “I just don’t know why you never told me. What did you think I was gonna do? I thought I was so clear about”—she hesitated—“how I felt. I wanted to be there for you.”

“I didn’t see the point.” Shoto, visibly agitated, sat back. “If I was going to mess it up either way, there’s no point trying to fix it.”

“But you weren’t messing it up.”

“My dad thought he was doing the right thing the whole time he was raising me. He got so caught up in getting what he wanted, he lost sight of the damage it was doing.” Shoto, expression strained, swallowed. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

Ochako, startled, met his eyes, then flinched away at the heat in them. “But you’re not your dad.”

“That’s what I thought, until I actually saw Takuma like that. Like Toya. Parenting is… Family is like that, where you don’t know you’ve fucked up until it’s too late. And what if I do that? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Especially”—he ran a hand through his hair—“to you.”

Ochako frowned. “Don’t get me wrong, I like your dad, or at least, I do now. But if you ever did to me or Takuma what he did to you and your mom, I’d beat you up and report you for domestic abuse.”

Shoto smiled. He couldn’t help it. “That’s good to know.”

"You kind of already did it, anyway," Ochako mumbled, shying away. "You threw me out so you could feel safe."

Shoto bit his tongue. "I know," he murmured back, apology in his tone.

They grew quiet again, but this time, it was more comfortable. Ochako leaned onto her hands, kicking her legs. “I like you,” she said taciturnly, “but not more than I like myself. I’m not going to waste my time on somebody who’s just going to give up on me like that. If you want to sleep with me, you’re going to have to wait until I’m over you. Then we can talk about it.”

“I don’t want you to get over me.”

“Rude.”

“I’m serious. I don’t want to get over you.”

Her knuckles bleached against the bench seat. “If we tried for real and you did this again, you know I’d never talk to you again, right? One of us would have to leave the agency.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not leaving the agency.”

“Okay.”

“That means you’d be the one leaving.”

“I know.”

Ochako blinked back tears. She didn’t want him to leave, the agency or her. But now she knew he could. The moment things weren’t easy, he might jump ship.

Shoto watched the stubborn stay of doubt on her face. “I should have told you,” he said, feather-light. “You asked me plenty of times if things were okay, and I wasn’t honest.”

“Are you still afraid?” She shed a few tears unwillingly. Her costume was, unfortunately, water-repellant and waterproof, so swiping at them only smeared them all over her face.

“Yeah.”

“But why?” 

“I don’t know how to make you love me forever. Especially when I don’t understand why you love me to begin with.”

“I could ask you the exact same thing!”

“Ochako, you’re impossible not to love. I ran because the thought of still loving you once you’re sick of me is unbearable, and you’re bound to get sick of me.”

“You think I’m impossible not to love until I make you funnel 98% of your income into a savings account and get mad at you for buying slightly more expensive shampoo. You think you’re not going to get sick of me sometimes, too?”

“That’s nothing compared to me going AWOL because I’m terrified of loving you too much.”

“Is it a competition?”

“No, but it matters, doesn’t it?

Ochako sighed. “Does it? Can’t we just love each other too much today?”

“But what about tomorrow?”

“We’ll deal with tomorrow when it’s tomorrow.”

Shoto said nothing for several long beats. Then, only loud enough to be heard just barely over the weak breeze, said, “I can do that.”

She sniffed a little, but didn’t cry. The air was too heavy, she couldn’t continue sitting with it if she didn’t want to burst into tears. “It’s not like our kid could even look anything like Toya,” she mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve got brown hair, for one thing. The closest we’re gonna get to white or red is probably pink.”

“I don’t think that’s how genetics work anymore. Not since 200 years ago.”

Ochako suddenly flushed fire-hydrant red. She sat up straight. “Not that it matters! Not like we’re having kids or something! We’re not even dating! I’m not saying I’m going to date you!”

That was enough to incite a mild expression of heartbreak on him. “Got it.”

Ochako, taken aback, stammered, “Not that anybody has to date if they wanna have a kid together, but I’m still a traditionalist in some ways, I guess. I was just saying that, theoretically, if we had a kid together, y’know. We’d have to date first. Which we’re not. So I’m saying that theoretically, I’m not dating you, but theoretically, I also could be dating you, I’m just not right now, so, theoretically, we wouldn’t have a kid, but we could. Theoretically.”

Shoto squinted. “Theoretically,” he said.

“Theoretically.” Ochako nodded, back still ramrod straight.

There was a long stretch of silence. “I wouldn’t mind if it was empirical,” he said softly.

Empirical! What a word! “What?” Ochako squeaked. “You wanna put a baby in me?”

Shoto shot her a dark look that made her stomach flip. “I meant putting a label on what we are, but I’m open to the idea of dragging you somewhere and doing that, if that’s what you want.”

Ochako, now speechless, stuttered as she tried to find the words. “I have an IUD. And I don’t usually put out before the first date, only after,” she rambled, “plus, I always thought I was gonna adopt, and you can’t handle childbirth anyways, so genetics don’t even matter—and since you’re being so transparent right now, it’s only fair that I do the same, so I should tell you that I’m still pretty upset. About the whole thing, but especially that I told you I loved you and you didn’t say anything back, you technically still haven’t said it back, and as long as we’re both being honest, that alone makes me not want to sleep with you, even if it wouldn’t matter with anybody else, because it’s you—”

“I love you, Ochako.”

“—well now you’re just saying it because you wanna sleep with me—”

“I do want to sleep with you, but I do also mean it.” Shoto smiled when Ochako, rouged and out of rebuttals, clamped her mouth shut and avoided his eyes. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Yeah, I thought it was obvious, too, and then I didn’t,” she replied, small.

His face fell. “I’m sorry,” Shoto murmured, leaning over her. She continued to stare stubbornly at a point beyond his shoulder. He brushed the side of her face with his hand, but didn’t force her to turn. “I’m sorry, Ochako. I was an asshole.”

“At least you know it.”

“I’ll try not to be in the future.”

“You’ll try?”

“I won’t be.”

“I need action items.”

“I’ll tell you when I’m stressed. I’ll tell you when I’m afraid.”

“That’s what you said before.”

“That was before I realized how much I didn’t want to lose you. I like being with you. More than I like being with anybody else. If I have to… be more honest, to myself and to you—if I have to change—it’s an easy decision.” Shoto swallowed. “I love you, Ochako.”

She didn’t respond for an unnerving amount of time. Then her lids fluttered and she leaned into his touch, finally meeting his eyes. Quietly, she asked, “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he answered.

Ochako grew pink again, gaze skittering away out of shyness. They were quiet for a while before she said, “Takuma moved out. We’ve scheduled monthly feedings for now, unless we find another solution. He got his own apartment and wants to go to college. He’s looking for a job, so I’m helping him with rent until he finds one.” 

“He mentioned that to me. Good for him.” Shoto drew his thumb to her chin. “Let me know what I can do. Especially so you don’t spend your entire life’s savings. I know you don’t have much of a nest egg.”

She bit back her smile and poked him on his chest. “We can talk about it more at my place.”

He tipped her face up, both the blue and grey of his gaze warm. She flushed. “Sounds good.”

“I have way too many queen beds now,” Ochako breathed. “It’s a lot of space.”

“Hmm. Do you need help filling it?”

“That’d be nice. And I guess we’ve technically already gone on a lot of dates. Thanks for always getting me lunch.”

“Mm.” He touched his forehead to hers. 

“And for doing my dishes.” Her breath fanned over his face.

“Mhm.” 

“And for all the other chores.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Shoto?” Her hands crept up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his uniform. 

“Hm?” 

“I love you.” Her eyes searched his. “I love you today, and probably tomorrow, too.”

It stuck in his throat. He said it anyway. “I love you, too. Today and tomorrow.”

“Then can you please hurry up and kiss me?”

He smiled. She smiled back. Then he kissed her.