Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Izuku, tell me you’ll be home early tonight.” Ochako mumbles, her voice a reflection of the subtle yearning that consumes her from the inside out. Her stomach churns as Izuku offers a passive glance in her direction. She notes the way his eyes seem to dim and fall down from her eyes to the floor.

“Sorry,” He begins with a soft exhale, shaking his head. The manner in which his shoulders noticeably slump reveals all she needs to know from her husband.

“It’s fine. Just be safe, I’ll see you when I see you.” She cuts him off before he can disappoint her further with his words. His actions do well enough in that aspect. Izuku chews on the flesh of his cheek, dimmed green eyes darting from Ochako to the front door. He should be taking his leave, but he can’t suppress the feeling of concern, and perhaps regret, but Ochako can’t quite parse out which it is.
Izuku slings a brown bag over his shoulder, the strap causing a minor crease to form on the fabric of his navy suit jacket. Uraraka notices this small imperfection and steps toward Izuku, the nimble pads of her fingers tapping the leather strap, effortlessly creating a rebellious lift into the air, defying gravity so she may smooth the fabric of his suit.
Izuku nearly winces at the contact, his hand, as if by instinct, wrapping around her wrist. Her face is a mask of indifference, but Izuku is not blind to the rapid beating of her heart, and his face quickly turns apologetic as he releases his hold on her.
“I.. Sorry.” He breathes out, words a mist in the air to Ochako as he speaks them. She withdraws her hand back to her chest and an audible swallow can be heard. Before she can say much else, his arms are around her, pulling her into a stiff kind of embrace. Uraraka doesn’t have it in her to resist such a rare display of affection, and she in turn wraps her arms around the back of the man she calls her husband.

Just as soon as the moment arrives, it is gone, and Izuku pulls away, a lone ship drifting away from her, a lighthouse in the dark sea. Her brown eyes watch as Midoriya walks out of the house, closing the door. And with that, Uraraka is left completely and utterly alone.

Deku’s Hero Agency...

Deku’s green hair moves in and out of his vision in the cool morning breeze as he walks from his parked car to the agency he calls his own. Today, he is hosting a meeting with several other pro heroes to discuss a common problem within their district, the heroes include Ground Zero, Red Riot, and Shoto, among a few other less well known heroes.
Deku’s broad shoulders stalk confidently through the busy halls of his own agency, which he funded with the help of his former classmates after the war. He reaches the conference room, just adjacent to his office, and inhales deeply to calm his nervous system before entering and greeting his fellow heroes.
After the meeting has come to a close, most of which Izuku spent lost in thought, tuning in only for the most important segments, the heroes file out of the conference room. Izuku remains, however, sitting at the head of the long table as the room empties, and once everyone has taken their leave, he is left alone. Almost. Two seats down sits pro hero Ground Zero, elbow on the cold table, eyes glued to Izuku. Deku leans bck into his chair and looses a sigh, waving a passive hand.
“Time?” He asks, sure to keep the encounter brief, as always. Izuku’s eyes drag up to Katsuki, a familiar skip from his heart causing his breath to cease for a mere moment. But the gesture is not unnoticed by Bakugo as he looks upon his childhood friend before responding tentatively.
“9. I have some things to take care of in the office today, I won’t be on patrol.” To this, Izuku inhales sharply, nodding along with his words. He folds his hands onto the table in front of himself and swallows the saliva building up beneath his tongue.
“Good. I’ll make sure everyone is out by 9.” The two men nod in agreement with one another and Bakugo stands to take his leave, but as he rises from the chair, Izuku does as well.
“What are you doing?” The blond asks, brows furrowed with concern. Izuku’s body visibly stiffens and he supplies a near scowl, an expression Bakugo is not privy to seeing often these days. Such a face causes his stomach to tighten, and his brows relax as a sort of peace offering, an olive branch.
“I have work to do, I can’t just stay here.” Izuku replies, tone clearly etched with annoyance. But just as he says it, he shakes his head, hand coming up to rub his temples. Bakugo’s face betrays him, the cool mask he typically clad with is peeled away at Izuku’s tone, and Deku is not blind to this.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs as he walks forward toward the tall, muscular blond man before him. But before he can reach him, Katsuki steps away, heading for the door, uninterested in entertaining such behavior.
“I’ll see you at 9.” His gruff voice tears through the room into Midoriya’s ears. There is a certain bite to his words that startle the freckled man more than the slam of the door as his childhood friend exits, leaving him completely and utterly alone.

Chapter Text

While Izuku is at work, Ochako finds that she’s arrived at her non profit organization. She begins to wonder how she managed to get there in the first place, she must’ve been wholly unfocused for the whole drive. Her heart beats rapidly for a few moments as she considers the possibilities of what could have happened due to her lack of focus. The discomfort passes as she enters the warm main room of the organization.
A smile is instantly painted across her rosy cheeks as she greets her employees, as well as the children who have arrived before her.
“Uraraka-san!” One of the children calls from across the room, her pale face lighting up with joy almost instantly upon laying her eyes on Ochako.
“Akumu!” She manages to call back, her voice unintentionally hoarse as she supresses her own unwillful anxiety. She has to be present for the children, she cannot let her home life interfere with the work she does here. It is far too important.
Akumu is a young girl of 9 whose quirk does not lend well to pleasant thoughts for most around her, including her parents. Her quirk is called Nightmare, nicknamed this way by her parents, and thus internalized by Akumu herself. The unpleasant ostracization of children whose quirks aren’t considered to be ‘useful’ is a major issue, even now, and Uraraka is devoted to tackling it, intent on destigmatizing ‘scary’ quirks.
This little girl is one of the many, and Ochako has developed a peculiar attachment to this child. The manner in which she speaks, the softness of her voice, the sweetness of it. She is yet uncorrupted by the world around her, by the segregation of her peers. Her demeanor is still kind. Akumu reminds Ochako of Toga.

Near the end of the day, after all the children have left, and her employees have gone home for the night, Ochako finally takes a moment to herself. While she loves the work she does, and it is immensely important to her, it is draining. She’d never outwardly complain, but her back aches from bending down so often, and her heart aches for the children she can’t reach. She is the head of only one organization, and she wonders often if she is making a difference at all.
The brunette sits herself in her office, sinking into the rolling chair set before her desk to inhale and release deep breaths. A tear rolls down her cheek as she considers the girl who made her who she is today, the kind, misunderstood lover in a world filled with hate.
“Himiko, I’m trying.” She mumbles to herself, voice wavering as her chest tightens from overwhelming emotion. She’s long since realized that Toga will never talk back, but that doesn’t stop her. It keeps her sane to speak to the girl, reminds her why she opened this organization in the first place.
Uraraka knows Himiko would not want her to be so miserable. She knows what she’d say. Actually, she doesn’t know what she’d say. Ochako sits up straight as she thinks of this fact. She has no idea what she’d tell her to do, because Toga isn’t here. The brunette sniffles, tears beginning to coat her pink cheeks because she will never know what Toga would do in this situation, and she won’t ever be able to ask her.
All she can do is guess what the compassionate, stubborn young woman would tell her to do, had she been fortunate enough to live long enough to do so. It is this very speculation that leads the sorrowful young woman to the conclusion that she’s not putting in enough effort. Ochako slams her hand down on the table, light flickering, a brief darkness filling the area. No light filters through the window, as night has long overcome the sky.
“I’m going to fix it.” She calls out audibly, speaking to herself, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Uraraka’s cheeks flush at her newfound resolve, and she storms out of the organization after locking up.
-----------------Deku’s Hero Agency------------
Izuku is sitting in his office, lights low. The only radiance emitting from the moon through the large, clean glass windows all around the corporate room. His leg bounces as he chews his nails, anxiously awaiting 9 oclock’s arrival, and who that brings along with it.
His eyes anxiously watch the digital clock that sits on the oak desk; the numbers seem to change painfully slowly. Just as the clock reaches 8:57pm, Izuku hears a soft rap on the balcony window just across the room. As quickly as the knock is heard, Izuku is on his feet, jogging over to the balcony and pulling the door open.
Bakugo steps inside, rubbing his hands together, his breath a visible plume in the cold air.
“Fuckin’ freezing out there.” The blond chatters as the door closes behind him, shutting the two men into the warm room.
“Heh, my bad.” Izuku offers, a slight awkward smile on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. Bakugo waves a dismissive hand and continues walking forward toward the desk opposite the balcony, removing his suit jacket as he gains ground.
Izuku adjusts the cuff of his button up sleeve and stalks toward Katsuki, who is now dragging his hand along the smooth oak surface.
“Kacchan, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be short with you, Ochako was…” Izuku begins, but before he can explain himself, Bakugo has unbuttoned the shirt that conceals his abs, exposing the tan, scarred skin to the man opposite him. Midoriya’s words trail off at the sight before him, unable to tear his eyes away.
“Deku, I don’t want to hear about Uraraka right now.” Katsuki breathes out quietly, and before any more words can be shared between the two of them, Izuku’s lips are on Katsuki’s.
It is a quiet, desperate kiss, edged with hunger and enough passion to last a lifetime. The only audible sound is the thump of Bakugo’s thighs against the edge of the desk as Izuku pushes him backward. Lips clash with intention, small, awkward chuckles emitting from each man as the unpleasant sound of teeth accidentally touching rattles in their skulls.
Izuku supresses the climbing feeling of distress, replacing it with desire. His marred, robust hands travel up Katsuki’s sides, forcing the sleeves of the unbuttoned shirt down and then off. He tosses the wrinkled white fabric, no longer as crisp as it was this morning at the meeting, creased by the day’s work, and now Izuku’s hands.
Midoriya steps back a mere inch for a fraction of a second to remove his own shirt, tight, toned torso glowing in the moon’s cool luster. Divots and ridges imply depth against the warm olive skintone of the shorter man. Katsuki cannot look the other way, his eyes glued to the form in front of him.
Eagerness and delight are all that fill the room now as the men strip themselves completely of their work attire, leaving them bare and subject to the warm air of the room. Passion coats their very bodies like a film, leaving the two in an almost trance-like state.The shorter man lifts Bakugo onto the edge of the desk, hot breaths slick and meshed together, lips clashing and folding over one another in sleek, tender motions, urgency covering them like a blanket.
“Hah… god damn nerd, always taking your sweet time.” The blond utters, an assured smile across his face, words a scorching knife, cutting through Izuku’s resolve like butter. His hands brace themselves on the desk at his sides, well aware of the impact of his words.
The evidence of their excitment is palpable, dicks rubbing against one another as Katsuki’s legs spread and wrap around Izuku’s hips, forcing their bodies closer, a direct display of desperation on his part; a side of him only Izuku will ever know. Their dicks rock against one another as both men thrust their hips in rhythmic motions, hungrily attempting to gain that delicious friction they’ve both come to find they can only gain through each other.
“This is perfect.” A soothing pur from Izuku as he traces the outer muscle lining of Katsuki’s thigh, right up to his ass, fingers tugging the supple flesh aside. “You’re perfect.” He corrects himself, other hand gradually, teasingly making its way toward the heated center of the blond’s contracting hole. Just as Bakugo readies himself to respond, Izuku’s ears are instead greeted with a low moan as he inserts a digit into the taller man’s tensing asshole, curling and prodding around the warm walls.
“What was that?” Izuku asks, biting his tongue playfully between his teeth as he watches his counterpart struggle to utter a single sound aside from yearning groans. Izuku’s shoulder twitches as the sounds flow through the air between them, a sweet, hoarse vocal performance, for which he is the only audience member.
Bakugo shoots a cold glare at his lover, but such a sour expression soon shifts as he catches a glimpse of the soft light burning in Izuku’s eyes. Come to think of it, how long has it been since Katsuki has heard Izuku crack a joke? How long since he’s seen him smile? Too long, he decides, and thus, a smile etches into his features, moon’s low shimmer reflecting off Katsuki’s face. Izuku cannot help but stare at his friend’s incredible smile, the gentle upturn of his lips, a notable contrast to the stark, constant downturn of his brows.
The mood noticeably relaxes and Midoriya begins softly nipping at the warm, upraised flesh of Bakugo’s chest. At this, hands find themselves in Izuku’s hair, fingers tugging and twisting around long, dark green strands.
Soon enough, once Katsuki is thoroughly prepped, and after several badgering comments, Izuku is positioning himself at Katsuki’s thrumming entrance. Low breaths shift to pants as both men struggle to hold back, and Katsuki’s hands have guided themselves up to the back of Izuku’s neck to provide some semblance of support.
“Kacchan, look at me. I want to see you.” Izuku hums out softly, face inches from his lover’s, a ruined expression adorning his features before they have even begun. Katsuki raises his crimson eyes, and for a moment, the two seem to communicate despite the silence, and their hearts begin to beat as one. For the instant, Izuku almost falters, but after a gulp to steady himself, he thrusts upward, earning a whiny grunt.
A string of curses exit Katsuki’s lips, but no matter how badly he wants to tilt his head back and just enjoy the feeling of his best friend leaving him in destitution, he would much prefer to drag out this moment. For the first time in a long time, the shared experience feels like more than just fucking. Eyes, forest green and blood red peer into each other, the string that ties them has become faint over the years, but in Katsuki’s heart he can feel that it is growing, one thread at a time.
Overpowering the moans in the air is the sound of skin slapping against skin, Katsuki’s ass being pummeled by Izuku’s hips with rhythmic thrusts. Pulse after pulse, Bakugo can feel Midoriya’s dick twitching and throbbing inside his walls, but he can’t find it in himself to focus on that through the panting and groaning. Suddenly, without warning, “Deku, fuck-! Too much..!” The blond calls out as a hand wraps around his own cock, stroking with sloppy intent to match the thrusts being forced into his ass.
There isn’t a moment of hesitation from Izuku, only a slight smirk as he watches Bakugo come undone beneath him, tip spewing white hot gold, covering his abs. The liquid begins seeping down, shaking with each thrust from Izuku. Once he feels his own climax washing over his body, he removes himself from his lover’s ass to finish upon his stomach, the two men’s cum mixing together on Bakugo’s stomach.
Between breaths, as Izuku lays his forehead head atop Katsuki’s shoulder, he mumbles, “Are you happy?”
The question catches Katsuki off guard, and he quickly scoops a hand underneath the cum that threatens to drip onto the floor. The unexpected question throws him for a loop as he is still recovering from his high. He’d expected ‘did that feel good’, or ‘I missed you’, or something to that effect, but what he is met with is a far different question.
“Am I… happy?” Bakugo repeats, voice back to the typical characteristic rasp. “The hell kinda question is that?” He asks, brows furrowing. Izuku lifts his head with a pursed lip exhale, shaking his head and rubbing his palms over his eyes. As Midoriya’s eyes fall upon Bakugo’s open hand beneath their shared cum, a sense of urgency returns and the green haired man quickly grabs several tissues, wiping away the evidence from Katsuki’s skin, but he can't wipe the touch of his hands away.
“Nevermind, this is a bad time to ask something like that. How do you feel? Can I do anything?” Izuku prods, he knows Katsuki is not a fan of obsessive aftercare, it’s a quick way to get his mind off of the question. Katsuki raises a brow but lets it go for now, he’ll catch him at a better time, when he isn’t under a time crunch.
“No. You’d better get home, damn nerd. Don’t you have a wife waiting for you.” He states, allowing his best friend to change the subject, obviously he’s not ready to talk about it yet. Katsuki glances at the clock and looses a sigh, turning it toward Izuku as he pulls on his pants, buttoning them and buckling the belt, leaving him shirtless still.
“Shit, it’s already 10:45? I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ve got to go.” Izuku says hurriedly, not bothering to pay attention to the messy manner in which he pulls on the white button up from the floor, buttoning only the first few buttons and walking away, toward the door leading to the hallway so he can take his leave.
Just as Bakugo looks away to gather his clothes and begins dressing himself from the bottom up, Izuku rushes over, hands sliding seductively up Katsuki’s now half buttoned shirt from behind, a gentle gesture.
“Goodbye, Kacchan.” He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the tall statured man’s shoulder. “Sorry to leave in a hurry.” He adds before bolting out to the hall, leaving Katsuki alone in the warm room. “Bye, Deku.” He murmurs, although his friend is long gone by now, on his way back to his wife. Suddenly, the space doesn’t feel so warm now that Izuku has left it, and in fact, Katsuki wraps his arms around himself, nearly shivering in the stale silence.

Chapter Text

The drive home is rushed, a frantic transport as Izuku tries to come to terms with his actions, yet again. It is a vicious cycle he has found himself bound by, one that, at the moment, seems unavoidable and doomed to continue. He runs a hand through sweat-ridden hair, opposite hand clutching the steering wheel for dear life as he speeds down the neighborhood street; back to his life, his wife.
Shaggy green hair darkened by the night surrounding him falls into his eyes and he blinks hard, holding his eyes closed for moments at a time. Izuku cannot find it in himself to fear death when the alternative is this unending dissonance, so his eyes remain closed. He only opens them again once Bakugo’s face flashes into his mind. An audible gasp could be heard were anyone in the car to hear it, and Izuku clasps a hand over his mouth, muffling the sound.

“What am I thinking…?” He mutters aloud, slowly pressing his foot to the brake pedal until the vehicle comes to a complete stop. He has pulled over beside the sidewalk just two blocks from his home, adjusting the transmission into the designated ‘park’ spot.
Whilst wrestling with himself in his own mind, Izuku holds his face in his hands, keeled over the steering wheel. Fingers tangle and yank at tufts of green hair, then trickle down to the skin of his neck, where the tearing does not stop. Izuku cannot fathom how he became such a foul man. Where are his morals now?

The blinking cursor of the tire pressure warning captures his eye, and he stares at it for a time, attempting to ground himself. “Everything is fine, it’s all fucking fine.” He murmurs to himself, throat so dry it feels like he’s chewing cotton wool. He tries to swallow it down, but all of the moisture in his mouth has disappeared and his tongue sticks to his teeth when he tries to coat them with some saliva.
“Fuck. Fuck!” He cries out, slamming his palm against the steering wheel in a moment of rage. In moments or so, Izuku takes a deep breath, chest rising, and shakes his head. “Get home. Ochako is waiting.”
The rest of the 4 minute drive is spent in absolute silence. Once he pulls up to his home, Izuku hastily makes his way out of the car and to the front door, unlocking it with gentle care. It is now 11:16 pm.

-Kacchan’s Condo-

Katsuki arrives back at his place by 11:27pm, a nice condo a few blocks from his agency. He walks in through the door of the condo in silence, pristine white walls glittering with cleanliness. There is a small bar cart in the living area and that is his first stop. The blond’s eyes are heavy and tired from the day’s work, and he pours himself a glass of brandy, swirling it around the shiny cup before taking a sip.
“Fucking Deku.” He mutters aloud, the sound echoing through the home. Katsuki lives alone, no pets, nobody to come home to at the end of the day. His eyebrows furrow and the glass in his hand begins to shake, before launching across the room entirely, slamming against a wall and shattering.
Bakugo is jittery, breathing quick, shallow breaths as he stands, hunched over beside the bar cart. “Am I happy? That fucking asshole.” He strides through the hallway and directly into the bathroom, where he strips and turns on the shower. Steam begins filling the room after a few moments as Katsuki studies himself in the mirror; his strong physique, the small marks littering his perfectly pale skin left behind by Izuku. Katsuki almost thinks he can see fingerprints all over his skin, unable to be washed away. Sweat drips from the blond’s hair into the counter, face a mess of confusion with a dismal edge.

Once the shower has reached a satisfactory temperature, long, defined legs carry Bakugo into the tub, where water courses over his already very warm skin. There are several moments wherein Katsuki takes in the simplicity of the act, and at one point, there is Deku. Green, soppy wet hair hangs over a freckled face, water dripping down to the men’s feet as they stand in the shower together; a sort of simple intimacy that Katsuki doesn’t even know he craves. Izuku’s coarse hands are in Katsuki’s hair and he is as relaxed as any man could hope to be.
However, he is ripped out from this peaceful daydream when a lone conditioner bottle falls to the floor, having slipped from the ledge.
“God dammit.” Katsuki huffs, arm falling to the cold tile shower wall, shocking his skin just enough to make him gasp and lift his arm again. These constant thoughts of Izuku, a married man, are getting to the point of ridiculousness.

Once Bakugo has rinsed the acquired sweat and grime from the day off of his body, the shattered glass and liquid gold are cleaned up by him. “What an embarrassing display of anger.” Katsuki murmurs to himself, genuinely feeling a sense of moroseness for such childish behavior.
“Happy, fucking happy. The nerd… where does he get off asking such a stupid fucking question?” Bakugo continues to murmur to himself as he dresses and prepares for bed. He’s only up so late when he sees Deku, otherwise, bedtime is strictly 8 pm, and he can feel the bags forming under his eyes already.
How could anyone be happy in his situation, a situation where every option is a lose-lose for everyone involved. Is Ochako happy like this? Trapped in a marriage with a man who’s heart is reserved for another.

-Izuku and Ochako’s House-
*11:29 pm*

Izuku walks quietly into the married couples’ shared bedroom upstairs, wary of waking his wife, but to his surprise, she sits up as he pulls off his shirt.
“You’re home late…” She says, her voice soft and scratchy. Izuku catches the almost expectant tone to her voice and scrunches his nose, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands in his hair, bent over.
“I know, I’m sorry.” There is a genuine apologetic edge to his words, and Ochako senses it, unbeknownst to the true reason for such a tone. Izuku doesn’t notice it in the darkened room, but his wife is nude, holding the blanket securely above her chest to shield the fact.

“I… Why don’t you just come lay down, it’s fine. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Izuku follows her instructions with a nod, tired and dreary from the events of the day, and the way he left things with Kacchan. Once comfortably laying on his back, Ochako drops the fabric of the blanket and scoots closer, the notable divot in the bed capturing her forlorn husband’s attention. He is unused to any sort of closeness while sleeping, the two tend to remain on their self-prescribed sides of the bed, not for any particular reason.

His eye glances over to the woman beside him and then, once he catches sight of the state of his wife, his whole face turns to look at her form, lit by moonlight alone. “I thought I’d surprise you.” She mumbles, and he reaches to trail a finger along her neck, then down her chest, contouring the curve of her breast. A low huff is heard from his side of the bed, her skin is warm to the touch. It’s smooth, like Kacchan’s, unmarred and pale in the moonlight.

There is a rush in Ochako’s system as he silently traces her breast, her chest begins to beat rapidly; he is showing interest. “Tie your hair back.” He murmurs, and she cocks her head. “Sorry?” She asks, his voice having been too quiet, even in the stale, silent air. “Your hair.” He says, louder this time, hand now pushing the hair behind her ears.

Izuku sits up and positions himself above her, arms trapping her beneath him. Her legs take initiative to spread, hands hesitantly laying themselves on his hips. She hooks her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down, looking to his face every few moments for confirmation to continue. All she is met with, though, are closed eyes and a calm face. While it brings her anguish at the thought that he can’t even look at her, she continues to free him from the confines of his boxers, locked in on the idea of changing his mind.

A low groan is heard as she fully pushes down his boxers. “K–Chako..” He mumbles, praying she didn’t catch the near slip up of his tongue, and it sounds similar enough to her name that she in fact doesn’t notice.

The two engage in a quiet, intimate battle beneath the sheets, both with their eyes closed, imagining their respective blond lovers. Guilt creates an insurmountable cloud that circles both young adults’ minds as they engage in sexual relations with one another, joined together by marriage, but nothing more.

Izuku now lays beside Ochako, breathing calmly on his back. He has fallen asleep just after finishing. Uraraka lays there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She pictures Toga in the darkness, a small frame with the world’s most beautiful smile, a smile Ochako will never forget for as long as she lives. There is a palpable heavy sigh to be heard from Ochako, imagination too strong for her own good.

She covers her face with her soft hands, the leftover smell of her husband’s skin etched into her fingers. The scent of another flashes into her brain, one who she’d never get to smell on her hands, her clothes, her skin. One she’d never get to hold. The scent of Himiko lingers in her mind, faint and dry, slowly drifting away from her memory, never to be replenished.

Chapter Text

Izuku walks down the hall, the house quiet. It’s early, but he can’t seem to fall back asleep. Ochako is sleeping peacefully alone, and he is content with that as he locks himself behind the bathroom door.

There is a silent exchange between Izuku and his own reflection, who stares with contempt. It is a conversation he has with himself, within the confines of his own home, his own space. He thinks of Bakugo, and he thinks of his wife.

Yes, he thinks heavily of Kacchan as he climbs into the steaming shower, a temperature he has grown accustomed to thanks to Katsuki. Emotions surge in a hefty cloud, joining with the steam to create a dense fog around Izuku. It envelopes his whole being, mind, body, and soul, and he wishes the water would simply rinse him clean of all this deplorable suffering. Suffering is a strong word, Izuku tells himself.

‘You are not suffering. There are people dying. But you’re too busy fucking everybody to save anyone, you can’t even save yourself.’
The invisible words scatter on the floor as Izuku grips a patch of his hair and yanks at it, overwhelmed by the severity of it all. The temporary rush of pain causes his breath to shorten, and he stands hunched over, panting beneath the scalding water. And then, Kacchan is there. His arm is draped over Izuku’s lower back and he is saying,
“Deku, you’ve really done it this time… Come on, stand up straight and look at me.”

And Katsuki’s face is a picture of understanding. Izuku stands up straight, but tears himself away from the pleasant idea, regretfully. There’s nothing he’d rather do than see Kacchan in the shower with him right now, Izuku craves Katsuki’s presence, yearns for it.

Just as he is ripped away from this impossible dream, he hears a soft knock at the door. It is unclear to him whether this small sound is what prompted the disappearance of Katsuki’s invisible presence, and he wonders about it silently.

“Chako? Is that you?” He asks, and by the scratchiness in his voice, he fears it is clear he has been crying.

Ochako decides she has imagined this familiar hoarseness, and couples it with the early morning, rationalizing it.

“Yeah… I woke up and you weren’t in bed, then I heard the shower running.” She says after opening the door, slinking inside.

Izuku pushes open the shower curtain out of habit, his hand swift with the motion, and silently invites her to join him. Once she has undressed, Ochako climbs into the shower beside her husband, whose nude body, even after these last few years, is somewhat of a mystery to her. Scars and freckles she didn’t know existed now appear to her as she views his form in all its glory beneath the steady stream of water.

Uraraka wraps her arms around herself and sucks in a breath through her teeth when her arm touches the water.
“It’s so hot!” She exclaims, flicking the droplets from her hand. “How can you stand in there, it’s boiling.”

And Izuku feels a pang in his chest, that’s right, his wife’s showers are merely warm, a subtle temperature, much in opposition to Kacchan’s scalding preference.
“Right, sorry, I forgot.” He responds, but mentally he curses himself at his own lack of acknowledgement before he turns the temperature down significantly.

Izuku hates it, he hates himself as the two share a shower together for the first time in who knows how long; he loathes the way he can’t look at his wife’s body. He can’t look at Ochako without wishing Kacchan were in her place, a taller, bolder frame taking up far more space in the shower. Uraraka seems to notice the strange bit of hesitance on Izuku’s part and begins to feel awkward, suddenly wishing to shield herself from eyes that don’t even look in her direction.

The shower is an odd experience for both of them, and Midoriya is the one to exit first, leaving Uraraka to conclude alone.
Izuku’s Hero Agency
There is another meeting today, one consisting of pro heroes Red Riot, Shoto, Ingenium, and of course, Ground Zero. There is an inbound threat involving each of their quadrants of the city, so they must all meet to decide how to handle such a massive threat.

Izuku sighs heavily as his blood burns in his veins, feet walking heavier than normal. His sidekicks glance at each other as he stomps about, but his focus is elsewhere, and in fact, he can’t even put a name to where his focus seems to have been drawn. He enters the conference room to find Ingenium and Shoto, early as always. Izuku takes a seat at the head of the table, Shoto and Ingenium exchange a glance.
“Midoriya, you look horrible.” Shoto says, his voice even, and Iida stares in what appears to be disbelief, but that is quickly dispelled with a half-annoyed smile.
“I believe Shoto just wanted to convey that you… appear to be unwell. Is there something wrong, Midoriya?” Ingenium asks, genuine concern present in his tone.
Izuku’s eyes are drawn up to the two men, his good friends. If looks could kill, this would be homicidal. Iida and Shoto noticeably scoot half an inch further from Izuku in thei chairs, careful not to make it all too obvious. As Izuku is about to speak, likely to respond to the two men, Ground Zero and Red Riot walk in one after the other, right on time. Bakugo’s eyes reach for Izuku’s and as quickly as they meet, they dart away.

The meeting goes smoothly, there is a plan in place, and most have left the room, leaving Katsuki and Izuku alone. Katsuki believes this to be the opportune time in which Izuku will, yet again, tell him what time to arrive tonight. But that doesn’t happen. Izuku is silent for several moments before Bakugo decides he better speak up if he wants an answer to the unasked question.

“Uh… will you be working late tonight, Deku?” He akss, and he thinks his voice sounds a little too hopeful.

Izuku stands from his rolling chair and shakes his head, stacking papers neatly on top of one another.

“Not tonight.” He says, and begins to leave.

Katsuki’s brows furrow at the short response, who does this fuckwad think he is all of a sudden, not even bothering to spare him a few minutes. Katsuki steps forward as Izuku reaches for the door to exit the conference room; a strong grasp falls upon Izuku’s bicep and he pauses.

“What the fuck is the matter with you today.” His voice is louder than anticipated, but not so loud that anyone outside of the immediate room can hear.
Izuku doesn’t even turn around, his hand just rests on the doorknob and he releases a heavy, slightly annoyed sigh.
“Bakugo, I don’t know what you want from me. I said not tonight.” Katsuki nearly recoils at the mention of his name, a scarce rarity from Izuku.
“Bakugo?” He asks quietly, but his voice carries quite the undertone of anger, “What the fuck happened to ‘Kacchan’?”
And Izuku just opens the door, pulling himself from Katsuki’s grip during his moment of confusion and walking out the door. Katsuki is left alone in this empty room, chest heaving. What the fuck is going on?

Izuku’s House

After work, Izuku arrives back at home by 9 pm, something Uraraka is not used to. There is shock written over her features when he walks through the door and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She comments on the time, and he brushes it off, reassuring her that he simply wasn’t required to finish any more paperwork that would cause him to stay late.
Leading up to when the couple goes to bed, they spend real time together for the first time in over a year. Both enjoy each other’s company, just like they used to, before they were ever married. Izuku finds himself laying beside his sleeping wife, wondering where it all truly went wrong. Options swirl around in his mind until he decides it must be the day he asked Uraraka to try dating, since they were such good friends. Little did he know at the time, he would forever ruin their relationship, and his own hopes of one with another.
Eventually, after much deliberation and discomfort, Izuku falls asleep. It is restless, and when his phone rings at 1:18 am, he discovers why.
“Hello?” He whispers into the phone, rolling out of the bed, careful not to wake his sleeping wife.

“Deku, I know it’s early, I don’t give a shit–” Begins the voice on the other end of the line. Kacchan’s voice.
Izuku swallows and stands without question, former resolve weakened. Izuku walks outside onto the front porch as Katsuki goes on and on over the phone, voice raspy as it enters his ears.
“You’ve become the biggest asshole, and I know you’ve been through hell, and you’re married, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like a fucking booty call for your enjoyment. You don’t get to push me aside because of a sudden revelation, or whatever the fuck is going on–” Izuku’s face has begun to scrunch as he listens to his lover breakdown over the phone, tone no longer even, but breaking every now and again.

“Kacchan…” Izuku cuts him off mid sentence, rubbing his temples as he grabs his keys and locks the front door.
Katsuki takes a much needed breath and stops speaking, as if waiting for Izuku to say something else, but he doesn’t. Katsuki hears something odd and pulls the phone away from his face to ensure he is still on the phone with Izuku.
“Dek-” Before he can finish, Izuku has ended the call, sending Katsuki into somewhat of a spiral.
Katsuki feels the stress overtake his body, he worries he’s ruined it, he’s been too clingy. Izuku hates him, he must. Katsuki doesn’t know that he could live with himself if Izuku truly found any grounds of hatred for him. And he knows as much of an asshole the nerd has become, he could never find it in his heart to hate him either; Katsuki knows deep down, Izuku could use him for the rest of his life and he’d allow it, unable to resist the pull of his forever best friend.
For 15 minutes, Bakugo sits in the center of his living room, staring at the floor, head in his hands, silent tears threatening to pour down his cheeks. The cold floor feels nice against his all-too-hot skin. Katsuki hasn’t cried in 4 years, not since Izuku’s wedding. Hell, he doesn’t want to break the streak now, he wipes his eyes and nose with the back of his wrist, leaving a small string of snot along the pale skin, which earns a disgusted scoff. The back of his wrist is wiped along his boxers, and just then, he hears a soft rapping on the door. His head raises, droopy blond hair falling into his teary, red eyes.

Katsuki gathers himself and walks toward the door, sure it’s a neighbor here to pry about how noisy he’s being at 1 am.
The door opens and Izuku is inside before Katsuki can process the flash of green hair in his view. Before a single word can be exchanged, Izuku’s hands are on Katsuki’s waist, and he pushes the door closed with his foot. Katsuki is yanked close to Izuku’s warm body and their lips meet in a desperate display of affection on Izuku’s part.
Katsuki’s brows go from upturned and grateful, to furrowed within a matter of seconds and he pushes Izuku away. Izuku doesn’t release the hold he has on the blond’s hips, and he cocks his head.

“Deku, I didn’t call you to be a fucking bootycall.” Izuku immediately seems to shrink into a cowardly form against bakugo’s front door.
Katsuki hasn’t seen Izuku look so frail in years, and it nearly makes him gasp. He can’t help but brush his fingers over Izuku’s scarred digits in a rare display of gentleness.
Katsuki murmurs to Izuku, trying his best to pull Izuku out of this space, “Hey, don’t be like that, damn nerd. Now I feel bad, and last I checked, you’re the one who’s supposed to feel bad right now.”
It’s a small, weak attempt at humor, but it works well enough, and Izuku stands up straight again, a relief to Katsuki.
“You’re right. I should be the one that feels like shit. Good thing I do.” He responds, hands unable to resist Bakugo’s waist.
Izuku wants so badly to feel Katsuki’s bare skin in his hands, and that’s exactly what he does. Katsuki notes the softness with which izuku holds him this time. There is pure intention behind this contact, and it is a nice change of pace.
“I just… you ignored me today, at the conference, wouldn’t even look at me. And it made me feel like shit.” Midoriya is positive he’s imagining it, but Bakugo’s voice seems to crack at this roundabout admittal of hurt feelings.
Izuku’s hands reach up to hold Katsuki’s face and he forces eye contact. There is a clear blanket of unshed, glistening tears in Katsuki’s gaze, and the pang in Izuku’s chest is immeasurable at such a sight.

“I’m so sorry, I know, you’re right. I’ve been an asshole, and I’ve been so shitty to you, to everyone, to Och–” He cuts himself off, taking a breath, “I’ve been unfair to you, Kacchan.”
There is a pause and Bakugo nods, as if using such a gesture as a response. Izuku wraps Katsuki in his arms and Katsuki squeezes Izuku’s midsection forcefully. Their chests constrict one another as they take turns breathing, eyes clenched.
Izuku wonders to himself if this is another false reality made up by his mind, he wonders if he is in the shower with his eyes closed, imagining Kacchan’s warm hands on his back, as he’s done many times before. And Katsuki has found himself wondering the same thing, fearful he is fooling himself into believing in this daydream.
But to both men’s shock and comfort, when they open their eyes, they are still tangled in each other’s embrace. There is a palpable, dense air of an indescribable feeling around them both, covering their warm bodies and wrapping around their lungs. Izuku finds it harder to breathe as he releases Katsuki, as if a lifeline has been unplugged. Ochako has never created this flustering, intense churning of the stomach for Izuku, and deep down, he knows this to be true.

There is no sleeping for either man. They lay awake, hands and legs intertwined beneath the blankets. Crimson eyes stare into dull green pools that seem to brighten ever so slightly as the morning trudges along. There are conversations upon conversations as the sun crawls above the horizon line, and they talk until they have to leave for work.

Izuku’s House
3:21 am

Uraraka awakes in a cold sweat, chest heaving with heavy breaths. Her hand quickly slams down onto the bedside table to flick on the motion sensing light beside her.

“Oh fuck–” She gasps out, hand ruffling her sweat-ridden bangs. “Izu-” she stops, swallowing hard. Her knees slide up to meet her chest and she hugs her legs.

Tears begin to form when she realizes she is alone in bed, her husband’s spot completely vacant. It is not difficult to believe Izuku would leave for work without saying goodbye, however, it is difficult to believe he’d leave for work so early.

But that is the assumption Ochako decides makes the most sense in her head, not that it hurts any less than any other possibility. Uraraka waits for the light to flick off and scoots over to Izuku’s barren side, curling into fetal position and allowing her tears to flow. It is a silent, intimate moment with herself, one she doesn’t realize how much she needs until she is knee deep in it. The crying goes on for some time, and then, as quickly as she awoke, Ochako cries herself back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ochako’s agency is closed on Saturdays. When she finally manages to wake from a sob-induced sleep, she sits up and groggily reaches a tentative hand for her phone.
“God.. I can’t.” She murmurs to herself, voice squeaky with unrest. But Ochako’s resolve is weak, and only breaking down by the day. Each day Izuku pulls further and further away, and each day she feels like a lifeboat with nobody to rescue, drifting alone out on open water. She raises the phone to her ear, dial tone reverberating in her skull. Here is one person who will rescue her, however.
“Uraraka?” The voice finally answers on the other line, met with a slightly choked sob. Ochako takes a deep breath to calm herself before responding with a shaky voice.
“Please come.” Is all that exits her mouth before silence ensues on both lines. Then, the kind voice answers, “I’ll be there soon.”
Ochako hangs up the phone and sits up straight. Her softs hands fall over the fabric of her sleep shirt to adjust it, smoothing it down until semi-presentable. After what feels like an eternity, Uraraka hears the front door open and close, the light patter of careful, methodical footsteps following suit. They walk to an almost musical rhythm, feet light like a dancer’s against the hardwood.
Once this unknown being has climbed the stairs, Ochako watches the door to her bedroom creak open. In the frame stands a tall young woman, silky blonde hair cascading down her shoulder blades. Her cheeks are rosy, eyes a gentle shade of brown. Ochako nearly gasps at the sight of this young woman, a frequent and repeated response to her presence. “Uraraka…” The woman sighs, nimble fingers coming up to massage her temples as she walks inside and closes the door behind her.
“I know. I know.” Ochako’s voice is small and meek, a ghost of passion lingering. The woman treads lightly on the wooden floor toward Ochako’s bed, where she sits propped up against the headboard. The blonde woman, Yume, climbs onto the bed with little hesitation, sitting beside Ochako and carefully sliding a hand onto her thigh. Brown eyes lock with one another and the air seems to leave the room, both of them hold their breaths.
“Why’d you call me, sweetheart?” Yume asks, tilting her head as their eyes remain locked, a small, comforting smile on her face. She guides one of her hands up to Ochako’s plump, pink cheek and strokes the warm skin.
Ochako has to fight to hold back the tears that threaten to form in her eyes while she sits in the calming embrace. Yume and Uraraka first met two years ago, at Ochako's agency. Yume had stopped by because she heard of the pro hero Uravity's kindness and compassion toward troubled quirk-using youths, and her young sister required help that she could not provide herself. Ever since then, the two women met periodically. Yume’s kind disposition and soft facial features are Uraraka's constant reminders of what could've been. With Himiko.
Before she can truly get any real feelings out, Ochako buries her sorrow in a tender kiss, lips holding fast. Ochako’s eyes leak moisture as the kiss grows more heated, the skin of both women growing almost searing. Yume’s hands tentatively slide around Ochako’s back, holding her closer in this intimate moment.

The two, over the past two years, have shared many intimate moments, and there is one thing Yume always notices from her quiet partner; she cries. Every time the two of them engage in any sort of intimate relation, Ochako’s watery eyes betray her.

While their lips clash more fervently now, Ochako slowly, shakily shimmies off her wedding ring and blindly places it on the bedside table. Yume notices this, she always notices this. She knows Ochako is married, but she is under the impression that the couple are not in love; oh how right she is.
Ochako’s guilt overrides her, as their tongues explore each other, bearing down on her conscience with a vengeance. How could I do this to Izuku, to my husband? Who have I become? She asks herself these questions silently, but her soaked cheeks suggest a small peek into her thoughts.
Clothes fly off of bodies, bedsheets are ruffled, wrinkled at the movement of the women. Yume positions herself above Ochako’s beautiful, shapely body and presses soft, gentle kisses to her jaw. Her fingers leave a trail of calm as they trace and pause down Ochako’s stomach, savoring the sleek muscles.

Ochako’s eyes finally peel open, the tears have somewhat subsided and she lays her finger beneath Yume’s chin to tilt it up; she locks eyes with her, studying the wispy lashes that lay over her honey brown eyes. Ochako nearly allows tears to begin to fall again, and Yume cocks her head slightly.
“It’s nothing. Don’t stop. Smile for me, would you?” Ochako murmurs, a choked string of words that almost seem incohesive. Yume intakes a deep breath and complies, smiling somewhat uncomfortably down at Ochako, whose tears grow heavier. “Are you sure honey? Are you sure you’re alright?” The blonde checks in before sliding her hands any further down the brunette’s body. “Yes. Don’t worry about me, sometimes I just cry.”
Yume shrugs one shoulder, eyes wide but accepting, who is she to question other people’s sexual preferences, and it had seemed to her over the years, that Ochako’s preference included crying.

As Uraraka gazed up at Yume’s desire-heavy features, the sweet smile that spread across her whole face, those lidded honey eyes, she felt a pang in her chest. While Yume’s fingers explored Uraraka’s slick chasm, the brunette got lost in the daydream, the wish. She wished silently in her mind for Himiko, even as Yume’s tongue got involved, creating wave after wave of pleasure to lay like a blanket over her body.

She never even got to kiss Toga, to feel her gentle skin against her own, and it was a pipe dream to believe this blonde woman would hold a candle to Himiko. But still, Ochako couldn’t help but imagine Toga’s face in Yume’s place, the two did share many physical similarities. When her eyes closed, she even found herself muttering, “Toga…” Under her breath, but as soon as she realized the words were actually coming out of her mouth, she quickly clasped a hand over and hoped to god that Yume didn’t hear.

After engaging in sexual relations with one another, Yume lays beside Uraraka, gently twirling pieces of brown hair between her fingers. Ochako lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Why… Why do you always cry? Is it me?” The blonde asks, her voice calm and soft, not too prodding. If Ochako does not wish to answer these questions, Yume will not push it.
Uraraka turns her face toward Yume, seeing the genuine concern etched into her features, and sighs, chest falling. She turns back up to the ceiling and smiles, as if laughing at a joke, eyes closed tightly. “It’s not you, Yume. It’s her.” She says, voice thick with emotion and regret.

“Well, I should say, it’s me. She is dead.” Yume furrows her brows, very confused as to what Uraraka is trying to say. She sits up on her elbows and watches the brunette's soft, round features as she recalls the memories of her past. “Toga. You’ve likely heard her name, I know you try to ignore it.” Ochako sighs, glancing toward Yume, who reluctantly nods.
“Toga and I… her future was robbed. I know we never would have worked out anyway. She was a villain, I was in the hero course. But none of it was her fault… She deserved so much better than this world gave her.” Ochako’s eyes meet Yume’s and she reaches out to grab her jaw with a dejected smile. “She had the cutest smile in the whole world. It looked a bit like yours.”

At this admission, Uraraka stops herself and shakes her head, sitting up and climbing out of bed. “You should go… I think I’ll stop by Izuku’s agency. I’m sorry you had to listen to all of that.” Yume looks at her a bit confused but complies with her wishes, standing and gathering her clothes, dressing her slender body once more.

Ochako gathers herself, dressing into more appropriate attire as soon as Yume leaves. She washes her face with cold water, gasping softly as she comes up for air. Her body feels marred somehow, untrue. She hasn’t remained faithful to her husband, and while there is a small devil in the back of her mind telling her that Izuku has not remained faithful either, she can’t help but be somewhat disgusted with herself. The orgasmic bliss she experienced just 20 minutes ago does little to calm her aching nervous system, and in fact, it only seems to make her heart race faster.

—-------------Deku’s Hero Agency—-------------

Ochako carries a small, wrapped bag of sushi as she walks into the agency with purpose. She greets the various interns and sidekicks, as well as Izuku’s receptionist, who smiles warmly. “Hey! It’s been forever Uravity, it’s nice to see you. I’ll let Deku know you’re on your way up! I assume you’re here to see him, that is.” The kind receptionist beams. Ochako nods and starts for the elevator, clicking the middle floor where Izuku’s office rests.

When the elevator door dings open, she steps out and quietly walks toward his office. Her eyes peek into the door and she pushes it open, noting his absence. That’s peculiar, his receptionist didn’t say he wouldn’t be here. She walks over to his desk and sets down the wrapped lunch, sighing heavily. There is a moment of stale silence and then a message through the small microphone on Izuku’s desk.

“Deku, your wife is here, she’s coming up!” Ochako almost chuckles under her breath, somehow she managed to arrive before the message could get through. She sits patiently in one of the chairs opposite Izuku’s desk. A sound piques her interest now, and she glances toward the bathroom, where there appears to be a muffled thud and some other movement.

Just then, Izuku quickly exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him, eyes wide as he lays a hand on the door, as if to stop it from opening again. His smile is anxious and awkward, cheeks slightly flush. “Hey… honey, what are you doing here?” He says through almost gritted teeth. This behavior throws her off, but Ochako stands and picks up the lunch, bringing it over to him as he steps away from the bathroom.

“Thanks… you didn’t have to.” He murmurs, and she sighs, “I know. But we need to talk. You weren’t in bed this morning.” She says, looking down at her hands, which fiddle with one another. There is a tense, awkward energy between the two and Izuku chews the inside of his cheek.
“Yeah I… I had to come into work early. Sorry about that.” He says, but Ochako is unconvinced. “At 3:30?” She adds, voice growing quiet. There is suspicion in her tone, but she’s not outward enough with it to raise his shackles, unless of course, he were hiding something. Izuku’s eyes nearly betray him, showing a bit of fear for the first time since high school.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Katsuki is leaning up against the counter, silently buckling his pants and trying not to breathe too loudly. He is a bit peeved, but not toward anyone in particular, moreso the situation. The two men’s conversations the previous night really felt like a breaking point for Katsuki, like maybe… there was a chance that Izuku would give up this double life shit. But listenign to him speak to his wife, listening to him lie? His hopes are squandered.

“You just… one night you’re perfectly willing to have sex with me, and I almost feel like you’re letting me in again, acting like you used to.” Ochako begins, and Katsuki presses his ear to the door to hear the muffled conversation. He hates to admit it to himself, but he agrees with her as she speaks. “And the next, you’re cold and distant again. You’re not you anymore, Izuku. I don’t even know who I married.” Izuku stands there and takes it, willing to be broken down by her words if that’s what it takes. She’s right, and he knows it. But everything changed when they got married, in fact, he can’t even remember why they got married in the first place. Was it out of necessity? Was it just convenient? Did it make the most sense at the time? Did he love her?

He rationalizes his own thinking as she throws emotion-filled words at him, tears almost beginning to fall down her cheeks. He thinks silently, -‘I must have loved her once, I still love her now. But I don’t know how I love her. I don’t love her like I love Kacchan. Why do I hurt everyone around me? Who the hell have I become?’-

While every guilty party stands in one space, some unaware of other’s presence, there is a palpable stiffness that grows in the silent air. Ochako has said her piece, now Izuku must sit with it. Katsuki has heard what she has to say, how Izuku has hurt her in the same way he continuously hurts him. There are emotions swirling everywhere, and everybody’s eyes are moist, although no one allows their tears to fall. It is a race to the finish to see who will cave first.

Chapter Text

Ochako finally takes her leave from Izuku's office after a long held silence between the two, Izuku unable to provide any sort of response to his wife’s outburst. She is shaking her head as she walks out the door, murmuring softly to herself after taking several deep breaths. Izuku stands in the center of his office, alone. He stares down at his hands, scars raised and white on his knuckles and wrists. He studies the way they curve over his bones, he can’t remember what his skin looked like without them these days.

His thoughts are interrupted as Katsuki emerges from the bathroom, hanging his head low. His hand rests on the middle of the door and he raises his eyes to look at Izuku’s hands.
Izuku turns toward Katsuki, noting his own disheveled features and smoothing his hands down his cheeks before walking toward Katsuki, seeking comfort in some twisted way. Izuku approaches Katsuki with opening arms, a welcoming gesture that pleads for acceptance.
Katsuki holds out a hand to put a stop to the body walking toward him. He stands up straight, chuckling low beneath his breath as red eyes catch on Izuku’s face. He looks to Katsuki like he’s about to cry, and although that hurts, Katsuki shakes his head.

“No, don’t come to me looking for comfort.” He says sternly, but his voice wavers; oh how he wishes this did not have to be the case. Izuku pauses, lowering his arms and cocking his head. He begins to worry he’s really done it this time, his chest tightens, heart racing.
Izuku has to swallow down his heart as it beats in the back of his throat, and he silences himself, it’s obvious Katsuki has something he needs to say, his cues are not subtle.

Katsuki slides his fingers through fine blond hair, staring into Izuku’s eyes. “She’s right, you know? Deku. You’re not who you used to be, and I’ve been ignoring it, hell, we all have. We’ve all sat here silently, hoping you’d bounce back. But even pink cheeks can see it.” He starts, spitting venom at Izuku with each word. They are carefully chosen and steadily expressed, this is important. Katsuki’s voice grows more confident as he speaks his mind.

“And it’s been fuckin’ impossible to tell you that, because I worry about your stupid ass. You look depressed as shit these days. If I don’t walk on eggshells, what if you fuckin’ spiral? What if it’s my fuckin’ fault?” His voice begins to waver, cracking slightly, and Izuku stands there, head apologetically low, listening to his closest friend and lover. “I don’t fuckin’ understand you. I thought I did, I thought I meant something to you. I thought… fuck, honestly? I don’t know what I thought.”
The conversation is one sided. Izuku doesn’t speak. Here, in front of him stands the most important person in his life. Not his wife, not All Might, Katsuki. He sees the anguish in Katsuki’s face, he hears the troubled tone of his words. But what can he say? Everything that has been said to him today has been the truth.

Katsuki finally takes his eyes off of Izuku, tearing them away to look out the vast wall-made-window on the opposite side of the room. The black boots adorning his feet prod at the carpet as he walks toward the window, watching the expanse of the city. Cars line streets, moving in meticulous order, weaving through neighborhoods and mall strips.
“You can’t keep this up, Deku.” His voice has grown quieter, Izuku can’t tell if this is because he is further away, or if he is trying to choke back tears. “I can’t keep this shit up.” He points to himself before turning back toward a silent Izuku, whose eyes are glued to him.

After nearly a minute filled with silence and consideration, Izuku starts to open his mouth to speak, but stops himself. Katsuki’s mouth forms into a line and he nods, he understands perfectly what Izuku has just communicated. ‘I don’t know.’ Is what such a gesture would imply from Izuku, a man whose silence, to Katsuki, is a rarity.

Bakugo gathers himself and takes a deep breath, walking toward the door leading out of the office with a purpose. As he steps out into the hall, he pauses to say, “Don’t contact me, Deku.”
Izuku finds himself alone once again. He rubs the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, processing the events that have just unfolded. Solution after solution, apology after apology, he runs through different courses of action in his mind.

“Fuck me…” He murmurs to himself, a sharp uptick in the back of his throat. The pit in his stomach grows all the more prevalent as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

At the end of the day, he has yet to hear from Kacchan or Ochako. He has had to suck up all these hard feelings and do his job, however distracted he may have been. The drive home is sickening, Izuku feels uneasy and nauseous; his mind returns to Katsuki’s words. ‘Don’t contact me,” Izuku cringes. When he pulls up to a stop sign, he slams his hand against the steering wheel several times. Sweat drips down his temples to his neck, leaving behind a glistening trail.
“What the fuck have I done.” He says aloud. The rest of the drive is silent, save for the sounds of the car engine and neighborhood chatter.

Izuku pulls into the driveway of the shared home with his wife. The atmosphere of the house seems to carry with it a physical manifestation of Izuku’s mental turmoil. After a deep breath, he walks inside.

Chapter Text

After a night of heavily filtered silence, Izuku walks upstairs to go to bed, but Ochako does not follow behind him. Instead, she sits at the kitchen island with a glass of champagne.
“Night.” She murmurs to herself once he disappears behind the corner. Several minutes go by and Ochako looks between the glass in her hand and the stairs. There is an uneasiness in her gut and her leg begins bouncing as a result.

She shakes off the feeling only to be met with a light out of the corner of her eye. It is a phone screen lighting up with a notification… but not her own.

Ochako sets down the pale yellow bubbly drink onto the marble countertop and stands to her feet, reaching over to grab the phone. It is Izuku’s phone. There is an audible swallow to be heard, were anyone in the kitchen to hear it.

He has accidentally left his phone downstairs. Ochako’s throat bobs and gulps, discomfort present in her jugular. “I shouldn’t. I couldn’t…” the words are but a whisper as her fingers hover over the numbers to input the passcode.

0610. Their wedding anniversary. Success. “Thought so.” She breathes out, thankful that he at least seems to somewhat care about their marriage, although he’s done a really shit job of showing it.

What Ochako is not aware of is that Izuku’s password, their wedding date, is also All Might’s birthday; he would never change it.

Her fingers traverse the expanses of his phone, his social media, photos, phone calls. But then something catches her attention. The hesitance to look further in the call log is born of shame and fear for the young woman, does she really want to see? Must her fears be confirmed? Curiosity, however, always prevails. Dozens of calls are logged from the same nondescript phone number. With shaky hands and quivering breath, she clicks the home button and instead switches to the message app.

Her head whips to look back, ensuring she is not in danger of being caught by her presumably sleeping husband.
Uraraka gulps down the anxiety and turns her attention back to the phone, searching until she finds the same number from the call log. Her eyes are wide and blurred as she clicks on the unnamed phone number.

The messages go back years. Years before their marriage, even. The messages vary between ‘she’s not home’ texts to ‘9 pm, don’t be late.’ Her eyes skate past hundreds of messages, tears glazing her sight. Finally, she snaps out of the trance, having realized she’s tortured herself enough for the night, and she slams the phone on the countertop, locking it simultaneously.

Ochako’s jittering hands reach for the champagne glass and she gulps the last of it down her throat with ease. The coolness of the drink does well to soothe her aching throat. There is disbelief present in her, how could the man she entrusted her heart and soul to in union betray her in such a way. Then the guilt falls upon her shoulders. She is no saint herself.

The following night, Izuku arrives home earlier than usual; Ochako finds herself wondering if his mystery woman is unavailable, or if he simply wasn’t in the mood. They are sitting together, albeit awkwardly whilst engaging in dinner. After many moments of silence, Izuku clears his throat.

“Ochako… yesterday–” But before he is able to finish, Uraraka snaps. Every carefully placed brick in her inner dam comes crumbling down into a heaping pile, and she stands to her feet in the heat of the moment, cheeks brightened with frustration.

“No, I’ll speak, Izuku.” Her once kind, soft voice is replaced with a guttural, strained rasp as the words spill out; water from a broken dam.

“Years. I’ve tried for years to be enough for you in this marriage. I thought you loved me.” She chokes back the emotion hanging low on her tongue. Izuku’s face is of forlorn confusion as his wife berates him for the second day in a row. He can’t help but think to himself that he deserves this after how he has treated the people closest to him.

The tension in the room is palpable, they wade through a thick sea of distrust and frustration. “You left your phone downstairs.” She says, wrapping herself in an embrace as her eyes lay heavily on Izuku’s face.

Izuku’s tan face becomes pallid, color draining faster than the words come out of her mouth.

“What?” His throat feels like it’s closing, chest tight and rising rapidly.

“I don’t know who she is, Izuku, and frankly I don’t care–”
Before she can finish, Izuku is on his feet beside her, arms firmly placed around her waist. His tears soak the fabric of her tshirt while he buries his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

The words coupled with the hug catch Ochako off guard and she nearly gasps. Arms hesitantly wrap around his body and Uraraka curses him beneath her breath. “This isn’t fair to you. I love you, Uraraka.” He murmurs into her shoulder, a painstaking apology that has his heart beating in his throat.

After several moments, Ochako releases him and wipes the tears from her cheeks, although she is not sure when they appeared. “Rina.” The lie slips off his lips like melting butter in a hot pan, slick and easy.

Her eyes grow to the size of saucers, big, brown, and bewildered. “Rina?” She confirms, earning a nod from Izuku, who swallows down the lie as it floats in the air. Rina is the name of Izuku’s secretary– and the first name he could think of that wasn’t Kacchan.

“You can’t be serious. You’re not serious. Izuku, look at me.” His eyes shoot to hers, both brimming with tears. Ochako’s fists ball around the collar of Izuku’s shirt and he nods dejectedly. Deep inhales and quivering exhales are the only sound for nearly 2 full minutes.

“It isn’t going to happen again.” Izuku mumbles, breaking the silence and grabbing Ochako’s wrists with his hands. Slowly, gently, he lowers them back to her sides. “I don’t trust you.” She responds, Izuku understands.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy. I want you to smile.”

The words break through to Uraraka, this promise is a small step. “Okay.” Is her final word, and they both leave it at that. Izuku releases her wrists and sighs, lowering his head, curly hair falling into his eyes. “I love you.” He whispers, and Ochako gathers their dishes, keeping her lips sealed shut. Once her back is turned to him, she responds. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

The married couple traverses several days of tension and distrust among one another, but soon, Ochako starts to notice that Izuku really is trying. He is trying to make this work, they are giving this a shot to succeed. One last time. Late one night, as Ochako lays asleep comfortably in the bed beside her husband, Izuku’s eyes rest on her relaxed face. He finds himself reaching for her cheek, stroking it gently with one knuckle.

Uraraka scrunches her nose and the corners of her eyes squint. Izuku turns his head back to the ceiling and spaces out. His hands fold together and rise and fall with each breath he takes. “Fuck.” It’s a breathy word, quiet and stifled when he raises the back of his hand to his mouth.

His scarred hand reaches toward the nightstand and he picks up his phone. It is devoid of notifications and he hasn’t seen or heard from Kacchan in nearly 8 days, the longest they have gone without speaking in years. His thumbs dance over Katsuki’s contact, debating whether to text. To break his wife’s trust, just when she finally seems to be growing comfortable again.

Izuku is torn between heart and mind. He knows that he is morally obligated to set down the phone, turn over, and go to sleep. But his heart beats so loudly for his childhood friend. Kacchan is the only thing that has made Izuku feel some sense of normalcy after the war, without his presence, Izuku is sure he would have spiraled long before now. Katsuki is his anchor and he recognizes that, a rather conflicting sentiment. Mind over matter, he tells himself over and over, but it’s no use. Even his mind tells him to go to Kacchan, to plead for forgiveness—and he listens.

Izuku’s green eyes, devoid of light in the dimly lit room, dart over to Uraraka while he pulls the blanket down slowly, sitting up with care. He does not wish to wak ehis wife and cause more unrest, in fact he is sure he can be discreet about the whole situation going forward. Anything to see Kacchan, to touch him, to feel like his feet are on the ground again.

He swings his legs off the side of the soft mattress and swallows dry night air, nrealy sending himself into a coughing fit. A hand is clasped over his mouth and he holds in the impending cough, the tickle in his throat growing more restless. Once safely out of their bedroom, Izuku clears his throat quietly. He checks the time on the phone screen in his palm. 11 pm, Ochako fell asleep early today.

After a drive that seems to take eons, Izuku arrives at Katsuki’s condo with soaked cheeks. He rushes up the stairwell and takes a deep breath before tapping on the door with one knuckle, leaning his forehead against the door.

Katsuki is slightly startled by the noise, he is still awake on the couch, getting some agency paperwork done before turning in for bed. He takes a sip of the red wine on the side table and sighs. As soon as he stands up to answer the door, the blond pauses and glances at the time on the laptop, 11:20. Katsuki’s confused face drops to a scowl and he huffs, walking toward the door and pressing his back against it.

“‘Fuck outta here Deku, you’ve got a wife at home. I told you this was over.” His voice cracks involuntarily and Bakugo is quickly reminded of their high school days.

“Kacchan.” The voice on the other side of the door is broken, scratchy. Izuku has been crying. It’s been ages since Katsuki has seen him properly cry. His breath catches in the back of his throat and he clenches a fist. “Goddamit.” He says aloud before unlocking and pulling open the door to reveal Izuku’s disheveled form. Those glistening green eyes peer up at him and Katsuki is transported back to childhood, looking down at his best friend on the ground, holding out a hand for help. Only this time, he won’t refuse it. He can’t bring himself to.

Before another word can be shared between them, Katsuki pulls Izuku into a hug, the other man’s arms hanging remorsefully by his sides. Katsuki closes the door and savors the scent of Izuku’s warm body wrapped in his arms. Izuku breaks down, tears soaking the collar of Bakugo’s tshirt.

“I can’t be without you, Kacchan. I feel like I’m going crazy.” Izuku pleads quietly through swallowed sobs, sniffling after every few words. “I need you.” These last 3 words are muffled, but Bakugo hears them loud and clear. He plants his hands firmly on Izuku’s shoulders and focuses into the shiny green pools.

“Deku, I love you. I do.” The blond says with a steady breath. He watches as the spark seems to ignite in Izuku’s eyes for the first time in a long time. He has to suppress the urge to not say his next words, and they come out like word vomit. “But you have to choose.”

The words shatter Izuku’s world, he never wanted it to come to this, but they both knew their relationship would inevitably have to be defined in one way or another. Both his lover and his wife are simply not an option, he cannot have his cake and eat it too. The thought alone disgusts him, the idea that he has let this treachery go on for so long. Another tear rolls down Izuku’s hot freckled cheek and he nods, eyes locked on Katsuki’s.

“I want you. I choose you.”

There is a knock at the door, startling both Katsuki and Izuku, who both whip their heads toward the door.

Chapter Text

Izuku has a bad feeling deep in his gut. His stomach bubbles up inside with an uncertainty that constricts his throat. “I’ll get it.” He whispers, prompting Katsuki to nod and wipe away the sweat from his forehead. He turns around and walks into the bathroom in the hall, rinsing his face.

Midoriya cracks the door open and a pang shoots through his chest, he must now face reality. Before him stands a panting Uraraka, cheeks bright, as if she scaled the stairwell with fervor. Izuku is gagged, the shock evident on his face. Ochako holds up her phone, hands shaking. “Woke up and you were gone. Your location said you were here.” Her voice is calm, too calm. Her breathing finally starts to slow and Izuku steps out of the condo, closing the door behind him and shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Ochak–” Uraraka raises one hand and shoots him an expectant glare. “Rina in there?” She asks, chocolate eyes peering into Izuku’s soul. It is at this moment that he realizes how pitiful he must’ve looked to Katsuki just minutes before. He is also reminded of the lie that fell so easily from his lips before. He watches the tears well up in her bloodshot eyes when he neglects to answer. He can feel the wetness gather in his eyes as well, threatening to spill over, but it’s not his turn to cry now.

“No. She’s not.” He says the truth, finally. This confuses Ochako, and she presses her hand to her cheek, frustrated. “You’re going to lie…?” Her voice is low, escalating swiftly, “After I’ve caught you in the act, you’re going to lie?” Her own guilt begins swelling in her abdomen as well, coupling with the anger she feels toward her husband. From the bathroom, Katsuki hears the commotion and his heart nearly stops. That sounds like Ochako.

Before Izuku can get a word out in response, the door begins opening, much to his dismay. The pained expression that adorns his face tells all Ochako needs to know. But when she sees the tall blond’s face in the doorway instead of Rina, her breath is stolen. She clasps a hand over her mouth and her eyes grow wide; years of having thi man over for dinner, graduating high school together, winning a war side by side, they all flash before her eyes.

“Kat—suki?” She murmurs, tears soaking her cheeks now. Betrayal swirls in her gut, but even moreso, relief. There is comfort in knowing that Izuku’s preferences did not in fact lie with his petite young assistant. “You couldn’t keep this up forever, Deku.” He says quietly, holding open the door and draping an arm around Ochako to invite her inside.

Reluctantly, she follows, and Katsuki leads the married couple to his couch. He then walks into the kitchen to brew tea, pouring three cups. “I don’t think we should remain married, Ochako.” Izuku begins when Kacchan hands him his tea. The warm liquid soothes his throat and his eyes lock on Uraraka’s. There is compassion and understanding in them, as much as there is sorrow. “I have so much love for you.” He adds, and she almost laughs before taking a sip of the fragrant beverage.

“We don’t work, do we?” She asks through sniffles, a small smile on her rosy cheeks.

“No love. We don’t.” He responds, both parties now drenched in salty tears.

“I haven’t been honest either, you know?” She pushes a few short strands of brown hair away from her sweaty forehead, “I’ve been unfaithful. She reminds me of…” She pauses and Izuku swallows thickly; he had been so dense and unaware that he hadn’t even noticed his wife’s guilt.

Katsuku takes a seat on the couch beside Izuku, sensitive enough to know not to sit too close at the moment, no matter how much he wants to. He wonders when they all grew up, how late night talks went from childish confessions to life-altering conversations.

“Do you think we should…” Ochako starts, but Izuku nods instantly. “Yes, Ochako.” This bittersweet moment has both of them staring down at the teacups in their palms, tears missing the cups by mere inches.

Ochako goes home shortly after this conversation, no longer expecting her husband’s presence beside her, free from the all-encompassing guilt she’d been facing. This leaves Katsuki and Izuku alone to their own devices. Katsuki provides the comfort Izuku desperately needs throughout the night, and dozens of reassuring words are exchanged between the two as the sleepless night ensues. By the time the morning sun peeks through the sheer curtains in Katsuki’s room, Izuku has nuzzled into Katsuki’s chest, blissful in the silence.

“Damn nerd… I missed you.” Katsuki whispers as he presses a kiss to the temple of his lover who finally rests comfortably in his arms.

For the first time in years, Ochako awakens to an empty bed and smiles, stretching out her arms. A tear falls down her cheek but she quickly wipes it away, rolling onto what is no longer her husband’s side of the bed; freedom feels nice wrapped around her skin.