Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It takes four entire months to plan a three day trip, but the former Class A of UA finally gets it done. On a wet Friday evening two weeks into the summer months, all 19 of them board an overnight flight to The Golden State to see the remaining two of their alum, arriving just when the sun has reached its morning height. 

It’s sunny, bright, and warm the whole three days they’re there. They spend one day in the mountains, the second day in the desert, and the final day moving from one popular beach to the next. Izuku plays the part of friendly host and tour guide. Katsuki plays the part of crotchety grandfather keeping his 20 grandchildren in line, which includes barking orders every two hours that they reapply sunscreen. 

Their return flight the next morning coincides with the flight Katsuki and Izuku will be taking to migrate to New York, where they’ll begin the East Coast leg of their studies.

Squirming in the line to board, Ochako considers how long she'll have to wait to relieve herself. They’ve got 5 minutes before her zone is called, and at least 15 before they close the gates. That’s not even taking into account how long it actually takes before they’re flying steady and the seatbelt light turns off.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Ochako tells Mina and pushes her suitcase forward. "Can you get this for me?"

Mina nods absentmindedly, double-checking her seat number for the fifth time and squinting at the English currently on the screen behind the attendants, who are making noisy announcements over their crackling microphones. Just as Ochako is about to sprint off, Mina calls out.

“Oh, hey! If you see Todoroki, let him know we’re boarding now.”

Ochako jogs in place as Mina speaks. Just the prospect of peeing is exciting her bladder. “Right, will do!” She calls back, then heads off at lightning speed.

There are few things that feel better than peeing when you really, really need it. Time, which always slows down when one desperately needs to pee, comes back to speed. The world is once again technicolor, instead of reduced to any monochrome signs that might indicate a toilet.

Ochako runs her hands under the tepid bathroom water, rinsing off suds and then holding them under the roaring dryer. It’s so loud, she thinks there might be something wrong with it. When she pulls her hands out, it continues to screech.

She realizes belatedly that that is not the hand dryer. That is a child.

A child that is clutching the pillar between the last few stalls and crying her heart out at an ear-shattering decibel. 

As Ochako nears, the child grows quieter and quieter, until Ochako is crouching in front of her and she's only sniffling and running her arms over her face over and over. 

“What’s wrong?” Ochako asks, holding her knees and leaning forward. “Where’s your momma and papa?”

“I don’t understand,” she hiccups in Japanese. She can’t be more than five. "I—I don't understand," she repeats in rising panic.

Ochako asks again in Japanese, which startles the little girl enough to stop her tears entirely.

“I’m l—lost.” She begins to cry again, though this time more softly. “I don’t know where my mommy is.”

There’s a clock right behind her. There’s at least 15 more minutes until Ochako’s flight takes off. She has a gravity quirk. The little girl and her family are probably on the same flight back. This should be a cinch.

“C’mon,” she takes the little girl’s hand and stands. “Let’s find your momma and papa.”

But as they round their boarding section, they don’t find her family. When she asks the attendants at the podium, they check their list and find that nobody with the little girl’s surname has boarded yet. Thinking hard, Ochako lifts the girl into her arms and starts down the corridor of boarding sections. 

“Where are you from?” She asks, trying to distract the little girl—who she’s learned is named Saku Sumire—from the fact that things are not currently looking promising.

“Nagoya,” she says softly. 

“Ooh, Nagoya, huh? That's a super fun city.” Ochako nods, scanning every sign in front of her before smiling at Sumire. “What’s your quirk?”

The little girl holds a tiny palm out. A second later, miniature violets sprout from her hand, unraveling from shoots, to buds, to full blooms. That explains her name. Ochako coos. “Pretty!”

“Daddy owns a flower shop.”

“What about Mommy?”

“She makes cars.”

As Ochako entertains Sumire, she keeps her eyes peeled for any parents that look frenzied. All she sees, however, are happy families, unharried couples, and other people who don’t look like they’ve lost a child.

In her tunnel-visioned search, she completely disregards the peculiar line winding out from the vending machine between boarding sections 28C and 27A. 

At the end of the line, people check their watches, tap their feet, scroll through their phone. Friends standing in the line together chat about the tabloid titles they can see from where they're standing. Kids whine at their parents and ask if they can play games on their phones. Some kids stare at tablets their frazzled parents have handed to them as a final resort.

At the head of that line is Shoto.

He’s already been there for fifteen minutes, scanning the choices over and over again, weighing his options. There’s a bunch of flavors he hasn’t tried before, and he probably won’t get to any time soon. They don’t look like they’d suit Japanese tastes, so they won’t get imported in. He could easily get all of them… but he doesn’t know how he’d carry all of them.

If it were anybody else, somebody in the line would probably have bitten his head off by now. Instead, part of the problem is the number of girls peering out from behind him, marveling at his good looks. A good number of men have also recognized him. Endeavor Todoroki was once All Might’s number one rival, after all. The family notoriety may not be quite at the Kardashian-level, but it does exist.

It's no surprise, then, that in between deliberating his next course of action, he’s been asked for his autograph (the braver ones, photographs with) no less than 11 times.

As for the people who don’t know who he is—or the ones who aren’t charmed by his looks—they just think it’s a normal airport line. Particularly because this is LAX, and everybody knows LAX sucks.

After another 15 minutes, Shoto decides he’ll just get all of them. He’s remembered that he's got his shoulder bag on him, anyways, so he can just squeeze them in there. It takes another seven minutes for the machine to dispense all nine flavors, but the pop of the tab, the fizz, and the flavor makes the whole thing worth it.

He’s halfway through the first can by the time he makes it back to their seating area, only to find it completely empty.

“Shoto!” Somebody cries out from far off. “There you are!”

A pink-faced, windswept, slightly-tanned pinprick races towards him at the speed of sound. Shoto realizes it’s Ochako once she’s within actual viewing distance. She slows when she’s a few feet from him, then comes to a full stop beside him, doubling over and wheezing. You'd never guess she was a rising name on Japan's hero leaderboard. 

“Mina told me”—gasp—“to let you”—pant—“know”—gasp—“that we’re boarding soon!”

Shoto looks from her to the empty attendant stand. “How long ago was that?”

“Ten”—Ochako pants some more, then straightens—“Ten minutes?” 

Then she turns to check the clock on the screen behind the counter. 

It’s 45 minutes past their boarding time.

Something roars distantly, muffled by glass. Ochako and Todoroki look from the boarding screen to the floor-to-ceiling glass. They watch as a plane pulls past. Ochako’s eyes follow each miniature window that ticks by. She swears she sees a pink face pass by, its golden eyes glowing right at her.

The plane picks up speed. It peels off from the ground. It shrinks into the sky. It disappears into the clouds.

Ochako and Shoto continue to stare out the window, the former with her mouth hanging open, the latter holding his watermelon Coke.

Mina stares out her window, frowning, then turns to look at Kirishima.

“I swear to god I just saw Ochako.”

“I mean, we’re all on the same flight,” Kirishima says, blinking. "You put up her suitcase, didn't you?"

“No, like, I saw her watching us from the boarding area.”

“What?” He laughs. “No way.”

“I swear.”

Kirishima’s eyes grow concerned, but he shakes his head and laughs again. Nervously.

Chapter Text

Shoto watches Ochako pace back and forth from his seat. She’s glowering at the floor in concentration, chewing on her thumb nail. 

“Should we call Izuku?” She lifts her head to look at him, then immediately lowers it, shaking it. “No. Knowing him, he’d fly back. We can’t make him do that. Plus, he’d make Bakugo come, and Bakugo would kill us. Absolutely murder us.”

Shoto gets it. He’s pretty sure Katsuki would dig their graves in front of them, then shove them right in. He’d probably light them on fire, too, just to add insult to injury.

“Should we call All Might?” But she hasn’t even finished her sentence before she’s shaking her head again. “No. That’s just pointless. There’s nothing he’d be able to do that we couldn’t.”

All her back and forth and mumbling is making him dizzy. 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they watched their flight take off.

Ochako stops in her tracks to look at him. Her eyes are lacking the usual chipper glint he’s accustomed to seeing in them. They're still bright, for sure, but the light is noticeably frantic. In general, her typical optimism seems to be off drowning somewhere. 

“I’ve never seen you panic,” Shoto clarifies.

She smiles sheepishly. “I’ve never been stranded in an entirely different country with only an elementary grasp of the language.” A sudden realization dawns on her, and her face falls. “Mina has my suitcase.” 

Her hands grasp frantically at her hips. When she catches hold of her pochette, she wilts dramatically in assurance.

“Fumikage has mine.” Shoto tells her. “And you’re not stranded. I’m here. And I thought your English was fine. Great, even.”

All the color drains from Ochako’s face. “You don’t have your luggage, either?”

“No.” He shifts against one of the armrests, pulling his bag up. “I’ve got my laptop, though. And my wallet.”

Relief washes through her, and she collapses into the seat beside him. “That’s fantastic. We can book the next flight out! Do you mind if I take a look?”

Shoto unloops the strap over himself and offers his bag to her. When Ochako pulls it into her lap and unclips the closure, several cans spill out. Shoto stops them in their paths before they can roll too far out, melting the little ice blockages he’s made once he’s collected everything. He sets them at his feet, bringing one up with him as he sits back again.

Ochako, for the first time, examines the can currently resting in the cup holder between them. “When’d you get all these?” It can’t have been that far before the flight. They’re still cold and slightly damp with condensation.

“Just before the flight.” The beverage in his hand hisses when he pulls the tab. “I couldn’t decide which to get.”

Ochako stares at Shoto. 

“Do you want to try?” He cocks his head slightly and holds his soda out to her. It’s a sweat tea and lemonade combination. It looks suspiciously familiar.

“Todoroki…” Ochako says carefully, inspecting the can he’s offering. “Did you… get every drink in the machine?”

“All but one. I figured they wouldn’t be available in Japan.”

“Did it… take you a very long time?”

“It did.”

“I see.”

Ochako reaches for the empty can in the cup holder. The design of it is, like his current can, familiar, and when she turns the aluminum in her hands over and over, eyes flitting over the English text, she confirms her suspicions.

“Todoroki… There’s a minimart two blocks from the Scramble that carries these.”

He blinks at her. “I’m not in Shibuya often.”

Ochako leans down to grab a few more cans. As she’d thought. She’s seen all but two of these in minimarts across Japan, all of them in accessible areas. She can’t decide whether to laugh humorously or hysterically.

She settles on a wobbly smile, sliding the laptop between them. “Let’s look at flights!”

Shoto nods and leans in.

It takes three hours—three hours—to find a flight that doesn’t even leave for another two weeks.

The cuticle of Ochako’s thumb is bleeding, she’s gnawing on it so hard. Shoto takes a cursory look at the rest of her fingers and finds many of them equally as shorn. He wonders when she even developed the habit. He’d never seen her do anything like this in school.

“Wouldn’t it save you more in the long run to just buy an immediate ticket back? You’ll have to pay for a longer stay and more meals if we're here that long.”

Ochako winces, but shakes her head. “The math works out to it being slightly cheaper for me to stay here and tough it out for a bit. I’m used to not eating, too, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Shoto’s brows crease. “Uraraka. You have to eat.”

Ochako meets his concern with a frown, though it’s quickly replaced with a bright look. “You can take an earlier flight, if you’d like. If you don’t mind booking my room for me and leaving some pocket change. I’ll pay you back!”

There’s no doubt in his mind that she’d pay him back, but that’s really not the problem here. He gives her a flat look, although it proves ineffective because that’s his default. “I’m not leaving you here, with or without money.”

She sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“None of this is your fault.”

“You can’t take an earlier flight out because of me!”

“The earliest flight is still four days away. I might as well stay longer.”

“Two weeks for a reasonably priced flight is ridiculous.”

“It is.”

"I can't believe how expensive these flights are!"

"It's alarming."

“Why do people want to go to Japan so bad?!”

“I’m not sure.”

“Won’t your family worry?”

“I’ve already texted them.”

“Won’t your dad be mad?”

“He’s relaxed in the past few years.”

Ochako blinks at him. “How is your family?”

“They’re doing well. How’s yours?”

“Same,” she replies, smiling warmly. “They’re doing much better now that I’m receiving an income.”

Shoto nods. His face is no longer tense, either. They lapse into surprisingly comfortable silence, and Ochako finds that her nerves have returned to a much more manageable state. Shoto stares out blankly as he continues working on his soda.

Ochako takes a deep breathe in, pursing her mouth. “I guess we should get a car, huh? It’s not exactly a walkable city.”

Shoto nods again and shuts his laptop to slip it back into his bag. Ochako gathers the remaining seven sodas, which he stacks inside. 

“I saw a motel on the ride over. We can check it out!”

“Sounds good.”

Getting a rental car proves no easier. There’s a dispute over both their Japanese licenses, then their passports, and they can’t wheedle a deal out of any of the employees. Even when Ochako uses Shoto’s looks as a selling point (“I’ll give you a night with him! Two nights!”), none of them crack.

Ochako’s about to abandon the whole thing and suggest they just float or skate as commute during their time here, but before she can so much as eke out a syllable, she feels a tug at her skirt.

Looking down, she finds a familiar face. “Sumire!”

“It’s Uravity,” the little girl says quietly. Behind her are her parents, both of whom she’d met just hours before. Their youngest is dozing in his mother’s arms now instead of the carriage he’d been sleeping in earlier. “You came.”

Ochako looks to Shoto, who is watching the interaction. There’s nothing on his face to indicate at all what he might be thinking. “Sumire, this is Shoto. He’s my friend.”

“Boy-friend?”

“Oh gosh, no!” Her hands come up, and she laughs nervously as she eyes Sumire’s parents. Behind Ochako, Shoto blinks at her theatrics. “Just colleagues.”

“We’re glad to see you again,” Saku Hoshi greets. “We wanted to repay you for all the trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ochako smiles, crouching to lay a hand on Sumire’s head and give her hair a ruffle. “I had a very good sidekick.”

“At least let us cover your car rental. We noticed you were having trouble.”

Ochako straightens, eyes doubling in size. “You can do that?”

“Mommy makes cars,” Sumire says, echoing earlier words.

Hoshi laughs. “I’m an industrial designer at a car manufacturer, but we have a branch for rentals. I’m sure I can pull some strings.”

She hands the baby off to her husband, pulling a phone out of the baby bag she also has slung over her shoulder. Some tapping, clicking, and swiping later—the phone never reaches her ear—she tucks it back into her bag.

“That should do it. Your names are in the system now. We can cover all the costs.”

“That’s—that’s too much!” Ochako exclaims in a frenzy. “Just being able to get a car is enough. I can cover the price and fees!”

“Aren’t you on a tight budget?” 

Of all the times for Shoto to speak up. Ochako pats a hand against his back—Shoto stumbles forward a bit with a soft ‘oof’—and laughs sheepishly as she scratches the back of her head. “Hahaha, Shoto! You’re hilarious, hahaha!”

“Am I?” He murmurs, looking faintly confused.

Hoshi purses her lips to keep from smiling. “I think a car for the safety of my daughter is hardly equal.”

Ochako’s smile fades slowly, face softening. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Thank you.” Shoto interjects, bowing. “We won’t be using it much, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Oh? What are your plans?”

Ochako rubs her hand over her forehead. “We actually missed our flight, and every flight for the next two weeks is… out of my budget.” She cringes. “We booked a flight for two weeks out.”

“Oh my,” Hoshi murmurs. “If that’s the case, you may as well take the car for a spin. It’s a nice model, too. Why not a road trip? The West Coast is nice. Botan and I chose to immigrate here for it. There’s a lot to do for free.”

“That’s…” Ochako mulls it over in her mind. If everything is covered, do they mean gas, too? But still, it’s quite a commitment, and she wouldn’t want to drag Shoto into anything too taxing. “That’s an idea,” she finishes weakly. 

When she glances at Shoto, he’s watching her with something that looks vaguely like interest. “It sounds fun,” he says.

Mildly surprised, Ochako can’t help but stare at him. Shoto stares right back, blinking slowly every so often. Like a cat.

“Just think about it,” Hoshi says. “If you have any questions about the car, my contact info should be on the console. Again, thank you so much.”

“It was really my pleasure,” Ochako assures.

The family heads out after Sumire begs one last hug off Ochako. Then she and Shoto head out to find an employee to help them find their car.

It’s a solar-powered car, so gas isn’t even an issue. The console that Hoshi had mentioned is an entire touch screen. 

Ochako offers to take the wheel first, figuring that the car—some fancy European brand they’ve never heard of—can do half the work with its self-driving feature, how hard can it be? She adjusts the mirrors, perfects the position of the seat, and fiddles with the buttons. It’s been a while since she’s been in a car, much less driven one. Modes of transportation are kind of an afterthought when you can fly.

When she backs out of the parking space, Shoto jerks forward, then back into his seat. His brows crease, and one of his hands circles his seatbelt. This repeats ad nausem, his fist growing tighter with every jolt. They haven’t even made it out of the parking lot before he stops her, now familiarized with her lead foot.

“Let me try,” he offers, voice strained.

They switch seats. Ochako doesn’t think it’s any different, but Shoto seems a lot more relaxed, so she lets him have it. She directs him towards the motel she’d seen along the way, recognizing several other landmarks. They hadn’t gone out much at night, which is a shame. The city is so pretty lit up in the dark.

The motel, however, is backed into a shady little corner. Its neon sign flickers ominously, several letters failing to light up at all. They can’t even make out the name. Ochako hesitates when they park, but what other option do they have? Plus, Shoto seems completely unbothered as he stands outside with his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to get out.

Inside, he has to ring the bell several times before a haggard looking man ambles up to the counter. 

“Do you have any rooms with two beds?” Ochako asks.

The man hands her a key without saying a single word. Shoto slides his card over. It’s an awfully long wait before he gets it back.

He lets Ochako take the lead, taking in his surroundings as they go. Just about everything is worn to some degree, and it smells like an antique store. The signage is all handwritten, too. Overall, Shoto finds it kind of… quaint. Kind of a nice break from how his life usually is. Something about it reminds him of his former room at UA, but still different enough to be strange to him.

Ochako seems at home in the environment, though. Steps that are silent under her feet creak under his. While he feels like he can’t touch anything, can’t take up too much space in this unfamiliar place, she moves freely, hands occasionally reaching out to brush along the stair banisters, or inspect a chipped wall.

It lasts until they get to their room.

There’s no denying the noise when they open the door and turn on the lights. It’s the sound of thousands—maybe millions—of miniature, scaled legs scattering. He and Ochako take an immediate step back.

They can’t see anything, but they know it’s there. Shoto swears he sees something skitter in the corner of the room.

He breaks the silence first. “We can’t stay here.”

“I—I’m sure it’s fine.” Ochako takes a timid step forward, not quite breaching the threshold between hallway and room. “Look, they’re gone!”

Before Ochako can take another step further, Shoto grabs her arm. When she squeaks, he loosens his grip. Something like panic is beginning to creep through his chest.

“I’m sorry. I must not have made myself clear,” he says, voice low and dark. “We are not staying here.”

“It’s $5 a night,” Ochako wheedles. “And breakfast is complimentary!”

“I’m sure it’s because they expect you to wake up with a full stomach.”

Ochako cocks her head and peers up at him, mystified.

“From everything you’ll be swallowing overnight.”

She turns green. “I’m… I’m sure that’s not…”

“We’re not staying here.”

He slaps his palm over the light, ending the discussion. When the door slams shut behind them, the cockroaches come skittering back to their rightful places across the floor.

Ochako walks past columns, statues, and other ornate pieces of art. She hasn’t got enough eyes to survey this place. She doesn’t have enough time, either. The literal red carpet leading to the counter is disappointingly short for such a majestic walk.

“Hi. Are there any singles available?”

“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Hotel Bel-Air. We do happen to have a single available for three nights. Would you and your girlfriend like that one?”

“Is there another?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Ochako corrects amicably. Shoto glances at her, then back to the lobby clerk.

“My apologies.” The attendant clicks around, eyes darting over the illuminated screen in front of him before shaking his head. “There’s only one single left. It’s a Queen.”

Shoto is quiet for a long while. Eventually, he asks, “Are there any double singles?”

“No, sir.”

“Are there any double doubles?”

“No, sir. No doubles at all. We’ll have two double singles available in four days, or three singles and a double that has a jack and jill to a double single in a week, if that’s more your speed.”

The crease between Shoto’s brows deepens. Ochako has no idea what's going on, she lost the thread several “double singles” ago. It sounds like they’re talking about some kind of polyamorous dating app for people with highly curated interests. 

“Do you have cots?”

“We just had the last one signed out.” The employee looks at them apologetically. “It’s been a really busy night.”

“What about the penthouse?”

“Todoroki!” Ochako splutters.

Not like it matters. The attendant shakes his head. “All the penthouses and suites have been booked.”

Wow. Ochako fights to keep her grimace in check.

“Do your singles have couches…?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Ochako has never seen Shoto at a loss before, but this seems to be the moment she learns what despair looks like on him. As most of his emotions go, it’s unsurprisingly underwhelming.

“You said earlier that the single double is a Queen?”

“Yes! Will you be taking it?”

Shoto looks sidelong at Ochako. She blinks at him, offering him a little smile.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Oh! Uuuuh… sure!”

Shoto slides a dark card over the marble counter. It's different from the one he'd used back at the motel.

“Thank you.” The attendant runs the card, hands it back, and then disappears into a room for a second. When he returns, he holds the keycards out. “The system picked you up as a Dorchester Exclusive member. Everything in your room is free for you to use.”

It’s then that Ochako notices the plaque behind the attendant. It lists tiers of membership, and at the bottom… is the Dorchester Exclusive member. Her jaw drops.

She spent three years in school with Shoto, shared lunch with him all the time, even met his family at a school festival, but she’s pretty sure she has no idea who the hell he actually is. The highest membership tier? The price posted beside it is well past 10k annually! Shoto doesn’t even live in the U.S., why does he have a membership to a U.S. hotel chain?!  

“We hope you and your wife enjoy your stay.”

“Not his wife, either,” Ochako blurts, laughing a little shrilly as she eyes the newly mysterious man beside her. 

Both Shoto and the attendant look at her. The latter blinks between the two of them, brow furrowing.

“Colleague,” Shoto fills in the blank, taking the cards and handing one to Ochako. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They head to the elevator, passing right by the fountain she’d seen from the lobby entrance. It’s twice as big as she’d thought, and the dolphins spitting water are carved from marble. The price tag in her mind ticks up, and Ochako tries not to pass out at the thought of what the exact number might be.

There’s even a bellboy manning the elevator to guide guests to their floor. Ochako finds it all very exciting.

“That was funny,” she says to Shoto, unwinding the complimentary water bottle she’d snagged from the front just before they’d left. “I wonder why he thought I was your partner when you were obviously trying to get separate beds. Who do you think they thought I was before you told them?”

That’s the last reason it’s funny, but she doesn’t know how else to say when were you going to tell me you were filthy, stinking rich, Todoroki?! Huh?! without offending him. Or, knowing Shoto, embarrassing him, which for some reason feels worse. 

“Mistress,” Shoto answers without missing a beat.

Ochako sprays water across the carpet. She continues to choke as she gestures at the bellboy not to worry. The elevator dings, and the bellboy steps out, holding his arm up.

“Your room is the third door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Ochako chimes. He looks relieved to see her gone. She ignores that.

Shoto slides his card through the lock. It blinks green twice, and there’s a faint whirring. When he pushes the door open and turns on the light, Ochako gasps.

It’s beautiful. Definitely the biggest room she’s ever stayed the night in. She can’t believe Shoto was putting up such a fight to avoid this room! Sure, there isn’t a couch, but there seems to be just about everything else.

She races further in, reveling in how far her feet sink into the carpet with each step. The bathroom has heated tile flooring. The faucets are gold and shaped like swans. The tub is the size of a bed. The shower has two heads. When she cranks the levers and holds her hand out, the water that falls is like a pleasant rainfall. Her heart floats giddily.

Swinging out from the bathroom, she heads to the main attraction, bouncing with every stride forward. She’s going to take a flying leap onto her bed, which she expects to bounce her right into the ceiling. Either that, or sink her to the floor. She’s going to wrap herself in goose down. She’s going to swim in sheets that have a thread count over 200.

She’s going to—come to a screeching halt at the entrance to the sleeping area.

“Where’s the other bed?”

Shoto looks up from his bag, which he’s sorting through from the foot of the only visible bed. He stares at her unreadably for an alarmingly long time before he finally says, “There’s only one.”

“Only… one?”

“Yeah.” Shoto does his slow blink again. “A single double.” Another pause. His brows just barely tick down, so slight it could be her imagination. “Should we go somewhere else?”

Is that what that means?! Good grief. Ochako crosses the room and drops onto the edge of the bed, shaking her head furiously. “No, it’s fine! It’s huge.” She pats the covers, admiring just how big the bed is. And look at all those pillows! There’s enough pillows for an entire extended family. 

Shoto doesn’t know how to tell her it’s a Queen sized bed like any other.

“I didn’t know you spoke hotel!” She says, smiling.

His mouth curls just a little, which fills Ochako with bubbling satisfaction. “Conversationally.”

“It sounded fluent to me.”

He shrugs. “Almost as good as your English.”

Ochako double takes. Was that a joke? Did Todoroki Shoto just make a joke? And a callback one at that! “You really think so?”

Pulling his laptop out, he sets it down on the desk across from the bed. “I wouldn’t lie. I’m surprised you’re insecure about it.”

“It was my weakest subject,” she replies ruefully.

Shoto looks at her carefully. It’s strange to hear that she’d second guess herself at anything. He’d always thought of her as one of his more assured classmates.

She begins to fidget under his scrutiny. “Weakest at UA is still exceeding in most other places,” he finally says.

A half-smile tilts up her face. He smiles back at her in that subdued way of his. Feeling strangely self conscious, Ochako looks away, running her hands over the bedding and admiring all the fixtures. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. 

“This might be a little out of my budget,” she eventually tells him.

Her voice is soft and a little sorry. Shoto shuts the mini-fridge he’s just stored the sodas in and turns to face her.

“It’s fine. I would have stayed in this room regardless of if you were here or not.”

“It’s still unfair.”

“This is more for my benefit than yours.” Which is the truth. He’s not going to room with cockroaches. He’s just not.

Ochako smiles. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” 

Shoto shakes his head. “You can have the first shower.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s fine.”

Chapter Text

Steam wafts out from behind her when she steps out of the bathroom. The robe she has on is as thick and plush as the carpet beneath her. She wonders if she can buy one somewhere. Maybe the hotel gift shop, because that’s apparently a thing now. Ochako has no idea when hotels became trip destinations in and of themselves, but she suspects it may have something to do with rich people. She’ll have to ask Shoto one day, probably right after she figures out how to ask how long have you been so disgustingly, devastatingly wealthy?

“I’m done,” she announces.

Shoto shuts his laptop and moves past her with hardly a glance. A minute later, the dim sound of the shower spray fills the room again, and Ochako goes about slipping back into what she’d originally been wearing. To her relief, nothing feels grimy, although putting underwear back on after you’ve taken it off is always a little skeevy.

They’re going to have to buy all new clothes. Toiletries. Other general travel accessories. And suitcases to carry it all around.

Ochako drops her butt onto the edge of the bed. This hotel room alone has obliterated her expectations of what she’d expected to pay. It might be better to cut her losses now and schedule an earlier flight back. It’s not too late to cancel her current flight and get a refund.

Otherwise, this is going to put a huge dent in her financial plans. If she tells her parents she has to send less money back home, they’ll be okay with it, but she knows they’ll worry about her in secret, so she can’t actually do that. It just means being a little more thrifty with her own life. She’s sure she can manage it. After all, she survived at UA with no income at all, and Mirko’s agency offers her all the basics including free lunches, plus dinners if you work overtime—and Ochako will definitely be working overtime now.

Shoto steps out of the bathroom fully expecting Ochako to launch into whatever she’s thought of since he’d disappeared, but he’s met with silence. She’s too busy glaring at the carpet and chewing on her pinky to notice him.

Speaking of chewing.

“We should eat,” he prompts, startling her out of whatever embittered reverie she’d been lost in.

Ochako hops off the bed with a cushy bounce, releasing her hand from its torment. “I’ll go down and ask for recs while you change! We can meet at the entrance.”

Slinging her pochette over her shoulder, she shoots him a thumbs up before disappearing out the door.

In his bathrobe, Shoto continues to towel off his hair to a satisfactory level of dryness. When Ochako had left the room, he’d noticed her own hair had been curling in at the ends, no longer hanging the way it had when she’d first stepped out of the shower. It’d still been wet in some places, though, so he’ll have to be sure she doesn’t catch a cold. 

Overall, she seems more at ease than she had been before they’d arrived in the room, which he finds promising.

Save for the self-cannibalism. He’ll have to ask about that. He has a feeling she does it when she’s thinking about money, which makes him curious about her current financial situation in general. He knows she didn’t have it easy at UA, often skipping out on group activities because of her budget, but Mirko’s building isn’t far from Endeavor’s agency, and it’s a nice building. Entirely glass, like his. He’s not sure why Ochako would be struggling in any way.

She’s also currently in the Top 50 on the hero leaderboard. She hasn’t dropped since becoming eligible, so she’s probably getting a plethora of brand deals. 

It’s a mystery. Shoto pulls his wrinkled shirt back over his head and heads down to the agreed upon meeting place. He finds her waiting there with her hands behind her back, looking around like she can’t quite get enough of her surroundings.

“Have you found somewhere to eat?”

She bounds up to meet him halfway, fists at her chest as she nods excitedly. “Yeah! The bellboy told me there’s some place called Mírame nearby? Mexican food?”

Shoto nods, pulling a map up on his phone. Ochako follows him closely, her head twisting in every direction. When they’re finally at the restaurant, she walks straight into him. 

“Oof! Oh, is this it? Oh. Wow. It’s, uh…” Her eyes trace over all the details of the interior, which opens straight out into the patio. Shoto notices how her eyes flit to her leggings and sneakers. Neither is particularly out of place with the clientele currently sitting at the tables—some of them are wearing sports bras as tops paired with sweatpants—but she purses her lips to the side. “It’s pretty fancy, huh?”

“We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable.”

Ochako flushes, but grins at him. “I saw a couple of food trucks on the way. Want to try them out?”

It’s not just “a couple of food trucks” that Ochako brings them to. It’s an entire Food Truck Park. Though to be fair, he imagines the distinction wouldn’t matter to Ochako either way, what with how she’s salivating.

They browse the entire lot and stop back at the entrance.

“Should we split?” She asks.

“How much do you have in your wallet?”

Like she’s suddenly remembered that she has barely any of her belongings on her, Ochako blushes to the roots of her eyelashes. “Err.” She fumbles through her bag. “$10.” She smiles sheepishly at Shoto.

“It’s more affordable than the other place, but not like that.” Shoto heads to the gyoza stand he’d seen her eyeing longingly just minutes earlier. There’s a sign taped to the window that says Cash Only, so he pulls out his billfold. “What do you want?”

“That first one!”

He’s not sure if it being the least expensive one is just a coincidence, but he decides not to press the issue. Ochako watches him pull out exact change plus tip.

“The big silver ones are 25,” she comments quickly, pointing out to his hand. “And the medium sized ones are 5. The tiniest ones are 10.”

She’s obviously caught onto some kind of clerical error he hasn’t. Before his brain can make the turnaround, she’s cupped his hand in hers, sweeping the change into her open palm. “Here.” She pulls out a few of the coins. “You can take these and hand me two more of the tiny ones.”

The coins look so much bigger in her hand than his. Actually, her hands as a whole are tiny. It’s unnerving to know that she can lift entire city infrastructures with them.

“Todoroki?”

Shoto brushes off the passing observation and does as he’s told. Her hand cradles his again as she pours the change back into his. When she drops her hands, his own feel just slightly colder. The heat she gives off is surprising given how much smaller she is than him.

He closes his fingers around the coins and meets her gaze.

He’s always found the U.S. coin system to be absurd. Why is the 10 cent coin smaller than the 5 cent coin? And why is there even a 25 cent coin? As far as he’s noticed, America always ends its prices in 9 or 8, not an even 0 or 5. It makes receiving change a nightmare. He has more of the rusty brown coins than he knows what to do with.  

“You’re good at this,” he says instead.

Ochako laughs, waving him off. “It’s not that impressive! Just numbers. C’mon, let’s find a seat.”

Once they’re seated, she sinks her teeth into a gyoza and makes a contented noise. When she’s done, she makes sure to clean off any of the tiny bits that have dropped off while eating. Halfway through, she looks up to comment something to Shoto, only to find that he still has four gyoza left and is watching her with something like keen fascination. She immediately feels heat travel to her face.

“Would you like another?”

Smiling in embarrassment, Ochako pushes her paper tray aside. It’s not that she’s still hungry. Some habits are just hard to kick. “I’m good!”

She squirms as he reads her face a bit longer, but then he does that tiny smile thing at her, and she feels much better.

Then Shoto says, “We should do a road trip,” and Ochako can only gape at him.

“Huh?”

“We should do a road trip.”

Well, yes. She heard him the first time. Separately, all the words make sense. What she doesn’t understand is what that means, specifically. Does it mean he wants to drive up the coast with her like Hoshi had suggested? Or is he being very literal and suggesting they walk onto the street right now and take a prat fall, because sometimes Shoto takes things at exactly face value? Actually, not sometimes. A lot of times. Most of the times. Ochako can’t imagine that he wants to be trapped in a car with her for several days on end, wants to pay for all her expenses. 

More importantly, does she want to be trapped in a car with him for days on end? Ochako’s not sure what the longest amount of time she’s spent with Shoto alone has been, but she’s pretty sure they’ve never really had any one-on-one time before this whole fiasco. What are they going to talk about? He’s already a very quiet person. She’d probably just talk his ear off—and she’s not even a chatterbox—which makes her cringe just thinking about it. 

And she’s definitely not okay with him paying for all her stuff. She’s racking up enough of a debt to him as it is. It’ll be pretty uncomfortable to go back to Japan and know that every time she encounters Shoto, she’ll be thinking about how she owes him money. 

But then she remembers that vague glint of interest he'd shown, and it becomes hard not to say yes. Shoto's not exactly effusive, so to see him get excited like that only to turn the whole idea down feels like kicking a puppy.

There's also the fact that he doesn't seem bothered to be covering for her.

If she's really going to do this—if she's really going to stay here and not get her refund—she’s going to have to start keeping a ledger.

A warm hand circles her wrist, pulling her fingers away from her mouth. Blinking back to the situation at hand, she grins ruefully at Shoto. “Thanks.”

He nods, pulling back. “It’d be a better use of our time. Plus, California is prohibitively expensive unless we stay somewhere that’s essentially a ghost town. If we’re not paying for gas, that’s one less major expense to worry about, and we’re more likely to find more economical hotels as we move out of California.”

Ochako’s pretty sure the only time she’s ever heard Shoto say so much at once is when he’d been giving direction at the start of their hero study class activities, or when he’d brief his teams when they’d finished. He’s clearly given this a lot of thought.

There’s also something about the way he lays information out—so efficient and smooth that it’s impossible not to feel assured that all will be okay—that makes her blood pump just a little harder. 

She wonders what that’s about.

“We can split the drives.”

Shoto gives her a careful look. “Uraraka,” he says gravely, and Ochako steels herself for whatever he’s about to say. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

She winces. That’s never good.

“But I’d really rather we didn’t.”

When he doesn’t continue, Ochako blinks, then bursts into laughter. “That bad, huh?”

“I thought I was going to be sick.”

“It was only five meters!”

“The most perilous five meters of my life.”

“You’re terrible,” she teases, snorting into her hand.

“Hm.” His brows dip. “I prefer to think of it as performing my civic duty. Keeping pedestrians safe.” He pauses. “Hero things.”

“‘Hero things,’” Ochako repeats dryly, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

Suddenly, Shoto smiles wide enough at her to show some of his teeth, and Ochako feels the breath leave her lungs. It’s a little crooked, one corner pulling up just barely higher than the other. She feels blood rush to the front of her face.

“Well,” she stutters out in an attempt to distract, but she’s a little too enthusiastic, so it only makes her feel even hotter. “If we’re really going to do this, we should get some new things, huh?”

Shoto, who’s finally finished his food, stands. His face is blank again as usual, like it never happened, like he didn't just unleash a smile so potent it nearly brought Ochako to her knees. “I saw signs to a shopping center on the way over. We can head back to the car and take a look.”

Ochako nods and scurries after him with her own tray, wondering what the heck just happened. 

“Shopping center” is something of an understatement—or perhaps a disservice—to what it is that Ochako steps into. When she passes through the double doors, she feels like she’s entered another world entirely.

The ceiling looming over her is built like the Sistine Chapel’s, but where there should be murals, there’s glass instead. Sunlight pours in freely. Greenery abounds. Employees hand out samples outside the stores that sell goodies. They hand them out at the food stalls, too. 

Ochako is sure not to miss any of those.

She and Shoto circle the roundabout on the second level, getting a good look at the selection of stores. There’s everything from hiking gear to beach wear. It’s almost overwhelming. Everything looks so lux, too. Ochako has no idea where to start.

“It’s difficult without having decided where we’ll be stopping,” Shoto echoes her thoughts. “I was thinking we wing it like we did the food trucks.”

Ochako’s always been under the impression that Shoto enjoys having control, so it’s surprising to hear just the opposite from him. “I was thinking the same,” she agrees, nodding. “I guess we should just buy something for every occasion? We’ll definitely be stopping at a beach, right?”

He nods. “I have a spare credit card, if you think it’d be easier to shop separately.”

Ochako gawks at him. A spare credit card? Who the hell has a spare credit card?!?! What even is a spare credit card?! You’re supposed to have multiple cards so that you can rotate your point categories! Save your rewards! Manipulate the cash back bonuses! That’s how Ochako afforded her trip to America in the first place! What the hell is a spare credit card?!

Instead of voicing any of these thoughts, she jerks her head forward and skims the lineup currently in front of them. “I think we should go together. Well, for everything but underwear, I guess. It looks like it’d be easy to get lost here. Oh, hey!”

She doesn’t give him any warning before she grabs his elbow and tugs him to the left. 

“If we get suitcases first, we can just stuff everything we buy into them!” She explains gleefully, completely oblivious to the stares she’s gathering.

She’s still clutching his elbow when they stop in front of the window display. Wondering what the holdup is, Shoto looks at her, only to find her already staring up at him.

“How does that sound?” She asks, cocking her head. 

Somewhat stunned, he can only nod. He's not sure why she asks for his consent, but it floods him with unexpected warmth.

“Great!” She beams, tugging them in.

They wind through another floor of the shopping center, this time with filled suitcases in tow. It’s been three hours, five stores, and at least seven outfits (plus a handful of undergarments, though true to her word, Ochako had let them split up for that part) since this mission began. Ochako is still running at full capacity, so Shoto continues to let her lead.

“Hmm,” Ochako hums to herself, clearly deliberating their next steps. 

Her head scrolls with each store display they walk by, and, much like a typewriter, it snaps back to the front when confronted with a new shop. Occasionally they walk past a particularly colorful setup, and Shoto can make out the colors reflected in her eyes. 

“I think we just need bathing suits and pajamas now,” she says, looking back at him.

“I think this one sells swimwear.”

Ochako stops to look. The mannequins are all wearing bathing suits. She looks at Shoto. 

“You think?” 

He blinks at her, then nods. Biting back laughter, Ochako takes him by his forearm and pulls him in with her.

It’s very brightly lit, which makes the overwhelmingly neon selection of suits seem even more visually staggering. There’s also the fact that a majority of the suits are very… risqué. Even the one-pieces are cut out in such a way that Ochako’s not sure why they don’t just turn them into two-pieces.

Realizing who she’s with, Ochako releases Shoto. Feeling a bit of heat on her face, she tries resolutely to not be weird about it when she looks him in the eye. 

“I think the guy’s section is over there.”

She gives a little point. It’s so much smaller than the womens’ selection that it’d be invisible if she wasn’t looking for it. Shoto obliges to her unspoken directive, wandering over to look at swimsuits that he’s not even going to have to try on. 

Lucky bastard. Pulling spandex and polyester blends on over and over while picking wedgies out of her asscrack is nothing short of torture.

Taking a deep breath, she pumps herself up for what’s bound to be a tedious task. As she moves through the racks, she pretends she’s with Mina, channeling her friend’s “ew, no”s and “oh my god, yes! That’s going to look so cute on you!”s until she’s got a good armful of options to haul into the fitting room.

The first six suits are hideous, despite looking cute on their hangers or mannequins. The seventh—which she’s yet to try on—looks promising, if small. That’s the strange thing about American bathing suits, Ochako’s learning. They’re all tiny, like, teeny tiny. And not really frilly. She wishes they were more frilly. 

Tugging on the baby pink number, it somehow, if possible, seems to look even smaller once it’s actually on her. The bottoms are fine, but the top… it’s not exactly obscene, but it’s obscene-adjacent. Maybe it’s the wrong size? She doubts it, though.

Ochako makes a spin as she tries to get a hold of the tag. Sure enough, it’s her usual size. Frowning, she looks back in the mirror, tilts her head, and squints an eye to see if it helps.

Nope.

It’s a cute suit, and she really likes the color, so she’ll just ask for the next size up and see if it’s any better. Thankfully, she’s pretty sure she just heard an employee walk by, so she pulls the curtain open and asks, “Excuse me, could I”—

Shoto, who’s leaning against the wall across from her with his foot propped up against it, looks up from his phone. The first thing he sees is Ochako’s face, mouth open like she’d been in the middle of saying something. He hasn’t been paying attention, so he can only assume it’s to let him know she’s done.

Except when he looks down to see if there’s anything he can help her with, she’s… not really… wearing anything?

He comes off the wall, standing straight, arms falling slowly to his sides. Then he realizes what he’s doing and yanks his gaze back up to meet her eyes.

He has to make a correction: it’s not that she isn’t wearing anything. It’s just that it’s really… small. And really…

“Pink.” Shoto says, pivoting away sharply. He clears his throat, not sure where all the gravel is coming from. “It suits your skintone.”

“Uh,” Ochako squeaks. “Thank you.”

When he walks away, the haunting sound of curtain hooks scraping against steel chases after him.

In the checkout line, Ochako and Shoto stand at 45 degree angles away from each other. Ochako pretends she didn’t spend five minutes crouched in her fitting room trying to melt into the floor before flying out of the cursed pink bathing suit and slipping into the final option. Shoto pretends he’s not still trying to wipe the whole ordeal from his mind, lest he never know peace again. He has to share a fucking bed with her tonight. He doesn’t know if he can trust his body not to betray him.

When Ochako hands her selection over to the cashier and Shoto holds out his card, it becomes evident that he cannot trust his body. At all.

“You didn’t like the pink one?” He hears himself ask.

Ochako freezes. “No,” she replies too casually. 

“Yellow’s nice, too.”

“Yeah,” she nods mechanically, voice high. “Yellow’s nice, too.”

He’s going to drown himself in the fucking bathtub tonight.

—

The walk to procure pajamas is deathly silent. Desperate to overcome the awkwardness, Ochako spins through topics in her head like she’s an Olympic cyclist. 

“What did you get?” She asks at the same time Shoto says, “They had a pair with flamingos on them.”

Ochako turns to look at him, grinning shyly. “Can I see?”

They’re both still holding their bags because they’d been too uncomfortable to sit down and stow them into their suitcases. Shoto holds his out to her. Ochako takes it, pursing her lips in anticipation.

She reaches in and pulls out an electric blue corner of a pair of shorts. As they unravel further out of the bag, the hot pink flamingo pattern reveals itself. Ochako immediately dissolves into laughter.

“What?” Shoto cocks his head.

She can’t speak, she’s laughing so hard. Tears stream down her face as she struggles to breathe and say what she needs to say, but it’s fruitless. She resorts to shaking her head frantically as she holds herself up by her knees and howls.

“What are you laughing at?” He asks again.

Nothing! She wants to say, and frankly, it’s the honest truth. It’s funny, but not this funny. There’s just something so… cute about it. 

Cute about him.

Once Ochako has finally collected herself, they sit for a few minutes to rest their legs and put away their bathing suits that are no longer so mortifying. They don’t exchange any words, but it’s a comfortable silence.

Then Ochako’s stomach gives a loud growl, and she looks wide-eyed at Shoto, cheeks pinker than usual.

“We can stop by”—his phone begins to ring. Puzzled, he pulls it out of his pocket, brows furrowing when he sees the number. He stands, phone to his ear, and starts moving towards a quieter part of the atrium.

Ochako taps him on the shoulder before he can get too far, pointing to herself and then the department store they’d been sitting outside of. He nods. 

Inside the store, she hightails it to the pajama section. She’s never had a pair of actual pajamas, settling instead for sleeping in her underwear and whatever old t-shirt that’s most recently started wearing down, so it’s kind of a thrill to be browsing sleepwear. 

Ochako meanders through the racks of hanging items and shelves of folded sets, reaching out to touch the ones that look especially soft. She doesn’t realize how long Shoto’s been gone until she stumbles upon a navy blue pajama set with little snowmen printed across it.

Smiling to herself, she rifles through the pile for what she thinks is his size. When she finally works it out from under all the other sizes, she notices another navy set right beside it, this time with pink planets scattered over it. She gets to picking out her own size.

Taking both into her arms, Ochako makes her way towards checkout, only for her phone to begin vibrating so viciously, she worries it might explode. Fumbling around, she’s finally able to pull it out and flip it open.

Scrolling down her screen in real-time is text after text from Mina, all in various states of caps lock and lowercase. The language grows more and more colorful with each message, but also diminishes in coherency until all Mina is sending is astoundingly long strings of punctuation and symbols.

Ochako taps a button and brings the phone to her ear.

“OCHAKO!” Mina hollers into her ear.

“I’m fine!” She giggles.

“Oh my GOD, don’t EVER do that to me AGAIN.”

“I promise I won’t. I didn’t even want to in the first place.”

Mina huffs. “Well, it’s good to hear you didn’t do it on purpose. There are easier ways to let me know you’re sick of me, you know!”

“I could never get sick of you!” Ochako laughs.

“Mmmhmmm, you remember those words,” Mina says slickly. “Anyways, how are ya? Hanging in there?”

“Mhm! It’s really not bad at all.”

“Todoroki’s pretty good company.”

“Yeah, and he’s really been helping me out. I don’t know how I’m going to pay him back.”

“With your body,” Mina says plainly. “I heard the poor guy hasn’t gotten laid since he went out with Momo for those, like, two months our final year.”

Ochako splutters for several different reasons. “Mina!”

“What? I’m just saying. Plus, you’re going to be together 24/7.” Ochako can practically hear her shrug. “It’s bound to happen.”

“That’s…” Ochako means to go straight to denying it, but her mind supplies the very recent memory of how Shoto had looked at her in the fitting room. “No.” She shakes her head furiously. She’s not sure whether she’s talking to Mina or herself.

Mina makes a noncommittal noise, then yawns. “Well, I’m going to go pass out now that I know you haven’t been trafficked. Oh, I’m keeping your stuff at my place until you get back. Is that okay?”

“Yup!”

“Alrighty. I love you! Bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye!”

Ochako flips her phone shut, slides it back into her pocket, then nearly goes into cardiac arrest when she looks up and sees Shoto looming over her. 

“Holy crap!” She yelps, jumping back. “You scared me!”

“Sorry. Was that Mina?” He asks, then holds something out to her. It’s a pretzel. He’s holding one in his other hand, too. Hers looks like it’s been rolled in sugar. Ochako’s mouth waters instantly. “Here. You said you were hungry.”

She takes the little package from him, touched. She doesn’t recall saying she was hungry so much as her stomach announcing it for her, but he still took it to heart. “Is that why you took so long?”

The pretzel is so soft, it squishes between her fingers when she goes to pull off a section. When it breaks off, the buttery, warm scent rises up to greet her, and her stomach gives another starved rumble. 

Ochako glances at Shoto, smiling sheepishly. He smiles back at her faintly, then shakes his head. “It was a long call. One of my cards was frozen for suspicious activity. I had to sort through what was and wasn’t fraudulent.”

“What?” Ochako gasps. “How’d that happen?”

“It was the card I used at that first motel. The false spends started a few hours after. I think they may be running a money laundering scheme.”

Ochako frowns, feeling mildly responsible. “Well, they really picked the wrong cardholder to mess with! We’ve gotta go back and lay down the law!”

Shoto shakes his head, though he’s smiling in that slight way of his again. “We’re not licensed here. It’d cause more trouble than it’d resolve.”

Ochako deflates. She’d forgotten about that. “That sucks.”

“Hmm,” he hums in lieu of a response. After a beat, he asks, “Find anything?”

“Oh!” Ochako maneuvers over to a bench and lays out her findings. “What do you think?”

“Do you need two?”

It takes her a moment to understand what he’s asking, but when she does, Ochako lifts the set with snowmen and holds it up to him. “This one’s for you. They’re snowmen.”

Shoto blinks at them, then takes the pajamas in his hands. “Snowmen?”

“Mhm!” Then she holds her pair up. “Mine has planets. We match!”

His eyes pour over her set, and Ochako finds herself growing self-conscious. “Or not. Planets and snowmen don’t actually match, now that I think about it.”

“They’re both round,” Shoto says nonchalantly, retrieving her set from her and making his way to the register.

Ochako can’t help but stare after his back. She realizes with a jolt that she’s forgotten something. “Oh, you might want to double-check your size. I did my best, but…”

“Ah.”

Shoto does as she’s suggested, already heading back towards the sleepwear section as he searches for the label. He hasn’t been gifted clothing often in his life, but every time it’s happened, it’s been the wrong size. Maybe he has a strangely-shaped body. It seems nobody can ever figure out if he’s larger or smaller than he actually is.

Once he finds the label and flips it down, though, he stops in his tracks. Pausing to double-check and confirm, he then turns back around, bumping into Ochako.

“Oof,” she trips back a little, then recovers to look at him in question. “Is it okay?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”

She’s behind him, so she can’t see the unsettled slant of his brows. Shoto chalks the coincidence up to it just being an odd day in general.

They’re on their way back not long after. It’s still fairly bright outside at 7:30pm, but Ochako can’t help but doze off every so often, waking with a start every time her forehead knocks against the glass. It’s been a long day, and she’d spent the first half of it in a near-constant state of anxiety.

Back at the hotel, they get to snipping off all the tags on their new clothing. Like shopping for pajamas, something about having so many new things at once sends a dizzying spark up her spine. As she lays out all her freshly purchased belongings, she can’t help but grin.

“You look happy.”

“I am!” She coos, pulling her pajamas into her lap since she’ll be changing into them next. “This was fun. And exciting!”

In fact, she’s kind of looking forward to this road trip now. She’s going to get to see a bunch of new places as amazing as the mall they saw today and eat tons of food she’s never had plus new versions of foods she has had, all while hanging out with someone she finds interesting and actually likes quite a lot.

The thought makes her wonder what Shoto thinks of her. Ochako peers up at him in curiosity. 

He’s sitting across from her with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. His features are relaxed, brow entirely smooth. 

She smiles at him. “So where should we go next?”

“San Francisco,” he answers promptly. 

Ochako double takes. “Wow! You’ve been thinking about this, huh?”

Shoto nods, sliding off the bed. Striding over to the desk, he pulls a drawer out and withdraws what looks to be a thick brochure. Then he returns to the bed, this time occupying the space next to Ochako. She scoots to give him more room.

A map of the U.S. gradually unveils itself with every unfolding of the packet. The page spans half the width of the bed and at least a fourth of its height. When Shoto leans in and places his middle finger on Los Angeles, Ochako leans in with him. Then he rests his pointer finger on San Francisco. It doesn’t look like a huge distance.

“This is LA and San Francisco. It’s a six hour drive.” 

Ochako jerks back to look at him in surprise.

Shoto nods. “California’s deceptively big. It’ll take us five days to go up the coast. Three of those days are going to be in California.”

He curls his middle finger back in, leaving just his index to trace up the coastline. “We can head north and continue until we reach Seattle. Then we’ll loop back down”—his finger makes a U-turn—“and pass through Nevada and Southern California so that we can circle back up to Los Angeles for our return flight.”

Shoto meets Ochako’s eye. She looks a little dazed. “Is that okay with you?”

Ochako watches him watch her. Her stomach feels strange, like she’s about to make a public speech, but she can’t imagine why. There’s nothing for her to feel nervous about. She’s completely clear on his plan—it makes perfect sense. 

It’s the way he’s explained it that has her reeling. 

Just like earlier in the day when he’d made his case for road tripping, Ochako finds her heart beating just a touch faster. She can feel an embarrassed heat spreading over her chest. Is she getting butterflies because Shoto is good at explaining things? That’s so…

She shakes her head furiously. 

“You’re not okay with it.”

“No! No, I’m fine with it. I was distracted, I’m sorry.”

Shoto’s face draws close to hers, and she flinches back. Then he lays his palm over her forehead, which does nothing to alleviate the swarming in her stomach. 

“What are you doing?” She doesn’t know why she whispers. His eyes are only a short distance away from hers, but she keeps her gaze glued to the wall behind him. 

“Your hair was still wet when we left earlier. I was worried you might have a fever.”

Ochako swallows, eyes darting to his then darting right back to the wall. “Got it. Thank you.”

He removes his hand from her head, and her entire body seems to drop in temperature. His palm finds its way back down to the map, which creases and distorts under his weight. 

For the first time in all the time they’ve known each other, Ochako notices how nice his hands are. The distance between his thumb and middle finger stretches from the bottom edge of California to the middle of Wyoming. His nails are short and clean. Even his knuckles are nice.

Then he lifts his hand briefly to roll his wrist and clench his hand before flexing it again, and Ochako has to suppress a shiver.

She doesn’t succeed entirely. Shoto sees how she just barely trembles, and concern wrinkles his brow. If she gets sick now, they won’t be able to do any of what they’ve just discussed. 

“You should sleep now,” he tells her.

Ochako nods quickly, clambering away with her pajamas like she can’t get away fast enough. Shoto takes a seat in front of his laptop to check his emails.

The bathroom door clicks once, then twice. He hears the rustling of the bedding as Ochako climbs into bed.

“Night,” she mumbles.

“Night.”

Chapter Text

Ochako wakes up first. Sunlight streams in through the generously sized window. It overlooks the hotel garden.

A hotel with its own entire garden, Ochako thinks giddily to herself. The events of yesterday come back to her in a flood, and her face splits into a goofy grin. She just slept in the nicest bed of her entire life, woke up in the nicest room of her entire life, and now she’s going to have the nicest morning shower of her entire life.

She looks down at Shoto. He’s sleeping on his back, body straight. She thinks his hands might be clasped across his stomach, based on the way the cover drapes over him. Pursing her lips, she fights not to laugh. He sleeps exactly how she’d expect him to sleep.

His face is as impassive as usual, but there’s something particularly unguarded about it. During the day, his unawareness makes him seem mysterious and aloof, almost unapproachable. But asleep, it becomes unequivocally clear that he’s neither mysterious nor aloof. He’s just a little clueless.

Ochako has to jerk away so she doesn’t start laughing again. Tiptoeing off the bed and to the bathroom, she goes about her morning routine as quietly as she can.

Shoto blinks to bleary wakefulness a minute or two later. For a second, he thinks it’s raining, and his brow dips in irritation at the thought of driving in poor weather. Then he realizes it’s just the shower.

Sitting up, he looks out the window. He didn’t sleep well last night. He’s not used to having someone in bed with him. He’d felt aware of just how much room he’d been taking up the entire time. The next hotel better have a double single available.

The gentle sound of the shower ends. Shoto maneuvers himself to the edge of the bed to prepare for his turn, letting his legs drop over the side. He rubs his hands over his face, then scratches his head as he yawns. When he’s done, he slouches forward onto his forearms, waiting. The bathroom door clicks open, and Ochako steps out in a bathrobe, toweling her hair.

She sees him and stops. He raises his gaze. 

“You’re awake!” She exclaims, breaking into an excited, sunny grin and straightening. “Good morning!” 

Shoto feels his own mouth pull up a little in response to her unexpected and unbridled enthusiasm. “Good morning,” he answers, voice low and rusted over with sleep.

Ochako double takes at the sound, her smile slipping a fraction. His posture is loose and relaxed, hair cowlicked and generally unkempt, smile easy and effortless. 

Suddenly she finds herself clutching her towel to her chest. “The water’s still hot,” she bleats.

Shoto rises from the bed, coming to his full height and reaching an arm over her as he passes by to flick on the light she’d just turned off. Ochako feels her heart do something that doesn’t feel medically sound. “That’s good.”

“It is!” She squeaks, then hurries over to her suitcase to busy herself with today’s outfit decision.

By the time Shoto is out of the shower, Ochako is fully dressed and de-flustered. When he steps out, she claps her hands together. He eyes her curiously. 

“Is there anything you’re in the mood to eat? I can go ask if it’s nearby!”

“I was going to order room service.”

Ochako’s eyes get big and round. She’s never had room service before. “You don’t want to check out the area?”

“We’ve already been in this area with the others,” he explains, moving across the room towards his suitcase as he dries his hair. “If we want to make good time, we should leave at two, latest. Traffic isn’t good anywhere or anytime in LA, but we’ll be able to avoid the worst of it this way. It’ll be a rush if we stop anywhere at this point.”

He finishes toweling off as he speaks to her. His mouth moves seamlessly as he folds the towel into a neat square before dropping it on the end of the bed and stooping over his laptop to scroll through it. Ochako watches from the door, entranced. 

Isn’t this also his first time in America? How can he talk about this city like he’s spent more than just three days here? Can she expect this level of expertise everywhere they’ll be going? Where does his confidence even come from? Ochako doesn’t consider herself insecure by any means, but is there somewhere she can buy whatever the hell it is that Shoto’s got?

Shoto realizes he hasn’t heard from her in a while, so he looks up from the email he’s reading. Ochako is staring at him. He blinks, then remembers to ask, “Is that okay?”

She jolts. “Huh? Oh! Yeah! That makes sense. Well, I’m just going to check the hotel out a little more since I didn’t get to yesterday. They have a garden!”

“Okay. It’ll take the food around half an hour.”

“Sounds great! I’ll see you soon, then”—

“Uraraka.”

She stills, turning to look at him. There’s a slight crease to his brow. “Yes?” She answers timidly, heart punching against her chest.

“You have to tell me what you want to order.”

“Oh, right! Whatever’s cheapest,” she babbles, then hurries out of the room.

Puzzled by her sudden flightiness, Shoto decides to dismiss it. She doesn’t look sick the way she did last night. He turns his attention to the menu. 

The cheapest thing on it sounds like it’d fit on his fingernail, so he scans the list for something bigger. His attention catches on the listing for a Belgian mochi waffle. He recalls vaguely that Izuku had mentioned once in class that Ochako liked mochi. Tapping out the number for the front desk, he gives his order, then hangs up.

In the garden, Ochako collapses onto a stone bench, chest heaving from her sprint across the hotel. 

She needs to get her shit together!

This is all Mina’s fault, she thinks, nose crinkling in frustration. Ochako’s always known how attractive Shoto is—everybody’s always known, it’s practically an objective fact! The only reason she’s getting so worked up around him is because Mina’s planted something so nefarious in her brain. 

Giving herself a shake, she sits up straight. 

It’s just Shoto. He doesn’t read into things, and he’s dangerously trusting, verging on gullible. Other than the fact that he’s excessively wealthy to the point of incredulity, that he can take down an entire military division with just one half of his quirk alone, and that he’s probably been on more than 12 magazine covers already, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

He’s as harmless as a houseplant. She’ll be fine.

Standing up, she does what she came here to do, which is admire the flora and enjoy the fountain she’s been eyeing from their window. When her phone tells her 30 minutes have passed, she heads back up, feeling refreshed and sane again. A houseplant, she reminds herself as she rides the elevator up.

When she’s back inside, she notices that everything in the room has been tidied. His laptop no longer occupies the desk. Their suitcases are lined up by the door and the beds are all made up. They’ve even got hotel corners. 

Ochako’s about to express her amazement to Shoto, who’s sitting at the end of the bed going through his phone, when she notices the cart beside him. Two massive, gleaming platters glint under the sunlight. 

Shoto notices her gawking. “It just got here, so it should still be warm.” He stands, passing one tray to her.

It’s heavy enough to catch her by surprise. Hoisting it up, Ochako carries it cluelessly, not sure where to place it. It seems strange to eat away from each other, but there’s no flat space to sit beside each other. Then she sees Shoto take a seat on the bed with his back against the window, cross his legs, and snap wooden limbs out from under the tray.

Her mouth drops open again.

Ochako scrambles to his side with her tray, mimicking his previous movements until they sit side by side, he with his legs crossed, her sitting on her calves, and trays poised over them. 

“This is amazing,” she crows, wrapping her hand around the shining knob of the plate cover. The lid, like the tray, is indulgently weighty, and the slow reveal of her food is a tease. She could use her quirk to speed the process up, but what would be the fun of that?

Once she’s lifted the lid fully away, she gasps and looks at Shoto in disbelief. “This was the cheapest thing on the menu?!”

It’s a stack of waffles so high, even she’s intimidated, and she’s basically a food vacuum. The reflection of the sunlight off the syrup is blinding. The color of the berries rivals even that of the perfect fruit she can buy at home. And—as if the waffles aren’t tall enough—the whipped cream reaches her eyeline.

Shoto hesitates, then nods.

“This place is amazing,” Ochako weeps, picking her knife and fork up and digging in.

Shoto watches her take her first bite, hears the noise she makes, sees the way she looks at him, and feels the same helpless quirk of his mouth from earlier.

Three waffles made half of sticky rice flour accompanied by what has to be five days worth of her daily recommendation for sugar proves too much for her digestive system. The carb overload plus a sugar spike from hell knocks her straight into a food coma that, to her complete and utter embarrassment, keeps her asleep for the first hour and a half of the drive. When she wakes up, she looks around in a panic, not sure where she is or what’s going on.

It doesn’t take long for her to remember, though. Outside her window are rolling green hills, quilted every so often in vibrant patches of the rainbow. Every breath of wind sends the flowers bowing in undulating waves.

Speaking of waves, when she turns to voice her awe to Shoto, she sees the actual ocean waves on his side.

“Wow,” she breathes. 

The surface of indigo blue moves like silk, the foam-capped surf threading through like floral embroidery. It’s mesmerizing.

“It’s pretty,” Shoto says in agreement. 

Ochako looks away long enough to blink at him in astonishment. 

It’s pretty? Sometimes she feels like she could tell him that nothing is real, that everybody is just a figment of his imagination, that he’s going to wake up one day floating in a vast, cavernous white space and find out that it was all just a simulation, and Shoto would reply with, “That’s fine.”

Shoto eyes Ochako warily. She’s glowering at him like she’s trying to read his mind. “What’s wrong?”

She immediately removes her gaze from him, turning her attention back to the sea. “Nothing. Are we allowed to stop?”

Seeing it isn’t enough. She wants to hear it, too, and smell it. If she can touch it, that’d be even better.

“We are. I was thinking we’d stop in another two hours. That’s the halfway point.”

Glee wells up inside her, and she beams at him, forgetting her earlier gripe with him entirely. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine.”

“My offer still stands, if you want to take a break from driving.”

“No.”

Chuckling, Ochako sits back into her seat. “I feel guilty! You’re literally doing everything, and I’m just sitting on the sidelines, mooching.”

“It’s not troublesome,” he replies. The way he says it leaves no room for debate.

Ochako examines his profile. Always so serious. The corner of her mouth tips up in amusement. “Want to play a game?”

“Sure.”

“Todoroki!” Ochako chokes out, tears in her eyes. “That’s cheating!”

His brows furrow. “How?”

“‘Accubation?!’ I don’t even know what ‘accubation’ is! Nobody does!”

“I do.”

“Oh my god—Todoroki!” Her laughter spikes again, and she doubles over, laying her forehead on the dashboard for stability as she clutches at her aching sides. “Fine, I’ll give you the point this time, but don’t do it again!”

“Do what?” He frowns.

“Nevermind! Okay, I’m thinking of something. Ask me!”

Shoto ponders for a few seconds. “Does it remind you of Izuku?”

“Yes.”

“Is it green?”

“Yes!”

“Broccoli.”

“What!”

Shoto glances at her, frowning again. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No!” Ochako falls into the window, laughing all over again. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! How did you do that?!”

“I asked you questions. Isn’t that how you play?”

He’s so genuinely perplexed. Ochako can’t breathe, she’s in such hysterics. She slaps her knee, desperate for air. When she can finally speak again, she motions to him, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Your turn.”

“Okay.”

“Is it longer than seven letters?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you pulling over?”

“That’s not a yes or no question.”

“No, I’m asking why you’re pulling over.”

Shoto shifts the car to ‘Park’ and unlocks the doors. “It’s been two hours.”

Ochako blinks at him, then at the clock. Two hours have passed, just like he’s said. “That was fast,” she says in wonder.

He hums in agreement, then cocks his head at her. “Do you want to get out?”

“Do I!” She cries, pushing the door open and hopping out. 

She’s immediately buffeted by the wind. It roars past her ears and sends her hair into her face. The air smells like salt. Ochako sticks her tongue out and is thrilled to find that it tastes like salt, too. 

She reaches her fingertips towards the clouds like maybe she can pluck them straight out of the sky. The warmth of the sunlight washes through her. When the wind dies down, she can hear the waves colliding against the cliffside. It’s slightly cooler here than it’d been in Los Angeles.

She strolls up to the hood of the car, sitting on it and stretching her legs out in front of her. She raises her hands again, this time going up and over her head so that she can fall back. 

Shoto takes a seat beside her with his hands in his pockets. He stares out towards the horizon.

The water below them is bottomless, blue, and infinite. The sky above them is so effortlessly cerulean. Ochako sighs.

“It’s so perfect.”

Shoto is quiet.

“It is,” he finally says.

They begin the second leg of the drive with a kind of pleasant exhaustion. Neither says anything, content instead to follow the road, or, in Ochako’s case, watch the scenery scrolling by.

An hour and a half passes before she asks, “Can we stop by a drug store before our hotel?” and Shoto nods. 

The drug store they end up at happens to be just inside the city, so while Ochako gathers the few things she needs, Shoto waits at the front of the store, looking on his phone for hotels in their vicinity. 

Just when he finds one, Ochako taps him on the shoulder and holds up a small plastic bag, grinning. 

He pockets his phone and stands up from the counter he’d been resting against. “You could have asked me.”

Ochako shakes her head. “That would really be taking advantage of you. Plus, it came out to a perfect $10!”

They make their way back to the car, but before they can split for their respective seats, Ochako nudges him in the side with her elbow. “You paid for my breakfast this morning, after all,” she says gently, biting back a smile. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Shoto doesn’t respond. 

“You look frustrated,” Ochako chuckles.

“I’m fine.”

She gives him a sideways look that he chooses to ignore. 

He doesn’t have a problem with her using her own money. It’s the anxiety it seems to give her that he has a problem with.

“What did you get?” He asks in an attempt to distract himself.

She digs through the bag like she’s already forgotten what she went into the store for. “A traveler’s notebook, a pen, nail polish remover, and… nail polish! Three bottles of it.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him. “They were having a buy two get one free deal! Three bottles for $4 is a steal, y’know?”

He doesn’t, but he hums anyway. 

“Are you hungry?” Ochako asks suddenly.

Shoto glances at her, but she’s looking out at the city lights, so he can’t tell what she’s thinking. “Are you?”

“I’m okay! I think those waffles really did a number on me. Do you mind if we hang out at the hotel for a little bit before we eat?”

“I don’t mind.”

It’s only a few more minutes until Shoto is backing into a parking spot. They go through the whole rigmarole of getting a room again, and this time Ochako’s able to keep up with half the conversation before she taps out. 

All she knows is that somehow, they end up in another single double.

The room is significantly smaller and generally more modest than their first hotel, but it’s still very, very nice, so Ochako isn’t complaining. She stacks her suitcase next to Shoto’s on the little platform that seems to be designated for luggage, then sits at one of the two available desks with her bag of drug store goodies.

She pulls out the notebook and pen, then the remover, then the polish. After a beat, she asks, “Do you mind if I open the windows?”

“Go ahead,” Shoto murmurs from his own desk, typing away at whatever he’s working on.

She slides all of them open. The breeze whispering in is cool and mild. Ochako grabs a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom next before returning to her seat. 

Not two minutes later, Shoto smells something sharp and chemical. He peers over at Ochako’s side and finds her scrubbing away at her fingers with toilet paper.

“What are you doing?”

Ochako stops mid-rub to look at him. “Painting my nails!”

Shoto cocks his head.

“Wanna watch?” She smiles.

He stands, pulls his chair over, and sits back down, back perfectly straight through the entire process of Ochako removing her previous color, laying down each coat of polish, and letting them dry. It’s a precise procedure that Ochako seems to be very good at, never falling outside the boundaries of her nail or snagging any of the bitten parts. He’s even more baffled when she switches hands and does the exact same thing to the exact same degree of exactitude with her non-dominant hand.

He assumes it’s done when she lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers.

“Ta-da!”

“It’s a nice color.”

“You think so?” She beams. The clear pink polish she’d picked for their initial three day trip had started to chip, and the sunny yellow she’s now sporting seemed like an appropriate choice. “I can do yours, too!” Ochako jokes.

Shoto lays his hands on the table without hesitation, and Ochako’s grin pops into an ‘o’ of surprise. Barely a second passes before she reaches for the other two bottles she’s purchased. 

“I’ve got the perfect colors,” she tells him, excitement radiating off her. “It’s so much easier and faster to do it on somebody else.”

They end up having dinner at 9, mostly because they get lost several times on what would otherwise be an easy walk. At the end of their meal, the waiter compliments Shoto’s nails. 

“It’s too bad I mixed up the sides.” Ochako makes a face at Shoto as they leave. “I was focusing so hard on your nails that I didn’t even think to look at your face.”

His left hand is painted white while his right hand, red. Instead of matching his hair, it alternates. “I like it,” he says.

Her face smooths, and then she smiles. “I’m glad!”

“What should we do next?”

Ochako looks around, inspecting the area they’re walking through. If it weren’t for the streetlights, they’d be walking in the dark.

There’s nothing of immediate interest in their surroundings, but the spire of a bridge peeks out from between the various levels of the city skyline. It’s an orangey red, lit up prettily against the night sky, and it looks like it might be close by. 

“What about that?” She points to the structure.

“Okay.”

Shoto lets her lead. They don’t say much except for the occasional “oh! Look at that!” from Ochako. Most of the time it’s a plant or some furry creature or other zipping across pavement, but occasionally it’s a storefront that she says they’ll have to come back to. Something about it is endearing, and Shoto finds himself almost disappointed when they reach their destination.

Ochako, however, is much more disappointed. There’s a blockade preventing people from entering the sidewalk lining the bridge. 

Shoto waits patiently as she sniffs around the entrance, walking around and around and investigating what looks to be every nook and cranny. Eventually she returns to Shoto’s side, silent and shifty. They stand and admire the bridge from where they are, but he can feel Ochako stealing glances at him every other second.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She says too quickly. “It’s pretty. It’s too bad we’re stuck here. I saw a sign that said they close it at night. Should we come back during the day?”

“We can come back if you’d like.”

Ochako grows quiet again. And also suspicious again. Shoto doesn’t press, because he has a feeling—

“Imagine if we could get to the top!” Ochako blurts, fists to her chest. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Ochako fully expects Shoto to shut the idea down. While he’s not exactly straight-laced, he’s also not a troublemaker, and she’s pretty sure climbing bridges is questionably legal. He’d been a very good student, and even now, currently, sets a very good example for a hero in their home country.

“It’ll be cold at the top,” he comments.

Her mouth parts, eyes widening. But then she remembers that Shoto was one of the ones to go rescue Bakugo all those years ago. At the time, she’d chalked it up to Bakugo being an important friend to him, that the rule-breaking was necessary for the greater good. Now she wonders if perhaps she’s misjudged him all this time, and that Shoto isn’t as opposed to lawlessness as she’d thought.

“Isn't that what your quirk is for?” Ochako teases, skipping backwards out towards the barricade. 

Shoto gives her one of those slow blinks, then falls into step behind her. Once they’re as close to the first spire as they can get, Ochako activates her quirk and reaches a hand out to him, wriggling her fingers.

She only needs to tap any part of him to remove his gravity, at which point he can just grab hold of any part of her (or any still object, really) to anchor himself. But when he temples his fingers with hers and she takes away his weight, he slips his fingers through the spaces between hers, folding them over the back of her hand.

Ochako stares at him.

“You have to remove your own weight, don’t you?”

Right. Ochako taps herself, then takes a calculated—and gentle—leap towards the top of the bridge. 

They climb slowly through the air. Despite their interlaced fingers, Ochako wraps her other arm around his and holds tight as an extra precaution. The motion gives them a slight spin, and they end up twirling delicately like figures in a music box as they ascend.

At the top, she hooks a foot on the closest lip of steel, freeing her hand from his and hooking her elbow through his so that she can deactivate her quirk on herself. With her own gravity returned to her, Shoto continues to drift past her until he’s hanging above her, heels over head.

Ochako giggles, catching his other hand when he reaches out and giving him a soft tug so that he has the inertia to find his footing in the building as well. He makes the landing perfectly, coming face to face with her, almost nose to nose.

Startled, Ochako jerks back, which only pulls him with her because of their hooked arms. 

“Careful.” He grabs her waist to keep her from stumbling back. 

“S—sorry!” It comes out embarrassingly breathy.

“It’s fine.” Shoto sets one foot above the beam his other foot is hooked under. “I’m ready whenever.”

Too flustered to think through anything, Ochako presses her fingertips to his chest hastily, heart skipping a beat at how solid it feels. In one swift, assured movement, Shoto is suddenly sitting on the spire.

When Ochako finally takes a seat, too, she realizes exactly how cold it really is. The steel bites through her shorts, and she’s unable to fight back the full body shiver. From the corner of her eye, she sees Shoto glance at her, then away. He had the foresight to bring a jacket.

At least the stars are pretty. It’s astonishing just how many more she can see from here than the ground. The city lights don’t obstruct the view, and the noises are much more muted, which somehow seems makes the sky glow all the brighter. Below them, the inky waves act as a rippling mirror.

Ochako yelps when Shoto swings his arms over her, but then she’s toasty warm. One of her hands comes up to her shoulder, and he pulls away. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and jeans.

“It’s so warm!”

“I warmed it.”

She’s too stunned to speak, though she's not sure why. She'd been the one to tease him about his quirk, so she shouldn't be so surprised.

Shoto turns back to face the sky. He doesn’t look the least bit cold. It’s probably his quirk. His collar jacket protects her neck from the chill, but it doesn’t reach so far as her cheeks, which are burning. 

“Thank you,” she finally manages to whisper, and he only nods.

They descend into quiet. In her head, Ochako lists all the constellations she can make out. Shoto doesn’t think half as much, content to sit and admire. 

She doesn’t know how much time has passed when Shoto asks, “Do you like stars?”

Her head snaps to him. He’s still looking outwards. She breaks into a small grin. It’s a silly question, considering the effort she just went to to scale this bridge, but she nods and answers, “I do! I actually went through a phase where I wanted to be an astronaut.”

He looks at her then. “When?”

“Not at UA or anything!” Ochako waves her hands, laughing. “I think I was, like, four, and had just gotten my quirk. I thought if maybe I could go to space myself, I wouldn’t be so scared of floating off into it.”

“That makes sense,” Shoto says without even the faintest note of teasing.

“What about you?” 

When Shoto looks away, expression contemplative, Ochako remembers belatedly that he’d essentially been bred for heroism. A little frantically, she corrects, “If quirks weren’t a thing, I mean. What would you want to be?”

He folds his arms, cocking his head. “A firefighter?” He mumbles to himself. “No.” Shoto shakes his head. 

That’s unfortunate. He’d make a very hot firefighter. 

Aghast, Ochako swats the thought away almost as soon as it appears.

After another second, Shoto twists to face her and says, “A teacher.”

“Really?” Her eyes go wide. “Do you like kids?”

His brow furrows. His only real experience with kids is the remedial course he had to take in his first year at UA, and that had been a pretty mixed experience. If it hadn’t been for his classmates, he’s not sure how it would’ve turned out. 

“I’m not sure,” he says.

That seems like an important preference to be aware of if he wants to teach, but Ochako just smiles to herself. She can kind of see it. Maybe not small children—they’d sniff out his naiveté right away—but older kids, ones who might mistake his reticence for disapproval and be intimidated—a little like Aizawa. Although Aizawa is legitimately scary. 

The problem is that once his students find out how much of an airhead he really is, he’ll never be able to get a hold of authority again. Then again, he could earn their respect with his skill, which is highly likely. There’s also a point to be made about how well he explains things.

“I think you’d make a great teacher,” Ochako says warmly, and when he smiles in that mild way of his in reply, her insides light up. She can’t help but grin back.

The moment is shattered by the screech of a megaphone. Both Shoto and Ochako leap to their feet.

“Dammit,” Shoto curses at the same time that Ochako swears under her breath.

“Hey, hi! Uuh, you’re not supposed to be up there, so if you could get down, that’d be great”—

Ochako is all ready to make them weightless again so that she can just jump them back to shore, but she doesn’t get the chance. Shoto tugs her to his side with an arm around her waist, then leaps off the spire into the traffic.

Holy shit! It’s one thing to be in the headspace of heroism knowing to expect the unexpected, but Ochako’s been too busy being an unsuspecting tourist. The scream begins to bubble out of her as the world beneath her feet comes straight at her, but almost as if he can sense it, Shoto claps a hand over her open mouth and sprays ice from the hand he’s looped around her. 

They land on the slide, Shoto’s touchdown significantly more graceful than Ochako’s. As they skate towards the ground, he continues to lay ice down, and Ochako finds something about watching it form as she’s heading towards it both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  

When they hit the ground, Shoto releases her and skids off, braking like a seasoned hockey player. Ochako takes a longer route, tripping over something that forces her to spring into the air, flip, and land with both her feet and one hand on the ground, sliding to a slow stop. 

She’s up and racing to Shoto the moment she’s gathered her wits about her, arms waving around her like a demented windmill. “You can’t just jump off a bridge, Todoroki!” She whisper-shouts. “It looks bad!”

He unleashes a plume of fire out at the ramp. It’s so powerful that the kickback of hot wind literally whacks her and sends her stumbling back.

“Todoroki!” She cries out again, exasperated. It’s like he’s never been out in public! This is Katsuki-levels of socially inept! Is this why they get along so well?! A mutual unawareness of the world around them?! “People are going to think something exploded!”

He drops his arm. The slide is gone. One of his eyebrows ticks down. “We jumped into traffic, not the water.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Ochako chastises, holding a finger up at him, under his nose. His eyes cross as he looks at it. “You did that all by yourself. And jumping into traffic is worse!”

Shoto’s other eyebrow dips as he meets her gaze again. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Well, it’s a little late for that. But he looks so contrite. Ochako huffs in awe, shaking her head, but the smile creeps up her face anyway. 

“C’mon.” She draws his jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Let’s go before they try to catch us!”

Before Shoto can explain that he’d dropped them off somewhere far from the bridge, she grabs his hand, slipping her fingers between his as she tugs them in the direction of their hotel.

It’s almost 1am when they finally make it back to their room. 

Shoto offers Ochako the first shower, but she insists he take it first. When he steps out of the bathroom, she’s laying on her arms at her desk, sound asleep. There’s a pen in her hand, but nothing to write on.

“Ochako.”

When she doesn’t wake, he sets a hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle shake. She makes an unhappy noise, but her lids flutter open.

“The shower’s yours.”

She pulls herself out of her seat lethargically and soundlessly, digging out her pajamas before shutting herself in the bathroom. 

Once he can hear the shower and be sure she hasn’t fallen asleep standing up, Shoto looks back at her desk, interest piqued when he sees the memo book she’d bought at the drug store earlier. Scrawled across it are numbers, numbers, and more numbers. They look like a mad scientist’s scribblings.

He ducks his head for a closer look and notices line breaks every few transactions, though there’s no pattern to where they appear. After every integer is also a circled letter—so far he’s encountered an “F,” an “H,” and an “O.” As Shoto continues to scrutinize the list, it dawns on him.

It’s a ledger.

Ochako is keeping track of how much he’s paying when, and on what. Considering she only just bought this notebook but there’s already several pages before this one, she’s had the numbers from their previous days in her head this entire time. The “F” is likely for food and the “H” must be housing. “O” is probably “Other.” 

It’d be impressive how good she is with numbers if not for the unpleasant pressure building in his chest. She even has the taxes all calculated out.

Shoto almost doesn’t notice the squeak of the shower faucet shutting. Swallowing hard, he sheds his towel quickly, pulling on his sleepwear and rolling straight into bed. 

She’s already in her pajamas, hair still damp, when she steps out of the bathroom. She looks awake again, but somehow still manages to brighten even more when their eyes meet.

“Wow,” she chuckles, pulling the covers back so that she can crawl in. “The bed seemed so much bigger when you weren’t in it.”

He can’t bring himself to reply. Ochako doesn’t seem to take his silence as anything unusual.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she chirps. When he doesn’t respond, she glances at him, then curls onto her side. “Night, Todoroki!”

“Night,” he murmurs.

Shoto wakes up first, brain dense with fog. His jaw is sore, likely from clenching it all night. 

For the second night in a row, he hasn’t slept well. This time it’s because he’d been up trying to figure out how to get Ochako to relinquish the idea of paying him back. He hasn’t made any headway.

Something plush drags against his shoulder, and he notices then that the entirety of Ochako’s upper body, face to waist, is plastered to his arm. She’s clutching him the way she had when they’d been climbing the bridge, both her arms winding around one of his. Her right hand circles his wrist loosely. 

She’s warm against him. Her brows are relaxed, and there’s a slight curve to her mouth. She even smiles in her sleep. Shoto feels some of his frustration dissipate.

Unreasonable as he thinks she’s being about the money aspect of this whole thing, he can’t bring himself to wake her up just so he can change her mind. Shutting his eyes, he resolves to find a way to absolve her from any of the finances of this trip, whether she knows it or not. 

Ochako sighs and wedges herself closer into him as if she doesn’t already have every soft curve pressed tightly into him.

Shoto also resolves to find a way to hopefully get a few more hours of sleep.

Chapter Text

Shoto wakes up for the second time shortly before noon, only to find Ochako is no longer in bed. When he reaches out to her side—it’s already neatly made—it’s cool to the touch. She must have left a while ago.

Like just the thought has summoned her, the door clicks open. Ochako peeks in, face lighting up when she meets his gaze.

“You’re up!” She sweeps in, sitting onto the bed. “I just asked around about lunch. Everybody says Chinatown is great! We can get dim sum. Hopefully it’s not too expensive.”

As life sparks back to his brain, he remembers the ledger from last night. Shoto looks up to read her, only to find her staring at the wall opposite them while she snacks on her pointer finger.

He rises to a forearm and takes her by the wrist, pulling it away gently. Ochako jumps, then looks between his hand and his face. She blushes. “Thanks.”

Shoto doesn’t answer, just continues to watch her face. She begins to fidget. He considers if he should bring up her accounting endeavors now, or if it’s too soon, given that she just seems to have had an episode. 

Ochako, however, makes the decision for him. Her hand, which has slid into his, folds over his and pulls it up. 

“Your polish burned off,” she notes, inspecting his fingers closely. 

He flips their hands over. Sure enough, his nails are bare. Guessing from the acrid smell yesterday, nail polish is highly flammable. 

“Want me to redo them?”

He thinks it might be a hassle for her to do his nails every time the polish burns off. It’s much more practical to just leave it alone.

But her face looks much more at ease than it’d been just a minute ago. She gives his hand a little squeeze. It reminds him of her warmth from when he’d first woken up. From when she’d been wrapped around his arm.

“Okay.”

Ochako beams, and Shoto feels kind of like he’s won something.

An hour later, they leave the hotel, Shoto’s left hand freshly lacquered. He lets himself be dragged around, zigzagging through the streets with her as she points to one thing, then another.

She doesn’t buy much, content to just window shop and marvel at all the shiny things. Shoto remembers, in the middle of her hovering over a collection of keychains, that her room at UA had been sparsely furnished.

“This one reminds me of you!” 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts. Ochako, grinning, holds up a keychain of a snowman.

“Do you want it?”

Her smile fades, face turning pink as she hastily returns the knickknack to its stand. “W—why would I want it?!” Then she sprints off to the next stand.

Shoto hangs back, examining the selection.

The drive to Sacramento is only two hours, so they meander through San Francisco until the early afternoon, when they return to the hotel in the early afternoon to pack and check-out.

Before they head out the door, Shoto stops her. 

“Here.” He holds out a small paper envelope. Ochako takes it, weighing it in her hand and peering up at him with curiosity. “You can open it.”

She pinches the envelope’s sides, reaching two fingers in to pull out its contents. As her finger withdraws from the packaging, the keychain from earlier dangles from her digit. Her eyes dart from the bobble to him.

He holds up the car keys. Another keychain dangles from it. A planet.

Ochako’s parted mouth continues to fall open. “What… is this?”

Shoto turns the keychain over in his hand. He’d thought it was a planet. It’s spherical and has a ring around it. But perhaps he’d been wrong? 

“I think it’s Saturn.”

“No.” Ochako shakes her head frantically. “Why’d you buy it?”

“You seemed to want one.”

Her mouth closes slowly. “Thank you,” she says quietly, but she doesn’t sound grateful. She sounds sorry.

“It’s fine.”

They make their way to the car. Ochako trails behind him quietly.

They ride in silence for 30 entire minutes before Ochako can’t bear it anymore.

“Do you feel sorry for me?”

Shoto looks at her blankly. His eyebrows crease. “Sorry for you? For what?”

“For being poor.”

The line between his brows deepens. “Should I feel sorry for you?”

He asks in a way that makes it sound like he’s asking her for instruction, like whatever she tells him, he’ll follow through with.

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over her. Ochako feels the back of her eyes burn. She smiles and shakes her head. “Nevermind.” Then she unclenches her hand from around the keychain, holding it up. “I love it. Thank you! It’s so cute.”

It really is. It’s a Japanese snowman, so instead of the strange, three-tiered American ones that always seem to loom tall, her keychain is squat and round. The only thing that would make it cuter was if its expression was more neutral, instead of smiling the way it is. 

More importantly though—

“Shouldn’t I get the planet?” Ochako asks, returning the keychain to the paper envelope.

Shoto, whose features have only just ironed out, frowns. “You already have the planet pajamas.”

Ochako raises her eyebrows. He sounds genuinely disgruntled. She turns away so he can’t see her smile. “Ooh, okay. That makes sense.”

She’s not sure it does, actually. But it’s far from a mountain she’s willing to die on. 

30 more minutes later, Ochako works up the nerve to bring up something else she’s been dwelling on.

“Todoroki?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to buy me things just because I want them. I really appreciate you paying for the food and hotels, even if they’re necessary. So please don’t… overextend yourself.”

Shoto is quiet for a very, very long time. Ochako’s almost entirely forgotten about it until he says quietly, “Wanting things is a human need.”

She blinks, turning away from the window to look at him. “Huh?”

“Wanting things is a human need.” His words are more firm this time.

Sometimes, this part of Shoto annoys her. Fighting not to huff, Ochako asks, “What do you mean?”

His gaze slides to her briefly, then back onto the road. “If you have a kid and feed them, house them, clothe them, and train them every day, but they just want you to hug them and tell them they’re doing well, it’s equally as important.”

“Oh,” Ochako whispers, feeling her heart squeeze.

“If there’s a need and I can meet it, why wouldn’t I.”

“You’re right,” she murmurs.

She feels kind of scolded, but she gives him a tiny smile. When he returns it, her guilt subsides.

After all the talk of money, Shoto had expected her worries to be laid to rest. Instead, for the past 30 minutes, she’s been gnawing on her fingers. 

Shoto’s aware finances are a delicate topic. He needs to ask her, though, and now is probably the best time. He works through all the possible ways to ask in his mind, settling on something that he think sounds appropriately considerate and sensitive.

“Uraraka, how much money do you make and how do you spend it?”

Ochako looks momentarily surprised, but then smiles and launches straight into unbothered explanation. Shoto feels the tension drain from his shoulders.

“I send a cut of my paycheck to my parents every other week. A lot of the rest of it goes to organizations that I really care about. I leave just enough for necessities since I don’t need much.” She reconsiders. “I don’t want much, either.” She smiles at him.

His question had been blunt and would probably have unsettled anybody else, but Ochako’s always happy to talk about money—getting it, managing it, spending it, having it. Also, she knows that that’s just how Shoto is. Straightfoward.

Shoto, on the other hand, is checking and double-checking his mental math, and it still isn’t adding up. He voices his skepticism.

“How much are your brand sponsorships paying you? I don’t see how you’d be struggling unless they were shortchanging you.” And massively.

It’s a common problem in the industry. Ochako’s so easygoing, too, that he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s getting taken advantage of in all sorts of ways. Not that she can’t fend for herself, just that she would probably wave it off as unimportant compared to the things she actually cares about.

He’s not prepared for just how unimportant it is to her when she says, “Oh, no, I don’t have any brand sponsorships.”

Shoto’s brain comes to a screeching halt. He feels his face twist. 

“You don’t have brand sponsorships?” He’s not even sure he’s ever heard of that. Even the most nameless, unrecognized, uncharted heroes have brand sponsorships. It’s one of the easiest ways to pad your income, especially if you don’t get a lot of criminal foot traffic in your area. 

“We get enough traffic to take care of what I need. It’s Tokyo, after all.” Ochako shrugs. “And all the deals I’ve been offered so far want the same thing from me, y’know?”

He doesn’t. Several possibilities flit through his mind. Maybe they ask her to push certain supplements or medications she’s not comfortable with pushing? Maybe all the industries that bid for her are industries she has absolutely no knowledge about and so can’t be of much service? Maybe she keeps getting music deals and she can’t play a single instrument?

Ochako, who’s watching his face with intense interest, expounds. “Tits and ass and being cute.” 

The list unraveling in his head disintegrates to ash. 

Is she serious? That’s what brands want from her? 

“I don’t mind that sort of thing in general, I’m just personally not interested, you know? Every offer I get wants me to be cute, family-friendly, and sexy. I tried it once, and I felt really weird about it. Maybe I’m not the right person for it? But depending on the product, it can be really, really weird. I told Mirko I couldn’t do it after three tries, and she totally understood. It’s part of why I ended up staying with her. She went through the same thing early in her career, so she didn’t push me to take deals.”

Shoto hears everything she’s saying, but is also still reeling too much to react.

Sure, Ochako is highly attractive, and he gets the immediate physical appeal—certain pink-tinged memories are still irritatingly fresh in his mind—but it’s really the last thing he associates with her. How idiotic is the industry right now? He’s going to have to bring that up in the next All-Hands meeting and see what they can do to change things. For once, he’s grateful for Endeavor having made it to Number One, because at least he feels like he can do something about this kind of bullshit. If even Ochako, one of the most charismatic people in his class, is having to sell her body for money, he can’t imagine—

“Todoroki?” Ochako’s voice tears through his spiraling thoughts. “Are you okay?”

His hands are so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles are white. His jaw is stiff. 

Taking a slow, deep breath in, he loosens his grip on the steering wheel. Forces his shoulders away from his ears and down his back. Stretches his jaw. Cracks his neck. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” She’s chewing on her fingers again as she watches him. “You got really quiet, and I think the A/C tripped or something, ‘cause it’s freezing.”

Shoto reaches out and grabs her wrist, startling her. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Ochako blinks, then chuckles. He releases her hand. “I’m always surprised you notice.”

“It’s hard not to. You make yourself bleed.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Yeah. Mirko does it, and I guess I just picked it up. Maybe that’s why I don’t get any hand modeling offers, huh?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Shoto says as he sends heat out of his body to correct the freeze initiated by his formerly stewing temper. “You have great nails.”

Ochako’s eyes bulge, and then she erupts into laughter.

The sun is still in the sky by the time they arrive at their Sacramento hotel. While Shoto discusses sleeping arrangements with the clerk—and somehow ends up with another single double—Ochako peruses the brochures sitting on the stand at the counter.

“This sounds nice.”

Shoto reads over her shoulder, then nods. “Let’s go.”

They put away their suitcases, head back down, and exit for food. It’s a quick meal and they have time to kill afterwards, so they explore the streets. Occasionally they pop into a museum or a particularly fancy looking building, but it’s an otherwise tame adventure compared to last night.

Neither is particularly tired, but they call it in early. Somehow, they still manage to wake up late into the next day.

“It’s an eight hour drive to Portland,” Shoto comments from the singular desk in the room. “You should use the bathroom before we go.”

“Yes, boss,” Ochako chimes, letting the bathroom door fall shut behind her.

They’re two hours down in an eight hour drive. Shoto had said they’d stop at the four hour mark. Ochako’s been alternating between road trip games, fiddling with the radio, and complete, utter silence.

She’s also been fulfilling the blabbermouth duties that she’d fear would fall on her, but has found that it’s not as bad as she’d thought it’d be. Shoto doesn’t seem to mind her occasional chattiness, even seems to enjoy it, often prompting her for her thoughts. 

Unfortunately, as a result, her throat is so dry. Her mouth, too. She feels like she’s licking a sand dune every time she so much as yawns.

“I can’t believe we forgot to bring water,” she sighs. “Talk about amateur hour, huh?” She’d kill for even a soda right now. 

Shoto seems to be on the same wavelength, because his back straightens suddenly and he says, “The sodas.” 

“Huh?” Ochako cocks her head.

He turns to look at her, the line of his mouth flat. “The sodas.”

“What sodas?”

“I left them in the first hotel.”

“Oh,” Ochako squeaks, eyes widening as understanding dawns on her. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Todoroki. I forgot, too.”

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, sounding like it’s anything but.

Ochako stares at him and his forlorn expression. 

She turns away sharply, holding her breath and biting her lips to ensure she doesn’t burst into laughter.

“I have an idea.”

Ochako jerks around. They have an hour left to their rest stop, and Shoto hasn’t initiated anything of his own to talk about yet. 

“I’m keeping track of what I’m spending. If you hit top five before me, you don’t have to pay me back for anything.”

Her eyes double in size. 

“If I hit top five before you, though, then you owe me everything plus interest.”

Warmth floods through her. “Don’t go easy on me!”

“I wouldn’t.”

If she smiles any harder, she thinks her face might break.

They give themselves 45 minutes at the rest stop. Ochako makes sure to load up on water bottles, nearly buying the vending machine out. Shoto, when he comes out of the bathroom, reminds her to use the bathroom, too. 

“You got it, boss.” She salutes and heads into the women’s restroom. His gung-ho-ness about bladder control reminds her a little of Katsuki’s fixation on sunscreen, and she ponders fleetingly if that quality may be another reason why they get along so well.

A few minutes later, they’re all ready to go. 

Before Shoto can start the car, though, Ochako chimes in with something that’s been on her mind. 

“I know you don’t want me to drive, but what if you teach me? The road is really empty, and it’s pretty flat, too.”

Shoto turns her suggestion over and over in his brain. She has a point, and regardless of whether she does anymore driving this trip, it’s always helpful to know how to drive. Or be a better driver, in her case.

Plus, it’s an automatic. How hard can it really be? He’s sure his mind is dramatizing the memory of just how bad her test drive in the parking lot was. And now that she’s been in the car with him so long, she’s bound to have gotten a feel for it.

“Okay.”

She’s already waiting outside his side of the car before he’s even taken his seatbelt off. When he opens the door, the excitement that radiates off her is so potent it practically kicks him in the face and shoves him back into his seat.

They buckle up. She adjusts everything to suit her needs, then presses the button to start. The engine purrs to life.

“It’s a left turn out of this—”

He’s interrupted by the screech of the car, and also by the way his entire right side bangs into the window. 

“Take your foot off the accelerator, Uraraka,” he commands through his teeth. He’s having war flashbacks. He should never have agreed to this. 

Thankfully, she does as he says—only for her to step on the brake just as passionately, sending Shoto into the dashboard. He feels like a crash test dummy. What are these seatbelts even for? They’re completely useless.

“You don’t need to step on it all at once,” he says, peeling himself off the leather. 

There’s a lot of road ahead of them. A lot of opportunities for him to slam around the car interior. Suddenly, practicing on the open, empty road seems like the worst possible way to have gone about this. How did he let Ochako talk him into this? How did Ochako even get licensed to drive in Japan?

“What do you mean?” Ochako asks, frowning in puzzlement.

“You can ease your foot instead of… stomping.” He can’t think of a better word for it. It’s literally what she’s doing.

“Like this?”

She eases her foot on the accelerator. She picks up speed. She doesn’t lift her foot. They continue to gain momentum.

Is she doing this on purpose?

“Brake,” Shoto spits out.

To her credit, she does ease the brake, but only for, like, three seconds. 

The moment they come to a full stop, he grabs the shifter over her hand and slams it into park. When he finally looks at her, her face is entirely flushed. It’s as if the drive had been as exhilarating for her as it’d been terrifying for him.

“You should stick to flying,” he mumbles, falling back into his seat, heart racing behind his ribcage.

“Sorry!” She says weakly, fingers templed below her chin as she smiles at him, chagrined.

Back in their former seats, Ochako stares out the windshield, cradling her right hand in her left. 

His hand had been so tight over hers. And the way he'd been talking to her—the way he’d been breathing after… 

Ochako covers her face with her hands. Butterflies flush through her body. 

It’d just been so hot.

“What’s wrong?” She hears him ask.

“Nothing! Just feeling kind of queasy.”

“You made yourself sick.”

He’s probably right.

The sun begins to set when they’re three hours away. It’s beautiful, and the road is so flat that they can watch the sun slip under the horizon from their seats. The blood red rays paint the world orange and yellow for 30 breathless minutes.

But once it's over, even Ochako, for all her enthusiasm, feels only exhaustion. She and Shoto have played through rounds and rounds and rounds of all the road trip games she could find from a search on his phone. She’s talked his ear off. She’s talked her ear off. Frankly, she’s getting sick of the sound of her own voice.

She’s also starving.

She’d ransacked the vending machines at the rest stop, but as it turns out, sticky, sweet honey buns, styrofoam twinkies, and snack sized bags of Chex Mix do not a meal make. She can feel her stomach starting to steer her mood, and that’s always ominous. 

Like he reads her mind, Shoto says, “We’ll just get something fast and go straight to the hotel.”

“Can we get McDonald’s?”

“Yeah.”

The drive-through line wraps all the way around the restaurant, but it gives Ochako time to piece together her extensive order and Shoto time to find a nearby hotel as they idle. When they reach the screens, their meal comes up to $40.

“I’ve never spent that much at McDonald’s,” Ochako comments, scandalized, after they’ve passed the microphone.

The wait—20 minutes from entering the line to receiving their food—is worth it simply for the smell the food perfumes the interior of the car with. It doesn’t hurt that there’s so much food, Ochako has to sit cross-legged on her seat.

“It smells so good,” Ochako moans, hugging one bag to her chest as she shovels several fries into her mouth at once over it. 

Her mood lifts instantly. Shoto gives her a long look from the corner of his eye, so Ochako, after covering her mouth to chew and swallow, asks, “Want some?”

“Please.”

Shoto extends a hand, only to be tapped in the cheek with what feels like a limp, hot, pencil-thin sponge. Flinching, he jerks to glance at her.

“Hey! Eyes on the road, buster!” But she’s giggling as she says it, repositioning the fries so they tap against his lips.

He hesitates, then opens his mouth. She feeds the fries through his lips, and when they hit his tongue, he feels how hot they still are, feels the salt melt over him. It's possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted. Certainly the best thing he’s tasted on this road trip thus far.

Ochako grins as he chews slowly. “Right?”

When he opens his mouth again, she laughs, obliging with another fistful of fries.

They wheel their suitcases into the corner of the room, look at each other, then trip straight into the single double—another damn single double, only Shoto can’t seem to actually bring himself to care much anymore—wrenching the duvet out from under the mattress to pull over themselves with all their daytime clothes still on.

Without a shower, without brushing their teeth, without even turning off the lights, they pass out.

Ochako wakes up because it’s too warm. The sheets are sticking to her and she feels a little tacky with sweat, but she knows she fell asleep with a sleeveless dress on. 

Something is tickling her face, too. She wrinkles her nose, scrunches her brows, twists her mouth, trying to ward off whatever it is. As a last resort, she opens her eyes to figure out what it could be. 

It’s Shoto’s face. 

His hair, too, which has fallen over to one side, cowlicking and parting all over the place, including against her forehead. He’s so close that she can feel each of his slow, steady exhales feather over her cheeks. Ochako can even make out the exact boundary of his scar.

She realizes belatedly that he isn’t wearing a shirt. 

One of her hands lies loosely between them, her other folded under her head. He’s curled softly towards her like a parenthesis, one arm under his pillow and the other…

The other hanging over her waist. 

He’s so close. She only has to scoot an inch or two before their foreheads meet. And if she turns her head just right, their mouths—

Ochako presses away, body hot and flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature of the room. The sudden movement shifts the covers down their shoulders. 

Shoto makes a soft noise. The hand on her waist twitches, squeezes, and Ochako bites back a gasp. 

Ever so gingerly, she attempts to extract herself, beginning with his hand. She draws her free hand over herself, reaching for his fingers so that she can lift them up and off her one by one. When his brow twitches, she stills, holding her breath.

Then he tugs at her, and she’s unable to stop her gasp this time.

The sharp sound pulls Shoto out from sleep’s tight fist. His eyes drift open. Another pair of warm, dark eyes stare roundly back at him. Blinking lazily, he takes stock of his surroundings.

His shoulder is cold, but the rest of him is so warm, he’s bordering on hot. There’s somebody across from him. He can feel one of his hands rising and falling with something—something that’s also warm, bordering on hot. 

He flexes and clenches that hand, and the thing across from him “ah!”s.

“Todoroki?” The thing squeaks after a beat, airy, timid. Pieces in Shoto’s brain begin to click into place.

He’d fallen into bed at 12 in the morning with Ochako last night. At some point in his sleep, he’d gotten too hot and thrown his shirt off. In the brief moment of wakefulness, he’d noticed her shivering, so he’d slipped his hand over her side, activating his quirk before going right back under.

Shoto’s lidded gaze flicks to the bare shoulder opposite him sloping out from under the covers. Then it darts to his hand, which rests on her waist. It travels further down still, and he finds that the skirt of her dress is riding up her thighs, one side gathering so far up her leg that he suspects the lace he sees isn’t the dress, but something else entirely. 

“Todoroki?”

His eyes snap to her mouth. 

Her lips are chapped, probably from dehydration. 

Like his thoughts have been heard, Ochako wets her lips. It’s hardly anything at all—just a cursory swipe of her tongue—quick and meaningless and he’s completely stopped breathing.

Peeling away—putting some distance between them—Shoto forces his eyes to meet hers. 

He’s awake now. It’s impossible not to be, the way his heart is thundering against his chest. He can’t tell if the heat searing through his palm is him, or her. 

“Todoroki?” 

She whispers it this time, still breathless, still tentative. The space behind his navel jerks. 

Swallowing hard, Shoto sits up slowly, pulling his hand off her. He breathes as evenly as he can, dropping his feet over the edge of the mattress and standing.

She sits up with him, carrying her weight on both arms as she watches him rise from the bed. One of the straps of her dress hangs off her shoulder, and his eyes catch on it. She notices and sits up straighter, reaching for the strap to slide it back up.

But her movement coaxes the hem of her dress farther up her leg, practically onto her hip, and Shoto discovers he was right. The edging of lace hadn’t been her dress.

He jerks his eyes to hers when she reaches down to tug at her skirt, curling her legs closer into herself.

She peers up at him warily, self-consciously, as she sits in a rippling ocean of white silk, the duvet collecting around her like a cloud, one arm drawn over herself, the other clutching protectively at the pale blue slip of cloth at her thighs.

He could climb over her right now. Push her down. Run his hands up her legs. Under her dress. Track it higher, track it past her waist until she’s swimming in that, too. He could pull her calves around his hips, tell her to cross her ankles. Make her cross her ankles. 

He could press his thumbs over the pillow of her thighs, tease the crease just under the delicate trim of her underwear, slide a finger somewhere even warmer than she’d been when he’d had her under his palm.

He could make her cum.

Turning sharply, Shoto disappears into the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Shoto grits his teeth against the frigid spray of the shower. If there were any way to make it colder, he would. It’s what he deserves. He’s no better than any of the businesses offering their disgusting deals to Ochako.

Unfortunately, if he goes any colder with his quirk, he’ll just be pelting himself with hail.

He breathes in and out slowly as he scours his mind for distracting thoughts, cleansing thoughts, thoughts that don’t have anything to do with her legs or the way she’d looked at him, the sight of her tongue between plush lips or the lace hugging her hips.

His dick gives a disobedient twitch. Shoto curses under his breath. Think about your dad. Touya. Natsuo. Aizawa. Think about the four hour meeting you’ll have to have when you get back to the office. Think about all the paperwork that’s waiting for you. It's only been ten days and you already have over 800 unread emails in your inbox. Think about that.

While Shoto works desperately to get his body under control in the privacy of the bathroom, Ochako putters around the living area, folding and unfolding the various articles of clothing in her suitcase for no reason other than to work off her nervous energy.

But it’s impossible. She can’t stop remembering the way he’d looked at her. Stared at her. Like a man starved. 

Nobody’s ever looked at her like that.

Pure, hot want zips down her body. Goosebumps rise over her arms. If, in that moment, Shoto had tried anything, Ochako’s sure she would have let him. If she’d had just a little more experience—if she’d known how to harness the power of being looked at like that instead of freezing like prey at the sight of a predator—she probably would have invited him to. 

It probably would have been amazing. Just the thought of his hands on her sends heat to her stomach.

Ochako shakes her head furiously. It doesn’t matter how good it could be, it’s what would happen after that’s important, and what would happen after would be a mess. 

Until she breaks into the Top Five, she owes Shoto money. That’s just fact. And Ochako can’t imagine anything more uncomfortable than sleeping with someone you owe a debt to. Shoto would no doubt feel guilty and believe she shouldn’t owe him money if they were sleeping together, but that sounds a little too close to using sex as a bargaining chip. He’d never accuse her of that, but it just doesn’t sit well with her.

There’s also the fact that right now, they’re basically on an extended vacation. Right now, they’re seeing the best of each other every hour of every day. Attraction doesn’t just seem natural, it seems inevitable. As if Ochako isn’t already feeling the effects of their happy proximity herself, for god’s sake.

But this isn’t real life. Once this is over and they’re back home, once they’ve returned to the fast-paced, non-stop life that every hero endures, things won’t be the same. Not only will they only ever see each other at the Class A hangouts, but they won’t even be the same people. Not really.

What she has with Shoto right now works. It’s nice. If they sleep together, it may get even better—but it’d only be a temporary improvement. The aftermath would suck.

Her rationale brings with it a sense of calm. Whatever had happened just now had been normal, natural even. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

The bathroom door clicks open, and Ochako whips around. Shoto stands in the alcove between the living area and the restroom with only a towel around his waist.

Oh god, Ochako thinks, all her earlier reasoning flying out the door as she fights to keep her eyes on his face. He’s perfect.

“They don’t have bathrobes,” Shoto says primly. His gaze drops briefly to the straps of the dress she’s still wearing before flitting to the wall behind her.

She should have changed. She should have put on a sweater. Two sweaters. Five.

“Thanks for the heads-up!” She squeaks, grabbing clothes at random and barreling past him into the bathroom.

After she’s been in the bathroom long enough to screw her head back on, Ochako takes a deep breath and steps out.

She’s going to forget about it.

She’s going to act like it didn’t happen, like they woke up in two separate beds, like they’d both worn pajamas. Because if she doesn’t, she doesn’t know how she’ll survive the rest of this road trip.

To her relief, Shoto seems to be on the same page, because he twists from his laptop to tell her, “They have a rose garden nearby.”

“That sounds fun!”

He nods. “There’s a Japanese garden, too. And a mansion.”

“Let’s do all of it!” 

Shoto smiles faintly at her, and the relief she feels is so visceral, Ochako could swear she’s using her quirk on herself.

Shoto’s phone tells him it’ll be five in four more minutes. They’ve been out since nine in the morning.

It’s been excruciating.

Once he’d talked himself down in the shower, he’d determined that the best course of action would be to act as though nothing had happened. That had lasted for all of 30 minutes, when they’d encountered the first rose in the rose garden, and Ochako had tucked her hair behind her ear and bent over to smell the rose.

Repeat ad nauseum for an hour. An hour. How different can one rose smell from another?! Shoto had considered lighting the whole place on fire.

It’s as if the morning mishap has broken a seal. He can’t even stand too close to her, for fear the smell of her hair will send him spiraling. He hasn’t been like this since high school.

The worst part is the guilt. She’s done nothing to deserve this, and Shoto’s pretty sure if she had any idea what he’s been thinking—fantasizing—she’d be on the first flight back to Japan. 

“Todoroki?”

Shoto snaps out of his ruminating. One of her hand’s is lighted gently on his arm. Her brows are drawn in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ochako hesitates, but must choose to believe him, because her expression smooths, and she smiles. “I’m done here, so I was thinking we could go back and start heading out.”

Relief washes through him. Driving means focusing on the road, on the map, on making it to their next destination. He’ll have peace of mind for the next few hours—but the guilt in the pit of his stomach grows, too. 

“Alright.”

“Seattle, here we come!” Ochako cheers, looking at him excitedly. It’s the most enthusiastic he’s seen her all day.

Her elation sends a rush of calm through him, eclipsing everything roiling in his gut. Just like that, his earlier anguish abates. Shoto can’t help but stare. 

“What?” She cocks her head.

“Nothing.”

They find somewhere to eat, then somewhere to stay. Ochako picks a travel magazine out of the acrylic stand on the front desk, licking her thumb every time she turns a page.

Shoto, who’s discussing rooms and rates with the clerk, becomes only half-present for the conversation. His gaze flicks over to Ochako whenever the girl in front of him speaks. 

One page in particular catches her interest, and her brows furrow. She tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes move back and forth over the words.

“All we’ve got left is a double double.”

Shoto’s gaze jerks to the attendant’s, eyes growing wide.

“But I’m sure you and your girlfriend will enjoy the extra space. And at least it’s not a single single,” the attendant laughs.

His attention flits back to Ochako, expecting a correction from her, but she’s too engrossed in the magazine.

Shoto takes his wallet from his pocket, sliding his card out of it, then across the desk. “We’re just colleagues,” he says.

“Oh!” The attendant’s brows shoot into her hairline. She shrugs, smiles. “Even better.”

As she disappears into the back, Shoto drums his fingers against the counter, dissecting the sudden disappointment blooming in his chest. He doesn’t get very far, because the clerk returns shortly after with two key cards.

“Enjoy your stay.”

He places a hand behind Ochako’s shoulder to get her attention. She peers up at him, shutting the magazine and returning it to its slot. When she takes her key card from him, she beams up at him, and his heart raps especially hard against his chest.

“It’s a double double,” he finds himself saying.

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. Disappointment pings inside her. “O—oh.”

Isn’t this a good thing? It’s what they’ve been trying to get a hold of their entire trip so far. They’ll both finally be able to kick back and relax in beds entirely to themselves. 

Ochako fits a smile back onto her face, stepping into the elevator. “Finally, huh?”

Shoto stares at her, then looks away. “Yeah.”

The lights are off. They both stare up at the ceiling.

Ochako drags the covers tighter over herself, closer to her chin. The bed feels unusually chilly. Maybe she should ask Shoto to warm it up for her—with his quirk! To send a burst of heat through the bedding, she means. Not… not any other way.

He’s probably already asleep, though. 

Ochako rolls onto her side, facing him, but it’s too dark to make anything out. With a sigh, she turns again, rolling onto her other side.

Shoto, also on his side, searches her side of the room. The blinds are drawn, and the room is cavernous in how dark it is. She might as well not be there.

He wonders what she’s thinking, if she’s still awake or if she’s dreaming. He wonders what she dreams about. 

He hears her sigh, hears her sheets rustle, and his gut twinges. Shoto flips onto his other side, away from her. 

He needs to get his shit together.

When they wake up, they wake up blinking at each other from across the room. Ochako’s mouth immediately tilts up into a smile. 

“Good morning,” she says.

Her voice is thick with sleep. Her hair sticks out at odd angles. An urge to grab her and pull her into him overcomes Shoto, but she’s an entire bed away. And it’s not something he would do anyway. Not something he should do.

“Good morning,” he replies, then frowns and looks away as he clears his throat. When he returns his gaze to hers, her eyes are wide. 

Then they dart away, and she tugs the duvet up her face, muffling her voice when she asks, “Do you want to shower first?” 

He shakes his head, sitting up and shucking his covers. “You can have it.”

She nods frantically, flying out of her bed in a fit and flurry of white cotton sheets. She’s a blur as she races to the bathroom. After 20 minutes, she steps out of the bathroom slightly damp and noticeably calmer. Shoto steps past her, and the lock clicks. 

Another 45 minutes later, they’re wandering the streets of Seattle. Ochako zips from one landmark to another. At the Space Needle, she tilts her head back to squint at the elevator climbing up, then looks at Shoto, something sly glinting in her eyes.

“It takes the elevator 43 seconds to get up,” she says. “How much do you wanna bet I can shave that time down by five seconds?”

“I don’t want to bet”—

Too late. Ochako grabs his hand after activating her quirk and leaps into the air. The feeling of his stomach displacing itself inside him is enough to send his breakfast from hours ago back the way it came, but he manages to keep it in.

When they land—he sticks the landing, to his own surprise—she’s laughing apologetically. Her hands come up, and she begins to brush his hair off his face, re-arranging any strands that have gone astray.

Shoto freezes, watching her. Once she's done fussing with his hair, she turns to look out the windows, hands coming to the railing as she peers out at the skyline. She looks peaceful as she chatters at him about how she forgets nobody else is used to the feeling of Zero Gravity at high-speed.

His own hand comes up. He catches a strand of hair that’s come loose from her ponytail. 

Ochako stops mid-sentence and blinks at him. He tucks the lock behind her ear. 

Her face warms. She looks down, suddenly feeling shy. Her heart is racing.

“We should eat,” Shoto says.

She nods and follows him to the elevators.

They make their way to the public market. The sky above them is grey, a stark contrast from the bright blue it’d been just moments earlier. The clouds drifting in look heavy.

Lunch is colorful and sporadic as Ochako zips from one stall to another. Shoto can barely keep up. It’s almost like she’s trying to fill any potential gaps in their interactions.

She’s speed walking to the next vendor that snags her interest when out of seemingly nowhere, a fish comes flying in her direction. Reflex raises her hand, and she smacks the fish with her quirk activated, sending it rocketing back in the direction it came.

The poor guy who’d thrown it meets his fate with a faceful of fish. It slides down, and he splutters as a vein throbs in his forehead. He looks like he’s ready to unleash hell on whoever it is that had launched the attack.

“Oh crap, I’m so sorry!” Ochako yelps, skittering up to the employee, whose face immediately changes. He can’t be much older than them.

“That’s alright,” he stammers, even as he swipes scales off his face. “I’m guessing you’ve never been here before?”

Ochako shakes her head, and somehow, they fall into easy, casual conversation.

Shoto observes the man behind the counter. There’s an obvious, eager light in his eyes as he asks Ochako where she’s from, what she’s doing here, where she’s going next. He can see the confidence building in the other man, and Shoto is sure whatever request he makes, Ochako will be caught off guard. It shouldn't bother Shoto—and he knows Ochako can more than hold her own—but it just does. When the man starts loading perishables into her hands, Shoto steps up.

He brings his hand to the small of Ochako’s back. Her head whips back, gaze startled, to look at him, but Shoto is too busy watching the hope in the other young man’s eyes die. He almost feels guilty. 

Almost.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” he says, looking down at Ochako. “We should head back before it starts.”

Ochako’s head swivels to look beyond the market. “Oh wow, you’re right!” Then she lifts all the goods in her arms to show him. “Look at what Hideo gave us! And guess what? He was born here, but his parents are from Mie. I was just telling him I grew up there!”

She continues to ramble, and Shoto’s mouth draws into a slight, amused smile as he pulls out a card to hand over for the food. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” the other man stutters, ringing up the total and handing them a bag. He waves—a little forlornly—when Ochako and Shoto disappear into the crowd.

“What a nice guy,” Ochako chirps, sifting through the bag as they walk, admiring their contents. “He even offered to give me a discount! I felt so bad, since I whacked him with a whole fish. Seemed kind of unfair.”

Shoto is sure Hideo thinks the whole thing is more than "kind of unfair" for a whole lot of reasons other than fish, but that's neither here nor there. Shoto's earlier unease has dissolved and he's not too concerned with anything beyond that.

"Is there anything else you want to look at before we go?”

“Oh! Really?” Her head swings from left to right as she surveys their surroundings. “How about there?” She points to a pastry shop. “For dessert?”

By the time they’re on their way back to the car, four more hours have passed. The pastry shop had turned into a home goods store had turned into a stationery store until Shoto had laid a gentle hand on her back again going through a door, and Ochako had nearly tripped over herself.

Realizing the time, she’d spluttered that they should be getting back now, spinning on her heel to exit the store before she’d even entered.

Now they’re crossing a street two blocks from the lot they’re parked in. Ochako jumps at a sudden, sharp clap of thunder, and both of them come to a stop to look at the clouds.

Then the sky opens up and unleashes a deluge upon them.

Ochako gasps at the sheer volume of rain and how it so immediately soaks her to her bones. Shoto grabs her wrist, and she stumbles into a run behind him. Fortunately, they’re parked in a spot under an awning, giving Ochako time to at least wipe her face before getting into the car.

Her hair clings to her cheeks with a vengeance. She can feel her clothes sticking to her, can see the pink of her bra under the pale yellow t-shirt she’d put on this morning. The gale from the force of the rain makes her shiver. It’s a 30 minute drive to the hotel. Ochako can only hope the car’s A/C won’t take too long to heat up.

Then Shoto slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his chest.

She blinks, cheek squished against the firm plane of him. “T—Todoroki?!”

She feels his hand on her back—again—feels him press her tightly into him by her waist. Every soft part of her meets flush with the solid parts of him, and her heart begins to beat in double-time. Her breaths grow short. “What are you”—

There’s a blast of heat against her, hot enough to break her into a sweat. Steam rises from her skin. 

Shoto steps away, and Ochako realizes they’re both dry.

“Th—thank you,” she flusters.

“Of course,” he answers as he enters the car. “We’ll stop by a drive-through for dinner.”

The drive is quiet. Waiting in the drive-through is quiet. Even dinner is quiet, save for a brief comment on Ochako’s part expressing her puzzlement over cream cheese on a hot dog.

“You can have the first shower,” she says when they’re done. “I know we’re dry, but… just in case, y’know?”

Normally he’d insist she take the first one, but Shoto heads to the bathroom, locks the door, strips, and turns on the shower. When he steps in, he shuts his eyes and drops his forehead to the tile.

She’d been so wet. Everything had stuck to her every curve, clung to her every dip and swell.

And she’d felt so good against him. 

Just the memory of it sends heat more potent than his quirk through his veins. Shoto presses a palm to the wall, pushing himself up, letting his head hang as water runs off his hair. He wraps his other hand around himself and gives a steady tug.

He clenches his jaw, swallows his tongue, bites back the groan. When he has nowhere left to go, he begins the slow descent down.

In his mind, she’s pressed up against him, just as wet and naked. She reaches her hand down and offers to take care of it for him. She falls to her knees, takes him in her mouth, looks up at him through her lashes.

In a matter of minutes, his body stiffens. He cums—hard—then drops his forehead to the tile again, mind empty, limbs boneless.

So much for getting his shit together.

Chapter Text

The next thing Shoto does after one of the best solo orgasms of his life is change into his pajamas and pass out—all before Ochako has even turned the water on for her own shower.

When she steps out, she sees him facedown in his bed, back rising and falling gently with every even breath. She smiles, changes into her own pajamas, and turns off the light before slipping under the sheets.

Then they’re up at ten for the longest drive yet, clocking in at 11 hours. And that doesn’t even take them all the way to Las Vegas.

As it turns out, neither of them are morning people. Despite that they’ve been up before 10 several times on this trip so far, today’s the first day they’ve both woken to the sound of an unwelcome alarm. That small fact renders them brainless for the first two hours of the ride, until Ochako pulls out the assortment of snacks she’d bought at the market the day before.

“Lunch?” She gives him a sideways look as she tears open a sleeve of crackers.

“Please,” he mumbles, holding a hand out.

She pours a hefty helping into his palm, then cracks open a tub of seafood dip.

“Smells good,” Shoto says, one cracker already between his teeth. He chews and swallows.

Smiling, Ochako scoops a cracker through the dip and holds it up to his mouth, pushing it in when he opens up.

A sense of normalcy returns between the two of them.

Seven hours into their drive, the scenic greenery of Washington makes way for the high desert of Oregon. Ochako has been running her mouth every hour, usually when she sees something that sparks a memory.

A funnily shaped rock clips by her window, and she’s suddenly reminded of a mission she’d ended up working on with Eijirou.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got trapped underground with Eijirou?”

Shoto gives her a sidelong look.

“I’d just started with Mirko and got assigned to observing a smuggling ring. It was supposed to be a solo assignment, but I was hiding in the vents when I ran into Eijirou.”

It’s a long exposition, but by the time she gets to the climax, she’s going off. She’s so lost in telling the story—and so used to Shoto’s subdued reactions—that she forgets Shoto is even actively listening until she hears a scoff come from beside her. 

Her story sputters to a stop. She’s never heard that noise from him before, and she’s not sure what it means. When she turns to look at him, his shoulders are shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she starts frantically. “I just talked your ear off, didn’t I? I’ll be quiet now.”

But upon closer inspection, she realizes: Shoto is… laughing.

His brows are creased. His shoulders are shaking. He has a fist raised to his mouth. All signs that he could be upset—but from behind his hand peeks out an undeniable smile. 

Todoroki Shoto is laughing.

The utter elation that sweeps through Ochako is so sudden and disarming that she has to remember to breathe. 

She’s just made Shoto laugh. She’s never seen him laugh. She starts laughing, too, like the glee welling up inside her is so overwhelming it needs an escape. When Shoto glances at her from the corner of his eye, her own are tearing up. 

“Funny, right?” She prods.

He nods, and holy crap, Ochako's sure there's no way feeling this good is legal. 

It dies down and Ochako realizes belatedly she never finished her story, but her emotions are still doing loops in the sky. He’d looked so content, so relaxed, so happy. It’d been so cute. 

Shoto is just so cute, she realizes for the second time this road trip, and she has to keep from dissolving into giggles. If she could just make him laugh again and again and again, she’d be set for life.

But then she wonders if anybody else has ever seen him like that, and she’s immediately sobered by the thought. There's probably been lots of people. Tons, even. His family, for one thing. 

Oh. Her brain snags. And Momo.

An all too familiar and unwelcome feeling screws every bone in her chest tight. Ochako frowns. Momo is one of her closest friends. There’s no reason for her to feel this way towards her. 

Plus, Momo and Shoto only dated for two months. That’s not long at all. Almost nothing.

And then Ochako hears Mina’s voice telling her through the phone that Shoto slept with Momo, and Ochako can’t help it that she blurts out, “How many people have you slept with?”

Oh, great. Why doesn’t she just launch herself out of the car?! It’d be the same thing! She couldn’t have just asked how many relationships he’s been in? She had to ask for his body count?!

Shoto blinks out at the road, startled by her question and also perplexed. “Three people.”

“Three people!” 

Ochako’s only slept with one person before—and only once, at that—busy as she is! How on earth has Shoto, who’s much higher at his agency and on the hero leaderboard, found the time to sleep with three whole people? 

She sits up straight to examine Shoto with new eyes. “Who?”

His thumb comes up. “Momo.” His index finger follows. “Somebody you wouldn’t know.” His middle finger finishes the set. “And Izuku.”  

Ochako’s eyes engulf her face. “Izuku?! I thought he’d only ever been with Katsuki!”

“It was just once. He wanted to practice before he propositioned Katsuki.”

Ochako stares at him, slack-jawed and speechless. 

“I wanted to be a good friend,” Shoto says, by way of explanation. Ochako gapes at him. 

“Todoroki… I’m pretty sure you’ve been taken advantage of.”

Shoto hums, then shrugs. His expression remains unchanged, appearing as unbothered as he is about most things. Ochako decides maybe it’s something to unpack for another day, although if there’s anything she knows about Shoto, it’s that he only tells the truth. Maybe because nobody can be sure he even knows how to lie, but that’s neither here nor there.

She’s also going to have to ask Izuku about this. Really, she would never have thought he had it in him. Katsuki must have been so mad to find out he wasn't Izuku's first, especially because Ochako's pretty sure Katsuki's never been with anybody else.

... It's kind of funny, now that she thinks about it.

Then she remembers the reason she even asked Shoto about his history. This certainly wasn’t the detour she’d expected the conversation to take, but somehow it’s eased the jealousy bubbling inside her. Or maybe her jealousy is spread across three people now, so it feels less intense. Either way, her curiosity gets the better of her.

“What happened with Momo?”

His brow wrinkles. “She never told you?”

“Only bits and pieces.”

He begins to tap his thumb against the wheel. It takes a while before he finally says, “We had our first times with each other and she decided it wasn’t for her.” 

Shoto seems to lose himself in his thoughts for a second before continuing. “I’d thought maybe it was because I wasn’t any good at it, so asked to practice. She obliged. I thought I’d improved with time, but even though she’d say it was good, she’d always say it just didn’t feel right.”

“Oh.” Something clicks in Ochako’s brain. “Is that how she ended up with Jiro?” When Shoto nods, she hums with new awareness. “What about the stranger?”

“Just experimenting." 

Ochako nods in understanding. “I did something similar. I had a brief kind of thing with Inasa while our agencies collaborated on this one mission, but it fizzled out.”

Shoto, who’s sorting through his thoughts to decipher what a “thing” might be, looks sharply at Ochako. He’s long been over the strange tiff he had with Inasa in his first year, but he feels his eyebrow twitch. “Inasa?”

“Yeah. I think he took the remedial course with you!”

“He did.”

“That must have been a hoot! He’s a fun guy.”

Any other day of the year, he would’ve nodded along—but maybe he’s not as over their history as he thought, because Shoto suddenly doesn’t feel inclined to agree. “How was he?”

Ochako gives Shoto a bewildered look, which he chooses to ignore. “Inasa? He was nice. Very thoughtful. I’m glad he was my first partner, although there hasn’t been anybody after, so I can’t really compare notes.” 

She looks out the window, admiring the scenery. After a beat, she looks at Shoto again and shrugs, adding, “I’ve heard girls don’t usually get there the first time, but I did, so that’s kind of nice. It didn’t hurt, either. He’s so tall, I thought he’d have the kind of dick that was going to rip me in half for sure, but I guess he’s pretty average-sized?”

Shoto nearly slams on the brake. “You’ve slept with him?!”

Ochako jerks away at his sudden intensity, banging the back of her head against the window. Wincing, she rubs at the bump that’s definitely forming. Then she blinks at Shoto in wide-eyed wonder. “I thought that’s what you were asking!”

“I meant working with him!”

“Oh, jeez,” Ochako presses her palms to her cheeks, which have turned red as a poker. Mina has always said that men don’t care what happens during sex, only if it happens at all, so Ochako had thought Shoto’s prying was a little unusual, but had figured she had no right to judge.

No wonder he’s so shocked! She’s gone and detailed her sex life to him for no reason! Ochako looks away, face twisting in mortification. “I mean, it’s the same answer. Super nice and considerate. He really set me up for success going into future collaborative missions.”

Shoto’s jaw clenches. Ochako is turned fully away from him, but he can see the strawberry red climbing up her neck. The same irritation he’d had with Inasa from their first year bubbles viciously to the surface, and he makes a note to revisit the feeling. It’d be uncharacteristically petty of him to still be holding onto something so minor. 

Ochako makes a small noise that raises the hair on the back of his neck. When he glances at her from the corner of his eyes, she’s gingerly touching her head and absentmindedly working her bottom lip between her teeth. Her tongue darts out as she presses on the bruise, and she whimpers.

The sound sends lightning down his spine.

Shoto frowns. Uncharacteristically petty is uncharacteristically petty, but it’s not impossibly petty. 

There’s nothing wrong with his opinion of Inasa.

They’re coming up on their tenth hour of driving, and it feels like they’re edging towards death. If the drive to Portland had seemed bad, this is hell. And, as it turns out, the desert at night is just as dark as hell probably is. Ochako fights with all her might not to conk out and leave Shoto to fend off the boredom all by his lonesome.

Eight hours, Ochako surmises, must be the threshold for how long she can sit in a car before her sanity starts leaving her in direct proportion to the minutes passing. She can feel it in the way her bones creak every time she shifts in her seat. She’s pretty sure her butt has been numb for the past hour. 

Shoto looks as unruffled as ever. She has no idea how he does it.

They’ve stopped two times since leaving Seattle. The first time was four hours in at a rest stop. The second was another four hours in, when Ochako had spotted a particularly breathtaking stretch of land and insisted they stop to admire the scenery, not that Shoto had taken much convincing. He never does. It's something Ochako has always liked about him.

Their third stop will be the final one for the night, and they’ve decided it’ll be at whatever motel they see the first sign for. 

In a fit of lunacy that Ochako can only attribute to being trapped in a cramped metal contraption for ten hours, she asks, “So, when did you sleep with all these people?”

“Our last year of UA,” Shoto answers without missing a beat.

Ochako stares at him in shock. She’d seen him nearly every day that year. There’s no way the Shoto that had shown up every day for class—inscrutable, even-tempered, and level-headed—could have been doing things like that, because things like that require some level of… passion. Don’t they?

Or has Ochako read him wrong all this time? Does Shoto have hidden depths? But then she remembers his fight with Izuku, the way he’s always been with his dad, and the attention he gives to anything he’s working on, and Ochako realizes: Shoto doesn’t have hidden depths. He just has quiet devotion. Even his steady, meteoric rise through the leaderboards is evidence of that quality.

And three whole people have gotten to experience that quality all for themselves.

Her earlier jealousy returns violently, but Ochako knows that if Shoto hasn’t touched her by now, there’s no chance of it ever happening. What this all confirms, though, is that Mina hadn’t been speaking entirely out of her ass. It’s been a good two years and then some since Shoto’s had any action. She almost feels sorry for the world. He’s probably great in bed.

More importantly—Ochako needs to stop thinking about this. She’s starting to squirm in her seat. 

“Are you hot?” Shoto’s hand hovers over the button that adjusts the temperature.

Yes. “No.”

His eyes flick to her, then away. He’d definitely just seen her fan herself. 

“The next motel is in five miles.”

“Great!” She squeaks, not sounding all there.

Shoto narrows his eyes.

The motel is decrepit.

That’s it. There’s really no other way to describe it. Perhaps its only saving grace is that when they open the door to their room, there are no cockroaches. It’s a miracle the building is still standing at all.

Then again, they’re stuck with a single single. 

The springs of the mattress groan before Shoto’s even sat down, as if just the prospect of weight is too much for it to carry. Dust motes swirl across the floor whenever Ochako takes a step. Every other blind across the window has been snapped in half. The shadow the moonlight makes illuminating them is reminiscent of piano keys. Or crooked teeth after a bar fight.

“Yikes,” Ochako mumbles.

They’re too tired to say much else, though, so they brush their teeth, change, and then stand over either side of the bed, deliberating how to squeeze both their bodies onto it. Eventually, they settle with sleeping back to back.

Shoto hugs his edge of the bed like his life depends on it. The digital clock on his nightstand blinks 9:17pm. He’s not sure how much sleep he’s going to get tonight. He’s not sure he’ll be able to fall asleep at all.

Then Ochako begins to giggle, which does all sorts of unwelcome—but not unpleasant, dammit—things to his body, especially when Shoto realizes he can feel it through the mattress. 

“Sorry,” she snickers. “It’s just, I can feel myself slipping off the bed. I think the mattress is uneven.”

“Would you like to switch sides?”

“Oh gosh, no! I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Except she really isn’t, because Shoto feels it every time she shifts to adjust herself back onto the bed. 

He blames what he does next on the fact that he just drove 11 hours with the person he knocked one out to the night before.

Ochako yelps when Shoto flips onto his other side and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. He regrets it immediately when he feels certain parts of him come to life. She’s just so fucking soft, and she smells so fucking good even after she’s been trapped in a car for half a day.  

“Are you o”—

To avoid the awkward conversation that’s bound to happen if Ochako feels exactly how not okay he is, Shoto pushes her onto her back at the same time he pulls himself over her. 

—“kay?” Ochako squeaks. He's pinned her wrists over her head. “T—Todoroki?”

She stares straight into his mismatched eyes. His hair looks almost silver under the moonlight. In the dim lighting, she can just make out the tension in his jaw. 

Then she sees his gaze drift to her mouth, and her breath catches.

“Todoroki?” She whispers.

He lifts a hand, pausing just before his fingers can brush against her neck. “Uraraka,” he murmurs, sliding his palm under her head, lowering his own—

And then Ochako screams and bashes her forehead into his.

“Something just bit me!” She shrieks, leaping out of the bed. Her hands come up in a defensive stance, like she expects to fight whatever has just taken a bite of her.

Shoto’s too disoriented to react until he feels a pinch on his leg that also sends him hurtling off the bed. He spans the room in three steps, slamming a palm over the light switch. They’re both momentarily blinded by the sudden contrast, but when their eyesight adjusts, Ochako screams again. 

It’s worse than cockroaches.

It’s bed bugs.

Perhaps it’s because he’s just been driving for 11 hours, but Shoto doesn’t even think. He lifts his left hand and lets fire rip.

Ochako jumps a foot into the air and ducks behind Shoto. The blaze is astonishing—so bright, it’s nearly blinding. Ochako has to squint and shield her face to protect herself from the glare.

It has to be a full three minutes before Shoto stops. All that’s left of the sorry excuse for a mattress is a heap of smoldering ash.

“That might have been overkill,” Ochako comments weakly.

“Can’t be too safe,” Shoto mutters darkly, arm falling slowly back to his side.

Ochako is quiet. After a minute, she says, “You should do the rest of the room.”

It’s ten when they creep out of the hotel. They don’t have their suitcases or anything that had been in their suitcases. “Can’t be too safe,” Shoto had reiterated when Ochako had lifted their luggage with her quirk and cocked her head at him. She’d nodded and launched them straight into the bonfire.

They are once again clothesless, save for the pajamas they’ve got on. And the only thing keeping them from burning those is the fact that they can’t very well run around naked. 

Now they’re trying to get to their car as surreptitiously as they can. Sure, they’d told the front desk they’d be leaving earlier than expected and had paid their dues, but Ochako is expecting the local heroes to show up at any moment. She’s sure the flaming light from their window had been blatantly suspicious.

Thankfully, they get to the car with no problem. Once they’re a few feet away, Shoto presses the button to unlock the doors.

And then something behind them explodes. Loudly.  

Shoto flinches at the same time Ochako squawks and grabs him. Both of them whip around to find the source of the noise. They turn just in time to see their room light the fuck up.

“Holy shit!” Ochako squeals at the same time Shoto mutters, “Fuck.”

“Should we go back?!” Ochako whisper-hisses.

She’s already got one foot forward. Shoto grabs her arm, grip tight. When she looks over her shoulder questioningly, he gives her a hard look and a microscopic shake of his head. 

“I left a large tip at the counter.” He then maneuvers her in front of him, guiding her forcibly towards their vehicle. “Get in the car.”

When they peel out of the parking lot, Shoto glances at the rearview mirror. The fire has already started to fade out, like even it can’t overcome the motel’s tenacity.

One hour later, Ochako starts to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Shoto feels his mouth twitch, feels it curl, feels his lips slide over his teeth. His shoulders start to shake.

They’re still laughing three minutes later. Ochako, who’s gone silent from lack of breath, tips over in her seat to lay her forehead on his shoulder. She vibrates against him, helpless still to everything that’s just happened, and Shoto thinks fleetingly that he’d do it all over again just for this.

Even the bed bugs.

“Did you know,” Ochako says for the fifth time that hour, looking up from his phone. “That it is physically impossible for pigs to look up at the sky?”

“That's bullshit,” he counters nonchalantly.

Ochako’s eyebrows shoot straight into her hairline. 

“I’ve definitely seen Mineta look up at the sky."

Ochako's eyes grow to the size of saucers. Then she snorts and gasps at the same time, grabs his shoulder, and hangs her head against him as she dissolves into another round of laughter.

Shoto smirks.

“Did you know,” Ochako says. “You can’t hum while plugging your nose?”

“Yeah.”

“Darn. I was really hoping you’d try.”

It’s two in the morning and it’s hot. Shoto can feel his lack of sleep, the monotony of the drive, and the heat that the car A/C can't seem to beat beginning to wear his patience thin.

“Did you know”—

“Uraraka.”

“I promise this one is interesting—”

“Uraraka.”

“Did you know that”—

“I need you to shut up.”

The stunned silence that follows promptly kickstarts his guilt. He needs to apologize—

“Asshole,” Shoto hears her mutter, and his temper flares all over again.

Nevermind. Ochako can suck it.

Two more hours of absolute silence later, Shoto speaks up.

“I was an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“It’s fine. I was being one.”

Ochako begins to sniffle in earnest. “I was really mean. And annoying. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not mean or annoying.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

"You're not an asshole."

"Thank you."

“Thank you, too.”

“Of course.”

After a beat, he reaches across the console and threads his fingers through hers. She blinks tearily at him, but smiles and gives his hand a squeeze. 

He runs his thumb over her knuckles.

At 3am, Ochako taps on her window.

“There’s a tourist store.”

Shoto glances in her direction. Sure enough, there’s a store with a huge billboard advertising itself as a rest stop, a tourist shop, and a fireworks vendor.

“Do you want to take a look?”

“I was thinking we should probably get some clothes.”

Oh. Right. 

Shoto takes the next turn leading up to the store. They’re the only ones in the lot and it’s darker than Aizawa’s mood in the mornings, yet the store is open. When they step out of the car, it’s so hot, Shoto swears he feels his skin sizzle.

The automatic doors slide apart with a well-greased whir, and the air conditioning they’re blasted with feels so good that Ochako moans openly.

“What should we buy this time?” She asks, already trying on sunglasses at a narrow display in the middle of an aisle.

“I’m not sure,” Shoto replies, examining their options. “Whatever you want.”

“You got it, boss!” Ochako chimes as she skips off into an aisle filled with what he thinks are beach towels, but perhaps Ochako is under a different impression.

Instead of taking off after her, Shoto disappears down an aisle filled with colorful, short-sleeved shirts. They feature tropical prints in varying degrees of complexity that go up to the collars, and there’s something appealing about them. They’re lightweight, too.

When he finally makes his way back to the register, Ochako is already dressed and toting a neon yellow duffel bag. She must hear him approaching, because she spins around, sending the hem of her bright, white sundress fluttering out. When it settles back down, it falls just above her knees. There are spiral suns trailing the cotton trim. The space between Shoto's ears fills with static when she beams at him.

There’s also a pair of star-shaped sunglasses perched on her head. They sport electric yellow frames.

Shoto pays for everything, then disappears into the restroom. When he steps back out, he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a palm tree-flamingo print and cargo shorts. Ochako snickers at him, then digs a pair of sunglasses out of her tote. 

She comes to her tiptoes, slipping them over his eyes. “Perfect,” she coos, giving him a little pat on his head.

Together, they make their way to the car. When Shoto pulls the keys out of his pocket, Ochako grabs his wrist.

“Can I try?” She asks, eyes wide as she looks pleadingly at him.

It’s a testament to how little sleep he's gotten that Shoto says, “Yes,” without pause.

It’s also a testament that they drive an entire mile and he finds himself thinking, this isn’t so bad.

And the ultimate testament is when he finally stops her and they get out of the car, Ochako flies into his arms, wrapping her legs around him in glee, and after stumbling back a few steps, Shoto hesitates but ultimately decides to fold his arms around her.

“That was amazing!” She crows.

Shoto smiles into the crown of her head and holds her tighter.

Ochako is scrolling through photos of Las Vegas on Shoto’s phone. Her exhaustion is so extreme that it’s come full circle and now she’s buzzing with energy. 

She feels invincible. Unstoppable. Omnipotent.

The images she’s being fed look so pretty. The lights are bright, colorful, and everywhere. The architecture ranges from kitschy, to quirky, to elegant. She’s so excited, she can barely sit still.

So when Shoto says, “We’re here,” her head snaps up so sharply, it’s a miracle she doesn’t throw out her back.

Nothing can prepare her for what she’s met with.

In the dark of night, the lights aren’t just bright—they’re neon. They flash, blink, and race around their tubes at sizes she’s never even comprehended. Glossy, glowing palm trees tower over their heads as they cruise down the road lined with hotels that look like they’d house only the most glamorous or unconventional of people.

Her finger finds the button for the window, and as it rolls down, she pulls herself out until she’s leaning out by her waist.

Every sight, sound, and smell wraps tight around her. People litter the sidewalks, dressed in jeans, in t-shirts, in tuxedos, in ballgowns, in character costumes, in barely anything at all. Vendors hawk their wares. Bussers make their music. Friends dance into clubs together, shouting, singing, psyching each other up. 

Billboards advertise buffets, cafés, and circus shows. Celebrity portraits and hero statues pave the streets. All Might has an entire pavilion dedicated to him, and it’s decked with red, blue, and yellow stars that alternate in color every other second. 

And just when Ochako thinks it couldn’t get any more exhilarating, she sees a pretty pink chapel with a billboard framed by vanity lights the size of her head.

In big, bold letters, it reads:

YOU’RE INVITED TO THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY.

Chapter Text

Ochako has no idea what the wedding of the century entails, but she’s here for it.

“Todoroki!” She slides back into the car and grabs Shoto’s shoulder. “Todoroki!” She shakes him.

Shoto, who’s still driving, manages miraculously not to veer off the road.

“Pull over!”

He glances at her, prepared to tell her they’ve still got a few minutes to the hotel, only to double-take. 

Every Vegas light is bouncing off her bright, eager eyes, rendering them technicolor. Both her hands are on his shoulder, but she’s kneeling in her seat, staring in wonder at the world around them. Her mouth, parted slightly in awe, expands into a broad, open smile.

Ochako whips her head around to meet his gaze, and Shoto’s breath catches at the intensity of her joy.

“There’s a wedding!” She gives him another shake. “I’ve never been to a wedding! Have you?”

He shakes his head. Somehow, her smile gets wider. 

“Then we have to go! C’mon, there’s a parking lot over there!”

Shoto is helpless to her excitement. The moment he’s parked, Ochako is at his side of the car, opening the door, tugging him out, pulling him towards a baby pink chapel. 

He’d seen it from the corner of his eye earlier, and it had seemed big. Up close, though, it towers over them. It’s steeple parts the sky. The bell tower is a replacement sun in the dark. The stained glass doors arc over them, every color inviting them inside.

Ochako takes the invite, hooking her elbow through Shoto’s and pushing through the entrance. They enter in a foyer circled with columns. Garlands and flowers and ribbons hang lushly between them.

“Wow,” Ochako breathes as she looks up, and the domed ceiling echoes with her astonishment.

“Are you here for a wedding?”

Ochako jumps and whirls around at the sound of the voice. A woman in a suit smiles at her kindly. 

Ochako nods, stepping up to the woman and dragging Shoto with her. “The one on the billboard!”

The woman examines them for a second, as if searching for flaws. It’s not long before she smiles in satisfaction. “How wonderful!” She coos. “If you’ll just follow me, then, Miss. There will be somebody for you in just a minute, Sir.”

“Oh!” Ochako blinks between Shoto and the woman. “We’re going to be separated?”

“Of course! It’s tradition, after all.”

Ochako makes a puzzled face at Shoto, who shrugs. Pursing her lips, Ochako extricates herself from Shoto and steps forward. “Alright. See you in a bit?”

“See you in a bit.”

She gives him a long look before smiling softly and disappearing down a hallway to the right with the woman. Not a second later, a man in a suit appears from the hallway on the left.

“If you’ll follow me.”

Shoto obliges, trailing behind the man, hands in his pockets. They’re halfway down when the employee begins to speak. 

“Who’ll be paying for the services tonight?”

Services? Aren’t they just attending a wedding? “I will.”

“Lovely. Will you be providing rings, or will you need to see our selection?”

Rings? He’s never heard of wedding guests needing rings. Maybe it’s different in America? “We don’t have rings.”

“That’s not a problem. Here.” The man stops in front of a door, opening it and gesturing for Shoto to enter before pressing a button to the right of the entryway. 

Spotlights beam to life, momentarily blinding Shoto. When his vision clears, he’s surrounded by display cases filled with rings. The reflection of the lights against the stones cast rainbows against the walls.

“You can choose whatever you think she’d like. The price includes the matching band.”

Shoto rounds the room, giving only his passing attention to most of the options. It’s not until the fifth case that he stops and lifts his finger to the glass. 

“That one.”

“Are you sure? You’re welcome to take your time.”

Shoto shakes his head. “She’ll like this one.”

Ochako doesn’t wear jewelry to begin with. She’d probably find a ring distracting, even if it’s just for a wedding. Shoto’s also pretty sure she’ll feel embarrassed with anything flashy or big.

“Simple, but full of character. A wonderful choice.” The man slides the ring out of the display, then tucks it into a velvet box. “We’ll have these ready for you during the ceremony. Please follow me.”

Shoto’s brow ticks in confusion, but he nods. He’s led into a modest office and offered the seat opposite the window. 

“All that’s left to do is to sign a few forms and wait while we prepare.”

Forms? Do wedding guests need to sign forms? Perhaps it’s an NDA. The billboard had said “wedding of the century.” Shoto wonders fleetingly if the parties involved might know All Might.

“It’ll just be a moment.”

“That’s fine.”

On the opposite side of the building, Ochako’s head spins as the woman guiding her chatters excitedly.

“I love weddings so much,” she gushes. “All of it. The tradition, the spectacle—oh! But even lowkey weddings are so beautiful, aren’t they?”

“I’ve never been to a wedding!” Ochako answers, and the woman gasps and immediately launches into a full description of what happens during weddings, how weddings are planned, essentials to a wedding, and so on and so forth. Ochako can hardly keep up. They get to a small office, where the woman pulls the chair in front of the desk out for her, and Ochako sits instinctively, head following the woman as she circles around to the other side, still effusing wedding details.

She slides a sheet of paper and a pen towards Ochako. “If you’ll just sign here, here, and here.”

Before Ochako can look at what she’s signing off to, the woman begins again. “I’m so lucky my quirk is so perfect for the industry! Then again, I’ve loved love since I was a baby. Really begs the question of if I was made for the industry, or if the industry was made for me.” She laughs.

Curiosity piqued, Ochako asks, “Your quirk?” 

“Oh, yes!” Her hands come up in fluttering excitement. Ochako finds herself smiling at her obvious delight. “My quirk is called ‘Happy Ending.’ I can see when two people make a good match!”

For the first time, Ochako notices the hearts in her eyes. They glow faintly pink. “That must be really helpful.”

“Mhm, it’s certainly come in handy in this business!” She winks. 

Suddenly, the paper is swept out from under Ochako’s hand. She’d been too distracted to look over the paper, much less sign it. Her hand comes up. “Wait”— 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve signed what you’ve needed to. We’ll take care of the rest!”

Then she’s out of the room in a flurry, and Ochako is left to gawk at whatever’s just happened. She notices the ink smudge on the side of her palm. She has no idea when that happened.

Minutes later, there’s a knock on the door behind Shoto. The woman from earlier comes blitzing in, paper in hand. When she drops it onto the desk and disappears, the man scans over it, signing every so often, then turns the page, offering his pen to Shoto. 

Shoto scoots his seat in, takes the pen, and looks down.

Then he looks up, eyes wide. “This is a marriage license.”

The man opposite him nods. “Yes.”

“Uraraka signed this?”

“If you mean your partner, yes.”

His mind reels. “‘Wedding of the century…’”

There’s no way.

Except there is. “Your own wedding, of course,” the man confirms.

Shoto feels like the wind’s been knocked out of his lungs. “Uraraka agreed to this?” 

“If that’s her signature down there, then yes. If you’ll just sign here, here, and here, we can start the wedding.”

Shoto stares down at the form, hand clenching against his thigh. Uraraka’s signature floats just off the dotted line, like she’s infused her quirk into each letter. Next to each of her scribbles is a line for his own. 

Shoto brings the pen to paper, hand shaking.

He signs.

The five minute wait is an eternity long. Shoto’s mind is blank. His heart has found a home in his throat. He’s led to a podium. There are actual people in the seats below the stage. Other tourists? The officiant says some things that go in one ear and out the other. Then the woman who had led Ochako away earlier appears, beckoning behind her.

Ochako steps up to the podium. She’s wearing a veil. There’s a bouquet in her hand. 

Shoto lifts the veil, blood pounding through his ears, palms sweating. Ochako’s face reveals itself.

She’s absolutely bewildered.

“Todoroki!” She hisses, eyes darting from him to the audience to the elderly man acting as the officiant waxing poetic behind them. “What the hell is going on?!”

Shoto feels the muscle in his chest stop, then drop to his feet. An unexpected wash of disappointment floods him. 

Then, a resigned calm. 

“The billboard is misleading,” he clarifies. Ochako looks at him like he’s grown five heads. “They were talking about your wedding. The consumer’s wedding.”

Ochako lurches back. “We’re getting married? ” She asks, voice high.

His eyes flit from the officiant to the altar to the veil in her hair to the bouquet in her hands before finding their way back to her incredulous gaze. Shoto can’t help the amused quirk of his mouth. “We’re already married.”

Her already wide eyes double in size. “Is that the form I signed?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” she breathes, gaze becoming distant as she realizes what she’s done. “Oh my god.” Her attention snaps back to Shoto, and she looks devastated. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he says.

Ochako, dumbfounded, can only gawk at Shoto. It’s really not!! Her mind screeches.

“Todoroki!” She hisses again. “If we go back to Japan married, the press will lose their minds! How are you going to get a date? And if you manage to, because you definitely will, what are you going to tell them when they find out you’re married?! You’re going to lose your spot on GQ Japan’s Top Bachelor Heroes Under 25 chart! You’re top 3!”

Shoto’s eyebrows rocket skywards.

“You’re okay with that?!” 

“I haven’t been on a date since UA,” he murmurs back. His expression becomes thoughtful. “I didn’t know I was in GQ Japan.”

“You’re all over GQ Japan! You’re, like, their favorite!”

He hums. “I’ll need to talk to my publicist about that.”

“Todoroki!”

“It’s fine, Uraraka.”

She startles away again, features flickering until she’s only staring at him in wide-eyed worry. 

“People marry all the time,” he says. “We’re just another two.”

She gapes. “Yes, but they love each other!”

The pang he’d experienced earlier makes a brief reappearance. Shoto shakes it off. “Plenty of people don’t marry for love.”

Ochako instantly becomes contrite. “I’m sorry.” She looks down. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine.” Shoto gives her hand a squeeze, and Ochako peers up at him. The expression on her face makes his chest tight. “Do you at least like me?”

Her eyes grow to the size of saucers, and she nods frantically. Her cheeks are pinker than usual. “Y—yeah! A lot!”

“I’m glad. I like you a lot, too.” His mouth quirks when her entire face turns bright pink. “It’ll make things easier until we can get an annulment.”

Ochako freezes. An annulment. She’d completely forgotten those existed. They can get an annulment so long as they don’t consummate the marriage, which Ochako already knows isn’t going to happen. 

Something inside her chest twinges.

“What’s wrong?” Shoto squeezes her hand again, and Ochako’s eyes dart to his, searching. 

No! She shakes her head. She’s being silly. She needs to leave her jealousy out of this! More importantly—hero relationships are so complicated! Who knows when she’ll ever get married. This might be her only chance! And everything happens for a reason, right? In this moment, this is where their lives have led them. It’s got to be a sign. They’re already at the damn podium, for god’s sake. She might as well tick this off her bucket list! The universe is practically shouting in her face to do it!

And it’s too late anyways! They’ve already signed the papers! She’s overthinking this! It’s all beginning to sound like a very good idea—a great idea, even. She opens her mouth to tell him that, but the officiant interrupts.

“Do either of you have vows you’d like to share?”

Shoto turns to address the officiant. “No”—

“Me!” Ochako shouts, hand shooting up into the air like she’s in class again. “I do! I—uh, I have a vow! For you! Todoroki. You. My vow to you.” 

If she were in a car right now, she’d throw herself out of it. As it is, though, all she can do is take a deep breath and meet his bewildered stare. 

“I—I’m glad this whole thing has been with you. Even this part. I’d rather it be you than anybody else.” She offers him a timid smile. “I promise I’ll always be there for you when you have to count American change, and…” Her eyes brighten, and she giggles. “And I’ll always paint your nails whenever you want!”  

Her laughter trails off as it grows quiet. Shoto is staring at her. There’s a crease between his brows. Ochako feels his hand, which had loosened, fold over hers again. His eyes flit over her face like he’s searching for something. 

“Would you like to say anything?”

Shoto jerks to look at the officiant. After a pause, he nods slowly, straightening and wetting his lips.

“I promise you’ll never be hungry as long as you’re with me,” he begins, voice smooth, sure. “I’ll never get sick of how much you love to eat. I’ll get you whatever you want, whenever you want. And you’ll never step foot in a shitty hotel ever again. I’ll let you drive sometimes, even at the risk of my own life.” 

Ochako laughs, but he keeps his eyes steady on hers. “And when you beat me to Top 5, I’ll be the happiest about it.”

Her smile fades as confusion wrinkles her brow. “What do you”—

“We’ll exchange the rings now.”

Ochako flinches, then remembers they're not alone. Her heart stutters when Shoto takes her hand, his eyes still glued determinedly to hers. The light in them is so intense, Ochako can feel her cheeks burning. Her heart flips when he slides the ring onto her finger.

She does the same for him, though her hands shake. She prays he can’t feel it. 

“You may now kiss the bride!” 

Heart in her throat, she turns to Shoto to joke that he can probably just kiss her cheek, but the words die on her tongue the moment their eyes meet.

His mismatched gaze sears into hers.

The earth comes to a standstill. She feels his hands in her hair, feels him press into her. Her eyes flutter shut, and then they’re kissing. 

His mouth is warm. His lips are soft. He moves against her slowly, almost languidly, and all the blood in Ochako’s body soars to her head, leaving her spinning even in the dark. Her hand comes to his chest, fingers curling against him. 

Then he pulls away, leaving her panting. When she opens her eyes, he’s already staring down at her. He smiles.

Oh. 

Ochako realizes with startling clarity that she’s in love with Todoroki Shoto.

Her epiphany makes for an awkward drive to their next stop. The ring on her finger is heavy. 

It’s 7am now. They’d walked out of the chapel to the morning sun. They haven’t slept for over 20 hours, and Ochako isn’t sure what is and isn’t real.

“Would you rather find our hotel first, or get something to eat?”

Jolted out of her fugue state, Ochako spins to stare at Shoto. He’s looking straight ahead at the road like he hasn’t just gotten married.

Shoto glances at Ochako. She looks like somebody’s just told her she’s made out of bubblegum.

“Food,” she answers quickly, falling back into her seat with a thwump.

“Okay.”

Three hours later, Ochako is ten plates into their All You Can Eat buffet when the color finally begins returning to her face. Shoto watches with mild concern, but figures Ochako knows what she’s doing. 

When she slides her cleaned plate over and, for the first time since they’ve been seated, doesn’t stand straight up to grab another serving, Shoto asks, “What would you like to do next?”

Ochako looks at him askance. “We just got married, Todoroki.” His heart skips a beat at the mention of it. “I really don’t think I can top that. I guess we can go find a hotel.” Suddenly, she perks up. “This whole trip, you’ve been asking me what I want. What about you? What do you want?”

You. “Anything you want,” he says instead.

There’s a brief flash of softness across Ochako’s face, but it disappears quickly into a pout. Shoto can’t imagine what she’s upset about, since he’s mostly telling the truth. If he had to be more specific, he’d say ‘something fun,' or ‘something interesting,' but those are guaranteed as long as Ochako’s holding the reins.

Slowly, though, Shoto watches as the stubborn glint in her gaze turns sly. 

“I can think of something you’d be good at.”

He cocks his head. “What’s that?”

“We need to get you a suit first.”

The trip to the nearest haberdashery doesn’t take all day. Neither does the day-of tailoring service Ochako scopes out at a formalwear store she browses, or the restaurant he and Ochako stop at for a late lunch. 

What takes all day is finding a hotel with a room available.

They’re running on absolutely zero hours of sleep. In fact, they’ve been up for longer than 24 hours now. Yet somehow, Shoto thinks, the most surreal part of any of this is that every time Ochako raises her left hand to point at something, there’s a rock shining off her ring finger—

And he has a matching band on his own left ring finger.

Ochako is entirely unfazed as they make their way through the lobby and up to the front desk. “This better be it. I really want to get there early to scope out the floor.” She taps her finger against her chin before laying a curious look on Shoto. “Have you ever played poker?”

Shoto shakes his head.

“I’ll explain everything to you while we change! Once you play a few hands, though, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“How do you know so much?” Shoto asks.

“Mirko likes to play! Sometimes she’ll host office tournaments. Not with money, of course.”

“Are you good?”

Ochako almost chokes on her laughter. “Me? God, no. People can tell what I’m thinking from a mile away. My face says everything.”

It does. It’s something Shoto has always liked about her.

“That’s where you come in,” she wiggles her eyebrows at him. “We’re going to bleed these suckers dry!”

Shoto’s not really sure how they’re going to do that, but Ochako seems absolutely brimming with confidence, so he decides to follow her lead. “And we have to dress nice to do that?”

Ochako blinks, losing herself in her thoughts for a second before shrugging. “It’s what they do in all the movies.”

Before Shoto can ask what movies, a hotel employee steps up to the counter to greet them. “Welcome to the Wynn Las Vegas. Unfortunately, all we have left is the honeymoon suite.”

Ochako and Shoto look at each other in alarm, then promptly burst into laughter.

“We’ll take it!” Ochako says through her tears.

“Is it a double double?” Shoto asks, fist to his mouth as his shoulders quake. Ochako laughs harder, almost bent over in hysterics.

“Uh, a single King,” the man answers, befuddled. He looks between Ochako and Shoto cautiously. “An Alaskan King. Will that be a problem?”

“A King!” Ochako squeals, collecting herself enough to eye Shoto excitedly. “We haven’t had one of those yet!”

The man’s face grows increasingly concerned. Then Shoto slides a dark card over the counter, and his worries fall away.

“Thank you for choosing Encore at Wynn Las Vegas, Mr. Todoroki. There will be someone to guide you to your room immediately. As an esteemed member of our rewards program, all extra amenities are included in your stay. If there’s anything you need, you have a direct line to our staff by dialing the number nine on your room phone. Please enjoy your stay.”

Ochako, still laughing, shrieks when a bellboy appears at her side silently and instantaneously. They follow him to the elevator. He presses the button for the 80th floor.

The carpet beneath their shoes is burgundy and plush, looking every bit as expensive as the rest of the hotel. Every other surface of the elevator is mirrored. Ochako looks up to inspect their reflections. When Shoto’s reflection looks up, too, and smiles at her, her toes curl.

“Your room, Mr. and Mrs. Todoroki.” 

Ochako chokes, eyes bulging out of her head as she glances at Shoto, who’s already watching her. His fist comes up to this mouth as he looks away, shoulders beginning to shake for the second time in the hour.

The bellboy extends an arm as the double doors ease open, and Ochako’s astonishment at being addressed as Mrs. Todoroki is overwhelmed by the sight laid out before her. Even Shoto’s eyes widen.

Every vertical surface is made of glass, some frosted, some clear and overlooking the strip. Every horizontal surface that isn’t the floor is either deep walnut or beautifully grained marble. The desks are built-in, the closets are walk-ins. The drawers and cabinets are soft closing. Every fixture is genuine brass, the patina on them rich and luxurious. If the ceilings aren’t 10-feet high, they must be 12. Chandeliers hang in every single room.

Then Ochako steps into the bedroom, and her jaw drops.

The bed is big enough to swim in. Somebody’s strewn rose petals all over it. There’s a bucket of champagne resting in the middle. Beside it is a platter of chocolate covered strawberries.

“The windows are all one way glass,” the bellboy informs. Ochako feels her entire face burn, and she doggedly avoids looking at Shoto. “I’ll be leaving now. If you need anything, please dial 9 on the phone. Enjoy your stay.”

It’s a long while before they hear the front doors close again, a testament to just how big this space truly is. 

“There’s a balcony.” Shoto moves past her to slide open one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Censored lights blink on, and Ochako grows positively faint. Balcony? This is not a balcony. This is a bona fide patio. String lights cross overhead. Planters in full bloom line the railing. This balcony alone is nicer than her apartment back home! It’s not even indoors!

“There’s a hot tub,” Shoto murmurs.

“Are you kidding me?” She’s just lost the swimsuit she’d bought at the start of this trip in the Great Bed Bug Bonfire! What is she supposed to do now? Wear clothes into it?! Ergh. It’d be like the rain in Seattle all over again.  “I’m not buying another swimsuit,” she grumbles.

Shoto shuts the door, nodding in understanding. “You can just wear your clothes in.” Ochako gives him a dry look. He blinks at her, then cocks his head. “Would you like to borrow one of my shirts instead?”

She’s helpless to the smile that splits across her face. Shaking her head, she chuckles and steps back. “C’mon, let’s get changed.”

Ochako hurries into the bathroom, disappearing behind the french doors only to poke her head out a minute later. “Let me know when you’re done, okay? I’ll explain everything.” 

Then she vanishes again with a click of the locks.

Shoto gets dressed in a matter of minutes. As he adjusts his cufflinks, he sits onto the edge of the mattress, facing the mottled glass panes of the doors. Once he’s done, he announces it.

“Okay,” Ochako begins, voice unexpectedly clear. “There’s a couple of versions of poker, but the most popular that all casinos do is Texas Hold ‘Em.”

She launches into an explanation. Shoto stares absent-mindedly at the glass she’s speaking through, admiring the way the light dances off it. Slowly, gradually, he realizes that the blob shifting slowly over the textured glass of the doors is Ochako.

He sees her pull the dress she’d been wearing over her head. Then she bends over and steps one leg and then another out of something Shoto can’t make out. Her shape is vague, amorphous, but Shoto feels his pulse pick up speed anyway, feels all the blood in his body begin to drain south. 

She’s still talking, occasionally laughing over some joke she’s probably made. His heart pumps hard at the sound. His mouth dries. He’s grateful the bed makes no sound, nor the carpet, as he rises to move across the room and lean against the wall besides the doors. 

Shoto slides his hands into his pocket and tilts his head back to rest on the wall as Ochako explains the types of hands, blinds, actions, and tactics. He shuts his eyes to focus on her voice, only to peel them open shortly after when his mind supplies unhelpful images of her naked self on the other side.

After what feels like an eternity, he hears the lock click. The doors open haltingly, as if Ochako isn’t sure whether she wants to come out. Shoto looks over to investigate the holdup and finds her stooping over her feet, adjusting her shoes with one hand while the other hangs onto the handle. As she finishes up, he notices just how tall her heels are.

"Will you be okay in th"— 

Ochako stands to her full height, and every thought bleeds out of Shoto's mind.

The fabric she’d held up her thigh as she’d fixed her shoes unravels down her leg like a waterfall. When it reaches its full length, it hangs from her hips. The rest of the dress clings to her like she’s been poured into it. 

He’s reminded of their sprint through the rain in Seattle, how she’d looked after, and Shoto fights to keep his eyes on her face. He can hear the ocean in his ears.

“Ta-da!” She exclaims as she steps up to him, grinning. “We match!”

His brow furrows. Ochako laughs and points at his hair, then sweeps a hand over herself, forcing his eyes over her. He grits his teeth and swallows—hard.

“I thought about doing white, but after this morning, that’d be kind of on-the-nose, huh?” Ochako grins at him, nose wrinkling. 

Shoto struggles to attain basic speech. After a beat, Ochako’s face softens, and she tucks a loose strand from her hair, which is clipped up, behind her ear. “You look nice.” She meets his gaze almost shyly. “I didn’t get to see the whole thing when they were fixing you up, but they did a really good job, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shoto finally manages, and he prays the single syllable doesn’t come out as strangled as he feels. “You look nice, too.”

Her face brightens. Shoto’s brain stutters as her elation briefly overcomes the baser part of him. “Thank you!” Ochako beams. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Then she turns, and Shoto discovers the low cut of her dress. 

When he doesn’t follow her up to the elevator doors, Ochako spins back around to face him and cocks her head. “You okay? We don’t have all night, y’know!”

Shoto clenches his jaw and steps up to her side. 

Whether they have all night or not is irrelevant, he thinks. All he knows is that it’s going to be a hell of a long one.

Chapter Text

They hear the casino before they see it. It sounds like money against steel, like cards being spun through the air, like fingers of whiskey and ice shaped in spheres. When they step into the noise, they see the spinning roulettes and the slot machines. People cheer. People swear.

It’s crowded but cold. The tables are full, the machines don’t have a single empty seat. Servers maneuver through the teeming throngs of spectators like seasoned dancers, and bartenders mix several different drinks at once seamlessly behind the counter.

It’s not until Ochako slips her elbow around his and brings her other hand to his arm that Shoto is able to tear his eyes from the spectacle.

“Wow,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” he responds quietly.

She’s immediately in business mode. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. Do you remember everything I told you?” 

“Yes.”

“Great. Follow me.”

Ochako weaves through the aisles and tables, moving so effortlessly that Shoto’s not convinced she hasn’t been here before. Or maybe it’s the dress. It moves around her the way water does when you run your fingers through it.

They pass all the slots. All the blackjack tables. The baccarat tables. Roulette wheels. Crapshoots. They’re at least seven poker tables in when Ochako finally stops and looks back at Shoto, beckoning for him to join her.

“Let’s try this table!” She waves to the dealer. “Can we join the next round?” When he nods, she preens.

When their turn comes around, Ochako gestures for him to sit. He does as he’s told, then looks up at her in question.

She grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you the first few rounds.”

Once they receive their hand, Shoto defers to Ochako, only to find her face completely dark. It’s a face he recognizes from their school days. 

What Shoto learns those first few rounds is just how cutthroat Ochako is with cards. They leave the table three rounds later at a loss. She really does have a terrible poker face.

“Get it now?” Ochako chimes, all sunshine and daisies again, like she didn’t just take the pot two rounds straight, then lose it all in the last one. 

Shoto nods. 

They move to a table with higher stakes. Ochako lays low, content to hover just behind Shoto and watch him handle his cards himself. Another three rounds later, they’ve got 600 more dollars to their names. She’s beaming as she sweeps chips into a clutch he hadn’t noticed earlier. It matches her dress.

“Want to take a break?” 

“Sure.”

“Anything you’re interested in?”

Shoto’s eyes are immediately drawn to the fast-paced blackjack tables. When he looks back at Ochako, her eyebrows are raised.

“Really?” She hums and shrugs. “If you want.” 

“You’ve played before?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Sometimes Mirko changes it up.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“Blackjack’s kind of easy. I get bored fast.”

Shoto, content to watch, follows her to a table. She sits, scooting in. There’s an air of indifference radiating from her as she places her bet and observes the dealing. Shoto’s not entirely sure what’s happening, but half an hour later, they’re walking away with $400 in chips.

“You won most of those,” he comments.

Ochako nods. “Mirko hates playing blackjack with me. She says I cheat, but it’s just math.” She shrugs. “Easy math, too. If gambling were legal in Japan, I’d probably just play blackjack for some extra cash. Ooh, I’ve never played this before!”

Shoto has a feeling Ochako is gaming the blackjack system, but he keeps quiet as she guides him to another table. The dealer, friendly and garrulous, explains the rules. Once they place their bets, the dealer holds the dice out to Shoto and winks at Ochako. “Kiss for luck from the pretty little lady?”

Ochako blinks, looks left, then right, before realizing belatedly that she’s the only woman at the table. She glances hesitantly at Shoto, who cocks his head at her as he receives the dice.

“Okay,” she concedes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Her head swims with afterimages of their wedding kiss.

Despite her heels, she instinctively rises to her tiptoes. Her hand wraps around his shoulder to keep herself steady as she cranes towards him. Shoto meets her halfway, sliding a hand behind her neck to cradle her head. Ochako’s eyes flutter shut.

It feels just as nice, as warm, as the one in the chapel. The butterflies return with renewed vigor. 

Ochako pulls away first, breathless. Their eyes meet. There’s only a thin ring of color around his pupils, and both look unusually clouded. When his gaze darts to her mouth, Ochako’s heart skips. 

“I meant the dice,” the dealer laughs, breaking the spell. “But I suppose that’s even better.”

Ochako jerks away to look at the dealer with wide eyes. Heat travels straight to her head, and she steps away from Shoto hastily. 

They come away from the table $200 richer. Ochako rubs the back of her neck, eyeing Shoto nervously. “Guess it worked, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes distant but intense as he runs the pad of his thumb over his mouth. 

Ochako’s heart does gymnastics in her chest. She turns away sharply, pointing to the first table she sees. It’s a large one, at least ten players, and there’s a huge crowd gathered around it. She immediately regrets her recklessness, but it’s too late. She has to commit. 

“That table looks good!” Ochako exclaims shrilly, marching stiffly towards it.

The closer she gets, the more she’s filled with dread. They’ve come at the perfect time, just between rounds. There’s exactly one seat available. The pot is huge. The players look like high rollers, something she’s only ever heard about. Ochako is torn between forcing Shoto in and taking the chance, or running away and getting some more games under his belt. 

Shoto makes the decision for her, taking the only availability with next to no thought. Ochako gasps, splutters, looks around in a panic. Everybody is watching them. There’s nowhere for her to sit, and this is bound to be a long game.

As she surveys the other players in the game, though, she notices several of them have partners hanging off them in some way. Heat travels up her body, right to her face. When she turns to check on Shoto, he’s looking up at her, face blank as ever.

“Should we pull up a seat?”

The dealer immediately cuts in. “Seats can’t be added.”

Shoto grows quiet. Contemplative. His eyes take the same journey across the table that Ochako’s did just moments ago until they fall back on her. They both glance at his thigh. Then each other.

Ochako stumbles back, hands coming up to wave defensively. “I—that’s… err, I can just watch from”—

Shoto angles one knee further out, forcing the space between his legs apart. His expression is indiscernible. 

“A—are you sure?” Ochako squeaks, frozen in place. He nods. 

She sidles up to him, stepping carefully into the space between his thighs. Then she perches primly upon his knee, like a kid who’s terrified of Santa. 

“Uraraka?”

“Hm?” She can’t bring herself to look at him. Her body is so hot, she’s scared just meeting his eye will make her burst into flames.

“It’ll be hard to read my cards like this.”

“Oh.” She swallows. “Right.”

The entire table is watching them. The people standing behind the table are watching them. The dealer is watching them. 

Ochako begins to slide herself down at the same time that Shoto raises his knee a little. What’s meant to be a measured descent turns into a tumble as she crashes right into him. 

Shoto, however, doesn’t notice the mishap. He only feels her sudden softness against him, and the heady way she smells. He draws his right arm around her, breathing slowly, crossing behind her waist as he reaches towards the table.

His hand grazes the small of her back, and she flinches. 

Shoto hesitates. “You’re stiff.”

She flushes. “I—I’m nervous. About the game!” She adds quickly.

“I’ll be fine.” He offers her a small smile.

Ochako blinks at him. After a beat, she smiles back a little, relaxing just a bit. 

The dealer distributes the cards, then flips three onto the table. Shoto slides his cards close and pulls up the edge.

Ochako gasps, excited eyes flying to his unaffected ones as her hands come to her mouth. The crowd around them chuckles, and her expression immediately twists into one of mortification. “Sorry!” She grimaces.

Shoto laughs into his fist, and Ochako feels the sound in her entire body. “It’s fine.”

Several others at the table fold after Ochako’s reaction, but still several others raise the bet. Shoto ultimately folds. When the cards are revealed, they know he made the right call.

For the next round, Ochako turns her head away and keeps her gaze studiously off his hand. It’s better if she doesn’t know. 

Shoto smiles at her antics. He leans into the table to take his cards, forcing himself into Ochako’s space. “Are you sure?” He murmurs right into her ear, and Ochako whips around to look at him in surprise. 

She has to dig her fingers into the table to stop the full body shiver. “Y—yeah,” she answers, wincing at her breathiness. She clears her throat, waving a palm over her face. “Like an open book, remember?”

His grin grows just a little wider before he takes a look at his cards. His mouth falls back into a line, features once again becoming unreadable. Ochako holds her breath until his turn, disappointment gutting her when he folds again.

This goes on for two more rounds. At some point, his hand comes to her waist, and Ochako doesn’t even notice until the end of their fourth round, when his thumb strokes over a particularly sensitive spot on her hip. 

She gasps, heat zipping straight through her. Her face bursts into flames. 

She’s getting turned on at a freaking poker table! In front of real, live people!

Shoto looks at her. “What’s wrong?”

“N—nothing!” She squeaks. “You’re playing it really safe, huh? Bad cards?”

Shoto stares at her carefully. The dealer hands out the cards. “Should we kiss before I check?”

“H—huh?!”

“For luck.”

Ochako’s eyes expand to the size of dinner plates. “That’s—that’s just craps, with dice, ‘cause you kiss the dice, not the person, poker is different, poker is cards, everybody touches them, it’s unhygienic because you can’t wash cards”—she rambles out of self-preservation, looking everywhere but at him.

His thumb runs over the spot again, and Ochako chokes, eyes flying to his in shock. She double takes at the heat in them. “What’s there to lose?” He cocks his head. 

Ochako’s brain empties, unable to come up with an excuse under the intensity of his gaze. “O—okay,” she finally breathes.

The corners of his lips curl, and then he leans into her, fingers gripping her waist tighter as he presses his mouth to hers. He moves against her like he has all the time in the world, and Ochako feels herself melt. 

When he begins to draw back, she swallows her whine. But then he nips her bottom lip, and a whimper bleeds out of her.

She sees Shoto’s eyes widen, and she turns away swiftly, face red. 

Everybody can see them. She’s so embarrassed. It’s impolite and shameless and if Shoto pushed her down onto the table right now and had his way with her, she’d be completely okay with it.

No, you idiot! He wants an annulment! 

Ochako fixes her gaze resolutely on the wall far past the dealer. She needs to clear her head. Her feelings for Shoto are already a problem. Letting herself get encouraged like this will only make things worse. She needs to stop this before it can get that bad, before—

A posse of strangely shaped men slink past the counter Ochako is staring at. They seem to talk amongst themselves as they move. Several of them are carrying briefcases. One of them has a distinctly amphibious quality to his hands. 

When she turns to get Shoto’s attention, he’s just raised during the final round of betting. She taps his shoulder, and his gaze slides to her. Ochako gestures microscopically under the table towards the counter. His eyes flit in the direction of the quickly disappearing clique. 

Shoto and Ochako exchange a look.

“Sir? It’s time to show your hand.”

Shoto flips his cards over. The crowd gasps, but both he and Ochako are too busy tracking the group disappearing behind the back door. 

“That’s a royal flush,” the dealer announces, voice slightly awed. “The pot is yours. $8000.”

“They’re getting away,” Ochako whispers into his ear. 

Shoto’s brow furrows. When he stands, Ochako slips off of him gracefully, coming to her own feet. 

“Sir? Your winnings”—

“Keep it,” Shoto says, grabbing Ochako’s hand as they leave the table.

After so many hours on the noisy, lively floor, the quiet of the back hallways is eerie. Ochako’s heels sound ten times louder against the tile here than they did in the lobby. She’s considering taking them off.

Shoto, however, is perfectly quiet. Of course. He’s good at everything, even walking. Ochako tries not to snicker, though the humor dies on her when she spots something on the ceiling and grabs Shoto by the back of his suit before he can go any further.

“Cameras,” she whispers. He nods, finding the object in question right away.

They observe the camera’s cycle. The only blind spot it has is less than a minute long. Ochako frowns. Shoto lifts his left hand, and Ochako immediately grabs his wrist, shaking her head frantically. Why are he, Izuku, and Katsuki all the exact same?!

“That’ll draw too much attention! Here.” She taps her fingers together, then against herself. She immediately comes to a hover. “I’ll take care of it. Just wait, okay?”

When the camera swivels away, she leaps from the wall they’re hiding behind. She shoots straight to the corner behind the camera, catching the device between her hands and snapping it off its arm with a quick jerk. It crackles, sparks of electricity spraying from the frayed wires, then dies.

Ochako drops to the ground gently, templing her fingers to deactivate. They continue to wind down the corridor, taking care of the surveillance system and making note of their surroundings. They’re crouching behind a corner in front of a turn that gets particularly dark, observing, when Ochako pokes Shoto in the side, her curiosity getting the better of her.

When he looks at her, she whispers, “What happened to not having licenses?”

“That was then,” he mutters back. “This is now.”

Her mouth twitches into a small smile, and she resumes their scope out.

They wait one minute before they decide it’s safe. When they step into the dimmed hallway, the fluorescent light above them flickers to life. As they travel down, the lights continue to blink on as they pass through, then blink off once they’re behind.

The longer they walk, the less sure Shoto becomes that they’re going anywhere. The lights grow increasingly haphazard as they navigate deeper. There’s an unusual lack of doors down any of these hallways, save for what looks to be a broom closet every so often.

20 minutes of wandering and Ochako’s beginning to question whether there really is anything to find back here, whether the sketchy looking group had just been a false lead, when they turn a corner and find an elevator. 

They both look at each other. After a beat, Ochako shrugs. They walk the length of the corridor, and she presses the button up. 

Then they hear voices.

Shoto stiffens. Ochako whirls around. 

So far, it’s only a male voice—but he’s definitely talking to somebody. Then there’s an uproar of laughter, and it’s all men. They don’t sound nearby, but that could change in a matter of seconds. 

It’s already too late to try to hide, they’ll definitely hear her heels. Ochako’s eyes dart to the walls. They’d passed five doors on the way down this single hallway, each nearly 50 paces apart. If she’s right, the group they’ve just heard is still at least halfway down the hall feeding into this one. There’s a door a third of the way between the start of this walkway and the elevator.

She can hear their shoes now.

Shoto is already raising his arm—again? Seriously?!—and Ochako yanks it down before he can do any damage. “Follow me,” she hisses, then pulls him down the hallway.

Just as she’d expected, the moment her heels start clicking, the footsteps slow. Then stop.

“Ya hear that?” A high, reedy voice asks.

The footfalls start again, a little quicker. The voices pickup, but there’s still enough time to pull this off. Ochako stops just by the door, praying to god this works. 

“Just play along,” she says under her breath, eyeing Shoto urgently. He blinks at her.

Ochako reaches behind him for the door handle. The door swings open, and she lets herself fall into Shoto. 

“Hey!” Somebody behind them shouts.

Ochako grabs Shoto by his lapels, rising to her tiptoes and pressing her mouth to his. As the last of the light flooding through the doorway vanishes, Ochako meets Shoto’s eyes just in time to see his shock. She squeezes her own eyes shut, embarrassment flushing through her.

Shoto stumbles backwards in the dark, Ochako’s mouth on his. They knock things over as they trip into the room. She’s kissing him—hard—and when his back hits the wall, her hands move from his chest to his shoulders for purchase. She presses herself tightly against him, and he feels every line and curve. His hands, which hover over her hips, finally land. His eyes slip shut, and he presses back with equal force.

Her hands smooth farther up him, up his neck, into his hair, digits curling into his scalp. He groans, fingers tightening against her.

“They’re in here!”

The door behind them rattles. There’s too many things in the way for it to open readily, but Ochako knows it’ll give eventually. She breaks away from Shoto to look over her shoulder, arranging her features to look like a lover that’s been caught in a private moment, in an explicit moment—

“Ah!” She cries out when her back hits the wall. Her fists fly up, only to meet something firm, but still with give. 

Shoto. 

Shoto’s chest. 

Her brain fumbles. “What—mmph! ”

Shoto slams his mouth back against hers, forearms caging her as he crowds into her. He bites her bottom lip, sliding his tongue over hers when she gasps, body jerking into hers when she makes a sweet, surprised noise. The door is still rattling, voices growing louder, arguing, but all he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears and the tiny, startled sounds slipping out of her. All he can feel is the way her hands grapple at his chest, the way her lips drag over his. 

She feels so good.

Ochako’s head spins. She can barely breathe, can barely catch her breath. She feels a hand against her waist, feels it shift down to her hip, searching, rucking up her dress. His thumb bumps against the same sensitive spot from earlier, and she moans.

Shoto freezes, eyes peeling apart hazily as he continues to kiss her. He circles his thumb against her, testing, watching, just barely able to make out her features in the blade of light bleeding in from beneath the door. When her brows furrow and she rolls her hips against him, whimpers against him, he growls into her mouth, shutting his eyes again as he drops his other hand to her hip and slides a thigh between hers.

She slides down him with a gasp. Her thighs come up around him, ankles crossing behind him. His hand slips behind her back, and the heat of his palm against her travels straight through her. His touch against her bare skin lights up every nerve in her body. 

Shoto remembers the low cut of her dress. He groans, pulls away, plants his mouth in the juncture between her neck and shoulder, slips his hand further around her, under the fabric, strokes up her side until he finds the swell of her chest. He reaches farther still, until he finds the bud of nerves at the crest of her breast and runs his fingers over it. 

“Ah—” 

He feels her writhe against him, feels his dick twitch. He ghosts his lips over her neck before kissing just below her ear, hears her ‘oh god,’ feels her fingers reach for the belt around his hips.

The door behind them slams open, and Ochako jerks away with a gasp. From over Shoto’s shoulder, she sees a thin, angry face squint at them.

“Oh, shit!” The man exclaims suddenly, animosity dropping away as his eyes widen and he breaks into a laugh. “Should’ve known. Sorry, folks. Carry on!” He shoots her a lascivious grin, winks, then turns away. “Just two high rollers winning big, if you catch my drift,” Ochako hears him explain to the others. Her face heats.

As the door eases shut, the light begins to fade out with it. Ochako’s gaze flickers to Shoto’s instinctively, and her heart stops.

The same hungry—no, ravenous—look from all those days ago darkens his face. Pure, hot want licks through her, and she feels herself get wet. The last sliver of light disappears over the electric blue of his left eye, and Ochako feels his thumb and forefinger on her chin, feels him tilt her face up—

“Todoroki”—

He finds her mouth, then drops both his hands to her hips, digging his thumbs into her as he kisses her like he’s starving. Ochako cries out, arching into him, lightning sparking up her body. 

“Fuck, Uraraka,” he groans against her, voice strained, and it’s almost enough to have her melting back into him.

The annulment! THE ANNULMENT!

Ochako grasps frantically at her last remaining strands of sense. “Todoroki!” She gasps out. “They’re gone, they left, we don’t—they won’t—they’re not—Todoroki—”

She moans when he bucks his hips into hers, helpless to the “oh god,” that slips out from her. “Todoroki,” she calls desperately, only for it to have the opposite effect she’d intended when he swears under his breath and begins tugging one side of her dress up.

She feels the straps of her gown slip off her shoulders, feels him tracing the path they make down her with his mouth as his hand travels up her bare thigh. “T—Todoroki,” she stammers, feeling her urgency slipping away, feeling a contentment to stay right here with him standing over her replacing it. “You—you have to—mmm—we have to”—she pants—“stop!”

Shoto jerks back. 

He’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling quickly, desperately. His lids are heavy, pupils blown out, one thin iris still stormy, but the other bright, bright blue. Brighter than usual. Bright enough to make out even in the low light. 

Ochako swallows.

“They left,” she breathes, gaze flicking from one of his eyes to the other. “We’re good now.”

Shoto takes a step back. Ochako slips off his thigh, stumbling against the wall behind her, dress sliding back down her legs. His mind is still buzzing, blood still burning through him. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“C’mon.” She flushes at the sound of her own voice. Thin, weak, but somehow still throaty. 

Something yanks at the space behind Shoto’s navel.

Ochako opens the door, praying Shoto can’t tell her legs are shaking like a lamb’s as she exits first. The lights are all on now. Courtesy of their unwelcome guests, she assumes. She squints as her eyes adjust to the sudden contrast. 

Shoto brushes past her, crossing the length of the hallway before stopping at the elevator. He presses the button up. The doors open instantly.

Ochako follows him in. They stand with enough room between them to fit a third person. Shoto looks to the corner of the elevator closest to him, face blank. Ochako’s gaze flits from the button panel, to the ceiling corner, to her own blurry reflection in the steel wall nearest to hear. 

The vague impression of her looks identifiably ravished. Ochako turns away sharply, settling her stare back on the button panel, humiliation burning hot just beneath her skin.

Neither says a word.

The doors slide shut, and they head to the top floor.

They step into a hallway that’s furnished like the casino, which feels like eons ago. The carpet is oxblood red. Paintings and portraits framed with heavy gold motifs hang from the walls. There’s even an occasional marble bust sitting on a stone column. Classical music plays overhead.

Ochako and Shoto stroll down the hallway silently, maintaining the distance between them almost exactly. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling every few feet, making the corridor feel safer than the one they’d been in previously. There are doors every several feet with gilded placards beside them, names engraved onto them. 

Ochako clears her throat. “Should we… split up? Check out the rooms?”

Shoto’s mouth thins. “I don’t know about splitting up.”

“It seems pretty safe here. I haven’t heard or seen anything suspicious.”

He still doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ll let you know right away if I find anything,” Ochako assures.

Shoto hesitates, then nods. “I’ll take this room.”

He sets his hand on the door knob. After a few seconds, it melts into his hand, and the door inches open. He gives Ochako one last look before disappearing into the room.

Ochako takes the next room over, tapping her hands, then the handle. The pins of the lock rise, unlocking the door. She checks that the coast is clear before slipping in soundlessly.

It’s an office, and a big one. The opposite wall is entirely windows. A large desk takes up the majority of the space in front of it, wingback chair settled comfortably underneath it. There are a few shelves on either wall, but they’re sparsely furnished.

Ochako runs a finger over the table top, picking up a thin layer of dust. When she pulls open drawers, they, similarly, cough up dust. She steps out of the room to move onto the next one, skipping any with melted handles.

They make their way down the hall. At one point, Shoto exits a room just as she does, moving onto their respective next doors together. Ochako holds her breath as she works. Shoto stares at the handle as it melts like he's trying to do it with his eyes. Once Ochako works the door open—it’s jammed against something—she breathes a sigh of relief.

Then her eyes land on the briefcase sitting up on the desk inhabiting the office. 

It’s one of the briefcases from earlier in the casino. The latch on top requires a key. Grinning, Ochako activates her quirk, wiggles her fingers, and sets them against the cool metal of the lock. It clicks when all the pins rise, and the case pops open invitingly.

Inside is a collection of blueprints, all seemingly for one building. They cover the HVAC, the plumbing, even the wiring. Ochako frowns as she flips through them. There’s occasional notes scribbled into the corners, most of them numbers. She realizes belatedly they’re military times. It looks like somebody’s planning to rob a very intricate building. A museum, maybe?

Setting the papers down, she continues to rifle through the briefcase, turning out any interior pockets, checking zippers, even going so far as to tear the lining out. It’s lucky she does, because she finds a false bottom.

Squeezing her hand through the hole she’s made, she pats around. There’s nothing, until there’s something. Her knuckles brush against something hard, something with an edge. Maneuvering her arm around, she wraps her fingers around the thing. 

She pulls out a diamond the size of her fist. 

“What in the”—

“Wonderul,” a cheery voice says from behind her. Ochako whips around, wide eyes meeting a wide man with a crowbar in his hand. “If you’ll just give that back, please.”

Adrenaline surges through her. The windows behind her are too thick to jump through, and there’s nothing heavy enough in here that could break them, even with its gravity removed, even at full velocity. 

She brings the diamond to her chest. Steps back. 

Ochako’s gaze darts to the door behind her opponent. It’s fully open. She glances around the man, who’s gaining on her. Between the desk and the chair and the shelves, she doesn’t have enough room to go around him.

Her leg snaps out, sweeping the lamp beside her to the floor. The man lunges at her in the same instance the lightbulbs shatter against the floor, but Ochako’s already leaping onto the desk, kicking off it to flip over her attacker. She arcs neatly over his head, admires briefly how the light gleams off his bald dome, before rolling through the door and out into the hallway, diamond still clutched tightly in her hands. 

Shoto is already outside. Between them is a man Ochako doesn’t recognize. Chains protrude from his back, hanging over him like they’re sentient. One shoots for Shoto.

He lunges back, and another comes for him. Then two, then three, until he’s alternating between raising ice walls to block attacks and shooting flames to force the chains to retreat.

Their eyes meet for a brief second before Shoto dodges yet another attack, sliding on ice before skidding to a stop, hand bracing the floor.

“Above you!” He shouts, sending a lick of fire to the ceiling. 

Her hair singes from the heat as her gaze flies up. The amphibious man from earlier hangs above her, then drops down. Ochako skips backwards, putting her near the elevator. Shoto’s fight edges him closer to the double oak doors on the other end of the hallway.

As if it could get any worse, the elevator dings behind her. When she checks over her shoulder, the doors slide open to reveal six more men. She swears under her breath. On the opposite end of the corridor, Shoto is now dealing with the chain-man and the crowbar-man. 

There’s no way they can win this fight. She can’t even use her hands. She left her clutch at the poker table, not that it would have fit this hulking rock anyway. 

Ochako scans the height of the ceiling, the length of the hallway, running numbers through her head. She’s surrounded, but there’s nobody above her. Activating her quirk, she sends a quick prayer up, then takes a deep breath.

“Todoroki!”

His gaze snaps up from his assailant.

“Catch!”

Then she sends the diamond hurtling through the air, racing over everybody’s heads at mach speed. 

Everything slows down as it sails towards Shoto. For a gut-wrenching moment, Ochako fears she’s miscalculated, that it’s moving too fast, that Shoto can’t even see it. 

Just when Ochako’s heart drops as it blurs over his head, Shoto lunges into the air and catches it with one hand, stumbling back on impact, but sticking his landing. 

Holy shit, Ochako thinks, unadulterated glee shooting through her as she taps her fingers again to disable her quirk on the diamond. The wash of success is so intoxicating, she feels her face split into a grin as she ducks a stray blow.

Shoto shoves it into one of his pockets—must be nice, Ochako thinks fleetingly in her pocketless dress—and narrowly evades the axe the crowbar-man is now swinging.

With a jolt, she comes back to herself. Her hands are free.

She sends a fist into one of the men’s faces, grimacing and shaking her hand out after it lands. Then she jumps, dodging the leg sweeping out at her, flipping backwards through the air and landing on top of another man. She wraps her thighs around his neck and squeezes, grabbing his hair for balance when he begins to stumble.

The other men begin to close in on her. She drives the heel of her palm into the choking man’s temple, then uses him as a jumping board to land a high-kick. 

There’s three men left. And then the elevator dings again!

With a frustrated shout, Ochako punches another person in her way, then knees another in the groin. Somebody comes up from behind her, and she activates her quirk on them before wrapping both her hands around his forearm and slamming him into the ground over her head.

The elevator dings again. They just keep coming.

She slides through somebody’s legs, grabbing their ankle on the way to pull him down with her before she springs back up. There’s another entire row of men in front of her. On the other side of the hall, Shoto is now fighting five men at once, three of which had just been tangling with her.

This isn’t working, Ochako thinks desperately, frantically, ducking an errant swing. This isn’t working!

“Uraraka!”

She knocks out the man in front of her, then spins on her heel. Somehow, a path has cleared between her and Shoto. The double doors behind him are on fire. 

“Jump!”

He sends ice down the carpet, and as it forms in a path straight to her, the pieces in Ochako’s brain click into place. She takes a running leap at the elevator doors behind her, jumping onto it, then pushing off with all the force her thighs can muster. When her feet touch the ice, she removes her gravity and rockets towards Shoto like a comet.

The doors behind him crumble as she hurtles towards him, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows that are no doubt inches thick. 

He reaches a hand out to her. Ochako returns her gravity to herself and reaches back. Then she yelps when he yanks her into his chest, sliding an arm under her knees, under her back, sweeping her legs out from under her.

Her arms flail until she manages to hook them behind his neck. Shoto continues to spray ice out in front of them, making the slide as they go, passing through the burning doorway. 

“The window,” Ochako squeaks. “The window!” She shrieks.

‘The window’ breaks into a thousand pieces when Shoto sends an entire iceberg through it. Then—just like in San Francisco—he jumps.

This time, Ochako’s ready for it. Her heart still leaps into her throat, blood still rushes straight to her head, but she doesn’t scream. Another plume of ice shoots from Shoto’s palm, and they land on it, descending through the sky.

Her heart slows from cardiac arrest levels to marathon-running levels. She sucks deep breaths in, blowing them out slowly.

Las Vegas is pretty even from this high up, Ochako thinks as she collects herself. She can see the tops of all the buildings, and the people look like ants. The lights remind her of Christmas garland lights, instead of like theatre lighting the way they do on the ground.

Eventually, they spiral down gently to the entrance of their hotel. 

Shoto lets her down, then sends a flume of fire out powerful enough to dissolve the entire slide. Ochako staggers back, shielding her face. 

When he’s done, he drops his arm and makes his way inside. As they head towards the counter, Shoto digs out the diamond and a few documents he’d found earlier. He sets them onto the cold marble. 

“The heroes will want these when they come to investigate. The casino is fronting a group that’s money laundering.”

“They’re dealing in art distribution in the black market, too,” Ochako chimes in from behind.

Shoto is already heading to the elevators. Ochako scrambles after him, coming up to his side.

“That was amazing!” She laughs, giddy. She steps up to the doors as they wait, but Shoto lingers behind her. She stares down at her hands. “Can you believe it? We should work together more often. I bet it’d do some good for the crime scene in Tokyo. Y’know, now that I think about it, we never really got to partner together in school, huh?”

The elevator doors slide open, and Ochako steps in, beaming. She clenches her fists and looks up to the mirrored walls of the elevator to chatter more, but her smile fades.

Shoto's reflection stares back at her, eyes boring into her.

“Todoroki…?” 

She turns to face him, and her breath catches. His eyes are dark, pupils huge. His gaze flits from her mouth to her eyes. He wets his lips. 

“Uraraka.” He says slowly, voice low, rough, as he takes a step towards her. Ochako takes a step back. Her back meets the wall. His hands come up beside her head. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Ochako swallows. She nods once, twice, then gasps when their mouths meet and Shoto presses her firmly into the mirror, hands carding through her hair, trailing over her neck, sliding down her shoulders, cradling her face, almost frantic in their movement. 

Ochako comes to her tiptoes, meeting his ferocity with her own, hands flying to his chest, then his shoulders, then weaving through his hair. She feels his fingers dig into her hips, and she whines, and he lifts her, and her legs come around his hips. 

“Uraraka,” he groans, kissing her jaw, her neck, sucking under her ear. 

The elevator dings, and Ochako hangs onto him like a parasite, mouth working over his as he tears his jacket off, makes his way through their room. She pulls away to undo his belt frantically, the slap of leather sending electricity between her legs. She gasps when he bites gently into her neck, when his fingers dig into her back.

Ochako falls backwards onto the bed with a bounce. Shoto’s already wrenching the hem of her dress up, rucking it up her calves, up her thighs, up her hips—

He stills, and Ochako feels her face burst into flames. “How long?” He chokes out.

Ochako squirms as he stares right at the place where she’s very, very naked. Her hands fly to her face in humiliation. “The whole time,” she whispers. 

So she didn't want panty lines! Sue her! And what kind of silly question is that, anyways? Like she’d just throw off her underwear in the middle of the night? Like she’s had any time to run off to the bathroom? He’s an idiot, brainless, silly—

“Fuck,” he groans, running a thumb over her inner thigh, teasing her at the crease between her leg and the part of her getting steadily wetter, and she takes it all back. Shoto is so, so smart, as long as he keeps touching her like that—

His eyes flicker to her at the small noise she’s just made. He pulls his thumb away, ignoring her whimper, reaching to pull her dress over her, swearing as he tugs it over her head. “You’re not wearing anything,” he bites out, voice strangled, as her breasts bounce when they’re freed. 

Ochako doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she leans forward, pulling his face to hers, kissing him eagerly. Shoto climbs over her, forcing her down into the sheets. His hands are all over her, grabbing, groping, petting, stroking. She gasps when he pinches a nipple, then moans tightly when he squeezes her breast. 

“Please—” She breathes, hands flying to his shirt, tugging it out of his pants. Then he shifts against her, and she feels him hard against her thigh. The sudden, dizzying realization that Shoto might fuck her tonight dawns on her, sending her brain spiraling. 

“I—” She starts, swallows, tries again. “I’ve only done this once”—

“Don’t remind me,” he growls. Just the thought of Inasa right now makes him want to burn the whole building to the ground.

Shoto rises off her, stepping back onto carpet and pulling her to the edge of the bed by her thighs. Ochako rises to an elbow. “What are you”—

“I’m going to go down on you.”

Ochako’s breath catches. He’s looking her right in the eye.

“If there’s anything you don’t like, or if you want to stop, tell me.”

Please don’t stop, Ochako thinks as Shoto sinks between her legs. Please don’t ever stop.

The moment he presses a hand down against her abdomen, Ochako knows she’s a goner. Shoto runs his thumb over the seam of her, pausing just before her clit. His gaze flits up to hers, and he circles the bundle of nerves.

Ochako twitches, gasps, and Shoto, satisfied, lowers his gaze and brings his mouth to her. When he licks a stripe up her, Ochako whimpers and crumples into the bed, hands fisting in the sheets.

He works her like it’s his job, and it’s not long before she’s mewling, moaning, begging, breathing in a staccato. 

“Todoroki,” she cries, one hand flying to his head, the other yanking the covers towards her. “I’m—I’m”—she gives a sharp cry at a particularly hard lick. 

She’s so close, but she just—needs a little more, a tiny bit more. She squirms, tries to wiggle harder into him, but there’s nowhere else to go. Shoto brings a hand to her mouth, presses two fingers between her lips, and Ochako doesn’t even think about it as she lets him in, runs her tongue over the digits.

Then he pulls them away, and she whines, only to choke when she feels one of his fingers press into her. Her entire body tightens. Shoto feels the squeeze and groans against her, sending a delicious wave of arousal through her.

Ochako moans—loud. His finger is inside her. His really nice finger attached to his really nice hand, with his really nice nails that he let her paint, and she feels him slide them in and out, get a little faster, work her a little harder, slip another finger in—feels the metal of his matching wedding band glint against her—and curls both of them and— 

She cums with a soundless shout, tears pressing out from between her eyelids, thighs snapping around his head. When she collapses, shaking, he comes back up, easing her legs down his shoulders and pulling his shirt over his head before climbing up and over her body, losing the rest of his clothing along the way. 

Ochako feels boneless. Her lids flutter open, and the drag of her eyes to his is lazy, sated. She reaches down, and her arm feels like it’s made of lead. “I can”—

“It’s fine,” Shoto murmurs, guiding her hand back to the bed beside her head gently. He takes his time leading her—patiently, carefully—further up the bed as well. But his gaze is sharp, almost dangerous, the blue of his left eye electric. “Lift your hips.”

He says it like he says any other thing, like he’s explaining why they should go on a road trip, or what route they should take along the coast, and the same heat both those instances ignited in her then races through her now, and she whimpers and does as she’s told.

He slips a hand under the small of her back and says, “Good girl.”

Ochako sucks in a sharp breath, feels herself get even wetter. She looks wide-eyed at Shoto, but he’s ducked his head. 

Does he even know what he’s just said? Does he know how… how it sounds? The effect it has?

Shoto lifts her hips just enough to line them up. Then he looks up at her to ask if she’s still okay with this, only to stop when he sees the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“N—nothing, keep going,” Ochako stammers. Please don’t ever stop, she prays again.

He watches her carefully. If she wants to stop, he’ll stop. But he’s going straight to the bathroom, if so.

She frowns at his delay. “Please?” She wiggles in his hold.

When Shoto rears back, though, her mouth goes dry at the sight of his dick in his hand, nestled between her thighs. “I—is that going to fit?”

Shoto frowns, brow dipping. “It should.” There’s a beat, his eyes somehow get darker, and then, through his teeth, he adds, “It has to.”

Oh, fuck. Her insides melt. It’s all she can do not to moan, and she’s sure now that he’ll fit, what with the flood she’s just felt between her thighs. He has no idea what he’s saying. He has no idea how it sounds. Ochako swallows and nods and covers her face because it’s too much.

But then she feels the tip of him brush over her, nudge up against her, sink into her, and her hands fly off her face to clutch at the sheets beside her. Her mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut. 

The further he slides in, the smaller her world becomes until it’s reduced to just her need to be filled. She wants him all the way in. She’ll do anything for it.

Shoto sinks to one shaky forearm over her. “Fuck,” he hisses, and it’s right by her ear and it’s strained and tight and spit out through his teeth and she’s never seen him like this. “You’re tight.” He gives a short, hot pant. “And wet. ”

Ochako whimpers, hooking her ankles together, digging her heels into his backside, trying to bring him in closer, like their hips aren’t already pressed flush against each other. 

“Oh,” she breathes as she grinds, lights bursting behind her eyes. “Oh.”

The tension inside her is unbearable. She thinks she’s going to explode. Shoto groans. It might be the hottest sound she’s ever heard. 

“You have to slow down,” he forces out, voice taut, hard.

She’s barely moving. If she slows down any more, she’s going to die. “You have to move,” she chokes out in protest.

He peels away from her, coming back up onto both arms, and the look in his eyes is inhuman. 

Already panting, Ochako chews desperately at her bottom lip. “Please?” She finally blurts, wiggling her hips.

She watches him swallow, throat bobbing, and sees the muscle in his jaw flex. He still doesn’t move, though, so she takes matters into her own hands, digging her heels into his back again to give herself leverage as she slides off him—

She yelps when he wraps an arm around her waist and collapses, forcing her back onto him. She’s trapped by his arm and his body, and even if she were to move—

Shoto hisses, hips snapping out, then in. Ochako gasps and moans so loudly it sounds alien to even herself. Then, when he doesn’t do it again, she makes a desperate noise. 

“Todoroki,” she calls out, like a prayer. “Todoroki, please, please.”

He grits his teeth. He can barely think even without her begging. He draws his hips away slowly, knowing if he goes too fast, it’ll be too short.

“Yes,” she coos, and he feels her heels slip against his back, feels her arch into him. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Fuck, he’s barely even done anything yet. He starts pressing back into her, and hears her breath catch, feels the way she twitches against him. 

“Todoroki,” she whimpers, pleading. He ignores her, focusing on the point where they’re joined and concentrating on keeping himself under control. “Todoroki, please. Please. More. Faster. More. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.”

She sounds on the verge of tears, and he feels the corner of his mouth quirk. Then she says, “Please. Please. Shoto,” and he freezes, head snapping up.

“Nooo,” she whines, squirming against him. “Please!” She opens her eyes to find him, and her gaze is hazy. 

She can make out that he’s staring at her. She’s not sure what she said to make him stop, to make him look at her like that, but it looks so promising, like maybe he’ll finally give her what she wants—what she needs—if she just does the right thing, so she sifts through her mind for what it could possibly be, incoherent as her thoughts are. 

“Shoto?”

She feels his fingers tighten around her waist before he pulls out completely—she thinks she’s going to cry—and she’s dropped inexplicably. It’s a short fall, but her breath is knocked out of her lungs anyways, expelling itself in a single ah!, then suddenly she’s being yanked towards the edge of the bed again. 

Once he’s standing over her, between her legs, he hikes her knees up over his hips, guiding her to cross her legs around him. She does as she’s instructed, and then he wraps both hands around her hips.

“What”—

“Stay still.”

The question dies on her mouth, heat flaring up her spine. Shoto meets her gaze, then slams into her.

Her head falls back with a shout, eyes flying shut as her spine arches off the bed. 

It’s euphoric.  

He doesn’t stop, and she’s an incurable mess. Babbling, sobbing, begging, praying, everything short of crying outright tears. “Shoto,” she pants. “Shotoshotoshoto”—

“Fuck,” he swears, then, “Yeah?” and Ochako almost giggles at how clearly distracted he is as he watches her chest bounce, stares at her mouth as she wets it, hazy gaze flickering to her eyes, and he’s so nice, so polite, he’s probably not really asking, probably doesn’t even care, but he’s so sweet, acting like he wants to hear what she thinks in the middle of the best sex she’s ever had, probably ever going to have, like he isn’t fucking her so hard she can’t see straight—

“So good,” she moans, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “So good, you’re so good, you feel so good, don’t stop don’t stop, please, fuck”—

“Fuck,” he gasps, driving into her especially hard, and she cries out, hands grappling desperately for hold. “You’re perfect”—

“You—” She gasps, squeezing her eyes shut at a particularly satisfying stroke, and Shoto narrows his own mismatched gaze, leans over her, and does it again. Her hand comes up to grab at his shoulder, and he takes it in his hand instead, pressing her back down, keeping her there. “Oh my god,” she chokes out. “You—you, too—”

She’s hilarious, trying to have an actual conversation while they’re doing this. He has the wherewithal to chuckle in the middle of his swiftly building climax, and her eyes snap open at the sound, darting to his mouth. 

He sees it and smiles a little wider. She lets out a devastating moan. He slips his hand from her hip to her back, untangling his other hand from hers so that he can hold himself up as he lifts her just enough to press his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

The moment his lips make contact, she tenses. Shoto pulls away, searching her face as he continues to drive into her. 

“You’re going to cum,” he groans, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, then pressing his lips back to it before mouthing up her neck, continuing where he’d left off.

Oh, fuck. She knows he isn’t telling her to, knows he’s just observing and stating as he does with everything, but, god, it feels like he’s telling her to, and she can’t help how hard she squeezes around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers immediately, lids fluttering shut, hands moving frantically over his chest. One slips up into his hair as she tilts her head and keeps him against the column of her neck. “I’m gonna cum—please please please, oh god, please, so close”—

“You can cum,” he pants into her ear, and the noise she makes as she falls apart is rapturous.

The chord drawing tight inside her snaps. The backs of her eyelids burst into blinding white oblivion, and pure, perfect pleasure sears through her like a forest fire. 

She tightens around him in waves, milking him as her entire body seizes in his hold for what feels like a miraculously long time. He grits his teeth as he loses control of the tempo. His hips jerk, stall, jerk again—he needs to fucking pull out before he—

“You can—cum inside me—” He hears her say, words needy and broken and urgent. “Please”—

“Ah—fuck—Ochako—” He groans, falling into her, pulling her tight to him, thrusts turning hard, short, and fast as he chases his peak desperately. “Fucking perfect—”

She moans with him as he forces his hips right into hers and paints her insides white. Then she goes limp, falling back, stretching out, smooth and soft and beautiful. 

When he finally comes down from the high, when the violent vignetting of his vision finally begins to recede, he finds her crushed underneath him. He rolls off her, still panting, ears still ringing. 

He’s never felt so good in his life.  

She rolls onto her side, breathing still short and quick as she curls into him and rests her hands under her head. She watches him. He turns his head to meet her eyes.

Ochako gives him a little smile, and he finds himself smiling back, his the wider one for once.

Her eyes get wide, and she looks away, flushing. It spreads from her face to her chest, seeping down her shoulders, too.

“Pink,” Shoto observes breathlessly. Her gaze snaps to his again. “It suits your skintone.”

Her mouth drops open, and she slaps his chest weakly. He laughs and takes her hand in his. 

Chapter Text

Ochako wakes up under one bright, white duvet; one silk, smooth sheet; and one long, heavy arm crossed over her waist, fingers curled possessively over her hip. The polish on his nails has long since burned away. The band around his ring finger gleams under the morning light.

They’re nose to nose. She can feel every breath in and out against her cheek, can see every strand of hair falling over his forehead, can see his eyes moving under his lids. She could count his lashes if she wanted.

She raises a finger—notices he’d slipped his dress shirt over her the night before, probably after she’d passed out—and traces the scar over his eye, hovering just above his skin so as not to wake him. His gaze peels open anyways, sleepy, flickering over her features, lingering on her lips before coming back to her eyes. He remains expressionless.

“Todoroki?” She whispers, withdrawing her wandering digit. “Are you awake?”

Shoto stares longer at her.

“Todoroki?”

“What happened to ‘Shoto?’” He mutters, voice thick and jagged with sleep.

Ochako turns strawberry pink at the same time that her stomach rolls pleasantly at the sound of him. “That—that was… y’know!”

Shoto finally seems to be waking up, because he smiles slowly at her. Ochako’s heart flips. He rolls himself over her—all he has on is his underwear—arms holding him up.

“I don’t.”

“Oh,” Ochako breathes. She flushes. “I guess I should show you then, huh?”

Shoto’s smile slips wider, and he presses down into her.

“Should we try the hot tub?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“You don’t need a bathing suit.”

“Of course I do!”

Shoto gives her a long look before running his fingers along the hem of his shirt that she’s wearing. Ochako shivers when his hands slide under. He brushes over the plane of her stomach, thumbs dipping into the space above her hips that makes her squirm. He hikes up her shirt—over her waist, over her breasts, over her arms—until it falls to the side and Ochako’s shivering under the generous A/C. 

His eyes flick from her pebbled nipples to her already liquid gaze. “You look cold,” he murmurs. 

Ochako swallows at the color of his irises. She nods slowly, arms crossing over her chest.

“Should we try the hot tub?”

Not five minutes later, she’s moaning as he guides her against him with one hand, the other laid out long against the edge of the tub, gripping it so hard his knuckles are white. He grits his teeth as he watches her ride him lazily, languidly.

She cums in his lap.

They don’t leave the hotel all day. Not once. Not for food, fresh air, or sightseeing. They order room service, they sit on the balcony, they watch the people wandering below them.

When their food comes, Shoto makes it through five minutes of Ochako chewing and cooing and gasping over her meal before he crowds her over the dining table, sweeping their dishes out of the way before having his way with her.

“Shoto,” Ochako moans under the hot spray of the shower.

“Hm?”

His fingers are in her hair, working up a lather. She can feel his dick against her thigh, hard and eager.

“No more,” she whines. “I’m so sore.”

Shoto’s mouth quirks. He smooths the suds off her shoulder, then stoops to kiss the freshly bared skin.

“One more time,” he murmurs into her ear. He feels her shiver.

“Okay,” she answers, voice soft.

She lets him walk her into the wall, forcing her cheek against cool bathroom tile, hands splayed to either side of her as he circles her waist with one arm—his other hand folded over one of hers—and whispers guttural praise into her ear as he works her from behind.

Later, when they’re in bed, Ochako recounts a story about Mina. It’s dark and she’s not paying much attention to Shoto, just trying to get the ridiculous story out, but halfway through, she hears him laughing. 

She feels him laughing. 

She grows quiet. 

“Shoto?” She whispers.

“Hm?”

“You should fuck me.”

He’s on her in a second, covers pulled over them as he chases her to climax, desperate sounds muffled under soft cotton and sleek silk.

They pack their things and leave at noon the next day for San Diego. Ochako feels a sad tug at her heart as Las Vegas grows smaller and smaller behind them, until there’s not even a pinprick left and all she can see is the yellow of the desert.

She stares out the window. They have two days left until their flight. One night remaining. The thought of it empties her out, like she’s being carved through with a spoon. 

There’s going to be a lot of work to catch up on. Mina and everybody else will want to know everywhere she went, everything she did. Her parents are going to ask what happened. She’s also pretty sure she has a gala coming up for an organization she donates to. She can’t remember which.

And then there’s the matter of the annulment which is no longer an annulment. They’re going to have to get a full-on divorce. Don’t those take a while? Don’t they cost money, too?

She wants to press her forehead to the window, wants to sigh, wants to scream, but she doesn’t. She closes her eyes instead. 

Real life sucks.

From the corner of his eye, Shoto watches as Ochako spins the ring on her finger around and around and around. Her eyebrows are drawn in deep thought, and her lips are pursed. Eventually, she shuts her eyes and lets her head tip back against her seat.

When he slides a hand over hers, she jumps, eyes blinking open to look at him in surprise. He tilts a smile at her.

It takes a minute, but she smiles back, features smoothing. Then she turns to watch the road in front of them, and Shoto runs his thumb over her knuckles.

Two hours from San Diego, an idea plants itself inside Ochako’s brain and takes deep root. She twists to face Shoto.

“Do you know what road head is?”

“Road head?”

She grins and leans over the console.

Shoto discovers that he really, really likes road head. Especially when Ochako pops back up, meets his eyes, and swallows.

They get to San Diego at five. When they stroll up to the counter, Ochako picks up a travel brochure and flips through it like a seasoned professional.

Shoto pulls out his card. “We need a room for one night.”

The attendant nods her head, scanning her computer screen. She clicks her mouse several times. “Will that be a double double for you and your colleague?”

Ochako falters, looking up from her reading. Shoto also hesitates. “No,” he answers after a beat. “A single double. For... me and my wife.”

The attendant nods again, taking his card, then swiping it through a reader. She hands it back to him. “My apologies, I hadn't noticed the rings. It'll be just a minute.”

In the minute that she’s gone, Shoto sees the way Ochako’s brows have creased, the way she’s fiddling with her ring. It’s as if she’s traded one finger-fixated habit for another. He pretends not to notice. 

After they receive their cards, Shoto and Ochako make their way to their room slowly, quietly. 

“There’s a park nearby,” Ochako says when they’re in the elevator. “We can probably find a food stall.”

“Sounds good.”

They stack their bags next to each other and head right back out. It’s only a ten minute walk. They buy tacos from a vendor along the street and eat them as they stroll wordlessly, finishing long before they reach a stopping point.

Eventually, they hit a shallow cliff. Ochako lifts a hand over her eyes, blocking the still bright sun, to inspect the outcrop just beyond the crag.

Bright, blue waves lick at the crescent-shaped shore just past the drop off. There aren’t many people. Ochako looks back at Shoto and cocks her head, reaching a hand out to him. He takes it, and they start navigating down through the rocks.

They sit in the sand. The water brushes right up against the toe of Ochako’s shoes, and she notices for the first time just how scuffed they’ve become. She’d bought them new just for their initial two-day trip, but finds herself smiling at just how much use she’s gotten out of them. 

Every so often, Ochako’s shoulder bumps against Shoto’s. The weather is pleasantly warm, and the static sound of the water crashing against the earth is hypnotic. Shoto feels his lids getting heavier.

“Hi! Sorry! Could you take a picture for us?”

Both Ochako and Shoto look over their shoulders. A girl is stooping over them, an instant camera in her hands. When Shoto notices the fins behind her ears, he also sees another girl behind her, keeping her distance, but eyes bright.

“Sure!” Ochako chirps, standing and brushing sand off her hands before taking the camera. 

The first girl beams and skips back, taking the other girl’s hand. The other girl wraps her arm around the first girl’s waist. There’s a gust of wind, and both squeal as they hold their dresses and sun hats down, and then they’re laughing, and the second girl kisses the first girl’s cheek as the first girl’s face lights up in happy surprise.

Ochako squints through the viewfinder and presses the button. A second later, the square photo whines out of the feed. Ochako hands both back to them.

“Thanks!” The first girl pulls the photo out, glancing at the ghost of the image appearing before asking, “Do you two want one?”

Ochako double-takes. “Oh! Uh—” 

When she looks back at Shoto, he’s still sitting in the sand, legs crossed, hands in his lap. He stares back at her like it’s up to her, but then offers a small smile, and Ochako whirls back around.

“Sure!”

Then she scrambles back to Shoto’s side, sitting on her calves. As the girl pulls the camera to her eye, Ochako beams.

“Ochako.”

She whips around at the sound of his voice, flinching back when she finds his face right in front of hers. “Yeah?”

Shoto takes one of her hands in his, and kisses her.

Shoto holds her hand the entire rest of the day. The only time he lets her go is when she needs both her hands, but the moment any one of them is free, he’s reaching back for her, threading their fingers back together, wrapping his palm around hers, rubbing his thumb over hers. 

When they pass by a farmer’s market and she pauses at a stand selling ceramics to admire a mug, he asks, “Do you want it?”

Ochako looks at him.

Shoto is sweet and nice and he makes her feel warm—but the already heavy thing in her gut gets heavier every time she catches him watching her, taking her hand, waiting for her. The way he looks at her makes her want to stay here forever. 

But they’re leaving tomorrow.

She shakes her head and puts it back. “I was just thinking I should’ve bought gifts for everybody while we were here.”

“It wouldn’t fit in your suitcase.”

Ochako laughs. “Well, at least for Mirko and Mina and Tsu, then. Oh, and my mom and dad. Just to let them know I thought about them!” 

“Did you think about them?” His voice is unexpectedly surprised.

Ochako reels back, inspecting Shoto’s face and finding no signs of facetiousness. Of course not. It’s Shoto. She rubs the back of her neck, feeling suddenly like she’s been caught in a lie. She’s sure she thought about her friends! She just… can’t remember any specific instances. “A—a little. Did you?”

Shoto doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

Ochako chuckles at his honesty. “Out of sight, out of mind, huh?”

“I figured they were fine,” he replies.  

Her heart sinks at his answer, but she pastes on a smile and tugs Shoto back in the direction they came from. “It’s getting dark, we should go back!”

She can’t bring herself to make small talk on their way back. It’s like the conversation she’s dreading having is sticking in her throat and stopping anything else from coming out.

Shoto hears Ochako pacing before he even leaves the bathroom. The moment he opens the door, she stills, eyeing him like she’s been caught doing something heinous.

“Sh—Shoto!” 

He raises a hand, returning the strange little wave she gives him. The anxiety in her face softens a little. Then her eyes flit to his bare chest, and she turns pink. 

“Maybe you should put a shirt on first,” she mumbles, suddenly very interested in the carpet. “Maybe just put on all your clothes.”

Shoto obliges. When he returns from the bathroom for a second time, Ochako is sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with the ring on her finger as she stares at the wall absentmindedly. It’s not until he sits and the bed sinks under him that she startles to attention.

“I was looking up the difference between a divorce and an annulment, and I think we can still get an annulment even though we’ve had sex.” 

Shoto blinks.

“Actually, I think the whole sex thing must be an old rule or something. How would they know, anyways, y’know?” Ochako begins to pace again, still twisting her ring around and around. “Everything I found online says as long as one or both of us was tricked into it, we can get an annulment instead of a divorce. I wasn’t paying attention when I signed the license, which I think counts as being tricked. Right? I didn’t even know until I was standing at the altar!”

Shoto watches as Ochako takes a seat beside him again, only to stand back up a second later. 

“Unless you want a divorce! I just thought an annulment would be better, since a divorce would show up in your records, which might complicate things for you.” She stops in her tracks, frowning at him. “Can divorced people still chart on the Bachelor lists?” 

She shakes her head immediately, like she’s trying to clear the thought out. “Nevermind, it’s not important. All I mean to say is that it’s up to you, I’m okay with anything! I’m the one who got us into this mess. I’m sure our agents can figure out the whole PR part of it, if it gets to that point. It’ll be a nightmare, but I’m sure it’ll blow over!”

Ochako drops back onto the bed beside him, leaving a respectable distance between them. The spinning in Shoto’s head from watching her walk back and forth subsides a bit. 

“What do you think?” She asks.

Shoto examines Ochako’s face. The distressed tilt of her brows is gone, replaced by something more resolute. She’s no longer worrying her ring. 

She looks like she’s already decided.

A swell of disappointment that Shoto’s beginning to become accustomed to rises in his chest. But this isn’t about what he wants.

“What do you want?”

Ocako’s eyes grow wide. “Wha—what do you mean?”

“A divorce or annulment?”

“O—oh. Well. I meant what I said, that I’m fine with anything.”

“You’re not worried about charting on the bachelorette lists?”

Ochako snorts and waves a hand in front of her face. “It’s almost impossible to rise in those without any brands sponsoring you. Not enough exposure.” Then she cocks her head, looking at him sideways. “Are you considering a divorce?”

She asks him like she’s asking if he wants eggs for breakfast. He feels his jaw clench, but he shakes his head. “I was just curious. An annulment is fine.”

Ochako nods. There’s a pregnant pause. Eventually, she asks, voice small, “What do you do all day?”

“Work.” His inbox is currently flooded with over 1250 unread emails. He’s going to be treading water for a while once they get back.

“You probably don’t have a lot of free time, huh?”

Shoto’s never really needed much free time. These past two weeks have been almost dizzying in how much freedom and spontaneity he’s had. “Not really.”

“I figured.”

“Do you?”

The look she gives him is a little sad, but she turns away too quickly for Shoto to dissect it any further. “Mirko made it mandatory to have two days off in the week. I’d say I get enough time to myself.”

“That’s good.”

They lapse into another silence. Again, Ochako breaks it. “I’m going to shower now. Don’t stay up waiting for me!”

He nods. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Shoto waits for her to leave before sliding under the covers and dragging his palms over his face. It’s evident their arrangement makes her uneasy. As much as he wants her, the last thing he wants is for her to resent him for wanting her.

Plus, it’s been an unusual two weeks. Once he’s back in the swing of hero life, he’s sure all of this will fade into the background.

He bites his tongue, fighting back a sigh.

After she’s cleaned off, Ochako stands under the spray for a little while longer. 

“It’s bound to happen,” Mina had said, and she’d been absolutely right. Everything between her and Shoto is a result of their forced proximity.

And it’s clear that, for Shoto, these past two weeks will be a blip on his radar. Once they’ve been back in Japan for two weeks, he’ll probably have forgotten all about her. He’s probably so busy, he doesn’t have time to think about anything but work. 

If Ochako’s lucky, she’ll be so swamped that she won’t have time to think about it, either.

By the time she leaves the shower, her skin is pink and a little raw. She slips into her pajamas—stares in the mirror at the stars on them for a little too long—and crawls into bed.

Shoto’s already asleep. The rise and fall of his chest is slow, even.

Her eyes trace the lines of his face in the moonlight. He’s so pretty when he sleeps. He’s so pretty all the time. She’s never going to wake up next to him anymore, or go to bed with him. They’re never going to share every single meal in a day together.

She’s going to miss him so much.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut and forces every thought and feeling out of her head until sleep finds her.

When her breathing finally eases, Shoto opens his eyes. He inches forward until the tips of their noses touch. He presses his forehead to hers. And then he shuts his eyes again.

It’s a quiet morning. It’s a quiet drive. It’s a quiet walk to their terminal.

Ochako doesn’t need to use the bathroom, and Shoto’s not interested in any of the vending machines. Actually, he kind of misses Japanese food.

They don’t miss their flight this time.

Ochako inevitably falls asleep while binging in-flight movies. Her head tips dangerously to one side as she dozes until it finally drops onto Shoto’s shoulder. 

He hesitates, then lays his cheek to the crown of her head. An hour later, he’s also asleep.

After their flight lands, after they deboard, after they step out into the hustle and bustle of Japan, they look at each other.

“Would you like a ride?” Shoto asks.

Ochako shakes her head. “I live right by the station.”

“I see.”

“Should I serve you the annulment, or…?”

“I can do it.” 

“... Thank you.”

“It’s fine.”

“... I guess I’ll see you at Mina’s next hangout, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“About the money—”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I… I’ll be sure to make Top 5 before you!”

Shoto’s mouth quirks, and Ochako finally feels some of the weight in her chest lift. She smiles back. “I had a lot of fun,” she tells him.

“I did, too,” he answers.

After a beat, Ochako opens her arms. Her duffel bag swings back behind her. Shoto steps into her, bag knocking into hers. Ochako folds herself around him tightly, eyes screwed tight as she buries her face in his chest, breathing him in. 

Shoto presses his face to her head, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath in.

One second. Two seconds. Ten seconds. 30. Then they step away.

“Bye, Shoto.”

“Bye, Ochako.”

She steps back and turns for the subway station.

He steps away and heads for the parking garage.

Chapter Text

Ochako stumbles into her apartment through her bedroom window late Thursday night. 

Her feet ache. Her back is sore. There’s a crick in her neck. And something smells like it’s mildewing. Her front door is jammed again, stuck hard enough that not even her quirk can finagle the lock. She’ll have to report it to the superintendent, but that’ll take another two weeks, busy as the man is.

Ochako falls into her bed with a groan, then pulls her pillow over her face and screams into it. Works not any better. She’s had so many emails to answer that Mirko won’t even let her patrol, claiming she needs time to ‘re-acclimatize,’ whatever that means. All Ochako’s done for the past week and a half is empty her inbox as quickly as she can and file paperwork.

Yet, somehow, the worst part is still coming home.

Because for eight hours a day, she can forget. When she has her head down working, all she thinks about are the numbers she’s crunching, the reports she’s filling out and filing, the meetings she’s leading. The newbies come stuttering and stammering their questions and worries to her, and she gives them what she thinks is good advice, and they leave less stammer-y and stutter-y. She’s even risen in the leaderboards despite her total and complete absence from the field.

But when she steps into her tiny one bedroom apartment and flicks on the yellowing light, she thinks back to swan-shaped faucets and jacuzzis and balconies. When she rolls out of bed and makes herself breakfast, she thinks of room service. And when she drags herself into the shower after work, she thinks of how cold the tile had felt against her skin, how warm Shoto had felt behind her. She remembers the filthy things he’d murmured into her ear and shivers under the scalding hot spray.

It’s unbelievable how homesick she feels laying in her own bed—but not homesick for her mom or her dad or her hometown. For Shoto. 

She feels like an idiot. An idiot that hasn’t been getting any sleep.

Sighing, she sits up. Mina’s having a hangout tomorrow night. 

“Because I haven’t seen you in two weeks and you scared me half to death. I deserve this,” she’d said. Ochako knows she’s right.

So she pulls herself out of her creaky, squeaky bed and treads heavily to her closet to figure out what to wear. But after she turns on the light and rummages through her options for a minute, she stops. She’s never paid any attention to what she wears to the Class A hangouts. She’s never had to. She still doesn’t. 

Ochako returns to bed in her underwear and a worn t-shirt. Her duffel bag sits in the corner of her room ignored. 

Tucking herself in tight, she waits for work to come.

—

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“I literally told you a month ago that GQ’s been up my ass about getting a feature with you. You just told me you don’t remember that. You’re not listening to me. You never listen to me. But you’ve been especially difficult these past two weeks! Why are you like this?”

Shoto blinks at his publicist. “GQ?”

Her jaw drops. Her hands fly into the air. “Are you—yes! GQ!”

“I’ll do it.”

She’s about to tear into him again, only to double take. “Come again?”

“I’ll do a feature for GQ.” Shoto’s already heading towards the elevator.

“Wait—four weeks ago you said no. What changed?”

Bright brown eyes and a wide smile flash through Shoto’s mind. The elevator doors are slipping shut. He shrugs. 

“Changed my mind.”

—

In the middle of replying to an email from an anxious citizen asking about the safety measures being taken against purse snatchers, Ochako sees, from the corner of her eye, someone walk up to the open door of her office, cross their arms, and lean into the doorjamb.

“You haven’t been yourself.” Mirko says, cocking her head.

Ochako hits send. “Just tired,” she smiles wearily.

“For two weeks?”

Her smile turns sheepish. “Just… re-acclimatizing.”

Mirko narrows her eyes. “Don’t twist my words!”

Ochako sticks her tongue out. “Maybe if you’d put me back on the field, I’d be in a better mood!”

“Well, then, I’ve got good news for you. Hayato called in sick, and nobody can fill in his afternoon patrol. You’ll be in Shibuya.”

Ochako’s eyes grow wide, and her face splits into a grin. 

—

Shoto’s afternoon assignment takes him through Shibuya. He’s passing through the Scramble when he remembers what Ochako had said at the start of their trip.

Sure enough, the vending machine he walks up to two blocks down offers the very soda he’d bought at the airport. He feeds a coin through and presses the button. Instead of one, though, two fall through the slot. 

He straightens with two cans in his hand and ponders what to do. He supposes he could just leave it on the top of the machine.

“Shoto?”

Shoto whips around. Ochako is staring at him, slack-jawed. She’s in her costume. It occurs to Shoto that he’s seen her in less clothing, but not anything so form-fitting.

He shakes the thought out of his mind. “Ocha—Uravity.”

“I thought you never got assigned to Shibuya?”

“I was surprised, too.”

He doesn’t know why, but his answer makes her smile. Shoto’s momentarily stunned at the sight of it. It feels like it’s been forever, but it still makes his heart pump just as hard.

“Are you going this way?”

He nods, and she falls into step beside him.

“What’ve you been up to?” She asks.

“There’s a lot to catch up on. Emails, for one thing.”

Ochako laughs, and Shoto has to fight the urge not to press her into a wall in some back alley. “Me too,” she huffs good-naturedly. “Mirko wouldn’t put me on the field, I had so many.”

“That’s why I haven’t seen you in the news.”

Her eyes get big, and pink climbs up her cheeks. “Uh—yeah. I… didn’t think anybody would notice!”

Shoto looks at her askance. “You’re hard to miss.” 

That turns Ochako even redder. “W—well, thank you!”

“Are you heading this way?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head. Her thumb comes over her shoulder. “That way, actually. It was nice talking to you again.” She smiles faintly at him, taking a step in her direction.

Shoto’s mind races. “Are you going to Mina’s tonight?” He asks abruptly.

Her face brightens. “I am! Are you?”

“I am.”

Ochako feels her chest tighten with glee. It’s totally ridiculous and silly and it feels so nice. “I’ll see you tonight then!” 

She turns away to hide her grin, but Shoto grabs her wrist. Her heart jumps into her throat. Turning back around, she meets his gaze. 

His eyes flit over her face. She swallows. “Shoto?” Her voice is soft.

After a beat, he takes one of the cans he’s been holding and holds it out to her. “The machine gave me an extra.”

Ochako looks at him in surprise, then laughs as she takes his gift. “Watermelon. Nice.” She looks up and grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“See you!”

“See you.”

—

“You’re in a better mood,” Mirko comments as they leave the locker room. 

“A little,” she smiles to herself. “See you on Sunday!”

“See you. Don’t forget your boxing gloves.”

“You got it, boss.”

Ochako can’t help it if she skips a little out the doors.

—

“Cancel the GQ interview, please.”

Shoto’s publicist snorts. “I never scheduled it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I figured you were just having a bad day. Sounds like you’re back to normal, though.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just glad you’re in a better mood.”

—

Before Ochako can open Mina’s door, it swings open itself. She’s assaulted by a flurry of arms and a general pinkness. 

“You’re late!” Mina shouts, pulling back. “Everybody’s already here!”

Ochako glances up from Mina’s face and finds Shoto staring at her. She purses her lips to force back the smile trying to fight its way to the forefront. “Sorry, I got held up!”

Yeah. Held up trying to figure out what to wear. And all she has to show for it is a t-shirt and jeans. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!” Mina crows, pulling her inside. “Sato made you guys a welcome back dinner!”

The spread is enormous. Ochako’s pretty sure all her favorite foods are there. It smells like heaven. 

There’s a sudden scuffle for seats that leaves Ochako and Shoto as the only ones standing. The only two spots left are right next to each other. Mina beams up at them, and Ochako genuinely can’t tell if Mina’s up to something. “So? Tell us everything!”

Shoto takes one of the two available seats, pulling himself in, then looking back at Ochako. Hesitantly, she pulls the other seat out and sits. They sit awkwardly as the food in front of them steams, hot and fresh.

“So?” Hanta leans away, balancing on the back two legs of his seat. He crosses his arms and grins expectantly. “How’d you end up together?”

Ochako immediately blushes to her roots at Hanta’s unintentionally accurate wording. By some miracle, nobody has figured out anything between her and Shoto yet, not even their agents. She hasn’t been served any papers yet, so she can only assume Shoto hasn’t gotten around to that. Maybe it’d be better for her to jump start that herself?

“I know you went to the vending machines,” Denki points an accusatory finger at Shoto, narrowing his eyes. “You went to the vending machines and never came back. I was freaking out on the plane, man. Not cool.”

“Sorry,” Shoto says. “I was thirsty.”

Ochako has to raise a hand to her mouth to stop the laughter from spilling out. Denki continues to glower at Shoto, but the rest of the table has moved on. Eijirou leans into the table and asks, “What about you, Ochako? You were there one minute and gone the next.”

“I went to the bathroom,” she explains. “There was this little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents, so I helped her out. That’s actually how we got a rental car for free.”

The entire table’s jaw drops. “For two weeks?!”

When Shoto and Ochako both nod, Momo hums. “That’s very generous of them.”

“Yeah. It was solar-powered and everything,” Ochako chirps, and everybody gets even more worked up. 

“Holy macaroni!” Toru yelps. “So where’d you two go, huh?! God, I’m so jealous!” She’s bouncing in her seat.

“We kind of just… went everywhere, I guess? The whole west coast.” Ochako sends Shoto a sideways look. “Shoto made the itinerary.”

All eyes turn to Shoto, who blinks at the sudden attention.

“We started in LA, and you said we should head to San Francisco,” Ochako prompts, smiling. 

Shoto’s gaze slides to hers, and one corner of his mouth slips up. “We jumped off a bridge.”

“What?!” At least half the table shouts. 

But Ochako just scoffs. “You jumped off a bridge. I was a poor, unsuspecting victim.”

“Accomplice,” Shoto corrects, and Ochako looks at him incredulously, even as the laughter bubbles out of her. He grins. “You were the one that took us up. Which wasn’t allowed. If anything, I was the poor, unsuspecting victim.”

She splutters. “That’s—that’s a minor detail!” Ochako spins to her friends. “After San Francisco, we went to Sacramento! And we barely did anything there”—she waves a hand dismissively—“but we went straight to Portland after. It was an eight hour drive.”

Shoto says, “I let her drive,” and the entire table sucks in a sharp breath. Ochako shoots them all a nasty look. 

“For how long?” Denki grimaces.

Shoto lifts a hand to his chin, thinking. “Two minutes?” He finally says. “Felt longer, though. I think my life flashed before my eyes.”

Even Aoyama tsks and says, “Far too long.” 

Ochako pouts. The conversation devolves into everybody’s experiences with Ochako in the driver’s seat before finding its way back to the road trip.

As Shoto and Ochako continue to unwind their adventure, Ochako finds herself relaxing, easing into their dynamic. Sometimes she elaborates and Shoto interjects with details, and other times he tells the story and she jogs his memory with reminders. They’re just about to describe the motel with bed bugs when Mina interrupts.

“How the hell did you two pay for all this?! I get that the car was free, but two rooms every night adds up! And I know you're loaded, Todoroki, but you budgeted half a year for two days, Ochako!”

Ochako feels heat punch her in the face. Shoto, though his face is blank, stiffens. Mina’s intrusion is almost timely, considering the bedbug incident would have opened an entirely different can of worms.

Ochako laughs nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “Actually, we”—

Toru screams. 

Everybody jumps a foot off their seats. “Toru!” Kyoka gasps. “What the hell?”

“Ochako!” Toru shrieks. “What the hell is that on your finger?!”

Ochako looks down at her hand on the table and finds nothing.

“Your other hand!” Toru yells, jabbing what Ochako can only assume is her finger at the hand Ochako has on her neck. “A ring! That’s a ring!”

Ochako slams her hand back into her lap, body bursting into flames. She doesn’t know why she still has it on, only that she’d gotten used to wearing it in the U.S. She hasn’t noticed it since. Bright red, she turns to Shoto to explain, only for her eyes to catch on the hand he has resting flat on the table.

He’s still wearing his band.

When Ochako meets his gaze, Shoto looks away sharply, slipping his own hand off the tablecloth and clenching it against his thigh. 

“A ring?!” Mina screeches. “From who?!” Her eyes double in size and she leans into Ochako conspiratorially. “Inasa?!” She hisses.

Shoto feels his body go rigid. One of his brows twitches. 

Denki is, unfortunately, looking right at Shoto as it happens. “You’re shitting me,” he says, voice low. When Shoto doesn’t respond, his jaw drops. “No way. You’re shitting me!” His voice climbs three octaves as he says it, eyes becoming almost manic. 

“What?!” Mina slams her hands on the table and rockets out of her seat, hating to be left out of the loop.

“You two got married!” Denki crows, shooting out of his own seat. He slams a fist on the table and points from Ochako to Shoto. “You… you went to Vegas! You got married in Vegas!” He grabs his hair and spins in an astonished circle, mouth agape. “Holy shit!” He starts laughing hysterically. 

Eijirou’s eyes are the size of a planet. “Is he… is he right?” 

Shoto can’t tell if it’s fear or awe in Eijirou’s voice. Ochako has no idea how to explain her way out of this one. When she sees Shoto take a breath in, relief washes through her. The weight of responsibility lifts from her shoulders.

“Yeah.”

Ochako jerks to look at him, aghast, but Shoto’s not looking at her. He’s returning Eijirou’s cherry red shock with his usual steady, mismatched gaze. 

She whirls back around, staring down at her hands, feeling all the blood pump through her body. Of course Shoto wouldn’t lie. There isn’t anything to lie about, either, because there’s technically nothing wrong with what they’ve done. 

As their friends bombard them with question after question about the circumstances, the situation, the way it happened, Ochako feels her guilt grow and grow and grow. It’s because of her that Shoto has to endure this—and until they can get an annulment, continue to endure this. If the press finds out, it’ll be this on a disastrous level. She can’t even imagine the hit it’ll have on his career.

In the middle of answering a question, Shoto glances at Ochako, who’s been unusually quiet for a while now. He falters when he sees the look on her face, feels the humiliation radiating off her. His jaw tenses. 

“How are you two going to proceed?” Tenya asks in that technical way of his.

“We’re getting an annulment,” Ochako answers quickly.

The table goes silent. Mina’s the one to break it. “You two agreed on that?”

They both hesitate, eyes darting to each other, then away. 

“Yeah!” Ochako nods frantically. 

“Yeah,” Shoto replies, expression neutral. 

Mina’s dark eyes dart from one to the other. Then she squints. 

“We should eat, huh?” Ochako chimes in, rubbing her hands together. “It smells so good, Sato. Thank you so much!”

“Of course! We’re just glad you’re back safe. Here, try these dumplings”—

Sato describes everything as they reach for their shares. Ochako pays hard attention, hoping to distract from the fact her heart is beating in her throat.

The rest of the night is a lot more subdued, almost as if the conversation never happened. Ochako can’t let it go, though. She can barely look Shoto in the eye. It’d been one thing in the U.S., where nobody knew them. Here, she has to face the consequences of her actions.

Tenya is the first to go home. He thanks Mina and Eijirou for hosting—like he always does—slips on his coat, and leaves. After that, the rest of their friends take off one by one, until Ochako and Shoto are left with Denki, Momo, and Kyoka. 

“I’m going to head out now, too,” Ochako says, stifling a yawn. “Thanks again, Mina! You, too, Eijirou.”

Eijirou, who’s leaning against the entryway to the kitchen surrounded by Denki, Shoto, Momo, and Kyoka, waves. “See ya!”

Mina accompanies Ochako to the foyer. “So… Pretty ring, huh?”

Ochako shakes her head in warning. “Mina…”

“Did Todoroki pick it out?”

“Yeah.”

"He paid for everything, didn't he?"

Ochako ignores her. Mina is quiet as Ochako tugs her arms through her jacket sleeves. Finally, she says, “I think you should tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Ochako busies herself with checking the contents of her crossbody bag.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina frowns. “He likes you, too. I can tell. I don’t think he wants an annulment, either.”

Exasperated, Ochako can only sigh and shake her head. “I’m not playing dumb. And of course he likes me, Mina. We were trapped together for two weeks. If we didn’t like each other, we would have killed each other!”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Anybody would like somebody they’re stuck with for two weeks! We made a mistake in the heat of the moment and the responsible thing to do is sort it out so that it doesn’t affect either of our careers.”

“That is patently untrue,” Mina deadpans. “Remember when Hanta dated his one coworker for a month, then broke up two days after working on a mission with them because they realized they couldn’t be alone together for longer than five hours? Being stuck in a car is a huge deal. It’s basically a test. And you were practically living together. Plus, I think you two would help each other’s careers. You’re both workaholics and obsessed with being heroes.”

Ochako goes red as a brick. “It’s marriage! ”

“Great, so you can skip that whole conversation. I seriously thought Eijirou was never going to bring it up in four years of dating. I had to infiltrate his ad-targeting!” Mina says breezily. Then she falters. “You better have a wedding in Japan, though! I want to be a bridesmaid!”

Ochako pouts and opens the door, leaving as quickly as she can. “You’re no help at all!”

“Don’t forget to thank me later!”

With a huff, Ochako disappears around the corner.

When Mina shuts the door and turns around, she starts. Shoto is standing at the entrance of the foyer, hands in his pockets. “Holy macaroni, Todoroki! You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been there?”

“A while.”

“You were just standing there?”

“I was right there.” He points just beyond the doorway, where he wouldn’t have been seen.

Mina is quiet. “If I give you her address, will you talk to her?”

“Yeah.”

“She keeps her bedroom window unlocked because her door gets stuck all the time and her superintendent is an asshole. She won’t say it, but he is.”

“... Got it. Thanks.”

—

Ochako trips straight from her window to her bed, heaving a sigh the moment her face melts into her covers.

She still can’t get used to coming home to nothing, to not having somebody always right there to speak her mind to, to not having somebody to wake up to. Her bed always feels cold now. They’ve been home for as long as they were in the U.S. now. It’s stupid. 

And it makes her so sad.

And the only person she wants to tell any of this to is the one person she can’t.

Ochako lifts her face from her bed, examining her room. Maybe she just needs a change of pace. Maybe she needs to move to a new apartment. That’s expensive though, so maybe she should start small.

Unpacking her bag from the trip sounds like a good idea. 

Picking herself up, she trudges to the neon yellow duffel. On top of it is the pochette she’d carried all throughout the west coast. Unclipping the front, she flips it upside down, dumping out everything she’d stuffed in. The heavier things drop down like lead, but a small, square photo comes fluttering out last, landing just at her feet.

Ochako turns it over and feels her heart stop. It’s the photo from San Diego. Shoto kisses her as she looks at him, surprised. 

The weight of her heart sends her back to her bed facedown. 

“I hate this,” she says into her mattress. Then, feeling more than a little pathetic, she sits up and tilts her head back. “I hate this!” She says again, to her ceiling.

“Hate what?”

Ochako shrieks, jumping so high she nearly falls off her bed. When she scrambles around, Shoto is climbing through her window.

“Shoto?!”

Shoto stands, brushing himself off. Once he’s done, he raises his gaze to Ochako. She’s staring at him wide-eyed. “Hate what?” He repeats. She gawks. 

Shoto examines his surroundings. Patches of paint on the walls are peeling, the floor occasionally squeaks under his feet, the dim lighting is more than a little depressing, and overall, it’s very humid. It’s no wonder she’d been so okay with the motels. 

He notices the corner of something peeking out from under her bed, so he crouches to pick it up. When he flips it over, he stills. 

It’s the photo from San Diego. 

Shoto’s eyes fly to Ochako’s. There’s a nervousness in her features. Shoto wets his lips and swallows. 

But before he can say anything, Ochako blurts out, “I’m in love with you.”

Shoto blinks at her. She looks down, away, like she’s trying to hide. Slowly, the world around him fades into the background. 

“I’m in love with you, and not being around you makes me miserable,” Ochako continues, mouth wobbling. 

Shoto reaches a hand out to hers, but Ochako pulls away, cradling herself. Her fingers come to the ring around her finger, spinning it.

“I miss waking up with you every morning. I miss going to bed with you every night. I miss eating with you and driving with you and showering with you,” she sniffs. “I miss you. ”  

Then she begins to cry in earnest, and she groans. Shoto realizes belatedly he’s never seen her cry, not in all the time they’ve gone to school together or after. It reminds him of when she’d first started panicking at the airport. He has to work not to drag her into his arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m never like this! I just… I know it’s only been two weeks, and we were trapped together for all of that, so of course I’d get used to you. Of course I’d like you! And of course you’d like me, or at least be as nice to me as you were. You’re such a nice person”—she hiccups as she says it—“And maybe that’s why I ended up falling in love with you. But you’re so busy, and I’m so busy, that I don’t think we’d even have time for each other. We might even get sick of each other.

Her tears dry. She chuckles, swiping at her face before finally meeting his eyes. “And it could’ve been anybody, y’know?” Ochako shrugs. “What if Tsu had gotten stuck with you? Or Sero, or Iida?”

There’s a long pause before Shoto finally murmurs, “Maybe that’s true.” 

Ochako deflates. Her eyes begin to water again, so she looks away again. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

Ochako flinches when he slips his fingers under hers, pulling her hand into his. Her eyes flicker up, and he’s watching her carefully. His thumb brushes across each digit.

“But I don’t want it to have been anybody else. And if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t want it to be anybody but you.” 

Shoto searches her face, sees the hesitant hope blooming across her features. “I want you, Ochako.”

She doesn’t answer. In fact, she’s quiet for so long, staring at him blankly with her mouth parted for so long, that even Shoto starts to get nervous. He squeezes her hand. “Do you not want to be together?”

“No!” She answers quickly, then flushes. “I do! I just… keep thinking about how busy we both are. It wouldn’t be like how it is during our trip. We won’t have that much time together, barely any at all, actually. I mean, you know how hard it is. It… I think it’d be even worse to try and… fail,” she finishes on a whisper, mouth pressing into a flat line. 

“Then we won’t let that happen.” Shoto cocks his head. “I can move my schedule around. We can figure everything out. We can make it work.”

Ochako becomes redder and redder as he talks. “I—I can be mean when I’m mad.”

“I’m sure,” Shoto chuckles. “I told you to be quiet, and you called me an asshole.”

“You told me to ‘shut up,’” Ochako splutters indignantly. “Totally different.”

“You’re right, and I’m very sorry. I was an asshole.”

She grows quiet again, staring at him. Her mouth twitches, a small smile creeping up one side of her face. “Okay.” 

Shoto blinks. Then his face splits into a grin, and Ochako feels her breath catch.

“One more thing,” he says, threading his fingers through hers finally. Ochako looks at him in question. “Move in with me.”

“Huh?!”

Shoto rises to sit onto her bed, photo still between his fingers. “Move in with me.”

All Ochako can do is stare in bewilderment. She’s sure Shoto’s place is nice—maybe even comparable to the hotels they’d been living in. But that’s kind of fast, isn’t it?!

Like he can hear his thoughts, he twists her ring around her finger, the slight smile on his face almost sly. “If you want to be traditional about it, we’re already technically married.”

Ochako splutters again. “Okay, first of all, we need to take care of that—”

“Do you want to?”

Ochako gapes at him.

Shoto tilts his head to one side, eyeing her curiously. “Do you want to take care of it?”

“It’ll mess with your work and complicate all sorts of things and—”

“But do you want to?”

Her mouth shuts slowly. Her cheeks turn bright pink and she looks away so uncharacteristically shyly that Shoto has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing outright. “Not really,” she finally ekes out. “I… I kind of like being married to you.”

“I kind of like being married to you, too,” he replies, voice low, smooth.

Ochako whips around to look at him, startled. “Really?”

He nods. “I like knowing you’re mine.”

She makes a noise halfway between a squeak and a croak, eyes darting away in disbelief. “Okay,” she breathes, sounding like she expects to wake from a dream any moment now. “Okay. We’ll just stay married then, I guess.”

“And you’ll move in with me?”

Ochako double takes. She’d forgotten about that. “I… I… gosh, sure, I guess. Why not?” As if this whole thing could get any crazier. Not like she didn’t just basically live with him for two weeks already. Didn’t Mina say something about that? Well, whatever. Ochako’s lease ends in two months anyways.

Then she remembers something else. “Wait—wait, money. Paying you back, beating you to Top 5, isn’t this going to make it weird—”

Shoto gives her a sideways look. “I already told you. When you beat me to Top 5, I’ll be the happiest about it.”

Ochako flinches back at his familiar words. She stares at Shoto. “‘When,’” she whispers, brows furrowing. “You keep saying ‘when.’ You… you made that bet, though. You made that bet, but you… you already thought… you already believed… I’d… win?”

“Yeah. I know you will. I’ve always known, even at UA.”

“You’ve always thought I could do it?” She asks in disbelief. He nods. Slowly, the confusion on her face makes way for glowing, elated astonishment. “Shoto!” She pokes him in the side, beaming. His heart swells at the sight. “You’re kind of sneaky, huh? So, what, I just don’t owe you anymore?”

“You never did.”

“I can’t just take your money!”

“You aren’t. You married into it. It’s yours now, too.”

Laughing, she untangles her hand from his to whack his shoulder. “Oh, shut up!”

“I won’t.” He grabs her wrist, meeting her gaze, and Ochako quiets at the intensity in them. “I love you, Ochako. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. I meant it when I said it the first time.”

A small smile presses up her face. “I want you.”

“Then I’m glad we’re on the same page. Any second requests?”

She laughs again, leaning into him. “How about a kiss?”

“Gladly.”

He sets the photo in his hand down, reaching behind her head to hold her. Ochako’s hands come to his face, the light in her eyes warm, happy. She’s still smiling when their mouths meet. 

It’s not their first kiss. It’s not even somewhere new, or even anywhere particularly nice. It’s not on a bridge under the stars in San Francisco or in the rain in Seattle or under bright, neon lights in Vegas.

It’s just home. 

But it feels like the entire world is their oyster. 

Chapter Text

It takes four entire years to plan a one day wedding, but Shoto and Ochako—with a lot of help from the former Class A of UA—finally get it done. On a sunny Saturday afternoon three weeks into the spring months, all 21 of them come from all over the country to celebrate two of Class UA’s most renown alum, arriving early in the morning to run through a rehearsal with each of them in their respective roles.

Technically, Shoto and Ochako are already married. Technically, they’ve been married. For four years. But the majority of Class A insisted they have a formal wedding in Japan, so they obliged. They took their sweet time, though, because as far as they’re concerned, they’re already married. They’ve been married.

The wedding starts and ends without a hitch. Yuga, Hanta, Mineta, and Ojiro handle the decorating. Kyoka, Denki, and Fumikage handle the music, Sato, the food, Shoji, the bar. Hitoshi and Toru deal with lighting, photography, and running emergency errands. Momo and Tenya act as coordinators, and Koda deals with the florals and any woodland creatures who are eager to participate.

Izuku is their officiant. Katsuki and Eijirou, their flower girls. The former glares death at Shoto for that decision the entire time he stands beside him as one of his best men.

Mina and Tsu follow Ochako down the aisle, holding her train, then her bouquet.

It’s a very nice wedding, Ochako thinks. But other than all her friends and family being here—and she doesn’t tell anybody but Shoto this as they’re sitting at their banquet table, whispering it into his ear and heart lighting up when he grins at her—it’s got nothing on their Vegas wedding.

“It took me seven months just to convince Ochako to do it,” Mina grouses in her speech, sixth refill of the champagne flute in her hand sloshing dangerously. “As it turns out, if you want Ochako to consider a wedding, you have to ask Shoto to convince her. And apparently, the way he convinces her is by telling her marriage isn’t even that important. Yeah, I know. Super romantic. But I guess that’s what happens when you get hitched by accident in Vegas. Everything pales in comparison!” 

She grimaces, and the crowd laughs. Then she turns over her shoulder and winks at Ochako, shooting her a thumbs up. Ochako slumps into the table, palms shadowing her face as she shakes uncontrollably. Mina is so drunk.

When they leave for their hotel after, they’re sent off in a rush of butterflies, birds, and bubbles, courtesy of Koda. Ochako throws her shoes off in the limo and sinks her head onto Shoto’s shoulder. He kisses the top of her head.

They pass out the moment they hit the bed in their beautiful, expensive, single double hotel room. The next morning is a rush to change out of their wedding attire and get to their honeymoon flight on time.

Four hours into their flight, they fight about something. Another four hours into their fight, Ochako has an epiphany. She can’t remember what they’d fought about, so she looks at Shoto.

“You know what we never got to do last time?”

Shoto cocks his head at her. Ochako leans into his ear and whispers. He shoots out of his seat and drags her to the bathroom with him.

Five minutes later, they exit the bathroom, Shoto finishing up with the buckle on his belt, Ochako smoothing down her hair. There’s the faintest hickey on her neck.

Four final hours later, they land in Atlanta. 

“Hoshi told me to go to the rental area for a wedding gift.” 

Ochako scans the signage, pointing to the left when she sees the arrow for the car lot. When they arrive, there’s a cute little black convertible with an enormous bow tied over the roof. Shoto smiles as Ochako laughs hysterically, doubled over and slapping her knee.

There’s a note waiting on the screensaver of the console: The cost is taken care of for the whole two weeks! You’ll have to return the car in New York, but when your trip is over, feel free to take the license plate as a souvenir! :) 

They slide into their respective seats and press the ignition button to start. Once they leave the garage, Shoto grins at Ochako.

“Ready?” He taps around on the console and the roof of the car begins to fold back, revealing the perfectly blue sky above them.

Ochako beams at Shoto and rises from her seat. It’s hot and muggy, but it’s glorious. The back road they’ve chosen to navigate stretches out in front of them, dusty, wide, and open. Only a handful of cars zip past them every so often.

“Let’s go to New York!” She shouts, flinging her arms into the air.

Shoto laughs. He floors it. They drive into the horizon, and the sun, high in the sky, shines its rays over them, tracing the silhouette of the car and lighting up their license plate.

It reads: SH0CH4K0.