Work Text:
Shouto hates it more than anything. The way those white flakes drift along the wind, the frigidity that takes hold of his body before he activates his quirk, using it to allay the coldness he feels. Yet no matter hot his flames are, they could never erase the aches that often spread across his chest. He swallows, teeth chattering as he makes his way down the street. People drift along the edge of his vision, barely visible blurs that are lost amongst the blizzard. Sometimes he’s not certain if they’re truly ever there. He glances at the stores surrounding him. A black dress, fitted with diamonds that seem to sparkle beneath the light, catches his eye, positioned on a pole in the front of the window.
He gasps, his mind immediately jumping back to her. Black is her color, her element. She makes it her own, no matter what article of clothing she slips her skin into. Thinking of Momo sends a chill through his body, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that. He lingers by that window, ignoring the frigidity gnawing at his insides like a beast. His fingers press against the glass. He wants to buy that dress, give it to her. Shouto swallows, shaking his head, trying to fight the thoughts of her wearing that dress instead. He can see himself caressing her cheeks, fingers brushing aside those brown locks of hair that frame her face as he pulls her in for a kiss. He knows this is wrong. He knows all of this is unfair.
Yet he can’t bring himself to turn back around, head back to the apartment he and Momo call home. A distant thought pops into his mind. Momo will be occupied with an outing organized by Izuku. Some kind of class 1-A reunion. Shouto’s features twist to form something that conveys discomfort at the remembrance of the conversation he’d had with Momo.
I’ll be home before you. Important matters to take care of. The weight of the bag pressed against his chest seems twice as heavy. Swallowing, he uses every ounce of his willpower to walk away from that window, continuing down the street. As he steps deeper into the blizzard, he wonders just how many more things he’ll see that remind him of Momo. The woman he’s sworn to be beside, the one he’s aimed to have a future with.
*****
His knuckles press against the door. Shouto’s heartbeat thrums in his veins, the warmth of the apartment complex’s hallway becoming increasingly unbearable. He resists the urge to use his quirk to lower his body temperature, knowing that doing so will be cheating. He desires to suffer for what he’s doing. Or so he thinks. Ear pressed against the door, humming floats towards his ears, and he feels heat rise in his cheeks. Shouto lowers the bag from his chest, glancing inside it to make sure that steam is still rising from within. Thoughts slam into his mind, each concerned with leaving. He thinks about leaving the food beside the door. He considers darting down the stairs before she answers the door.
He’s about to take his first step down the stairs when he remembers. He recalls the press of her lips against his collarbone, the hotness of her breath against his nose before her lips press against his. The way her breasts press against his chest as he holds her close to him. Shouto swallows, turning back around. The door opens, revealing a brunette with frizzled strands of hair sticking up. Ochako yawns, and she rubs her eyes. Yet despite the rings beneath her eyes, the sway of her body as she moves to wrap her arms around him, he knows she’s happy to see him.
She doesn’t have to say anything for him to get the message. He feels the press of her fingers against his own, and he swears they’re warmer than the hottest flame he’s ever produced.
“Just woke up?” Shouto says. “Sorry. I should have called sooner. I can…”
“No! I mean, no. It’s fine. Work’s just been rough lately, Shouto. You’re fine. Really.”
Shouto hears the waver in her voice, the pleading that edges her words. It sends guilt lancing down his chest. What will Momo feel when she finds out? Far worse than she does. He glances around the apartment. A pizza box lays open on the counter, void of any slices. Dishes clatter the sink, each covered in a ring of grime. An odor that clings to air creeps up his nostrils, and he resists the urge to gag. He glances into the bag. In it’s a container of Ochako’s favorite food, meant to be a gift to precede the usual activities that occur when they meet.
“Sorry it’s such a mess,” Ochako says with a frown. “Izuku hasn’t been around much. So I have to clean everything myself. And well...cleaning everything on my own is something I don’t have much energy for. Is that yakitori I smell? Shouto, you shouldn’t have.”
He sucks in a breath when she releases his hand to press her lips against his own. It’s a quick gesture, yet butterflies flutter about in his stomach all the same. He nods, following her over to the couch. He tries to ignore the way she’s looking at him, the mixture of lust and guilt that clouds her eyes. Shouto runs a hand through his hair after sitting at the couch, removing the yakitori in the process. He ignores how she plops down beside him, blowing the fragrance that clings to her hair up his nose. He tries to not let the fact that her clothes hug her figure, her nipples visible against the fabric of her top.
This will be different. It...has to be. Sighing, he watches her rise to head over to the kitchenette, opening a drawer. It gives him a much needed reprieve, something that allows him to think. He thinks about how they’re on a first name basis, how she addresses Midoriya as Izuku, rather than the name she’d called him all throughout the years they studied at U.A. His fingers dig into the skin of his cheek as his eyes rove up her body, focusing on every visible bit of skin. He stops looking once he notices the pink coloring her cheek. The way she looks away from him as she approaches him two plates and eating utensils.
“Let’s eat, shall we? Where’s...Yaoyorozu?” Ochako says, sitting down next to him. He knows why she’s asking the question, notices the jealousy conveyed by the edge present in her voice. It makes everything more difficult for him. Even more than it already was. Sighing, he steadies himself to reply, meeting her eyes. His resolve begins to break like a piece of porcelain, cracks falling off, creating a plume of dust in the process. Even now, Ochako Uraraka has a way of forcing the air out of his lungs.
“Yaoyorozu is out with Midoriya. Something about a group outing, a reunion of sorts for our graduating class.”
“Oh. Right. Izuku did mention that, didn’t he…”
Silence envelops them. It’s broken by the cutting of the meat before them. Shouto isn’t hungry. He prefers to eat with Yaoyorozu, enjoys seeing her face light up after he serves her her meal after a day of stress.
Yet there’s some kind of charm that Ochako has, something that drives him to grab that fork and knife and begin to work at making the yakitori easier to chew. He stabs a piece with his fork, parting his lips and sticking the meat inside his mouth. He chews, expecting the meat to have a taste akin to the rubber of a shoe.Yet it doesn’t. He finds himself enjoying eating with another woman. He can feel the press of Ochako’s gaze on him, and he doesn’t know how to react to it. All he can picture is his hands holding her against the couch, his lips pressed against hers before he uses his tongue to push apart her lips. Swallowing, Shouto bites his tongue, setting down his eating utensils. Ochako does the same thing at the exact same time.
“Crazy weather we’re having, huh?” Ochako says. “You know, I wouldn’t want you to walk home in that. You can sleep in our bedroom. Izuku is probably going to be stuck at the restaurant. C’mon, let’s…”
“Ochako…” Shouto grabs her wrists. “We...shouldn’t. It’s not right. Momo doesn’t deserve this. My shitty excuse for a father ended up getting what he deserved in the end. I’m not saying I believe in karma, but...everything catches up to you. It’s only a matter of time before it happens to us. And I don’t want to have to deal with the heartbreak.”
He notices the way her eyes widen, the flash of anger that surfaces in them for a brief moment. He lets go of her wrists. Their faces are a mere inch or two apart, and he can see his face reflected in her irises. He can feel his restraint crumbling. Every second that passes makes the urges to touch her stronger. He wants to kiss her, run his hands down her hair before sliding them up her top. By looking into her eyes, witnessing the way her eye twitches, he can imagine she’s going through the same thing.
“I know it’s wrong, Shouto! I know how much it’ll hurt Izuku if he finds out. But...I’m tired. Tired of not being satisfied with my life. When you’re inside me, everything feels like it’s okay. It’s different in more ways than one. Am I a whore for wanting something different? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Calm down. You’re accusing me of things I never implied. All I’m saying is that we shouldn’t do this anymore. Think of our partners. Think of all the trust they’ve placed in us. Stepping on that trust? That seems wrong. I brought your favorite food to give a change of pace. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Change.”
“But…,” Ochako says, “I can’t go on. I need you, Shouto. Eating this food is nice and all, but it just isn’t the same. You feel the same, right? You said that we shouldn’t do this. Not that we can’t.”
They lock eyes for a split second. Once that second passes, she closes the gap between them, her arms pinning him against the end of the couch. Shouto shuts his eyes once her lips touch his, warm and wet and sweet. He loses himself in the kiss, warmth rising within his core, pressure building inside his pants. A strand of saliva breaks apart to release a drop that hits his chest once Ochako breaks the kiss. She grabs his hands and presses them against her stomach. He caresses her skin, relishing the feel of the hardened muscles gained from years of hard work beneath his fingertips. Ochako releases a guttural noise, and he barely has a second to think before she forces his hands up her top.
His fingers press against her breasts before finding their way to her nipples. Shouto gives them a twist, a swell of pride surfacing in his throat when she moans, a feeling that causes shame to tear into him. Kissing Momo has always been different. Her demeanor, always prim, slowly cracks the more his lips pepper kisses against her collarbone. She never begs, no matter how evident her desire to have him take her is. Ochako is different. As he kneads her nipple, Shouto notices the way her breathing hitches, coupled with the haze that has settled over her eyes like a morning fog. Her lust is palpable, and he can tell by the way she slams her lips against his that she’s awaiting the moment where he penetrates her.
He moans in her mouth when her tongue runs across the roof of his mouth, his nails digging into the skin of her shoulders. Eyes fluttering open, he watches as she takes his hand and shoves it towards her shorts. Before Ochako pulls down her shorts, her eyes darken, and she begins to wiggle something. Shouto’s breath catches in his throat. His ring.
The physical embodiment of his love for Momo, the vow to love her until they were both a set of bones buried deep in the ground. His eye twitches. An image of her face the day he’d married her flutters into his mind. He recalls that smile of hers, the one that always has a way of melting him in no way his flames ever could. The way she, no matter how disheveled her hair looks, can light up the darkest of days.
Shouto gently shoves Ochako away him. The confusion and anger that transform her features stabs his heart. He doesn’t let it get to him as he backs away, eyes dark. He watches the question that takes root in her eyes, and he struggles to find the strength to answer it. Sighing, he turns on his heels, hoping that his silence would serve as an adequate answer.
As he leaves her behind, frigidity swarms his chest, making his movements difficult to make. He keeps walking down the steps, eager to put distance between himself and Ochako. He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s going to do. For once, he welcomes the blizzard, the way everything is lost and forgotten in its white haze.
******
Shouto makes it out onto the sidewalk. By now, the blizzard has slowed to the point where he’s able to make out what’s in front of him. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he begins the long walk back to him and Momo’s apartment complex. He thinks long and hard about what transpired in Ochako Uraraka’s apartment, and he finds it difficult to figure out what motivated him to allow it to continue on for so long. His jaw clenches. How could he have betrayed the woman he loved?
A feminine voice floats towards his ears. He stiffens, recognizing the owner of the voice immediately. Frozen, he watches as a woman with black hair and eyes draws near. What’s she doing here? His eyes narrow. He’s able to make out a man with green hair beside her. Midoriya? His eyes widen before his gaze drops. Momo and Izuku’s hands are locked together, the sight of which causes ice to seep into his veins. He watches Momo whisper something to Izuku before looking in his direction.
His heart almost stills. Momo, the woman who always went on about the value of trust amongst partners, was sneaking around with another man. Not just any man, either —Izuku Midoriya, the man who has been his best friend for years. Dryness washes over his tongue, and he can’t seem to wet it no matter how hard he tries. He stands there, watching Izuku whirl around, a shadow of guilt sweeping across his features before he turns. Shouto’s breath hitches as Momo closes the gap. All he can do is focus on her scent, a fragrance that overwhelms every aspect of his being.
Something cool presses against his palm. He hears the snow crunching around him, and it takes his mind a moment to overcome his astonishment. His fingers curl around the ring Momo gave him. The weight of his actions crashes into his chest with the force of a meteorite. He opens his palm, staring at the ring. The object meant to represent the bond they would share until death tore them from another. Sighing, he feels the warmth of his tears sting his eyes as he whirls around, just in time to watch Momo reach the end of the sidewalk. She’s always turned around to face him, no matter the severity of their argument.
He waits for what feels like an eternity. She crosses the street, away from him and his lies. Shouto glances up, a snowflake kissing the bridge of his nose. For once, he finds himself not minding the desolate atmosphere it strews across the world like a white web.