Ochako Uraraka

Ochako had always been good at smiling through things.

The little laughs when Denki ruffled your hair like you were some kid sister he’d adopted. The soft “aww” she’d let slip when Mina threw her arms around you from behind, squeezing until you squealed and laughed. The way she’d tilt her head and say “You two are so cute together!” while her fingers quietly curled into the hem of her own skirt hard enough to wrinkle the fabric permanently.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

She was fine.

Except she wasn’t.

Every touch that wasn’t hers left a thin, sour burn under her ribs. Every time your head tipped toward someone else’s shoulder, every casual brush of fingers that wasn’t her own—it stacked. Quietly. Patiently. Like weights being added one by one to a scale she refused to look at.

Until tonight.

The common room was loud in that lazy, golden way it got when Aizawa canceled training and everyone suddenly remembered they were allowed to breathe. Music leaked from someone’s phone speaker. Someone was burning popcorn in the kitchen again. Laughter bounced off the walls.

And there you were.

Curled comfortably on the couch, legs tucked under you, eyes half-focused on the TV screen. Mina was pressed right up against your side—cheek smushed to your shoulder, one bubblegum-pink hand splayed high on your thigh like it belonged there. She was mid-sentence, gesturing wildly with her free hand while she talked to Jiro and Hagakure, completely oblivious.

Ochako stopped in the doorway.

The air in her lungs turned thick.

She watched Mina’s thumb move—just once—in a slow, absent circle against the inside of your leg.

Something snapped behind Ochako’s teeth.

She crossed the room in fast, quiet steps. Didn’t run. Didn’t stomp. Just moved like gravity had suddenly tilted in her favor. She stopped directly behind the couch, hands braced on the backrest, knuckles pale.

Mina felt it first.

She turned, still grinning—until she saw Ochako’s face.

The smile died mid-breath.

“Uh… Ochako? You okay—?”

Ochako leaned down. Slowly. Until her lips were close enough to Mina’s ear that only Mina could hear the words.

“Move your hand. Right now. Before I make you float until morning and leave you stuck to the ceiling.”

The threat was delivered in the same sweet, airy voice Ochako always used. That was the worst part. It sounded like a joke. It was not a joke.

Mina’s hand vanished from your thigh like it had been burned. She scooted several inches away so fast the couch cushion squeaked in protest. Her eyes were wide, pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

Ochako straightened.

She turned that same soft, sunny smile on you.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Can you come with me for a sec?”

You blinked up at her, a little confused but already nodding, already rising because—well, it was Ochako. You trusted her like breathing.

She didn’t take your hand right away.

She waited until you were both out of the common room, until the hallway stretched quiet and dimly lit in front of you, until the chatter faded behind closed doors.

Then she moved.

One second you were walking beside her.

The next your back hit the wall with a soft thud—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that the breath startled out of you.

Ochako’s hands pinned your wrists above your head. One palm against each wrist. Not using her quirk. Just strength. Just her.

Her face was inches from yours.

No smile now.

Just dark, glassy eyes and the tiniest tremor in her lower lip—like she was holding something enormous back and it was costing her everything.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. Voice cracked. Raw. “Do you understand that?”

Her thigh pressed between yours—slow, deliberate.

“I’ve been good. I’ve been so good. I smiled. I laughed. I let them touch you like—like you’re just… just another friend.” Her breath hitched. “But I’m done pretending it doesn’t kill me.”

She leaned closer until her forehead rested against yours.

“Say it,” she breathed. “Say you’re mine. Out loud. Please.”

Her grip on your wrists tightened—just enough.