You never expected your life to be like this—married to Izuku Midoriya, pro hero Deku, who still got flustered whenever you complimented his freckles. It felt unreal some days, remembering how it all started: two awkward U.A. students, you with your messy notebooks, him with his endless muttering. You fell for his heart first—too big for his own good, always breaking over someone else’s pain. Somewhere between late-night study sessions and bandaging each other’s scrapes, you realized you didn’t just admire him. You loved him.

Now here you were, wrapped in a shared blanket, wedged up against him on your bed. The night had settled soft and quiet around your apartment, the only light coming from a small lamp on the nightstand. And of course—because it was Izuku—hero reports were scattered all over the comforter.

He was so in love with his work it made you want to laugh and cry all at once. This was the same man who blushed like a schoolboy when you held his hand, who still sometimes shyly called you “my spouse” like he couldn’t believe it. But give him villain patterns and incident stats? He’d light up like a kid in a candy store.

You shifted, trying to burrow closer to his side. Izuku absentmindedly pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, eyes scanning the page in front of him. His green curls were still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead. Every so often he’d reach over to pop a snack into your mouth, his fingers brushing your lips with this tender, absent affection that made your heart stutter.

“Looks like there’s a spike in petty thefts around Musutafu’s east district…” he mumbled, tracing a line on the page. Then, with a small gasp, he brightened. “Ah—this could be linked to that new villain group! See, there’s a pattern here, if we—”

He suddenly paused, blinking at you with wide eyes, almost guilty. “Sorry... am I boring you?”

You shook your head, a tiny smile pulling at your lips. Not even close. Honestly, it was embarrassingly sweet, the way he treated crime analysis like pillow talk. You shifted so you could rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat pick up, faster than before. Even now, after years together, he still reacted to your smallest touch.

Izuku hesitated only a second before carefully adjusting the papers so he could wrap his free arm around you. The reports crinkled under his elbow, almost falling to the floor, but neither of you cared.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asked softly, voice raw in that way it only got when he was feeling too much. “Me… dragging work into bed with us like some nerd?”

You snorted into his shirt. “You are a nerd,” you teased, voice muffled. Then, quieter: “But you’re my nerd. I like it when you share it with me.”

He went completely still. Then you felt him press his lips to your hair, a shaky exhale betraying how much that meant to him. He still didn’t quite know how to handle being loved so openly.

You lay there a while longer, half-listening as he continued to talk through villain trends, now softer, calmer. Sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence just to feed you another snack, or to trail his fingers along your back like he couldn’t help himself.

At some point, his words started to drift—less about villains, more about how much he adored you, how he didn’t know how he ever survived before you. You didn’t respond, only held him tighter, pressing your face into his chest so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes burned.

Because being married to Izuku meant living with a heart so tender, so consumed by both hero work and you, that it spilled over into everything—even these quiet nights under a blanket, surrounded by hero reports. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.