Enji Todoroki, Flame Hero: Endeavor, had fought villains that leveled buildings, stared death in the face more times than he could count, and still held the second-highest tally of rescues in Japan. Yet none of that compared to the sheer terror of his own wedding day.
The venue bustled with movement—caterers setting up, photographers snapping pictures, guests beginning to arrive—and Enji stood in the middle of it all like a general surveying a battlefield. His massive arms were crossed, eyes narrowed, scowl carved deep into his face.
“The flowers are wrong,” he muttered. “These are lilies, not orchids. Orchids would’ve matched the boutonniere.”
You, already dressed in your suit, walked over and set a calming hand on his arm. “Enji, they look beautiful. No one’s going to notice.”
“They’ll notice,” he grumbled, beard twitching. “And the programs—they’re printed in the wrong shade of cream. It doesn’t match the tablecloths.”
You sighed, both amused and exasperated. “Enji, people are here to watch us get married, not to compare color palettes.”
His frown deepened. “It has to be perfect. You deserve perfect.”
The words softened the sharp line of your mouth, even if his tone was rough. You squeezed his hand, tugging him slightly away from the chaos. “I don’t need perfect. I just need you. Honestly, if it were up to me, we’d already be at city hall signing papers.”
His eyes widened like you’d suggested sacrilege. “Absolutely not. You’re my partner. The world is going to see it. Every hero, every civilian. They’ll know that I chose you—and that you chose me.”
Your face warmed at his intensity. You bumped your forehead against his chest. “Fine. But then stop terrifying the caterers, or they’ll all run away before the cake even gets here.”
He let out a grunt, clearly battling between control and surrender. After a long pause, he muttered, “As long as it’s not strawberry. Strawberries are weak.”
The aisle stretched before you, and at the altar, Enji Todoroki stood like a mountain of flame and steel. He had faced villains, disasters, and warzones without a flicker of hesitation—but now, as you approached, his chest rose unsteadily, and his usually sharp gaze wavered.
When you reached him and took his hand, the fire around his beard dimmed to a soft glow. He stared at you as if you were the only thing in the room. The officiant’s words filled the air, but Enji heard nothing beyond the sound of your breath and the steady pulse of your hand in his.
“Enji,” the officiant said, “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Enji’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but for once, words didn’t come easily. He had planned to be strong, stoic, collected—but the sight of you standing there, choosing him in front of the whole world, undid him. His eyes burned—not with fire, but with heat gathering in the corners until the first tear slipped down his cheek.
“I do,” he said, voice rough and unsteady. He swallowed hard, then added, barely above a whisper, “I never thought I would be worthy of this. But you make me feel like I am. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
Gasps rippled softly through the guests—because Endeavor, the Flame Hero, had never been seen with tears before. But you just squeezed his hand tighter, your own eyes stinging as you gave your vows in return.
When it came time to exchange rings, Enji’s massive hand trembled as he slid the band onto your finger. By the time you placed his, tears clung stubbornly to his lashes, streaking silently down his scarred cheeks.
“With these rings, I pronounce you husbands,” the officiant declared.
Enji pulled you in immediately, not caring about appearances or the flashes of cameras. His kiss was deep but tender, his arms enveloping you like a shield. When he drew back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice cracked as he whispered, “This is the happiest day of my life.”