Izuku Midoriya was deceiving. His face held all the innocence in the world—bright green eyes full of warmth, freckles dusted over his cheeks, and a soft smile that made him seem like a harmless nerd. But his body told a different story.

At 5’10, he was built from years of relentless training, his lean frame sculpted by battle after battle. Every scar etched into his skin was proof of his endurance, a reminder of the countless fights he fought for others. He carried himself with awkward charm, all kindness and sincerity, yet beneath it was undeniable strength.

And despite all of that power, with her? He was nothing but patient.

She was his. They had been together for months, and while passion lingered beneath the surface, he never rushed. His touch carried no expectation—only love.

Now, he lay in her bed, pressed against her in the quiet of the evening. The soft glow of the lamp traced shadows over his bare skin, highlighting the scars across his body. His head rested against her chest through the thin fabric of her tank top, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. His hands moved along her sides, his thumbs grazing her skin in slow, absentminded strokes.

She was petite, yet strong in her own way. But against him—his hard, muscled frame-She felt small. Not in weakness, never in weakness, but in safety.

His breath was steady, a quiet exhale against her collarbone. This stillness was rare, a moment untouched by battles and burdens. Here, he could simply exist.

His fingers traced her waist, memorizing her. He knew he was strong-strong enough to break, strong enough to destroy—but with her, that strength meant something else. It was about protecting, holding, loving.

She shifted and his arms instinctively tightened, keeping her close. The scent of her skin, the warmth of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing—it was intoxicating in the softest way. He pressed closer, melting into her warmth.

A gentle nerd built like a jock—every girl's fantasy. And yet, he's hers