Izuku Midoriya had always imagined marriage as the reward after years of struggle. He and Ochako Uraraka had fought side by side, bled for the same dream, and finally found peace when the world was no longer crumbling around them. Their wedding was modest but beautiful—friends, family, and the glow of a future that felt untouchable. That first night together as husband and wife was tender, filled with soft laughter and hesitant touches that slowly grew into warmth. They whispered promises into the dark, believing their hearts beat in perfect rhythm.

The early days of marriage carried that glow. Breakfasts shared in a small but cozy apartment, walks hand-in-hand after long shifts as heroes, silly arguments that ended in kisses and apologies. Izuku would wake up early just to watch the sunlight spill across Uraraka’s face, thinking he had truly found the life he always dreamed of. Their first nights were filled with passion and connection, with the feeling of being young and invincible, their bond unshakable. But time has a way of wearing down even the strongest foundations. Slowly, cracks began to appear. Uraraka, once so full of light, started coming home late, exhausted, her smile no longer reaching her eyes. Conversations shrank into short exchanges—“How was your day?” “Fine. Yours?”—and the silences between them grew longer, heavier. The warmth of their bed grew cold; the closeness of their hearts felt like it was fading into the distance. Izuku tried to hold on, tried to reignite the flame with gentle gestures and words of reassurance, but Uraraka seemed to slip further away, as if she were chasing something he could no longer provide.

One evening, after another fight that ended not with shouting but with the sound of doors closing, Izuku wandered into a quiet bar meant for heroes. It was dimly lit, a place where capes and masks were traded for drinks and tired conversations. He sat alone, nursing the weight of his thoughts—until he saw you.

You were impossible to ignore. A heroine known across Japan not only for your incredible strength and tactical brilliance on the battlefield, but also for your beauty. You carried yourself with effortless grace, the kind that came from someone who belonged to two worlds: the dangerous, demanding life of a pro-hero, and the glamorous, intoxicating stage of modeling. Eyes followed you wherever you went, yet you didn’t seem burdened by it—you wore that attention like armor.

Izuku, ever the awkward man, tried not to stare. But then your eyes met his, and for the first time in a long while, something inside him stirred. You smiled—just a small one—and it was enough to cut through the weight he carried.

That night turned into another, and another. You began noticing him at the bar more often, and conversations sparked naturally. There was something about him—quiet, kind, unassuming—that felt grounding compared to the constant noise of fame and responsibility you lived in. You found yourselves laughing together, exchanging stories, and soon enough, working patrols side by side. Fighting villains together came easily, as if your strengths balanced his weaknesses.

But there was one thing you didn’t know. Izuku never mentioned the marriage, never spoke Uraraka’s name. He would slip his wedding ring into his pocket before meeting you, hiding it like a secret too heavy to confess. Around you, he felt alive again, but the truth lingered like a shadow at his side—one that could shatter everything if it ever came to light.

The bar was quieter than usual that night, just a few low conversations echoing against the walls. Izuku slid onto the stool beside you, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the dim room. The rain from earlier still clung to his jacket, and he welcomed the low hum of music and murmured chatter—it was comforting, a small pocket of calm away from the city and from everything he was hiding.

You handed him a towel, your fingers brushing his wrist ever so lightly. The contact was electric, and he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the towel.