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Izuku Midoriya was many things.
A notebook hoarder. A part-time hero-teacher. A terrible actor. An even worse liar. And, according to all of Hero Twitter, Pro Hero Uravity’s mystery boyfriend who made her smile like she was in a trashy romantic novel.
He was also currently on his day off and busy making himself a human burrito.
Wrapped tightly in an All Might fleece blanket from shoulders to toes, sitting on their apartment couch with a cup of lukewarm tea and the TV glowing in front of him. The news anchor was droning on, but Izuku only had eyes for the figure in the center of the screen.
Ochako Uraraka. Hero name: Uravity. His girlfriend.
Floating. Glowing. Smashing a villain into the pavement with her signature Gravity Slam, leaving behind a crater and a round of civilian applause.
Izuku grinned like he hadn’t already seen this clip ten times since it aired that morning.
The cushions dipped slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. The sound from the TV was low, but he could practically hear the thud in his bones. He mouthed along with her quippy post-battle line, because yes, he’d memorized it already.
As the crowd on-screen cheered, Izuku clapped too—loud and proud in his apartment like he was in a stadium.
And then, as if summoned by the universe—or maybe just her internal radar for when her boyfriend was being too adorable—the front door clicked open.
Ochako floated through the front door, a little bruised, a little tired, and a lot starving, her boots leaving faint scuff marks on the mat.
She kicked them off with a groan, ready to collapse—but paused at the sound of enthusiastic clapping.
“Hero Uravity saves the day again!”
“Hey,” Ochako called, stepping in with a soft grunt. “I’m home.”
Izuku perked up immediately.
“You’re just in time for your performance review,” he teased.
She dropped her duffel bag and leaned against the doorframe, raising one brow. “Oh my god,” she said as her eyes flicked to the TV. “Are you watching that rerun again?”
“It’s for research!” he defended quickly, pausing mid-sip of tea. “...It’s educational.”
“It’s literally me dropkicking someone into a vending machine.”
“Of course it is!” he beamed, patting the spot next to him. “You air-punched that guy into a billboard and then did the little salute pose at the end. Ten out of ten. Iconic.”
Ochako huffed out a laugh and took off her gloves. Her hair was frizzy with sweat, and there was a smudge of dirt across her cheek, but her eyes sparkled when she looked at him.
“C’mere,” Izuku said, scooting to the side. He held up the blanket flap in invitation. “Your burrito awaits.”
Ochako hesitated all of two seconds before flopping beside him and tucking herself under the blanket with a sigh of pure relief. Her body was still warm from the battle, her fingers rough with dust, and her cheek found its favorite spot—pressed to his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“Yeah. Just sore. That villain was a walking brick wall.” She looked down at her dust-smudged gloves. “He wasn’t even that dangerous—just… heavy. It’s been a long day.”
“I bet he was. Wish I was there to help you.”
“You’ve been working non-stop lately on both hero work and teaching. You deserve a break too, y’know.”
“You’re warm,” he mumbled.
“You’re heavy.”
“Shut up.”
Then laughed, low and affectionate, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You always watch my reruns?” she asked quietly.
Izuku hummed. “Only the ones where you’re amazing.”
She snorted. “That’s all of them.”
“Exactly.”
Ochako rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. A pause. Then, she pinched his side. “Cheeseball.”
He yelped and squirmed, but she was already wrapping her arms around his middle, melting into him like his gravity was stronger than hers.
“I mean it,” he said after a beat. “You were incredible out there today.”
“You say that every day.”
“And I’ll keep saying it. Forever, if I have to.”
Ochako tilted her head to look up at him. He looked soft in the TV light—freckles dusted with gold, green eyes crinkled at the corners. She traced a finger along his jaw. “Don’t you ever get tired of all this hero stuff?”
“Of watching you?” He shook his head. “Never. It’s like—having a favorite star, and then finding out she actually wants to share her popcorn.”
She blinked. “That made zero sense.”
“Neither does how lucky I am.”
Her face bloomed red.
“Izuku,” she muttered, hiding in his shoulder.
He smiled against her hair. “Yes, Hero Uravity?”
“You’re stupid.”
“For you.”
“Okay, stop.” She laughed into his hoodie. “Seriously, my brain’s too fried for this level of romantic cheese.”
He nuzzled her temple. “Good. That means your defenses are down. You’re vulnerable to my charm.”
“Your charm consists of lukewarm tea and blanket puns.”
“And my undying devotion.”
“Hmm you know I miss when you were shy.”
Izuku choked on his tea. “What?!”
She grinned smugly. “Remember? Back in high school, when you couldn’t even look at me without short-circuiting? I miss that guy. He was easy to fluster.”
“I am still that guy!” he sputtered. “I just—got more efficient at short-circuiting.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned in close. “So if I kiss your freckles right here—”
She did. “—and right here—” Another kiss. “—you won’t short-circuit at all?”
His ears were on fire.
“You’re mean,” he muttered, flustered but glowing.
She smiled and cuddled closer. “Still got it.”
Ochako groaned in tiredness and pressed closer. He always did this—made her feel like the most important person in the world after the ugliest, longest, sweatiest patrols. No matter how drained she came home, Izuku was there: her cheerleader, her warm arms, her soft place to land.
“You made tea?” she mumbled.
“Yeah, your favorite. Left it on the counter so it wouldn’t scald your tongue.”
She blinked. “...You do know I’ve been punched through walls, right?”
“Doesn’t mean I want you're tongue to suffer,” he said with a shy shrug.
Ochako sat up just enough to kiss him. It wasn’t a long kiss—just a brush of lips, soft and familiar—but it made her heart beat faster anyway.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He kissed her back like it was instinct. “Always.”
They stayed curled up for a while, watching the news roll into another report about Uravity’s rising approval ratings and new fan merch. Izuku giggled when they showed a plushie with her chibi face.
“Oh god,” Ochako muttered, hiding behind her hands. “They made the cheeks extra round. Why are the cheeks extra round?”
“Because they’re based on you, and you’re the roundest.”
She smacked his leg. “Izuku.”
“I love your cheeks!”
She smacked him again. “You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re my gravity,” he said, voice unbearably sincere.
Ochako’s entire brain short-circuited.
There was no way to win against that.
So she tackled him into the couch, blanket and all, and decided to smother him with love until he stopped making her heart explode.
Spoiler: he never stopped.
A while later, they shuffled into the kitchen—Ochako still wrapped in the burrito blanket, trailing behind Izuku like a sleepy ghost. Every step made the blanket drag just enough to threaten tripping her, but she stubbornly refused to let it go.
Izuku had long since accepted that when she was this tired, she moved at the pace of a drowsy cat.
“You’re gonna overheat in that thing,” he said, pulling open the fridge.
“You’re just jealous you’re not the burrito.”
“I could be. We could be a couple’s combo meal.”
She squinted at him like she was considering it. “Fine, but you’re the side of fries.”
“Deal.”
He was already pulling out leftover rice and the container of miso soup from last night’s dinner. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the muted TV still playing in the background from the living room.
Ochako leaned against the counter and half-watched him work, her cheek pressed to her fist. “You make this look like a cooking show.”
“I’m just reheating leftovers.”
“With the precision of a surgeon.”
“Don’t say it,” he warned, ladling soup into two bowls.
She said it anyway. “You’re such a wife.”
Izuku dropped the ladle into the pot with a clatter.
She snorted. “You okay there?”
“Peachy.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “What? I mean it as a compliment.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but his ears were red as he handed her a bowl.
They sat at the tiny kitchen table, knees bumping under the wood. Steam curled up between them, the warmth settling in their bones. Ochako’s spoon clinked gently against the ceramic.
She gave him a look over her bowl.
“You didn’t have to cook,” she said softly, peering down at her soup. “I could’ve grabbed something on the way back.”
“You looked like you were about to collapse when you walked in,” he said simply. “Let me take care of you a little.”
Her throat felt warm in a way that wasn’t from the soup. “…Okay. You’re allowed.”
For a few minutes, they ate in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional slurp or soft sigh. Then Ochako glanced up at him, her eyes glinting with suspicion.
“Did you really rewatch the broadcast six times today?”
“…Four. And a half,” he admitted.
She gasped like he’d confessed to treason. “Midoriya Izuku. That is not healthy behavior.”
“I had to pause to take notes!”
“Oh my god, you took notes?” She tossed her napkin at him. “You’re a menace. A menace with spreadsheets.”
“Hey! It’s just because you did a new move where you angled your float kick mid-air. The torque was insane—”
Ochako slapped her palm over his mouth. “Please stop analyzing my dropkicks. I’m trying to be romantic.”
He licked her palm.
“Ew!” She yanked her hand back and scrubbed it on his hoodie. “What is wrong with you?”
“You brought that on yourself,” he said, grinning way too smugly for someone who had just committed spoonable soup crime.
“I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
“And yet, here we are,” he said cheerfully.
Later, when the dishes were in the sink and the lights were dimmed, and gotten clean they got ready for bed. Ochako was halfway through brushing her hair after her bath when she noticed something sitting neatly on her pillow.
A plushie. Not just any plushie—her. Or rather, chibi Uravity, complete with pink cheeks and her hero suit.
She blinked. “…Izuku?”
He froze in the doorway, caught mid-step like a kid who’d been caught stealing cookies. “I may have… pre-ordered it months ago.”
She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, mouth twitching. “You ordered merch of me before we were even dating?”
He turned a shade of red that could rival Kirishima’s hair. “In my defense, I was manifesting.”
She stared. “…Manifesting? Really?”
“You’re the one who told me to dream big!”
“You were manifesting a girlfriend?”
“Specifically a gravity-defying one, yes.”
Her laugh started small and then snowballed until she had to lean on the bedframe, wheezing. “Oh my god, you’re such a ridiculous nerd.”
“Guilty,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, deciding to keep his growing merch stash a secret for now.
She didn’t bother with more teasing—she just tackled him onto the bed, blanket and all, and kissed him until he was breathless.
When they finally settled under the covers, Ochako kept the plushie between them like a tiny chaperone. Izuku tried to protest, but she only grinned sleepily.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “You’re still my favorite version.”
Izuku shifted under the blankets, still red but grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “You know,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, “I actually bought two of them.”
Her eyes cracked open. “…Two?”
He hesitated. “One is to keep in the box. Collector’s item.”
Ochako groaned into her pillow, half in disbelief and half in fondness. “You’re impossible.”
“Statistically speaking, I’m extremely possible. You’re the improbable miracle.”
She hid her smile in the plushie’s soft hair, cheeks warm. “If you keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna need a whole army of chibi yous.”
“Challenge accepted,” he whispered
Somewhere in the living room, the TV played another rerun of her highlight reel.
But Ochako wasn’t watching.
She already had the best view in the world.