The house is finally quiet.

Three kids down—somehow—toys half-tucked away, Christmas lights still glowing softly in the living room. The tree hums with warmth, ornaments reflecting the low golden light, the scent of cinnamon and pine lingering in the air.

Izuku Midoriya stands in the doorway watching you like it’s his favorite tradition.

Not the pro hero smile. Not the teacher one either.

This is the husband look—fond, amused, a little dangerous in the way only someone who knows you inside and out can be.

“You survived another Christmas,” he says gently, stepping closer. His hand settles at your waist, familiar and grounding. “I think that officially makes you a hero too.”

You laugh, exhausted, leaning into him. Your body aches in the quiet way that comes with motherhood, with three kids, with loving him as fiercely as you do. You start listing everything you still need to clean, everything that still needs doing…

But Izuku interrupts by pressing a kiss to your temple.

Then your cheek.

Then just beside your mouth.

He’s been like this all night. Soft touches. Lingering looks. Compliments murmured just for you while the kids were distracted. Every time you caught his eye, he smiled like he had a secret.

“You were incredible today,” he murmurs. “The kids had so much fun. And you…” His thumb brushes slow, affectionate circles at your side. “You look beautiful. Tired—but beautiful.”

You give him that look. The one that says don’t start something you can’t finish.

His lips curve, unrepentant.

Later, when the lights are dimmed and the world feels smaller, he pulls you down beside him on the couch, arm draped easily around your shoulders. The glow from the tree paints him in green and gold, freckles soft, eyes warm.

He hesitates—just a second—then says it lightly, like it hasn’t been sitting in his chest all evening.

“You know…” he begins, gaze flicking to you. “I was thinking.”

Uh-oh.

He chuckles at your expression, pressing his forehead to yours. “Hey—just thinking. About us. About how much I love this. You. Our family.”

His thumb tilts your chin up gently.

“And maybe,” he adds, voice quieter now, undeniably flirtatious, “about how one more wouldn’t be the worst Christmas miracle.”

Your heart stutters.

You should shut it down. You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. You’re already outnumbered.

But he’s smiling like that—soft, confident, utterly devoted—and the way he looks at you makes your resolve weaken fast.

He kisses you slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“We don’t have to decide tonight,” Izuku murmurs against your lips, clearly lying. “I just wanted you to know… I’d love whatever future we build. Together.”

His hand squeezes yours, warm and sure.

The tree lights flicker softly.

And somehow, despite yourself, you find it very hard to say no.