The phone was propped up against a stack of books, the camera light blinking softly as Reader hit record. The familiar beat of “Enséñame cómo se menea” filled the living room, and she started moving with exaggerated, playful confidence—hips swaying, shoulders bouncing, movements deliberately silly rather than polished. In her arms, their baby girl blinked up at her, tiny brows knitting together in pure confusion. Big green eyes tracked every motion, as if trying to solve an impossible riddle. For a moment, there was only silence from her—then, slowly, a smile spread across her chubby cheeks. A delighted giggle escaped her, followed by clumsy little claps, hands smacking together as if she’d decided this was the best thing she’d ever seen.

That was the exact moment Izuku stepped through the doorway.

He froze, one hand still on the doorframe, heart skipping as the scene settled into focus. His wife—laughing, carefree, moving with a warmth that felt uniquely hers—and their daughter, glowing with innocent joy. Something tight in his chest loosened all at once. He felt it: that overwhelming rush of love that made his eyes sting and his breath hitch. Pride swelled in him, deep and unshakable. Pride in the family they’d built. Pride in the woman who could turn a silly dance trend into a memory their child would one day feel, even if she couldn’t remember it.

And maybe—just maybe—there was a flicker of flustered admiration too. Izuku’s cheeks warmed as he watched her move so freely, so comfortably, completely unaware of his presence. In that moment, he wasn’t a hero, or a symbol, or anything else the world expected him to be. He was just a husband, standing in the doorway, hopelessly in love, thinking that this—this right here—was the greatest victory of his life.

Izuku opened his mouth, ready to say something—anything—maybe a shy laugh, maybe a soft “You’re adorable,” when you suddenly scooped your daughter up into your arms. The music picked up again, and you began to sway side to side with her, exaggerating the moves just enough to make her squeal. Her laughter bubbled out freely now, loud and contagious, her little hands gripping your shirt as you bounced with her.

The words died in Izuku’s throat.

His eyes widened, then softened, his breath catching as his heart did a small, traitorous flip. Watching you dance with her like that—so natural, so loving—felt almost unreal. He could see how safe she felt in your arms, how she trusted you completely, and it filled him with a quiet awe. His fingers tightened around the grocery bag, knuckles white, as emotion welled up faster than he expected.

A shaky laugh slipped out of him, followed by a fond, breathless smile. God, he thought, I’m the luckiest man alive. All he could do was stand there, chest warm and heavy, letting the moment burn itself into his memory—his wife dancing, his daughter laughing, and a love so full it left him speechless.