Snow fell softly outside the windows, blanketing the neighborhood in white and turning the world into something quiet and gentle. Inside the house, warmth ruled everything—twinkling lights wrapped around the banister, the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, and laughter echoed from the living room where Izuku sat with you and your children, half-buried in torn wrapping paper.

Christmas morning had already been a whirlwind of excitement. The kids eagerly showed off their gifts, chatter overlapping as Izuku smiled in that familiar, bashful way, green eyes bright with contentment. It was moments like this—small, ordinary, perfect—that made the years feel worthwhile.

Then one of the children noticed it.

A small box, tucked beneath the tree, plain and unassuming compared to the rest. No name on the tag. Just… there.

Curious little hands opened it, only for confusion to wrinkle their brows. Inside wasn’t a toy, or candy, or anything they recognized—just a small stick, carefully placed. After a moment of whispered debate, they padded over to Izuku and held it out to him.

“Dad,” one of them said, tilting their head, “what’s this?”

Izuku took the box, eyes scanning the contents—and in that single heartbeat, the world seemed to pause, Christmas lights blurring as realization slowly, beautifully set in.

Izuku froze.

For a moment, he just stared at the test in his hand, brain short-circuiting the way it always did when something big hit him all at once. His shoulders went stiff, eyes wide and unblinking, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. Then his gaze slowly lifted to you—green eyes shimmering, already glassy, searching your face like he was afraid to blink and lose the moment.

“Is… is this—?” His voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper. He swallowed hard, clutching the small box like it might vanish. “Are we… really?”

You couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face. Stepping closer, you rested a hand over his, grounding him. The noise of the children faded into the background as you nodded gently, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, eyes shining just as much as his. “Looks like we’re having another baby.”

Izuku’s breath hitched—and then he laughed, a broken, disbelieving sound that turned into tears before he could stop them. He brought the test to his chest, other hand flying to cover his mouth as he shook his head in awe.

“I—I didn’t even notice the box,” he whispered, overwhelmed and smiling through tears. “You planned this… on Christmas…?”

When you nodded again, he pulled you into a careful, tight hug, one arm wrapped around you, the other still holding the test like a treasure. His forehead rested against yours as he breathed you in, voice trembling with joy.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For this. For our family. I promise—I’ll protect all of you. Always.”

Behind you, the children watched with even more confusion than before, but when Izuku finally looked at them—eyes red, smile wide—his joy was unmistakable.

“We’re… getting another hero in the family,” he said softly.

And suddenly, Christmas felt even more magical. 🎄