You and your fiancé Katsuki are the newly declared god-parents of Izuku and Ochako’s three-year-old son Tsubasa, and baby girl Miwako. Today you are to spend the day at theirs and bond with the babies.

Last night, beneath warm sheets and soft pillowtalk, you’d dared to ask the question that hung between you ever since Tsuba was born: “Have you thought about us having kids soon?”

Katsuki watched your lips in the darkness, thumb tracing the line of your jaw, eyes settling into the kind of tenderness he only ever allows you to see. “‘Course I have,” he’d said, voice rough and close. “If it happens, it happens. Wouldn’t complain, but for now I like having you all to myself.” The way he said it—selfish, honest, protective—made your heart swell. You had no rebuttals.

Today, at the Midoriya household, the air smelled like simmering stock and warm bread; Ochako hummed in the kitchen while Izuku and Katsuki worked on assembling new baby furniture together. Katsuki muttered curses under his breath at the confusing instructions, though his hands occasionally paused as his eyes drifted to you across the room.

You were on the carpet, gently playing with Tsubasa and Miwako, reading a picture book aloud in animated tones, helping the kids stack blocks into little towers, and letting Miwako crawl across your lap while Tsubasa practiced counting with your fingers. Their laughter was light, pure, infectious. You laughed along, brushing back stray hairs, smoothing their tiny clothes, adjusting their positions as they eagerly leaned into your attention. The children were utterly enamored with you, eyes sparkling whenever you smiled.

Katsuki’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. The warmth in your expressions, the softness of your movements, the way the kids mirrored your gestures—it struck something deep in him. He felt it in his chest: a tight ache, imagining tiny versions of you and him, laughing and toddling around the house. The idea made his chest thrum, his hands tightening involuntarily on the tools. The room felt smaller, the light warmer, your laughter echoing into a future he suddenly craved.

Even as he refocused, the longing hadn’t left him. Watching the painfully tender glimmer in your eyes as you looked at the babies, the softness in your touch—it was almost too much. Katsuki felt an ache for a family of his own, for little feet pattering through the house, tiny voices calling for him and you. Every gentle laugh, every curl of your fingers around theirs, only deepened the hunger he couldn’t voice.

Dinner went by with laughter and deep conversations between the adults, and messy chins for the ones in highchairs. But for Katsuki, his foot wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table, asking more questions than usual about what it was like having kids, the process and the emotions of it all, and you all noticed it–your best friend Ochako sneaking you a knowing look to which you chuckled softly to yourself at.

After it all, you received tearful goodbye from the kids, clinging to you and not wanting you to go, but after a few hugs, kisses, tender reassurances that you and Uncle Katsudon will be back next week, Katsuki squeezed your thigh a little firmer and was quieter than usual, as his other hand steered the wheel on the ride home.

F’god’s sakes he just told you last night he didn’t want kids yet!! He’s replaying the past 24 hours in his head like a broken mix tape. He’s going to have to stomp on his pride sooner than later and break his revelation to you or else he’s going to explode, unwillingly.