Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun slipped through the curtains of the Uraraka-Bakugou household, spilling gold across the kitchen floor. The faint hiss of something sizzling on the stove was the only sound at first—until the soft thump of little feet running down the hall broke the morning calm.

Bakugou Katsuki stood at the stove, one hand flipping a pancake, the other steady on his hip. His hair was tied back in a low, messy knot, a worn black shirt stretched across his shoulders. The man had faced villains, explosions, and near-death missions, but nothing required as much precision as cooking breakfast for three half-awake children before their mom had even made it downstairs.

“Ryu, sit your ass down before you knock somethin’ over,” he barked, but his tone carried more fondness than heat.

His oldest son skidded to a halt at the table, sliding into his chair with a grin. “Sorry, Dad! I’m just hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Bakugou muttered, but the edge softened as he handed the boy a glass of orange juice.

Four-year-old Kai followed close behind, dragging a stuffed All Might by one arm. “Can I have chocolate in mine?”

“In your pancakes?” Bakugou turned, one eyebrow arching dangerously.

Kai nodded eagerly, eyes wide and shameless. “Please?”

Bakugou sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re lucky your mom’s too damn nice to say no.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Ochaco’s voice floated down the hall—gentle, sleepy, and warm. “Katsuki, you didn’t burn the kitchen again, did you?”

He turned toward the doorway just as she appeared, hair loosely braided, wearing one of his shirts that was far too big for her and fuzzy socks that made her glide across the wooden floor. She smiled at the sight of him—apron on, spatula in hand, frown in place—but the corners of his eyes already gave him away.

“‘Again’? I never burn anything,” he grumbled, flipping a perfect golden pancake onto a plate. “You just can’t handle how good it smells.”

Ochaco stifled a laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Mm, sure. That’s why the smoke alarm went off last week.”

“That was Kai’s fault. He turned the damn heat up when I wasn’t lookin’.”

Kai blinked innocently from his seat, syrup already on his fingers. “I wanted it faster.”

Bakugou just shook his head, trying not to smile. “Tch. Figures.”

Mya waddled into the room next, her tiny feet padding softly across the tile. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, clutching her blanket with the other. “Mamaaa,” she mumbled, voice small and sweet.

Ochaco crouched down to scoop her up. “Good morning, baby. You sleep well?”

Mya nodded against her shoulder, then peeked over to the stove where Bakugou was plating food. “Daddy cookin’ again?”

“Yeah,” Ochaco said softly. “He’s making pancakes.”

Mya tilted her head. “Not burnt this time?”

Bakugou froze mid-pour, shooting a look over his shoulder. “You too, huh?”

Ochaco burst into laughter, pressing a kiss to Mya’s forehead as she tried to hold it in. “They’re just honest, Katsuki.”

He scowled but there was no bite to it. “Smart-mouthed brats, all of ya.”

Ochaco set Mya down in her booster seat, then stepped up behind Bakugou, wrapping her arms around his waist. The movement was so natural neither of them thought twice about it. Her cheek rested between his shoulder blades as she murmured, “Thank you for doing breakfast, you big softie.”

“Oi,” he grunted, but his hand drifted down to rest on hers, giving a squeeze. “Ain’t soft. Just efficient.”

She smiled into his back. “Efficiently adorable.”

“Keep talkin’, I’ll let the pancakes burn.”

But he didn’t. He never could.

The kitchen filled with the smell of butter and sweetness, laughter threading through the air as the kids argued over who got the first pancake. Bakugou plated them with military precision, muttering under his breath about “tiny gremlins” as Kai tried to sneak chocolate chips from the counter.

Ochaco leaned against the counter, watching her family with a kind of peace that always hit her in quiet waves. This—this noisy, warm, pancake-scented chaos—was her favorite part of life.

And yet, as she reached for her tea, a sudden wave of dizziness made her pause. It wasn’t strong, just enough to make her blink and steady herself on the counter.

“You okay?” Bakugou asked, eyes flicking toward her even as he caught Kai trying to climb on a chair.

She forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just a little lightheaded. Didn’t sleep much.”

He frowned. “You needa stop stayin’ up so late workin’ on agency crap.”

“I know, I know.” She reached out to touch his arm. “I’ll rest more, promise.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, turning back to the kids. Ryu was helping Mya cut her pancake into pieces while Kai was making a sticky disaster of his plate. Ochaco couldn’t help but laugh softly.

After breakfast, Bakugou helped Ryu with his homework at the table while Ochaco cleaned up. He sat with his elbows propped up, explaining math in the same tone he used to lecture sidekicks—direct, sharp, but patient in its own way.

“See? You messed up ‘cause you didn’t carry the number,” he said, tapping the paper with a pencil.

Ryu frowned, tongue poking out as he corrected it. “Like this?”

Bakugou leaned over to look. “Yeah. There ya go. Not bad, kid.”

Ochaco turned from the sink, drying her hands. “You sound like such a teacher when you talk like that.”

“I sound right, that’s what,” he said, but his mouth twitched with the smallest hint of pride.

When the table was cleared and the kids had run off to play, Ochaco sank into the chair beside him. The morning sunlight brushed across her face, softening the tired shadows under her eyes.

“You know,” she murmured, reaching across the table, “you’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

“This.” She gestured at the room, at the sound of their kids laughing in the next room, at the smell of pancakes still lingering in the air. “Being a dad. Being here.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then he turned his gaze toward the window, where Mya’s laughter echoed faintly through the open glass. “Didn’t think I’d be,” he said finally, voice low. “Didn’t think I’d… like this kinda life.”

Ochaco smiled softly. “And now?”

“Now I can’t imagine goin’ back.”

He looked at her then—really looked—and something in his chest loosened. The girl who used to float off the ground when she blushed was now sitting across from him, hair messy, sleeves rolled up, eyes full of every version of love he’d ever known.

She reached for his hand across the table. He took it without hesitation.

“Y’know,” he said after a beat, “you don’t have to do it all. I can handle more around here.”

She laughed quietly. “Katsuki Bakugou volunteering to do more housework? Who are you?”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, but there was warmth in it.

The sound of Kai’s shriek echoed from the living room. “Ryu took my toy!”

Bakugou groaned, pushing up from his chair. “And the peace is gone.”

Ochaco giggled, watching him march out with that same sharp determination he used to have on the battlefield. “You’ve got this, hero.”

He turned back just long enough to smirk. “Always do.”

And when she laughed, he thought—for the hundredth time—that he’d never heard a sound that felt more like home.

The town square buzzed with energy as the annual Hero Festival unfolded under a pale autumn sun. Booths lined the streets, overflowing with local crafts, homemade treats, and games designed to challenge both young and old. Colorful banners fluttered from lampposts, and the scent of roasted corn mixed with cinnamon carried across the small town. It was the kind of day where everyone seemed to know everyone, and the air hummed with a kind of comfortable familiarity.

Bakugou Katsuki, arms crossed and sunglasses perched on his nose, surveyed the scene like a general preparing for battle. He’d insisted on bringing the family, though he’d grumbled all morning about “small-town hero nonsense.” Ochaco, hands hooked into the crook of his arm, let him think he was in control while guiding the kids toward the first activity.

Ryu, eyes wide with curiosity, tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Dad, can we try the obstacle course first?”

Bakugou gave a mock groan but didn’t resist. “Fine. But you better keep up.”

Kai, four years old and already full of energy, bolted ahead, shouting, “No fair! I’m faster than all of you!” Mya clung to Ochaco’s hand, shyly peeking at the colorful crowd, her little curls bouncing as she tried to keep up.

As they approached the first course, a local hero had set up a mini climbing wall and balance beams for kids. Bakugou’s eyes softened slightly as he watched his sons’ enthusiasm.

“Alright,” he said, crouching to Kai’s level. “Watch your footing. Don’t fall.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “I’m the best climber, Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Bakugou smirked. “Tch. We’ll see about that.”

Ryu helped Mya up onto a small platform, his older-brother instincts kicking in. “Hold on tight, Mya. I got you.”

Ochaco crouched beside them, adjusting Mya’s little harness. “You’re doing great, sweetie. Big brother’s here to help, right?”

Mya nodded, gripping Ryu’s hand as her tiny legs wobbled.

Bakugou stepped back, observing quietly. He didn’t often participate in these “cute kid festivals,” but seeing Ryu steady Mya with such care made his chest tighten in a way only mornings like these could.

When it was his turn to join Kai on a climbing wall, he lifted the boy effortlessly, setting him on top of a platform. “See? Easy,” he muttered, hiding the small grin that came from being cheered by a four-year-old.

“Oh! Daddy, you’re awesome!” Kai shouted, arms raised triumphantly.

Ochaco laughed from below, clapping. “I think someone’s a little too proud of his dad.”

Bakugou gave a mock glare but couldn’t hide the pride in his eyes. “Shut it. I’m not doing this for attention.”

“You are, though,” Ochaco teased, stepping closer, brushing against his arm as she helped Mya down. The small gesture made him stiffen just enough to notice, and his jaw softened. He looked at her, caught in the quiet warmth between them, before his focus returned to the kids.

After the obstacle course, the family wandered through the festival, stopping at various booths. Ryu insisted on trying a mini archery setup, his small arrows hitting the target more often than Bakugou expected. Kai, meanwhile, had discovered a face-painting stall and insisted on having a lightning bolt painted across his cheek to “match Dad.”

Bakugou crouched, examining the painted mark. “Not bad. Looks almost dangerous,” he muttered, one corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You’re supposed to say awesome!” Kai corrected, bouncing on his heels.

Ochaco smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She looked at Bakugou’s softened expression and felt that familiar surge of affection—the one that reminded her why she had fallen in love with him all those years ago.

As the sun began its slow descent, lanterns were lit along the square, casting a warm glow over the town. The family paused at a stand selling candied apples. Ochaco picked one up for herself, handing one to Bakugou. “Here,” she said, nudging him lightly. “I know you love sugar, even if you don’t admit it.”

He scowled but took the apple, twisting it in his hands. “I eat it ‘cause I want to, not ‘cause you tell me to.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “Sure, Katsuki.”

The kids ran off ahead, chasing each other between booths, their laughter ringing through the crisp evening air. Bakugou’s gaze followed them, then fell back on Ochaco. She caught his eyes, holding his gaze with a gentle smile.

“You look tired,” he remarked softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”

Ochaco blinked, placing a hand over her stomach instinctively. “I… might be,” she admitted, the small wave of fatigue hitting her briefly. She shook it off with a smile. “But it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue, just pulled her into a side hug. The small gesture made her heart flutter. “We’ll get home soon. You rest.”

As night deepened, a local fireworks display began. The kids squealed with delight, running back toward their parents with sticky hands and wide eyes. Bakugou lifted Mya onto his shoulders while Ochaco held Kai close, Ryu between them. They watched the bursts of light arc across the sky, painting their faces in fleeting colors.

Bakugou rested his chin against Mya’s head, feeling her small hands clutch his hair. Ochaco’s hand found his, fingers intertwining as the fireworks reflected in both their eyes.

“You know,” she said softly, leaning against him, “I love this. All of it.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, murmuring, “Yeah. Me too.”

The fireworks ended, and the crowd began to thin. The family strolled slowly back to their car, the crisp night air carrying the warmth of the festival and the subtle, unspoken intimacy between husband and wife. Bakugou’s arm rested across Ochaco’s shoulders as they walked, the kids chatting and laughing around them.

And in that quiet, golden moment, neither of them said it aloud—but both knew that these little days, these small-town festivals, these nights filled with laughter and love, were what made their life so complete.

Ochaco’s hand drifted to her stomach again, a gentle reminder of the secret she hadn’t yet shared. Bakugou noticed her pause, giving her fingers a subtle squeeze without question, trust and affection deep in his gaze.

The future was quiet for now. It was chaotic, loud, sticky with candy and laughter, but it was theirs. And in the glow of lanterns and love, that was enough. 

The first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky in the late afternoon, shaking the windows of the small Uraraka-Bakugou house. Outside, dark clouds piled atop each other, blotting out the sun and casting a dim, grey light across the living room. The kids, energetic and unbothered most of the time, froze mid-play, their games coming to a halt.

“Uh-oh,” Kai whispered, clinging to the hem of Ochaco’s shirt.

Ryu, seven and determined to act braver than he felt, muttered, “It’s just thunder. It can’t hurt us.”

Mya, three, squeaked softly, pressing herself into Ochaco’s side. “Scary…”

Ochaco knelt, gathering all three of them into a hug. “It’s okay, babies,” she murmured, brushing her fingers through their hair. “Thunder sounds big, but it’s nothing to worry about. Daddy’s right here.”

Bakugou appeared from the kitchen doorway, a tray of snacks in hand. He’d been finishing up some paperwork from his small hero agency, but the weather had him on alert. “Don’t let it scare you,” he said firmly, voice deep and steady. “Thunder’s loud, but it’s just noise.”

Kai sniffled. “But what if lightning hits our house?”

Bakugou crouched down, level with him. “Then I’ll blow it up before it can,” he said, smirking, though there was genuine reassurance in his tone. Kai’s eyes widened with admiration. “Really?”

“Really.”

Ochaco glanced at him with a small smile, grateful. Even after years together, he had a way of being intimidating yet safe at the same time. She shifted slightly, feeling an odd flutter in her stomach and smoothing the front of her oversized shirt. The exhaustion had been creeping in more than usual lately, and the storm seemed to magnify it, making her feel heavier than normal. She shook it off with a quiet breath. Not now. Not in front of the kids.

The rain started as a gentle drizzle, soon turning into a steady downpour, pattering against the roof and windows. Ryu suggested they build a fort, and Bakugou, surprisingly, didn’t hesitate. He gathered pillows, blankets, and chairs, dragging them into the living room with Ochaco’s quiet assistance.

“There,” he said finally, leaning back against the couch. “Safe zone. No thunder can get in here.”

Mya immediately climbed into the fort, grinning through the blanket flap. “All mine!”

Kai was already squabbling over the tiny space, trying to claim the other side. “I’m the biggest, so I get the best spot!”

Ryu rolled his eyes, trying to mediate. “Kai, you can’t just—”

Bakugou held up a hand. “Chill, Ryu. Let ‘em fight it out a little.”

Ochaco laughed softly, moving to sit beside Bakugou, leaning into him as he ruffled his sons’ hair. “You’re so patient sometimes,” she murmured.

He grunted. “Not always.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body through the oversized shirt she was wearing. His scent sun, soap, and faintly burnt breakfast from earlier was grounding. A small sense of comfort settled in her chest, mingling with the tired flutter in her stomach that she didn’t yet understand.

The kids eventually calmed, sprawled across pillows, blankets tucked around them. Bakugou told them stories in his clipped, no-nonsense style tales of small heroic adventures, exaggerated slightly to impress the audience. Ochaco laughed quietly, listening to the way he animated every fight scene with the kids hanging on every word.

As the storm raged outside, the family fort became a little world of its own. Bakugou leaned down to kiss Ochaco on the temple, fingers brushing gently along her shoulder. “You’re warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair.

Ochaco smiled, heart fluttering. “You always know how to make me feel safe.”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice low, teasing but tender. “You’re stuck with me.”

She tilted her head, smiling, brushing a hand over his chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. The kids flinched, and Bakugou immediately moved to pull them closer. Ochaco’s hand drifted to her belly without thinking, pressing lightly. The fluttering sensation again—subtle, quiet—but she tucked it away behind her smile, unwilling to spoil the moment with her uncertainty.

“See?” Bakugou said to the kids, glancing down at them. “Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

Kai nestled against his chest, eyes wide but trust shining through. Mya yawned, curling against Ochaco. Ryu leaned back, finally relaxed, eyes tracing the patterns of rain streaking down the window.

Ochaco pressed a soft kiss to Bakugou’s arm, murmuring, “Thank you, for all of this. For being you.”

He grunted softly, brushing her hair back with a rough tenderness. “Stop making it sappy,” he muttered, though his grip on the kids and the fort was gentle, protective.

Minutes stretched into hours, the storm gradually waning outside. Eventually, the children dozed off, exhausted from the excitement and adrenaline of thunder and storytelling. Bakugou carried Mya to her bed while Ochaco gathered blankets and pillows, humming quietly.

Once the house was quiet, they returned to the living room. Bakugou flopped onto the couch, Ochaco curling beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. The room smelled faintly of wet earth, damp blankets, and the lingering sweetness of chocolate that Kai had smeared everywhere earlier.

“You okay now?” he asked softly, brushing a hand across hers.

She nodded, sighing. “Yes… this is perfect. Even with the storm.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Good. ‘Cause storms don’t scare me when you’re here either.”

Ochaco smiled, letting herself relax fully into his warmth. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her belly once more, curiosity and a quiet excitement mingling with a strange, persistent fatigue. She tucked the thought away for later, focusing instead on the comfort of his presence.

For a while, they simply sat there, the room silent except for the faint drip of rain and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Outside, the storm passed entirely, leaving a calm, washed world behind. Inside, their little family breathed together, safe and warm, hearts beating in quiet unison.

Bakugou shifted slightly, brushing his lips against her hair again. “You’re heavy,” he muttered, teasing, but his hand lingered on her back, grounding.

Ochaco chuckled softly, murmuring, “Only with love.”

He snorted, hiding a smile, and together they sat, watching the night settle in, feeling the kind of peace that only small, ordinary moments could bring.

It was a quiet Sunday morning when Ochaco wandered into the attic, dust motes dancing in the golden light streaming through the small window. She had promised herself she’d clean out the boxes gathering dust for months, but the real reason she’d come up was curiosity—and a longing for a little nostalgia.

Bakugou was downstairs, already on his second cup of coffee, fingers tapping against a stack of reports for his agency. He had a habit of keeping busy, especially when Ochaco went off on her own little adventures like this. Ryu, Kai, and Mya were playing in the living room with a soft mix of building blocks and quiet laughter, their occasional shouts echoing gently upward.

Ochaco carefully lifted the lid off one of the boxes, a musty scent of old paper and childhood memories spilling out. Inside were relics of their past: letters, old hero notebooks, and trinkets from U.A. Her fingers brushed over one envelope, brittle and faded, the ink smudged slightly. She paused, recognizing Bakugou’s name written in his sharp, determined handwriting.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She opened it carefully, unfolding the letter. Memories came flooding back—the U.A. dorms, late-night training sessions, the fights, the arguments, the confessions she had barely dared to voice. And then there was him, younger, brash, fiery, but somehow… always hers.

Her fingers traced the words:

*“Ochaco, you’re reckless, annoying, and impossible to ignore. I don’t know how you do it, but I… care. More than I should. More than I even understand.”*

A small laugh escaped her lips. She could almost hear his voice behind the words, sharp and rough around the edges but filled with something earnest.

A soft cough behind her made her jump slightly. “Found something interesting?”

Bakugou leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning the letter. Ochaco turned to face him, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Uh… yeah,” she admitted, tucking it back in the envelope. “Just… reading some old stuff.”

He tilted his head, curious. “Old stuff?”

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the box. “Letters, trinkets… memories.”

He stepped closer, brushing a hand against hers. “Let me see,” he demanded softly, though his tone had lost its usual edge.

Ochaco hesitated only a moment before handing the letter over. Bakugou’s eyes softened as he read it, jaw tightening slightly as he read the words he had written so long ago. For a moment, they were just teenagers again—brash, reckless, learning what it meant to care about someone besides themselves.

“You wrote this?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” she promised, pressing a hand gently over his. “It’s… beautiful.”

Bakugou’s usual scowl softened into something tender, almost unrecognizable to anyone but her. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her temple. “You always made me better,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

Ochaco smiled, heart swelling. “And you always made me braver.”

The children’s laughter called them back downstairs, tiny feet pounding the wooden steps. Ochaco tucked the letter carefully back into the box, promising herself she would save it for later.

“Time to help your mom with lunch,” Bakugou said, lifting Mya into his arms as she clutched at his shirt. Ryu grabbed a stack of plates, while Kai balanced precariously with a pot of utensils.

Ochaco chuckled, guiding Ryu toward the table. “Careful, Ryu. Don’t spill anything.”

“It’s fine!” he protested, though his hands shook slightly, careful not to drop a single piece.

Bakugou caught Mya in a gentle hug, brushing a kiss across her forehead before placing her down in her chair. “You guys behave, alright? Don’t make a mess before lunch’s even started.”

Ochaco leaned against the counter, watching him with a soft smile. Even after years of marriage and three children, he still had a way of commanding the room without raising his voice something she had always admired.

She rubbed her stomach lightly, a subtle, fleeting thought of the morning fluttering in her mind. The letter had stirred more than nostalgia; it had reminded her of the beginning, of how far they’d come, and of the family they had built. Something warm and growing inside her whispered of change, of new beginnings still unseen.

Lunch passed in its usual chaotic harmony. Ryu carefully served sandwiches while Kai made loud protests over peanut butter placement and Mya snuggled into Ochaco’s side, insisting she wanted more juice. Bakugou hovered nearby, occasionally correcting placement or scolding a hand that wandered too far into the cookie jar.

Between bites, Ochaco leaned toward Bakugou, brushing her lips against his cheek in a quiet, teasing kiss. “You’re getting softer,” she whispered.

“Shut up,” he muttered, though his hand found hers across the table, fingers lacing naturally.

The kids didn’t notice, absorbed in their own playful chaos, but the small gesture—their intertwined fingers, the quiet smiles exchanged carried more weight than words ever could.

After lunch, Ochaco set the kids up with a quiet drawing activity while Bakugou put the dishes away. She lingered at the counter, feeling the gentle rhythm of domestic life: kids laughing, plates clattering softly in the sink, the distant hum of their small town outside.

Bakugou leaned against the doorway again, watching her quietly. “You’re staring again,” he said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m just… happy,” she admitted, voice soft. “All of this. You. Us. The kids.”

He stepped closer, tilting her chin gently upward so their eyes met. “Me too,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Ochaco pressed her forehead against his, savoring the quiet intimacy between them. Her hand drifted to her belly once more, small waves of fatigue and warmth mingling with a fluttering she didn’t yet understand. She tucked it away, smiling up at him. “We’re really good at this, aren’t we?”

Bakugou’s usual scowl softened into something tender, his lips brushing hers in a fleeting kiss. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’re… good.”

Outside, the afternoon light waned, leaving the attic box and its old letters behind as a silent witness to their past. But here, in the warmth of their kitchen and the laughter of their children, they lived fully in the present—hands intertwined, hearts quiet but full, ready for whatever the future might hold.

The morning started with the kind of silence that always felt suspicious. Too quiet for the Uraraka-Bakugou household. Too still. Too… peaceful.

Then the alarm went off.

Ochaco jolted upright, her messy bun half-collapsing as she slapped the snooze button on instinct. She blinked blearily at the clock. 7:42. Her heart nearly stopped.

“Oh no, no, no—we overslept!”

Bakugou groaned beside her, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You’re jokin’,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled. “It’s Saturday.”

“It’s Thursday!” she yelled, already tripping over the sheets as she scrambled out of bed.

That got him up fast.

Within seconds, the peace was gone, replaced by thudding footsteps and the kind of shouting that echoed through the entire small-town house.

“Ryu! Kai! Mya! Up! We’re late for school!” Ochaco called down the hall, banging lightly on doors.

From behind one of them came the whine of their seven-year-old. “But, Mom, I was up all night finishing my drawing!”

“You were supposed to be asleep, not doing art exhibits,” Bakugou grumbled, ruffling his hair as he stumbled out of the room pulling on his shirt. “Ryu! You’re supposed to help your brother, not let him stay up!”

“I tried!” came Ryu’s indignant protest. “He said he had to finish the volcano picture or he’d ‘lose his vision’!”

Bakugou paused in the hallway, scowling but trying not to laugh. “He’s dramatic, that one.”

Ochaco, halfway into a blouse that refused to button over her small growing bump, glared at him. “He gets that from you.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t get the lateness from me.”

Her look said otherwise.

—

Fifteen minutes later, chaos ruled the kitchen.

Ryu was half-dressed, tugging on a sock while brushing his teeth. Kai sat on the counter with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth, swinging his legs and humming a tune no one recognized. Mya, in her princess pajamas, was still fast asleep at the table with her head on her cereal bowl.

“Bakugou, can you please—” Ochaco started.

“I’m on it.” He scooped Mya up in one arm, wiped her face with a napkin, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Rise and shine, squirt. Time for school.”

She mumbled something about not wanting to leave her “castle,” clutching his shirt tightly. Bakugou sighed, adjusting her weight on his hip as he searched for her shoes.

Ochaco shoved a bento box into Ryu’s backpack. “Kai, where’s your homework folder?”

“I think the dog ate it.”

“We don’t have a dog!”

“Then it’s probably in the fridge.”

Ochaco blinked. “Why—why would it be in the fridge?”

Kai shrugged innocently, cheeks puffed with toast. “You said to put everything away after breakfast.”

Bakugou nearly choked on his coffee, turning away to hide the grin spreading across his face. “You married me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I know,” she said dryly, tying Mya’s hair into a messy braid. “Some days that feels like my own heroic mission.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You say that like you don’t like it.”

“Oh, I love it,” she shot back, bumping his hip as she passed. “But maybe you could love helping them find their shoes a little faster.”

Ryu finally appeared fully dressed and triumphant. “Found them! They were under the couch!”

“Course they were,” Bakugou muttered, grabbing his keys. “Alright, everybody—let’s move before I lose my mind.”

The kids scrambled for their jackets, Mya yawning in Bakugou’s arms as he handed her her tiny pink backpack. Ochaco checked her reflection by the door, brushing a few strands of hair back and sighing at her slightly pale face.

Bakugou caught the look, frowning faintly. “You okay?”

She nodded, forcing a small smile. “Just tired. I’ll nap after I drop them off.”

He didn’t look convinced but didn’t push. “Fine. I’ll take Ryu and Kai. You handle Mya’s drop-off. You sure you got energy for it?”

“I’ve handled three of your kids at once, haven’t I?” she teased.

“Two and a half,” he shot back with a smirk, leaning down to kiss her cheek before opening the door. The morning sun hit them both, golden and warm, as their kids barreled out onto the porch.

For a second—between the chaos, the laughter, and the endless shuffle of shoes and backpacks—everything felt exactly right. Messy, loud, imperfect… but home.

“Bakugou!” Ochaco called as he herded the boys toward the car. “Don’t forget the lunches!”

“I never forget!” he shouted back—then froze, turned around, and sprinted back inside to grab them off the counter.

Ochaco snorted into her hand. “Sure you don’t,” she whispered, smiling as she watched them go.

By the time the door closed and the house fell quiet again, she leaned against the counter, a tiny flicker of queasiness rolled through her, and she laughed softly to herself.

“Maybe I should’ve had breakfast,” she murmured, before grabbing her keys to head out.

The crisp autumn air smelled of fallen leaves and caramel apples as the Uraraka-Bakugou family stepped into the town fair. Ryu ran ahead, dodging between the stalls with a practiced enthusiasm, while Kai immediately raced after him, shouting about who could reach the pumpkin patch first. Mya toddled behind, clinging to Ochaco’s hand, her curls bouncing with every careful step.

Bakugou kept a protective hand on Ochaco’s back as they walked, the sunlight catching the strands of her hair and highlighting the soft curves of her face. “Stay close,” he muttered, voice low, but there was a warmth in it reserved only for her.

Ochaco smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Don’t worry. I’ve got us.”

The fair was alive with laughter, music, and the occasional cheer from a winning carnival game. The children’s excitement was contagious. Ryu’s eyes lit up at the sight of a ring toss, while Kai’s focus was immediately captured by a row of stuffed animals dangling from hooks. Mya’s attention shifted to the pumpkins, each one perfectly round and waiting to be carved.

Bakugou followed closely, holding Mya’s small hand when she decided to run toward the pumpkin patch. Ochaco picked up the slack with Kai and Ryu, gently guiding them through the crowd. She laughed softly at their bickering over which pumpkin was the biggest, her oversized sweater swaying slightly as she moved.

As the family stopped at a stand offering homemade apple cider, Bakugou bought each of them a warm cup, his large hand brushing against Ochaco’s as he handed her hers. She caught his fingers instinctively, smiling up at him.

“You’re sticky,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“I can handle sticky,” she teased, taking a sip of the cider.

They wandered through the fair, stopping at a game where Bakugou tried—and failed spectacularly—to win a stuffed tiger for Mya. Ochaco laughed so hard she had to lean against him, and he pressed a quick kiss to her temple to quiet her giggles. “Quit it,” he muttered, hiding the smile tugging at his lips.

The children were already on a sugar-high, spinning between stalls, their laughter echoing through the crisp autumn air. Ochaco’s gaze drifted downward for a brief moment, hand resting lightly on her stomach. There it was again—that strange fluttering she hadn’t been able to shake all morning. She dismissed it as exhaustion or perhaps too many sweets, yet the sensation lingered, odd and insistent.

Ryu called for their attention, holding up a brightly decorated scarecrow. “Look! Can we take it home?”

Bakugou crouched down to inspect it, brushing his fingers over the hay. “Yeah… that’ll do. Don’t touch the prizes before we pay, morons,” he muttered, though there was no real scolding in his tone.

Ochaco and Bakugou helped the kids carry their new acquisition toward the car, laughter trailing behind them. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the fairgrounds. Lanterns flickered to life, creating a warm glow as evening settled in.

Back at home, the children were tucked into bed after a long, exhilarating day. Bakugou sat on the couch, Ryu leaning against him, asking questions about hero work and daring missions. Kai had curled up beside Ochaco, eyes heavy, and Mya was fast asleep with a stuffed tiger clutched in her tiny hands.

Ochaco sat beside Bakugou, her sweater draped loosely, the warmth of the day leaving a pleasant ache in her muscles. She watched him quietly, the way his fingers absently traced patterns along Ryu’s hair, the soft hum of his voice as he explained a heroic rescue in exaggerated detail.

Her hand drifted again to her stomach, pressing lightly. That flutter—the persistent, gentle movement—was unmistakable this time. Her heart skipped a beat as she finally acknowledged the growing bump.

“Something wrong?” Bakugou asked, noticing the pause, the hand lingering at her midsection.

Ochaco shook her head, forcing a small smile. “No… nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

He didn’t press, resting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. The room was quiet, peaceful, filled only with the soft, steady breathing of their sleeping children.

Ochaco pressed her forehead to his chest, the warmth of his body grounding her. The fluttering beneath her hand continued, subtle but insistent. She swallowed, her thoughts spinning as she realized she might finally understand the persistent fatigue and strange cravings she had brushed aside all these months.

Bakugou kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “We did good, didn’t we?”

Ochaco’s lips curved in a small, knowing smile. “Yeah,” she whispered, but her mind was already racing ahead, heart hammering with the quiet, miraculous possibility of change.

She pressed a hand to her stomach again, and this time, she couldn’t ignore it. Whatever was growing inside her, it was the start of something new—something that would shift their lives in ways she had only dreamed of.

Bakugou adjusted slightly, feeling her tense for a moment but assuming it was just fatigue. He tightened his arm around her, whispering, “Sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Ochaco nodded, curling against him, her fingers still resting lightly on her belly. The warmth of the room and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat were comforting, but beneath it all, a quiet, thrilling anticipation hummed—a secret she had yet to share, a life she had yet to confirm.

The morning sun spilled through the kitchen windows, catching the lingering scent of autumn leaves that Ochaco had swept in from the porch. The house was quiet—quiet in a way that only came before the children woke, when time felt stretched and the world still slept.

Ochaco moved carefully, pulling a mug of tea from the cupboard and cradling it between her hands. She leaned against the counter, staring out at the small backyard where the first hints of frost had begun to settle on the grass. The previous night’s fluttering—the subtle, persistent movement beneath her hand—lingered in her thoughts. She had spent the night turning it over in her mind, tracing her palm across her stomach more than once, whispering reassurances to herself.

Bakugou appeared in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep and a mug of coffee in hand. He froze for a moment at the sight of her, oversized sweater loosely hanging around her, bare feet tucked into socks, and a softness in her eyes that seemed to glow in the morning light.

“You’re up early,” he said gruffly, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted softly, eyes still fixed on the frost outside.

He stepped closer, leaning against the counter beside her, his arm brushing hers. “What’s on your mind?”

Ochaco hesitated, the fluttering sensation rising again, subtle and insistent. She swallowed, unsure if she wanted to put the thought into words. “Just… thinking about things. Life. The kids. Us.”

Bakugou’s gaze softened, sweeping over her with a careful intensity. “Us?” he asked, a note of curiosity in his otherwise rough voice.

She smiled faintly, brushing her fingers along her stomach once more. “Yeah… us.”

He frowned slightly, noticing the gesture. “What’s that for?”

Ochaco froze, caught between the truth and the comfort of keeping it hidden a little longer. “Just… a little reminder,” she whispered, letting her hand linger lightly.

Bakugou tilted his head, suspicion and concern flashing across his features. “A reminder of what?”

Before she could answer, the distant sound of Ryu, Kai, and Mya stirred from their rooms, tiny feet pounding down the hall. The moment passed, urgency replacing the quiet intimacy.

Bakugou sighed, muttering, “Figures. No peace before breakfast.”

Ochaco laughed softly, leaning into him. “Let’s go wake them up.”

The morning was filled with their usual chaos: Ryu bouncing on the bed, Kai pulling Mya’s blanket over her head, Bakugou scolding them gently but with patience he never thought he’d have, and Ochaco smoothing hair and tying shoelaces with practiced ease. Yet the fluttering in her belly never fully went away, a subtle reminder of a secret waiting quietly to be discovered.

By mid-morning, the family had settled in the living room, coloring books spread across the coffee table, the faint scent of baked muffins filling the air. Bakugou had paused, coffee in hand, noticing Ochaco’s occasional wince when bending or stretching slightly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, sharp with the protectiveness that never left him.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Bakugou didn’t press further, but his gaze lingered. He sat beside her, fingers brushing hers absentmindedly. The silence was comfortable, but charged, a quiet promise hovering in the air between them.

Ochaco pressed a hand to her belly one last time, the subtle, rhythmic flutter unmistakable now. She swallowed, heart racing, realizing that she could no longer ignore it. She was carrying a new life—a life she hadn’t yet shared, not even with Bakugou. The thought sent a thrill through her, mingled with nerves and excitement.

The children began to squabble over colors, laughter ringing through the room, and Bakugou groaned. “I swear… you three are gonna drive me insane.”

Ochaco laughed quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You love it,” she murmured.

“Shut up,” he muttered, though his fingers twined with hers, grounding her.

Her eyes drifted downward, tracing the small swell beneath her sweater. She felt the heartbeat—or at least the echo of it—inside her, and the realization settled in like a whisper she wasn’t ready to speak aloud.

Bakugou’s gaze found hers, curious. “What are you thinking about?”

Ochaco smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nothing,” she said softly, letting the fluttering sensation speak for her instead.

For now, the secret remained hers alone, a small, thrilling mystery tucked beneath the everyday chaos of breakfast crumbs and coloring books. She pressed her hand to her belly again, and for the first time, she let herself imagine the possibilities—one more heartbeat, one more set of tiny hands and laughter to fill their home.

Bakugou leaned his head gently against hers, the warmth of his body comforting. “Whatever it is,” he said softly, “we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

Ochaco closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the flutter beneath her hand once more, small but undeniable, a whisper of life and change. A smile curved her lips.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him.

The evening sun filtered through the living room blinds, casting long, warm stripes across the hardwood floors. The kids were finally asleep after a chaotic bedtime routine that left Ochaco perched on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, and Bakugou leaning against the doorway with a mug of coffee in his hand.

He had been watching her all day. The way she had yawned mid-breakfast, had leaned a little too heavily on the counter, the way she had rubbed her stomach absentmindedly after carrying the kids through the park… he’d tried to brush it off. But now, as the quiet of the house settled around them, he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Uraraka.”

Ochaco lifted her head, looking at him through tired eyes.

“You’ve been… off today,” he said, voice low, controlled, but with an edge of worry that made her heart skip. “You’ve been… exhausted. More than usual. What’s going on?”

Ochaco hesitated, letting her fingers brush along her oversized sweater. “I… I’ve just been busy, you know. Running after the kids, errands… it’s nothing serious.”

Bakugou didn’t budge. He stepped closer, lowering himself to sit beside her, the heat of his body radiating into hers. “Ochaco,” he said, voice firmer now, gripping her shoulders gently. “This isn’t just being busy. You’ve been tired for weeks. You’re… always tired, and you’re… different. Tell me.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. The secret she had been feeling—the flutter, the odd waves of nausea, the persistent fatigue—was all bubbling beneath the surface, impossible to hide.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, voice trembling just slightly. “Maybe… maybe I’m just… tired. Or stressed.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened, searching hers. “Ochaco,” he murmured, almost a growl now, his voice rough with concern. “You’re not fooling me. You’re hiding something. I can tell. What is it?”

Her hand drifted to her stomach without thinking, fingers brushing lightly against the soft swell beneath the sweater. The fluttering sensation, small but undeniable, echoed beneath her touch.

Bakugou’s gaze snapped to her hand, realization dawning in the sharpest, quietest way. “Your stomach…” he said, voice low and questioning.

Ochaco’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak, caught between fear, excitement, and the quiet thrill of sharing this secret she hadn’t fully confirmed even to herself.

Bakugou leaned in closer, a protective intensity in his eyes. “Ochaco,” he said softly, fingers brushing hers against the sweater, “I need to know. Are you… are you pregnant?”

Ochaco’s heart skipped. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to tell him now. But the flutter, the fatigue, the tiny whispers of life within her, were still her secret. She couldn’t fully admit it—not yet.

“I… I think…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not sure yet.”

Bakugou’s eyes softened but didn’t lose their intensity. “Not sure? Ochaco… if there’s even a chance… I need to know. We need to face it together. Don’t keep me out of this.”

She pressed her hand to her lips, hiding her smile. His worry, his protectiveness, the way he refused to let her carry this alone—it made her chest swell with emotion.

“I… I’ll find out,” she said finally, her voice gentle but determined. “I promise. And I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

Bakugou nodded slowly, though the edge of concern didn’t leave his voice. “Good,” he said quietly. “I’m not letting this go. Not for a second.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, fingers intertwined, the quiet hum of the house around them. The secret flutter beneath her hand remained, a tiny, thrilling heartbeat she hadn’t yet shared—but now, Bakugou’s watchful presence and insistence on knowing made the anticipation nearly unbearable.

The house was finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after the morning storm—when shoes had been found, lunches packed, tears wiped, and every last voice had faded out the door. Ochaco stood in the doorway for a long moment, her hand still on the doorknob, watching the gravel dust settle on the driveway as Bakugou’s truck disappeared around the bend with the kids inside.

Then it was just her.

The hum of the refrigerator. The soft tick of the clock. The faint smell of toast that no one had finished.

She exhaled, long and slow, her shoulders sinking beneath the weight of stillness.

Usually, she savored these mornings—the brief window of calm before the next round of chaos began. She’d make herself a cup of coffee, maybe fold some laundry, maybe even sit down with one of those paperbacks she’d been halfway through since Mya was born. But today, something felt… off.

She turned toward the kitchen and stopped. The smell of the coffee grounds hit her, bitter and sharp, and her stomach twisted in warning.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose and stepping back. “Nope, not today.”

She poured herself a glass of water instead, clutching the counter as a wave of dizziness rolled through her. It passed quickly, leaving her pale and blinking.

She shook her head. “Probably just tired,” she told the empty kitchen. “Too many mornings like this.”

But as she took a sip, her hand brushed the counter and knocked something to the floor. She glanced down—and froze.

A small white box had slipped from behind a basket of washcloths, half-buried under a stack of folded dish towels. Her breath hitched when she recognized it.

A pregnancy test.

Her fingers hesitated before picking it up. The box was slightly worn at the edges, from when she’d tucked it away years ago. Back when she’d thought three kids would be the perfect kind of chaos.

Ochaco stared at it for a long time. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, turning the air golden, and she suddenly felt too aware of the silence again.

Her heart thudded.

“No,” she whispered under her breath, forcing a laugh. “There’s no way.”

But her reflection in the kitchen window didn’t laugh back.

—

Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the bathroom floor, her knees pulled to her chest, the small white stick sitting on the counter above her.

She hadn’t meant to actually take it. She’d told herself she was just going to check the expiration date, maybe toss it out. But once it was in her hand, she couldn’t stop. The signs had been there—the nausea, the sleepiness, the constant craving for salt in the middle of the night. She’d blamed it on exhaustion, on stress, on being a mom of three with a full-time life.

But now…

Her hands were trembling.

She glanced up at the counter again, at the tiny strip resting near the edge of the sink, and her chest tightened.

She hadn’t even started the timer.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, fumbling for her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen as she checked the time. It didn’t matter—three minutes felt like forever anyway.

Her mind was already running through the numbers. The last few months. The busy mornings. The nights Bakugou would come home smelling like woodsmoke and engine grease, kiss her temple, and mutter something about how he couldn’t believe how big the kids were getting.

She swallowed hard.

Three kids. Seven, four, and three. Their house was already bursting with laughter and noise and energy and love. And yet here she was—sitting in the bathroom, barefoot and breathless—realizing that love might be about to grow again.

Or maybe she was just tired. Maybe it would be negative, and she’d laugh about it later, tell Bakugou over dinner how she’d scared herself for nothing.

Her stomach turned again. She wasn’t sure if it was nausea or nerves.

The seconds stretched.

Finally, she stood. Walked to the counter.

And looked.

Her heart stopped.

Two lines.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Ochaco sank slowly to the floor, her breath catching somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, no,” she whispered, pressing a hand over her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Katsuki…”

The quiet around her suddenly felt deafening. The world hadn’t changed, and yet everything had.

She leaned her head back against the wall, the sunlight spilling across the tiles, warm and soft. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her hands trembling as she tried to steady her breathing.

Four.

They were going to be four.

And for the first time in years, Ochaco Uraraka-Bakugou didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The sound of the clock filled the silence. Each tick felt impossibly loud, echoing through the bathroom like a heartbeat she couldn’t control.

Ochaco sat there for what felt like forever, her knees tucked under her chin, the pregnancy test still sitting on the counter. Her eyes burned, but she couldn’t look away from it.

Two lines.

There it was. Clear as day.

Her fingers trembled as she reached up and picked it up, the plastic light in her hand. She turned it over once, twice, like she could change the result if she looked at it from a different angle.

“Two lines,” she whispered again, her voice unsteady. “Oh, no, no, no—this can’t be—”

She stopped, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Her body felt too hot, too cold, everything at once. She set the test down, stood up, and splashed cold water on her face.

Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her—messy hair falling out of its clip, pale cheeks, the faintest circles under her eyes. She looked… exactly like a woman who had spent seven years loving her family and losing sleep in the process.

And maybe, now, she looked like a woman who was about to start all over again.

She gripped the edge of the sink and tried to breathe.

Her mind raced.

Four kids.

Four.

Ryu would be so excited—he’d been asking for a baby brother for months, claiming it wasn’t fair Mya got all the “baby attention.” Kai would probably ask if babies could sleep in bunk beds. And Mya… Mya would cry. Not from jealousy, but from joy, because her heart was just that soft.

Ochaco smiled weakly at that thought before the panic came back in full force.

Another baby meant more sleepless nights, more diapers, more tiny socks lost to the washing machine. It meant Bakugou pacing with a crying newborn at three in the morning, her trying to hush him and laugh and cry all at once.

It meant starting again.

She loved being a mom. God, she loved it more than anything. But she also remembered what it had taken out of her—the exhaustion, the constant worry, the feeling that she had to be everything all at once.

Her chest ached.

“Four,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “We’re gonna have four.”

She slid down the wall, sitting on the cool tile floor again, hugging her knees as the tears finally spilled. Not from sadness. Not from regret. Just from being completely, utterly overwhelmed.

She cried quietly, letting it happen, the kind of tears that came when your heart didn’t know what to do with itself.

Her phone buzzed somewhere in the house—a reminder for grocery pickup or maybe one of Bakugou’s check-ins from work—but she didn’t move. The world could wait a few more minutes.

Eventually, she wiped her eyes, sniffled, and let out a shaky laugh. “Get it together, Uraraka,” she whispered. “You’ve handled villains, childbirth, and three toddlers at once. You can handle this.”

She pushed herself up, rinsed her face again, and tucked the test back into its box. Her hands were steadier now, though her heart still pounded.

The quiet of the house pressed in again—gentler this time, like it was giving her space to think.

She glanced out the bathroom window. The sun had climbed higher, spilling gold light across the backyard. The kids’ old sandbox sat there, half-full of forgotten toys. Their tricycles leaned against the fence. The world looked so small and peaceful.

Her world.

And soon, maybe, one more heart would join it.

She placed a hand on her stomach, her fingers barely brushing the soft fabric of her shirt. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice fragile but full of awe. “Guess it’s you and me for now.”

Then, softly, she laughed again. “Katsuki’s gonna freak.”

The hours passed slowly.

Too slowly.

Ochaco had always thought the hardest part of the day was the morning rush — the whirlwind of socks, shoes, and last-minute snack requests. But this… this silence was worse. It left her alone with her thoughts.

She tried to keep busy. Laundry, dishes, anything to stay moving. But every time she paused, her gaze would wander toward the bathroom door — and her stomach would tighten all over again.

The test sat hidden inside the top drawer, out of sight but not out of mind. She could feel it there, like it had weight. Like it was changing the air in the house.

As she folded Ryu’s tiny shirts, she thought about how small they’d once been — how he’d fit in her arms, how Bakugou had held him like he was made of glass and fire at the same time. She remembered Kai’s wild energy even as a baby, the way he used to kick when she tried to put him down for naps. And Mya — sweet, sleepy Mya — who had come into the world so quietly and filled it with light anyway.

Ochaco smiled faintly, folding another shirt.

Three kids. Three perfect, loud, exhausting blessings.

She should’ve felt grateful. She was grateful. But that didn’t stop the knot of fear from sitting in her chest.

A fourth.

She set the shirt down and pressed her palms to her face, breathing in and out slowly.

How would they manage? Bakugou already worked long hours — not as a hero full-time anymore, but as a training instructor and part-time rescue specialist for the local agency. She freelanced with construction work and helped coordinate town projects, juggling her hours around the kids’ school schedules.

They were comfortable, happy. Their house was full. Their life made sense.

And now everything was about to shift again.

Ochaco sank onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. The clock on the wall ticked toward one o’clock. The kids wouldn’t be home for hours.

She let herself think about him — Bakugou.

How he’d react.

She pictured the moment she’d tell him: his eyes widening first, the way his jaw would clench as he processed it, the way he’d probably say nothing for a few seconds just to make her squirm.

Then he’d move closer, that soft warmth in his voice only she got to hear. The one that said we’ll figure it out.

Because he always said that.

Whenever things went wrong, whenever she doubted herself, whenever she felt like she wasn’t enough — he always reminded her they were a team.

Still, her throat tightened.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She did, more than anyone. But something about this—about doing it all again, starting from the beginning—made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something too big to name.

She got up and started pacing the living room.

The soft afternoon light slanted through the curtains, spilling across the worn rug. Toys were still scattered on the floor — a couple of Ryu’s action figures, Kai’s crayon masterpiece half-finished on the coffee table, Mya’s favorite stuffed bear tucked against a cushion.

Every corner of the house told the story of their life together.

And maybe that was why her heart ached so much — because she loved it this way. Loved this messy, beautiful version of family they’d built.

Ochaco brushed her hands through her hair, sighing.

Her phone buzzed again.

Bakugou: Heading home early. You need anything?

She froze, her breath catching.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

No, I’m good, she typed quickly. Then deleted it.

Yeah, maybe milk, she tried again. Deleted that too.

Finally, she sent:
Ochaco: Just be careful on the way back, okay?

He responded instantly.
Bakugou: Always am.

She smiled despite herself. Typical.

The screen went dark, and she stared at her reflection in the black glass.

Her heart started to race again.

He’d be home soon. And then she’d have to tell him.

She stood there for a moment longer, clutching her phone. The thought of seeing him—his steady presence, his voice, his hands—made her want to both cry and laugh.

Somehow, knowing he’d be there made the fear fade just a little.

She walked back to the couch, sank down, and whispered to the empty room, “You’ll be fine, Ochaco. You always are.”

But her hands still trembled in her lap as the sunlight began to fade.

The gravel outside crunched long before the engine cut off.
Ochaco’s pulse jumped.

She heard the door open, the heavy thud of boots, the muffled click as Bakugou locked his truck. Every sound hit her nerves like static. She smoothed her hair with shaking hands, forcing herself to breathe.

When the front door swung open, the house filled instantly with the smell of him—smoke, cedar, the faint hint of oil from the workshop.

“Oi,” he called, stepping inside, keys clinking against the bowl by the door. “Smells too quiet in here. Everyone okay?”

Ochaco swallowed hard. “Hey.”

He looked up, eyebrows lifting slightly at the sight of her on the couch. “You look wiped. You eat today?”

“I—yeah,” she lied, voice barely steady.

He set down a paper bag. “Picked up those rolls from that bakery you like. Thought we could do stew tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

He frowned a little, crossing the room. “You okay, Round Face? You’re bein’ weird.”

That nickname—one he hadn’t used much lately—hit her straight in the chest. The affection in it, the safety.

She nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I just… needed to talk to you.”

He froze halfway through taking off his jacket. “That sounded ominous.”

“It’s not—well, it’s not bad, exactly,” she rushed out, words tripping over themselves. “Just… big. I mean—it’s a lot.”

Now he looked worried. “You sick or somethin’?”

“No!” She shook her head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

She exhaled, looking down at her hands. Her fingers twisted together, white at the knuckles. “Katsuki, I—I took a test today.”

He blinked, confused. “A test? What kinda—”

She met his eyes, and understanding hit him like a punch.

His mouth parted slightly. He didn’t say a word.

The silence stretched until it felt like a living thing between them.

“Yeah,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It was positive.”

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then Bakugou stepped forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure his legs would work.

“You sure?”

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I checked twice. I wasn’t even trying to— it just—” Her voice cracked. “I can’t believe it. We’re— we’re gonna have four, Katsuki.”

He didn’t speak. Just stared at her with that unreadable expression, jaw tight, eyes softening bit by bit as the words sank in.

Ochaco kept going, unable to stop. “I know this isn’t what we planned. We just got Mya into preschool, and Kai’s starting soccer, and you’re already working so much— and I’m so tired all the time, and I don’t know if I can—”

“Oi.”

His voice cut through her panic like a thread snapping.

He crouched in front of her, placing both hands on her knees. His palms were rough and warm, grounding her instantly.

“Breathe.”

She tried. The air shuddered out of her chest.

“You done spiralin’ yet?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not spiraling,” she said weakly.

“You’re sittin’ here talkin’ a mile a minute about soccer schedules and diapers. That’s spiralin’.”

Despite herself, she let out a shaky laugh.

Bakugou’s expression softened further. “Hey.” He reached up, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “It’s alright.”

She blinked, searching his face. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” His brow furrowed like the question offended him. “Why the hell would I be mad? We made three already. Guess we’re good at it.”

Her laugh turned into a sob. “Katsuki—”

He pulled her into his chest before she could finish. His arms wrapped around her, strong and sure, the kind of hold that said I’ve got you. Her face pressed against his shirt, and she breathed him in—warm, steady, home.

“Four kids,” he murmured into her hair. “Guess the house is gonna get louder.”

“It’s already loud,” she said, voice muffled against him.

“Then we’ll build a bigger one,” he replied simply.

She tilted her head back to look at him, tears still streaking her cheeks. “You can’t just fix everything with a bigger house.”

He smirked faintly. “Can fix a lotta things with one, though.”

Her laughter bubbled up again, half-sobbing, half-disbelieving. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And you love me anyway.”

He kissed her then—softly, the kind of kiss that steadied her heartbeat and made the world make sense again.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “You’re really scared, huh?”

She nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t know if I have enough left to give. I’m so tired all the time.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I’ll give more.”

Her breath caught.

He held her gaze, the faintest smile on his lips. “You’ve been runnin’ this house since Ryu was born, doin’ everything without complainin’. I’ll step up more. I mean it.”

“Katsuki—”

“I got you, Ochaco.” His voice was low, certain. “We’re gonna be fine. Might be messy, might be loud, but it’s us. Always is.”

The words hit her deeper than she expected. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt against him, her hands fisting in his shirt.

Outside, the faint laughter of their kids drifted in through the open window — Ryu chasing Kai in the yard, Mya shouting something about dragons.

Bakugou’s arm tightened around her as he listened. “They’re gonna lose it when they find out.”

“Oh god,” she groaned softly. “Ryu’s gonna start planning names.”

“Better than Kai tryin’ to teach the kid how to make explosions.”

She smiled into his chest. “You’re not helping.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon. Let’s tell ‘em after dinner. We’ll make it fun.”

“You mean after I stop crying.”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “After that.”

She laughed again, the tension finally breaking, replaced by something light. Hopeful.

For a long moment they just stayed there, tangled together on the couch, the house golden with sunset and filled with distant sounds of their children’s laughter.

Ochaco whispered against his shoulder, “Four.”

Bakugou smiled, his voice quiet and sure. “Four.”

And somewhere deep in her chest, beneath all the fear and fatigue, that single word began to feel less like a weight — and more like a promise.