married life with shota aizawa means coffee in the mornings, sleepy cuddles between patrols, and the occasional compromise involving questionable home décor. lately, though, your heart’s been beating to a softer rhythm, one filled with little giggles, tiny socks, and dreams you didn’t know you were allowed to have. all it takes is a glimpse of a baby boutique across the street, and suddenly, everything shifts. aizawa never expected to find himself picking out a stuffed bunny for a baby that doesn’t exist yet. but then again, he never expected to love you this much either
CW: intense baby fever, emotional softness, discussion of pregnancy/future children, light crying, husband aizawa being extremely whipped, emotional vulnerability
pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3 (you're here!)
the weather was warm enough to walk, the kind of late spring afternoon that clung softly to your skin like a cotton hug, sunlight filtered through pale clouds, and everything smelled like fresh rain and pavement heat.
you were walking hand in hand with aizawa, your glitter-coated nails laced through his calloused fingers, the breeze playing with the hem of your pale pink dress. he’d insisted on going to the grocery store with you, even though he claimed to hate “being seen in public holding a shopping list that includes ‘aesthetically shaped pasta.’”
but he always went. always.
you swayed his arm a little as you walked, humming a tune under your breath, cheeks already a bit flushed from the sun. aizawa glanced down at you with a subtle tug of his mouth, his version of a smile.
“we’re only getting what’s on the list,” he warned.
you blinked innocently up at him. “i don’t put the real things on the list.”
“you’re impossible.”
“you’re obsessed with me.”
he didn’t argue.
you had just finished picking the correct shade of strawberry milk and were halfway through comparing brands of biodegradable dish soap when you saw it.
a soft gasp left your lips. a slow stop in your tracks. aizawa barely had time to look up from the bag of rice he was scanning before your hand tightened in his and your body went rigid with excitement.
“shota.”
he followed your gaze through the wide glass storefront. across the street, nestled between a boutique flower shop and a stationery café, was a storefront you hadn’t noticed before.
the sign was handwritten script, painted on soft cream wood: petit coeur – baby & nursery.
pastel garments hung in the windows. a tiny display crib sat beneath soft golden lights. there were plush bears, tiny socks folded in baskets, and a shelf of picture books with embossed covers.
you pressed your hand to your chest.
“shota,” you whispered again, voice trembling like you’d seen a vision. “they have lace bassinet covers.”
“no,” he said immediately.
“but—”
“you’re crying again.”
“i’m not!” you insisted, wiping under your eyes. “i’m just having a really visual moment.”
a pause.
“we’re going in,” you added.
“you just wanted dish soap.”
“i want a legacy now.”
he followed you across the street like a man walking into battle, but the truth was… he already knew he’d lost.
the bell above the boutique door let out a delicate chime as you stepped inside. everything smelled like talc powder and vanilla lotion, soft and clean and new.
your heels clicked lightly against the pale wood floor as you slowly turned, taking it all in.
the lighting was warm and dappled, spilling through sheer curtains. racks of tiny dresses, knit rompers, soft pastel sweaters with animal ears. the crib in the corner looked like it belonged in a fairytale, whitewashed wood with floral carvings, a sheer pink canopy draped delicately overhead.
you touched everything like it might break. or maybe like you might.
aizawa stayed back, leaning against a bookshelf labeled “bedtime favorites,” watching silently as your fingers ghosted over a blanket with embroidered stars, your eyes wide and glossy with something too soft to speak out loud.
“look,” you whispered, holding up a pair of cream-colored baby booties no bigger than your palm. “they have lace trim. lace trim, shota. on the booties.”
“you’re spiraling.”
“i’m nesting for a baby we don’t even have. is that weird?”
“a little.”
you clutched the shoes to your chest. “but wouldn’t they be cute? wouldn’t our baby be cute in these?”
he stared at you for a long moment. then: “terrifying.”
you laughed wetly.
he walked toward you, slowly, quietly, until he was close enough to touch. and then, softer than you expected:
“i’ve never seen you like this.”
you looked up, blinking rapidly.
“like what?”
“like you’re already holding them.” his eyes dropped to your hands cradling the shoes. “like you’re seeing someone i can’t yet.”
you inhaled shakily.
“i don’t know when it happened,” you said quietly, brushing a hand over the sleeve of a pale pink cardigan. “but i started picturing it. you, sitting on the couch with a baby on your chest. me standing in the kitchen pouring two cups of coffee and heating up a bottle at the same time.”
he was quiet. listening.
“i thought it was just a weird fantasy. like, a girlish thing. but now i can’t stop.” you laughed under your breath. “i think i have… like. clinical baby fever.”
aizawa stepped closer. his hand found the small of your back, thumb rubbing gently.
“then we should start taking vitamins,” he murmured.
you froze.
your head turned. wide-eyed.
he wasn’t smirking. wasn’t teasing. just looking at you like you’d hung the moon.
“i want it too,” he said. “not just a maybe. not ‘someday.’ you. me. us. i want all of it.”
you pressed a trembling hand to your mouth.
“i can’t believe you just said that in front of the bunny socks.”
he gave you the faintest smile. “pretty sure they’re honored.”
you left the boutique with a pale pink bag, tied in satin ribbon. inside:
– one knitted baby sweater with pearl buttons
– a moon-and-stars rattle handmade from wool
– a cream muslin blanket embroidered with “baby aizawa”
you hadn’t even realized you said it out loud in the store. not until the woman behind the counter asked, “do you want me to personalize it?” and you said yes. just like that.
you were quiet the whole way home. your head resting on aizawa’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the couch, legs tangled, the baby bag resting on the coffee table like it belonged there.
like it always had.
aizawa’s voice broke the silence first.
“you think we’re ready?”
you turned to him.
“we weren’t ready for the haunted house. we weren’t ready for the pink convertible. we weren’t ready for my glitter wallpaper in the hallway.”
“we’re still not ready for the wallpaper.”
you smiled. leaned in.
“but i think we’d be perfect at being parents.”
he kissed you like he believed it.
i CRIED, this was so adorable my chest was clenching UGH. i think i have baby fever now.
got the idea from @sylum !! i hope this turned out how you imagineddd and thank yewww for reading!
Just a pair of Batfleck inspired Batman: WFA icons. Full credit to CRC Payne and Starbite. I just added the greys and changed the eye color cos I thought it would be cute.
