—Bakusquad and their behavior with the whole pack of labor
♡⑅*˖•.Summary: The Bakusquad and their behavior before labor, getting in labor, while you’re in labor and after labor.
*+:•*∴·˚ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x F!reader ; Kirishima Eijiro x F!reader ; Kaminari x F!reader ; Hanta Sero x F!reader
༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳✩.Tags: Cute ; Super fluff ; straight up affection ; Husbands ; Slaying Y/N ; Pregnancy ; Labor ; Hospital ; Child ; Love ; Supportive
•*:｡✩•.Word-count: idk i think 14k
×❀°:.•A/N: Okay, guys, I genuinely would die for husband and father material MHA men so yeah you guys I just had to write this even tho I knew I would only get 4 hours of sleep because of it.
Bakugou Katsuki — “Heartbeat of an Explosion”
Two days ago, Bakugou had still been fighting villains.
Mid-air, surrounded by fire and concrete, yelling at dumbass sidekicks to move faster, get the job done, don’t get killed.
He didn’t wait for backup. Didn’t wait for the fight to finish. Left the cleanup to Kirishima and blasted straight across the city in a line of smoke and sound.
He’d never flown so fast in his life.
His hands had been shaking when he reached the hospital. He barely managed to bark out your name at the front desk before someone was ushering him to your room.
Sweaty, flushed, clearly in pain—but you smiled at him.
“Hey, Katsuki. You made it.”
He’d dropped everything in that moment. Knees hitting the floor beside your bed. His forehead against your hand.
“I was so scared I’d miss it,” he muttered.
You squeezed his fingers. “I wouldn’t have let them start without you.”
And just like that—he stayed.
Every contraction. Every moment. Right there.
Even when he thought his heart would give out.
_________________________________
The walls of the hospital weren’t soundproof.
And that was something Katsuki Bakugou was never going to forget.
He stood in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, pacing. The floors squeaked beneath his boots with every turn, and his heart… that damn thing hadn’t stopped hammering since he’d rushed you here two hours ago.
Not during the agonized grip of your hand on his jacket.
Not even when the doctors told him he had to wait outside while they “got you prepped.”
Prepped for what? For pain? For screaming?
Bakugou slammed his palm against the wall, hard enough that a nurse nearby flinched. He didn’t care. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and panic, and all he could hear was your voice breaking through the door down the hall.
“Shit, she’s loud,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Tough as hell, and still screamin’ like that…”
He hated this — being forced to wait. Forced to listen. He was Pro Hero Ground Zero, for fuck’s sake. He’d faced villains, death, explosions. He’d fought through wars and buried teammates and come home bloodied to you every time.
Because this time, you were the one on the line.
His wife. His everything.
And he couldn’t punch or blast a damn thing to protect you.
He turned so fast his boots squeaked again.
The nurse — a younger girl with nervous eyes and an iPad clutched in her arms — gave him a respectful nod. “She’s almost ready for you to come in. Just a few more minutes.”
“Is she okay?” His voice cracked a little. “The baby? Is it—”
“They’re both okay,” she said quickly. “She’s asking for you. You’ll be called in as soon as—”
He didn’t hear the rest. His feet were already carrying him toward the door, fists twitching at his sides.
_________________________________
Your face was red, glistening with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead. There were wires and tubes and too many people in white coats moving around.
But your eyes found his the second he stepped in.
“Katsuki—” your voice broke. “Katsuki, you better get over here right now before I rip someone’s arm off—”
He was at your side in a blink.
“I’m here. I’m here, baby,” he said, voice lower now, gruffer, as he took your hand — the same one that had clawed at him in the car, now trembling in his grasp.
Your grip was fierce. Your knuckles white.
“I hate this,” you whispered through gritted teeth.
“I know. I know. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, though.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, ignoring the sharp smell of blood and antiseptic and the low beep of machines. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing sweat away.
“You can do this,” he murmured. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Another contraction ripped through you, and your body arched off the bed. You cried out — raw and sharp — and Bakugou felt something in him shatter.
He’d heard people die on battlefields. Heard children scream in wreckage, sirens wailing over the cries of the wounded.
But nothing — nothing — had ever hurt more than hearing you cry like that.
_________________________________
The nurse was barking instructions—“Push! Again! Deep breath!”—and Bakugou could barely breathe himself.
You were gripping his hand so tightly he swore you might break bone, but he didn’t let go. Not for a second. Not even when he saw you fighting not just pain but exhaustion. Your body shaking from effort. Your lips bitten raw.
He’d never felt more useless in his life
“I can’t—Katsuki—” your voice cracked. “I’m trying, I’m—”
“Don’t say can’t,” he said, voice low but firm. “You can. You’re doin’ it, babe.”
You met his eyes, and something in his expression steadied you—fierce but not angry. Loving, in the only way Katsuki Bakugou knew how to be. The look of a man who would fight hell itself for you, and in this moment, he was. Every breath he took, every word he gave, was a battle to keep you standing.
“One more big push!” the doctor called out.
“C’mon,” Bakugou whispered to you, brushing hair from your soaked forehead. “Right here. This is it.”
You screamed—loud, primal, powerful—and suddenly, everything changed.
A silence so deafening, Bakugou thought his heart had stopped.
The room exploded into movement—nurses swarming, voices raised, claps of encouragement and congratulations—but Bakugou didn’t hear any of it. His eyes were locked on the tiny figure being lifted into the doctor’s arms. Covered in blood, squirming and red-faced, and louder than Bakugou ever thought something that small could be.
“That’s your baby,” the nurse said softly, smiling.
Not until you choked out his name. “Katsuki… go. Go see him.”
His legs felt like lead as he took one step… then another. The doctor handed the newborn off gently to the nurse, who wrapped them tightly in a white blanket and turned toward him.
“Do you want to hold him?”
He didn’t answer. Just extended his arms.
They placed the baby in his hands, and Katsuki Bakugou—Pro Hero, hothead, warrior—felt everything drop out of his chest.
His arms tensed automatically. Not because the baby was heavy. But because the weight of it was everything. The tiny life in his arms, wrapped up in warmth and safety, was his. Yours. Theirs.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
He looked down into that tiny, scrunched-up face. Eyes shut tight. Little fists curled like they were ready to punch the world.
A fighter. Just like you.
He let out a short, choked laugh.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already pissed off.”
He brought the baby closer to his chest, his large hands cradling their head carefully, like the most dangerous explosive he’d ever touched.
A bomb, set off in his heart.
One that left him completely wrecked.
_________________________________
He returned to you slowly, heart still thundering in his ears.
You were barely awake, eyelids heavy, but you smiled the moment you saw the bundle in his arms.
“He okay?” you whispered.
He looked at you—exhausted, beautiful, glowing in a way he didn’t know how to name.
“Perfect,” he said. “Just like his mom.”
You let out a tired laugh and held your arms out weakly. “Let me see.”
He placed the baby in your arms with a gentleness no one outside this room would believe Bakugou was capable of.
You cradled him, tears slipping down your cheeks, and Bakugou sat beside you, silent, watching.
Watching his whole world in one bed.
You. His son. His family.
“I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love you,” he said, voice raw, barely audible. “But this… this is different.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
“You’re a dad now,” you murmured.
He scoffed softly, but didn’t fight it. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
The baby squirmed a little in your arms, and Bakugou instantly leaned in.
“He’s feisty,” you whispered.
“Good. He’ll need to be.”
Silence again. But not the heavy kind.
A warm, full silence. Like an explosion had gone off in the distance and left behind something whole.
_________________________________
The baby had fallen asleep.
It was just past 3 a.m., and the hospital wing had gone still, save for the distant hum of machines and the faint creak of nurses’ shoes in the hallway. The kind of silence that felt earned—after hours of intensity, effort, tears.
Bakugou sat in the armchair beside your hospital bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, but his eyes never left the two of you.
He’d never known he could feel so much at once.
Pride. Terror. Awe. Love so big it didn’t fit inside his ribs.
He wasn’t the same man he’d been yesterday.
You shifted slightly, arm curled protectively around the baby. The blanket moved just enough for him to catch a glimpse of their tiny, peaceful face.
For a moment, all he could do was stare.
You and he had made that. That life. That little spark of warmth in a cold world.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, still staring at the bundle in your arms.
His voice was low, barely above a breath.
“Hey, dumbass,” he muttered softly. “That’s your mom, y’know. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
His thumb brushed the edge of the blanket.
“You got lucky. Real lucky.”
There was no response, of course. Just the soft rise and fall of your baby’s breathing.
_________________________________
You stirred in the sheets.
He leaned in quickly. “Yeah. I’m here.”
You smiled weakly. “Think he’s hungry?”
He stood up without hesitation. “I’ll call the nurse.”
“No… give him to me first.”
Carefully, he helped guide your arms as you shifted the baby toward your chest. The movement was slow, a little clumsy, but instinctive. Natural.
You looked down at your baby as he latched for the first time.
Your eyes filled with tears. Again.
Bakugou sat beside you, silent.
Watching you feed his kid.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Didn’t know if words would even do it justice.
So instead, he reached for your hand.
You laced your fingers through his without looking.
He was yours. And you were his. And this—this baby, this moment, this night—was everything he’d ever been afraid to want.
________________________________
The nurse returned a little later with the clipboard.
“Have we decided on a name yet?”
Bakugou looked at you. You looked at him.
Then, with a soft smile, you both nodded.
He cleared his throat, voice deeper than usual. “Yeah. We have.”
The name you spoke together wasn’t explosive. Wasn’t loud. But it meant something.
And when the nurse smiled and wrote it down, Bakugou felt it click into place.
He was real. Here. Named. Alive.
_________________________________
You were finally asleep again. Nurses had done their checks. The room was dim, warm, quiet.
Bakugou stood at the little bassinet beside your bed.
He reached down carefully and picked the baby up.
He was so small. Swaddled tight. Making those soft little sleeping sounds that somehow wrecked him worse than any villain ever could.
He sat down again in the chair.
Let out a long, slow breath.
“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Never thought I’d be a dad. Never thought I should be. Thought I’d mess it up.”
The baby made a tiny noise.
“But your mom… she believed in me. Even when I didn’t. So I’m gonna believe in myself. For you.”
His voice wavered for the first time.
“I’m not gonna be perfect. But I’ll protect you. I’ll be better. You’re never gonna feel unwanted. Or unsafe. Ever.”
The baby let out a soft sigh and shifted against his chest, nuzzling close.
Eijiro Kirishima — “Unbreakable Heart”
The halls of the hospital were bright, but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion for Eijirou Kirishima.
He had just come from a patrol — nothing major, just crowd control for a villain that had already been subdued by other heroes. But he’d felt restless the entire time. Something in his chest wouldn’t settle.
And then his phone buzzed.
“Babe… I think it’s time.”
He had practically flown to the hospital. There were actual burn marks on the door of the agency from where he blasted through it. Denki had shouted after him, something dumb about “finally!” but Eijirou didn’t even hear it.
All he knew was that you were in labor. His partner. The love of his life.
And that his whole world was about to change.
_________________________________
He found you in the maternity ward, already in a hospital gown, hand clenching the sheets as another contraction came.
“Oh god—Kiri—” you panted, “you got here fast.”
He was beside you in a second, gently brushing hair from your forehead and kissing the crown of your head.
“I told you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “I’d be here no matter what. You’re not doing this alone.”
You gave a breathless laugh, and he grinned, even as his eyes watered just a little. That’s my girl, he thought. Brave even when it hurts.
He held your hand through every contraction. Encouraged you through every breath. Whispered soft affirmations and terrible jokes and even sang a dumb love song at one point just to make you laugh between pushes.
Even when it felt like your body was being torn in two.
Even when the pain made your vision blur—he never flinched. He never left. Just held on tighter and let you crush his fingers as hard as you needed.
_________________________________
A tiny, warbling little voice, squawking like it had just been dropped into a cold, confusing world (which it had, really).
Your eyes snapped open. Kirishima was already leaning over you, eyes wide, stunned, heart racing.
“…That’s him?” he whispered.
You nodded tearfully. “That’s him.”
The nurse smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve got a healthy baby boy.”
The doctor was saying something about vitals, about cleaning, about stitches — but Kirishima didn’t hear a word. Not really.
He watched as they brought over the little wriggling bundle, red-faced and squirming, wrapped up like a burrito. He didn’t even realize he was crying until you reached for his hand again and whispered:
_________________________________
He sat down on the little couch beside your bed, hands out, unsure.
The nurse laughed gently. “You won’t break him, Dad. Promise.”
Kirishima looked down at the baby now in his arms.
Dark wisps of hair. Tiny fists curled up under their chin. A little scowl, just like his when he was focused.
And when the baby opened his eyes — oh, god — they looked just like you.
Something inside him cracked wide open.
“I made this?” he whispered. “We made this?”
You laughed, tears running down your cheeks. “Yeah. You did. I just did the heavy lifting.”
“Baby,” he said breathlessly, eyes still on your newborn, “you just went Plus Ultra on a whole new level.”
You snorted. “Don’t make me laugh, it still hurts.”
But you reached for his face anyway, and he leaned into your touch.
There were no more jokes then.
_________________________________
He hadn’t told you this before — but he’d been scared.
Not of you. Not of the baby.
The night you told him you were pregnant, he’d smiled so big his cheeks hurt. He’d picked you up and spun you in the kitchen, nearly knocking over the fruit bowl.
But that night, lying in bed with you asleep in his arms, he’d stared at the ceiling.
What if I’m not good enough?
What if I can’t protect him?
What if I mess up this amazing thing?
He remembered his own childhood. His own fears. Being the weird kid with shark teeth. Feeling like he’d never live up to anyone.
Could someone like him be a good dad?
But then you rolled over in your sleep and curled into him like he was safety itself.
And that doubt started to fade.
Now, holding his child in a quiet hospital room, all of those questions felt small.
He wasn’t perfect. But he would never stop trying.
And that? That would be enough.
_________________________________
You both had made a list.
You wanted something that meant strength. He wanted something with heart.
So when the nurse came in and asked, “Do we have a name?” — you both smiled.
“Yes,” you said together.
And when the name was written down, it felt like the final piece clicked into place.
Eijirou felt his chest ache in the best possible way.
He looked at you. Your hair messy, eyes sleepy, but glowing like the hero he knew you were.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything in my life,” he said honestly. “You… You’re amazing.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, nudging him gently. “You didn’t even faint.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve fought villains with ten quirks and less adrenaline.”
But then he turned serious.
“Thank you. For trusting me with this. With him. With you.”
You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.
“We’re in this together. Always.”
_________________________________
Later That Night: Just the Three of You
The baby slept in a little bassinet beside your bed.
You were finally resting — body sore, soul quiet.
Kirishima couldn’t sleep.
He sat by the window, shirt wrinkled, eyes tired, heart so full it was almost hard to breathe.
He turned toward the little bundle and whispered:
“I don’t know if I’ll always get it right. I might embarrass you. I’ll probably cry at every sports game or school play.”
“But I’m gonna show up. Every time. For every scraped knee, every nightmare, every scary first day.”
He reached into the bassinet and carefully brushed his thumb over his tiny hand.
“I’ll be strong for you. Unbreakable. Because you’re mine. And because you deserve the world.”
The baby’s tiny hand closed around his finger.
_________________________________
Sunlight poured in the next morning.
You woke to the sight of Kirishima, half-asleep in the chair, your baby asleep on his chest.
His arms wrapped protectively around them. His head leaned back, mouth slightly open.
And the softest, most content expression you’d ever seen on his face.
You took a mental picture — and a real one, too.
Because this? This was the start of something beautiful.
Your unbreakable hero. The love of your life.
Now the father of your child.
And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt:
They’d never know a day without love.
Denki Kaminari — “Little Light”
Denki never thought of himself as the “dad” type.
He was the fun uncle in everyone’s friend group—the guy who showed up late but always with snacks, the one who could light up a party with a grin (or literally short-circuit the electricity if he got too excited). Babies? He liked looking at them from a safe distance. Diapers? Absolutely terrifying. Responsibility? Well… he was getting there.
But the moment you told him you were pregnant, something shifted.
He blinked at you. You were nervous, hands twisting in your lap, barely whispering the words. He stared. Then blinked again.
“…You mean like… a real baby?”
And then he laughed. Laughed until tears filled his eyes. Pulled you into a crushing hug and whispered, “We’re gonna make such a cool little person.”
_________________________________
Denki stood outside the delivery room, hands shaking, heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. His hero costume had been ditched hours ago—now he was in sweatpants, a hoodie, and an expression that said he was both overjoyed and about to pass out.
You were inside. In labor.
“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” he muttered, pacing like a Roomba with a broken sensor. “She’s in there pushing out a whole person and I’m out here losing it because I forgot how to breathe.”
Kirishima, who had stopped by to check on him during his patrol break, clapped him on the back. “Bro, you’re gonna be fine.”
“I just—what if I mess up?”
“Then you’ll learn. And try again. And be amazing at it eventually. You always do.”
Denki looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. Right. Cool. I can do this. I’ve got this.”
He promptly tripped over his own shoelace.
_________________________________
When the nurse came out and told him it was time, he bolted inside without hesitation. You were sweaty, red-faced, exhausted, and in pain—but still the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
You gripped his hand like a vice. “I hate you.”
“You’re never touching me again.”
He kissed your knuckles. “Also fair.”
“You better still be hot when I’m done.”
Denki grinned. “I’ll fry my hair extra for you, babe.”
_________________________________
Thirty-six minutes later, everything stopped.
A single cry sliced through the air, and the room fell away. Denki barely noticed the bustle of nurses, the doctor’s voice, or the faint smell of antiseptic. All he could focus on was you—your teary, trembling smile—and the little bundle the nurse gently placed into your arms.
Your baby was swaddled in soft yellow, cheeks puffy and pink, eyes scrunched shut as she wailed in righteous protest at existing.
Denki’s legs nearly gave out. “Holy crap. That’s ours.”
You laughed weakly. “Surprise.”
The nurse gently motioned for him to come closer, and with shaking hands, Denki reached out, gently taking the baby into his arms for the first time.
His eyes welled with tears as he stared down at this impossibly tiny being. His heart expanded until it felt like his ribs would crack. The baby hiccuped softly, tiny fists wiggling from the blanket.
“Hey there, little light,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m your dad.”
The baby let out a soft sound—half snort, half sneeze.
Denki laughed through a tear. “Wow. That’s fair.”
_________________________________
You watched him from the bed, heart full. He stood like he was holding the universe, like one wrong move would shatter the stars. You’d never seen him so serious.
He sat beside you slowly, still cradling the baby. “They’re perfect. Like… holy crap. Perfect.”
You smiled, voice raw. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m scared if I drop her, the government will arrest me for crimes against perfection.”
“You won’t drop her, Kaminari.”
“…What if she doesn’t like me?”
You leaned your head against his shoulder. “She’ll love you. Because you’re sweet. And funny. And already so in love with her it’s killing me.”
He blinked. “You really think so?”
You kissed his cheek. “I know so.”
There was a long silence. The baby’s breathing slowed, and she blinked open her eyes—faint gold like dawn, already full of sleepy wonder.
Denki stared down at them in awe. “God, I didn’t think I could love anything this much.”
He sniffled. “Like, I love you obviously. But this? This is insane. I feel like I’d fight a dragon for her. Or a tax auditor.”
You giggled. “Those are scarier.”
“…Wait. What’s her name again?”
“Kidding! Kidding. I’m just lightheaded.”
He looked at the baby again, then at you. “She’s gonna grow up so cool. Like… she’s gonna have your smarts and maybe my charm if we’re lucky.”
“Or unlucky,” you teased.
The baby made a soft noise, and Denki’s whole face melted. “Do you think she’ll be quirkless?”
You shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, she’s gonna be loved. So much it won’t matter.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
_________________________________
Hours later, when the baby was tucked between you in a little hospital bassinet and the room was quiet, Denki traced a gentle line along her tiny forehead with his finger.
“…Can I tell you something?” he whispered.
You blinked sleepily. “Mhm?”
“I want her to call me dad. Like… the good kind. Like, ‘my dad’s my hero’ kinda dad.”
You turned to look at him.
“And I want to be the kind of guy who picks her up from school and makes stupid jokes and lets her color on my arms and teaches her to love who she is, even if it takes a while. I wanna be the guy who never lets her feel like she has to earn my love.”
Your eyes burned with tears.
“And I know I’m a little stupid sometimes,” he whispered. “But I swear—I’ll learn. For her. For you.”
You kissed him, long and slow and full of promise. “You’re already everything she needs.”
He chuckled softly. “Also… I might’ve ordered baby-sized headphones with Pikachu ears.”
You snorted. “Of course you did.”
_________________________________
Denki scrolled through his phone, one hand bouncing the baby gently in a wrap against his chest. The tiny thing was asleep, drooling on his hoodie, completely unaware that her dad was trying to figure out how to install a baby swing without electrocuting it.
“Okay, so this bolt goes here… and this piece… wait, where’s the manual?”
The baby let out a sleepy burble.
“You’re right. Who needs manuals when you’ve got vibes.”
You watched from the doorway with crossed arms. “Last time you said that, you broke our blender.”
“Semantics,” he muttered.
You walked over, kissed the baby’s head, then his cheek. “Still think you’re not the dad type?”
He looked down at the tiny weight against his chest, then back at you.
“Nah,” he whispered. “I think I was always meant to be hers.”
Hanta Sero — “Sticky Fingers & Soft Hearts”
Hanta had always been the funny one. The chill one. The one who could defuse tension with a smile and make a bad day feel survivable with a single quip. It was part of what drew you to him when you were younger, and what kept your heart tethered to his even as the world changed around you.
Being married to a pro hero wasn’t easy, but Sero made it feel easier—every time he came home covered in grime but smiling like you were the best thing he’d seen all day. Every time he wrapped his arms around you with that lanky strength of his and murmured, “I missed you, babe.” Every time he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered promises into your skin that you’d both grow old together.
But this? This was a different kind of battlefield.
You were in labor, and Sero had never been more terrified in his life.
_________________________________
It started around three in the morning—because of course it did. The two of you had been curled up on the couch, watching old cartoons and eating popcorn that had gone stale because neither of you could finish it. He’d been rubbing your feet. You were half asleep on his shoulder. All was right with the world.
And then you shifted. “Mm… ow.”
“Bad position?” he asked sleepily.
“No,” you whispered, sitting up straighter. “No, that was… that was definitely something else.”
Your face went a little pale. Sero’s stomach dropped like an elevator.
“Wait. Wait, wait—is this it?”
You nodded slowly, blinking down at your belly. “Yeah. I think it’s starting.”
And just like that, calm Sero—the goofy, unshakeable guy who once joked through a villain attack—went into full panic mode… internally. Outwardly, he was doing his best to be your rock.
“Okay,” he said, trying to regulate his breathing as he helped you stand. “Okay. We’ve got the bag. We’ve got the car. You’re good. I’m good. We’re good.”
You gave him a half-smile as you clutched your belly. “You’re spiraling.”
“Only a little,” he grinned, already grabbing the overnight bag and your coat. “Let’s have a baby.”
_________________________________
Twelve hours later, you were still having a baby. And Sero was… hanging on.
“God, this hurts,” you growled as another contraction tore through you. You squeezed his hand so hard he swore his knuckles cracked.
“Hey, hey—crush my fingers if it helps,” he whispered against your temple, brushing your hair back as you trembled. “I’ve got a whole tape roll at home. I’ll just fix myself later.”
You barked a laugh through the pain, tears clinging to your lashes. That was Sero: comfort through humor.
He kissed your forehead and rested his hand over your bump. “She’s almost here, babe. You’re doing so damn good.”
And you were. He had never seen you stronger, fiercer, or more painfully beautiful than in that hospital bed—sweating, shaking, eyes burning with exhaustion but filled with fire. He wanted to protect you from every ounce of pain, even though he knew he couldn’t. So he stayed close. Grounded you. Reminded you how much he loved you. Whispered jokes and praises between pushes like his own life depended on it.
Then suddenly—the room shifted. The nurses called for a doctor. There was movement, urgency, hands guiding yours.
“One more big push!” someone shouted.
_________________________________
It was small. Wobbly. Half-gasp, half-wail. But it was real.
Sero’s breath caught in his throat as he stood there frozen, watching the nurse lift the tiny body that had been curled inside you just seconds before. She was wrinkly. Covered in vernix. So incredibly small.
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “That’s our baby.”
He didn’t even realize he’d started crying until a warm tear slipped over the edge of his jaw.
“Would you like to cut the cord?” a nurse asked gently, holding out scissors.
His hands were shaking. When was the last time his hands shook? Not in a fight. Not even when villains had thrown him through buildings.
But now? Looking at his daughter?
He cut the cord with trembling fingers and the softest, most reverent hands you’d ever seen.
And then—she was placed on your chest. Skin to skin. Screaming and red-faced and unbelievably real.
You looked up at him, eyes glistening, and whispered, “Sero… we did it.”
He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering there. “You did it,” he murmured. “You’re incredible.”
You looked down at your daughter, blinking in stunned awe. “She has your ears,” you whispered.
Sero’s laugh came out choked and wet. “Poor kid,” he joked, running a finger ever so gently down the soft fuzz of her hair. “At least she didn’t get my nose.”
You smiled. “She’s perfect.”
And he—he couldn’t argue. Not when his heart was threatening to explode with how much love it was holding.
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Later that evening, the room was quiet. You were sleeping, your hand still curled around Sero’s on the edge of the bed.
The baby was tucked into his chest in the little recliner by the window. She had finally stopped crying. Just stared up at him with those wide, unfocused eyes that still felt like galaxies.
He rocked gently, whispering nonsense to her.
“Hi, little lady… I’m your dad. Weird, right? Yeah. That’s me. Hanta Sero—Pro Hero Tapehead, and now… your personal jungle gym, burp cloth, and lifelong embarrassing dad joke supplier.”
Her tiny fingers twitched. He chuckled softly.
“You know, I used to think the best thing I’d ever do was save people. Be a hero. But you? You and your mom… you’re my greatest rescue. You saved me.”
His voice cracked. He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again.
“I don’t know how to be perfect. But I swear, I’ll be the kind of dad you can run to. Every single time.”
She hiccupped, and he swore his soul turned to mush.
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You stirred in bed, blinking sleepily at the sight of them both by the window—Sero holding her like she was made of spun glass, humming a soft lullaby under his breath.
You let yourself watch for a moment. Memorize it. Etch it into your bones.
He caught your eye and smiled—your smile, soft and sleepy and overfull.
“Wanna hold her again?” he whispered.
He brought her over, tucking her carefully into your arms like he was passing off a treasure. Which, to him, he was.
“I think she likes you more,” you teased gently.
“Nah,” he smiled. “You’re just her whole world. I’m just the guy who’s gonna spoil her rotten.”
You looked up at him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be such a good dad, Hanta.”
He leaned down and kissed you—slow, soft, and steady. Like a promise.
“You already made me a good man,” he whispered.
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Six weeks later the apartment was a maze of pastel blankets, rattles, and bright-yellow sticky notes Sero kept slapping onto every flat surface so he wouldn’t forget anything:
• diaper stash—buy more wipes
• kiss wife ← circled twice for importance
It was 1:47 a.m. when a soft, questioning whimper came from the bassinet beside the couch. You stirred, but Sero was already on his feet—bare-chested in plaid sleep pants, hair a disaster, grin sleepy but sure.
“Daddy’s got you, princesa,” he murmured, scooping the tiny bundle into his arms. Your daughter blinked up at him, wide brown eyes catching the lamplight. Tape-scarred fingers cradled her head with practiced tenderness while he walked slow laps around the living room, humming the same off-key lullaby he’d made up the first night home.
You watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame—too in love with the view to announce yourself. He didn’t see you; he was busy narrating the room to her in a hushed, excited voice:
“That’s Mom’s favorite plant—don’t eat it when you crawl. That—” he pointed to a framed photo of your wedding “—is proof she said yes even though I had tape stuck in my hair. And this—” he touched the flame-shaped pendant at your throat where it rested on his T-shirt laundry pile “—is what taught me how scary it is to love something delicate.”
Sh cooed, tiny fist wrapping around the string of his dog tags. Sero melted.
“Yeah, take whatever you want,” he laughed softly. “My heart’s already yours.”
He settled into the rocking chair you thrift-refinished together, guiding her bottle to tiny lips. The apartment lights were dim, but moonbeams painted silver stripes across the floor. Outside, the city buzzed with distant hero patrols; inside, time slowed to the beat of one small swallow after another.
“Know what I realized?” he whispered. “Every villain I web up from now on, I’m picturing you on the other end. Because I gotta come home—no capes, no glory—just Dad jokes and sticky fingers waiting.”
You crossed the room and knelt beside the chair, resting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your hair without missing a beat in his rocking rhythm.
“She’s got you wrapped,” you teased.
“Completely,” he admitted, eyes soft. “And I’m never cutting the tape.”
When the bottle emptied and her eyelids fluttered closed, he brushed a kiss to her downy forehead, then one to yours. Three hearts, one quiet room, and a future tied together stronger than any quirk-made filament.
You exhaled into the hush, feeling utterly safe.
“Sticky fingers,” he whispered, smiling at the tiny milk line on her chin. “Soft hearts.”
And the night rocked on, gentle and bright, beneath the city that had just gained one very lucky little girl—and a dad who’d already mapped the stars for her first sky-gazing lesson.
