Izuku

The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red as I landed on my balcony, the familiar thrum of One For All still buzzing in my veins. Another villain apprehended, another city block saved. Just another Tuesday for Deku, the Symbol of Peace. But tonight, the familiar satisfaction was tempered with a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.

It had been three months since Y/N had left. Three months since a taxi had pulled up to my apartment, leaving a tiny, bundled-up miracle on my doorstep, a note tucked into her blanket. A note that shattered my world in a few, carefully chosen words: "I can't do this. She's better off with you."

Our daughter. A tiny, helpless, utterly perfect little girl. Her name was Hana, which meant "flower" in Japanese. And she was mine.

Suddenly, being the Number One Hero felt insignificant. Trading blows with villains felt easier, safer even, than changing a diaper. The weight of protecting an entire city paled in comparison to the weight of Hana sleeping soundly in my arms.

I unlocked the sliding glass door, the scent of lavender and baby powder washing over me. Recovery Girl, bless her soul, had been a lifesaver. Not only had she helped me navigate the initial panic of being a single dad, but she'd also helped me child-proof my apartment.

The sight that greeted me always managed to melt away the day's stress. Hana lay in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling gently, her face a perfect replica of Y/N's, only smaller, softer. A stray curl of her dark hair, the exact same shade as mine, clung to her cheek.

"Hey, Hana," I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. "Daddy's home."

I changed into comfortable sweats and a worn-out All Might t-shirt, the one Y/N had teased me about for years. Then, I carefully lifted Hana from her crib, her small body fitting perfectly in the crook of my arm. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked up at me, her gaze unfocused but somehow knowing.

"Did you miss me, little one?" I murmured, nuzzling my face against her soft head.

The next few hours were a blur of feeding, burping, and trying to decipher the mysterious language of baby cries. There were moments of pure, unadulterated joy – like when Hana smiled, a gummy, toothless grin that could light up the darkest room. And then there were moments of sheer panic – like when she spat up on my favorite hero costume.

I wasn't built for this. I was a fighter, a strategist, a hero. I knew how to analyze Quirks and formulate battle plans. But deciphering the difference between a hunger cry and a tired cry? That was a challenge All Might himself couldn't have prepared me for.

As I rocked Hana in my arms, a sense of despair threatened to overwhelm me. How could I be both a hero and a dad? How could I protect the city and raise a child alone? Was I even capable of giving her the love and attention she deserved?

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Shoto.

"Need help? I can watch Hana tonight. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Relief washed over me in a wave. I wasn't alone. My friends, my family, they were all here for me. They had been ever since Y/N left.

"Yes, please," I texted back, my fingers trembling. "Thank you, Shoto."

Shoto arrived a few minutes later, his stoic expression softening as he gazed at Hana in my arms. He was surprisingly good with babies, holding her with a tenderness that belied his usually reserved demeanor.

"Go get some rest, Izuku," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "We've got this."

I hesitated, guilt gnawing at me. But the exhaustion was overwhelming. I knew I needed to recharge, not just for myself, but for Hana.

"Thank you," I said again, my voice thick with emotion. "I owe you."

I slept for a glorious, uninterrupted six hours. When I woke up, the apartment was quiet, but a sense of peace permeated the air. I found Shoto asleep on the couch, Hana nestled in his arms, both of them breathing softly.

Seeing them like that, a wave of gratitude washed over me. I wasn't a perfect dad, not even close. But I was trying. And I had a support system that would help me navigate the challenges ahead.

Life was different now. My priorities had shifted. Being a hero was still important, but Hana was the center of my universe. She was my reason for fighting, my reason for pushing myself beyond my limits.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. I learned to change diapers faster than I could dodge a villain's attack. I mastered the art of one-handed cooking while holding Hana in my other arm. I even managed to attend a few hero conventions with Hana strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, much to the amusement of the other heroes.

One day, while I was pushing Hana in her stroller through a park, a little girl approached us. She was holding an All Might figurine and her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Deku!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with awe. "You're my hero!"

I smiled, feeling a familiar surge of pride. But then, the little girl's gaze shifted to Hana.

"Who's this?" she asked, pointing at my daughter.

"This is Hana," I said, beaming. "She's my daughter."

The little girl's eyes widened even further. "You're a dad?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

"Yeah," I said, chuckling. "Being a dad is the best superpower I've ever had."

Seeing her awestruck face, I realized something profound. Being a hero wasn't just about saving people from villains. It was about inspiring hope, about showing the world that even in the face of adversity, anything was possible. And being a dad, being Hana's dad, was the most heroic thing I could ever do.

Months turned into a year. Hana started crawling, then walking, then talking. Her first word wasn't "Mama" or "Dada," but "Might," which I found both hilarious and incredibly endearing.

One afternoon, I received a call from the police. They had found Y/N. She wanted to see Hana.

My heart clenched in my chest. A million questions raced through my mind. Why now? What did she want? Was she ready to be a mother?

I agreed to meet her. I owed it to Hana, at least.

The meeting was awkward and emotional. Y/N looked tired and worn, but her eyes lit up when she saw Hana. She explained that she had been struggling with postpartum depression and had felt overwhelmed. She wasn't ready to be a mother, she said, but she regretted her decision every day.

I listened patiently, my heart aching for her and for Hana. I didn't forgive her easily, but I understood. Motherhood was hard, and Y/N hadn't had the support she needed.

In the end, we agreed to co-parent. It wouldn't be easy, but we both wanted what was best for Hana. And for Hana, that meant having both her parents in her life. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: Hana was loved. And that was all that mattered.

As I tucked Hana into bed that night, I looked at her sleeping face and felt a surge of love so powerful it brought tears to my eyes. I was Deku, the Symbol of Peace. But more importantly, I was Hana's dad. And that was a role I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. My journey as a hero was far from over, but my greatest adventure had just begun.