The swaddle sensei
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Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x Reader
Genre: Domestic Fluff / Comfort / Light Humor
Setting: First Night Home with the Twins
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Your apartment had never been so quiet—or so loud.
The first night home with the twins was a blur of feeding schedules, burp cloths, and diapers that defied logic. You were running on exactly 2.3 hours of sleep, both of which were achieved with one eye open and a baby monitor clutched in your hand like a lifeline.
You were about to collapse onto the couch when you heard the telltale mewling cry from the bassinet in the bedroom.
“Left or right?” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded.
“Right,” Aizawa replied from the doorway, already padding toward the bedroom in his loose sweatpants and soft, black shirt. His hair was down, disheveled—half tied back with a spare hair tie you wore on your wrist. He looked tired, sure, but composed in that annoyingly Aizawa way, like he’d just graded a hundred papers and was now ready to master fatherhood too.
“She kicked out of the swaddle again,” he said as he leaned over the bassinet.
You watched from the doorframe as he picked her up with practiced hands, her tiny body curling instinctively toward his chest.
“She’s a little escape artist,” you said, smirking.
He gave a quiet hum of agreement and walked over to the nursery. Inside, the overhead nightlight bathed the room in a soft amber glow. Two bassinets sat side by side, one occupied, one empty. Shelves were lined with little footie pajamas, pacifiers, and neatly stacked muslin swaddle blankets.
Aizawa laid her down on the changing table and reached for the blanket.
Now this—this—was where he shined.
With the precision of a ninja and the tenderness of a pro dad, he unfolded the swaddle.
“Step one: wingspan,” he murmured, spreading the blanket into a diamond. “Step two: baby burrito.”
He placed her in the center, lining her shoulders just below the top fold. You watched, amused, as he gently folded the left corner over her body and tucked it under her right side with just the right amount of snugness.
“She’s already falling asleep,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “The trick is firm, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.”
“Spoken like a man who’s done this before.”
He shot you a look. “I’ve restrained villains. I can restrain my own daughter—with love.”
You snorted, nearly waking the other twin in the process. Aizawa ignored you, tucking the right side over her and folding the bottom corner up like a perfect origami fold. He even double-checked the hip room—"Don't want to mess up her joints," he added like he was quoting a textbook.
He lifted her up again, this time in a clean, cozy, perfect little swaddle.
“Swaddle sensei,” you muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me to trademark that.”
You walked over and rested your head on his shoulder, watching the now sleeping bundle of daughter breathe peacefully against his chest.
“How are you so calm?”
He glanced at you, eyes soft. “Because you're not.”
You smiled.
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You both tiptoed back to bed, two bassinets now filled with sleeping girls, your hearts full and your bodies aching. As you crawled under the blanket, you looked at him and whispered:
"One down. Fifteen hundred swaddles to go."
He smirked. "Bring it."
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