Mha eri’s accident

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon of Musutafu, leaving the Midoriya apartment bathed in the low, warm hum of the evening lamps. For Izumi Midoriya, however, the peaceful atmosphere was a thin veil over a growing mountain of exhaustion. She stood in the laundry room, the rhythmic thrum of the washing machine vibrating through her tired bones.

For the fifth time this week, she was washing Eri’s bedsheets.

Izumi leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the dryer, her green curls falling over her face. She loved Eri—loved her with a fierce, maternal intensity that had only grown since she’d officially adopted the girl following the harrowing battle with Overhaul. But the trauma of the Shie Hassaikai didn't just vanish with a rescue. It lingered in the way Eri flinched at loud noises, the way she picked at her food, and, most persistently, in the way her body betrayed her during the night.

The bedwetting was a symptom of a deep-seated fear that even Recovery Girl’s healing couldn’t touch. Izumi had tried everything: limiting fluids before bed, setting alarms to wake Eri up for bathroom breaks, and endless words of reassurance. But the laundry was piling up, the mattress was suffering despite the protectors, and Izumi was reaching a breaking point of pure, physical fatigue.

She looked down at the plastic shopping bag sitting on the counter. Inside was a jumbo pack of high-absorbency youth diapers. She had stared at them in the store for twenty minutes, feeling a wave of guilt so thick it nearly choked her. Eri was growing; she was trying so hard to be a 'big girl.' This felt like a step backward. But Izumi knew they both needed sleep that wasn't interrupted by cold, wet sheets and the subsequent midnight scrub-downs.

Taking a deep breath, Izumi grabbed the bag and made her way toward Eri’s room.

Eri was sitting on her bed, clutching a small stuffed cat Izumi had bought her. She looked up as the door creaked open, her large, crimson eyes tracking Izumi’s movement. When her gaze landed on the crinkling plastic bag, her expression shifted from curiosity to a sharp, instinctive dread.

"Eri, honey," Izumi began, her voice soft but strained. "We need to talk about bedtime."

Eri pulled the stuffed cat closer to her chest, her knuckles turning white. "I... I tried, Mommy. I didn't drink any water after dinner. I promise."

Izumi sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She pulled the package out of the bag. The bright, colorful characters on the plastic wrap felt mockingly cheerful. "I know you tried, Eri. I’m not mad about the mess. But we’re both getting really tired, aren’t we? I bought these to help us. Just for nighttime."

Eri’s eyes widened, her breathing hitching in her throat. She scrambled back toward the headboard, her small frame trembling. "No. No, please. Those are for babies. I'm not a baby anymore. Chisaki... he said I was a broken toy, but I’m not a baby!"

The mention of Overhaul’s name made Izumi’s heart ache, but she stood her ground. "This isn't about being a baby, Eri. It’s about making sure you can sleep through the night without waking up cold and upset. It’s just a tool, like a bandage."

"I don't want them!" Eri cried, her voice rising in a rare show of defiance. "I'll stay awake! I'll stay awake all night so I don't do it! Please, Izumi-mommy, don't make me!"

Izumi sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Eri, staying awake isn't an option. You need your rest to grow. We’ve talked about this. The laundry, the scrubbing... it’s too much for me right now, and it’s stressful for you. We are going to try these tonight."

"No!" Eri shouted, her stubbornness flaring up fueled by pure, unadulterated panic. She kicked her legs out, trying to push the package away from the bed.

Izumi felt a flash of frustration. She was a hero; she had fought villains that could level cities, but navigating the emotional minefield of a traumatized child was proving to be her greatest challenge. She set the package down on the nightstand and stood up, her posture shifting. Her voice dropped an octave, losing its soft edge and replacing it with the firm, authoritative tone she used when she was wearing her hero costume.

"Eri, listen to me," Izumi said, her green eyes locking onto the girl’s. "I am trying to be patient, but this is happening. You are going to wear these tonight so we can both get some peace. Now, we can do this the easy way, where you put them on yourself and we read a story, or we can do it the hard way."

Eri shook her head violently, tears beginning to track down her pale cheeks. "No! I won't!"

"If you don't put them on willingly," Izumi said, her heart heavy but her resolve set, "I am going to have to hold you down and put them on you myself. I don't want to do that, Eri. Please don't make me do that."

"You can't make me!" Eri wailed, her fear turning into a desperate, cornered energy.

Izumi felt a pang of guilt, but she knew that if she backed down now, the cycle would never end. She needed to be the parent. "I’m going to count to three, Eri. One."

Eri scrambled to the far corner of the bed, her breath coming in jagged gasps.

"Two."

"Stop it! Go away!"

"Three."

Izumi didn't hesitate. She rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, exposing the faint scars on her arms—reminders of her own struggles and the power she carried. She moved forward, reaching out to grab Eri’s ankles to pull her toward the center of the bed.

"No! Get off!" Eri screamed.

The girl was surprisingly strong for her size, fueled by a surge of adrenaline. As Izumi leaned over her, trying to pin her legs down with one arm while reaching for a diaper with the other, Eri began to thrash wildly. It wasn't just a tantrum; it was a flashback-induced fight for her life. To Eri, the loss of control felt like being back in that lab.

"Eri, stay still!" Izumi grunted, trying to be gentle despite the chaos. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

Eri’s small fist flew out in a blind, panicked arc. *Crack.*

The punch landed squarely on Izumi’s cheekbone. It wasn't the strength of a pro hero, but the shock of it was enough to make Izumi recoil. She gasped, her hand flying to her face as her head snapped to the side. The room went silent for a heartbeat, save for Eri’s heavy sobbing.

Izumi sat on her heels, her hand cupping her stinging cheek. She could feel the heat blooming under her skin. For a moment, she just breathed, her eyes closed, fighting back the urge to cry herself. The weight of the world felt like it was resting entirely on her shoulders.

Eri froze, her eyes wide with horror as she realized what she’d done. "I... I..."

Izumi took a long, deep breath, centering herself. She opened her eyes, and while they were glassy, they were steady.

"That really hurt, Eri," Izumi said, her voice trembling slightly but regaining its firmness.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Eri sobbed, curling into a ball.

"I know you are," Izumi said, reaching out again, her movements slower but no less determined. "But we are finishing this. And because you hit me, you are getting a time-out as soon as this is over. No stories tonight. No extra cuddles. You have to learn that we don't use our hands to hurt people, even when we're scared."

Izumi moved back in, and this time, she didn't give Eri the chance to strike again. She used her superior strength to firmly, but carefully, pin Eri’s hips down with her knees. Eri continued to struggle, her cries turning into exhausted whimpers, but Izumi worked with practiced efficiency.

The crinkle of the diaper was loud in the small room. Izumi moved Eri’s pajama bottoms down, the girl’s skin cool against her hands. Eri’s legs kicked weakly, but Izumi held her firm, sliding the thick, padded garment underneath her.

"Please, Mommy, please," Eri whispered, her face buried in the pillow.

"I've got you," Izumi murmured, her heart breaking even as she tightened the adhesive tabs. "I've got you. It’s okay to be upset, but it’s not okay to hit."

Once the diaper was secure and the pajamas were pulled back up, Izumi let go. Eri immediately scrambled to the edge of the bed, curling into the smallest shape possible, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Izumi stood up, smoothing out her shirt. Her cheek was definitely going to bruise. She felt like the world’s worst mother, yet she knew that the alternative—letting the exhaustion and the hygiene issues spiral—was worse for both of them.

"I'm going to go get an ice pack," Izumi said, her voice weary. "You stay right here. This is your time-out. You need to think about why we don't hit, and I need a moment to breathe."

She walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. As soon as she was in the hallway, she slumped against the wall, sliding down until she hit the floor. She buried her face in her hands.

She thought of All Might, of his unwavering smile. She thought of her mother, Inko, and the endless patience she’d shown Izumi when she was a quirkless, crying mess of a child. Being a hero was easy compared to this. Fighting villains was a matter of math and force; raising a child was a matter of soul and endurance.

After ten minutes, Izumi stood up. She went to the kitchen, wrapped some ice in a towel, and pressed it to her face. The cold helped dull the throbbing. She headed back to Eri’s room.

When she entered, Eri hadn't moved. She looked so small in the big bed.

Izumi sat down on the edge of the mattress again. "Is the time-out over?" Eri whispered into the dark.

"Yes," Izumi said. "Do you understand why I had to do that? Both the diaper and the time-out?"

Eri turned over slowly, her eyes red and puffy. She looked down at the slight bulge of the diaper beneath her pajama pants and then up at Izumi’s bruised face. "Because... because you're tired. And because hitting is bad."

"I'm not just tired, Eri. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to wake up dry and happy. And I need you to trust me, even when I'm doing something you don't like."

Eri crawled across the bed, tentatively reaching out to touch the edge of the ice pack. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"A little," Izumi admitted. "But I'll be okay."

Eri leaned forward, resting her head against Izumi’s shoulder. The crinkle of the diaper was audible between them, a physical manifestation of a difficult boundary being set.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Eri whispered. "I was just... I was scared of being a baby again."

Izumi wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her close. "You could never be a baby again, Eri. You're the bravest girl I know. You've fought things most adults couldn't handle. This? This is just us taking care of ourselves."

They sat there for a long time in the quiet room. The tension hadn't fully vanished, but the bridge had been mended. Izumi knew tomorrow might bring another struggle, another load of laundry, or another moment of fear. But as she tucked Eri under the covers—dry, for now—she knew they would face it the way they faced everything else.

One step, one breath, and one night at a time.

"Goodnight, Eri," Izumi whispered, kissing the girl’s forehead.

"Goodnight, Mommy," Eri replied, her voice heavy with sleep.

Izumi walked to the door, pausing to look back. Eri was already drifting off, the exhaustion of the struggle finally claiming her. Izumi touched her bruised cheek one last time, a small, tired smile touching her lips. It wasn't the perfect night she’d envisioned when she’d first brought Eri home, but it was real. And in their world, real was enough.