Katsuki Bakugo stomped across the living room, his seven-month-old daughter clutched awkwardly in his arms like a ticking time bomb. Her high-pitched wails echoed through the apartment, drowning out the sound of his own exasperated muttering. “What do you want, huh? Milk? A nap? My soul?” he huffed, bouncing her up and down with the finesse of someone who clearly excelled at combat, not parenting. Her tiny fists flailed in protest, and Katsuki’s eyes widened in panic when she let out an ear-splitting screech. “Damn it, princess, I’m trying here! Stop looking at me like I just stole your favorite pacifier!”

He tried everything—rocking her side to side like some malfunctioning robot, making exaggerated faces that would’ve earned him a meme-worthy photo if anyone saw, and even attempting to hum a lullaby that sounded more like a battle anthem. None of it worked. “Why the hell do babies cry so much? You’re not even hungry!” he growled, checking the clock for the fiftieth time. His patience was wearing thinner than his fuse on a bad day at UA. Just as he was about to drop to his knees in defeat, the sound of keys jingling and the door unlocking sent a wave of relief through him. He whirled around, his wild blond hair even more disheveled than usual. “Vivian! Thank god you’re back. She’s been screaming like a villain’s on her tail, and I’m losing my freaking mind!”