Katsuki never thought a tiny human could wreck his life this much.

He’d survived a war. Stared death in the face more times than he could count. He had scars carved deep into his skin, a reminder of every fight he barely crawled out of alive. He’d battled villains that could level entire cities, and he’d done it all without hesitation. He was strong, relentless, unstoppable.

And yet, somehow, a six-pound baby had completely destroyed him.

Katzuki was small, soft, and so fucking loud. The second he cried, it rattled through Katsuki’s entire being, hitting something deep in his chest that he hadn’t even known existed. It was terrifying. Exhausting. He and Izuku hadn’t slept for more than three hours at a time in weeks. The apartment was a mess, and both of them were running on fumes. Izuku kept trying to be the responsible one, pushing himself too hard, and Katsuki had to fight to get him to rest. But neither of them could truly relax when every whimper and cry from their son made their instincts flare up.

The aftermath of the Final War had left them battered and broken, but at least they’d had control over their own bodies. Now? They weren’t in charge anymore. This tiny, squirming little person dictated their every move, and it was the hardest thing Katsuki had ever done.

Izuku had prepared for this. He’d read the books, taken the advice, made plans. But no amount of research could prepare them for the sheer chaos of parenthood. Katzuki was unpredictable—one second calm, the next wailing for reasons they couldn’t understand. Izuku hated not knowing how to help, and Katsuki hated feeling useless. But for all the sleepless nights, the frustration, and the overwhelming weight of responsibility, there were moments that made it worth it.

Like the way Katzuki’s tiny fingers clung to his own. The warmth of Izuku’s body beside him in bed, their son cradled between them. The quiet moments where, despite everything, they just knew—they were in this together.

And somehow, they’d figure it out.