Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You can't just leave!" Katsuki's voice cracked mid-shout.

"I already did," she said, slipping the keys onto the counter like she had a choice, this wasn't a choice. This was their life.

Their kid—his kid—was asleep in the next room. This wasn't a fucking choice. It was a decision.

"You'll figure it out," she added, like parenting was some side quest.

The door clicked shut. Katsuki stood still for five whole minutes before he sat on the floor and swore until his throat gave out.

~

Was it love he had been looking for?

Katsuki didn't know. He'd been turning the question in his head over and over. Something was missing.

He had everything—or so he thought. For years, being a pro had been the only thing that mattered. The top. Number one

And now? He had it. Sure he wasn't number one. But he was pro. His name now meant something. His agency was solid. His face was on billboards and magazines.

Katsuki scratched his brain raw trying to figure it out. After UA, he took off like a rocket, no looking back. His classmates? They had their own shit. He didn't need them. He had a plan, and none of them fit in it.

Work and reputation. Repeat.

He still texted them, sure. Maybe even grabbed a bear once a month like a normal human. But Katsuki Bakugo didn't settle. He didn't slow down. He didn't need anyone.

Besides, each one of his classmates had their own lives, their own goals to chase. They all became pro heroes.

Well, except for Izuku. He lost his quirk.

He ended up becoming a teacher at U.A.—because even without the power to fulfill his dream, he still wanted to stay connected to the hero world somehow. Katsuki hadn't visited him much since graduation. Maybe once a month, or a call? He was busy now.

Katsuki was also an accidental father. He didn't have time.

But he was completely fine with that.

At least, that's what he told himself.

And maybe... maybe he was scared of fully talking to the guy. After the war, when he saw Izuku, he'd cried—openly, stupidly—saying it was his fault Izuku lost his quirk.

And the thing was... it was.

So Katsuki made himself a promise: he couldn't face Izuku again until he figured out a way to bring him back into the ranks. Until he found a fix. A solution. Something.

But he couldn't avoid the damn nerd forever. So yeah, he visited. Just...not as much as he probably should've. Not as much as he wanted to. The guilt was too heavy, too loud.

Because he still hadn't fixed it.

And Katsuki didn't break things without fixing them. Not the shit that mattered.

Especially not him.

~

She was three when her mom walked out.

Akia didn't cry. Not really. She just clung to Katsuki's leg and asked if they were still having curry for dinner.

She didn't understand yet. But Katsuki did.

He looked down at the little girl who had his scowl, his eyes, and her mother's soft wavy curls. Freckles were dusted across her cheeks like tiny burns from a fire, and god, she even pouted like him.

"Yeah," he said, throat tight. "We're still having curry."

~

As she got older, the signs of her trouble-making skills started to grow.

"Akia?" Katsuki called, towel slung over his shoulder from the shower, water still dripping down his back.

Silence.

That's never a good sign.

He walks into the living room—and there she was. Four years old, standing on the damn coffee table, one of his grenade gauntlets strapped to her arm. Upside down.

"Hey! Put that down!"

She flinches, wide-eyed, but then her little mouth curled into a grin.

"I wanna be a boom-boom hero like you, Daddy!"

"You'll be a splat on the wall if that thing goes off!"

He yanks it off her arm, heart slamming in his chest like he just got hit with a stun grenade.

She looks up at him, pouting, curls a mess, freckles scrunched at her nose. "But I'm strong. Like you."

He softens—just barely. Enough to ruffle her hair and grunt out, "Yeah, you are. But you're not blowing up my living room to prove it."

~

As Akia turned six, it was then when she developed a quirk that was anything but easy to control.

It was an early Saturday morning. Katsuki dried his hands on the towel slung over the towel rack, glancing at the mess of toys and coloring books scattered across the living room floor. Akia had been unusually quiet for the last ten minutes. And how on earth could that be good?

"Akia," he called, voice edged with suspicion. "You better not be drawing on the god damn walls again."

There was no answer.

He strode down the hallway, pausing outside her room. The door was half-shut, a weird shimmer leaking from the crack between. He frowned.

"...Akia?"

When he pushed the door open, the air changed. Not colder. Not warmer. Just...something was wrong. The space felt bent—like reality itself had folded into a crumple. Her walls had ripples, like the surface of a river. Her posters floated slightly off-kilter. And in the middle of the room stood Akia, fists clenched, tears brimming, and her whole body glowing faint violet.

"Daddy," she whispered, voice small and shaking. "I don't—I don't know what's happening—"

Without warning, a stuffed animal rabbit behind her twisted in the air, then snapped in two.

Katsuki's gut dropped.

"Shit—okay, hey, hey." He raised his hands, slowly stepping forward. "Akia. Look at me. Breathe. What's going on, huh?"

"I got mad," she whispered, breathing fast. "The marker broke and then I got mad, then my hands felt hot and now this happened."

Another crack peeled through the air, a sharp tear like a sudden hiccup. Her lamp was warping at the edges, light bleeding into a purple haze.

"Stop it!" Katsuki barked out before he could stop himself. "Akia—control it!"

She flinched. The violet glow flared like flames.

He cursed under his breath and closed the distance in two steps, crouching in front of her. "No, no—damn it. Okay. Not like that."

Her bottom lip quivered, eyes glassy, scared out of her damn mind. And Katsuki... he felt it in his chest. His daughter wasn't throwing a fit, she was fucking terrified.

His voice softened. Still rough, but somewhat gentler. "Kid. You're alright. Look at me."

She blinked, tears falling. "I didn't mean to—everything's breaking—"

"Stop. You're not breaking anything," he said, brushing her curls from her face, forcing calm into his voice even though he was freaking the fuck out. "You're just scared. That's all."

Another pulse of violet flickered across her skin—but it was fading.

There we go.

"I got you," he murmured. "I'm right here, okay? I ain't going anywhere."

She threw himself into his arms, small fists clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. The glow fizzled out as fast as it came. The room was quiet again.

Katsuki didn't move. He just held her tight, fingers splayed across her back. Shielding her.

"Is it gone?" she mumbled.

"For now," he said quietly. "But we're gonna figure it out. Together."

He didn't say it out loud, but his hands were still shaking.

But not from her power.

From what it could do to her.

And for once, Katsuki didn't have a damn clue on how to fix it.

~

Ever since her quirk had developed, she'd been a hassle to keep in check. Constantly losing control and getting herself into trouble.

It happened on a day like any other—until the call came. The school was blowing up his phone about Akia going "out of control." No way Katsuki was gonna ignore that. He had to see it for himself.

By the time he got to the school, the hall was already a mess. Lockers dented inward, cracked tiles scattered like confetti. And there she was—Akia, standing tall, fists clenched, wild energy humming around her like a damn storm ready to blow.

"Damn it, Akia!" Katsuki barked, heart pounding harder than any explosion he'd made. "You gotta control that shit!"

She flinched, eyes wide, but didn't back down. Katsuki's jaw tightened. Seeing her like this—so powerful and so damn out of control—made his gut twist.

"Why can't you just chill for one second?" he growled, voice low, trying to keep her from breaking down. Because if she broke, he wasn't sure he could hold it together either.

Akia's chest heaved, little fists trembling as the glow under her skin dimmed slowly, like a dying ember. Her eyes flicked up to him, scared, but stubborn.

"Sorry," she whispered, voice cracking like a busted speaker. "I didn't mean to..."

Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, the weight of it all crushing down on him. "I know, damn it. But you gotta learn to keep that shit in check. You're not some ticking bomb waiting to blow."

He crouched down, trying to meet her eyes without seeming to angry. "We're gonna fix this. But you have to trust me."

She nodded, sniffling. Katsuki felt a rare flicker of something unfamiliar—maybe hope?

But damn it, this wasn't going to be easy at all. Not for either of them.

~

Katsuki didn't really know why he hadn't told anyone about Akia.

At first, it was just time. Or the lack of it. When Kirishima or Kaminari asked about the girl he met at that one party, he brushed it off with a grunt and a "Mistake. Wasn't anything serious."

She wasn't the one. End of story.

The word baby never made it to his tongue. Never even crossed his mind like something that needed to be said out loud.

Hell, he barely talked to people these days anyway. Why would it matter?

But when Akia's quirk showed up, loud and chaotic and wrong, he knew. He couldn't tell a soul.

Because Akia's quirk was just unpredictable—it was dangerous. Too unstable. Too loud. Too much.

And if anyone found out he had a kid with that kind of power? No. He couldn't risk it.

He tried to pretend his reasons were logical. Strategic. Professional.

A kid like that could ruin his reputation. People would say he was reckless. Careless. That it was his fault.

But deep down, he knew that was bullshit.

It wasn't about him.

It never had been.

He didn't know how to love people properly, never had. But with Akia? It was instinct. No manual, no prep, just raw, blinding protection.

That was his daughter.

His responsibility.

And so, he told no one.

When she had her first outburst at school—scared the hell out of her teacher and blew out the classroom windows—Katsuki didn't wait for a second incident. He pulled her out.

Education mattered, sure. But so did safety. And he was smart enough to homeschool her. He could make it work. Fewer shifts. More time at home. No big deal.

Because Katsuki had run through every terrifying possibility in his head.

She could end up like how Eri had been. Used. Experimented on.

Or worse—the Japanese government could deem her unstable. Dangerous. Someone else's problem. Not a child. Not his child.

She could be stolen and raised as a villain as well. No way would he let that happen.

Nope. None of it.

Akia had never met any other adult because of this. She was basically alone. Akia tried to question Katsuki about this before. But he pushed it off. So she never got a straight answer.

Akia was his. His kid. His fight. His to protect.

And if the whole damn world tried to come for her?

They'd have to get through him first.

~

It almost felt like each few months her power grew stronger and stronger.

Because next, it started with a flicker.

Katsuki barely had time to turn around before the air behind him shifted—he felt it more than saw it. A static buzz prickled down his arms. Then came the sound. That low, warbled hum that always seemed to come right before Akia lost control.

He spun back, eyes wide. "Akia?"

She stood at the far end of their apartment's tiny training area—her training mat scorched at the edges. Her eyes were wide and glassy, pupils swallowed by violet light. Her hands trembled at her sides. The air around her shimmered like heat waves, warping the space just slightly.

"Don't come closer," she spoke sternly.

Her voice cracked on the last word,

Katsuki didn't listen. "What happened?" he asked, low and steady, as he slowly stepped toward her. "Hey. Look at me."

"I tried to stop it," she said, clutching her fists to her chest. "I really did, Dad. I was just mad because I messed up the combo again and it just—"

A spark snapped from her hands.

Katsuki cursed under his breath. His feet slid slightly as the floor beneath her started to tremble—not violently, not yet, but enough to see the thin spiderweb fractures starting to form in the concrete under her feet.

"Okay, okay," he said quickly, changing his tone. "It's alright. You're okay, kid. Just breathe."

But she was already gone.

A pulse of distorted energy surged outward from her chest—not an explosion, not yet, but enough to knock over the standing mirror across the room with a shattering crash. Lights flickered. The pressure in the air made Katsuki's ears pop.

She cried out, stepping back as if trying to stop it—but it only got worse.

"Please stop!" she screamed. "It hurts!"

Her voice echoed weirdly, like it bounced through a tunnel that didn't exist. The wall warped around her.

Katsuki winched, shielding his eyes to a second, then growled through his teeth. "Akia. Stop. You gotta—"

And then he saw her face.

Not rage. Not pouting. Not sad.

It was a look she'd given him before. But worse.

Terror.

His whole chest cracked in half.

His tone dropped. "No. Fuck. Okay—shit—alright baby, it's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

He crouched slowly, arms open, palms empty.

"Come here, sweetheart," he said, soft as hell. "I got you. You're not bad. You're just scared. I'm here."

She blinked.

Her lip wobbled.

Then she ran into his arms like her legs had just finally remembered how to work.

The second he held her, the energy around them stopped to a halt—the fizzled out, like steam from a kettle. The pressure in the room dropped. The warping stopped. Her power didn't vanish, it just folded away.

She sobbed against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry! I don't know why it does that, I didn't mean to I promise—"

"I know," he interrupted, holding her tight, his own throat tight. "I know you didn't."

He looked down at the cracked floor beneath her little feet. The way the walls still had tiny swirls into them.

And he knew it then.

This wasn't something she could just "grow out of". This wasn't a phase or a fluke. It wasn't something she could take teaching herself how to train.

She needed help. Real help.

He wasn't enough—not by himself.

"..I'm gonna get you help," he muttered into her hair. "Promise... this time I promise... I'll get you some help."

~

By the time Akia hit ten, Katsuki was pretty sure the universe had sent him the most powerful little gremlin it could find and said, "Good luck, dumbass."

Thanks, universe.

"I said I don't wanna do meditation crap, it's boring!" she shouted from across the apartment, voice echoing through the walls.

Katsuki slammed the fridge shut, face already twitching. "Yeah? And I don't wanna be scraping the holes in the wall every time you throw a tantrum, but here we are."

Behind him, the lights flickered.

That wasn't a threat.

That was her sass.

"Akia," he warned, turning to see her standing in the hallway, eyes blazing faint violet and the air around her warping slightly, like a heatwave. "Breathe. Now."

She sucked in a breath through her nose. Tried. Failed. The apartment trembled.

"Shit," Katsuki muttered, yanking open the bottom drawer of the kitchen and grabbing one of the suppressor cuffs he kept around. Temporary band-aid. Not a fix. "Wrist. Now."

She stomped forward and shoved her arm out, scowling the whole time. "This is so unfair."

"Yeah? Life's unfair sometimes. Deal with it," he snapped, clicking the cuff around her wrist. The device whirred softly, dimming the simmer in the air. Akia deflated like a balloon.

Silence.

"You good now?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She flopped onto the couch looking visibly exhausted. "I hate this thing. It makes me feel like a baby. Weak."

"You're a baby with the power to rewrite reality when you're pissed off. So yeah, you're wearin' the damn bracelet. Sorry it makes you feel tired."

The cuff wasn't store-bought. Not even close. It was custom—designed by Mei Hatsume after Katsuki barged into her lab with panic in his chest and a story he didn't want to tell. She'd taken one look at his frazzled ass and grinned like it was Christmas morning. He'd never come to visit her. Hell, she was the last person Katsuki would ever have wanted to visit. But he was desperate, and she was the only one who could help.

"Bakugo, you've got a walking singularity on your hands," she'd said, practically foaming at the mouth. "Lemme cook."

And she did. The cuff was sleek, matte black, faint violet circuits pulsing under the surface like a heartbeat. It glowed brighter when Akia lost control, diffusing just enough of her quirk to stop reality from curling at the edges.

The only major side effect? It mentally and physically drained Akia for the rest of the day. So Katsuki promised he wouldn't use it unless she absolutely lost control. If she could regulate her emotions, he'd trust her to manage without it. Which was hard for her.

The thing had damn near exploded during the early testing, but Hatsume had upgraded it over the years. Katsuki now kept two backups stashed in the closet—just in case.

He let out a long breath as Akia kicked her legs over the arm of the couch, still grumbling but no longer shimmering like a preteen time bomb.

Another crisis, barely dodged.

But every time she lost control, every time that chaotic energy cracked through the seams—it scared the shit out of him.

Because the truth was, he didn't know how long these patches would hold.

And deep down, he knew he couldn't keep doing this alone.

Chapter Text

Katsuki sat across from Akia at the shitty kitchen table. The single overhead bulb threw sharp shadows across his face. His elbows dug into the wood, fingers clawing through his hair like he was trying to choke the mess out of his head. His eyes flicked up at her once, then darted away. Guilt hit him like a freight train and kept him pinned.

Akia didn’t look up. Her eyes were glued to the scuffed floorboards, knees pulled tight to her chest like she was trying to make herself small enough to disappear. She hadn’t said shit since yesterday. The day her power exploded and everything broke. The whole damn apartment was a wreck. Broken glass littered the floor, ceiling scars stared down like battle wounds. He’d spent all day picking up the mess.

But no. 

The damage hadn’t just been physical.

The air still felt cracked, warped like a broken mirror. Jagged shards of her energy sliced through walls, gouged the plaster, splintered the furniture. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. The debris, the chaos… the failure. Honestly, he had no idea how they hadn’t gotten kicked out by the landlord yet. 

At this point, sleep was a fucking joke. The ceiling stared back cold, unforgiving. He counted cracks, ran useless numbers through his head. Hell, he’d even tried counting god damn sheep. But the truth kept pounding. Why does he fuck up so bad time after time again?

His mind dragged him back to the silence after the storm, Akia’s voice small and raw as she whispered sorrys that barely made it out. How something so tiny could wreck everything. Her power was a wild fucking beast, raw and untamed, nothing like his explosions, nothing like her mom’s weak-ass quirk. He didn’t know where it came from, and that scared the hell out of him.

No one. No one he trusted could teach her. No one he could hand his daughter’s life and power over to without feeling like he was signing her death warrant. And he wouldn’t dare ever to abandon her. 

Katsuki might’ve been a dick. An asshole. A bitch. Whatever people continue to call him nowadays. He might have lost some ranks for his brash personality and snarky comments. And sure, he had never been the most fond of children. He thought they were gross, a waste of time. Not his kid. He might have done terrible things in his life, but abandoning his little girl was something he had never thought once of doing.

His phone buzzed sharply on the counter, pulling him out of his thoughts. He snapped his head toward it, catching Akia’s eyes on the screen for the first time in hours. 

He shoved himself out of the chair, feet thudding on the floor, and grabbed his phone.

It was…Kirishima.

That didn’t surprise him.

Kirishima

the group and I are heading to the bar. wanna come?

His gut twisted. No fucking way. Kirishima and the crew were the last thing he needed. They were loud, annoying, and half the time, Katsuki wanted to blow them through a wall just for existing. He always said no. Every damn time.

But Kirishima kept asking. Like a damn broken record. Like he didn’t care that Katsuki’s answer was always ‘Fuck off’. Maybe he just knew Katsuki too well. Persistent bastard, always chipping away at the wall, Katsuki swore would never crack.

Maybe tonight was different… Maybe he needed a break. Week copped up, barely getting any fucking sleep. Barely even surviving. He pulled Akia from school, cut shifts down to all-nighters so he could watch her himself. Babysitters weren’t an option, she was too much. Too unpredictable.

He tapped the driest reply he could manage:

Bakugo

kay

And of course, right on time, the guy spammed back within minutes:

Kirishima

what

just k?

wth does that even mean bro?

answer

now

answer

are you coming or…?

Katuski rolled his eyes and fired back:

Bakugo

Omg are you fucking stupid? Why else would I say kay?

I’m coming idiot. Sumibi, right?

The one downtown Musutafa?

Kirishima

holy shit you mean youre actually coming?

Bakugo

Never mind forget this shit

Kirishima

NO DUDE

shit sorry, it’s just we haven’t hung out since december yknow

you really gonna swing by?

Bakugo

I was gonna do more than swing by but if you don’t want me there then fine

Kirishima

Baku shut tf up of course we want you there

Mina’s been fussing bout seeing you for months istg

also yeah its Sumibi again

youre cool with that right? Ik it’s not exactly ur style but

Bakugo

Don’t tell me to shut up you bastard

Yeah its fine

Kirishima

Alright! See you around 8, okay?

Katsuki let out a short laugh—half bitter, half amused. Kirishima had a way of dragging a smile out of him even on his worst days. Pissed him off way less than Kaminari or Mina ever did.

He pocketed the phone and glanced back at Akia. Her eyes flicked away, back to the floor. Small fists clenched tight on her knees.

The lump in his throat burned like ash. He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved back toward her. She was still curled up like she hadn’t moved in hours. Feet barely dangled off the chair, curls draped over her face like a curtain she didn’t bother to pull aside.

He stopped beside her.

“Kid,” he muttered, voice rough, “I’m heading out tonight.”

Her head snapped up so fast it nearly made him jump. Wide, red eyes locked on him with confusion.

“Tonight?” Her voice cracked. “Dad, you never go out. Where are you going?”

Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, keeping his tone flat. “Out. With friends. No big deal.”

Something shifted in her face. He didn’t miss it. Not after all the hours spent decoding her moods. Her eyes dimmed, shoulders tensed, and mouth twisted bitterly. For some reason, the word betrayed rang in his mind more than once.

“...Friends?” she echoed, softer. “You have friends?”

No sass. No sarcasm. Just pure confusion. It hit him harder than he expected it to.

He forced a scoff. “What the hell? ‘Course I got friends. I ain’t some sad, lonely loser.” He smirked, but it fell empty.

It wasn’t her fault. He never talked about anyone. Barely mentioned names outside of bills and work. To Akia, this place was everything. He’d pulled her from school, stopped taking her out, locked the windows, and drawn the blinds. It was all “for her safety” after all.

She looked away, lips thin, then muttered, “Where are you going with your friends?”

Her eyes snapped back, bright and narrow like dying embers. Heat building, not literal yet, but close enough to start making him nervous.

“Just out,” he said, trying to be casual. “Gonna hang out. Nothing crazy.”

“Can I come?”

Fuck.

Katsuki blinked, throat tightening. The thought of her out in public, being seen, being recognized with him. It made him nervous. If anyone caught on to who she was, everything he’d fought for would shatter.

“Hell no.”

It came out harsher than he intended. Maybe that was a good thing.

Her face crumpled instantly. “What?! Why not? You can’t just leave me here alone!”

He exhaled, voice low and steady. “Akia, you’re fine. You’re old enough. You’ll be safe.”

“But I don’t want to stay here. I wanna go with you.” Her hands balled into fists in her lap.

No flickers, no rumble under the floor yet, but her voice was rising. It was sharp and frustrated. The kind that came just before the air bent and she lost control.

He crouched beside her, voice firm. “We talked about this. Until you get your Quirk under control, you’re not leaving the house. This is not up for discussion.”

“But I haven’t left in years. It’s so boring… and lonely.” Her voice cracked.

It hit him like a punch. Still, he didn’t flinch. He wasn’t weak.

“Akia,” he said, cutting through the air, “No.”

Her mouth slammed shut. She glared, gutted fury in her eyes. Though she didn’t argue again. Just crossed her arms, turned away like he was nothing.

That stung more than it should have. 

But this was for her. He’d chosen long ago, and it still stood. She’d understand eventually… right?

He grabbed a hoodie from the wall, slung it over one shoulder. Made sure there was food in the fridge—some easy stuff, quick to heat.

Before leaving, he paused. She hadn’t moved.

“I’ll be back before twelve,” he said, bending down to press a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She didn’t pull away, but didn’t lean into it either.

“Bracelet’s in the drawer. Same as always. Use it if you need it. Dinner’s in the fridge if you get hungry.”

She nodded. Tight. Silent. No words. Just that same shell she crawled into when she felt powerless. 

Katsuki lingered, watching her profile in the weak light.

She was so much like him it scared the shit out of him sometimes.

“See ya kid,” he said, turning the knob.

The door clicked shut.

She didn’t say anything back.

~

The drive downtown wasn’t far. Ten minutes tops. Not far, but Katsuki can’t shake Akia’s face from his brain. That look she gave him? Offended maybe? Betrayed? It was like the world just handed her a slap in the face. The words rang loud in his head, like some damn alarm he couldn’t switch off. And how could he possibly blame her? He’d always shut her out, locked her out. Almost like some side character in his hero drama.

But fuck it. Not tonight. Tonight, he’s ghosting all that parental guilt and drowning himself in some time alone with people who care about him.

Who’s he kidding? How the hell do you just turn that off?

Downtown Musutafa was its usual mess at this time. Neon lights throwing ugly colors on cracked sidewalks, steam sneaking out of street grates like the city was exhaling toxic shit. The air tasted like grease and exhaust with a side of stale rain on dirty concrete. Yeah, it was alive… but not pretty. Katsuki wasn’t about that “city charm” hype. He didn’t find much pretty anymore, honestly.

His car growled through a maze of taxis and skateboarding kids who thought the streets belonged to them. 7:50 pm, and he wondered why these kids weren’t home, probably adding to the chaos. He knew every damn inch of this town. The alleys with garbage mountains, the bars squeezed between rundown apartments. It was impressive how well he knew this dump, but hey, being a pro meant you needed the streets memorized.

If Katsuki thought about it, he was the only pro who didn’t have a personal driver. Most pros rolled with them or had some blacked-out security SUVs. Not Katsuki. He liked being the boss. No way he’d let some stranger decide how fast he cornered or where he went. Life? Control was all he had left. And even that was dwindling.

He tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music thumping through the speakers, trying to lose himself for just a little while. No kid drama. No Akia’s eyes telling him he’d fucked up again.

But his brain wouldn’t shut up. The slump in her shoulders. The way she looked at him like he was a stranger. Okay, he needed to stop thinking of her. He left to clear his mind. Clear. Mind.

He parked in a grimy alley a block from the bar, killed the engine, and got out of the car. Outside, the city screamed. Sirens, loud-ass kids, flickering neon signs hanging on for dear life. He didn’t give a shit. 

Sumibi was a dump. It was half-hidden behind a flickering red sign that looked like it had survived three wars. But for some reason, it was popular as hell. People came for the booze, the beats, the sweet forgetfulness. That was exactly why Katsuki hated it. He liked places quiet enough to not smell other people’s bullshit.

Still, his friends loved this hole, and tonight, he was just along for the ride. No complaints.

The door creaked as he pushed in. Bass pulsed, rattling his ribs. Perfect. Just the noise he needed to shake off reality.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and cheap cologne. It smelled like sweat and spilled whiskey. 

Kirishima caught his eyes, half-grinning in the corner booth. Mina was waving him over like a maniac, nearly tipping their drinks. Katsuki rolled his eyes. Ejiro was chill, but the rest were loud as hell… except maybe Jiro. 

He slid in next to Kirishima, who smacked his back hard enough to shove him forward.

“Explosion boy, there you are! Thought you’d bail.” Oh, so they’re using nicknames again?

“As if, Shitty hair,” Katsuki replied, smirking. Kirishima’s face almost looked offended.

“You took your damn time.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grunted, no real bite. He was always stern with Kaminari.

The bartender poured him a neat whiskey without asking. Sumibi didn’t pretend.

Katsuki downed half the glass in one go, fire sliding down his throat. He said he came here to forget. That’s what he was going to do. Just for a little anyway.

He scanned the booth where his group was sitting. Kaminari was deep in a drunk convo with Sero, grinning like a lost puppy. Mina sat at the bar, whatever the hell she was drinking looked like acid. Jiro sipped her beer, stone-faced as always.

“Bakubabe,” Mina whined, voice sweet but sharp, “You’re late. We started betting on how long it’d take you.”

“Yeah,” Kaminari added, eyes sparkling, “I said ten. Sero said five. Kiri said you’d show up when you felt like it ‘cause you’re cool like that.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes again. “I was driving. Let me enjoy it.”

“Oh right right, Mr. ‘I do everything myself and don’t wanna get anyone to do it for me.’”

“Damn right,” Katsuki muttered, amusement flickering. “Can’t have some half-assed driver wreck my quiet time.”

“Honestly, kinda hot,” Mina teased. Kamiari almost choked.

“Shut up,” Katsuki barked, half-laughing, half-growling. He turned to Jiro. “Been here long?”

“Long enough to know Sero lost darts twice and owes Mina a drink. The lesson with little Eri ran late. She loved that guitar.”

Sero threw his hands up. “Rigged board!”

“You’ve been cooked,” Kirishima shot back, grinning. “Since high school, bro.”

“Stop, don’t start—”

Mina cut him off. “Oh my god, Kyoka! How’s little Eri? We haven’t seen her in forever.”

“She’s happy! Aizawa adopted her after Mandalay had her for a little while. Kota threw a fit when he found out she was leaving, but he visits once a week.”

Mina giggled. “That’s so cute! Little Eri deserves the world.”

“Why you calling her ‘little’? She like fifteen?” Kaminari slurred.

“She’s still little in my heart,” Mina started before Katsuki shut that shit down.

“Shut it, all of you,” he grumbled. “Came here to drink, not listen to you losers.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “You good, bro? You seem off.”

Katsuki's jaw clenched, but he shrugged it off. “I’m fine. Just needed a drink.”

They all knew better. The way he checked his phone every few seconds, waiting for a disaster about Akia (That they of course knew nothing about). He hated how his mind kept dragging him back to her. Usually, he could shove that shit down deep. Tonight? Guess not so much.

“Sure? You used to be the loudest here,” Mina pressed.

“I’m not here to be loud. Just to get my head straight.”

“Dramatic,” Jiro deadpanned, but her eyes softened. She always saw through his bullshit and didn’t poke unless necessary.

He liked that. Jiro wasn’t annoying. She took him seriously when it counted. That earned his respect.

Kirishima leaned back, his smile softer. “Been busy? We barely see you.”

“Yeah,” Sero chimed in, swirling ice. “You used to be here every other week. Now it’s like you're ghosting us.”

Mina’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Secret mission? Or what?”

Katsuki sighed. “Work shit. Life shit.”

Jiro raised a bro. “Life shit? Vague even for you.”

He smirked. “Keep it vague. Less idiots asking.”

“Hey,” Kaminari grinned, “I heard you slackin’. Is that why you dropped in ranks?”

Katsuki shot him a glare. “Quiet, Dunce face. None of your fuckin’ business.”

Sero laughed nervously, “Calm down, Kats. No need to snap.”

“Speaking of work…” Mina looked at Kaminari. “Still talk to the old crew? Our class?”

Katsuki’s grip tightened but then relaxed. “Haven’t seen ‘em in a minute I guess.”

“Makes sense. We do those hero reunions, but you never show.”

Mina’s eyes sparkled once more. “What about Midoriya?” 

Something in Katsuki’s chest squeezed, but his shoulders eased. “What about him? We don’t really talk. We’re not in each other’s way anymore.”

It was true. The war had changed everything. They’d carved out a truce. Izuku wasn’t an itch anymore. Just… there.

“Or you mean you’re not in his way,” Mina said softly. 

For some reason, that stung. Katsuki had been avoiding Izuku. The quilt was real—he’d stolen his quirk, his dream. Apologies didn’t… couldn’t fix that.

He didn’t deserve an apology either way.

“Izuku’s safer without me. He’s fine.”

“Dude, it ain’t your fault. He’s quirkless, but not because of you,” Sero said.

“I feel bad. Midoriya deserves so much. He saved us all, and no one talks about it. He doesn’t even get an invite to the hero ranking.”

Katsuki remembered Izuku’s broken smile when he told him he was quirkless again.

“...Quirkless again?”

“Yeah. But…But I was…born without a quirk to begin with, so I’m not really sad. I’m actually pretty happy I got to live this dream.” Izuku had said, sounding a lot happier than expected.

The weight of that settled in. Katsuki knew Izuku had been carrying his own hell. 

He sipped his cup. “Guess we both got scars.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to carry yours alone.”

The room seemed smaller suddenly, noise distant.

Katsuki blinked, caught in the silence between friends who knew too much.

He caught Jiro’s eyes again, and she seemed to read all of that in the small. Almost imperceptible way, he softened around the name. She didn’t push. He appreciated that.

He downed the last of his alcohol and signaled for another, feeling the burn settle into his bones. There was comfort in this, in the noise and the chatter, in the way they never let him sit in his own head for too long. But he also knew that when he left tonight, he’d have to face everything he’d been shoving to the side. He was not mentally prepared for that yet, so he ignored it for now.

“Y’know, maybe it’s about time you reach out to him.” Kaminari’s voice was surprisingly steady for all the drinks he had been slipping down. “I–I mean… if you're still sensitive… bout it. Maybe it means somethin… right?” Nope. Still sluggish.

Katsuki groaned, shaking his head. “Said it was none of your business”.

“No, but it is yours,” Jiro cut in quietly. Her voice was calm, steady, and soft, but it cut through him all the same. “He’s definitely not the only one who’s stuck in the past, you know?”

For a second, he didn’t know what to say. What exactly was she talking about? Had Izuku maybe given her signs that he was unhappy? When does she see him? He wanted to scream at them to shut the hell up, at the same time, grab her by the collar and insist that she tell him how often she sees him. He wanted to tell them to mind their own damn lives, and also tell him everything that has been happening with the nerd. He didn’t. But why did he feel like this? It was a bubbly feeling deep in his gut. He hated how they were right.

A sigh ripped from his chest before he could stop it. “Look, it’s complicated.” His voice was rough, tired. “You idiots wouldn’t get it.”

“Try us,” Mina challenged, grinning like a clown. “Seriously, Bakugo. You’re making yourself miserable. It shows. We’re just saying… maybe it’s time to stop pretending like it doesn’t matter anymore when it obviously does.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the familiar heat of frustration bubbling in his gut. “I’m not making myself miserable and it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m fine.”

There was a bitter taste on his tongue.

Sero tilted his head, giving him a look of doubt. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, bud.”

Why couldn’t they understand that he didn’t want to talk about this? He didn’t want to talk about Izuku. He came here to shut out his thoughts, out his feelings. Not bring them all up and new ones he didn’t even understand yet. He didn’t want this. It pissed him off. Akia was a problem he was already having trouble dealing with. His relationship with Izuku had been a problem he chose to ignore. To protect him. Even though deep down, a part of him ached to be with the boy. To see him, to touch him to— what the fuck was he talking about.

Katsuki shut up.

The last time he’d seen him, really talked to him, was a few months ago. Izuku’s eyes had been bright but obviously tired, his smile a little too forced. Katsuki could tell right away. He could see right through Izuku’s fake face. Katsuki remembered every damn detail of the visit, the way the weight of everything they’d been through pressed between an unspoken confession. He remembered Izuku’s laugh, how it was soft and genuine when he told him he was okay with losing his quirk again.

Like he’d never needed it in the first place.

Katsuki clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. He hated that. Hated not Izuku could look so at peace with something that should’ve wrecked him. 

You’re so fucking stubborn, Deku… The thought was automatic, but it didn’t sting like it once used to. It was almost fond now. He let the name roll around in his mind, tasting it. Deku. Izuku. The one person who’d always been there. The one person who’s always been within reach. 

He closed his eyes, forcing a slow exhale. In the distance, he could hear the muffled laughter from inside the bar, the pulse of the music. His friends. His life. All the things he thought he wanted to keep separate from that past.

He was so goddamn tired of pretending he was okay with it.

But he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

~

Katsuki checked the time on his phone, the numbers glowing back at him brightly, causing his eyes to squint shut from the sudden light. 12:47 AM.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the whiskey he’d knocked back earlier doing jack shit to calm the pulse of dread throbbing at the base of his skull. Akia was going to kill him. He’d promised he’d be home before midnight. Swore on it, actually. And she didn’t take broken promises lightly. She’d never had. Ever since she started doing those little ‘pinky promises,’ she’d treated them like the world might fall apart if someone didn’t follow through.

Katsuki figured it was her way of trying to keep something for herself. After everything had been taken—school, normalcy, any goddamn chance at a regular childhood—keeping a promise became one of the only things that made her feel like she still had control. And keeping them? That was something he could at least try to do right. But of course he had to fuck things up. 

Not that it’d be the first time he let her down.

Around him, the bar was alive in that kind of way that made it feel like a whole nother world. Music thudded from an old speaker in the world, too loud to be background but not loud enough to drown out thoughts. Laughter bounced between sticky walls, full of the kind of carefree energy Katsuki couldn’t relate to anymore.

Kaminari was half-asleep at the booth they’d been sitting at, face smushed into his forearm, mumbling absolute bullshit. Which was nothing out of the ordinary. He was always the one who got the most wasted on dumbass nights like this. Sero, designated babysitter since their school days, was doing his usual routine: holding a glass of water in one hand and trying to pry Kaminari’s mouth open with the other, muttering something about hydration and brain cells.

It was pathetic. But also kind of hilarious. Katsuki couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

And of course, Mina, predictably, wandered off toward the far end of the bar, zeroed in on some girl who looked pretty decent. She was flipping her hair and laughing way too hard at whatever weak shit the other was saying. Katsuki could practically hear her flirty giggle over the music.

Same shit, different night.

Katsuki decided it was time to go. He’d been here long enough—longer than he should’ve been, honestly. The buzz had worn off, the noise wasn’t distracting anymore, and reality was starting to creep back in. He was sick of it. Akia was either going to be waiting for him with those tired eyes and that tiny, hopeful look she got when she still believed he’d keep his word… or she was already pissed as hell. Maybe both… 

Yeah, probably both.

Either way, he was screwed.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and slid it over his shoulders with a practiced motion. “I’m heading out,” he said loud enough for the group to hear. Except Mina, who was still flirting with the chick.

Kaminari blinked up at him like a confused kitten. “Already?”

Sero pouted dramatically. “Dude, the night’s still young!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “It’s young for you dumbasses. I’ve got shit to deal with.”

“You sure you should drive, dude?” Kirishima asked, his playful tone edged with concern. “You drank a lot.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, rolling his eyes at him. “My tolerance is better than all of yours combined. I’m just built like that.”

Kaminari groaned, dragging out the sound like it physically hurt him. “Ugh, you’re so full of y-yourself.” His stuttering was real.

He was nearly to the door when he felt fingers close around his arm. He turned, and there was Jiro, standing beside him with her usual unimpressed expression—eyebrow raised, lips pursed, tone already laced with sarcasm.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” she asked. “Rude.”

He huffed, not quite a laugh. “I said goodbye. You’re all too drunk to remember.”

She didn’t react with a joke this time. No playful shove or smartass comeback. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her voice shifting into something more intentional. “The Billboard Chart JP event is coming up again. Next month, I think.”

The event wasn’t anything serious. Not something he had to show up for every year, anyway. It was basically a glorified stage party where pro heroes lined up to hear their rank announced, smile for cameras, and pretend they gave a damn (Which most of them usually did). The top ten were always revealed in front of a massive crowd—press, fans, government reps. All for the drama.

Katsuki stopped going after he dropped down the top five ranks. No announcement, no press release. He just stopped showing up. His temper had gotten too unpredictable back then, and he hadn’t exactly been on good terms with the media.

Most of the pros still loved it. Used it as an excuse to get together, catch up, and compare war stories. Bonding, they called it.

He called it bullshit.

He didn’t care to hear his rank. He knew it was low. But that wasn’t what he was after. Sure, in high school, it was pretty much all he talked about. He’d been chasing it since he was a brat. But now, it was the least of his worries. He worried for Akia. He worried for Izuku. He’d found something else to chase, and he wouldn’t care about his rank until he fulfilled his promise.

He squinted at her, unsure where this was going. “Yeah. So?”

“You should go.”

The word hung there. Longer than he wanted. Go? To the event? Okay, it wasn’t that big of a deal. But did Katsuki really want to see all his classmates? All the old pros? All the… Izuku… 

Not really. No. He didn’t.

It wasn’t even about seeing Izuku there. He didn’t. Izuku didn’t get invited to those events. Again, he wasn’t a pro hero, he didn’t have a rank. And that was part of the problem with it. Another reason Katsuki stopped going. If Izuku couldn’t be there, what the hell was his right? He didn’t deserve to go. He didn’t have the right to go.

It didn’t feel fair.

And when he had gone in the past, he caught himself subconsciously thinking about him anyway. Like some part of his brain refused to let it go. Every time, his thoughts would drift, heavy and sharp. He was the reason Izuku couldn’t go. Everyone knew it. He knew it. But nobody would say anything about it.

Katsuki hated thinking about Izuku. He hated the way his stomach twisted and his face went hot when he did. That stupid ache in his chest that he couldn’t name.

It was fucking annoying. It was fucking weird. Feelings? Katsuki fucking sucked at those.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes and responded. “Why?”

“You haven’t been in years,” she said, tone even. “You’re been off the grid. People are starting to forget you.”

His jaw tensed. “Good.”

Jiro’s face shifted into confusion. “Good? Not good. Katsuki, in high school, you had been flaunting becoming number one. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He turned away slightly, gripping his keys lighter. His name had practically vanished from the top ten hero rankings like dust. It was kind of humiliating. He used to brag about becoming number one. He recalled the times he’d yell at people to get out of his way because they didn’t matter. Now what? He was just another pro who couldn’t keep his own shit together.

She glanced at her phone after Katsuki didn’t respond for a while, her thumbs tapping gently. “Aizawa’s been talking about getting more pro heroes at UA. Midoriya’s doing what he can, but the kids tune him out since he's not an official pro. They just don’t take him seriously.” She hesitated before adding, “I told Aizawa I’d give him your number. I already did, actually. Don’t get mad.”

He stared at her, more shocked than pissed. “You what?”

She met his glare without flinching. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be great at it. Those kids need someone like you. Someone who’s been through it. Someone who’d… give them the real shit?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew it was from the girl. She held up her phone to show she’d sent him Aizawa’s contact too. “Message him first. It’ll look better coming from you.”

He stared at her for a long beat. He wasn’t angry. Not really. Just… tired.

“Think about it,” she said, and her voice softened. “You’re still good at this, Kats. It’s not weak to accept help. Don’t let that pride of yours screw it all up.”

He sighed and looked away, jaw working. “...Yeah. Sure.”

Jiro smiled, just a little. “Good. Now go home. Get your beauty rest.”

He rolled his eyes and turned for the door again. “Yeah, yeah.”

~

When he finally pulled up outside the apartment building, the clock on the dash flashed 1:15 AM like it was mocking him. Katsuki winced. He scrubbed a hand over his face, like that’d do anything to erase the time, like it’d reset the night, like he wasn’t already so fucking late.

Goddamn it. He promised he’d be back before twelve. 

He said he would be.

Sure, she didn’t say anything back, but he knew that Akia would take it seriously. 

The building was dead quiet. Streetlamps cast these long, stretched-out shadows on the sidewalk like something out of a horror movie. The kind where you knew something bad was about to happen, but you didn’t know when, and you couldn’t stop it. His stomach twisted. Hard. Sharp. He paused at the door, hand hovering over the knob, heart starting to pound in a way that felt wrong. Too fast. Too loud.

He turned it. Stopped inside.

The scent hit him first. Clean soap, faint burnet smoke, their shitty air freshener that never really masked the smell of scorched wood. Home. Kind of. He’d always tried to keep the place tidy. Akia sometimes made it difficult, but he managed.

“Akia?” His voice came out low, quiet, careful. Too careful.

No answer.

He flipped on the light. The living room lit up.

Blanket folded. Her drawings were tucked away under the table. Everything neat. Too neat.

Too fucking still.

“Akia?” he said again. Louder. His throat tightened. His pulse jumped. The air felt like it thickened, like it had weight now, like it was pressing on him.

Nothing.

He moved fast, feet dragging across the floor as he checked every damn room—bathroom, kitchen, closet—nothing.

“No. No, no no.”

The words slipped out like a reflex. Like breathing.

His chest started clenching. That deep, full-body panic that makes your hands stop working and your ribs feel like they’re shrinking.

He yanked his phone out of his pocket so fast he almost fumbled it, fingers barely working as panic crawled up his spine like ice. Thumb shaking, he slammed into the app. The one Mei had installed months ago, buried in the bracelet code. A tracker. A fucking tracker.

She hadn’t even asked him. Just did it. Said, “Just in case,” with a manic grin like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t invasive as hell. At the time, he’d nearly chewed her out for it. Told her he didn’t want to be the kind of dad who tracked his kid like a damn helicopter parent. Trust mattered. That’s what the stupid shows said, right? All those slice-of-life sitcoms he half-watched back at U.A.. They all had some cheery-ass line about trust being the glue in a father-daughter bond. He remembered that. Tried to believe that.

But now?

Now his fingers were clawing at the screen, begging for the signal to load, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out, and all he could think of was how fucking thankful he was that Mei ignored him. Not that he’d ever thank her in person. The crazy girl was probably the only one who knew Akia existed, besides his parents, and he was thankful she promised to take the secret to her grave.

The screen loaded slowly. So fucking slow, it felt like hours went by. He’d held his breath like it’d help.

Then a dot blinked on.

Blue. Steady. Moving.

She was wearing the thing.

Relief punched through his chest so hard he almost gasped—but it twisted, curled into something worse, something heavier, the second he saw the timestamp.

12:00 AM.

Midnight.

She left right after midnight.

She waited…?

She waited until the exact fucking minute he didn’t show.

She waited until he broke his promise.

He stared at the screen, and his jaw locked. His whole body started to shake. Not with anger, but with that sick, helpless fear that clawed at the inside of his ribs. Like something was already happening. Like something was already wrong.

“Goddammit, Akia,” he whispered. His voice cracked around the edges, low and shaking and not strong enough.

The blue dot was moving. It was moving. Away from the apartment. Deeper into the city.

His brain short-circuited.

What if someone sees her?

What if she panics?

What if she lashes out?

What if someone tries to take her?

What if her quirk—

What if she’s scared—

What if she’s hurt—

What if—what if—what if—

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even realize he’d thrown his jacket back on until he was slamming the door open again. Key clenched so tight in his hand it hurt. But he didn’t feel it.

He didn’t feel anything but raw panic and that god awful ache in his chest where his face should be, and it wasn’t.

He needed to find her.

Right fucking now.

Before something bad happened.

Before someone else got involved.

Before she got scared.

Before he lost her.

~

The city didn’t even look real anymore. Just a smear of lights and fucked-up shadows warping around him as he flew down the interstate at fifty, no, sixty. He didn’t even care to check. Didn’t care. Didn’t blink. It was all background noise now. The radio, the sound of other cars around him. Everything was just color and motion, all bleeding together like the inside of his head. His grip on the wheel was iron, white-knuckled, fingers stiff and burning. His jaw had been clenched for so long it felt like it might snap clean off, but he couldn’t relax. Couldn’t breathe.

Honestly, it didn’t fucking matter if he crashed into a goddamn wall right now. None of it mattered. Not the ache in his temples. Not the sharp pain crawling down his neck. Not the speedometer blinking red at him.

Why the hell would she leave? Why didn’t she wait? What the fuck was going through her head? Had something happened? Did someone take her? Was she scared? Was she hurt?

God, what if she were hurt?

The light turned red, and he slammed the brakes so hard his seatbelt bit into his chest. He couldn’t sit still. His food jittered on the brake pedal, fingers drumming out a frantic rhythm on the wheel. He kept glancing at the app like it would give him answers. Real ones. Ones that told him what the hell she was thinking. But it didn’t. Just the dot. Heading straight for one of the parks near the outskirts of the city.

The second the light blinked green, he slammed his foot down on the gas like it was the end of the world. And it pretty much was. The tires screeched, engine howling as the car shot forward. He didn’t even hear the pissed-off honks behind him. Didn’t see the blur of headlights or the pedestrians staring. He just kept his eyes on the road. 

She was just a kid. Ten. Fucking ten years old. She didn’t know how dangerous this world was. He did. And he told her—fucking told her not to leave, not ever, not with that damn quirk pulsing under her skin, through her veins, ready to explode. He didn’t make that rule for fun. He made it because he’d seen what could happen. What she could do. What could be done to her.

When he reached the park, he almost didn’t see her. For one awful second, he thought he was too late.

But there she was. Tiny. Curled up on the swing like a goddamn ghost. Like she was trying to disappear into the night itself. Her little bracelet glowed faintly in the dark like a beacon Katsuki didn’t deserve. He didn’t remember slamming the car door shut, didn’t feel the pavement under his feet as he stalked toward her. Only the pounding in his chest and the thunder in his ears. 

“AKIA!”

His voice tore through the quiet of the night.

She flinched right off the swing she was sitting on. She didn’t run. She turned her head to the angry blonde, stomping angrily toward her. Her facial expression indescribable.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here?!”

No answer came from her as she moved her head to look at her feet. 

He grabbed her arm, too roughly. He had tried to tone down on his roughness, but at this point, he couldn’t stop himself. “It’s almost two in the goddamn morning!” he barked, hauling her up.  “Do you think this is a fucking joke?! Do you think I’m laughing?!”

“Well, I just—” she tried, voice trembling.

“No. You don’t just anything. You’re not supposed to leave, Akia!” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “You don’t just disappear!” 

Katsuki was shaking. Which never happens. He was shaking so bad he could barely see straight. Every step he took back to the car felt like fire. His chest was on fire. He got her inside and slammed the door. He started the car and sped off, not waiting for her to buckle her seatbelt.

“You could’ve been kidnapped or fucking killed! What if you lost control of your quirk? You think people wouldn’t come after you for that?! Who knows what they would do to you, Akia! Authorities could take you away from me!”

She curled into herself, snuggling against the door to hide herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He couldn’t even look at her. How was he supposed to? If he looked at her, he might say something he’d regret.

“You’re grounded. You hear me? Until I say otherwise.”

To be honest, he never thought he’d say those words. Never thought he’d be that kind of dad. But he meant every word. She needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to learn that she can’t do whatever the fuck she wants.

For the rest of the drive, neither of them said a word. Akia didn’t speak. The girl sat there, looking small, and Katsuki’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking on the wheel.

When he pulled into the apartment lot, he stayed in the car for a few minutes. He stared at the brick wall in front of him, eyes burning, his throat tight.

“You’re lucky you were wearing that bracelet,” he said finally, voice low. “If I hadn’t been able to find you…”

He didn’t finish.

Because the truth was, he didn’t know what he would’ve done. He didn’t want to know. And maybe he was being dramatic, maybe a little overprotective. But honestly? What the hell would’ve happened if she’d disappeared? If he opened that app and there was nothing? If he’d come home to silence and it stayed silent? 

Katsuki had never felt this kind of panic before. Well, he’d only felt it once before. When Izuku lost his quirk. Yeah, he panicked. But that had different feelings involved, he didn’t even understand.

He wasn’t the kind of person people expected to give a damn about people. Let alone a kid. But something had shifted the second he found out he was going to be a father. Something cracked deep in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seal it back up. He now didn’t know how to be anything but protective. 

He’d promised himself he’d protect her. That he’d never break this promise to himself. Not like how he’d broken so many others. Not like the ones he’d fucked up with Izuku when they were kids. Or the constant ones he’d made with his mother in the past.

This was different.

And it mattered so damn much to him. To her. 

The girl nodded, curls bouncing.

He got out and slammed the car door behind him. He grabbed her arm and took her upstairs.

“If you try this shit again,” he muttered, “I’ll chain you to the fucking couch.” Of course, he wouldn’t do that. But if it scared her enough to keep her from leaving, then fuck it.

He unlocked the apartment and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. He turned to stare at her. Really stare. Mentally checking her over to search for any scratches or bruises she might’ve gotten.

Safe. She was okay.

“Go to bed,” he said. Nothing else. He was too fucking tired to deal with this now. All that yelling nearly took his voice out. 

And she did. She turned her head to the floor and walked to her room. Didn’t speak. Her door clicked shut.

Katsuki stood there for a little while longer. Way too long. Minutes passed, but he didn’t care to check. His heart was beating so fast. It brought him back to the war, when he fought against Shigaraki. His heart hurt that badly back then, too.

He walked to the couch and slumped down, dropping his head into his hands. The silence wasn’t peaceful this time. 

It was heavy, choking.

What the fuck was he doing? He had no idea.

Because this? This was as terrifying as it was when he fought that guy. But now, he was facing that terror every day.

And as her power grew, he shrank. 

Deeper into chaos.