Chapter Text
When Katsuki was in school, he hated every teacher he met.
He thinks he was doomed to fail from the start. He remembers, as a child, being loved for his attitude — he was volatile, and cocky, quick to anger and quicker to pride, and every adult in his life back then cursed him when they praised him. They called him alpha , a leader in the making; his unpleasant disposition was nothing more than a natural fire, his arrogance simply a sign of his impeccable leadership qualities. He was the picture perfect alpha, destined for great things.
He presented as an omega when he turned eleven.
The praises stopped, then. His behaviour didn’t. He was volatile, but he was a child , and he’d never been told his manner was wrong — he remembers how everything changed, so suddenly, overnight. When he became nothing more than an undesirable, misbehaving omega, and all of his previously incredible qualities became reasons that he was broken. When they decided he needed to be fixed. When they decided he was more omega than he was Katsuki .
He learned pretty quickly that people don’t like when you stray from the box they put you in. As a teen, he was bounced around different high schools — they said they didn’t want the stain of someone like him on their records, an omega that never learned how to be controlled. Not a single teacher, omegas or otherwise, offered him support .
He ended up flunking. His qualifications were almost non-existent.
“Mr. Bakugou!”
But like fuck was he ever going to let something so trivial stop him.
“What’s up, pipsqueak?”
Katsuki likes kids. Something that people never fail to find shocking — he thinks there’s something to be said about how everyone expects him to downright reject his omegan nature, rather than revel in it. They seem incapable of understanding that he’d rather show pride in his natural self than scorn it.
Kota scowls up at him. There’s a smudge of dirt just beneath his left eye, caked all over his hands and arms and the crumpled white shirt that he’s buttoned wrong; his knees are scraped, his shins battered, and the laces on his left shoe are dragging across the floor. Katsuki suppresses a grimace. Ochaco won’t be happy.
“Dad says you’re not allowed to call me pipsqueak, anymore,” the kid frowns, crinkling his eyebrows. Katsuki grins at him and pushes his rolling chair out from under his desk, dropping the stack of papers he was sifting through to mark.
“Oh, yeah?” he snarks, and the boy’s pout deepens. “I’ll stop calling you pipsqueak when you stop being a pipsqueak.”
“I’ll tell Dad!” Kota says, stomping a foot and baring his teeth in a wild kind of grin. He’s got a couple of wooden blocks clenched in his stubby hands, and he raises his fist like he’s making a daring declaration. “He’ll beat you up!”
“Sure he will,” Katsuki says, because he’d pay actual money to see Deku even try. He stands from his chair, ruffles Kota’s hair and snickers when the boy bats him away. “Where’s your hat gone, Kota?”
“It’s on the floor, over there,” he points to it, in the back corner of Katsuki’s classroom, as far as it could possibly be from the coatrack where it’s meant to be hung. Katsuki cocks a brow at him.
“Is that where it’s supposed to be?”
“No, but,” Kota fiddles with his fingers, his eyes hard and serious. “I had to leave it there! Mahoro’s horses were attacking my ships so I had'ta run!”
He says it insistently, as though he was summoned to war and this was simply a life or death situation. Katsuki nods along with a grim expression.
“I see,” he says, “Did you win?”
Kota flashes him a fierce grin. “I always win, Uncle Katsuki!”
Katsuki chuckles, and Kota looks proud. This time, when he ruffles the pup’s hair, he doesn’t dispute it. “Good job, little man. Go put your hat away now, alright?”
“Yes, Uncle Katsuki,” Kota says it quietly, with a complaint on his pout, but he runs over immediately to do as he’s told and doesn’t complain.
“That’s Mr. Bakugou to you here, pipsqueak,” Katsuki calls after him. He turns to realign his papers and kick his chair back under his desk. “What is it that you needed to tell me?”
“Oh!” Kota jumps to attention, throws his hat haphazardly onto his rack. “Ms. Momo says the new person is here, so you gotta go to the office quick .”
Ah. Of course.
“Thanks, Kota. Go back to Ms. Yaoyorozu, then.”
The boy just nods, and dashes off through the door to Katsuki’s room’s little garden. Katsuki watches him go until the point where he knows he’ll be in Yaoyorozu’s eyesight before he slips on his lanyard and makes his way in the opposite direction, into the school’s hall.
He walks quickly, as though the speed will distract him — it’s difficult not to feel a sense of dread. Katsuki has been a primary school teacher for the best part of four years now, and meeting his new problem students never gets any easier.
The Head — an idiotic, mousy little man that Katsuki doesn’t think has ever once made a good teacher — had tried to tug Katsuki’s heart strings with this one just a week prior: he’d given him the whole ‘ if you won’t take her, who will? ’ debacle, appealed to his Omega in a desperate guilt trip, as though Katsuki hasn’t taken every supposed ‘basket case’ he’s ever been presented with.
Basket case . They’re fucking children, and he’s their last line of defence — sometimes, he jokes that his classroom should be named World’s End. It certainly feels like it.
He hopes this girl hasn’t been made to feel like she doesn’t have hope.
The headteacher’s office is on the other side of the school from his classroom — he passes blurry kids’ artwork, colourful doors, his supposed co-workers bouncing around with smiles on their faces and the kids they’re teaching laughing. He hates to admit he’s spiteful, but there’s more to the name World’s End than just the kids: his classroom is solitary, right at the back, with it’s own private garden and greenhouse and resources. His hallway is grey. He wasn’t allowed to decorate it.
His children are to be kept separate from the others, as is his condition for being permitted to teach them, per the request of most parents. They’ll stay with him for the entirety of their primary school life.
Such bullshit.
“Ah, Bakugou,” Nedzu’s waiting for him in the school’s entrance hall, just by the door to his office, with a rat-like smile on his face and thin eyes too sweet, “We were just waiting on you.”
Katsuki doesn’t even try to hide his distaste. The head’s a mousy little dude, grey where he isn’t balding, with a suit always pressed crisp — he’s neat, with darkened tastes, but he’ not a bad guy, per se. Katsuki’s seen him interact with kids.
He follows his headmaster into the office and bites his tongue only because he has to, tucks his hands behind his back. He’s not in here a lot but the atmosphere is enough to make his gut curdle — it’s all dark wood, mahogany, with a couple of uncomfortable cushioned chairs set opposite Nedzu’s borderline throne and an imposing desk between them.
He never sends his students here, the way he’s meant to when they misbehave. Never sends himself here, either, if he can help it.
“Please, come in, come in,” Nedzu purrs. “This is Dabi Shimura, and his daughter Reika.”
Katsuki hums, turns his eyes to the other pair in the room as Nedzu skirts his way back to his seat.
“You’re the brilliant teacher?” the man’s voice is low, rough and distinctly alphan — there’s military-grade scent patches stuck fast to the junction of his neck, and Katsuki feels stupid making assumptions, but there’s something about the way that voice sends shivers down his spine that tells him everything he needs to know.
He’s tall. Leather clad, in baggy trousers and a jacket with faded leather on the shoulder, a white shirt loose beneath it. Heavy, thick boots and ratted jeans. There’s a single silver chain around his neck that Katsuki thinks might be meant to match the thick rings on his fingers, but the charm dangling from it, home-made and gem-covered in the shape of a heart, bright pink and messily painted, takes away its intimidation factor.
He’s holding a child in one of his arms, balanced on his hip — a little girl, with messy dark hair and large eyes a bright carmine. She’s frowning, little hands bunched in the man’s white shirt, glaring up at his face with ruddy cheeks and narrowed eyes that suggest she’s fresh from crying.
“That’s me,” he replies, holding out his hand for the man to shake, “Katsuki Bakugou.”
The girl’s stare snaps to him. The man looks down at his hand, then back at him, and tsks. His eyes are hard, narrowed beneath dark brows — they’re blue. Electric and unforgiving, they pin Katsuki down with a stare that says they see right through him.
Nedzu coughs, sits himself down, and Katsuki drops his hand, “Katsuki here is the best of the best! He’ll show you both to his classroom so you can get settled.”
Dabi hums. His lip curls like a dog’s, showing rough alphan fangs in a mocking kind of grin, “Sure. Lead the way, teach .”
Katsuki almost feels like he’s being threatened. He narrows his eyes and they don’t move for a movement — the girl’s glaring at him, too, with a stare that matches her dad’s. Her hair’s bunched into, frankly, the worst ponytail Katsuki’s ever seen: it’s messy and uneven and half falling out, haphazard pastel clips dotted around dark black. It’s almost like she’s done it herself.
Reika Shimura, his mind supplies, the little pup with a whole file full of misdemeanours. Katsuki feels sorry for her, it’s the same story he sees daily — poor thing’s already been labelled a nuisance, aggressive and uncooperative. Dangerous . He’s heard horror stories from the schools that refused to take her for more than a few months, stories that’ll follow her throughout the entirety of her education. Now, actually looking at her, at her wide red eyes and their veil of unshed tears, Katsuki finds that description very difficult to believe.
Damn it. Katsuki’s idiotic omega brain purrs — it’s fluttering around like a mother hen at the sight of her reddened cheeks, her defiant pout. This is about the child , not the parent.
“Of course,” he smiles, but his teeth are grit, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns on his heel and stalks back into the hall. He won’t rise to an alpha’s challenge, he knows better. “Right this way, sir .”
The alpha scoffs a laugh, but follows him.
They don’t talk as Katsuki takes them through the halls, and he doesn’t want to make them — he knows the girl’s clinging to her father, and it’d be cruel to take her out of her comfort zone just yet. He just leads them through the very same halls he walked down, dark wooden floors but brightly painted walls, until they reach his corridor. It feels like fucking death’s row.
“Wow,” the alpha scoffs. “This place always so fuckin’ cheery?”
“If you could mind your language, Mr. Shimura, that would be much appreciated,” Katsuki says, through a growl, but it’s resigned — truth be told, he’s inclined to agree.
“Please don’t make me go in,” his kid whispers, voice still loud despite the obvious attempt to be quiet. Katsuki glances back to where she’s tugging at her dad’s collar, wide eyes light and pleading, lower lip quivering, and sees the way Dabi’s gaze softens.
“You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” the alpha murmurs, low and gentle and significantly softer than Katsuki heard from him before. His eyes flick down to her, then back up, as though daring the omega to comment. Katsuki looks away.
“But, daddy—” the pup begins to protest, voice a high whine.
“Quiet, Reika,” he snaps, but it’s fond, “Let’s just give it a try, baby, okay?”
Katsuki pushes open the door to his class in silence.
It’s a stark contrast to the hallway — the classroom is his domain, and he’d rather die than let his kids study in a place as bleak as everywhere else: he’s kept his space colourful, splattered with work that they, themselves, have done and their achievements, too, in the form of a sticker chart that he let them decorate. The tables are light blue, the chairs red. His carpet is patterned. On the far wall, the names of all of his students, painted onto their favourite colour of paper butterfly.
“This is my room,” he says, gentler than before — he’s calmed, now, and he watches Reika and her father gaze around the room as though gauging its escapability and sees the distrust for what it is. “The rest are at a supplementary lesson with my teaching assistant at the moment, so you have a few minutes to look around if you’d like.”
They’re quiet, for a minute. Dabi holds his daughter tighter. Katsuki pretends not to notice.
“I’m told you only take the kids that no one else will,” the alpha says, spits it as though it’s a curse, lips curled in something like a snarl, “Apparently your class is different to the rest. That true?”
“You could say that,” Katsuki replies. He decides to busy himself in an attempt to create a sense of normalcy, slipping off his lanyard now that he’s inside his classroom and tidying the little assortment of pens from his desk — when he glances at Reika, she’s watching him. “All of my kids stay with me until they head to high school. Obviously, that means the class is at different levels — my current eldest is ten, the youngest is six. There isn’t many of them, though.”
“How does that work?” the alpha cocks his head. When Reika catches Katsuki looking, she buries her head into his collar. “You teach different things at the same time?”
“Yes,” he replies, “They’re all at different levels, I tailor each programme for the student individually.”
Dabi’s eyes narrow. “And the behavioural issues ?”
“Are worked through,” Katsuki narrows his own right back. He cocks his head and levels the alpha with a resolute stare — Dabi’s mouth twitches, minutely, and the quirk in his eyebrow screams a challenge . “There’s not much I can’t handle, Mr. Shimura.”
And the alpha grins . All teeth and torment, light eyes sparkling with a grim kind of delight, Dabi smiles like a feral wolf that can’t discern the smile from the growl — he flashes his fangs as though his aggression and his amusement are all in one.
“Alright,” he purrs, and nods once, resolutely, as though he’s made his decision, nudging his head down at his daughter, “She’s a little shy—”
“I am not shy!” Reika squawks, her head snapping up, indignant. It’s the first time Katsuki’s heard her talk in a way that isn’t reserved; she seems like such a ferocious little thing — strong-willed, not aggressive — and Katsuki huffs a silent laugh.
“— Shut it, pipsqueak,” the alpha jostles her playfully in his arms, throws her a sharp side-eye when she squeaks. “She’s shy. Doesn’t make friends easy, but she’s a good kid.”
The girl just huffs, turning her head away from them both. When her dad puts her down, she doesn’t protest, just clings to his arm like he’ll disappear if she doesn’t.
“She’ll be fine. My kids aren’t damn heathens,” Katsuki says: short, simple, enough to exude his confidence. Dabi’s eyes flick back to his.
“Mm,” his voice is bordering on a growl — it’s low and steady and simmering with a hidden violence, but there’s a twitch to his mouth that betrays his newfound amusement. “So it seems.”
God, something in that seems like a damn challenge.
Katsuki hopes it is. It’d be so very satisfying to prove this bastard wrong.
He swallows the snarl of a laugh in his throat, and focuses on Reika’s eyes as they scan his classroom, watches them linger on the bookstand and sneer at the brightly coloured spelling-bee decorations on his wall. She looks around the place like a frightened animal, like a predator backed into a corner, like she’ll be in danger if she doesn’t memorise everything she sees.
Katsuki wonders what it is that’s made her that way. His omega’s dying to find the bastards responsible and slaughter them; it’s flittering around his mind the same way it always does when it’s presented with a new child, with one that’s been labelled dangerous .
She’s not fucking dangerous. She’s seven years old, and she’s frightened, and Katsuki’s not been given anything that pertains to her home life but he’d be willing to bet that this family has been through hell — the way the alpha holds her, like he’s trying to keep a taped-up porcelain doll together, is all too telling.
He wants to say something, but he’s interrupted before he can — the alpha’s phone beeps, a loud, shrill sound, and those bright eyes flash.
“ Fuck ,” he hisses, pulling a little old flip-phone out from his trouser pocket and pressing a single button on it. Katsuki blinks. “I gotta run.”
When he looks back up, his eyes are scorching. He grabs at Katsuki’s wrist, pulling him closer and twisting so that his forearm is bared, “You got a pen?”
Katsuki hands him one, a little in a daze. The alpha’s skin on his feels like violence and excitement and pleasure all at once.
“You have any problems, you give me a call, don’t go through the office,” he growls, scrawling down a phone number onto the skin of the omega’s wrist, “I don’t trust your slimy fucking principal as far as I can throw him.”
Katsuki doesn’t reply, just nods. He doesn’t blame him, to be perfectly honest, and this isn’t the only parent of the kids he teaches to prefer only him for communication as opposed to the rest of the school board. Nedzu tends to turn a blind eye.
Before he can respond, Reika shrieks , clutching at her father’s leg in sheer panic. “Daddy, don’t go yet—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dabi coos, dropping down to his haunches — his eyes are so different, when they’re on hers. His voice is so much softer. “I have to go to the special place, remember?”
“But—”
“I remember Auntie Toga mentioning she got you a little something.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” he raises a hand, tucking a small piece of hair behind her ear. Katsuki feels like he’s treading on a moment that he shouldn’t be. “But you aren’t getting it if you get yourself chucked out of another classroom, you hear me?”
She scoffs, turning away, but looks like she’s about to damn cry.
“Now,” Dabi stands, again, “Go on. Your teacher’ll take care of you.”
The look the alpha gives Katsuki is indecipherable; it may be threatening, it may be analytical, and it may be fucking nothing that he’s overanalysing for the sake of it — his eyes run down Katsuki’s frame, flick back upwards to meet his gaze.
“Take care of my kid,” he snaps, and Katsuki wants to respond, he does — wants to snap that of course he fucking will, that’s his damn job, and he’s fucking good at it.
He doesn’t. Can’t, actually, because the alpha turns and dashes his way back out into the hall.
Katsuki huffs. Dabi’s an interesting character — dealing with some parents is always a challenge, but his love for his daughter is clear and that’s not something that Katsuki takes for granted in his line of work.
Reika’s still stood where she was when her dad left, hands twiddling with the hem of her skirt. Her eyes keep flitting to the door, the floor, the bookcase — she seems to focus her gaze there, on the plush little bean chair Katsuki keeps for Reading Hour. He’s not used to being unable to read a child’s scent — Reika’s wearing the same patches her dad was, military-grade and expensive, and they don’t let even a sliver of her natural scent into the air.
Unusual, considering the lack of laws surrounding them. But Katsuki’s not one to judge a family’s quirks.
“You like books, kid?” he says, soft as he can but not too soft. He doesn’t think she’d appreciate over-exaggerated comfort.
Reika jumps, catches herself, and scoffs. “No,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest and adamantly glaring down at the floor.
“Oh?” Katsuki tries his hardest not to grin: she’s a funny little thing. He can see the semblance between her and her dad. “So you don’t wanna come ’n’ look at them with me, then?”
She almost reminds him of himself, when he was her age, with the way she looks at him in that moment: her eyes spark, a bright red, alight with a stubborn pride despite clear interest. She scowls, and doesn’t say anything.
“Shame,” he says, heading over to the bookcase’s corner of the room and squatting down beside it. “This chair’s awful comfy. Nice to read in.”
He hums, feigns examination of the shelves and begins to organise the already meticulously organised books on there.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
Sure enough, after about thirty seconds or so, she appears at his side. Still cautious, still keeping her distance, but steadily abandoning her faux sense of aggression — she watches as he shuffles books around, her eyes lingering on the spines of some.
“What’s that one about?” she asks, voice high and curious, pointing to the name of one of the books that Katsuki keeps around for those that’re particularly skilled at reading: it’s Enid Blyton. Kid’s got taste.
“Group of friends,” he says, watching her carefully, judging her reaction. He doesn’t think he’ll have as much trouble with her as people were making out he would — she looks nothing short of fascinated. “They find an island, go on an adventure. You wanna check it out?”
She doesn’t say anything, but nods slowly. Gotcha.
“It’s a little scary,” he says, humming, a small quirk to his mouth, “You sure you can handle it?”
“I can!” she squawks, turning to look at him with a defiant little glare. “Daddy says I’m very brave! I can read anything!”
God, she’s so fierce . Katsuki looks at her, and her eyes are a mirror of his own, the dotted scuffs and scratches on her little hands as she waves a fist. Her knees are bruised and the skirt she’s wearing has a little rip, one of her socks as fallen down further than the other one. Her laces are untied. Her hair is falling from its clasps more and more by the minute.
And still, the fire in that gaze burns.
“Oh, yeah?” he grins, handing her the book and watching how carefully she takes it, how gently she holds it in her small hands — such a juxtaposition to her words. “Here you go then, tiger, see what you think. If you like it you can take it home for the week.”
That gets her attention — she looks up at him, eyes wide and gleaming and hopeful, as though he’d just told her that he’s giving her the damn world.
“Really?”
“Really really.”
She chirps, then, a high, happy sound: not quite like his is, as an omega, but more immature. A pup’s show of happiness. Katsuki nearly fucking melts.
“Can I sit in that chair?” she asks, looking at the bean bag with a glimmer in bright eyes, and she doesn’t sound angry at all, anymore. “It looks comfy.”
“Course you can, tiger. Go ahead.”
Reika reads for the next half an hour, and doesn’t make a sound.
The book on her lap’s a little more advanced than what Katsuki would usually give to his students, a little more wordy, and he’d thought that maybe she’d need help, or get stuck, and it’d force her to reach out to him more, a little. He was wrong.
She sits burrowed in the little bean chair most of the time, small body snuggled into it, ignoring him while he goes about the business of tidying up his classroom, cross-legged and murmuring to herself slowly to sound out the words she doesn’t know — and when he glances over to check on her, she’s already a quarter of the way through the damn book.
Katsuki leaves her be. She looks concentrated, content, mouthing along with the words she reads with furrowed brows. Katsuki’s Omega purrs in the back of his mind — at the sight of her happy, probably; he ignores it — and he pushes it to quieten a little, instead busying himself with setting up his things for the rest of his class’s return.
A quick glance at his clock says that they’ll only be with Yaoyorozu for a few more minutes. He’s a little nervous about how she’ll respond to their arrival.
“How’re you holding up, Reika?” he calls, leaning back on his desk. Her head flies up, like she’d forgotten where she was.
“I like this book.”
“Yeah?” he says, grins at her, “Good.”
She nods. She’s still looking at him like she’s expecting the other shoe to drop, all nervous and flighty.
“The rest of the class are due back soon,” he broaches, and her eyes blink at him, “There’s not many of them, but I know it’s kinda scary when everyone’s new, huh?”
“M’ not scared,” she snaps.
Katsuki hums. “That’s pretty brave. I’d be scared. It’s okay to get scared, tiger.”
She doesn’t say anything, just scowls.
“If at any time it gets too much, you just tell me, yeah? There’s no harm in taking a quick second alone.”
Reika doesn’t respond directly — she looks down at her book, gripping its edges fearfully like he’s going to force it from her, “Do I have to put this back?”
“You can keep it, if you’d like,” he offers, and she brightens considerably — he doesn’t actually know if he’s allowed to let his kids take school property off the premises, but he can’t say he cares much. “Take it home with you, ’till you’re done. Then bring it back for me, yeah?”
What Nedzu doesn’t know won’t hurt him. That’s become a little motto of his over the years.
“Oh,” she grins, now, and he’s glad to make her happy, even through the fear of joining a new group of kids. “Thank you, Mr Bakugou!”
He smiles, again, and directs her to her seat — a table in the back corner, away from view, where no one will be behind her and everyone will be visible. He’s picked the other kids that will sit here on purpose, too, four of them, in a little square — with Reika, they’ll have one person less than the other tables, done on purpose, so as to give her the option to be alone should she want it while the others are in pairs, but still giving her the opportunity to socialise. Katsuki doesn’t think she’ll take it, but at least she has the choice, now.
All of the kids he’s sitting her with are ones he knows well. He’s hoping his judgements are correct.
After a short while, the class begins to filter in, dressed in forcibly neat clothing and filling the air with overexcited and nervous scents, lead in by Yaoyorozu, who looks about dead on her feet trying to keep order. She doesn’t share many words with him before she dips away to take her break.
Katsuki watches Reika carefully while he greets his class — she’s grown tense in her seat, fiddling the the scent patch on her neck and smoothing it down nervously, and she doesn’t make any move to talk to them herself. A few of the more bold members of his class look as though they’re prepared to approach her: the harsh glare she throws at anyone that tries very quickly shoots them down.
Kota, face scuffed and rubbed with dirt on his crinkled nose, is the first to ignore her air of aggression as he slides into one of the seats at her table. Katsuki’s not surprised by his boldness — they’re startlingly similar, the two of them, he only hopes that bodes for more good than harm. He doesn’t hear what’s said but he keeps an eye on them while he readies their first activities — Kota’s scowling, to no surprise, and Reika scowls back.
But his choice in personalities heads in his favour — he sees Eri, brushing hair from her face and smiling wide, introducing herself with a kind smile. She begins to point at the pens that she’s laid out for herself and Katsuki knows full well that she’s explaining the use of each individual one — Reika’s scowl slowly drops, and she nods along with every word Eri says like it’s gospel.
Mahoro and Katsuma don’t make much of an attempt at all, but that was expected. Mahoro doesn’t do much other than sit and glare as she slams into her seat — Katsuma looks like he wants to say something, like he’ll try it any second, but he’s a shy little thing and Katsuki doubts he’ll say much unprompted.
Not the worst start in the world. Katsuki hums, claps his hands, and silences the class.
He tries not to let himself turn into a mother hen — he knows, with his Omega’s overpowering instincts, that it’s easy for him to slip into overbearing behaviour, and he doesn’t think that’d really work to keep Reika comfortable. He doesn’t want to add stress for her on day one.
He simply sucks in a breath, and begins his lessons.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon it becomes obvious that Reika’s a lot further ahead than the rest of his students her age.
Well, not ‘further ahead ’ , per se — everything seems new, but she picks things up in record time and finishes most of her work ahead of her classmates. She’s intelligent, incredibly so, and enjoys to learn.
Katsuki’s reaching a point where he thinks her notes were an exaggeration. She’s a delight.
The only 'incident' of the day doesn’t happen until the late morning, just before the designated lunch hour - they’re working through their own levels of exercises but it’s all writing related, mostly spellings or readings for those more advanced. He floats around his classroom, hovering over the few that he knows struggle, praising every right move and correcting the few mistakes.
Overall, they do well, and he’s proud of how far they’ve come from when they first came to him. It’s a little more difficult for them, he knows, when they’re not separated by age and therefore not fully surrounded by peers of the same level.
He’s on the other side of the room when he hears Katsuma yell for him.
His head flies upwards, and he just catches the tail end of some argument, or fight, or heaven-knows-what. Reika’s got her teeth bared in some mixture of a snarl and a scowl, her eyes watering, and she flinches as Mahoro throws what looks to be an eraser at her with all the might an eight year old can muster.
“ Mahoro ,” he calls, short and sharp — the class quietens. It’s not often that Mr. Bakugou unleashes his stern voice on them. “We do not throw things.”
“She threw one first!” the pup snaps. She looks frustrated.
There’s silence in the room: Reika sniffles, but wipes her eyes quickly, and Mahoro looks seconds away from joining her. The other members of the table are wide-eyed — Eri’s jaw is slack, she looks so shocked , and Katsuma looks terrified. Kota’s face is scowling.
The rest of the class is watching. Katsuki claps his hands once, clears his throat in exaggeration, cocking a brow at the pairs of eyes that’ve suddenly lifted from their pages. “Don’t you all have things to be doing?”
The class immediately drop their heads, a few of them snickering — Katsuki’s lips twitch as he makes eye contact with a girl near the front, who smiles sheepishly at him and immediately starts scribbling on her paper.
He calls an obligatory, “Thank you,” to them all, before striding over to the corner table.
None of them make eye contact with him as he drops to a crouch at the corner, between where Reika and Mahoro are sat — there’s an internal battle in his head as to whether he should approach this sternly or gently, but, he knows, looking at the teary eyes of the two girls in front of him, that he’d never forgive himself if he added to that upset.
“Alright,” he sighs, but it’s not disappointment — there’s a smile on his face, calm, coaxing, safe. “What’s going on then, huh?”
“Reika threw it first, Uncle Katsuki!” Kota blurts — there’s still a smudge of dirt on his nose that he hasn’t wiped off yet, and his brows are furrowed. Eri ducks her head beside him.
Katsuki cocks a brow at them, eyes flicking to the other three. Reika’s fidgeting with her hands, glaring down at her lap — her eyes shine with unreleased tears, and Katsuki’s omega is whining .
“Reika?” he prompts, so very softly .
It takes a second, a breath — he sees bright carmine eyes flick to him exactly once, scan what they see there, drop back down to her lap. He wonders if she trusts him, yet. Wonders if she finds what she was looking for.
“She called me crazy ,” Reika whispers, almost inaudible, shuffling her hands. And, God, Katsuki can feel how that hurts just from her damn voice — he wonders what that word means to her, where she’s heard it before. Who the fuck has dared to call her something like that, to mean it , to use it in a way that it’d hurt her so much?
Mahoro crosses her arms, slumps down in her seat, adamantly looking elsewhere. She looks defiant, frustrated, but Katsuki can see the guilt in her eyes.
“Mahoro,” he says, careful, gentle. She turns her head away. “Did you say that?”
“Only 'cause she is ,” the pup snarls — her shoulders are quivering, her hands, too, and Katsuki hums. Every now and then, her head twitches to the left.
“Would you like to be talked about like that?”
“ No ,” she snaps.
“Do you think Reika likes it?”
“No.”
He hums, nods. He keeps his voice as low as he can, because he knows she understands — she just says things she doesn’t think about sometimes, is all. She’s still learning. “Why don’t we call people things they don’t like?”
“It’s mean,” Mahoro’s eyes flick to him, guilt-stricken and anxious and growly. “It’ll hurt their feelings.”
“Mhm,” Katsuki nudges his head in Reika’s direction. Mahoro’s eyes soften, lightly.
“Sorry, Reika,” she says, just above a whisper. Her head twitches again. “I didn’t mean it.”
She’s a lot like Reika, he thinks — another that was tossed into his class for being just that little bit too fierce, that little bit too aggressive. She protects her brother to her death, he’s learned. Hot-headed, quick to react, quick to raise her heckles. Another ‘problem child’ who’s been labelled by a system doomed to fail her.
But she’s not a bad kid, and Katsuki despises where she came from.
“’S okay,” Reika mutters, light eyes downcast. Mahoro looks even more upset — her head twitches, again, and she raises her left hand to tug at one of her pigtails.
“Do you need to take a second, Mahoro?” Katsuki says, because she looks close to an episode and they’ve managed to avoid one of those for a long time, so he knows it’s been building, “With the butterflies?”
“Yes, please,” she says, pleads , her wide eyes quivering with unshed tears, “Please, Mr. Bakugou, I’m—”
“Alright, pup,” he soothes, with a little purr in his voice, lifting a hand to rub her arm gently. “Only the bench, though, okay?”
She nods, stands, and dashes away outside with her work in her arms. It feels wrong, to watch her go — his omega’s snarling at him for allowing her off on his own, but he knows her, and he knows that she needs to be alone. She’ll call for him if she needs him. If she doesn’t, he’ll check on her in no more than twenty minutes.
Katsuma chew his lip. But they’ve been doing this long enough that he knows, too — when Mr. Bakugou isn’t panicking, there’s no reason for him to panic either. Katsuki watches him take a breath.
“Finish your work, guys, you’re doing well,” Katsuki stands, and the rest of them obediently drop their heads. Before he speaks to Reika, he rounds to her other side — there’s an empty chair there that he can squeeze himself into, and they’re at the end of the table, where he’s able to talk a little more hushed, a little more private. She’s still not lifted her hands from her lap, and she doesn’t look at him as he sits at her side.
“You okay?” he asks, elbows on his knees, head cocked, voice quiet enough that the rest of the table won’t hear it.
She just nods.
“Next time, don’t throw something. You can just tell me if something makes you upset,” he says — and this makes her look up at him, red eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed. Her nose scrunches in a way that say she doesn’t quite believe him, doesn’t quite trust his motives. “I’m here to help you, tiger, okay?”
He wants to find whoever made her so distrusting and pummel them into the fucking ground. She doesn’t say anything to him, though. Just nods, again. Katsuki hums, and knows when not to push — even as his Omega screeches at him to comfort and to protect and pup hold safe help pup — he knows full well that’d only make her aversion stronger.
His eyes drop down to her worksheet — it’s completed, filled to the brim with writing that’s sloppy and scratched and not neat in the slightest … but all correct. All accurate, all right, even if it’s chicken scratch.
Practiced chicken scratch, clearly. Well-taught chaos.
“You’re finished already?” he grins, purposefully sounding proud, Reika glances at her paper.
“Mhm.”
“Alright, good job,” he almost purrs — her eyes flick up in surprise, light up with pride. “Other people aren’t, though, remember. Try not to distract them with all the flying erasers.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and the small smile on her face makes Katsuki’s instincts sing.
“Do you want me to find you something else to do while you wait?”
“Can—” she chews her lip. “Can I read? ‘Cause I’m done?”
“‘Course, pup,” he says, whispers, grins like it’s a secret between them . “You alright staying here?”
“Yep!”
“If you get bored, tell me,” he watches her rummage through her little blue backpack — it’s decorated with a fire-like pattern, scrawled on in Sharpie, and he sees a messy D+R+M in a little heart — until she pulls out the book he’d given her just this morning, flicking to the right page. “I can find you something else to do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bakugou!” she doesn’t look at him, still flipping through. There’s no bookmark or folded page or anything, it seems she’d just remembered where she was.
“Don’t thank me, pipsqueak. Just stay quiet .”
He ruffles her hair for good measure when he stands — her grin is wide, crooked teeth bared, little eyes sparkling. Katsuki knows full well she’ll do just fine in his classroom. She’s so smart, so bright — hot-headed, strong-willed. Fierce enough to stand up for herself, defensive enough that sometimes that fierceness is misplaced.
God, she reminds him of himself so damn much . It’s startling, how similar they are, from when he was young.
Watching her immediately duck herself into her book, he finds she resumes the same position as the morning: light eyes glinting with focus, small hands flicking the pages. She mouths along to the words silently, nose scrunching in concentration when she finds one difficult to read.
He huffs a small breath of a laugh, humming, and turning his attention to the others.
“How’re we all doing?” he asks to the table — a little choir, all chiming with good! at the same time and in the same tone. He grins at them, praises them for a good job, and that’s the end of that.
Mahoro struts back into class only thirteen minutes after, and immediately starts gushing to Katsuma about the most beautiful butterfly she’s ever seen, really, definitely . Reika joins in to the conversation in a matter of seconds.
Katsuki smiles, to himself. He thinks they’re gonna be just fine.
Katsuki’s exhaustion only really hits him at the end of the day, he’s found.
When his class have gone home and his room’s tidied, and he’s just readying himself for the car journey home — that’s when the lethargy settles into his bones, and the day of childcare catches up with him.
He fiddles with the scent patches on his neck, tempted to just take them off now that he’s finished with work — but Reika’s still here, and she’s been wearing the same pair of skin-coloured patches all day, and Katsuki thinks there must be a reason, so he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way.
He zips up his bag, slings it onto his shoulder, and re-checks that all his plug sockets have been switched off and the chairs are in the correct places — his classic afternoon routine. He’s keeping an eye on Reika at the same time; she’s sat on the step just outside his outside door, little legs swinging, humming a small tune to herself and watching the empty car park just beyond his garden fence. Katsuki sighs through his nose, and heads towards her, carefully — on her own, in her element, she looks perfectly content.
He locks the door, checks his watch — 3:25. Ten minutes late.
“Where’s your damn dad, brat?” he snarks, teasing, and her head moves up to look at him — her hair’s falling out of its already messy ponytail, and he holds back the urge to offer to redo it.
“I’m not a brat!” she looks at him incredulously. She’s really come out of herself as the hours have passed, growing only brighter as she got more comfortable — Katsuki’s heard her voice today more than he thought he would, noticed her active participation in group activities he’d set up and her clear direction to her classmates.
“No?” he drops himself down to sit beside her, legs outstretched on the concrete, and can’t help the way he grins even through being tired, “Look like a brat t’me.”
“No! Daddy says so!” Her legs unfold to stretch beside his, to mirror his position — her feet reach his knees, small pumps knocking together at the toes. She pouts lightly, defiant, red eyes alight as she looks at him.
“Oh he does, huh?”
“Mhm,” she replies, matter-of-factly, proud, chest puffed while she fiddles with her bag’s straps. “Daddy says I’m a princess, actually. So there.”
“Oh, of course,” Katsuki chuckles, leans his back against the door’s frame. “My apologies, Princess Reika.”
She giggles — Katsuki smiles, his omega chirps in the back of his mind. This kid really doesn’t deserve all the bullshit she’s been through at other damn schools.
Reika goes back to humming, and they sit in comfortable quiet. Not much happens — the school’s in a pretty remote countryside location, surrounded by rolling fields and gorgeous forests, with only one proper road leading to their car park. Katsuki watches Reika’s eyes follow some cows in a field across the hedge opposite them.
It takes another five minutes for a car to pull in. It’s sleek, small, pure black, with every window tinted — Katsuki cocks a brow at it, at its suspicious nature. It stops in a spot across the park, and Reika jumps to her feet.
“That your dad’s car?”
“Yep!” she looks excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet and securing the straps of her bag over her shoulders.
Katsuki hums, stands beside her, brushes dirt off his sweater. He’s a little anxious to meet Dabi again, after their shaky start this morning — the alpha’s intimidating at best and clearly aggressive when pushed, and Katsuki’s tired . He’s not good at watching his mouth when he’s tired.
When Dabi steps out of his car, his eyes are murderous. He’s dressed in different clothes than he was this morning, but still with that same aura of don’t fuck with me , and the way he storms across the car park is telling of how ready he is for some kind of battle.
Katsuki can already feel his face curling into a scowl. Parents are his least favourite part of teaching.
“Mr. Bakugou says I’m a brat, daddy!” Reika shouts as he approaches, little hands cupping over her mouth to be louder, and Katsuki’s mouth quirks. “Tell him I’m not !”
The alpha glances down at her, and his eyes soften — Katsuki watches the way his jaw seems to lose the tension it held, how his shoulders relax.
“Go get in the car, Rei,” he says, murmurs, voice low and careful — and there might be a growl in there, somewhere, hidden behind his teeth.
“But, dad—”
“Reika,” a snap, this time. “Car.”
The girl pouts, but must sense the tone — she tugs on her bag’s straps, rolls on the balls of her feet, hesitant, before glancing back up at Katsuki again.
“Bye, Mr. Bakugou,” she says, quiet, careful, shy . Katsuki’s heart aches.
“See you tomorrow, tiger,” he can’t help the grin that falls on his face, how happy he is when she beams back at him.
When she skips away, Katsuki’s smile drops, and his eyes meet with roaring blue. Curse the alpha’s height, and how he has to look up to lock eyes.
“Pickup’s at 3:15,” he says, a little snappy, a smidge irritated. “Just for future reference.”
“Caught up at work.” Is the reply.
God, Katsuki’s so tired.
“We also expect a heads up if a parent’s late,” he seethes, and the alpha’s head cocks — those blue eyes are fucking burning, analytical, looking him up and down like a lion sizing up a lamb. “A call or something. Just, y’know, for future fuckin’ reference .”
“You’ll get one next time.”
“Right.” Quiet. Birdsong, a car’s engine. Dabi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything other than stare like a damn asshole. Like there’s something he wants to say.
Katsuki clicks his tongue, turns to leave — his car’s parked off in the corner of the lot, a little thing, sandy brown. His keys jingle in his hand. “Well. Have a fan-fucking-tastic day, then.”
He’s stopped by fingers circling his wrist.
“Did anything happen?” the alpha demands — looking over his shoulder, Katsuki sees widened eyes, frantic eyes. Afraid eyes, sprinkled with faux aggression. “With her?”
“No,” he says, making an extra effort to be careful and not snarl like he’s tempted. “She’s been fine. I’d’ve called you, otherwise.”
“I’m sorry, if she’s been a bother,” Dabi continues, and the silver ring in his ear moves with his head — his jaw tightens, eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes deep-set and anxious. “She’s—”
And Katsuki thinks he understands the aggression, maybe.
“Look, you don’t have’ta sell your damn kid to me,” he says, turning to face the alpha fully — a father, worried for his daughter. A father ready to burn the world to keep his daughter safe. “I don’t give two shits what’s happened elsewhere, she’s been completely fine all day with me.”
Dabi looks shocked, whatever thin veil of original irritation he’d felt melting away. “What?”
“Little brat’s smart,” he smiles, then, as much as he can — more of a smirk, a twitch of his lips, “She picks up things quick. Had’ta give her extra work to do.”
“Yeah.” He almost looks sceptical. “Yeah, she is smart.”
And Katsuki’s hit, again, just as he was with Reika — he wonders who’s made this family feel that they can’t trust, who’s made them feel that they can’t be liked.
“You haven’t got anything to worry about,” Katsuki reassures with a gentle smile and what he hopes are kind eyes, and the alpha still hasn’t let go of his wrist. “I get your whole protective act, but she’ll fit in here just fine.”
“Right,” Dabi’s gaze drops — he doesn’t look quite so intimidating anymore, in his leather jacket and excessive jewellery, when he’s shuffling his feet on the pavement and clinging to Katsuki’s wrist like he’s a lifeline. “Well—”
A car horn interrupts them — both of them glance over to Dabi’s car, and Katsuki imagines Reika in there, clambering into the front seat with her dirty sandals, pushing with all force on the car’s horn to make her dad hurry, and grins, despite himself. “Think she says it’s home time.”
The alpha huffs, a little puff of a laugh, lips curling slightly, “Yeah.”
He drops Katsuki’s wrist, rubs the back of his neck. The playful grin that slips onto his mouth suits him a lot more than the frown did.
“Thank you,” he purrs, smiles, a change from his snap — this suits him more, too. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Bakugou.”
They lock eyes once more — blue on red, ice on fire. Dabi grins, all sharp wolfish teeth and a wicked tongue, and he’s the first to turn away.
Katsuki takes a few seconds to breathe as the alpha turns around, to compose himself. Takes a few seconds to blink rapidly, and convince himself that it can’t have been a spot of blood that he’d seen smudged on the alpha’s neck.
The number scrawled onto his arm burns.