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The early signs were subtle but unmistakable. Katsuki Bakugou was barely four when he first started showing signs that he was a bit… different. While other kids his age were content playing with toy cars or building blocks, Katsuki was a bundle of constant, electric energy. He shifted in his seat at meals, his small body wiggling and bouncing as if he had too much energy to contain. His gaze was always roving, as if his eyes were tracking invisible movements only he could see.
Mitsuki and Masaru noticed it, of course. How could they not? The tantrums were loud and sudden, his excitement over the smallest things impossibly intense. Still, Katsuki was their only child, and to them, this was just the way he was. Until, that is, he began struggling in ways that left them worried. He couldn’t sit still during storytime or focus on simple tasks, his mind and body seemingly at odds with everything around him. He’d start a drawing enthusiastically, only to abandon it halfway for some other interest. But when he was engrossed, like with the bugs in the backyard, it was as if he could focus forever.
One day, after a particularly chaotic day at preschool where Katsuki had apparently gotten into a minor scuffle over crayons, Mitsuki decided enough was enough. She packed him up in the car, grumbling about needing answers, and drove to the doctor. She tried to keep it light-hearted, joking with Katsuki about how this visit would help him “run even faster” and “see bugs even better.” Katsuki giggled at that, excited at the prospect of “bug-vision,” completely oblivious to the concern etched into his mother’s face.
The doctor’s office was bright and quiet, with toys scattered across the floor. While Mitsuki explained Katsuki’s quirks to the doctor, Katsuki darted over to a bin full of plastic animals and immediately began lining them up by size. The doctor listened carefully, nodded, and then gently asked Mitsuki to describe more. After observing Katsuki and a series of small tests, the doctor finally sat Mitsuki down.
“Your son has what we call Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, or ADHD,” he said.
Mitsuki’s voice came out sharp, her fingers tapping impatiently against her crossed arms. “Disorder,” she repeated slowly, as though testing the word out. “Is he… retarded?” The question slipped out, laced with an edge of barely concealed disgust. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her brows drawn in an expression that was equal parts confusion and anger. She looked over at Katsuki, who was obliviously tapping his feet on the floor, eyes fixated on a spot where dust particles danced in a beam of sunlight.
The doctor held her gaze steadily, unflinching. “No, of course not, Mrs. Bakugou. ADHD doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him, at least not in the way you’re thinking,” he said calmly. “Your son is bright and healthy; he just has a hard time focusing and could benefit from certain methods to help him manage his energy.”
Mitsuki’s heart felt heavy with a strange, bitter disappointment she couldn’t quite place. Katsuki, her bold, brash little boy, suddenly felt different to her. Hearing that he needed medication, that he had this disorder… the word left a sour taste in her mouth.
Disorder meant weakness. It meant he needed help to stay on track, to function. Mitsuki could barely hide the frown tugging at her lips as she looked at Katsuki, still oblivious to the quiet judgment in her eyes. He was playing with the buckle of her bag, his fingers nimble but unfocused, moving from one detail to the next without staying still.
What kind of hero needs pills to stay focused?
With a resigned sigh, Mitsuki decided to go along with the doctor’s suggestion. She had high hopes for the medication, clinging to the thought that maybe it would make him normal. If a pill could steady his chaotic energy, she figured it was worth trying. And to her relief, it did make a difference. He was still restless, still prone to jumping from one interest to the next, but he was calmer, more capable of following through on simple things without his frustration bubbling over.
But some things stayed the same.
Despite the medication, Katsuki’s interests still burned intensely and then fizzled out. He’d dive headfirst into new fascinations—dinosaurs one month, volcanoes the next, only to abandon them as quickly as they’d come. But no matter what other interests came and went, one obsession remained constant: bugs.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his curiosity. Mitsuki had always wanted Katsuki to be a strong, independent child, not afraid to explore and challenge his surroundings. But bugs? That was a different story. She found them repulsive, their tiny legs skittering, their alien shapes crawling and buzzing. And yet, when she saw him in the backyard, crouched in the grass with his intense gaze focused on a beetle or centipede, she held her tongue.
This strange little passion of his seemed to be the one thing he didn’t toss aside, no matter how long it held his attention. She’d see him carefully collecting them, sometimes with Izuku tagging along, the boy lost in his fascination. Mitsuki resisted her impulse to pry his attention away from the bugs, telling herself that this was his space, his little haven. As long as they stayed outside, she’d let him indulge, hoping that, in time, he’d grow out of it.
The day Katsuki brought home the black widow, everything changed.
He had found the spider tucked away in a corner of the garden, its web glistening in the afternoon sun. The sight of the sleek black body, contrasted by the bright red hourglass on its abdomen, fascinated him. He watched it for a long time before carefully coaxing it into a jar. His heart pounded with excitement as he hurried inside, eager to show his latest find to his parents.
“MOM! DAD! Look what I found!” Katsuki’s voice rang through the house as he burst into the living room, holding the jar aloft like a prized trophy.
Mitsuki, who had been flipping through a magazine on the couch, glanced up with mild interest that quickly morphed into horror. Her eyes widened as she saw the black widow, its legs splayed out against the glass.
“Katsuki! What the hell is that?!” she shrieked, leaping to her feet. The magazine fell to the floor, forgotten.
Katsuki grinned, oblivious to her panic. “It’s a black widow! Cool, right? I found it outside—”
Mitsuki didn’t let him finish. In an instant, she crossed the room, her expression twisted with rage. “Are you out of your damn mind, bringing something like that into the house?!” she yelled, her voice laced with fury.
Before Katsuki could react, Mitsuki grabbed the jar from his hands with such force that he stumbled backward. “Hey, be careful!” he protested, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the jar smashing against the edge of the kitchen counter.
Katsuki’s eyes widened as the glass shattered, the black widow spilling out onto the countertop. Mitsuki’s expression was one of pure disgust as she snatched up a nearby cutting board, slamming it down on the spider with a loud *crack*. She lifted it, revealing the crushed remains of the spider smeared across the counter.
“There!” she spat, tossing the cutting board aside. “That’s what you get for bringing something so damn dangerous into this house!”
Katsuki stood frozen, shock and disbelief coursing through him. His chest tightened, a knot forming in his throat as he stared at the lifeless remains of the creature he had been so proud to show off. The room seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing down as his mother’s words echoed in his ears.
“M-Mom… why did you do that?” he finally managed to choke out, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.
Mitsuki turned to face him, her eyes still blazing with anger. “You think I’m going to let you keep something like that here? What if it had bitten you, huh? What if it had bitten me?” Her voice grew louder, more aggressive with each word. “You need to stop bringing home these damn bugs, Katsuki! You hear me?”
Katsuki felt something snap inside him. His mother’s rage, her violence—it wasn’t new, but this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like she had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. He clenched his fists, the betrayal cutting deeper than anything he had felt before.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Mitsuki’s voice as she called after him. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the house as he retreated to his room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls.
He didn’t cry. Katsuki Bakugou didn’t cry. Instead, he threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow as the anger and frustration burned inside him. His mother’s words kept replaying in his mind, her anger, her violence—he tried to pretend none of it mattered. But a parents validation will mean everything to a child.
When Katsuki turned twelve, his parents gave him a bit of spending money—more than he’d ever gotten before. Mitsuki had made him promise, half-joking but firm, “No bugs, Katsuki.” He’d rolled his eyes and shrugged, giving her a quick, “Yeah, yeah,” but as soon as he’d hit the sidewalk, he was already planning. Like hell I’m not getting a bug, he thought with a grin.
He headed straight to the pet store, excitement humming under his skin. When he walked in, he spotted the terrariums along the back wall, gleaming under the shop lights. He wandered up and down the aisles, eyeing the different setups, debating what he could get with his budget. Finally, he asked one of the workers for help. They recommended a five-gallon terrarium—small enough to stay within his budget but big enough for something special.
He picked out moss to lay down on the bottom, soft and green, just how he liked. Next, he chose a few plants, gravel and dirt for the floor, imagining how they’d look under the warm light. He paid with his birthday money and left the store with a satisfied smile.
Once home, he spent the next few hours setting up the terrarium in his room, crafting a small, rugged landscape with the moss, dirt, plants, and stones. It was perfect. All he needed now was the bug to complete it. Slipping out of the house, he wandered through the neighborhood for hours, scouring under rocks, checking tree bark, and searching in any place he thought a bug might hide. He knew he needed something special, something worthy of this new habitat.
Eventually, under a half-buried stone, he found it: a rhinoceros beetle. Its shiny, dark shell and impressive horn were everything he’d hoped for, not too small to disappear in the tank but not too big to feel cramped. Carefully, he scooped it up, cradling it in his hands like a hidden treasure.
When he slipped back inside, Mitsuki was in the living room, a bottle loosely held in her hand. She glanced at him with narrowed eyes, a smirk on her face. “Better not be up to something stupid,” she slurred, her words slow and a little too loud. Katsuki froze, hiding his hands behind his back, feeling the beetle shift nervously in his palms.
She leaned in close, her breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. “If I find just one bug, it’s dead,” she whispered, her voice carrying a cruel, mocking edge. The threat in her voice made his stomach turn. He glanced up at her, trying to hide his fear, but her chuckle showed she knew the effect she had on him. She held the bottle up in a mocking toast. “Be good.” She smirked, and then she walked away.
Katsuki felt his heart racing, his fingers clenching protectively around the beetle. The second she was out of sight, he dashed up to his room, his mind racing with relief. He knelt by the terrarium and opened his hands, gently setting the beetle inside. It took a few cautious steps onto the moss, exploring its new home, and Katsuki watched with a proud smile.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, watching it crawl over a rock he’d carefully placed. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad hag.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, and he grinned, knowing this was their secret. The beetle was more than just a bug. It was his partner, his quiet friend, a little piece of freedom hidden in plain sight.
Katsuki had fallen asleep by the glow of his terrarium. He had spent hours watching his beetle explore, feeling a quiet peace he didn’t often find. But that peace shattered in an instant.
He jolted awake as the bedroom light flicked on, the sharp, venom-laced words slicing through the silence. “Katsuki fucking Bakugou!!” Mitsuki’s voice was louder than he’d ever heard, heavy with anger.
Katsuki’s heart dropped as he looked up at her. She stood in the doorway, gripping a bat in one hand, and in the other—his heart sank deeper—she held the receipt from the pet store. He’d left it by the door. His stomach twisted, dread flooding his veins as she took a few steps closer, shaking the receipt in front of him with fury.
“You dropped this by the door,” she hissed, her gaze like daggers, her fingers white-knuckled around the bat. “Where is that fucking vermin?” Without waiting for an answer, she seized him by the collar, yanking him up with a force that made him gasp, his feet barely scraping the floor.
He felt his chest tighten, a small, helpless noise escaping his throat as she held him there. Mitsuki’s eyes scanned the room, her mouth curling into a twisted smile when her gaze landed on the terrarium in the corner. The beetle was still crawling peacefully, oblivious to its impending doom, exploring its home like it had all the time in the world.
“N-no, Mom, please,” Katsuki choked out, his voice shaky. “I’ll get it out, just don’t—”
But she’d already let go of him, her focus fixed on the tank. Katsuki stumbled back, heart pounding as he watched her stride toward it, raising the bat above her head. Panic seized him, and he lurched forward. “Stop!!” he cried, but his voice was drowned out by the sickening crash as the bat came down on the glass, shattering it with a brutal force.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mitsuki gritted out, her voice wild as she swung again, sending shards of glass, dirt, and moss scattering across the floor. “You’re next!” The beetle, his small, helpless friend, was nowhere to be seen amidst the destruction. Katsuki’s vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes as he stumbled back, terror freezing him in place.
In that moment, he felt smaller than he ever had before, his safe world shattered along with the glass around him.
When Mitsuki finally stopped swinging, she stepped back, admiring the wreckage with a satisfied smirk. The once-pristine tank was now a ruin, with moss, gravel, and dirt strewn across the floor like debris after a storm. Katsuki stepped forward, feeling shards of glass bite into the soles of his feet, but the pain barely registered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unstoppable, as he dropped to his knees beside the broken tank, his gaze frantically searching the rubble for any sign of his beetle. His friend.
“You didn’t fucking listen to me,” Mitsuki’s voice cut through his despair, her words heavy with contempt. Katsuki didn’t dare look up, his whole body trembling, but her voice grated against him like sandpaper.
“You fucking retard…” she muttered, and something in her voice felt like it was pressing down on him, smothering the air from his lungs. “Can’t you get it through your idiotic head? You’re fucking weak!”
Before he could process the words, Mitsuki swung the bat into his side with a sickening thud. The force sent him flying back into the wall, his ribs exploding in pain. A strangled cry escaped him as he hit the wall hard, the impact rattling through his whole body, leaving him gasping. He coughed, a small, sharp sound, as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his side as tears and pain blurred his vision.
Katsuki lay sprawled on the cold floor, the remnants of his shattered world scattered around him. Glass shards, moss, and dirt clung to his hair and clothes, small pricks of pain registering faintly under the heavy ache radiating from his side. His head lolled to the side, and his gaze fell to the floor just inches away.
His breath caught, and a deep, sinking feeling gripped his heart.
There, lying on its back among the debris, was his beetle—still, its delicate legs curled toward its body, unmoving.
Tears spilled down his face, relentless and unchecked.
He promised. He promised he'd protect it. But he didn't.
He reached out, fingers trembling as he brushed a shard of glass away. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”
From that day on, something changed in Katsuki. He became more guarded, more careful about what he shared with others. His love for bugs and insects didn’t fade, but he learned to keep it to himself, to hide it from the world that didn’t understand. His mother’s violence and all of his smashed jars and tanks had taught him a lesson he would never forget.
Katsuki Bakugou’s dorm room was organized chaos. Amidst the usual mess of clothes, training gear, and school supplies, there were binders stacked neatly on a shelf. Each binder held a piece of his past, a collection of interests that had consumed him at different points in his life. They were snapshots of the phases he’d gone through—dinosaurs, astronomy, chemistry, and more. But the largest, most worn binder was the one dedicated to bugs.
The pages were filled with detailed notes, drawings, and photos of the insects he had studied and collected over the years. Even now, at 17 and in Class 2-A at UA High School, bugs remained a constant in his life, though no one knew about his obsession. Not even his mother. Katsuki made sure of that. He’d always been careful, keeping this part of himself hidden from everyone. It was his thing, a private passion that he didn’t need or want anyone else to understand.
Sometimes, when the weight of school and hero training became too much, he would slip away to the forest on the school grounds. The quiet of the woods was an escape where he could indulge in his love for entomology. Armed with jars and a small notebook, he would spend hours observing the insects that lived there, losing himself in the tiny worlds they inhabited.
One afternoon, as he was making his way to his usual spot, Katsuki heard a small scream. Instinct kicked in, and he dropped the jar he was holding, sprinting towards the sound. As he rounded a cluster of trees, he came upon Kouji Kouda, curled up on the ground, his body trembling as he inched away from something.
“What are you doing?” Katsuki demanded, more out of confusion than anger.
Kouda shakily pointed to the ground, his hands forming the sign for “bug.” Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down, his expression quickly shifting from confusion to recognition.
“Oh, he won’t hurt you,” Katsuki said, his voice softening as excitement bubbled up inside him. He knelt down, his gaze fixed on the small creature that had sent Kouda into a panic. It was a jumping spider, one of Katsuki’s absolute favorites. The tiny spider’s eyes, almost too large for its head, stared back at him with an intelligence that always fascinated Katsuki.
Before he could reach out, Kouda grabbed his shoulder, his face pale with fear. “What are you doing?!” Kouda signed frantically, his hands shaking.
Katsuki couldn’t help but snicker. He brushed off Kouda’s grip and gently picked up the spider. It jumped onto his other hand, its small legs tickling his skin as it crawled up to his wrist. “It’s all good, he won’t bite,” Katsuki assured, standing up with the spider still in hand.
Kouda stared at him, wide-eyed, his fear giving way to a mixture of awe and confusion. Katsuki looked down at the spider, a rare, soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You should really defeat your fear of spiders, Rocky,” he said. "What are you gonna do when a bug-like quirk shows up on the field?"
With that, Katsuki turned and began walking away, the spider hopping between his hands as he went. A quiet giggle escaped him—something that would have shocked anyone who knew him. But here, in the solitude of the forest with only Kouda as a witness, Katsuki allowed himself to enjoy the moment. He was still Katsuki Bakugou, the explosive, no-nonsense hero-in-training, but here, he could also be the boy who loved bugs, the boy who found joy in the simple, quiet things that most people overlooked.
The classroom buzzed with the usual morning chatter as the students of Class 2-A settled into their seats. Katsuki Bakugou sat near the back, his leg bouncing up and down with a restless energy that refused to be tamed. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of his chair, creating a soft but persistent beat that seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet room. Most of his classmates noticed, but none dared to comment. This was Bakugou, after all—their explosive, hot-tempered classmate. The last thing anyone wanted was to be on the receiving end of one of his outbursts.
They exchanged glances, silently speculating about what might be making him so jittery. Some thought he might be anxious about an upcoming quiz, but they quickly dismissed the idea—there were no tests scheduled for today. The atmosphere in the classroom shifted, a subtle undercurrent of tension building as Katsuki’s fidgeting continued.
Izuku Midoriya, seated a few rows ahead, turned in his seat. His brows furrowed in concern as he watched Katsuki’s restless movements. It wasn’t like Katsuki to be this on edge, at least not without a clear reason. Something didn’t feel right. Without thinking, Izuku called out to him.
“Kacchan?” he asked softly, though his voice carried through the classroom like a ripple in still water.
Katsuki’s head snapped up, his crimson eyes narrowing as they locked onto Izuku. “What?” he barked, irritation lacing his tone.
Izuku hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. Everyone was watching, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected exchange. He swallowed nervously but pushed forward. “Did you… did you take your meds?” he asked, his voice still soft but now tinged with genuine concern.
The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. For a moment, the entire classroom seemed to freeze. Katsuki’s mind raced, the question hitting him like a punch to the gut. ‘Did he really just say that? In front of everyone?’ Heat flooded his face, embarrassment mixing with a rising tide of anger. His leg stopped bouncing, his fingers stilling as he processed what Izuku had just done.
“Meds?” Momo Yaoyorozu asked. She glanced at Katsuki, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. If Katsuki had to take medication, what could it be for?
“For your ADHD?” Everyone heard Izuku finish, his voice meek but clear.
Katsuki’s heart skipped a beat, his world narrowing to the sound of his pulse thudding in his ears. ‘You didn’t just say that out loud,’ he thought, his hands balling into fists. He glared at Izuku, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You didn’t just say that out loud.”
Izuku’s eyes widened in horror, his hand flying to his mouth as if trying to catch the words that had already escaped. His freckled face paled, and he realized the gravity of what he had done. “K-Kacchan, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” he stammered, but it was too late.
Katsuki’s blood boiled, not just with anger, but with a deep, searing humiliation. It felt like his most closely guarded secret had been torn open for everyone to see, all because of Izuku’s meddling.
He didn’t need this—didn’t need everyone knowing about his struggles, about the medication he relied on.
The entire class seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But instead of the outburst they expected, Katsuki just sat there, his face a mask of barely contained rage and embarrassment. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He couldn’t trust himself to.
Sero rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward. “Look, dude, it’s fine if you have ADHD,” he said, his voice low enough to avoid attracting too much attention from the others still filing into the classroom. “No one’s gonna judge you for it, you know?”
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his irritation flaring. ‘Wouldn't they, though.’ he thought, clenching his fists at his sides.
What burned in his gut was the way it had been blurted out—like some kind of revelation for everyone to gossip about. It was the fact that Izuku, of all people, had exposed something so personal without even thinking about what it would do to him.
Sero raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I mean, we all got our stuff, right? No one’s perfect. But you’re still you, Bakugou. No one’s gonna think any less of you.”
Katsuki stared at him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he let out a huff, more out of frustration than anything else. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sero.
Sero frowned, confused. “Get what? Dude, we’re your friends. If something’s bothering you, you can tell us.”
for a fleeting moment, he considered explaining himself—telling him that it wasn’t about the ADHD itself, but about how it was no one’s business unless he decided to share it. And of course, what people would do with the information upon knowing. But the thought of opening up about something so personal, made his skin crawl. Katsuki had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Just drop it, Tape Face,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. “I’m fine.”
Sero raised his hnds in surrender, his grin fading into a more serious expression. “Alright, alright, I got it.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, and got out of his seat.
As Katsuki stormed down the hallway, his thoughts still racing, he nearly walked right past Aizawa without noticing. But Aizawa stepped into Katsuki's path, halting him in his tracks.
“Are you okay?” Aizawa asked, his voice calm. "Bakugou."
Katsuki stopped, his eyes flicking up to meet his teachers.
“Yep,” Katsuki eventually answered. “Just that Deku blurted out that I have ADHD to the entire class.” His frown deepened, the frustration evident in his voice.
Aizawa sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed Katsuki’s words. “Do you want me to talk to him?” he offered, his tone gentle but serious.
Katsuki shook his head almost immediately. “It’s fine,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted was for Aizawa to get involved and turn this into an even bigger deal.
'Stupid Deku,' he thought angrily. always meddling into his life without permission. He's always there, when he doesn't want him to be. He didn't even want Izuku to know about his "disability", anyways. But Deku always gets what he wants.
Aizawa watched him for a moment. He knew Katsuki well enough to understand that pushing him too hard would only make him shut down. “Alright,” Aizawa finally said. “But if it starts to bother you, let me know. You don’t have to handle everything on your own.”
Katsuki nodded. He appreciated Aizawa’s offer, even if he wasn’t gonna take him up on it.
They started to walk back to class.
Aizawa had been one of the first people Katsuki told about his ADHD. He remembered the anxiety he’d felt, the fear that his teacher might see him different. But Aizawa hadn’t judged him.
He had listened, offered support, and treated him just the same as always.
And then there was the bug thing. Katsuki couldn’t help but smirk to himself, remembering how Aizawa hadn’t batted an eye when he’d once spotted Katsuki doodling insects in the margins of his notebook during a lecture. Most teachers would have scolded him for not paying attention, but Aizawa had simply raised an eyebrow and continued with the lesson. Later, he’d even mentioned a few species he’d encountered during a hike.
As they returned to the classroom, Aizawa gestured toward Katsuki’s desk with a small nod. “Go on,” he said, his voice calm yet firm as he gave Katsuki a gentle push forward.
Katsuki shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips as he made his way to his seat.
He sat down. Katsuki’s fingers tapped lightly on the desk as he glanced toward the front of the room, where Aizawa was already preparing to continue the lesson.
Kouda sat quietly at his desk, his eyes focused on the textbook in front of him, but his mind kept drifting. It wasn’t the lesson that was distracting him—it was a soft sound that seemed to flutter around the edges of his hearing. He strained to catch it fully, but it was elusive, like a whisper carried on a breeze.
The voice was small, almost cheerful, and it repeated a playful chant over and over. "Stay with dad, stay with dad," it echoed, the tone light and innocent. Kouda's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. It was familiar in a way that tugged at his senses, yet he couldn’t quite place it.
He glanced around the classroom, half-expecting to see something out of the ordinary, but everything seemed normal. His classmates were absorbed in the lesson or their own thoughts, and nothing seemed amiss. Still, the voice persisted, soft and insistent, like a tiny creature calling out to someone it trusted.
He let out a small sigh, deciding to focus on the lesson again.
As the class ended, Kouda hesitated by his desk, glancing nervously toward Katsuki's bag. The voice he’d heard earlier had grown stronger in his mind. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. With a shaky breath, he made his way over to where Katsuki sat.
He stopped in front of Katsuki’s desk, his eyes locked on the bag. It had to be the jumping spider from yesterday. Kouda’s heart pounded in his chest as he reached out to tap Katsuki’s shoulder. The moment he did, Katsuki whipped his head around, his expression sharp.
“What?” Katsuki snapped, the edge in his voice making Kouda flinch slightly. The classroom fell into a hush as everyone turned to watch the exchange.
Kouda’s hands trembled as he signed out a single word in response: "Spider?"
Katsuki stilled, his gaze narrowing as he realized what Kouda was asking. "No," he replied, his voice firm, but Kouda wasn’t convinced. He gave Katsuki a knowing look, one that said he wasn’t fooled.
Katsuki sighed, reaching into his bag, his fingers searching until he felt the familiar, tiny legs jump into his palm. He pulled the spider out cautiously, and Kouda immediately stepped back, his eyes wide with fear. The rest of the class gaped in surprise.
“Dude, is that a fucking spider?” Sero asked.
Katsuki nodded.
Aizawa stepped forward, rubbing his temples. “Katsuki, you can’t bring spiders into the classroom,” he said firmly.
Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to him, narrowing. “Why not?”
Aizawa raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “For one, some people here are scared of spiders, even if they’re harmless. Two, this isn’t a zoo; it's a classroom with a no animal policy. And three, keeping a live animal here without proper containment could cause problems—especially if it gets loose.”
Aizawa’s tone became more serious, beginning to step closer. “I’m going to have to get rid of him.”
Katsuki’s heart dropped.
His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. Something shifted inside of him. Like he had been through this position before, and he wasn't just gonna allow it to happen again. His hands caved around the spider protectively, shielding it from Aizawa and the class. “No, no no, please don’t kill him!” Katsuki’s voice cracked slightly, a frantic edge to his words that no one expected.
The room fell silent. Katsuki Bakugou was practically begging.
Aizawa paused, caught off guard. His voice softened as he knelt slightly, looking Katsuki in the eyes. “Why would I kill him?”
Katsuki blinked, his defenses slowly crumbling. He looked away, the sharp edge in his demeanor fading. “...I don’t know,” he mumbled, kinda ashamed of his own fear. “you said you’d get rid of him…”
Aizawa let out a quiet sigh, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t kill him, Bakugou.” He reached out and ruffled Katsuki’s hair gently. Katsuki tensed, then exhaled in relief.
“Listen,” Aizawa continued, his tone firm but understanding. “You can keep him, but he needs to go back to the dorms. The classroom isn’t a safe place for him.”
Katsuki looked up, blinking in shock. He clearly hadn’t expected Aizawa to let him keep the spider, but his relief showed as he slowly nodded.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but Aizawa just gave a slight nod before stepping back.
“So he can keep a fucking spider in the dorms, and I can’t bring my dog??” Kaminari’s voice rang out in disbelief, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.
Jirou rolled her eyes, already tired of the argument. “Yeah, because a dog and a spider are so similar,” she said sarcastically.
Aizawa ignored the bickering and focused on Katsuki. “Do you have somewhere to keep him?”
Katsuki gave a sharp nod. “Terrarium.”
“Oh, cool,” Tokoyami said, his voice as quiet as always. “Do you own a lot of terrariums and stuff?”
Katsuki nodded again.
Sero leaned back in his chair with a grin. “So that’s why you won’t let us see your dorm? It’s full of tanks?”
Katsuki shrugged noncommittally, but the hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. He carefully placed the jumping spider on his desk. The spider scuttled down onto the wood, but Katsuki quickly cupped his hands around him to keep him from wandering too far. His focus remained on the tiny creature, the rest of the class entirelyforgotten.
Izuku approached Katsuki’s desk slowly. “Does he have a name?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Lord,” Katsuki replied simply, opening his hands. Lord settled comfortably against his skin, unmoving. Izuku’s face softened into a small smile.
“Cute,” Tokoyami chimed in, and even Dark Shadow gave an approving nod from behind him.
“Not cute. Not cute at all!!” Iida shouted from across the room, his exaggerated gestures making it clear he wanted no part of the spider situation. He stepped back cautiously, like Lord might leap across the room and attack at any moment.
Katsuki let out a quiet, amused sound. “Look closer,” he said, tapping the desk twice with his free hand. Lord jumped back into Katsuki’s open palm. Katsuki held him up proudly.
“Oh my god, you taught him tricks!” Mina squealed, practically bouncing in place from excitement.
Even Iida, who was still visibly on edge, leaned in just enough to inspect Lord more closely. “Well, he’s not...bad, I suppose,” he admitted, though it was clear the words were a struggle.
Katsuki’s smirk deepened as he leaned back in his chair, legs propped up on his seat. “He’s like a dog, Denki,” he said with a lazy grin. “He can do tricks just like one.”
Kaminari blinked at him, still half-disbelieving. But after a beat, he let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I guess so,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll bring a tarantula next,” Katsuki teased.
Iida’s face paled immediately. “Please don’t.”
Katsuki snickered, his focus shifting back to his spider. "Lord thinks of you as his dad," Kouda said quietly. Katsuki's his widened, his body straightening.
"Really?" He asked. "Yeah," kouda replied.
"Aww!!" Mina cooed. "He's your son!!"
"We knew that already. Bakugou shows him more affection than anything else," Sero deadpanned. Katsuki glared up at him.