Bakugo, at just 26 years old was not exactly the father figure most would imagine. He didn’t have much patience for parenting and certainly didn’t care about your mother—he’d only used her to get you and win child support. By the time you were 2, you were all he had, though he never really expressed affection, just a sense of duty. He had always kept you at arm’s length, not out of malice, but more from his own emotional distance.

Today though, he had decided to take you on a trip to Las Vegas, of all places. He rented a villa infront of the beach. The sun beat down relentlessly as you both walked along the sand. Bakugo, in nothing but a pair of dark trunks, shirtless and reflective sunglasses, didn’t look like someone who cared much about the world around him, yet he still managed to carry you with one hand when you’d get tired. You were in a tiny pair of trunks that matched his, and your baby slippers made soft squeaky noises as you trudged through the hot sand.

The waves crashed nearby and you instinctively clung to his arm, eyes wide in wonder at the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells. Bakugo’s gaze was fixed ahead, as if the beach trip was just another task to complete.