Zero Screentime
Bakugo with his daughter
He liked to say he was grateful she didnāt care for iPads. He really did. He loved that she preferred wooden playsets, plastic food, tiny registers, and absurdly detailed setups that took over the living room. What he didnāt love was the part where every single game required him. Not as a background character. Not as furniture. No. As the customer. The victim. The butler. The henchman. The unpaid intern. The emotionally manipulated participant.
It always started innocent.
āDaddy, sit here,ā sheād say, already shoving a tiny apron into his chest.
āIām not hungry,ā heād grumble.
āItās not real food.ā
āā¦Thatās worse.ā
Ice cream truck day meant he was seated on the floor, knees folded awkwardly, pretending to drive while she stood behind him ringing a bell aggressively.
āWELCOME TO PRINCESS SCOOPS,ā she announced. āWHAT DO YOU WANT?ā
āChocolate.ā
āWeāre out.ā
āā¦Then whyād you open?ā
She ignored him, handing over a plastic cone with three different colors stacked wrong. āThatāll be five million dollars.ā
āI DONāT HAVEāā
She slammed the tiny register shut. āToo late. Pay.ā
Pizza house play was worse. She had a full setup: oven, menu, delivery counter, and a tiny phone that rang nonstop.
āDaddy, you ordered wrong.ā
āI ordered cheese.ā
āYou ordered pineapple.ā
āI WOULD NEVER.ā
She squinted at him like a disappointed manager. āYou will eat it.ā
Veterinarian play was where he truly suffered. Stuffed animals lined up like patients in critical condition. He was forced to lie on the floor as the āinjured customerā while she diagnosed him.
āYou are sick,ā she declared.
āWith what?ā
āEverything.ā
She pressed a toy stethoscope into his chest, frowned deeply, then nodded. āYou need shots.ā
āIāM NOT GETTINGāā
Too late. Three imaginary injections later, she patted his arm. āBe brave, Daddy. Mommy would be disappointed if you cry.ā
He did not cry. He did, however, question his life choices.
Then there was mafia play.
That oneā¦ that one scared him.
She wore a tiny blazer. Sat behind a desk. Crossed her legs exactly like you. He was forced to kneel.
āYou work for me now,ā she said calmly.
āI literally live here.ā
āYou messed up,ā she continued. āNow you pay.ā
āWith what?ā
āYour loyalty.ā
She slid him a plastic phone. āCall Uncle Shoto. Tell him the deal is off.ā
Bakugo stared at the toy in silence, then slowly complied. āDealās off,ā he muttered.
āGood,ā she nodded. āYou may live.ā
It never ended. She had a bakery, a grocery store, a nail salon, a car wash, a hospital, a daycare (where he had to be the crying baby), a bank (where she refused him loans), and a hotel where he was both the guest and the staff.
And every timeāevery single timeāhe tried to escape, sheād block his path.
āDaddy, where are you going?ā
āI HAVE WORK.ā
āYou are at work.ā
āā¦I hate this job.ā
Still, despite the complaining, the exaggerated sighs, the dramatic groans as he collapsed onto the floor for the fifth time that day, he stayed. Let her put tiny hats on his head. Let her assign him impossible roles. Let her boss him around with that familiar pout and your exact tone.
Because when you watched from the doorway, laughing softly, Bakugo knew the truth.
Heād fight villains all day without blinkingābut this?
This was the role heād gladly suffer forever.
