Hey...how was your day?

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*Hawks slips into the League of Villains’ headquarters with the same careless swagger he wears on talk shows—hands in his pockets, wings loose, smile easy. Undercover work is just another performance. Laugh at the right jokes. Don’t ask the wrong questions. Don’t look too closely at anything that might look back.* *The air inside the facility is heavy, oppressive. Concrete corridors, humming lights, the faint smell of chemicals. It crawls under his skin.* *Then he sees her.* *She’s standing near the far wall, half-hidden behind equipment, eyes sharp and unreadable. Something twists in his chest. Not attraction—recognition. A phantom memory scraping at the back of his mind.* *"I’ve seen you before."* *Not on a battlefield. Not in a crowd.* *In white halls. Restraints. Needles. Cold voices talking about “potential” and “optimization.” The place that made him stronger. The place he doesn’t like to remember.* *The memory fractures before he can grab it.* *Hawks keeps smiling. Keeps breathing. His wings don’t twitch.* *Someone speaks to her, and she responds with a nod—calm, controlled, like she’s used to watching from the sidelines. She moves with the same quiet efficiency he learned there. That’s what confirms it. The training wasn’t heroic. It was survival.* *"So they made you too."* *Their eyes meet for a second. Hers widen—just slightly. Not fear. Recognition.* *She knows.* *He looks away first. He can’t afford hesitation. She’s League of Villains now, and he’s standing in their nest with a fake allegiance and a real mission. Whatever they shared in that blurred past doesn’t matter.* *Or at least, it shouldn’t.* *As the meeting continues, Hawks commits every detail to memory—faces, voices, escape routes—but his thoughts keep circling back to her. If she remembers more than he does, she’s dangerous in a way no dossier could explain.* *Hawks leaves the headquarters later with the same easy grin.* *But for the first time since going undercover, his wings feel heavier.* *Because the League didn’t just steal information from him tonight.* *They stole a piece of his past—and gave it a face.*

*I’m sitting by the window, textbook open in front of me, going over the same page for the third time. The words blur a little—not because I don’t understand them, but because the room is cold enough to be distracting.* *I lift my right hand slightly, letting a thin layer of frost creep across my fingertips. It steadies me. Familiar. Controlled.* *The dorm is quiet. Most people are out or busy somewhere else. I prefer it like this.* *Then the door opens.* *A rush of colder air follows you in, and you step inside quickly, shutting it behind you. You rub your hands together, shoulders slightly hunched.* “It’s freezing out there,” *you say, curling your arms around yourself.* *I look up.* *You’re still standing near the door, clearly colder than you expected to be. Your nose is a little red. You keep shifting your weight like you can’t get warm.* *I close my book.* *For a second, I just watch you. Not in a strange way—just… observing. You’re uncomfortable.* “You should have worn something heavier,” *I say.* *It comes out more blunt than I intend.* *You give me a look, like you’re not impressed with that answer.* *I pause.* *Right.* *I stand up and walk over, stopping just close enough to feel the cold coming off you. It’s noticeable. You’re shivering slightly.* *Without saying anything else, I let warmth build on my left side. Slowly, controlled—enough to raise the temperature without making it obvious.* *Then I reach out and rest my hand lightly on your arm.* “You’re cold,” *I say, quieter this time.* *You don’t pull away.* *So I adjust—just a little closer. My arm shifts around you, not tight, just enough to share warmth. It’s… unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable.* *You relax almost immediately.* *I notice that.* *My grip steadies, more certain now. Not restrictive. Just there.* *After a moment, I speak again.* “Is this better?” *You nod, leaning into me slightly.* *I don’t respond right away.* *I just stay like this—holding you, keeping the temperature even, paying attention to how you react. The cold from outside fades, replaced by something quieter.* *Something warmer.* *I don’t move away.*

} are busy with their new responsibilities in Hell. Meanwhile, in Nezu's office;* `All might:` Ah, how wonderful life is now that we have become friends with our fellow demon hybrids. `Principal Nezu:` Agreed

} didn’t. They looked focused. Dangerous. Alive. Bakugo’s smirk widened as he leaned back just slightly, still holding his hands up, clearly enjoying the fact that he’d drawn this reaction out of them.* *He wasn’t surrendering. Not really. He was provoking. The way they glared at him sent a thrill straight through his chest, sharp and undeniable. He liked this version of them—the one that didn’t hesitate, didn’t soften, didn’t look away. The rival who met his fire head-on instead of dodging it. The rival who made his pulse pick up and his instincts scream fight, match them, don’t you dare back down.* *His hands stayed raised, but his stance was relaxed, confident, ready to explode into motion at a second’s notice. Bakugo never took his eyes off them. Not even for a second.* Go on, *he thought, grin dangerous.* Show me what you’ve got when you stop holding back. *Whatever this was—this tension, this spark—he knew one thing for sure: he never wanted it to disappear.*

*The highway hums beneath your tires, late evening stretching into that quiet, dim blue where everything feels a little too reflective. Music plays low in your car, your mind somewhere else—until something loud cuts through it. A sharp engine roar pulls up beside you, fast, familiar, and way too close. You glance over. And your breath catches. It’s him. Katsuki Bakugo rides alongside your car like he owns the road, one hand steady on the handlebar, the other relaxed—but his eyes? Locked on you. Sharp. Unreadable. The same way they used to be when he had something to say you weren’t ready for. Your grip tightens on the wheel. He shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not after everything. For a second, neither of you move—just driving side by side, tension thick enough to choke on. Then he tilts his head slightly, slowing just enough to match your speed. His gaze flickers over your face like he’s checking if you’re real. And then—* “Hey, princess.” *The nickname hits harder than it should. Familiar. Dangerous. Before you can even process it, he jerks his head forward, signaling you to pull off. There’s something off about him—something heavier than just running into an ex on the road. Reluctantly, you take the next exit, heart pounding, and pull into a nearly empty parking lot lit by flickering streetlights. He parks right in front of you, cutting his engine. For a moment, he just sits there. Still. That alone is enough to make your stomach twist. Then he swings off the bike, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his hair like he’s stalling. Like he doesn’t know how to start this. That’s new. Bakugo doesn’t hesitate. But now? Now he looks… tense. You step out of your car, folding your arms, trying to rebuild that wall you had when you left him.* “What do you want?” *you ask, sharper than you mean to—but not soft either. His eyes meet yours instantly. No teasing. No attitude. Just… something serious. He clicks his tongue, looking off for a second like he’s irritated—not at you, but at himself. Then he turns back, jaw tight.* “Wasn’t plannin’ on runnin’ into you like this,” *he mutters.* “But… guess it works.” *That pit in your stomach grows.* “Bakugo—” “Hold on.” *His voice cuts in, not harsh—just controlled. Different. He turns, reaching back toward his bike. And that’s when you hear it. A small, soft sound. Your brows furrow. Confusion flickers across your face as he carefully lifts something—someone—into his arms. A tiny bundle, shifting slightly, wrapped up and half-asleep against his chest. Your entire body goes still. He adjusts his hold awkwardly—like he’s still getting used to it—but protective at the same time. Instinctive. Then he looks back at you. Really looks at you this time. And for once, Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t have anything cocky to say. His voice is lower when he finally speaks.* “…This is Dalia.” *Silence. The name doesn’t land right away—but the reality does. A child. His child. Your heart stutters, confusion crashing into disbelief, into something you can’t even name. He shifts slightly, the little girl stirring against him, her tiny hand gripping his shirt. His expression flickers—just for a second—softening before he looks back at you, serious again.* “Her mom dipped,” *he says bluntly.* “Left her with me. Been just me and her.” *You don’t know what to say. What can you say? And that’s when he drops it. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.* “…I need help.” *The words sound foreign coming from him. Like they don’t belong. Like they cost him everything to say.* “I wouldn’t be askin’ if I had another option,” *he adds quickly, jaw tightening, pride still fighting to stay alive.* “But I don’t.” *He steps a little closer—not too much, just enough to close the distance between what you were and what this is now.* “Just… hear me out, yeah?” *he says, quieter now.* “Then you can tell me to get lost. I won’t stop you.” *For once—He means it. And standing there, under flickering lights, with your past right in front of you and his future in his arms…You realize this isn’t just about him anymore. It never will be again.*

*The staff and students of UA are fighting the League when Shigaraki grabs Eri, climbing up onto the roof, holding her at the edge.* Aizawa: *Fighting Twice* Class 1-A: *Fighting Other League members* *Meanwhile, on the roof.* Shigaraki: Such a precious little girl, haha! Eri: Help! Help! *Scrambling in Shigaraki's grip.* Help!

*walking in the hallway*

*choose role,.if you're an existing character or new, age & name (if you're new) Start RP when finished*