*its been days since the breakout incident at tarturus and other countless prisons.* *your a fellow pro hero trying to catch and detain the villains that broke out but its quite hard when theirs lots of villains out there.* *you eventually find three villains wreaking havoc in a city Mustard, Moonfish, and Muscular.* *Mustard is emitting a poison gas typhoon that puts anyone around it to sleep, Moonfish is extending and lengthening his teeth to sharp long durable blades and rapidly using rip and tearing many people to shreds with them. and muscular is using his quirk to extend his muscle fibers to give him more strength to smash more people and buildings to rubble.* *what will you do to try to save the day?*

“Oi. Who the hell are you supposed to be? If you’re here to waste my time, get lost. …Tch. Whatever. Just don’t slow me down, got it?”

*He hated support meetings.* *Too many people talking. Too many idiots pretending they understood combat because they could build gadgets in a lab.* *So when he got called into the support division after destroying another pair of gauntlets during patrol, he was already irritated.* “The cooling system failed because you overworked the ignition points,” *one technician explained nervously.* “No,” *he snapped.* “It failed because you made weak crap.” *Silence filled the room.* *Then came a voice from the back.* “No,” *she said calmly.* “It failed because the pressure vents were designed for your actual combat output instead of the average.” *He turned.* *She stood near one of the worktables in an oversized white coat, holographic schematics floating beside her tablet. She didn’t look intimidated.* *Actually, she looked annoyed with him.* *That was new.* “Your explosions spike when your adrenaline rises,” *she continued.* “Whoever designed this compensator was stupid.” *He blinked.* *Then laughed.* *Finally.* *Someone with a damn brain.* *From that day on, she became the only support scientist he trusted touching his gear.* *Not that he made it easy for her.* “These gloves are garbage.” “You said that about the last six prototypes.” “Because they were.” “You blew up three during testing.” “Skill issue.” “You are the skill issue.” *He stared at her for five whole seconds before laughing so hard he nearly fell backward.* *Somewhere between midnight redesign sessions and emergency repairs after missions, he realized he looked for her first every time he entered the agency.* *He noticed everything.* *The way she chewed on her pen while thinking.* *How her eyes lit up whenever a prototype worked.* *How she shoved her glasses up with her wrist when her hands were dirty.* *And worst of all?* *She wasn’t scared of him.* *Not once.* *He fell hard.* *Fast too.* ——————————☆—————————— *Years later, she told him she was pregnant.* *His brain stopped working entirely.* “You’re joking,” *he said weakly.* “I’m not.” *Then he pulled her into his arms so fast she yelped at him for being reckless.* *After that, he cried.* *Quietly.* *Face buried against her shoulder while holding her like she might disappear.* *Because suddenly he wasn’t just a Pro Hero anymore.* *He was somebody’s husband.* *Somebody’s future father.* *And that terrified him more than any villain ever had.* *Not because he didn’t want it.* *Because he wanted it too much.* ——————————☆—————————— *Now, seven months later, he was downstairs in the reinforced basement gym trying to burn the restless energy out of his system.* *Explosions thundered against the concrete walls.* *Sweat slid down his temple as another blast erupted from his palms hard enough to shake the ceiling.* *Again.* *Blast.* *Turn.* *Blast.* *Faster.* *Harder.* *But his attention kept drifting upstairs.* *To her.* *Every damn time.* “You’re distracted.” *Her voice floated down the staircase softly.* *He turned too quickly, crimson eyes locking onto her instantly.* *His chest tightened painfully.* *God, she was beautiful.* *Especially now.* *She wore one of his old hoodies over comfortable shorts, one hand resting beneath the curve of her stomach while the other carried a tablet.* *Unfairly perfect.* “Tch,” *he muttered immediately.* “You shouldn’t be down here.” “You reinforced this basement to survive your explosions,” *she replied.* “I think I’ll survive sitting in the corner.” *He clicked his tongue and grabbed the water bottle from her hands before she could carry it herself.* “I could hold that.” “Yeah? And you can blast through concrete. Doesn’t mean you should do it every second.” *She laughed softly.* *Victory.* *Still his favorite sound in the world.* *He guided her carefully toward the padded bench, one hand hovering near her lower back the entire time.* “You’ve become overprotective,” *she teased.* “I’ve become smart.” “You threatened a microwave because it beeped too loudly near me.” “It sounded aggressive.” *That made her laugh harder.* *Damn it.* *He loved making her laugh.* “You should sit with me for a minute,” *she said quietly.* *His first instinct was to refuse.* *Training mattered.* *Protecting them mattered.* *But then she reached for him.* *And Katsuki Bakugo had never been capable of denying her anything she truly wanted.* *Tch. Fine.* *He sat beside her carefully while she leaned against him.* *Then the baby kicked beneath his hand.* *He froze instantly.* *Every single time it happened, it completely destroyed him.* “There,” *she whispered softly.* “They always get active when they hear you training.” *He stared at her stomach like it held the secrets of the universe before lowering his forehead gently against it.* “Oi,” *he muttered toward the bump.* “Stop giving your mom a hard time.” *Another kick answered him.* *She burst into laughter.* “It’s not funny,” *he grumbled.* “You’re talking to my stomach.” “It’s my kid too, dumbass.” *The words slipped out naturally.* *Possessive.* *Protective.* *Certain.* *He wrapped one arm around her shoulders carefully, pulling her closer while resting his other hand over her stomach.* *For once, the basement was quiet.* *No explosions.* *No pressure.* *Just his wife in his arms and the tiny future they created together.* “Go back to training,”*she said quietly.*“I like watching you.”

} 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.*

}? What happened? Why are you so much smaller now?

}) blushes furiously*

*The sick kids from the hospital were being brought outside while you're group prepares in front of the water fountain, Aizawa happened to notice, since he was at the hospital attached to the children's hospital, after doing a mission, he noticed the commotion, and figured he'd make sure nothing fishy's going on.* Aizawa: What are five girls doing here? *He mutters to himself in his usual monotone voice.*

*Fuyumi notices you in front of her classroom door, with one of her students. She walks up to the two of you.* "Hello, who are you?"

*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.*

*bakugo pull you closer*