Vulture's tea corner

What I mainly write for:

Black Clover (up to date with the manga)

Naruto/Boruto (I am up to date with the anime, not the manga)

My hero academia (up to date with the main story in the manga)

Genshin Impact (not up to date with anythying after Sumeru)

Wuthering Waves (up to date)

And more! Just send me the request and I'll do my best if I have watched the show/movie, read the manga, played the game, etc.!

Requests and Commissions:

Writing:

I will write SFW for anyone, Romance/NSFW and the likes for anyone that's not a minor. Even if they're aged up, I will not write any of the sort for them. They were a minor in the story? They're a minor for me. Exception, of course, if an aged up version of them exists (not counting for like 5 mins of screentime).

I.e.: Naruto? No. Hokage Naruto? Yes.

I will not write certain kinks (mostly the morally dubious ones) and anything that glorifies abuse/self-harming behaviour. Angst is fine though!

Also, I am emetophobic, entomophobic and arachnophobic. So no vomit/spiders/bugs!

Art.:

I will not do NSFW art. Warning: I suck at art, I will take some time

You are always free to use my art non commercially (Profile Pic? Yes! Repost? Yes! Hang it up in your room? Why would you do that with my art but awww! NFTs? No. Selling on any plattform? No.)

If you are unsure, feel free to ask!

ALL of my commissions, requests will be FREE. I do not take money for anything. If I ask you for money, that's not me.

What I've drawn so far (Completed only):

Flustered Present Mic fanart

Mic putting his hair up

Julius Novachrono vs. Lucius Zogratis fanart

Arataki Itto traditional fanart

Brant traditional fanart

Powder traditional fanart

Sasuke Uchiha traditional fanart

Kakashi Hatake traditional fanart

My written works:

Black Clover:

Headcanons:

General/Multi

oddly specific headcanons

Julius Novachrono

Julius Biker guy headcanons

Fanfiction:

Julius Novachrono:

Julius x Reader Love Story (Part 1)

Julius x Gn!Reader First Kiss

Naruto

Headcanons:

General/Multi:

oddly specific headcanons

My Hero Academy

Headcanons:

oddly specific headcanons

Movie night with your crush

Fanfiction:

Present Mic:

Chance Meeting (twice) - gn!reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Bungo Stray Dogs

Headcanons:

We didn’t get a bingo…

- Crowley talks, a lot. Although, he isn’t as good with his words as he’d like to think. And Aziraphale listens patiently, most of the time already knowing what the other wants to say. But whenever Crowley talks a little too much, a little too quickly, Aziraphale will put a hand on his thigh, trail a finger over his wrist and watch as the Demon’s articulatory prowess dissolves into a string of vowels and eventually dies down.

- Aziraphale isn’t self-conscious about his weight or appearance around Crowley, no. The reason why he insists the Demon straddle him, is because Crowley just looks so delicious when he comes undone in that position.

- Crowley, as a demon, is naturally adverse to all things holy and heavenly. However, he also thinks that Aziraphale’s thighs are the closest thing to heaven that there is for him. (Does that count as blasphemy? Probably.)

- Aziraphale likes to undress Crowley “the human way”. Crowley most certainly goes mad with the teasing and pointed “Patience is a virtue, my dear.”

Shota Aizawa

You’re at your place. He swings by after his patrol, knocking against the glass while he’s perched on your windowsill.

You prepared some chips in advance. Storebought, mostly but you’ll prepare a dip if you’re feeling fancy.

He’s sitting next to you, your shoulders and knees touching as you both look towards the screen.

You’re watching a thriller, packed with tense moments and exciting action scenes. There’s romance between the two main characters and he will comment on the absurdity of that happening under such circumstances.

As the movie continues, you lean against him and he takes that as his cue to put his free arm around you, pulling you a little closer. He doesn’t comment on it and neither do you. But he does pull his scarf a little closer, ducking his head. Not to hide the small, content smile that appears, but to conceal the light, barely-there reddening of his cheeks.

Hizashi Yamada

He knocks at your door and you open it to see him standing there with two bags in his hands and a shit-eating grin on his face. They’re filled to the brim with sweets and snacks and the man is almost vibrating in place from excitement.

“Heya! Dropped by the store and got us some snacks! Time to get this party started, *are you readyyyy*???”

You’re watching a horror movie, a dark and tense atmosphere that is contrasted by the colourful assortment of food splayed out on your coffee table.

Mic helps himself to some popcorn and you also eat something to keep yourself busy as the chilling music sets you on edge in every scene.

There’s lots of screaming and flinching. From both of you. If only in reaction to him and his volume. At one point, he spilled most of his popcorn on your floor at one of the jumpscares. Jumpscares because he nearly flew up to the ceiling at the scene.

Halfway through, he’s abandoned the snacks in favour of gripping your hand, your shoulder, your arm, wherever he could reach. He doesn’t let go once the movie ends, although his grip loosens.

After he calmed down, he tells you how fun it was and that you should do it again sometimes. “Although, how about we ditch the horror and go for something more entertaining next time. Hand-holding still included, by the way!”

Nemuri Kayama

You’re at her place. You stand in her doorway as she opens and greets you with a sweet smile. “Ah, you’re here. Come on in Sweetheart, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” She winks and ushers you inside.

You sit down on the soft couch while she asks you what you want to drink. With the drinks in hand, she sits down next to you.

You’re watching a romantic drama. The two of you chat and gush about the main characters. You smile at the cute scenes and complain about the characters’ actions together. You disagree on who the main character should end up with and exchange your thoughts about what you would do differently.

The evening is filled with laughter and chatter, conversation flowing easily between the two of you. With the drinks emptied and the movie halfway done, Kayama slowly drifts closer to you. Leaning her head against your shoulder, you appreciate the way she lets you see her genuine smile, her genuine voice and her genuine affection.

You get to see the true beauty of her, not just her sexy get up or her naughty words but the small, sweet gestures and gentle affection that she’s capable of out of her hero-persona.

Toshinori Yagi

You’re at his place, knocking on the door to watch him open it and giving you a small, nervous smile.

He shows you inside and you see an impressive assortment of snacks on the table. Ranging from chocolate bars, to candy, chips and even some fruit. He scratches his neck when he sees you looking at it.

“I- I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I uh… I bought, well, everything I could think of.”, he explains rather clumsily and offers you to get something else, if you don’t like it. You quickly assure him it’s fine and he relaxes somewhat.

The two of you settle on the couch, he sits next to you but maintains a small, respectful distance.

You’re watching a documentary about a recently dissolved crime syndicate. You read about it online and it honestly sounded interesting so you immediately said yes when Toshinori suggested watching it together.

Turns out, the snacks were more interesting than the movie. It was boring and dragged on and on with pointless witness reports and statements that had little to do with the actual case.

You watched from the corner of your eyes as Toshinori wrung his hands together and stared straight ahead. Almost as if he’s trying not to look at you.

Halfway through the documentary, your eyes start to get heavy and you feel yourself drifting off. You try to stay awake but it’s a losing battle.

The last thing your conscious mind registers is the warmth of his body as he pulls your head against his shoulder and his low voice as he whispers an apology.

“Next time, you should decide on a movie.”

The movie is a failure but you’re honestly just happy that there will be a ‘next time’.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, rooted to the spot, just staring at the man in front of you. Or rather, staring right through him as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Present Mic, the pro hero and famous radio host and Hizashi Yamada, the charming and easygoing stranger from the bar were the same person. Which means, you didn’t just have a one night stand with a (back then) stranger, you had a one night stand with Present Mic. And to top it all, you didn’t just sleep with Present Mic, you slept with your co worker.

This was a disaster. A huge, mountain-levelling, building-collapsing, all-destroying disaster. Your thoughts were scrambled, your emotions all over the place and you could tell you were spiralling. How couldn’t you? It felt like the universe was against you, fate laughing at you as you desperately tried to figure out how on earth you were supposed to act. What were you supposed to say, to do? Judging from his earlier reaction when he saw you, he must know. He’d known since the moment you stepped foot into the teacher’s lounge. Mic’s earlier comment echoed through your mind. ‘Oh no.’ How fitting. Because what else was there to say?

You were so caught-up in your thoughts that you almost didn’t realise the voice coming from beside you.

“Huh? What?” You asked, dumbly but you couldn’t seem to care about politeness or your choice of words. Not when your whole world felt like it was about to collapse around you and bury you under the rubble. And you silently wished for that to actually happen in that moment, just a little. It would be better than whatever this situation was right now. At least then, no one could see you, could stare at you or judge you.

“I asked if you are alright, dear. You look a bit pale.”, Midnight answered and raised a perfectly manicured hand up to your cheek. The touch was cool, a stark but welcome contrast to the burning heat of your own flesh. It helped ground you, remind you that there were still people around, people that were looking at you. You couldn’t freak out now, (at least not more than you already did) you were still at work. And you were expected to function. Yes, you were stuck with this job now, whether you wanted to or not. So, you would do your best at work and then spiral at home, alone, in the safe haven of the four walls you called your own.

With a clear of the throat, you gave the woman a little nod and said: “Yes, I’m fine. I apologise, it’s just-.. a little overwhelming. Being at U.A. and around so many famous pro heroes and all..” It wasn’t a complete lie. You were feeling overwhelmed. And the staff consisted of many of your favourite heroes. Although, one of them held your attention more than others. But there was no need to tell her that. Or anyone, for that matter. You had every intention to keep that fateful nightly encounter between the blonde hero and yourself under wraps.

Midnight seemed to buy the excuse, already fussing over you and going on about how wonderful it would be and that you’d just have to get to know everyone… Yeah, well you already knew *one* of them. Very intimately. You gulped at the memories that were resurfacing, swimming around in your mind like some sort of heavenly taunt. You could still feel his touches lingering on your skin, could feel the ghost of a breath near your lips, a whisper of a voice, slightly rugged and yet so soft, in your ear. Goosebumps rose on your skin and you had to suppress the urge to bite your lip.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the door slid open yet another time and two more people joined you. One of them was a tall, buff man with white hair and a shirt cut so low, it could rival Midnight-Sensei’s. His colour palate consisted of red, black and white, only the yellowy-orange mask he was wearing added a little variety to his appearance, and your mind immediately connected the colour with another pair of orange-tinted glasses. The man was accompanied by another, rather interesting looking man. For a lack of a better word. His skin tone was a dark navy, almost black colour, with his completely white eyes showing. Although maybe, you thought (hoped?) it was just a mask, but you couldn’t be sure since his whole body from the neck down was hidden beneath a cream-coloured coat. It reminded you of old detective movies you watched as a child. His face was framed by an open, golden mask with all his teeth on full display, set in a smile. Or at least what you thought was a smile. In any way, it didn’t really help in making him look less intimidating.

Midnight and you moved to make space for them which, ended up with you on the couch, sandwiched between Mic on your right and Midnight on the far left with Aizawa next to Yamada on the other end. While the furniture was big enough for three, four of you was a squeeze. Not a tight one but tight enough that your thighs brushed against the blonde’s as you sat down and your shoulders touched. For a brief moment you could feel the warmth of his body seeping into your own and distinctly noted how much the feeling reminded you of snuggling into your favourite sweater or blanket with a cup of tea on a rainy and chilly autumn afternoon. It was both comforting and really, really awkward. Because as soon as your bodies touched, you could feel Mic’s body going tense, muscles pulled taught like a bowstring, ready to snap any second. You tried to steel a glance at him but he had opted to turn his head away from you, avoiding any and every chance at eye contact. You didn’t know if you should feel offended at his utter lack of acknowledgement or amused at his flustered state.

The two new arrivals, you learned, were called Vlad King and Ectoplasm, class 1-B’s homeroom teacher and the school’s residential math teacher respectively. You exchanged pleasantries and introduced yourself. The two of them were, despite their appearance, actually quite polite and even friendly. Ectoplasm even offered to make you a cup of coffee which you graciously accepted. Five minutes later, you found yourself relaxing into the soft cushions of the sofa, steaming mug cradled in your lap, as you distantly listened to a conversation between Midnight-Sensei, Aizawa-Sensei and Vlad-Sensei. Or more like Aizawa grumbling about taking over another class, Midnight making little jabs at him and Vlad already making plans on how to push his class to be the best they could be. The blonde to your right was being uncharacteristically quiet and the woman to your left seemed to have noticed, making little attempts to include him in their, albeit one-sided, banter. You had lost count of how many times you’ve heard the words “Right, Yamada?” and the little, uninterested hums or nods of his head he had given. Honestly, his behaviour seemed more like Aizawa’s. At least judging from what little you’ve seen from the man so far.

At one point, even the man himself had deemed the conversation over and the room much too full for his liking. He swiftly and curtly excused himself, pulling out a yellow sleeping back from god-knows-where and shuffled out of the room. Yamada seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in at that and stood up as well. You’d be lying if you said the sudden loss of contact didn’t startle you and the immediate coldness his absence left behind didn’t bother you. With a completely over-the-top stretch, he announced that he would “Skedaddle off” to prepare some things in advance for his classes today. He flashed everyone his signature finger guns before he left and you swore you saw something in his eyes as yours met for the briefest of moments before he was gone. Which left you completely alone with the other three teachers. You glanced at the clock, then at your half-empty mug. It was still another good twenty minutes before classes started but you figured now would be the best moment to follow the other two teacher’s lead. You stood up from where you had been pressed up against Midnight and distantly noted how the loss of contact hadn’t felt quite as heart-breaking as the other. You made sure to thank Ectoplasm for the coffee before you excused yourself and set out to find your classroom for the first period.

Not being a Homeroom Teacher meant that you had to rotate between different classrooms each period, rather than having your own assigned space. It didn’t really bother you as much though, mostly because the layout of the rooms was fairly simple and straightforward. With a quick glance at your timetable, class 1-C, you wandered through the hallways of the first floor. You spotted the blue sign, hanging from the wall and entered the room. The door was as huge as the one to the staff room, as massive as all the other doors here. Plus Ultra and all. The room was still empty as you arrived and you sank into the teacher’s chair with a quiet sigh. What a great start to the day. Honestly, it could only go up from here, you told yourself as you unpacked your things and emptied your mug as the minutes ticked by slowly. By the time the clock showed fifteen minutes left, the students began shuffling in one after one. The closer the hands of the clock got to the full hour, the more the gap between the door sliding open and closing again and students sitting down lessened until the bell rung.

You gave yourself a quick pep-talk before you stood up from where you were observing the room. ‘Alright, concentrate. Just focus on the lesson and the students and *not* on the night with Mic. Those thoughts had no business being in your mind right here, right now. Just act normal. No one knows anything about the two of you, no one knows. You just have to survive the day. Time to go into teacher-mode. Teach now, spiral later.’

You walked over to the front of the classroom with something resembling confidence. Or at least you wished it was. But you silently thanked whatever deity above when your voice didn’t shake as you introduced yourself and wrote your name onto the blackboard with only slightly shaky hands. ‘Okay, this is good. Everything’s okay. Relax, you’re more than prepared for today.’, you told yourself, stubbornly ignoring the little voice that reminded you of your complete unpreparedness this morning. You walked over to the teacher’s desk, letting your gaze sweep over the class for a moment before you entered a carefully studied monologue about the times before the Quirk Phenomenon.

“As you all know, in today’s society we heavily rely on quirks. These powers, unique to each and every one of us, aren’t just used for crime-fighting, although the public’s eye is most drawn to the heroic actions of those who worked hard to call themselves a pro. But even in our everyday lives, Quirks are ever-present. An example of that would be a fire quirk, used to heat up mugs or leftovers. Or even something as simple as a limb-extending quirk for when you want to get something that would be out of a normal person’s reach. Can any of you give me another example of how you or your family and friends use their quirks in their everyday life’s?” You ended your speech with a question, making sure the students had an opportunity to think about what you just told them and continue the train of thought with their own examples. It was from your experience that you knew students learned better if given an opportunity to ponder the subject and make connections. You internally beamed as you counted four, five, seven, eight raised hands and took the time to listen to every single answer, making sure to encourage a well-thought out answer and give some pointers on rather unfitting examples. You jotted down the answers on the blackboard and then walked back to your desk, opening the history textbook in front of you. The students mirrored your action, flipping to the page you told them.

Your gaze met theirs again and you began anew. “Very good answers, now that you’re aware of the influence quirks had on us, let’s talk a bit more about how it was like before eighty percent of the population had these powers. And while I know that each and every one of your quirks is, in a way, unique and special, I want you to remember that it does not automatically make you better than those who do not have any specialties. Just as you rely on your quirks today, our ancestors relied on their own strengths. They constantly worked towards a more innovative and convenient future. They had to work together rather than to rely on their individual strength. And just as we do now, they also fought in wars, worked in their respective jobs and built a society. This semester will be divided into three parts and you will be tested at the end of every topic as well as in between them. This could include written or oral exams, a presentation or group project or even researching on your own and turning in an essay. But don’t worry, I’m sure it will be interesting. After all, knowing the past is key to working towards a brighter future.” You shot them a smile at that, ignoring their groans at the topic of exams. Well, students never changed, did they. But, now that that’s out of the way, you could really get started with the good stuff. One of your favourite topics. War and crime fighting before quirks and superheroes.

Looking down at your textbook, you began to tell them about the different time periods in Japan and the unique fighting styles and techniques that evolved over time and inventions of new weapons that utilised and perfected the tech of it’s predecessors. This was your time to shine. As you recited the characteristics of a katana and the stances of the samurai that used them, your let your hand hover over the pages and focused your mind on the words. You could feel the familiar buzz behind your eyes, reminiscent of an oncoming headache but strangely comforting and warm as your quirk activated. The second the last sentence left your mouth, you angled your palm upwards, opening your eyes as the air above your skin began to turn a light blue hue. You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth as the image began to flicker and turn to life before you. Like a hologram, two miniature figures, dressed in kimono’s and holding their swords in both hands began to move in an impressive show of a sword dance. Just like you read them, the lines of text began to play out in a scene right at the palm of your hand, word for word. You made sure to make the image big enough that even the students in the last row could see. You were met with twenty-four pairs of wide eyes and a few stunned mumbles and muttered ‘wow’s.

This felt great. It was just what you needed. The satisfaction of teaching and seeing your students paying attention to the words that leave your mouth. Or. like now, the words that came to life by your hands. When you were young, you hated your quirk. It was neither flashy nor powerful and there was no way you could ever even attempt at fighting a villain with that. Partly because the images were just that, images. They weren’t physical and they were too see-through to deceive anyone. Plus, it only activated after you read and thought out the scene in your head. In short, it was way too time-consuming and weak to be of any help in a villain attack. But now, you’ve come to appreciate it. You had made peace with trying to be a hero. And just because you weren’t fighting against the lawless, didn’t mean that you couldn’t leave a positive impact on society. Teaching brought you pleasure, a sense of accomplishment. Every question from your students, every improvement in their tests and participation was a gift you would cherish.

The bell rang far too soon for your liking but your body craved the respite. Overusing your quirk often resulted in headaches or worse, migraines. And you really weren’t keen on calling in sick for your second day. You watched as the students filtered out of the room, one of them staying behind to ask you a question about the different blades the warriors used and you did your best to explain it to him. You kept your answers short but with a promise to go over the topic first thing in your next lesson. Satisfied, the last student shuffled out the door and you followed suit.

When you entered the ground-floor teacher’s lounge for the second time that day, you found it empty except for Ectoplasm, whom you met earlier. You exchanged a quick nod as you gravitated towards the coffee machine, making a silent vow to yourself that it would be the last cup for the day. You sat down at the round dining table and the silence between you and the math teacher wasn’t unpleasant. Your break was spent scrolling through your phone and emptying your mug (you burned your tongue, of course). The two of you were left alone for the whole twenty minutes and you didn’t know if you should have been grateful or a little disappointed. Part of you wished for the presence of the overly loud blonde next to you, the warmth of his touch never quite leaving your skin. Another part of you was glad that he didn’t show up, simply because you were sure you’d simply die because of the awkward tension that had somehow settled between the two of you, ominous and oppressive.

The rest of the day went by smoothly and you fell onto your couch later that afternoon, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and your mind a little foggy, not only because of your excessive quirk use. Now that you were alone, you had nothing to distract you from the blonde that somehow seemed to live rent-free in your head. You groaned as you ran your hands over your face. Yes, hands, as in, multiple. This was a two-hand problem. Actually, you could probably run all the hands on earth over your face and you still wouldn’t feel any less anxious. *That* was how fucked you were. Completely, utterly and royally fucked. In more ways than one. *NO*, you immediately scolded yourself. God, what on earth was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just forget him? Why couldn’t you just deem this weird situation over? Say it was nice and then that was it. But it wasn’t, was it? It was neither *just nice* nor was that it. This man had truly and utterly claimed your body, your mind, your thoughts. It’s as if he’s possessed you. Every touch of his fingertips on your body, every lick across your skin, every kiss and every sinful word had somehow branded you and left you under his spell. It wasn’t like you didn’t have a crush on Present Mic before you met him in that bar but now that you knew what he was like, *really* like with women, you didn’t think you could ever move on. Is this what men mean when they say “I will ruin you for anyone else”? Because that was definitely how you felt right now. And it was so stupid and so pathetic. You felt like a dumb schoolgirl who’s just had her first crush.

You sighed. This was getting you nowhere. Your thoughts were just running constant circles in your subconscious. A cycle of thirsting over a man, *way* out of your league, telling yourself to just *get over it,* and then promptly giving up that notion. You knew, technically, you knew that you’d have to get over it. There was no way Present Mic actually took an interest in you. Yes, he was just making a spur-of-the-moment decision, one fuelled by alcohol and the lingering discontentment of being left that night. And the blushing and stuttering you saw him doing in the teacher’s lounge today was just his embarrassment at realising he had slept with his co worker. It was mortification, not nervousness.

But even as you told yourself all that, your mind kept screaming at you. It wasn’t just another night for you. It wasn’t just embarrassment, it wasn’t just the nerves of the first day. Not for you. And yet, none of it mattered. Because Mic was definitely *not* interested in you and you had *no* chance with him. So, you really had to reign in your emotions and get yourself sorted out before you do something really embarrassing. Like asking him out on a date.

And that particular thought had you spiralling into even more scenarios and possibilities that were definitely never coming true. Still, it didn’t stop you from imagining yourself on a date with your favourite radio host. Your eyes were closed but at one point, you distantly noted the familiar buzz of your quirk activating and slipping out. You hadn’t realised you even used it until the headache became more prominent than your now less than pure thoughts about taking him home after one of your dates. Your face contorted into a frown and your eyes opened to the sight of the two of you, pressed close, his hands resting on your lower back as he kissed you. Your cheeks heat up as you instantly willed your specialty to stop. Once the image was gone, you sat up with a slight groan, the buzz now developed into a full-on headache. Compared with the rumbling of your stomach, you felt miserable. Both physically and mentally. Dragging yourself up from your couch, you stumbled into your bathroom, taking out the prescription headache medication and swallowing the pills with water. You trudged back to your sofa, sinking down into the cushions as you opened your phone to scroll through the food delivery app. Cooking was definitely out of the question for today and you settled on a dish with a small desert, paying the fee directly online and waiting for your food to arrive.

After about twenty minutes, you could feel the ache behind your eyes subsiding, the medication taking effect perfectly on time for your food to show up. The rest of the evening was spent in your living room, going over the notes from today’s class and reading over your presentation for tomorrow that you had made weeks in advance. You silently thanked your past self for that impeccable act of foresight. You really didn’t have the energy nor the motivation to set up a whole lesson for teaching today. And thus, you ended up in front of your TV fairly early into the night. You snuggled into the soft blanket with your favourite snack (which was *not* Hizashi Yamada) in one hand and the remote in the other.

Despite your rough morning, the day had ended fairly peaceful, you mused. And you could only hope that tomorrow would be just as bearable.

A/N2: Was it really the last coffee for the day? You decide!

If anyone told you that Present Mic was capable of showing emotions other than cheerfulness and hyper-activity, you’d probably laugh in their face, shaking your head at the utter absurdity of that statement. Now, however you found yourself reconsidering that standpoint. You watched as his volume lowered several decibels and his face grew fifty shades of delectable red. His mouth opened and closed multiple times before he uttered an utterly pathetic sounding ”Oh no” and though your English wasn’t the best, you did understand that much. He proceeded to clamp a hand over his mouth, his head turning to the side and his eyes dart off, roaming around the room but settling on nothing solid. If you didn’t know him better you’d assume he’s nervous. But this is Present Mic and while he might not be the number one pro hero, he is the number one entertainer. So, no, Present Mic doesn’t get nervous, Present Mic doesn’t blush. You briefly wondered if his “voice”-quirk wasn’t the only one he had and that his whole cockatoo getup was hinting at a secret second quirk. With the way he looked right now, the assumption that he had gone into heat or something like that wasn’t too far off. Did birds even go into heat? But you didn’t actually know him, and he really was blushing. You briefly wondered if you stepped into a parallel universe and the idea seemed more and more likely as the blonde man stuttered, full on stumbling-over-his-words type shit.

“Ah- ahem wow! Excuse me I just- uhh… mistook you… for someone else. Yeahh totally got you mixed up!” He chuckled awkwardly and you did the same. “O-oh! It’s fine, don’t worry.”, you tried to reassure him, deciding to follow the other two men, gave them your name and introduced yourself as the new teacher. “I’m the new history teacher. It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I’m excited to work with you!” And ‘excited’ was an understatement. You knew that Mic worked as an English teacher at U.A. and if you were honest, it was one of the reasons you ultimately applied for the position. The fan inside you was screaming and if you weren’t careful you might just start rambling on to your favourite radio host right here and now. You swore you were vibrating in your place, your mind already coming up with appropriate topics to talk to him about during your breaks and the different ways you could steal a chance to sit with him.

The object of your attraction, did not seem to share that excitement, though. His face going from beet red to a ghastly white in seconds. That was definitely some sort of world record he just broke there. You couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at his uncanny behaviour. The whole time you’ve been there, he just acted so… weird. And it made the situation awkward, to say the least. Your mind immediately supplied that he didn’t like you but the rational part of you knew that you hadn’t technically done anything wrong (yet). But then why did Present Mic look like you just walked in on him changing one second and like you were a ghost from the past the other? Your gaze travelled over to the only other occupant of the room and an idea suddenly formed in your head. Maybe you had walked into something here. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised with the way the blonde sometimes acted and dressed. The hair, the flourish, the hips. Everything about his persona screamed bi at the very least. You suddenly remembered the way the blonde had spoken to the other man. His name was “Aizawa Shouta” but the blonde had not only used his given name but also shortened it to “Sho”. It could be friends at best, secret lovers at worst. And you knew the stigmata and prejudice against anything other than hetero and cis in Japan. Even in modern times like these, even with some heroes speaking out and advertising for a more inclusive and open minded society.

The man on the couch had apparently decided that the awkward silence and palpable tension had been going on for too long because he finally spoke up again. “History? Isn’t that Nemuri-Senpai’s job?”. he asked, the question probably directed at his friend/lover(?). Nemuri. You recognised the name. It belonged to the infamous PG18 hero. “Oh, Midnight-Senpai teaches ‘Modern Hero Art History’. I’m teaching Pre Quirk Phenomenon History, mostly focusing on the way our ancestors fought and lived before quirks were a thing.” “Oooh, that sounds super interesting!”, Present Mic exclaimed, while Aizawa just offered you a grunt in response. Honestly, you were a little relieved that Mic seemed to have calmed down somewhat. Although ‘calm’ was hardly a word you’d use to describe anything remotely to do with the voice hero. But at least he wasn’t blushing or stammering anymore. And then the voice in your head said that maybe, just maybe Mic was upset because he thought you had taken his friend’s job? You ignored how much you wanted that to be true over the other two possibilities. Because if your idol ended up hating you for some reason, or worse: no reason at all, well, you didn’t want to start thinking about the numerous years of mental-health-leave you’d have to take to recover from that.

“It is!”, you replied. “I loved learning about it myself, so I hope the students will too.”

“Ahh, don’t worry, the kiddos are really chill, ya dig?” Mic responded, his usual persona back full force. You offered him a small smile and were about to rope him into a conversation, maybe asking about some tips for a newbie and then steering the conversation somewhere more persona. But it seemed like the gods had no mercy on you today, because just as you opened your mouth, ready to set your half-fleshed out plan into motion when the doors slid open again. You suddenly remembered you were still standing in the doorway and moved to the side to make some room for the new arrival. You didn’t need to turn around to recognise who it was, the whiff of expensive perfume entered your nose before her jet black hair and and red mask entered your field of vision. Midnight turned to look at you, offering you one of her signature smirks. “Oh? And who do we have here? What’s a cutie like you doing here? Oh, don’t tell me you’re the new teacher!” A small smile made its way onto your face at the compliment. You knew, of course, that it was, in a way, all part of her hero persona, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t appreciated. You nodded in response and introduced yourself for what would definitely not be the last time today. Or even close to it, really. “Yes, I teach Pre Quirk Phenomenon History.”, you explained and could see her face light up. She laughed and put an arm around you, pulling you to her side. “A fellow history teacher, huh? Good, good, some more common sense would do those brats good. Don’t you agree Aizawa, Yamada?”, she nodded in the direction of the two men and where you were expecting the enthusiastic nod from Mic, you were a bit surprised to see Eraserhead nod in approval. That was probably the most reaction you’ve seen from him ever since you entered the room and, you’d bet, even all day so far.

However, that wasn’t the thing that made you pause. Your brain had caught on to what Midnight-senpai was saying and you just… froze, mirroring Mic, no, Yamada’s earlier reaction. Wait, what? Yamada? As in, Yamada Hizashi? As in, the handsome blonde stranger from the bar that had somehow (against your best efforts) forced his way into your heart and lodged himself there. Yamada as in, the man who had not only seen you drunk but also in a, now, very alarming state of undress? Whose lips had felt so right against yours and whose hands still made you shiver if you thought about what the way they had expertly manipulated your body again and again? Yes, that Yamada, your brain supplied in its useless state of endless buffering. And suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Horrible, awful, totally not perfect sense. That was why the man seemed so familiar. And honestly, you could slap yourself. How had you not noticed before?? Thinking back, it wasn’t even like he was hiding it. And you called yourself a Mic fan? When you couldn’t even recognise him out of his hero costume. Couldn’t connect those piercing green eyes to the ones looking at you through the tinted glasses right now. Couldn’t see that the stranger’s moustache and Mic’s signature one were the exact same. Couldn’t get the hint with the ‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ shirt. And while all of that could maybe be spun into some absurd tale of him just being a ‘big fan of Present Mic’, the sheer absurdity of you not recognising his signature feature, his voice was really just unforgivable. Yeah, what a great fan you where.

Honestly, you couldn’t choose what was worse. The hypocrisy of calling yourself a Present Mic fan and then not recognising he was sitting right next to you the whole time, or the sheer embarrassment of (unknowingly) sleeping with your idol and then finding out you’re colleagues and have to somehow manage to act accordingly for a whole year. Oh the second one, definitely the second option. Just thinking about the coming year made you want to crawl into a pit and die.

Oh god… how were you going to survive being near this man?

Saturday night. It was supposed to be a fun night. Hizashi had invited his best friend Shouta out for drinks. The last weekend before school starts again was meant to be a night full of alcohol, karaoke, chatter and, of course, friends. It took him two days, four phone calls and one bribe (in the form of going to this new cat café near U.A. sometime) to get his ever-grumpy and sleep-deprived friend to agree. He had grumbled something about ‘still being on call’ on the last call which Hizashi naturally overheard. Okay, he had heard it. He just decided not to pay it any mind. Selective listening or so Shouta had called it. It’s really no wonder when he’s always denying him something fun! So, yes, he might have known that the man was on call and could be called in as reinforcement for a villain attack at any time. But that didn’t mean he had expected him to just leave him! Without so much as an apology. Just a simple ‘Gotta go. Villain attack’. The audacity to just… go. Hizashi had futilely tried to hold him back as his friends was pushing past the rather confused waiter with their beers (well, his beer, Shouta’s water). But, of course, he’s also a hero, so he understands why Aizawa left. Duty calls, or whatever. And he can’t say he wouldn’t have done the same if he was in his position. They dedicated their lives to saving those of other’s after all. But just because he understands it, doesn’t mean he has to like it!

With his only source of entertainment gone for the night, Hizashi sank back into his seat, silently cursing whoever decided to dedicate their time to villainy on a Saturday night! He accepted the beer from the waiter, telling him to take the water back and add both to his tap. With the glass in hand, he stared down at the liquid. There was a thin layer of condensed water on the glass, a few droplets making their way down and disappearing into the wooden surface of the table. The foam was white and bubbling, threatening to tip over the rim with every little swish, swash of movement. Ice cold, golden in colour and foaming, just as he liked it. Only the company was missing. It’s not like he’d die if he was on his own. It’s just that he loved talking to people. Loved hearing his own voice, as Shouta put it. He thrives off of human contact, be it conversational, physical or emotional. He loved knowing people know he exists, that he was real. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a little lonely during the holidays. Sure, he’s surrounded by people at work, counting both his jobs as a hero and a radio host, but he hadn’t been able to talk with someone that actually understands him, knows him. And he just wanted to catch up with his friend before the school year starts again. But alas, his plans had failed. Tremendously. And now he was sitting here, alone, in a bar surrounded by people and yet feeling lonely, left out. He sighed, taking a sip of the beer that was meant to be enjoyed in good company as he looked around the establishment.

He bar was lively, to say the least. Groups of people were scattered among the tables, at the bar and on the makeshift dancefloor (an area that was less crowded with tables and offered sufficient room to move.). There was one couple further away, getting a little too close, thinking that they were shielded away from anyone else in their little corner. Lust can really blind people, huh? The furniture was wooden, a dark brown tone both for the furniture and the walls. Even the ceiling was wooden, a few, round lights installed there that cast a softer, yellowish tone over the room. There were string lights on the walls, as well as over the bar, further enhancing the warm, welcoming atmosphere. Hizashi took a swig from his beer as his eyes slowly drifted across the room, pausing their movement when they fell onto a slightly hunched figure. You were sitting at the bar, both seats next to you empty and looking down at their glass so intently, as if you thought the contents somehow held the answers to every question in the universe. With your rather contemplative look and lack of company you looked every bit at miserable as Hizashi felt. Taking another sip, his eyes never left your form, thinking maybe you were waiting for someone. And when, after ten minutes, no one showed up and you had made no move to look around, Hizashi concluded you were here alone. How sad. And who would he be if he just left you sitting there, all on your own?

Determined, the blonde stood up from his seat and made his way over to you, taking the liberty of sitting down in the chair next to yours. He greeted you in his usual cheerful voice. More cheerful than he felt at the moment. But he felt his mood quickly brightening at the prospect of someone to talk to.

“Hey what’cha doing here all on your own?”

It was an innocent enough question, and a great conversation starter! He was totally not looking to find an excuse to complain about his own friend’s departure! He did not expect you to jump in your seat at his question and he raised an eyebrow at the gesture. Lost in thought then? It’s not like he couldn’t relate. But whatever could be going on in your head that you contemplated it so deeply at a bar? Now, his excitement was tinged with a bit of curiosity. He followed the movement of your eyes as they trailed over his form, and he felt his mouth tilting upwards as he waited for the recognition to settle in. He was in the top 50 in hero rankings and, although not nearly as popular as the top 10, he was popular enough to be recognised on the street fairly often. Outside of his hero costume, of course, it was a different story. Some people still make the connection, mostly because of his hair and eye colour and, of course, his moustache. However, instead of the usual awe and excitement, he expected to see, he was met with a smile. Just a smile and none of the recognition. Now, that… was confusing. He quickly glanced down at himself. Did he have something on his shirt? Did some of the foam make its way onto his mouth? He licked his lip in response to that thought only to find his tongue foam-less. Why were you laughing then? Did he say something funny?

The answer to his question came accompanied by a small laugh. “No, no, sorry. It’s just that that’s one of my favourite shows.” Ah, so he said that out loud. His confusion was replaced by a sense of giddy excitement, much like a small child that showed their mother a drawing of them. Hizashi was proud of his work. All three of them and although he knows his show is popular, according to the weekly listeners and the sales numbers on the merch, it always felt extra rewarding to hear it in person. Meeting a fan was never a chore for him, after all it made him feel good about himself, confident in what he does. He felt assured that his work was bringing other people joy. So, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what you liked about it. And, damn, if that answer didn’t make his evening, scratch that, his whole week. He had to suppress the grin that threatened to make it’s way onto his face. He failed, he knew that from the way the skin around his mouth tightened and his cheeks almost touched the rims of his glasses. ‘Present Mic’, huh? Interesting. Did you really not recognise him? He decided to give you just a tiny hint. He’d never deny a fan the chance at a photo with him, after all! “Huh, and here I thought you just found me funny.”. The confusion about that statement was evident on your face and for a second his faced morphed into something akin to mischief before he put on his signature smile again. You really don’t recognise him. How exciting! Time for some incognito action! He asked for your name and noticed the minute look of contemplation, apprehension before you answered with your name. He tested it on his tongue before introducing himself. His government name might’ve been a poor choice. Even if he doesn’t mention it, it’s no secret. But even that did not seem to ring a bell for you and he finds himself a little relieved, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was just looking forward to some genuine conversation. He knew how some fans can be around their idols, after all.

When you told him you were here to take your mind off your job, he nodded enthusiastically. He could understand. Three jobs sometimes gets a little much even for him. Shouta might be surviving off of coffee and jelly packets but he had to admit that he found himself indulging in energy drinks and instant ramen more often than he’d ever admit to his friend. He’s a hypocrite and he knows it, okay? But caring for someone else is always easier than caring for yourself. Suddenly, he realised the wasn’t all that excited to share his own story of betrayal but rather curious to find out more about you. Just some research, he told himself. Finding out what sort of fans he has, and what they get up to. Despite that, he let his eyes wander more often than would probably be considered appropriate for a light conversation with a fan. But who can fault him with the way your eyes seem to light up whenever you talk about your favourite things? How your mouth seemed to be stuck in a permanent smile, mirroring his own look? How your hands gestured while you explained something to him and your voice grows a little louder, more excited, when the two of you realise you share common interests?

Both conversation and liquor flowed freely between you and Hizashi found his thoughts drifting more often, the longer he looked at you. To say that he wasn’t attracted to you would be a lie. The way your lips moved as you spoke, the question of how they’d feel against his own. The urge to reach out and turn your head back towards him whenever you looked away from his gaze. How he wished you’d stop gesturing with your hands so he could hold them in his own. The brief thought of how you’d react if he tugged at your hair just so. Or the sudden wonder what your voice would sound like hoarse. He took another sip of his cold beer to hopefully cool down these totally unwelcome ideas. When the glass was empty, and the thought distinctly not. gone. he turned towards the bartender and raised his hand to grab their attention. The bastard had the audacity to shake his head at him and just as he was about to retort that he wasn’t that drunk, they pointed at the clock and understanding clicked in his brain. Damn, had it really gotten this late? Where did the time go? He risked a quick glance at his phone, not to check if his eyes were deceiving him (which they, unfortunately did not) and he saw a message from Shouta, dated sometime two hours ago. ‘Just finished with the authorities. Won’t be back.’. A hint of frustration made it’s way up but he pushed it down. He had found some very agreeable (and attractive) company on his own. He didn’t need Shouta to keep him company, he could walk up and speak to someone on his own just fine! He shut off his phone and when the digits of the clock showed again on his always-on-screen, he was once again reminded of his current predicament. “Awe maannn…that…sucks” he drawls and, woah, he sounded more drunk than he felt.

Hizashi didn’t find himself quite ready to depart just yet, and just as he was about to suggest a nice karaoke spot near, your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The words “It’s pretty late… I think I should go home” were accompanied by you standing up on shaky legs. It didn’t take an idiot to figure out you were unsteady on your feat and threatening to fall. But it did take a hero with years worth of experience and reflexes to appear by your side and support you by your upper arms. “Woah there, take it easy…”, he said, almost reflexively. But you proved to be a rather stubborn one, insisting on the need to go home. Probably a good idea, Hizashi agreed, but not in your state and definitely not alone. As a pro, he knew better than anyone how common muggings and… worse had become and he did not want you stepping into danger alone. He would make sure you get there safely, he determined. And after some initial hesitance which seemed like a mix of insecurity and wariness to him, you agreed. Good, it’s right to be wary of a complete stranger offering to take you home. And would it have been anyone else but himself, a hero, he would’ve made sure you wouldn’t even think about taking up the offer. It did not take him long to convince you (Oboro was right, he does excel at negotiation) and he paid for both of your tabs. Both as a thank you for surrendering your evening to him and because he felt kind of responsible that you drank so much. Plus, it’s not like he didn’t have the money.

The walk down the streets was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Hizashi stayed close to your side, one arm slightly extended out towards your side, ready to steady you again while his eyes swept over the streets, narrowing a little whenever the two of you passed an alleyway. It was just ten minutes before he leaned against a wall (totally not to keep himself from swaying) and watched you fumble with your keys to unlock the main door. A small smile found its way onto his face as he regarded you. How cute. You must’ve been able to hear his thoughts as you turned around and shot him a glare to which he just shrugged his shoulders. If you didn’t want him to smile at you, you should simply stop being so adorable. His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a hiccup forcing its way up his throat. He shouldn’t have felt embarrassed like that but somehow he felt like you could read his thoughts and he looked away, scratching his head. “Who- hic- whoops.” Thankfully, you had decided to break the awkwardness that had slowly settled between the two of you. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“If I come in for a glass of water now, I don’t think we’ll be sleeping tonight.”

And just like that, the awkwardness had come back with full force, apparently aiming right at you, if the look on your face was anything to go by. Damn, had he really said that out loud? Curse his loud mouth as it had both the ability to draw people in and to drive them away in equal manner. The shock on your face mirrored on his own and he suddenly found himself wanting to be anywhere but here. He absentmindedly wishes he had Shouta’s capture weapon so he could just swing away into the nearest alley and hit his head against the wall hard enough he forgot what just happened. He was just about to go through with that plan (albeit with less swinging and more awkward stumbling) when your mouth opened once more. “But do you want a glass of water?” If he weren’t already frozen on the spot, he would now. What? Had he heard that right? No, scratch that, had he understood that right? What did- Did you really just-? ‘God, Hizashi, get a grip! This is not the first time someone had offered you a one night stand!’, he mentally berated himself as he tried to process and do his best not to look like a fumbling schoolboy. He’d done this many times before, hell, he’d known some people for less than half as long as he’d known you. Why won’t his brain process? He wrestled with his emotions for a while and while he might’ve looked only slightly (very much) taken aback, there was a war going on inside, and it was bloody and chaotic. But alas, he had finally emerged victorious (Hah, take that emotions!) and the shock on his face gave way to a small smile. What a wonderful idea and a great way to end the night. He pushed away from the wall and gestured to the door, suddenly feeling a little more sober. “Lead the way then, sweetie.”, he said and heard himself chuckle a little at the reddening of your cheeks. ‘Cute’, he thought. ‘I wonder how the red would look spreading down to the neck and below…’, he mused. The thoughts from earlier were back now but at least this time he knew they weren’t entirely unreciprocated. And lead the way you did.

Not for long, though because as soon as you were both inside the apartment, Hizashi took the liberty of taking over. Gently pushing you up against the door, he was mindful of keeping his grip light and the pressure not too much, just in case he had misunderstood and you’d push him away. The little gasp you made had him thinking for a second that he was indeed wrong, but when he glanced down at you and saw you biting your lip he couldn’t help the smirk anymore. Ah, you’re shy. How adorable. It made him want to run his hands down your body and assure you that you looked every bit as gorgeous as he knew you did. But, while that definitely was happening tonight, it would have to wait because right now, he just wanted to press his lips against yours and mirror your own action of biting down on the sensitive flesh there. Which he promptly did, and that earned him a low sound, something between a gasp, a hitch in your breath and a moan. And god, he wanted to hear more. He might be called the voice hero because of his own quirk but he loved being the reason for all those little sounds just as much as he loved talking. The noise that escaped you when he pressed a leg between yours was almost enough to make him carry you to bed himself. But, he was nothing but patient with these things. He would have you gasping and shuddering right here before he did anything remotely close to the things he had planned. Which is why he kept his touch feather-light as he slid a hand beneath your shirt, his fingertips tracing the goosebumps that appeared on your skin and his mouth swallowing the sounds he drew from you. He was a tease and he knew it. Besides, you didn’t seem to complain. At least not judging by the way your hands clung to his shoulders as your knees slowly came closer to giving out.

Only when he was sure you were fast asleep beside him, did he move from the bed. Standing up, he gathered his clothes, tracing back your steps as he smiled a little distantly. Boxers first, along with his socks. Then his pants, his shirt and underneath it, his jacket. When he got to the entrance way, he slipped into his boots and risked another glance back at your resting form beneath the blankets he had draped over you when you began drifting off. A little light filtered in from behind the curtains and he listened to the tell-tale noises of the city waking up. Birds chirping, cars driving by, a dog barking in the distance, a bike bell. It was shortly before six and the perfect time to go home and do something about the soft but constant thrumming behind his eyes that had started around an hour ago. As quietly as he could, which was quite because he was a hero after all, he closed the door, not bothering to leave a note. It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate the night but something inside him wondered and didn’t want to be there if you decided that this was a mistake. As he walked towards his home, he found himself smiling on the way there. The night may not have gone as he had planned, but it was definitely a night to remember. And he wouldn’t say he was grateful that Shouta had to leave, but he had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing. Which is why he refrained from sending him an annoyed text with lots of angry emojis to get his point across and simply walked in silence.

As soon as he got home, he got a glass of water and some meds for his headache. He pondered eating something before going to bed but it was like that damn thing was calling out to him. The soft mattress singing a soft tune, like a siren luring in their prey while the pillows and the mattress chanted his name like a prayer. And he found himself unable to resist. For the second time that day, he gave in to temptation and shrugged off his clothes (also for the second time, he distantly mused) and noticed that a hint of your scent had stuck on them. He could surely go another day without washing his shirt, right? Not like he planned on doing laundry today anyway. Right now, he just planned on sleeping and for maybe the first time that day, he actually went through with a plan he made.

When he woke up again, it was already well into the afternoon and he noticed (heard, mostly) his stomach rumbling and making the essential need for food known. After he ate, he got out his laptop and decided to go over the lesson plan and his own presentations again. They’re mostly the same as last year but he had taken the time (it’s not like he was short on that) to go over them and make some additions and corrections based on student feedback and slight changes in the official semester plan. In summary, his Sunday had been spent in peace (although not quiet because he can not function without at least some background music), preparing for the upcoming school year.

By the time Monday rolled around, Hizashi felt refreshed and energetic. Well, he always did (or at least gave off that impression), but today he had a little extra swing in his step and greeted the few early students extra cheerfully. When he made his way into the teacher’s lounge, his best friends was already there and so was his signature sleeping bag (seriously, did this dude just spend the night here??). A coffee mug already sat on the white, circular dining table and he absentmindedly wondered who the other mug belonged to (probably Chiyo, she was somehow always there, ready to nurse any injured student, or teacher, back to health). The human caterpillar that called himself his friend raised an eyebrow when his tired eyes met Hizashi’s and he opened his mouth to speak. “You look painfully happy. Something happen? Half expected you to chew me out the minute you got my text on Saturday.” ‘Sunday’, the blonde quietly corrected his friend in his head. But Shouta would just roll his eyes and mutter something about it ‘not being tomorrow until I go to bed or it’s past 6am’ so he bit the retort down and instead offered an explanation to Shouta’s question. “As a matter of fact, I am. Happy. And yes, I planned to chew you out, you traitor. Buuuutt, I actually met someone who appreciates my company.” Another raised eyebrow. “I suppose this is where I ask ‘what happened after I left’?” Hizashi couldn’t help the smirk that made its way on his face. Shouta really never changed, did he? He threw finger guns into his direction as he answered in English “Bingo!” And then went into a rather lively retelling of the night’s events as he explained what his friend had missed after he left. Of course, he left out the description of what exactly the two of you did after you invited him in, but not without mentioning it was amazing. Shouta, ever himself, listened half-heartedly, not bothering to grace his friend with any actual answer besides the occasional grunt or nod to signal that he was still (selectively) listening. When he was finished the bastard had the gall to remark that he ‘got something out of it at the end’ and he couldn’t stop the dramatic gasp at his dismissive answer. “Yeah but still! Totally not cool Shou! How could you just leave me like that??”

Instead of gracing him with an answer, Shouta turned his head towards the door, where, apparently, someone had joined them. He said something about a new teacher and immediately, Hizashi’s discontent was overshadowed by excitement at the prospect of another new face. He turned around, putting on his usual spiel before Shouta could take his opportunity to introduce him in his stead. “And I’m Present Mic, English teacher at your service. Yeeeaaahhhhhhhh…..?” He was halfway through his ‘Yeah’ when he took a good look at the person standing in front of him. He recognised you. Recognised your face, your hair, your body and grew silent as he just stood there, staring at you. For a second, he thought maybe he *had* drunken a bit too much yesterday and he was hallucinating. Or maybe he was caught in a villain attack without realising and this was an illusion. But when you didn’t move and just stood there, looking at him a little confused, tilting your head in the same manner you had done that night, when he threw that little hint at you, it dawned on him that this, that you, were very real. You were standing in front of him right now, not laying underneath him, you were looking up at him, not breathing heavily with your eyes closed before he would gently coax you to look at him. Suddenly, he wished you hadn’t been looking at him because he could feel his face grow hotter and he knew he must be fifty shades of red by now. He turned his gaze away from you, unable to keep looking at you. “Oh no”, he said and quickly put a hand over his mouth, lest more unwanted words escape him. How on earth would he survive the year? How?

When all he could think about was your body beneath him and the feeling of your skin against his every time he saw you?

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this!! I hope my characterisation of Mic wasn’t too OOC. Feel free to leave your thoughts! Even if you think I messed up with his character. I hope you have a great day/morning/night!

Saturday night. It is arguably the busiest night in the world. Children don’t have to go to school, most adults don’t have to work and the city of Musutafu is bustling at this time of day. The street lights and numerous neon signs from shops and buildings all over the city illuminate the night. If you were to turn your gaze up towards the sky, you would see no stars, even when there are no clouds. You might, though, be able to catch a glimpse of a silhouette up in the air if you’re lucky. Pro Heroes are not exempt from having to patrol even on the weekends. But that wasn’t any concern of yours. You had long given up the childish dream of being a hero, leaving that to the people with better suited quirks. It wasn’t that you disliked your quirk, it was just not very useful in fighting, well anyone. And anyways, you much preferred a life of no danger, even if it might be a tad boring. Boring is good. Boring is safe. That’s what you told yourself. That’s why you chose a boring profession as a teacher. Maybe that’s why all your instincts were screaming at you when you accepted the role of history teacher at U.A. High. The most prestigious hero academy in all of Musutafu, hell, all of Japan was bound to be a magnet for trouble. But the pay was just too good to pass up on. Okay, maybe that’s a lowly reason but money makes the world go around after all. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you wanted to live a good life in stability. And the job at U.A. offered stability. It actually offered a hell lot of stability. So yeah, maybe you were a little blinded by the numbers on the contract you signed at the beginning of the week, but it would all be fine, right?

You sighed a little as you sat down onto the barstool of the pub you somehow found your way into. You didn’t actually know why you were here in the first place. You usually weren’t one to go out for drinks alone. Not that you really had anyone to go out for drinks with. You had loose contact with some of your old classmates from Uni but you weren’t exactly close enough to invite them out with you. Staring down at your glass, watching the liquid swirl and swash around you once again debated whether or not to just go home. Maybe you’d lie on your sofa, absentmindedly scrolling through various social media posts as you listen to one of the tapes you made of the recent broadcasts of ‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’. It’s the radio show by pro hero present mic and although you like your ~~solitude~~ peace, there’s something about him that makes you feel less lonely at night, when you listen to his chatter in the background.

“Hey what’cha doing here all on your own?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts as a man suddenly appears on the seat next to you. You turn to look at him. He’s rather tall, his body turned towards you as his head is resting casually on his hand with an elbow propped up on the bar. He has an easy smile on his lips and his piercing green eyes, framed by a set of black rimmed glasses, seem to sparkle in the rather dimly lit bar, almost reminiscent of an emerald when the sunlight hits it just right. His long blonde hair, styled in a half-up, half-down look is falling over his shoulder and your eyes follow the flow of the strands downwards to his torso. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and leather trousers to match but your gaze stays on the low cut V-neck shirt he’s wearing. The maroon colour of it is accompanied by a white rectangle with black lettering framed by it. You can barely make out the words ‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’. You wouldn’t have been able to recognise them, actually, if you hadn’t seen an ad for the exact same shirt on one of the social media websites this week. A smile makes its way up to your face as you realise you were just thinking about the radio show. What are the chances?

“Hm? Something funny? Was it something I said?” The man asks, noticing your amused look. Something about his voice seems familiar but you can’t really place it. A small lough bubbles at the back of your throat and you shake your head. “No, no, sorry. It’s just that that’s one of my favourite shows.” You supplied as the stranger was still looking at you curiously, gesturing vaguely to the article of clothing he’s wearing. “No joke, huh? What do you like about it?” He asks again and you find yourself mulling the question over for a moment. It’s not like you really owed this man any explanation or anything. He was a complete stranger after all but you answer him honestly nonetheless. “There’s just something about Present Mic that makes me feel at ease. He talks like he’s your friend and you just get that feeling that you’re having a conversation with someone you’ve known for years, you know?” The blonde nods, then his smile widens. “Huh, and here I thought you just found me funny.” You tilt your head in confusion, what was this man talking about. He hadn’t even made anything even remotely resembling a joke. “Why? I don’t know you, do I?” Something about what you just said must’ve had an impact because there’s a hint of emotion crossing his face for a second before it morphs back into the smile. “Well, that’s something we can fix! What’s your name?” He asks and you know you should probably just excuse yourself and leave. It’s not the best idea to indulge a stranger you met in a bar, but somehow you find yourself in desperate need of some entertainment other than social media and binge watching. Even that gets boring after a while, especially since during the summer holidays teachers have a lot of free time on their hands.

So, you tell him your name and the reason why you’re here right now (taking your mind off your job) with less reluctance than you would’ve expected from yourself. He tells you about himself as well, His name is Hizashi Yamada and he initially hadn’t been alone but his friend who was there with him had to leave for an emergency and now he was alone and not yet willing to end the night and go home. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you and it almost felt like you were catching up with an old acquaintance instead of talking to a complete stranger and you suddenly felt glad you had decided to stay. You talked a lot about the radio show, about music and movies. It was all pretty superficial stuff but you still felt yourself hanging on to every word that left his mouth. You hadn’t realised how his speech became slightly slurred, mirroring your own words, how he had naturally gravitated a little closer towards you as the night went on, how you caught yourself staring into his impossibly green eyes more and more often and how you had started to wonder if his moustache would tickle if you kissed him. You hadn’t realised at all that the background chatter of the bar had gradually died down until it was but a murmur of only a handful of people or how the hands of the clock had rotated until the time showed 2am.

Your companion downed the remainder of his beer and turned towards the bartender who just shook his head and pointed at the clock, making sure to tell him, he’s sorry but they’re closing for the night. “Awe maannn… that.. sucks.” Hizashi drawls and you smile softly, shaking your head as you take the last sip of your own drink and empty the glass. “It’s pretty late… I think I should go home” You said as you stood up. Which turned out to be a mistake as you stumbled a little, your perception of depth failing you as the floor seems both close enough to touch and miles away. Your limbs felt lighter and you felt a little floaty. The blonde was at your side in an instant. He entered your field of vision so fast you wondered for a moment if he had a teleportation quirk. He reached out for you, his hand hovering near your arm, not quite touching you yet but close enough to steady you if you should need it. “Woah there, take it easy…” You swallowed and shook your head a little bit. “I’m fine, sorry. I should uh… probably head home.” You said, suddenly feeling a little awkward about your state of mind. You couldn’t have been that drunk if you still had that sense of awkwardness. Hizashi shook his head. “On your own? At least let me walk ya home. I won’t rob ya or ‘nything, promise!”, he said and you had half a mind to decline. You might be drunk but not stupid. But on the other hand, which villain likes jazz and dumb romance movies with a plot you can smell from miles away. Which villain listens to ‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ and enthuses with you about the different segments of the show. Alright, you might be letting your guard down a little too much around him. “Oh, no it’s alright. I actually live pretty close, I can make it back on my own, you don’t have to walk me.”, you said, equally as cautious about this man and determined not to inconvenience him any more. But he just chuckled and said: “On your own? Sure, there’s heroes around but it’s still dangerous for a pretty woman like you to go out at this hour all alone. And I’m pretty good at keeping bad guys away, ya know? Just see it as a way to thank ya for listening to my rambles, yeah?” He said while he pulled out a wallet to pay for both of your drinks, just shooting you a wide grin and a wink at your protests. You almost forgot to listen to anything he said after the words ‘pretty woman’ left his mouth. You can’t really argue with that, can you? After one more fruitless attempt to convince him it’s really not worth his time, you agreed and minutes later you were both walking down the streets.

The walk itself was not long and after ten minutes you found yourself in front of the door leading up to an apartment complex. You pulled out your keys and fumbled a little with the lock. When it finally clicked open, you opened the door and turned back to the man standing behind you. He was leaning against the wall of the building, an amused smirk on his face as he watched you struggle with the keys. You shot him a look to which he just shrugged. A hiccup suddenly broke the silence before you could and you stare at him to find him looking away, scratching the back of his neck. “Who- *hic* whoops” You shake your head and before you can stop yourself you ask “Do you want a glass of water?” It was an innocent question, really, it was. His answer, however, was not at all. “If I come in for a glass of water now, I don’t think we’ll be sleeping tonight.” To say you paused at that sentence was an understatement. You quite literally froze, mouth opened to say something but words catching in your throat before you could utter them. For a moment, you thought you’d just have to stand there and watch him forever, but miraculously, your brain decided to put you out of your misery and do a full reboot and factory reset. And after what felt like hours, words found you again. “But do you want a glass of water?” You asked. It’s not like you hadn’t understood the implications of what he said. You understood very well. And there was that little voice in the back of your mind that was screaming ‘this is a bad idea. What are you thinking, a one night stand with a man you barely know??’ And then there was that other voice ‘A hot man.’ And after a tug of war of those two sides, ultimately the horny voice, as you dubbed it, won out and you had offered him to come in. Judging by the look on his face, he hadn’t expected you to say that either. Makes two of you. But then, the initial shock morphed into something more subdued, a little intimate perhaps and he smiled lazily as he pushed himself away from the wall. “Lead the way then, sweetie.” And you did just that, grateful to have your back turned to him as you showed him up the stairs and opened the door so he wouldn’t see the reddening of your cheeks. But judging from the little chuckle you heard from behind you, he must’ve noticed.

As soon as you opened the door and let him in, you felt the wooden surface of it pressed against your back and registered the warmth of his hands on your waist that was radiating through your clothes and seeped into your skin. If you hadn’t been drunk, you might’ve noticed how the intentionally kept his grip looser, how the first touch of his lips on yours was light, cautious even. Just a slight brush of your lips. But you were too dazed to notice that. Your mind was filled with the sudden need to feel this man closer. And closer you’d get him. You tugged at his shirt, angling your body to press your lips more firmly against his and he got the hint as he began to deepen the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist to press you more firmly against the door as he slid one of his legs between yours. His other hand coming up to rest against the doorframe next to your head. You closed your eyes and for once the little voices and concerns in the back of your head were silent. In fact, everything was blissfully silent safe for the soft sound of fabric rustling as you both worked to get the other out of their clothes and the laboured breathing that mingled together as either of you refused to part for more than a few seconds to catch your breaths.

Hizashi was right, you did, indeed, not sleep until well into the early morning hours. But for the first time in a while, sleep came easily for you. You fell asleep with a soft smile on your lips.

When you woke up again, you were alone. Which really wasn’t a big surprise. You hadn’t expected him to stay and cook you breakfast and bring it to your bed. He probably had his own life to get back to. The sun was already high in the sky and you could hear the familiar muted sound of cars and people and life down on the streets. You glanced at your phone, the digital numbers on the screen informing you it was shortly after 2pm. You turned around with a small groan, not feeling quite ready to start another day yet. You felt the corners of your lips turning upwards as you remember the reason you had slept so well into the day. The smell of him lingered in your bedsheets and the ghost of a feeling of his hands on your body. You could still remember the feeling of his mouth on yours and his voice slightly raspy in your ear as his breath ghosted over your skin. A shiver ran through you at the, albeit a little scattered, memories. It’s not like you had never indulged in the lesser cravings of the flesh but you could confidently say that this man you hadn’t even known for more than a few hours somehow figured out your body quicker than any past partner you had and played you sinfully good like an instrument, better than any of the self-proclaimed ‘experienced’ lovers. It is then when you realise you hadn’t even asked for his number. Sure, he knew where you lived but would he really just show up on your doorstep to take you out? Would he even want to see you again? You sighed as the blissful thoughts of him last nights were slowly getting overshadowed by the doubts. You shook your head, determined not to let it get you down. You shared an amazing night with someone and you felt good about it but you won’t expect him to come back and you definitely wouldn’t actively seek him out again. You weren’t going to dwell on this and give yourself false hope. If he comes back, that’s a nice bonus. Yes. You weren’t going to think about this at all. After all, you had a semester of teaching to prepare for.

And thus, your Sunday was spent in front of your laptop as you went over the official lesson plan, your own notes and the material you had already prepared for the next two weeks, while listening to one of the tapes you made of ‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’. You worked quickly with the soft background noise, stuffing some more notes into the presentation you had made for next week. It never hurt to give some more additional information, right? But that also meant you had more to choose from when putting together the first exam. But that wasn’t until four or five weeks so you set that aside for now. By the time you made dinner, you felt thoroughly prepared for your first day. Maybe a little overprepared seeing as you had spent more time than you would like to admit researching your fellow co workers. Or at least the ones you knew worked at U.A. It was no real surprise that you fell into your bed and closed your eyes a little earlier than you usually would. But for some reason (that reason being a very particular blonde man, who made you blush just thinking about him for too long) your body was exhausted. Not the usual sleepy, crushing exhaustion you feel after a particularly stressful week or a long day filled with walking around too much, it was a good kind of exhaustion. The one that made your body feel heavy, your eyes flutter shut and your breath even out as soon as you hit your mattress.

When you were woken up by your alarm the next morning, you felt both rested and decidedly not ready. The through preparation and your former feeling of readiness replaced by an anticipatory sense of anxiety as you realised that you’d be working at U.A. That this was real and not just a dream and you had to be perfect or else you’d be replaced and- . You shook your head, banishing these thoughts as you got up and walked into your kitchen. You distantly noticed the dull ache in your legs and stomach that came from over exerting the muscles in those areas as you went through the motions of making breakfast, getting dressed and packing your bags. You double checked that you had everything you’d be needing for the day before you locked your apartment door shut behind you with a ‘click’.

Your way to work was, thank goodness, uneventful. You somehow always managed to run into some kind of inconvenience on your way to important meetings or places. A wave of red lights, a little child too eager to cross the road, a villain attack causing your original way to be locked down temporarily, noticing halfway that you forgot your wallet,… the list goes on. But today, thankfully, the streets remained blessedly quiet, the villains had decided to spare your route and you had always found what you were looking for when you rechecked your bags. Thanks to that, you arrived a little earlier than usual at the school grounds. You always plan in some extra time for the way after all. The security check at the gate went without a hitch either, the guard looking at your badge and after a quick scan of the object you were free to enter. That’s when you realised you were basically all alone, facing an impossibly large building that just screamed ‘Hey! Get lost in me on your way to the classroom!’. You pulled out your phone and opened the file with the school layout and your assigned rooms, as well as the staff rooms on it. Bless whoever was in charge and thought of this because otherwise you’d have been completely lost.

Following the guide on your phone you made your way into the building as you mapped out the way to your first stop. The teacher’s lounge on the first floor. You somehow found your way to the huge double doors, being mindful of greeting the few students and staff members scattered in the hallways on your way there. As you looked up at the imposing doors you can’t help but feel nervous. More nervous than you had already been and although your rational mind knew it was just an accessibility thing, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was a second, hidden purpose. Like scaring away rogue students that wanted to catch a peek or intimidating troublemakers that somehow found their way here to be scolded by a teacher. The second thought definitely seemed more likely since it had done wonders for you and your palms that were growing increasingly damp. You took a deep breath and slid open the doors, poking your head in.

The room was large enough to accommodate for around ten people, a little kitchen area to the left wall, with a fridge and two coffee makers, as well as a microwave on the counters, complete with overhead shelves and a sink next to a counter with a built-in dishwasher. Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about any lack of caffeine to get you through the day. In front of it was a round dining table with chairs placed around it. You could see two coffee cups and a small stack of papers scattered on the white wooden surface but their owners were nowhere to be seen. Next to the area were a couple of desks that lined the wall, each with a monitor on it and a tower nestled between a small built-in shelve to the right underside of it. Off to the right wall there was a large green couch with enough room to fit at least four people comfortably, five even without squeezing too much and an armchair of the same colour next to it. The light brown, wooden coffee table was oval-shaped and had a class cutout in the middle. A rug underneath made the area look almost comfortable.

It was then that you saw the couch was not, in fact, empty but occupied by a rather grumpy looking, black cloaked figure.He had long black hair that fell unhindered over his face, black stubble showing on his jaw and above his lips. An almost comically long scarf was wrapped multiple times around his neck, the layers stacking so high it almost reached his mouth. His black clothes hung a little loosely around his frame and for a moment you wondered if he was homeless. And in front of him, standing with his hands on his hips, arms coming up periodically as he continued gesturing wildly at his less-than-interested conversation partner was a tall blonde man. His hair was done up in a style you could only describe as the hair of a cockatoo, heavy looking earphones resting on his neck that was partly engulfed by a black leather jacket with spiked shoulder and elbow pads. You could see the edges of a blonde mustache and the rims of his orange-tinted glasses from where he was standing with his back turned partially towards you. Present mic, you realised and the fangirl inside you did a few little jumps (as did your heart) when you realised you were standing a few feet away from your favourite radio-host slash pro hero. That didn’t give you any more idea though as to who the other man was supposed to be. You overheard (totally on accident, as they were the only people in the room apart from you) snippets of their conversation. “Sounds to me like you got something good out of it at the end, Mic.” The man’s voice sounded about as rough as you’d imagine the stubble would feel like on your skin. “Yeah but still! Totally *not cool* Shou! How could you just leave me like that??” Mic was saying, his voice a couple more volumes higher than his friend’s? Partner’s? Co-Worker’s? Who was this guy??

As if hearing your thoughts, the man in question turned towards you. Although ‘turn’ would be an overstatement. His eyes met yours for a moment before he looked off to the side again, seemingly disinterested in the new face. He still offered you an explanation though. “You must be the new teacher. I’m Shouta Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead and home room teacher of class 1-A starting this year.”, he thankfully supplied. “And this is-“, he started but was cut off by Mic who had turned around enthusiastically to greet the new co-worker. “And I’m Present Mic, English teacher at your service. Yeeeaaahhhhhhhh…..?” His voice had gradually become quieter as he spoke, his energy fading as he looked at you until the English ‘yeah’ was dragged out and ended on a questioning high note. His smile faded and he stared at you for a moment, hands hanging uselessly in the air from where he had formed finger guns at you. You wondered for a moment if you had something on your face or why Present Mic had frozen like that. The blonde man had stared at you with his mouth agape before he turned his face away from you, a soft blush covering his cheeks as he held one hand to his mouth and muttered a quiet English phrase “Oh no.”

How odd. Maybe he doesn’t like you?