Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 17

masterlist

The snow crunched underfoot as Team 1—now dubbed the Tree Squad—stepped into the bustling Christmas tree lot. Twinkling string lights illuminated rows of firs dusted with fresh snow, and the crisp scent of pine hung in the air. For most people, picking out a tree was a joyous occasion. For this group, it was a mission.

“Alright, we’re here to get the biggest and flashiest tree this place has to offer,” Tengen declared, his voice booming with his usual flamboyance. He adjusted his fur-lined coat, standing tall and ready to conquer the holiday season.

“It has to be one that screams Merry Christmas!” Tanjiro added, holding a carefully curated list of tree requirements. His warm smile contrasted with the chaos brewing behind him.

“Who cares about screaming? Let’s get the one that looks the toughest!” Inosuke yelled, his wild demeanor drawing a few curious looks from passersby.

Bakugo, walking slightly behind the group, scowled. “This whole thing is stupid. Just grab one and let’s get out of here.”

Despite their wildly different approaches, the group’s eyes locked on the tree almost simultaneously. It was a towering, perfectly symmetrical spruce with thick, lush branches and a snowy coating that shimmered under the lights. It was the tree of all trees.

“That’s it,” Tengen said, his voice reverent. “That’s our tree.”

The squad began making their way toward it when another group—a family of four armed with determined holiday cheer—stepped in from the other side.

“Oh no, no, no,” the mother of the family said, eyeing the tree. “We saw this one first.”

Tanjiro hesitated, a polite smile on his face. “Oh, um, actually, I think we—”

The father stepped forward, cutting him off. “This tree’s perfect for us. It’s just the right size for our living room.”

Inosuke growled, stomping forward. “What do you mean it’s yours?! I claimed it first!”

“You didn’t even see it until two seconds ago!” one of the kids shot back.

“Kid, don’t test me!” Inosuke yelled, crouching slightly like he was about to charge.

Tanjiro quickly stepped between them, waving his hands. “Wait, wait, wait! There’s no need to fight. I’m sure we can come to an agreement—”

“There’s no agreement,” the mom said, her hands on her hips. “This tree is ours.”

“That’s not happening,” Bakugo growled, his hands starting to spark. “Back off before I make you.”

“Bakugo, no!” Tanjiro said, his eyes wide.

Tengen let out a dramatic sigh, stepping forward to take control of the situation. “Alright, enough of this squabbling. This is a matter that requires finesse.” He glanced at Tanjiro, who looked hopeful, then at Inosuke, who was itching for a fight, and finally at Bakugo, who looked moments away from blowing something up.

“Bakugo,” Tengen said with a sly smile. “Handle it.”

Bakugo’s grin was immediate and sinister. “Gladly.”

Before anyone could react, Bakugo stomped toward the family, hands sparking dangerously as he glared at them. “You’ve got ten seconds to walk away, or I’m lighting this whole tree lot up!”

The family gasped, immediately backing away in a panic.

“Okay, okay! Take it! Just don’t blow anything up!” the mom yelled as they quickly retreated, dragging their kids along.

Bakugo stood triumphantly next to the tree, arms crossed and a smug look on his face. “That’s how you get stuff done.”

Tanjiro buried his face in his hands. “That wasn’t very Christmas-like…”

“Maybe not,” Tengen said, already lifting the tree over his shoulder. “But it was flamboyant. Excellent work, Bakugo.”

“Damn right it was,” Bakugo said, still grinning.

The drive back home was quieter than expected, the massive tree tied securely to the roof of the car. Tanjiro sat in the passenger seat, his list crumpled in his hands as he replayed the events of the tree lot.

• 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥 •

The Decor Squad—Momo, Nezuko, Kirishima, and Present Mic—pulled into the parking lot of their fifth store, frustration thick in the air. Nezuko quietly nibbled on a candy cane she had picked up at the first store, while Present Mic drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to a beat no one else could hear. Momo sat in the backseat, meticulously organizing a list of decorations they were supposed to pick up: ornaments, garlands, and lights. Kirishima, sitting beside her, looked out the window, trying to stay optimistic.

“I’m sure this one will have what we need!” he said with a grin, though even his unbreakable positivity was beginning to falter.

“It better,” Momo muttered under her breath, peeking at her phone’s map to confirm they hadn’t strayed too far from the previous store. “We’ve already wasted so much time.”

“Wasted time? Nah! It’s all part of the holiday adventure, baby!” Present Mic exclaimed from the driver’s seat, throwing the car into park. He turned to the group, his signature sunglasses reflecting the store’s neon sign. “C’mon, let’s make this the one!”

They climbed out of the car, Nezuko trailing behind them, clutching her candy cane. As they walked into the store, a wave of despair washed over the group.

The shelves were bare.

“Are you kidding me?!” Momo exclaimed, staring at the nearly empty aisle where garlands should have been. A single, tattered strand of silver tinsel dangled from a hook as if mocking them.

“This is worse than the last store,” Kirishima said, scratching the back of his head. He picked up a cracked bauble from the ornament section and frowned. “I mean, we can’t put this on the tree. It’d look so… unmanly.”

Nezuko tugged on Momo’s sleeve, pointing at a section of lights, only to reveal that they were all mismatched and half the boxes were open.

“I don’t think any of those will even work,” Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Alright! On to the next one!” Present Mic shouted, his energy unwavering. He spun on his heel and marched back toward the car, his long scarf trailing behind him like a banner of hope.

The group piled back into the car, exhaustion starting to set in. Nezuko, now curled up with her knees against her chest, peeked at the others as if wondering how long this would go on.

By the time they hit their eighth store, the mood in the car had shifted from frustration to quiet defeat. Kirishima slouched in his seat, staring out the window. Present Mic hummed softly to himself, trying to keep morale up, while Momo furiously scribbled notes in her notebook, trying to strategize their next move.

Finally, Kirishima sat up abruptly, his eyes wide as if a light bulb had gone off in his head. He turned to Momo, staring at her with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization.

“Momo,” he said slowly, “why didn’t you just make ornaments with your quirk?”

The car fell silent.

Momo blinked, her pencil hovering over her notebook. “…What?”

“You can literally create stuff,” Kirishima continued, gesturing wildly. “Like, you can make a cannon, but you can’t make a Christmas ornament? Why are we even driving around when you’ve got the solution inside you?”

Momo stared at him, her expression blank at first. Then, the weight of his words hit her like a freight train. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’re right.”

Present Mic slammed the brakes (even though they were already parked). “Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me we’ve been running all over town for no reason?!”

Nezuko, ever the quiet observer, tilted her head in mild confusion, as if to say, You’re just realizing this now?

“I—I didn’t even think about it,” Momo stammered, her cheeks flushing red. “I was so focused on the list and making sure we got everything we needed that I—”

“—forgot you’re basically a walking Christmas factory,” Kirishima finished, leaning back in his seat with an exasperated laugh.

Present Mic threw his hands in the air. “Alright, problem solved! Back to HQ we go!”

On the drive back, Momo sat quietly, her embarrassment still evident. She had already started sketching designs for ornaments, garlands, and even a star for the top of the tree in her notebook.

Kirishima, now fully back to his cheerful self, leaned over to peek at her drawings. “Those look awesome! See? We didn’t need those stores anyway.”

Present Mic turned up the radio, a Christmas song blaring through the car as he drove. “Let’s just pretend this was the plan all along, yeah? No one has to know!”

Nezuko, now munching on a fresh candy cane she had somehow acquired, nodded sagely in agreement.

As they pulled up to the house, Kirishima grinned at Momo. “Hey, at least we got to bond, right? And now you’re gonna make the most manly decorations ever.”

Momo couldn’t help but smile, despite herself. “Thanks, Kirishima. Next time, I’ll try to think things through a bit more.”

“Next time,” Present Mic chimed in, “let’s just stay home and skip the wild goose chase altogether!”

The group laughed as they grabbed their things and headed inside, ready to make up for lost time and finish decorating.

• 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥 •

Team 3—(Y/N), Muichiro, Aizawa, and Zenitsu—piled into the car with their mission clear: replenish the snacks, restock the hot cocoa, and salvage the holiday cheer. As the car rumbled down the snowy road, the atmosphere was a mix of determination and quiet dread, mostly fueled by Zenitsu’s near-constant rambling.

“Why me? Why do I have to go? Hot cocoa isn’t even my thing! What if we get attacked by a demon on the way? Or worse, we run into a Karen in the grocery store?” Zenitsu wailed from the backseat, clutching the headrest in front of him like it was a lifeline.

Aizawa, in the driver’s seat, groaned. His scarf was lazily wrapped around his neck, and he was already regretting agreeing to this task. “Zenitsu, there are no demons here. Only stressed-out shoppers.”

“And that’s even worse!” Zenitsu shot back. “Have you seen people at the store during the holidays? It’s a madhouse!”

Muichiro, sitting beside him, stared out the window, his expression calm as ever. “If we’re attacked, (Y/N) can handle it. They’ve got Bakugo-level chaos energy when needed.”

(Y/N), sitting in the passenger seat, smirked and glanced back at their brother. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Muichiro. But let’s try not to start any fights. We just need snacks, not a showdown in the frozen food aisle.”

“Yeah, try telling that to Zenitsu,” Muichiro muttered under his breath, earning a dramatic gasp from Zenitsu.

The first grocery store was exactly as chaotic as Zenitsu had feared. People swarmed the aisles like vultures, snatching up the last of the holiday goodies. The shelves looked as though a tornado had passed through, with half-empty boxes of candy canes and torn-open hot cocoa packets scattered everywhere.

“Great,” (Y/N) muttered, surveying the wreckage. “This is worse than I expected.”

“I told you!” Zenitsu whispered urgently, sticking close to Aizawa like a nervous child. “This is a nightmare! We’ll never find what we need here!”

Muichiro wandered ahead, his expression unreadable as he scanned the shelves. He picked up a lone bag of marshmallows and held it up for inspection. “At least we’ve got these,” he said.

(Y/N) shook their head. “We’re going to need more than just marshmallows, Muichiro.”

By the time they reached the third store, tensions were high. Zenitsu was on edge, clutching a shopping basket like it was a weapon. Muichiro had taken it upon himself to grab anything that looked remotely useful, including an industrial-sized canister of whipped cream that no one asked for. Aizawa trailed behind them, looking like he was seconds away from curling up in the pet food aisle and taking a nap.

“Okay,” (Y/N) said, clapping their hands together. “We’re dividing and conquering. Zenitsu, you grab the hot cocoa mix. Muichiro, find the snacks. I’ll get the drinks. Aizawa… supervise.”

Aizawa gave a half-hearted nod, his scarf twitching slightly as if to say, Fine.

Zenitsu darted off, weaving through the crowd like his life depended on it. He reappeared minutes later, clutching not one, but four boxes of hot cocoa mix. “Just in case!” he said defensively when (Y/N) raised an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, Muichiro’s “snack collection” turned out to be both impressive and baffling. He returned with chips, cookies, and what appeared to be an entire section of Japanese candy. “I thought it would be fun to mix things up,” he said when Aizawa gave him a tired look.

The chaos truly began at the checkout line. Zenitsu, jittery as ever, managed to drop one of the boxes of cocoa mix, sending packets skidding across the floor. (Y/N) sighed, kneeling to gather them up, only to be cut off by a harried shopper trying to push their cart through.

“Excuse me!” the shopper snapped, glaring down at (Y/N).

Zenitsu’s eyes went wide, and he backed up, muttering, “Oh no, oh no, it’s happening. It’s happening!”

Muichiro stepped in, his calm demeanor masking the slight edge to his tone. “You could at least wait a moment. We’ll be out of your way soon enough.”

The shopper scoffed. “Kids these days have no respect.”

(Y/N) rose to their feet, cocoa packets in hand, and offered a tight-lipped smile. “We’re just trying to finish our shopping like everyone else. How about a little holiday spirit, huh?”

The shopper opened their mouth to retort, but Aizawa appeared behind (Y/N), his towering presence and perpetually tired expression enough to make anyone think twice. “Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice low and firm.

The shopper huffed and pushed their cart away, leaving Zenitsu to collapse against a nearby shelf in relief. “I thought we were done for,” he whispered dramatically.

(Y/N) rolled their eyes. “It’s hot cocoa, Zenitsu, not the apocalypse.”

By the time they made it back to the car, the group was weighed down with bags of snacks, drinks, and more whipped cream than anyone could reasonably use. As Aizawa started the engine, (Y/N) glanced back at their brother.

“You know, Muichiro,” they said, holding up the massive canister of whipped cream, “this is a bit overkill.”

Muichiro shrugged. “It’s festive.”

Zenitsu, now munching on a candy bar he had snagged during checkout, nodded in agreement. “Honestly, it’s the most useful thing we got. What’s hot cocoa without whipped cream?”

Aizawa sighed deeply as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Remind me never to agree to this again.”

“Aw, c’mon, Aizawa-sensei,” (Y/N) said with a grin. “We crushed it. Snacks secured. Cocoa stocked. Mission accomplished.”

Zenitsu leaned forward, pointing at the road ahead. “Yeah, and we didn’t even have to fight anyone! Well, not really.”

Aizawa groaned. “I need coffee.”

The group chuckled as they drove back home, their bags full and their spirits — well mostly intact. The Food Squad had succeeded, chaos and all.

A Totally Normal Student

⬐ U.A. High School is known for producing Japan’s greatest heroes. With legends like All Might and Endeavor paving the way, Class 1-A is expected to uphold that legacy. They train, they fight, they grow stronger every day. And then there’s (Y/N). No one really talks about (Y/N). Not because they’re weak—oh, no. If anything, they might be the strongest in the class. But there’s just… something off about them. The way they tilt their head just a little too far. The way they appear in places they shouldn’t be. The way they say things that don’t make sense—until they do.

⬐ anothers note : full story is here on my quotev page, A Totally Normal Student

⬐ fandom : MHA x Duolingo Reader ᓀ ᵥ ᓂ

masterlist

chapter 1

In the past…

The playground buzzed with the sound of children playing, their laughter ringing through the air. The warm scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the faint burn of rubber from the swings. A perfect afternoon—if not for the scene unfolding beneath the jungle gym.

A young Izuku Midoriya stood trembling, his tiny fists clenched at his sides.

Across from him, Katsuki Bakugo sneered, tiny explosions crackling at his palms. Behind Izuku, a smaller boy sniffled, rubbing at his eyes, too afraid to run.

“You seriously think you can play hero, Deku?” Katsuki scoffed. “You don’t even have a Quirk.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. His throat felt tight. But still, he stood firm, swallowing back his fear.

“I-I don’t have to have a Quirk t-to help others—”

His own voice betrayed him, stumbling over the words, his fear making them weak.

Katsuki’s smirk widened. “Pathetic.” He stepped forward;

Snap.

A branch broke.

The sound wasn’t close.

The kids froze. The crack had come from the treeline just beyond the playground, where the trees grew thick and dark.

Shadows pooled unnaturally between the trunks, too deep for the time of day.

Katsuki barely spared it a glance before turning back to Izuku. “Tch. Whatever.” He shoved past him, motioning for his friends to follow.

Izuku exhaled shakily, watching them leave. Then, as he turned to check on the boy behind him—

He felt it.

That prickling sensation creeping up his neck. The kind that told him—he wasn’t alone.

His gaze drifted back to the trees.

And there, perched among the twisted branches—something watched him.

It wasn’t an animal. Wasn’t a person. It was both—and neither.

The air around it rippled, warped, twisted—as if reality itself bent to accommodate its presence.

One massive, unblinking eye stared at him from the shadows.

Izuku’s breath caught.

Then it multiplied.

One became two.

Two became four.

Each set of eyes stacked atop the others—a grotesque, staring tower of sight.

Izuku staggered back, his little hands gripping his sleeves. He wanted to run. Wanted to scream. But his voice—his legs—wouldn’t work.

The eyes blinked.

And just like that—they were gone.

A rustle of leaves. A shift of wind.

Nothing more.

Izuku gasped, his tiny heart hammering against his ribs. He blinked, rubbed his eyes—

Had he imagined it?

“Zuku?”

His mother’s voice, soft and distant. Calling him from the park entrance.

Izuku swallowed, forcing himself to turn. “C-Coming, Mom!”

Still shaking, he ran toward her—never looking back.

Because deep in the trees, hidden where no sunlight reached—something was still watching.

And it would never stop.

In the present…

A news broadcast played somewhere in the background, the familiar report echoing through the streets.

“It all started in Qing Qing City, China—when a newborn baby was born aglow with a radiant light. The phenomenon spread across the world, and soon, the majority of the population developed supernatural abilities. These powers, known as ‘Quirks,’ shaped society as we know it. With power came conflict, but also—heroes.”

The city buzzed with excitement as a massive villain rampaged through the streets, his towering form knocking over lampposts and crushing pavement beneath his weight.

“Stay back!” a Pro Hero shouted, holding civilians at bay.

Izuku Midoriya, now a third-year junior high student, pushed his way through the crowd, notebook in hand, eyes wide with anticipation.

“No way—it’s Kamui Woods!”

The sleek Pro Hero leaped into action, twisting through the air as he extended wooden tendrils from his arms.

“The villain has used his Quirk for illegal activity!” Kamui Woods announced, his voice sharp and commanding. “I’ll put an end to this quickly!”

With a flick of his wrist, he launched Lacquered Chain Prison, binding the massive villain in place.

Izuku’s grip on his notebook tightened, scribbling furiously. First appearance of Lacquered Chain Prison—restraint-based Quirk, likely strong against brute force opponents!

A thunderous crash echoed across the block.

“CANYON CANNON!”

A blur of red and white streaked across the scene. In an instant, the giant villain was sent crashing to the pavement, knocked out cold.

From the dust emerged a tall, curvaceous woman, hands on her hips, a confident smirk gracing her face.

“Cameras ready, boys? I’m taking over from here!” Mt. Lady declared, flashing a grin at the reporters.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Photographers rushed forward, snapping shots of the new heroine’s grand debut.

Izuku barely noticed. He was still writing, absorbing, analyzing. His eyes darted between heroes, his mind racing.

“Are you aiming to be a hero, kid?” A bystander chuckled beside him.

Izuku looked up, startled, before laughing nervously. “Ah—w-well, yeah! I mean—I’ll do my best!”

His fingers clenched around the pen.

“Even if I don’t have a Quirk, I—”

His thoughts trailed off.

Somewhere in the back of the crowd—someone was watching.

Not cheering. Not taking pictures. Not reacting.

Just watching.

A figure, dressed in the same junior high uniform as Izuku, lingered near the edge of the scene. Their posture was relaxed, yet their head tilted ever so slightly—like an owl tracking its prey.

Their gaze, dark and unreadable, flickered in the sunlight.

And then—they were gone.

Izuku never noticed.

But had he turned—had he looked just a second longer—he might’ve recognized them.

Might’ve remembered their name.

But he didn’t.

Because nobody ever did.

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 11

masterlist

The memory came like a fleeting shadow sweeping across (Y/N)’s mind as he stood on the UA training grounds. It wasn’t often that his thoughts wandered—his focus tended to remain in the here and now—but this time, the sensation of blinding speed brought him back to a particular moment, years before he ever set foot in this world.

• 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 •

The training field was alive with the sounds of movement—quick, sharp, and rhythmic. The clang of steel echoed through the air, mingling with the light chatter and occasional scolding of Tengen Uzui’s wives in the background. Tengen himself stood at the center of the chaos, the sun gleaming off his twin blades and his elaborate headpiece as he crossed his arms, smirking at the younger boy standing a few feet away.

(Y/N), younger but no less stoic, stood poised with a wooden training sword in hand, his breaths steady but shallow, a light sheen of sweat gleaming on his forehead. His usually calm demeanor was disrupted by exhaustion that tugged at his limbs.

“Again,” Tengen commanded, his deep voice cutting through the soundscape like a drumbeat. “You’re fast, kid, no doubt about it. But if you’re going to make it flashy enough to keep up with me, you’ll need more than just speed. Show me precision. Show me style!”

(Y/N) didn’t respond, at least not verbally. His blank expression barely shifted as he tightened his grip on the sword, his legs shifting slightly in preparation. He was tired—bone-tired—but he wasn’t about to stop now. Not while Uzui was watching.

In a blur of motion, Tengen vanished, his speed so great that even the sound of his sandals hitting the ground was delayed. (Y/N) barely caught the movement in his peripheral vision, his instincts screaming at him to react. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding the edge of Tengen’s blade, and sprang backward, his body moving purely on muscle memory.

“Not bad,” Tengen said, his voice surprisingly close, though his form was now perched on a nearby rock. “But not good enough!” He lunged again, this time faster, his movements a chaotic symphony of speed and power.

(Y/N) darted to the side, his wooden sword coming up to deflect the strike. The impact rattled through his arms, and he staggered slightly, but he managed to stay upright. The world around him was a blur—each of Tengen’s movements was a challenge to track, let alone counter.

From the sidelines, Tengen’s wives watched with varying degrees of concern and encouragement.

“Hina, look at him! He’s going to fall over any second!” Suma whined, clutching her hands to her chest. “We should stop this!”

Makio, far less sympathetic, crossed her arms with a huff. “Stop babying him, Suma. He’s fine. Right, Hina?”

Hina, ever the composed one, placed a calming hand on Suma’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine. Lord Tengen wouldn’t push him if he couldn’t handle it. Trust him.”

“No babying him my lovely wives!” Tengen called out without breaking stride, his voice as commanding as ever yet still respectful— because yes, tengen drinks his respect woman juice daily…especially from the breast of his wives.

“He doesn’t need your pity. What he needs is determination. Isn’t that right, young (L/N)?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer, but his actions spoke for him. He took a deep breath, his form lowering slightly as he focused. This time, his movements were sharper, quicker, and more deliberate. He surged forward, his wooden sword slicing through the air in a strike aimed at Tengen’s midsection.

The Sound Hashira blocked it easily, though there was a glint of approval in his eyes. “Not bad, kid! But you’re still too slow if you want to match this!”

Tengen moved again, faster than before, his form a blur of color and sound. (Y/N) clenched his jaw, his breathing steadying as he switched tactics. His legs propelled him forward in a burst of speed that left even Tengen momentarily caught off guard. He pivoted at the last second, his sword slashing upward in a motion so fluid and quick that the air itself seemed to ripple.

For a brief moment, (Y/N) moved as if he were sound—his body a whisper of motion, too fast for the untrained eye to follow.

He landed several feet away, his sword lowered, his breaths heavy but even. The faintest hint of satisfaction flickered across his usually indifferent face.

Tengen, now standing a few paces away, let out a loud, boisterous laugh. “That’s more like it! I knew you had it in you, young (L/N)! You might even be able to keep up with me one day!”

Before the moment could sink in, the memory fractured, fading away like mist in the wind.

(Y/N)’s gaze refocused, the present coming back into sharp relief. His breathing was as steady as ever, but for the briefest moment, there was the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. It was gone before anyone could notice.

• 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙚𝙣𝙙 •

“0.43 seconds,” Aizawa repeated from across the training grounds, his tone as indifferent as ever but his eyes sharp with intrigue.

And for a moment, as Bakugo’s furious sputtering filled the air, (Y/N) thought back to Uzui’s voice—“I knew you could do it.”

As the rest of the class stared at the board displaying (Y/N)’s impossible 0.43-second time, he casually walked over to stand beside Izuku, whose expression betrayed a mix of awe and nervousness. Izuku’s green eyes darted toward Bakugo, whose smug confidence had turned into a scowl, his fists clenching and crackling with small explosions.

“It’s your turn,” (Y/N) said simply, glancing at Izuku. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge of expectation in his voice.

Izuku swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath. “Right. My turn…” He stepped forward as Aizawa called his name, his hands trembling slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” (Y/N) added, not looking directly at him. “Ignore the brat.” His gaze flickered briefly toward Bakugo, who froze mid-sneer, his teeth grinding audibly.

Izuku glanced at (Y/N), a flicker of gratitude crossing his face, though it quickly faded as the next test began.

Izuku nodded hesitantly, the words giving him a small but noticeable boost of confidence. He stepped up to the starting line, but as the whistle blew and his legs carried him forward, it was clear he wasn’t anywhere near the speeds his classmates had achieved. His movements were clumsy, lacking the precision and strength needed to keep up with the others.

By the time he crossed the finish line, panting and red-faced, the results were as underwhelming as he’d feared. Bakugo’s barking laughter cut through the silence.

“Hah! You call that running, Deku? Even the extras here could beat that!” Bakugo sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Izuku’s shoulders sagged slightly, his confidence wavering, but before Bakugo could press further, (Y/N)’s calm voice broke through.

“Focus on yourself,” (Y/N) said coldly, his disinterest cutting deeper than any insult could. “You’re wasting energy trying to prove something to people who don’t care.”

“Who are you calling a brat, huh?! I’ll—” Bakugo started, but (Y/N) cut him off with a flat look.

“I said focus on yourself brat.”

Bakugo flinched at the cold look thrown his way, his glare sharpening, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The tests that followed were grueling, with the students pushed to their limits in various physical and quirk-based activities. Bakugo, true to his fiery nature, remained loud and aggressive, barking out challenges to the rest of the class. “Come on, you extras! I know you can do better than that—oh wait, you can’t!”

(Y/N), however, was unfazed. Every time Bakugo tried to outdo the rest of the class, (Y/N) would step in silently and match or surpass his score, his actions speaking louder than words. Whether it was the standing long jump, grip strength test, or sidesteps, (Y/N) completed them with an effortless precision that left Bakugo’s boasts hanging in the air.

Izuku, on the other hand, struggled with each test. His lack of control over One For All, coupled with his already limited physical capabilities, left him at the bottom of nearly every ranking. And yet, through it all, (Y/N) stayed close by, watching Izuku’s efforts with an analytical gaze.

“You’re relying too much on instinct,” (Y/N) said during one test, his voice low so only Izuku could hear. “You’ll never get better if you don’t train your body and mind to handle the strain. I’ll change up your training regimen next time. No more excuses.”

Izuku shivered at the thought, memories of their last training session flashing through his mind. (Y/N) had left him gasping for air, bruised but somehow inspired, and it seemed he was about to go through it all again.

“Y-Yes, sir!” Izuku stammered, more nervous than ever.

“Good.” (Y/N)’s faint smirk was the only sign he was pleased.

By the time the pitching test—the final event—rolled around, Izuku was already dreading the outcome. As expected, Bakugo was the first to land an impressive throw, his explosion-boosted pitch soaring far into the distance.

“Beat that, extras!” he shouted, grinning wickedly as the rest of the class took their turns.

When it was Izuku’s turn, the murmurs of doubt began almost immediately. “He’s going to fail again,” someone whispered.

Izuku held the ball nervously, his heart hammering in his chest. The weight of everyone’s expectations—or lack thereof—felt heavier than the ball itself.

“You’re useless, Deku!” Bakugo shouted from the sidelines, his voice sharp and cutting. “What’re you even doing here? Just throw it and get it over with!”

Izuku hesitated, the familiar sting of Bakugo’s words settling deep in his chest. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught (Y/N)’s gaze.

“You know what to do,” (Y/N) said calmly, his arms crossed as he stood watching.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku channeled the small amount of One For All he had access to into his arm, careful not to let the power spread too far. His grip tightened on the ball as he raised it. This is it.

With a determined shout, Izuku threw the ball, the sheer force of One For All sending it flying further than anyone expected. The class went silent as the ball finally landed, the distance displayed on the screen.

Even Bakugo’s usual commentary was replaced by stunned silence, though it didn’t last long.

“WHAT THE HELL, DEKU?!” Bakugo roared, his explosions crackling violently in his palms. “You’ve been lying this whole time?! You’ve got a Quirk?!”

Izuku barely had time to stammer out a response before Bakugo lunged at him, explosions lighting up his path. Before he could reach Izuku, Aizawa’s scarf shot out, wrapping around Bakugo and pinning him in place.

“Enough,” Aizawa said flatly, his Quirk already erasing Bakugo’s. “Control yourself, or you’ll be expelled before the day’s over.”

Bakugo growled in frustration, but he stopped struggling, his glare never leaving Izuku.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) stepped up beside Izuku, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” he said simply. “Let’s go.”

Izuku nodded quickly, allowing (Y/N) to guide him back toward the rest of the class. His heart was still pounding, but for the first time, it wasn’t entirely out of fear.

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 16

authors note : this was a Christmas special that I wrote over the course of 3 days, I know Christmas passed but I’ve been busy and having fun :)

masterlist

The warm glow of a fireplace flickered through the kitchen as the lively chatter of friends and family filled the air, blending with the heavenly aroma of baking cookies and simmering hot cocoa. Snow gently fell outside, blanketing the world in pristine white, but inside the Tokitō household, the atmosphere was a blend of warmth, cheer, and just a hint of chaos.

“Don’t forget to sift the flour, Muichiro!” (Y/N) instructed, carefully pouring brown sugar into a mixing bowl. His movements were calm and deliberate, in stark contrast to his younger brother, whose attention seemed to drift as he stared out the window, mesmerized by the falling snow.

“I know, I know,” Muichiro replied absentmindedly, though his hands mechanically sifted the flour into the bowl. He was quiet as always, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) shook his head, amused. “If you zone out and mix this wrong, we’ll have rocks instead of cookies.”

From across the kitchen, Tanjiro Kamado chuckled as he stirred a pot of steaming hot cocoa on the stove. “You two make a good team. Nezuko, don’t forget the marshmallows!”

Nezuko, her pink ribbon tied neatly in her hair, grinned brightly as she placed a jar of marshmallows on the counter. Though she didn’t speak, her expression radiated holiday cheer as she handed the jar to Tanjiro.

“Wow, you’re really on top of things, Nezuko,” complimented Suma, one of Tengen Uzui’s wives. Her cheerful voice cut through the bustling kitchen, where she stood alongside Makio and Hinatsuru. “Unlike Tengen, who somehow managed to burn toast this morning!”

“Hey, hey, don’t ruin my reputation in front of the kids!” Tengen retorted dramatically, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the counter. “Besides, I’m just here to supervise all this ‘flamboyant’ holiday spirit.”

Makio rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sure you are.”

“Can you all focus? These cookies won’t bake themselves,” (Y/N) said with a hint of exasperation, though his tone remained light. He passed Muichiro a whisk before moving to grab the chocolate chips.

Muichiro blinked, his gaze following his older brother. “What’s Christmas even about again?”

(Y/N) paused mid-step, turning to his brother with a rare softness in his gaze. “It’s about spending time with the people you care about and creating memories together. Like this.”

Muichiro tilted his head, pondering his brother’s words, while Tanjiro beamed. “Exactly! It’s about giving, kindness, and sharing joy.”

The door to the kitchen swung open suddenly, letting in a burst of cold air and raucous laughter. In walked Izuku Midoriya, his cheeks flushed from the cold, followed by Eijiro Kirishima and Katsuki Bakugo.

“Man, it smells amazing in here!” Kirishima exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He immediately gravitated toward the tray of cookies waiting to go into the oven. “What are you guys making?”

“Cookies,” Muichiro said plainly, stirring the batter in the bowl.

“Hot cocoa too,” Tanjiro added with a warm smile, motioning to the pot.

“Hands off the tray, Kirishima,” (Y/N) said without looking up, his tone firm but not unkind. “They’re not done yet.”

“Aw, come on, man! You’re making it impossible not to sneak one.”

“Focus on not breaking the tray with your manly enthusiasm,” (Y/N) retorted dryly, earning a laugh from Tengen.

“Oi, quit fooling around!” Bakugo barked, scowling at the scene. “If we’re eating, we’re eating now. I didn’t come here to stand around!”

“Bakugo!” Izuku scolded, his hands flailing nervously. “Don’t be rude!”

“You guys just got here,” (Y/N) said coolly, leveling Bakugo with a sharp look. “You’ll wait like everyone else.”

The tension between the two boys was palpable until Muichiro suddenly held out a spoon covered in cookie dough to Bakugo. “Want some?”

Caught off guard, Bakugo blinked at the offering before grumbling and snatching the spoon. “Tch. Fine.”

As the laughter and chatter resumed, the kitchen once again filled with the comforting sounds of holiday preparation. Tengen clapped his hands together, his voice booming over the noise. “Alright, let’s wrap this up, people! We’ve got a feast to prepare, and it better be as flamboyant as it gets!”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. For now, all was peaceful, and the warmth of the season brought everyone together, even if only for a little while.

The camaraderie in the kitchen spread like wildfire, spilling into the adjoining rooms where the rest of the guests had gathered. Snow continued to fall outside, but inside, the festive energy was unmatched. The gentle clinking of plates, the hum of cheerful conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter created an ambiance that was both comforting and nostalgic.

As (Y/N) slid a tray of freshly prepared cookies into the oven, he turned to find Nezuko holding a small tray of marshmallows toward him. She gestured to the pot of hot cocoa, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Fine, fine,” (Y/N) said, relenting to her silent request. He carefully picked up a handful of marshmallows and dropped them into the mugs Tanjiro was filling. “Happy now?”

Nezuko nodded enthusiastically before scurrying back to Tanjiro’s side.

“Man, she’s adorable,” Kirishima said, leaning against the counter. “This whole scene feels like one of those picture-perfect holiday movies. Makes me want to do this every year.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bakugo muttered, though he was still munching on the cookie dough Muichiro had handed him earlier.

Just then, a crash echoed from the living room, followed by Zenitsu’s panicked voice. “I-I swear I didn’t mean to do it!”

“Zenitsu!” Inosuke’s boisterous yell followed. “You broke the star, you idiot!”

(Y/N) pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “What did they do now?”

Tanjiro sighed but smiled apologetically. “I’ll go check.”

Before he could take a step, Tengen raised a hand. “Let me handle it. I’ve got three wives; I’m used to cleaning up chaos.” He winked, and his wives all rolled their eyes in unison.

As Tengen strode out of the kitchen to handle the mess, Muichiro turned to (Y/N), his expression as calm as ever. “Do you think they’ll actually fix it, or should we just expect more noise?”

“More noise,” (Y/N) replied without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Izuku stood awkwardly by the counter, observing the cheerful scene with a soft smile. “It’s amazing how close you all are. It’s like… you’ve always been a family.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, his expression neutral but not unkind. “That’s what happens when you fight to protect one another. Bonds are forged through fire.”

Izuku nodded thoughtfully, taking those words to heart.

“Alright, enough standing around!” Tengen’s voice boomed as he returned, dragging Zenitsu and Inosuke behind him. “The star’s fixed, and the tree looks flamboyant! Now let’s eat!”

Cheers erupted as the cookies were finally placed on a large platter, the hot cocoa poured into mugs, and everyone gathered around the table. The room was filled with a harmonious mix of voices from different walks of life—Hashira, students, and heroes alike.

As they all sat together, Tanjiro raised his mug. “To family, friends, and the bonds we share. Merry Christmas, everyone!”

A chorus of “Merry Christmas!” followed, and for that moment, all worries and struggles were forgotten.

From the corner of the room, (Y/N) quietly sipped his cocoa, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Muichiro sat beside him, leaning against his older brother, his expression peaceful.

For once, everything felt right… or maybe not.

The peace didn’t last long.

It started innocently enough—a stray spark from the fireplace, unnoticed amidst the laughter and clinking mugs. But then Inosuke, in his boundless enthusiasm, decided to show off his “decorating skills” by trying to climb the Christmas tree to hang an extra ornament at the very top.

“Get down from there, you idiot!” Zenitsu screeched, flailing his arms.

“You’re just jealous of my superior skills!” Inosuke roared back, one foot kicking wildly against the garland.

Before anyone could intervene, his reckless movement knocked over a lit candle from the nearby mantle. Time seemed to slow as the flame met the tree, the dry pine needles catching in an instant.

“FIRE!” Kaminari shouted, pointing dramatically.

The room descended into chaos. Nezuko jumped up, Tanjiro desperately fanned the flames with his hands, and Tengen shouted, “Grab the extinguisher!” But it was too late—the tree was engulfed, and the smoke alarm blared overhead.

“Everyone out!” Aizawa’s voice cut through the panic. His scarf whipped out, pulling Kaminari and Zenitsu by the backs of their shirts and dragging them toward the door.

Outside in the snow, everyone shivered as they watched the tree collapse into a smoldering heap.

“Well,” Tengen said, clapping his hands together. “There goes Christmas.”

“Not on my watch!” Kirishima said, his voice brimming with determination. “We can save this! We just need a new tree, more decorations, and maybe some extra food.”

“I’ll drive,” Tengen declared confidently, pulling out his keys.

“No, you’ll just make it worse,” Aizawa deadpanned. “We’ll split into teams. Divide and conquer.”

“Great idea!” Tanjiro agreed. “We can each take a different car and get what we need.”

The group quickly organized into teams:

           •           Team 1 (Tree Squad): Tanjiro, Inosuke, Bakugo, and Tengen. Their mission? Find the biggest and most flamboyant tree available.

           •           Team 2 (Decor Squad): Momo, Nezuko, Kirishima, and Present Mic. They were in charge of ornaments, garlands, and lights.

           •           Team 3 (Food Squad): (Y/N), Muichiro, Aizawa, and Zenitsu. Their task was to restock on snacks, hot cocoa, and anything else that had been ruined in the chaos.

The teams piled into separate cars, the adults taking the driver’s seats.

“Let’s make this the manliest Christmas ever!” Kirishima shouted, fist-pumping from the passenger seat of Present Mic’s van.

“I’LL FIND THE BEST TREE!” Inosuke bellowed from the back of Tengen’s flashy SUV.

“I don’t trust any of you,” Aizawa muttered, rubbing his temple as he turned the key in the ignition. (Y/N) sat silently beside him, arms crossed, while Muichiro leaned against the window, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos.

As the cars sped off in different directions, the snow fell heavier, and the countdown to saving Christmas officially began.

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 13

masterlist

The air was thick with tension as the final test of the day, the ball throw, loomed over the group.

So far, (Y/N) Tokitō had performed with unnerving precision, acing every test without breaking a sweat. From the long jump to the grip strength challenge, his movements had been calculated, almost graceful, yet carried a quiet ferocity that left his classmates speechless. 

He neither celebrated his successes nor gloated about his performances, instead standing silently at the edge of the group, as though he were watching but not truly present. In other words— he stood as stiff as a raging boner on 3 honeypacks.

Note : Something my bf did once and then told me about once I woke up from my nap and bragged about how he could now control it— it being his boner like the avatar. In short, he’s special…ed but special nonetheless.

His classmates couldn’t help but buzz with questions and curiosity about the mysterious new addition. They all had quirks, and some of them were powerful, but (Y/N) seemed to operate on a different level altogether.

Bakugo, for one, looked ready to explode, his fiery glare fixated on (Y/N) with a mix of suspicion and seething frustration. Izuku stood beside (Y/N), quietly observing, knowing better than anyone that his classmate’s abilities were not as simple as they seemed.

From within the crowd, a red-haired boy with a broad grin pushed forward. His fiery personality was as evident as the spiky hair on his head, and he approached (Y/N) with a hand outstretched, his movements full of confidence and cheer.

“Yo, that was awesome, man! I’m Eijiro Kirishima. Nice to meet you!” he said, his tone radiating friendliness. “You’ve gotta have an insane quirk to ace all these tests like that. That’s seriously manly!”

(Y/N) glanced at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He neither shook Kirishima’s hand nor offered a reply. Instead, his gaze slid past the red-haired boy as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

Kirishima’s grin faltered just slightly, though he didn’t seem offended. Before he could try again, Izuku, standing nearby, jumped in nervously. “Ah, sorry about him! He’s not really the talkative type.” Izuku offered Kirishima a nervous smile, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Izuku Midoriya, by the way, and this is (Y/N) Tokitō. It’s nice to meet you!”

Kirishima’s grin returned at full strength, and he crossed his arms, looking at (Y/N) with newfound curiosity. “Man, you’re mysterious! What’s your quirk? I mean, the way you’ve been tearing through these tests—”

(Y/N) didn’t respond, his attention still fixed on the testing field, his posture relaxed but focused. The silence stretched for a moment before Kirishima’s gaze shifted to Izuku, waiting for an answer on his behalf. Izuku opened his mouth, stammering slightly as he tried to think of what to say without revealing too much, but before he could get the words out, Aizawa’s voice cut through the conversation.

“Tokitō. You’re up,” the teacher called, his tone as dry and unimpressed as ever. “Hurry it up, problem child. We don’t have all day.”

Before stepping up to the throwing circle, (Y/N)’s gaze briefly wandered across the training ground. Though he hadn’t been permitted to carry his sword on campus, his instincts demanded a substitute. A small glimmer caught his eye—a sturdy stick, roughly the length of a katana, lying near the edge of the testing area.

He walked over, his movements lazy and almost cat like, he picked it up with a quiet certainty. For anyone else, it was just a stick. But in his hands, it became something—a tool, an extension of his person, or in this situation a substitute weapon in place of his katana.

As he returned to the testing circle, he picked up the ball without a word, holding it loosely in his hand. His movements were measured, and though he didn’t radiate the explosive power of someone like Bakugo, there was an undeniable weight to his presence. He rested the stick casually against his shoulder, as though its presence gave him balance, and turned his focus toward the task at hand.

The group of students fell silent as (Y/N) once more stepped forward, the eyes of his classmates following him with eager anticipation. The weight of their stares didn’t seem to faze him. He moved with a calm, deliberate confidence, his sword-like focus making it clear that he was entirely in control.

He picked up the ball without a word, holding it loosely in his hand.

The class continued to watch in rapt silence as (Y/N) stood at the ready, his gaze locked on the distant horizon. Then, softly, so quietly that only those standing close by could hear, he murmured,

“Fourth Form: Blessed Mist.”

And then, nothing. The world seemed to hold its breath.

• 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢 : 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 •

The Fourth Form: Blessed Mist is a technique in the Mist Breathing style, which (Y/N) has mastered through rigorous training. Mist Breathing is known for its reliance on swift, unpredictable movements and creating illusions to disorient opponents. Blessed Mist embodies these principles by blending immense speed with precise, controlled force to enhance attacks or actions.

What is the Fourth Form: Blessed Mist?

The Fourth Form: Blessed Mist is a technique designed to amplify both speed and control by cloaking the user in a dense, swirling mist that obscures their exact movements. The technique creates the illusion that the user is moving in multiple directions at once, making them difficult to track. While primarily a combat technique, it is highly adaptable and can enhance the effectiveness of various physical tasks.

Capabilities of Fourth Form : Blessed Mist :

1. Burst of Speed : The user generates a sudden surge of speed that makes their movements almost imperceptible to the naked eye. This burst is not only visually disorienting but also allows for rapid and powerful actions to be executed in an instant.

2. Control over Momentum : The swirling mist doesn’t just serve as a visual distraction—it allows the user to channel their movements with incredible precision. This ensures that every ounce of effort is directed toward the intended target, whether it’s cutting down an opponent.

 3. Illusion of Multiplicity : The mist creates afterimages of the user’s movements, making it seem as though they are striking or acting from multiple directions at once. This effect confuses opponents or observers, leaving them unsure of the user’s exact location.

4. Force Amplification : The momentum generated by the user during this technique is highly concentrated. By combining speed and precision, the user’s attacks—or in this case, the throw—carry much more force than what is physically apparent.

• 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢 : 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙙 •

The world stilled as the words left (Y/N)’s lips, “Fourth Form: Blessed Mist.”

The stick in one hand, the ball in the other, (Y/N) moved. His motion was seamless, almost ethereal, his body flowing like mist itself.

Smooth like butter…so fucking smooth.

His classmates blinked, some rubbing their eyes, as his outline seemed to blur, like heat rippling off a summer road. Before anyone could process the shift, (Y/N) swung the stick with precision.

The motion itself was mesmerizing—effortless.

The moment the stick connected with the ball, the air cracked. 

A shockwave erupted outward, blasting a gust of wind across the field. 

Dust swirled and scattered, and the grass near his feet rippled violently under the force. 

The sound was deafening, a deep, thunderous roar that resonated through the training ground, making some students flinch and others cover their ears.

The ball didn’t fly—it disappeared into the horizon. For a moment, it seemed as though it had been swallowed by the mist (Y/N) had conjured, vanishing completely. The air itself seemed to shimmer and distort in its wake, a residual effect of the Breathing Technique.

A faint, silvery mist lingered in the atmosphere, curling and twisting in elegant patterns before dissipating.

It wasn’t just the speed or power behind the swing— the ball had been thrown with such an uncanny force that it carved a faint path through the air, mist-like energy spiraling behind it as if to brag about being the cause of such phenomena. The aftershock of his swing sent leaves from the nearby trees scattering, and the distant hum of the ball tearing through the sky felt like the final note of an unseen symphony.

The group stood frozen, wide-eyed and silent, as the distant sound of the ball finally crashing into the ground echoed faintly from beyond the testing field. For several seconds, no one moved, too stunned to even speak.

Still holding the stick loosely at his side, (Y/N) turned back toward the group with the same calm demeanor as when he’d approached. His expression betrayed nothing—no pride, no smugness— after all this was someone who had done this countless times before in the past.

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 10

masterlist

The first day at UA was finally here, and the buzz of excitement in the air was nearly overwhelming. Students crowded the gates, some whispering in awe, others loudly boasting about their performance in the entrance exams. Izuku Midoriya was among them, his nerves bubbling over as he clutched his bag tightly. For him, this day had been a lifelong dream, but now that he was here, the sheer magnitude of it was almost too much to handle.

Standing beside him, (Y/N) was the polar opposite. His posture was relaxed, his gaze detached as if the massive gates and prestigious reputation of UA were just another backdrop in his otherwise mundane life.

“You’re doing that nervous thing with your hands again,” (Y/N) muttered, not even looking at Izuku.

Izuku immediately flinched, shoving his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I can’t help it! I mean, this is UA! The UA! What if I mess up on the first day? What if someone—”

“Chill,” (Y/N) interrupted flatly. “No one cares as much as you think they do. You passed, didn’t you? You’re here, aren’t you? Just don’t trip over your own feet, and you’ll be fine.”

Izuku blinked at him, his mouth opening to argue but closing just as quickly. He knew (Y/N) wasn’t wrong, but the bluntness was still jarring.

The classroom for Class 1-A was huge, with desks neatly arranged and a commanding podium at the front. The moment Izuku stepped inside, his nerves spiked. Students were scattered around the room, chatting, sizing each other up, or silently observing.

“Move,” (Y/N) said, brushing past him to take a seat near the back by the window. He sank into his chair as if it had been waiting specifically for him, resting his chin on his hand with a far-off look in his eyes.

Izuku scrambled to find a seat nearby, eventually settling in the one directly in front of (Y/N). His hands gripped his bag tightly as he tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

The noise in the room grew louder as more students arrived, some conversations growing heated. A tall boy with glasses and a rigid posture was confronting someone at the front of the room—a boy with ash-blonde hair and a permanent scowl.

“You need to check your attitude!” the boy with glasses barked, his hand slicing the air dramatically.

“Shut the hell up, extra,” Bakugo snarled, his crimson eyes blazing with irritation. He leaned back in his chair, smirking arrogantly. “You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to waste my time on losers like you. Go sit down before you embarrass yourself.”

The glasses-wearing boy turned red but seemed to decide it wasn’t worth pushing further. He stormed off to his seat, muttering under his breath.

Bakugo’s sharp gaze swept the room, landing on Izuku. His smirk widened into something far more menacing. “Deku,” he growled, practically spitting the nickname.

Izuku tensed in his seat, clutching his bag as if it could shield him.

Bakugo’s eyes shifted to (Y/N), who hadn’t even glanced his way. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

(Y/N) finally turned his head, his expression unreadable. “Someone who doesn’t have time for whatever daddy issues,”

The ash haired boy growls— something (Y/N) notes down, “Mommy issues it is, and childhood drama you’re trying to stir up,” he said, his voice calm but laced with a subtle edge.

Bakugo bristled, his smirk faltering for a split second. “What’d you just say, you—”

Before he could finish, the door slid open, and a disheveled man in a yellow sleeping bag shuffled into the room.

The room fell silent as the man unzipped himself and stood, his tired eyes sweeping over the class.

“It took you eight seconds to quiet down,” he said flatly. “That won’t cut it.”

Izuku whispered, “Is that… Eraser Head?”

(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on the man with mild curiosity.

“I’m Shota Aizawa, your homeroom teacher,” the man continued. “Put these on and meet me outside.” He dropped a pile of gym uniforms onto the podium and walked out without another word.

The quirk assessment test was going to be grueling to say the least, or at least that’s what some of the students were thinking. Aizawa didn’t waste time with pleasantries or introductions, instead throwing the students into trial after trial to gauge their abilities.

The 50-meter dash was up first, and the students lined up to showcase their speed. Bakugo, as usual, was itching to show off. When his turn came, he launched himself forward with a burst of explosions from his palms, rocketing down the track and finishing with an impressive time.

“4.13 seconds. Not bad,” Aizawa said lazily, jotting it down.

Bakugo smirked, throwing a cocky glance at the others. “Let’s see any of you extras beat that.”

(Y/N) approached the starting line, his expression as blank as always. He didn’t react to Bakugo’s words or the murmurs from the class, his body language relaxed and unhurried, almost as though he were bored.

“Let’s see what the so-called maid boy’s got,” Bakugo muttered, smirking again.

Did Bakugo remember who (Y/N) was in class? Yes— in what world would even bother to forget that maid boy who he challenged back in middle school just to get his ass handed back to him on a silver platter. It was embarrassing but it was also a lesson bakugo would never forget— so he trained.

He trained and trained, and strained his muscles. There were days he’ll pass out and his father would carry him inside and lay a cold rag on his forehead to cool him off, days when he’ll have to rest his hands in buckets of ice water to cool off as his mother yelled and berated him for being a brat and overworking himself, he’ll yell back but the argument would never go on for long.

It was simply his mother’s way of showing her love for him— though aggressive, as for him he simply wouldn’t have the energy to spare.

His only thoughts were to beat that ‘maid ass extra’ and be Number 1.

But— don’t get it twisted just because (Y/N) more or less was in the boys mind 24/7; it’s giving fanboy. He wouldn’t give that extra the satisfaction of knowing he remembered him.

When the signal went off, (Y/N) moved—and the world seemed to blur around him.

He wasn’t just fast—he was blinding. His feet didn’t pound the ground so much as skim across it, as if gravity barely applied to him. Each step was a fluid, seamless motion, too swift for the eye to fully follow. To the students, it was like he vanished, leaving only faint traces of movement in his wake. The rush of air trailing behind him felt almost deafening, as though the sound itself was trying to catch up and failing miserably.

The timer beeped sharply at the finish line. Aizawa stared at the time displayed for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly in intrigue. “0.43 seconds.”

There was dead silence. Even Bakugo, who had been smug only moments before, froze mid-sneer. The other students’ mouths hung open, their disbelief written across their faces.

“What?” Bakugo barked, his hands sparking with irritation. “No way in hell that’s right!”

(Y/N) walked back toward the group, not sparing anyone so much as a glance. His breathing was steady, his expression as calm and detached as ever. To him, it was as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

As he passed Bakugo, he lazily adjusted his gloves and muttered under his breath, “Huh. Felt slow.”

The explosive blonde’s face turned a furious shade of red. “What did you say, you damn extra?!”

But (Y/N) was already walking away, his eyes fixed on the horizon, clearly uninterested in engaging.

“Interesting,” Aizawa murmured, jotting something down. He didn’t say anything else, but his gaze lingered on (Y/N) for a moment longer than usual, as though piecing together a puzzle no one else could see.

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 2

masterlist

The quiet of the early morning was broken only by the sound of Izuku Midoriya’s footsteps as he trudged home, sweat dripping from his brow and his legs aching after another grueling training session with All Might. His hoodie clung to him, damp with effort, and his mind buzzed with thoughts of how to improve his techniques.

As he reached his front door, he paused. From inside, he could hear the warm, melodic sound of his mother’s laughter. It was rare for her to laugh so freely, given how much she worried about him and his hero dreams. Curious and slightly confused, Izuku pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Mom?” he called out, slipping off his shoes and setting his bag by the door.

“In here, sweetie!” Inko’s voice chimed from the kitchen, her tone light and cheerful.

Izuku followed the sound, the ache in his legs forgotten for the moment. As he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped short, his green eyes widening at the sight before him.

Seated at the table with his mother was someone he didn’t recognize. At first glance, he thought it was a girl—long, flowing black-and-teal hair framed their face, and they wore a perfectly fitted maid dress that flared out slightly at the knees. Their delicate features were smooth and symmetrical, with porcelain skin that almost seemed to glow in the soft light.

“Oh, Izuku!” Inko said, turning to him with a bright smile. “You’re back early! Did training go okay?”

“Uh… yeah,” Izuku replied automatically, his gaze flickering back to the stranger sitting at the table.

Inko followed his gaze, then gestured toward the person beside her. “Izuku, this is (Y/N). He’s our new maid!” she said brightly.

The word “he” made Izuku’s brain screech to a halt. His jaw slackened as he blinked at the figure sitting across from his mother.

“Huh?” he muttered, unable to process what she’d just said.

The stranger—(Y/N)—turned his head slightly to meet Izuku’s gaze. His movements were slow, deliberate, and calm. Cool teal eyes framed by impossibly long lashes locked onto Izuku’s green ones.

“Hello,” (Y/N) said softly, his tone even and composed.

The voice hit Izuku like a punch to the gut. Low, smooth, and unmistakably masculine. He blinked again, his gaze darting back to the maid dress, then to the delicate face, and back again. His mind struggled to reconcile what he was seeing with what he was hearing.

“Wait,” Izuku began slowly, his voice rising an octave as he pointed at (Y/N). “He… he’s a boy?”

(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, his expression calm and unreadable. “Yes,” he replied simply.

“HUH?!” Izuku squealed, the sound echoing through the small house.

Inko jumped slightly, startled by his outburst. “Izuku, calm down!” she said, though she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Izuku’s face burned a bright red as he pointed frantically at (Y/N). “But—he—he’s wearing a maid dress!”

(Y/N) blinked slowly, his teal eyes never leaving Izuku’s. “It’s comfortable,” he said, his voice steady and unbothered.

Izuku gawked, his mind still short-circuiting. The calmness in (Y/N)’s voice and demeanor only made the situation feel more surreal.

“See?” Inko said, smiling at her son. “He’s been so helpful already! I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

Izuku’s gaze flicked back to his mother, his face still bright red. “M-mom,” he stammered, lowering his voice, “we need to talk about this later.”

Inko chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Izuku. You’ll get used to it.”

“Get used to—” Izuku cut himself off with a groan, running a hand through his messy hair. He turned back to (Y/N), who was now calmly sipping tea as though none of this chaos involved him.

(Y/N) met Izuku’s gaze again, his expression as calm and unreadable as before. “Do you need something?” he asked, his tone polite but detached.

“N-no!” Izuku squeaked, shaking his head furiously. “I-I’m fine!”

“Good,” (Y/N) replied, setting his teacup down with precise care.

Izuku groaned again and stomped out of the kitchen, his face still burning. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to “get used to” this, but one thing was certain: this was going to be weird.

🤭 I don’t know what it is with my fascination when it comes to movies or tv shows that clearly are normal like no superpowers and things related to that sort. I like the idea of there being at least 1 person. Even if it’s just a small percentage, someone out there in those shows, be it a main character or a background character, someone simply written to advance another characters characters and so on a copy and paste of the same damn thing over and over again. Oh god I’m droning on. Anyways basically I like the idea of someone in those worlds having a least a power or a hidden talent that could go as a power or a form of humans simply mutating 🤷🏽‍♀️

Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

⬐ After losing his job and with nowhere else to go, (Y/N) ends up working as a maid for the Midoriya family. His soft features and quiet nature make everyone assume he’s a girl, and honestly, he doesn’t bother correcting them—it’s just easier that way. Everything seems fine until Izuku comes home and meets their new “maid,” and things get awkward fast. What starts as a simple job quickly turns into a tangle of misunderstandings that neither of them saw coming.

chapter 1

masterlist

It was far too early in the morning for most people to be awake, but (Y/N) was no stranger to odd hours. Dressed in a black maid’s uniform that fell just below his knees, he walked briskly down the dimly lit streets. The soft swishing of the skirt was oddly calming; he found the outfit freeing in a way he hadn’t expected when his former employer had mistakenly assumed he was female. Not that it mattered anymore—he’d been fired yesterday.

The memory of his firing was hazy, like most things. His forgetful nature made even significant events feel distant, but one detail stood out: the conversation.

“You’re fired,” his boss had said bluntly.

(Y/N) had tilted his head, confused. “Who are you again?”

It hadn’t gone over well. Regardless, he’d left the job without much protest, thinking only of his next steps. Homelessness wasn’t appealing, so finding another job was now his top priority.

As he walked, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a green-haired boy jogging in the opposite direction. The boy was clearly exhausted but determined, sweat dripping down his face as he pushed himself forward. Not far behind, a woman stood on the sidewalk, clutching her robe tightly around herself. She looked worried, her gaze fixed on the boy as he disappeared into the distance.

(Y/N) slowed his pace, curiosity piqued. The woman’s anxiety was palpable, and before he even realized what he was doing, he stepped closer, his silent movements startling her.

“Ah!” she gasped, spinning around. Her wide eyes locked onto his, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said calmly, his voice soft but steady. “You seemed worried. Can I help?”

The woman hesitated, studying him. Despite the maid’s uniform, his demeanor was calm and collected. “It’s my son,” she admitted after a moment. “He’s been pushing himself too hard lately…training. I just—” She stopped, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s not your concern.”

“I can be whatever you need,” (Y/N) said simply.

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He held up a hand and began counting on his fingers. “A butler, a maid, a babysitter, a cleaner, a bodyguard…” He paused, noticing how her expression shifted at the last option.

“A bodyguard?” she repeated, her tone skeptical.

“Yes.” His expression remained blank, though his tone carried a faint hint of confidence. “I can protect him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The woman, Inko, looked him over carefully. Despite his slight build and unassuming appearance, there was something about him—an air of quiet strength. But before agreeing, she asked cautiously, “How much do you charge for your…services?”

“A warm meal and a place to rest my head,” he replied without hesitation.

Her eyes softened, and she frowned slightly. He was homeless, wasn’t he? That explained a lot. Her heart ached at the thought of this young person out on the streets. She nodded, deciding then and there. “Alright. Follow me.”

She led him into her modest home, guiding him to a small guest room. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome to stay here.”

(Y/N) stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the space. It was plain but clean, with a neatly made bed and a small dresser. He set down the small bag he carried and turned to Inko as she said, “I hope this will do… Miss?”

He blinked, tilting his head slightly before saying, “Oh, yeah, by the way…I’m a boy.”

Inko froze, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Oh! I-I’m so sorry! I thought—because of the dress—”

“It’s fine,” he said, unbothered. “It’s comfortable.”

She nodded quickly, still flustered but relieved he didn’t seem offended. “Well, um, rest up, and we can talk more later. I’ll prepare breakfast.”

(Y/N) gave a small nod and turned back to the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was warm here, and the idea of stability—even if temporary—eased a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to relax. This new job might be unconventional, but he had a feeling it would be interesting.