Ｍｙ Ｌｏｖｅｌｙ Ｍａｉｄ— Ｏｈ Ｗａｉｔ… Ｔｈａｔ’ｓ Ａ Ｂｏｙ

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Ｌｕｒｅｄ Ｉｎ

⬐ All Jack wanted was a quite place to rest his head after a encounter with a monster on his mission that left him wary and muscles aching for relief, what he receives is what he’s wanted and possibly something more.

authors note : this was a story requested by @princeasimdiya12

warning : this story is an 18+ one shot story between men. If you find men on men action to be something not of your taste I ask that you click off and not read please

The valley reeked of smoke and death. A soft wind carried the ash of what once had been a thriving village, brushing against Samurai Jack’s face as he stood at the edge of a scorched cliff. His katana hung loosely in his grip, its polished blade catching the faint light of the setting sun. Below him, blackened structures jutted out like broken teeth, the remains of homes reduced to cinders.

This wasn’t the first time Jack had arrived too late. And as much as he tried to steel himself, it never got any easier.

A low rumble shook the ground beneath him, drawing his attention to the heart of the destruction. Standing there amidst the rubble was a hulking figure, half-machine, half-sorcery. Its body gleamed like molten iron, patched with cracks that glowed green, pulsating like a diseased heartbeat. Its head swiveled unnaturally, glowing eyes locking onto him with a mechanical whirr.

“Another pest crawling to meet its end,” the construct snarled, its voice layered with malice and static.

Jack narrowed his eyes. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t reply. There was no need.

The construct—a creation of Aku, no doubt—rose to its full height. It had to be at least twenty feet tall, its limbs reinforced with jagged plating. With each step it took, the earth groaned beneath its weight. This thing had destroyed the village and its people, not out of necessity, but out of cruelty. Jack could feel it. He could always sense the twisted fingerprints of Aku’s darkness.

“You’ve come to die like the rest,” it said, raising an arm that ended in a massive blade. “I’ll make it quick.”

Jack moved.

The construct swung its blade down with the force of a falling tree, splitting the earth where Jack had stood a moment before. The shockwave sent chunks of rock flying in every direction, but Jack was already gone, darting to the side and closing the distance. His katana flashed in the dim light, striking the creature’s leg with precision. Sparks flew as the blade bit into metal, carving a shallow groove before Jack leapt back to avoid the counterattack.

The golem roared, slashing horizontally. Jack ducked low, the blade slicing just above his head. He countered with a series of quick strikes, his movements sharp and efficient, each one aimed at vulnerable joints and exposed mechanisms. But the creature was fast—faster than something its size had any right to be.

A heavy fist came crashing down, forcing Jack to roll out of the way. He came to his feet in one fluid motion, his breathing steady despite the intensity of the battle. He studied his opponent, looking for an opening.

“You’re nimble, samurai,” the golem sneered, its glowing core flickering as it spoke. “But your blade is useless against me. You cannot destroy what is unbreakable.”

Jack wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Everything breaks,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm.

The construct roared again, its core flaring brighter as it unleashed a barrage of energy bolts. They screamed through the air, leaving trails of smoke in their wake. Jack dodged, his sandals barely touching the ground as he moved. One bolt grazed his shoulder, singing the fabric of his gi, but he pressed on, ignoring the searing pain.

He closed the distance once more, darting under the construct’s arm and leaping onto its back. His katana struck true, severing a bundle of cables that ran along its spine. The creature staggered, sparks erupting from the wound.

“You little—” It spun wildly, trying to shake him off.

Jack jumped clear, landing in a crouch a few feet away. He could see the damage now—the flickering core, the uneven movements. It was weakening. But he knew better than to get careless.

The creature raised its remaining arm, dark energy coalescing into a massive, crackling orb. Jack stood his ground, waiting. The energy surged forward, a blinding wave of destruction aimed directly at him. At the last second, he sidestepped, the attack missing him by inches and carving a deep trench into the earth.

Before the construct could recover, Jack charged. He sprinted up a piece of fallen debris, using it as a ramp to propel himself high into the air. With a cry that echoed through the ruined valley, he brought his katana down in a two-handed strike.

The blade pierced the construct’s core.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Then the light within the creature flared violently before fading altogether. Its body shuddered, joints seizing, before it collapsed to the ground in a heap of twisted metal.

Jack landed softly beside it, his katana already sheathed. He stood there for a moment, the only sound his steady breathing and the distant crackle of dying flames. The battle was over, but the weight of the loss lingered in the air.

He turned toward the horizon, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. There was no one left to save here. But there were others—other villages, other lives that Aku sought to destroy.

Jack adjusted the strap of his sword and began walking.

The road stretched long and empty ahead of Jack, framed by distant hills and thick clusters of trees. Each step was measured, his sandals brushing against loose dirt, the faint sound of birdsong filling the quiet spaces in his mind. The fight earlier had left his muscles tense and his spirit heavier than usual, though he kept his composure as always.

The sun hung high in the sky when he reached the outskirts of a small town nestled in the valley below. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the hum of daily life buzzed faintly in the air—a blacksmith pounding steel, children laughing somewhere nearby, and the muffled conversations of townsfolk trading goods. Jack paused on a ridge, taking it all in.

It wasn’t much, this town, but it was alive. That alone was enough to soothe him.

As he stepped onto the main road, his presence drew the occasional curious glance. His attire—worn from travel and battle—marked him as an outsider, his katana slung at his side a clear testament to his purpose. Yet most people went about their business, leaving him to his own path.

The scent of cooking fish drifted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of fresh-cut hay. Jack followed the aroma to a modest restaurant with wide-open windows and a simple wooden sign swaying in the breeze. His stomach tightened, reminding him how long it had been since his last meal.

Inside, the restaurant was quiet but welcoming. Lanterns hung from the low wooden beams, casting a warm glow over the small crowd of patrons. Jack found a seat in the corner and rested his katana against the wall beside him. His movements were deliberate and respectful, as if the weight of his journey carried into every gesture.

When the server approached, Jack gave a small bow of thanks and ordered a plate of grilled fish, rice, and tea. He didn’t ask for anything more; simplicity had long been his way.

As he waited, the soft murmur of nearby conversations floated through the room. A table of women sat not far from him, their voices carrying just enough for Jack to catch snippets of their conversation. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but something about their words drew his attention.

“The Lucid Dreams Inn,” one of them said, her tone hushed but eager. “Have you been yet? It’s just outside of town, through the woods.”

“Not yet,” another replied, a wistful note in her voice. “But my sister went last week. She said it was like paradise—baths so warm you feel weightless and staff that treat you like royalty. It’s a dream.”

Jack kept his gaze on the table in front of him, but his focus shifted to their words. He didn’t often indulge in luxuries. His path was one of duty, not leisure. Yet the mention of a spa—a place of peace, even for a short while—stirred something in him.

“You should see the themed rooms,” another chimed in, laughing softly. “They make you feel like you’re in another world. And the massages…” She trailed off, sighing dramatically, which drew laughter from the group.

Jack’s food arrived, and he ate slowly, savoring each bite. The fish was perfectly cooked, the rice soft and steaming. He felt his body relax just slightly, as if the meal itself was a small act of kindness.

When he finished, he stood and approached the women’s table, bowing his head respectfully. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said, his voice calm and polite. “But I couldn’t help overhearing. Could you tell me where this Lucid Dreams Inn is located?”

The women exchanged surprised looks before one of them smiled warmly. “It’s not far,” she said. “Just follow the eastern road out of town until you reach the edge of the woods. You’ll see a path lined with lanterns—it’ll take you straight there.”

Jack gave a small bow of thanks. “I appreciate your guidance.”

With his meal paid for, he left the restaurant and followed the directions he’d been given. The eastern road was quieter than the bustling town, flanked by trees that swayed gently in the breeze. As he walked, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten slightly. The idea of a spa—a chance to rest, even briefly—felt indulgent, but perhaps it was something he needed.

It wasn’t long before he reached the woods. Just as the women had said, lanterns lined a narrow path, their warm glow cutting through the shade. Jack followed them, the soft crunch of dirt under his sandals blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.

The woods eventually opened to reveal the inn, and Jack stopped in his tracks. It was breathtaking—an elegant structure that seemed to glow in the fading sunlight, its carved arches and intricate patterns whispering of distant lands. Soft golden light spilled from its windows, and the gentle hum of a nearby stream added to its tranquil aura. It wasn’t just a building; it was a promise of peace, a refuge from the chaos that had defined his journey. For a moment, Jack allowed himself to simply stand there, taking in the stillness. Then, adjusting his katana at his side, he stepped forward. Perhaps, for just one night, he could leave the weight of his remaining mission behind.

The soft sound of the flowing stream faded as Jack crossed the threshold of the inn. The air inside was warm and fragrant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and sandalwood. A tranquil ambiance enveloped the space, with low lantern light casting a golden glow across the polished wood floors and richly woven rugs.

Jack was immediately greeted by the sight of a staff gathered near the front, a diverse group of young men and women. They moved with an effortless grace, each dressed in elegant yet modest attire that complimented their features. Their bright smiles and welcoming demeanor immediately put Jack at ease.

However, it was the group of men by the front desk that caught his attention. A handful of them lounged casually against the counter, clearly enjoying a break. Their voices carried across the room, drawing Jack’s gaze in spite of himself.

“Too rough,” one of them groaned dramatically, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve still got bruises!”

“That’s nothing,” another cut in, laughing. “Mine was too soft! If you’re gonna pay for time like that, at least make it memorable.”

The others burst into laughter, their easy camaraderie filling the air. Jack found himself averting his eyes, but not before sneaking a quick glance their way. They were striking, each in their own way—tall and lean, or broad-shouldered and strong, their features as varied as the stars in the sky. A faint blush warmed Jack’s face as he cleared his throat, silently admonishing himself for his wandering thoughts.

Still, curiosity gnawed at him. The conversation wasn’t exactly what he’d expected in a place like this, and it left him wondering about the services the inn provided. Steeling himself, Jack approached the main counter where one of the women was smiling warmly at him. But before he could speak, the group of men noticed him. Their conversation stopped mid-laugh as they turned to look at him—really look at him.

The shift was almost palpable. Their gazes swept over him with a mixture of intrigue and appreciation, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his jaw, and the quiet intensity that seemed to follow him wherever he went. It was clear, without a word exchanged, that they all had the same thought: they wanted him.

“Excuse me,” Jack said, his voice soft yet deliberate. “I was curious… What kind of services does this inn provide?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and the group exchanged knowing glances, small smirks curling at the corners of their lips. One of them, a tall man with chestnut hair and a confident air, stepped forward.

“We offer all kinds of services,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “Massages, baths, private rooms for relaxation… Whatever you need to ease your mind and body.”

Another man chimed in, his tone playful. “And we do our best to make sure every client leaves completely… satisfied.”

Jack’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, his usual composure faltering. “I see,” he murmured, his cheeks flushing faintly.

The group chuckled softly at his reaction, clearly enjoying the effect their words had on him. “Don’t worry,” the first man said, his smile widening. “You’re in good hands here. Why don’t you let us take care of you for a while?”

Jack hesitated, torn between his curiosity and the unfamiliar heat rising in his chest. This place was unlike any he had ever encountered, and for a moment, he wondered if stepping through its doors had been a mistake. But the thought was fleeting. Perhaps, just this once, he could indulge in something beyond his usual discipline and duty.

Jack followed the group of men as they led him down a dimly lit corridor. The soft glow of lanterns and the delicate hum of distant music created an intimate and relaxing atmosphere. The men chatted casually among themselves, their confidence and playful energy drawing Jack in despite his initial apprehension.

They came to a stop in front of an ornate door. One of the attendants, a tall man with striking amber eyes, gestured toward it with a flourish. “This is one of our special service rooms,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.

Jack stepped inside and took in the lavish setting. One side of the room held a heart-shaped bed draped in luxurious crimson sheets, surrounded by soft golden lighting. On the other side was a bathing area separated by a carved wooden screen. The bath itself was a work of art—an oversized tub made of polished stone, filled with steaming water that shimmered with faintly glowing herbs and oils.

“Relax, Samurai,” one of the men said with a teasing smile, placing a hand lightly on Jack’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of everything.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, unused to such attention. “Perhaps you gentlemen can step out for a moment while I undress.”

One of the men tilt his head towards jack, “But whyyy,” whines the man.

“We’re all friends here, no need to be shy.”

Jack hesitated for a moment before nodding his head, as he shrugged off his outer robe and stepped toward the bath, he felt a rare sense of ease begin to settle over him. The warm water enveloped him as he sank into the tub, sighing deeply as the tension in his muscles started to melt away.

The harem boys moved with practiced grace, gathering around the bath with sponges and towels in hand. They began to gently wash him, their hands skimming over his shoulders and arms, tracing the lines of his taut muscles. Their touch was firm yet soothing, accompanied by lighthearted laughter and conversation that kept the mood light.

Jack’s body sat slouched in the tub full of water and scented oils, he hunched over almost as if he was cowering in on himself. It was his way of hiding himself from these men - hiding from their view.

One of the younger attendants, a slim boy with mischievous green eyes, perched on the edge of the tub. “You’ve got some serious muscle,” he commented, poking Jack’s bicep with a grin. “What do you eat to stay like this?”

Jack still nervous chuckled softy, in a nervous manner almost— shaking his head. “Mostly rice and vegetables. Simple food.”

The group laughed, some jokingly telling him that’s not enough for a man of his size and another chimed in, “Well, tonight you’ll have to try something a little more exciting.”

From a nearby tray, the green-eyed boy grabbed a delicate glass filled with amber liquid. “This,” he said, holding it up, “is one of our specialties. Sweet, smooth, and perfect after a long day. You have to try it.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. “I’m not much of a drinker,” he admitted.

“Just a sip,” the boy coaxed, offering the glass. “I promise you’ll like it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jack took the glass and brought it to his lips. The liquor was surprisingly sweet, with a hint of fruit and spice. It slid down easily, warming him from the inside. He nodded approvingly and took another sip—then another.

Before long, Jack had finished the glass and reached for another, the smooth sweetness of the drink luring him in. The harem boys exchanged knowing glances, their smiles growing wider as Jack unknowingly indulged.

It wasn’t until he set the glass down and leaned back in the water that one of them, a lean man with a cheeky grin, pointed out, “Well, would you look at that.”

Jack followed the direction of his gaze, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what they were referring to. The warm water and the liquor’s effects had left him in an unmistakably compromising state, and he quickly shifted to sit up straighter, his cheeks flushing a faint red.

The group of men burst into laughter, though their tone was more playful than mocking. “Don’t worry, Samurai,” one of them said with a wink. “It happens to everyone here. Think of it as… part of the experience.”

Jack cleared his throat, feeling both embarrassed and strangely amused by their casual demeanor. He wasn’t sure whether to blame the liquor, the bath, or the harem boys themselves, but one thing was certain—this was a night unlike any other he’d experienced.

The harem boys guided Jack from the bath to the heart-shaped bed, their movements fluid and practiced. The room was filled with a soft, golden glow that seemed to pulse in time with the distant hum of the inn’s music. Jack, now dressed in a light robe provided by the attendants, sat down hesitantly, his damp hair falling loosely over his shoulders.

“Lie down, Samurai,” one of the men said softly, gesturing to the bed. His voice was calm, soothing, and Jack found himself complying without hesitation.

As he stretched out on the plush bed, the boys moved around him with care. One began to massage his arms, kneading away the tension that had been building for what felt like years. Another worked on his back, his strong hands expertly pressing into the tight muscles along Jack’s shoulders and spine. His legs, feet, and even his hands weren’t spared the attention, each boy ensuring every part of him was thoroughly tended to.

Another attendant, a younger man with soft features, approached with a small jar of a fragrant cream. He leaned over Jack, spreading the mask gently across his face. “This will help with the wear and tear of your travels,” he said with a smile.

As Jack relaxed under their care, the boys began to ask him questions. Their voices were gentle, curious. “Tell us about your life, Samurai,” one of them asked, his hands still working over Jack’s calves. “What brings you here?”

Jack hesitated at first, but the liquor had loosened his tongue. “My life has been… a long battle,” he began, his voice heavy. “I fight to return to my home, to undo the evil that has taken everything from me. Every day is a struggle—another fight, another challenge.”

The boys listened intently, their hands never ceasing their work. One of them, the man massaging Jack’s shoulders, frowned slightly. “It sounds exhausting,” he said softly. “To live with such a burden. Have you ever thought of letting it go?”

Jack’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond, another boy—a playful one with a mischievous smile—spoke up. “You could stay here,” he suggested. “Achieve peace. This place could be your refuge.”

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but a soft, melodic tone interrupted him. One of the boys had retrieved a singing bowl, its rim gliding under his practiced touch. The sound filled the room, vibrating softly through the air and into Jack’s very core. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard, a sound that seemed to strip away the layers of tension and pain he had carried for so long.

His thoughts grew hazy as the boys guided him to another part of the room. This area was set up for grooming, with mirrors framed in gold and trays of combs, oils, and brushes neatly arranged. One of the attendants began brushing Jack’s damp hair, while another trimmed his beard with precise care.

As they worked, the questions continued. “What else do you remember about your life?” one of them asked gently.

Jack’s eyes softened, his defenses slipping further. “The hardships,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “The battles, the loss… I’ve been fighting for so long, I don’t know what peace even feels like anymore.”

One of the boys, who had been running his fingers through Jack’s freshly combed hair, spoke softly. “Then perhaps it’s time to stop fighting.”

The words lingered in the air, carried by the soft hum of the singing bowl. Jack couldn’t help but consider them. The longer he stayed here, the more the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift. Time felt strange in this place; what had been hours felt like mere moments. The thought of staying—just for a little longer—grew more tempting.

Jack glanced at the group of attendants, their serene smiles and gentle hands easing him into a state of complete relaxation. His heart, which had long been hardened by the trials of his journey, softened slightly. Perhaps, just for now, he could allow himself this peace.

Finally, he closed his eyes and gave a slight nod. “I will stay.”

The first boy, Takeshi, with his raven hair and piercing blue eyes, had a smile that could charm the toughest of warriors. His little form was wrapped in a kimono of deep midnight blue, adorned with delicate silver threads that shimmered like stars in the candlelight.

The second, Akihiro, had skin as pale as the moon and hair as gold as the sun, with eyes that held the warmth of a summer's embrace. His kimono was a soft shade of ivory, with intricate gold embroidery that mirrored the patterns of cherry blossoms. Next to him, Satoru's emerald eyes sparkled with mischief, his crimson kimono a stark contrast to his raven hair, hinting at the passion that lay within.

The remaining four introduced themselves as well: Ryuu, whose kimono was as fiery as his spirit; Kaito, whose eyes were the color of the stormy sea and whose demeanor was as mysterious as the depths of the ocean; Yukito, whose kimono of gentle lavender whispered of his tender soul; and finally, Hiro, whose kimono was the color of freshly fallen snow, reflecting the purity and innocence that seemed to radiate from his very being.

The boys' gazes held a hint of something more than mere welcoming, something that sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. They spoke in soft, hypnotic tones, their voices laced with urges of desire that seemed to fill the very air around him. The harem of men had two conditions for his acceptance into their fold, they explained.

Firstly, he must agree to lock away his manhood in a chastity cage, a symbol of his commitment to their unique form of service. Secondly, he must engage in an unbridled orgy, allowing the hypnotic tunes of a singing bowl to guide him through the evening's carnally ecstatic ritual.

Jack's brow furrowed in protest, his hand reflexively moving to the sword at his side. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice a low growl of discomfort. The thought of such a restriction was foreign to his warrior's spirit, and the idea of an orgy, though not entirely unwelcome, was certainly unexpected. Yet, the allure of the harem's beauty and the mysterious aura of the mansion made his resolve waver like the flame of a candle in the breeze.

Takeshi stepped forward, his smile never faltering. His eyes locked onto Jack's, and his hand reached out to lightly touch the samurai's cheek. "Do not fear, warrior," he cooed, his voice a velvety caress. "The cage is a symbol of your dedication to us, to the experiences that await you here. It is not a prison, but a gateway to new pleasures." As the other boys closed in, their fingertips grazed jack’s skin, sending shivers of unfamiliar sensations through his body. He felt a gentle pull, as if the very air was coaxing him to comply.

Akihiro offered the chastity cage, its golden metal gleaming in the soft glow of the candles. It was an intricate piece of craftsmanship, adorned with delicate engravings of entwined lovers and blooming flowers. The warmth of the metal seemed to pulse with the promise of pleasure. Jack hesitated, but the hypnotic allure of their touch grew stronger, his thoughts swirling like leaves in a tempest.

The surrounding walls around them began to morph, its walls shifting and flowing like a living tapestry. The grand hall dissolved into a surreal dreamscape, an erotic playground that seemed to exist solely to tantalize the senses. The air grew thick with the scent of jasmine, and the floor became a soft, velvet sea beneath his feet. The harem boys flitted around him like ethereal beings, each one more enticing than the last, whispering sweet nothings that danced around the edges of his consciousness.

Jack's hand hovered over the chastity cage, his mind racing with thoughts of rebellion and curiosity. Yet, the gentle yet insistent pressure of the harem's touch washed away his resistance like sand before the tide. He felt his body relax, his will bending to the seductive power of their words and touch. His eyes grew heavy, and his breathing slowed as their hypnotic whispers painted a vivid picture of the unbridled pleasure that awaited him.

With trembling fingers, Jack unbuckled his obi, allowing the heavy layers of his hakama to fall away. The cool metal of the chastity cage was a stark contrast to the heat rising within him. As Akihiro guided the cage over his erection, Jack couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and excitement. The cage clicked into place, locking his arousal within its embrace, a stark symbol of his surrender to the harem's will.

The moment the cage was secured, the harem boys broke into a fit of giggles, their laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. They led Jack to the center of the room where a large, plush futon had appeared, surrounded by a sea of velvet pillows. The singing bowl, which had been silently watching the exchange from the shadows, began to hum. The vibrations grew louder, resonating through the air and into Jack's very bones. The sound was mesmerizing, a siren's call that he could not resist. His eyes grew heavy, and his body felt as if it were made of liquid, swaying to the bowl's hypnotic melody.

The boys began to undress, each revealing their own unique beauty. Satoru's muscular chest rippled as he removed his kimono, his cock already erect and bobbing with excitement. Kaito's body was lean and toned, with a trail of hair leading from his navel to the base of his cock, which stood proudly at attention. Yukito, the delicate one, had skin softer than silk, his small, firm nipples pebbling with anticipation. Hiro's innocent gaze belied the fiery passion that lurked within, his body a canvas of untouched perfection.

The hypnotic hum of the singing bowl grew more intense, wrapping around Jack like a warm embrace, dissolving the last of his inhibitions. He could feel his own cock strain against the confines of the chastity cage, begging for release. The harem boys lay down on the futon, creating a sensual mosaic of skin and fabric.

The bowl's vibrations grew stronger, resonating through Jack's body as if he were a living instrument. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a low moan as the music took hold of his very soul. The air grew electric with desire, and he felt the mattress shift beneath him as the boys arranged themselves around him. He was the center of their attention, the object of their collective lust and admiration.

Ryuu, the fiery one, was the first to act. He straddled Jack's chest, his cock a vibrant shade of coral against the samurai's tanned skin. Leaning down, he captured Jack's mouth in a kiss that was both fiery and tender. The taste of him was like a spark that ignited Jack's passion, making him ache to feel more.

The other boys followed suit, their hands exploring every inch of Jack's body. They were like skilled artisans, each one knowing exactly where to touch, where to kiss, to elicit the most exquisite reactions. Akihiro's gentle caress of his cheek was as comforting as a mother's touch, while Satoru's rough grip on his thigh was like the bite of a lover eager to claim him.

Kaito's stormy eyes searched his own.

The hypnotic vibrations of the singing bowl grew more insistent, the music resonating with the beating of Jack's heart. He felt as if he were floating in a warm, velvet embrace, the weight of his body forgotten amidst the swirling pleasure. The boys' hands danced over his skin, tracing the lines of his chest, his abs, and finally the bulge of his cock, trapped and pulsing within the chastity cage. They paid homage to his manhood, their lips and fingers worshipping the metal that contained his desire.

Yukito, the tender soul, began to kiss a trail down Jack's body, his soft, full lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. Each press of his mouth sent a shiver through the samurai's frame, his body arching in silent plea. When Yukito reached the base of the cage, he paused, looking up with eyes filled with a mix of innocence and lust. With a gentle touch, he traced the outline of Jack's trapped erection, eliciting a moan that seemed to resonate with the very air around them.

Takeshi, the master of seduction, took hold of the singing bowl, its vibrations now a deep, resonating bass that seemed to echo the pounding of Jack's heart. The other boys began to kiss and touch each other, their bodies moving in a sensual dance as old as time itself. The sight of their passion was almost too much for Jack to bear, his cock straining against the unforgiving metal. The cage grew warm from his arousal.

The air grew thick with the scent of desire as the harem's hands moved in unison, teasing and stroking Jack's body. Their lips and tongues found every sensitive spot, leaving no inch untouched. The heat of their breath against his skin sent waves of pleasure crashing through him. He could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each stroke, each kiss, each whispered word of encouragement.

Hiro, the youngest, approached shyly, his snow-white kimono fluttering like the petals of a cherry blossom. He knelt beside the futon and took Jack's hand, placing it on the cage. The samurai's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white as the pressure grew. Hiro looked into his eyes, his own filled with a gentle warmth that seemed to pierce the haze of lust that clouded Jack's mind. With a soft smile, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on the padlock that kept Jack's cock imprisoned. The metal grew hot, as if responding to the touch of his lips.

The singing bowl reached a crescendo, the vibrations resonating through the room and into Jack's soul. The harem's movements grew more frenzied, their bodies tangling together in a passionate display of eroticism. The sight was overwhelming, Jack could feel the beginnings of an orgasm, a storm gathering on the horizon of his consciousness. His hips bucked, seeking relief from the relentless teasing.

Akihiro took mercy on him, sliding his hand between the bars of the chastity cage. His touch was feather-light, his fingertips dancing over the sensitive head of Jack's cock. The sensation was electric, sending bolts of pleasure through Jack's body. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a guttural moan, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The other boys took turns, each one offering their own brand of torturous pleasure, their hands moving in perfect harmony with the bowl's pulsating rhythm.

The pressure grew unbearable, and Jack felt as though he was on the precipice of something profound. He could feel the beginnings of his climax, a coil of ecstasy winding tightly within him. The cage grew slick with pre-cum, a testament to his desperate need for release.

Yet, the lock remained steadfast.

Akihiro, one of the harem men who had been watching Jack sends a quiet smile his way. His eyes were gentle, yet there was something mysterious about them. He spoke in a soft, reassuring tone, “You’ve done enough, Jack. You’ve showed that you are indeed promising for us all. Your mission is over. All your struggles, all your pain… they’ll be gone by morning. You can rest now.”

Jack blinked slowly, his exhaustion overcoming him. Akihiro’s words felt like a balm to his soul, a promise of peace he had longed for but never believed he would see. His head felt heavy, his eyelids drooping. He gave a small nod. “I can rest… at last…” he whispered.

Akihiro placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack collapses back onto the bed, and within moments, the weight of sleep consumed him. His breathing steadied, and the room fell still.

But as Jack slept, the world around him began to change. The inn, once a place of comfort, began to shimmer and twist. The walls cracked, the wooden floor groaned and splintered, and the warm air turned cold and thick. The peaceful atmosphere had been an illusion, one crafted to deceive the weary traveler. As the illusion broke, the truth revealed itself.

The harem men, now no longer hidden in human forms, transformed into creatures of darkness. Akihiro’s body lengthened, his skin turning scaly as his eyes glowed bright red. He was no longer the charming man who had spoken to Jack, but a serpent-like beast, coiled and ready. The others, once handsome and gentle, now revealed their true monstrous yet beautiful forms, each one a creature that thrived on human desire.

The world around them was no longer the inn, but a vast, desolate desert. The sands stretched endlessly in all directions, and the sky above was an oppressive shade of deep orange. This was the true world — the one hidden beneath the illusion, a world where they had lured countless souls over the centuries.

Akihiro grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light. “We’ve finally found him. A worthy mate after all this time,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Another of the harem men, Yukito, who appeared as a towering, majestic wolf, shook his head. “Let him rest, Akihiro. He’s been through enough. We’ll have plenty of time to enjoy our new companion when he wakes.”

Akihiro clicked his tongue but conceded. “Fine. But the wait is almost unbearable.”

The men gathered around Jack’s sleeping form, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. As they watched, Jack’s appearance began to shift. The weariness left his body, replaced with something more regal. His clothes changed, too, from the familiar samurai armor to flowing white robes with purple accents. The outfit looked almost like something from an ancient kingdom, regal and princely. It was as if the weight of his past life had been shed, and something new, something more fitting for his transformation, had taken its place.

At the center of the desert, a figure appeared — one that towered over the harem men. His name was Hed, their leader, the one who had controlled them all for centuries. Hed stood tall and imposing, his wild black hair spreading out like a storm. His tanned skin gleamed under the desert sun, and his powerful, muscular frame was on full display. He wore golden cuffs on his wrists and a dark green vest that hung open to reveal his well-defined chest. His pants were wide and billowed out at the cuffs, tied with a golden-brown belt, and he stood barefoot, his feet firmly planted in the sand.

Hed’s presence was overwhelming, his gaze locking onto the harem men with a knowing smirk. “Akihiro, it seems you were right. Jack is a worthy mate,” he said, his voice low and powerful.

Akihiro nodded, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Yes, master. He is the one we’ve been searching for.”

Hed’s smile was almost predatory. “Let him rest. When he wakes, he will join us in this world. And then, we shall see if he is truly ready for the life we’ve prepared for him.”

The harem men stepped back, watching Jack as he slept peacefully, unaware of the transformation that had taken place around him. The desert stretched on, endless and barren, and the harem men, though monstrous in form, stood silently, waiting for the moment when Jack would awaken and face the truth of his new life.

As the night stretched on, the desert was still, the only sound the quiet shifting of the sands. Jack’s fate, sealed by the harem’s dark desires, would unfold in the morning. But for now, he slept, unaware of the world that had changed around him.

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 2

The classroom smelled like dust and old paper, the kind of scent that settled into the walls of every school, no matter how new or well-kept. The overhead lights flickered once before steadying, their dim glow casting long shadows across rows of students slumped in their seats, waiting for yet another lecture about the future—one that most of them weren’t ready to hear.

The teacher stood at the front, balancing a thick stack of papers in his hands, adjusting his glasses as he glanced over the class with the kind of tired patience that came from years of watching students do everything except listen. “Alright, everyone, it’s time to start thinking seriously about your futures.” His voice carried the weight of routine. He had said this same line to countless students before, and he’d say it again next year, and the year after that. “I’ll be handing out printouts for your desired career paths. It’s important to start planning now, especially for those of you applying to high-ranking schools.”

A groan rippled through the class, some students resting their chins in their hands, already tuning him out. The only real reaction came when the teacher added, almost offhandedly, “But I already know you all want to be heroes.”

That got their attention.

Excitement crackled through the room like static electricity, students perking up, quirks activating instinctively—tiny flashes of fire, sudden gusts of wind, the faint hum of energy vibrating beneath fingertips. Someone’s chair levitated an inch off the ground before clattering back down. A few sparks danced between fingers, fizzling out as the teacher let out an exasperated sigh.

“You know quirks aren’t allowed during school hours,” he scolded.

Most of them ignored him, their attention shifting toward one person in particular—the boy who had already made it clear he was on a different level.

Katsuki Bakugo smirked, arms folded as he leaned back in his seat, radiating the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away. “Don’t lump me in with the rest of these extras,” he said, voice dripping with superiority. “I’m not just trying to be a hero—I will be the top hero. Better than All Might himself.”

A few students groaned at his arrogance, but no one could deny the weight of his words. Katsuki had already aced the mock exams. Everyone knew he had the skills, the drive. He was going to U.A. High School, no question about it.

Then, someone spoke up.

“What about Midoriya?”

The entire classroom fell silent for a moment before erupting into laughter.

Izuku, who had been diligently scribbling in his notebook, tensed as every pair of eyes in the room turned to him. He clutched his pen tighter, shoulders drawn in as if he could physically make himself smaller.

“You?” One of the students scoffed. “You’re still trying to get into U.A.? Seriously?”

Katsuki snorted, rolling his eyes. “Tch. Don’t make me laugh, Deku. You think they’d let in a quirkless loser like you?”

Izuku didn’t say anything. He just lowered his head, biting the inside of his cheek as the laughter continued around him.

In another classroom, just a few doors down, a completely different scene was unfolding.

The teacher wiped at her eyes, sniffling dramatically as she looked over her students. “I just… I can’t believe this is my last year with you all. You’ve grown so much…”

Groans and quiet complaints filled the room, students shifting uncomfortably in their seats as they endured the teacher’s sentimental rambling. Only one student remained still, unbothered.

(Y/N) sat perfectly straight, eyes half-lidded as they listened—not just to their own classroom, but to everything. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The rhythmic tapping of a pen two rows back. The scrape of a chair against the floor in the hallway. The faint, distant voices from the other classrooms.

And beyond that? The breathing of students down the hall. The sound of shoes scuffing against linoleum. The way their voices wavered, the subtle shifts in their tone—things no normal person would ever pick up on. But (Y/N) wasn’t normal.

Their head tilted slightly, watching as the teacher dabbed at her eyes again, voice thick with emotion.

A beat of silence.

Then, (Y/N) muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear

“Llorona.”

“Crybaby”

The effect was immediate.

The entire class stiffened. A few students coughed awkwardly, shifting in their seats. One boy let out a snort before quickly covering his mouth, eyes darting between (Y/N) and the teacher. Even the teacher, despite her flustered attempt to compose herself, hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

It wasn’t just the word itself—it was how (Y/N) had said it.

Flat. Unfeeling. Like an observation rather than an insult.

As if they had simply named something that had already been true.

The teacher cleared her throat, clearly choosing to ignore it. “Now then,” she said, regaining some composure. “Let’s talk about high school applications. We have many promising students this year, and I’m sure you all have big plans for the future. (Y/N), what about you?”

All eyes turned toward them.

(Y/N) was, without question, the top student in the school. Their grades were impeccable, their test scores untouchable. But unlike Katsuki Bakugo, they weren’t loud about it. They didn’t boast or draw attention to themselves. They simply existed—a presence that should have been impossible to ignore, yet somehow always slipped through the cracks.

A few students exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves.

“What even is their quirk?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them use it.”

“Are they quirkless, too?”

(Y/N) ignored them.

They waited just long enough for the tension to settle, then answered, “U.A. High School.”

The words were spoken with such perfect timing that, in another classroom down the hall, Katsuki Bakugo unknowingly echoed them at the exact same moment:

“Don’t lump me in with everyone else—I’m going to U.A.”

The whispers in (Y/N)’s class quieted, but the unease didn’t fade.

They had heard him.

Every syllable, every breath. Even from this distance, through the walls, through the overlapping noise of a hundred other students, they had heard it as clearly as if he had been sitting right beside them.

It was an ability no normal human should have.

But then again… (Y/N) wasn’t human.

Not really.

The room buzzed with murmurs as the students debated the difficulty of the U.A. entrance exam. A few of them whispered about the acceptance rate, the insane expectations, the kind of raw power and talent needed to even stand a chance against other applicants.

Katsuki Bakugo had heard it all before, and it didn’t matter.

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an easy arrogance, stretching his arms behind his head. “Like any of that matters. I already aced the mock exam. I’ll pass the real thing just as easily.”

His grin widened as he added, “I’ll be the best—better than All Might himself.”

The room filled with chatter again, a mix of impressed nods and skeptical side-eyes. But no one dared challenge him outright. No one except—

“Well, Midoriya wants to go to U.A. too.”

Silence.

For a moment, the only sound in the classroom was the hum of the fluorescent lights. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the entire class turned to look at Izuku.

And then—laughter.

It started with a few chuckles, then erupted into full-blown cackling. Someone slapped their desk. Another wiped at imaginary tears. The mockery was deafening, drowning out everything else in the room.

Izuku stiffened, clutching his notebook tightly against his chest. His ears burned, his nails digging into the worn cover of his notes.

“You?” One student sneered. “You really think you’ll get into U.A.?”

“There’s no way,” another chimed in. “All you ever do is study. What’s that gonna do for you in the hero course?”

Izuku opened his mouth, scrambling for a defense, but before he could get a word out—

BOOM.

An explosion crackled in the air, heat licking at Izuku’s skin as smoke curled between them. He flinched back instinctively.

Katsuki was already in front of him, his hand still sparking from the blast, his expression unreadable except for the sheer contempt in his red eyes.

“Don’t put yourself on the same level as me, Deku,” he spat, voice low, dangerous.

Izuku sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back, but Katsuki followed.

“I-I’m not—” Izuku stammered. “I know I can’t compete with you, Kacchan. But this isn’t about that. I just—I’ve had this dream since I was a kid. And if I don’t at least try—I’ll never know if I could have—”

“Tch.”

Katsuki’s lip curled. “You don’t get it, do you?” He turned slightly, addressing the rest of the class without taking his eyes off Izuku. “The entrance exam’s impossible for someone like him.”

The class murmured in agreement, some shaking their heads, others smirking.

Izuku swallowed hard, looking down at his shoes.

The laughter wasn’t as loud this time, but it was still there.

Elsewhere…

A scream split the air.

The streets, once bustling with casual evening activity, had fallen into chaos.

A villain tore through the city—a writhing, amorphous mass of dark green sludge, slipping between alleyways and leaving a foul-smelling trail in its wake. Its liquid body sloshed unnaturally, eyes blinking open and shut across its surface. People scrambled out of its way, some running, others watching from what they hoped was a safe distance.

“There’s no end to villains like this…” someone muttered from the crowd.

A shadow shifted above them.

“No,” a voice answered, deep and powerful. “There is an end to them.”

Because he was there.

Back at the Middle School…

The school day had ended, students pouring out of the building in clusters, their chatter fading into the distance.

Inside an empty classroom, the air was thick with the fading scent of burnt ozone and old chalk. The last golden rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the desks.

Only four people remained.

Izuku Midoriya stood near his desk, fumbling with his things, head down as he tried to ignore the presence looming behind him.

Katsuki Bakugo leaned lazily against a desk, arms crossed, crimson eyes locked onto Izuku with an expression that was both smug and irritated. His two lackeys, sitting casually on desks nearby, watched the exchange with quiet amusement.

It was always like this.

“You seriously think you can get into U.A.?” Katsuki scoffed, pushing off the desk and sauntering over. “You?”

Izuku stiffened.

Katsuki snatched the notebook from his hands before he could react, flipping through the pages with a sneer.

“You’re still scribbling in this dumb book?” Katsuki shook his head, his grip tightening. “You’re wasting your damn time, Deku.”

Izuku opened his mouth to protest, but—

BOOM.

A small explosion erupted from Katsuki’s palm, searing the edges of the notebook. Ash curled into the air as the pages darkened and crumbled, bits of burnt paper fluttering to the floor like dying embers.

Izuku’s stomach twisted. His hands clenched at his sides as he bit back the urge to reach for the ruined book.

Katsuki chuckled, letting the notebook slip from his fingers, the smoldering remains hitting the floor between them.

“You’ll never be a hero, Deku,” he said, voice light but laced with something sharper underneath.

Izuku swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Katsuki’s gaze.

“I—”

But Katsuki cut him off with a laugh, shaking his head as if the whole thing was some grand joke. He took a step closer, lowering his voice just slightly.

“If you really wanna do something useful,” he murmured, his tone almost casual, “why don’t you take a swan dive off the rooftop?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Izuku froze.

The classroom felt smaller, the walls pressing in, the silence deafening.

For a moment, his breath hitched.

Then, slowly, he forced himself to move. He bent down, ignoring the scorch marks as he picked up what remained of his notebook.

Katsuki watched him with a smirk, waiting for some kind of reaction—anger, tears, anything.

But Izuku didn’t say a word.

He turned, clutching the ruined book to his chest, and walked out of the classroom without looking back.

(Y/N) who had been passing by when the words reached their ears.

They had heard everything.

Not just the conversation, but the subtle shifts in breathing, the steady thrum of Katsuki’s heartbeat, the way Izuku’s hands trembled for just a second before he steadied them.

They heard it all.

But they didn’t stop.

Didn’t intervene.

They simply walked past the open classroom door, glancing inside just long enough to commit the scene to memory. Their eyes landed on Katsuki, scanning his face, his posture.

Then, just as quietly as they came, they kept walking.

At the end of the hall, their lips curled into something unreadable.

And when they spoke, their voice was soft—almost playful.

“It seems someone’s in need of Spanish lessons.”

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 8

masterlist

The massive monitor in UA’s observation room displayed a dozen live feeds of the ongoing entrance exam. The room buzzed with low murmurs as teachers and pro heroes, some already instructors and others soon to join, watched the performance of the candidates. Each teacher kept an eye out for promising students who displayed potential and ingenuity.

“Hmm, that boy there,” Principal Nezu’s cheerful voice broke through the chatter as he gestured toward a feed displaying Izuku Midoriya. “The green-haired one. He’s quite… interesting, wouldn’t you agree?”

All Might, standing to the side with arms crossed, stiffened slightly but kept his expression neutral. The other teachers turned their attention to the feed.

“Hm, seems his quirk is causing him some harm,” Snipe observed, noting how Izuku’s body looked strained after a few impacts.

Ectoplasm nodded. “Yes, a raw power quirk, but at what cost? His arm looks to be on the verge of breaking. He won’t last long in a real fight unless he gains better control.”

Principal Nezu hummed thoughtfully, pulling out a folder. “Ah, Midoriya, Izuku. Let’s see…” He scanned the file. “An interesting note here: it seems this boy was registered as quirkless up until just over a week ago. Then he was retested, and now he has this quirk though it seems his body isn’t quite use to it yet and due to that it seems him using his quirk causes harm to him after each use . Very peculiar.”

The room fell silent for a moment, then the whispers began.

“Quirkless until a week ago?” Midnight raised an eyebrow. “That’s not impossible, but that also shouldn’t really be possible. I’m not saying it can’t happen but … it’s rare, especially at his age.”

Vlad King folded his arms. “Doesn’t seem natural. Late bloomers usually show signs before adolescence. Could he have undergone some… unconventional methods?”

All Might quickly stepped forward, a smile masking his rising unease. “Well, late-developing quirks aren’t unheard of!” he said, his voice booming in an attempt to redirect their focus. “But look—over there! That young boy.” He gestured toward another monitor.

All eyes shifted to the screen showing (Y/N), who was weaving through the streets with precision, his sword flashing as he slashed through villain bots. Unlike the other students, (Y/N) wasn’t focused on scoring points. Instead, he lingered near Izuku, always keeping the green-haired boy within sight.

Midnight tilted her head, scrutinizing the image. “Young boy? Are we sure? Look at the outfit.” She leaned closer to the screen, smirking. “That’s a maid outfit. Are we sure he’s not a girl?”

Nezu chuckled, unbothered. “No, no, that is indeed a young male. His file confirms it.”

He flipped open a sparse folder labeled Tokitō (Y/N). The teachers leaned in, curious about the boy who moved with such agility. However, their expressions turned puzzled when they saw the file’s contents—or lack thereof.

“Blank?” Cementoss frowned.

Nezu nodded. “Yes, very little is known about this boy. His age is listed down as 14, making him the youngest first year this school year, well if he gets accepted. And here…” He pointed to a specific section. “Where his quirk should be listed, it’s blank, stamped with quirkless.”

The room erupted into an uproar.

“Quirkless?!” Snipe exclaimed. “How’s that possible? Look at him! No quirkless kid could move like that!”

“Is this some kind of error?” Vlad King demanded. “He’s clearly doing things no ordinary person could.”

Recovery Girl, who had been quietly watching another monitor, finally spoke up. “Calm down, everyone. Watch the screen.” She gestured toward her monitor, which showed (Y/N) in action.

The teachers turned their attention back to the boy.

The zero-pointer had just appeared, causing chaos in its wake. Students scattered in fear, many too injured or paralyzed with terror to escape. Izuku had made his move, launching himself toward the towering robot to save a trapped girl. His punch connected with explosive force, destroying the robot’s head.

But as the zero-pointer began to collapse, its massive debris threatened to crush those still in its shadow.

That’s when (Y/N) sprang into action.

With a speed that defied belief, (Y/N) darted through the chaos, his sword flashing as he slashed at the falling chunks of metal. Each precise strike broke the debris into smaller, less dangerous pieces that scattered harmlessly to the ground.

“Look at that precision…” Ectoplasm murmured, his eyes wide.

“You can’t tell me that’s not a quirk,” Midnight said, astonished. 

As the dust settled, (Y/N) didn’t stop. He seemed to vanish and reappear in a blur, carrying injured students to safety. His movements were fluid, almost inhuman, as he avoided obstacles and kept calm under pressure.

Finally, he reached Izuku, who was lying on the ground, his arm shattered from the force of his punch. There beside him was a young female - the one who saved him. Without hesitation, (Y/N) hoisted the green-haired boy onto his back and picked the female up bridal style startling her and causing her to yelp. 

The female wrapped her arms tightly around the young males shoulders and neck as he dashed to where he had gathered the other injured students, setting the female down first then working towards setting Izuku down gently before standing guard over the group.

The room was silent, the teachers staring at the screen in disbelief.

“How…” Snipe began, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“That’s not possible,” Vlad King said, his voice low. “Not for someone quirkless.”

Principal Nezu, however, was smiling. “It seems we have two very interesting candidates this year,” he said, his tone light but thoughtful.

Recovery Girl nodded. “Quirkless or not, that boy has the heart of a hero. Look at what he’s accomplished—saving others, keeping calm under pressure, and doing it all without a quirk. We shouldn’t underestimate him.”

All Might, watching quietly from the corner, couldn’t help but smile. “Indeed,” he said softly.

On the screen, (Y/N) stood amid the chaos, his expression calm and unreadable as always. He adjusted the strap of his sword, glancing at the injured students to ensure they were safe before turning his attention back to the rest of the battlefield.

For the first time in years, UA had encountered a student they couldn’t quite explain.

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 4

masterlist

For the past few weeks, (Y/N) had been following Izuku around at Inko’s request. He didn’t mind; it wasn’t like it was an inconvenience. Izuku, unlike most kids (Y/N) had seen, seemed to have a deep drive to train, to push himself harder each day. (Y/N) wasn’t exactly sure what the boy’s goal was, but he was doing what Inko had asked—keeping an eye on him and making sure he didn’t push himself too far.

Izuku was dedicated to his training, even though no one knew about his secret sessions with All Might. The boy didn’t seem to let anything stop him. Most days, (Y/N) just watched from a distance, staying on the sidelines. He didn’t train, didn’t offer advice, and didn’t try to get involved. He simply observed, letting Izuku do his thing, as the task requested of him. It was simple enough.

Today was no different. Izuku was pushing himself hard, sweat dripping down his face, his breath coming in heavy gasps. (Y/N) remained quiet, watching the boy stretch and catch his breath. It wasn’t until Izuku stopped, his brow furrowing, that (Y/N) took notice. The boy looked over his shoulder, a mix of curiosity and suspicion in his eyes.

“Hey,” Izuku called out. “I’ve been meaning to ask… Why do you always follow me around? You don’t train, you just watch me. Why do you keep tagging along like this?”

(Y/N) didn’t show any signs of surprise, as though the question had been expected. He tilted his head slightly, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Inko asked me to keep an eye on you,” (Y/N) answered, his tone calm and steady, though there was no real warmth to it. “She’s worried you don’t have enough people your age around, so I’m here to make sure you’re alright.”

Izuku blinked, his face a little confused. “So… You’re here just because my mom asked you to? Like, as a favor?”

(Y/N) could sense the hurt starting to settle in Izuku’s voice. There was an undertone of disappointment in the boy’s words that wasn’t hard to miss. Still, (Y/N) didn’t react to it. This was just the way things were, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” (Y/N) replied, not sugar-coating anything. “She’s just worried about your social life, or the lack of one. Thought it’d be good if you had someone around.”

Izuku’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he stared down at the ground, not saying anything for a moment. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “So… you’re only here because my mom asked you to? You’re just… a babysitter, huh?”

(Y/N) didn’t respond immediately. He could see Izuku’s discomfort, the hurt settling over him like a heavy blanket. But there was something about the way Izuku asked that made (Y/N) pause. The boy seemed so vulnerable in that moment, even though he was still trying to keep his usual determination intact.

“I guess you could say that,” (Y/N) said, his voice neutral. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He couldn’t exactly explain the real reason he’d agreed to stay around. It was too complicated for words, and besides, what good would it do to burden Izuku with the details?

Izuku’s eyes were glistening with tears now, his expression wobbling between confusion and sadness. “So… you’re not really here because you want to be my friend? You’re just doing this because my mom told you to?”

The raw emotion in Izuku’s voice almost caught (Y/N) off guard. His instincts told him to brush it off, to not get involved. But he couldn’t ignore the way Izuku’s words cut through the calm exterior.

(Y/N) exhaled sharply, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “Inko asked me to keep an eye on you because… well, you’re the first kid my age I’ve seen in a while. Most people I work for don’t have kids my age, so when she mentioned you, I thought… why not? It seemed interesting to me, is all.”

Izuku stared at him, blinking through the tears now falling freely. “You mean… you wanted to hang out with me because… you don’t have anyone else your age around?”

(Y/N) nodded, his gaze shifting away from Izuku for a moment, briefly distracted by the changing clouds in the sky. There was a strange, almost peaceful quality to the moment, but he quickly snapped his attention back to Izuku. “Yeah. Maybe. I thought… it might be good to have someone around my age to talk to.”

Izuku’s breath hitched, and he took a shaky step forward, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “That… that would be really nice, you know? I don’t really have any friends. I thought… maybe I was just too weird, too different for anyone to want to be friends with me.” His voice cracked slightly, his tears flowing faster.

(Y/N) was silent, watching the boy’s tears fall in a steady stream. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say anything that would make it better. Izuku was so open, so vulnerable in that moment. And yet, (Y/N) couldn’t bring himself to be the one to comfort him.

“Are you sure?” Izuku whispered, his eyes wide, as if searching for any trace of sincerity. “You really want to be my friend?”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to lie outright, but he also didn’t want to hurt the boy. So, instead, he said nothing, merely giving him a small nod, as if it would somehow be enough.

Izuku’s expression softened slightly, his tears still coming, but this time it seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked up at (Y/N), his lips quivering as a small smile formed. “I’d really like that… I really would.”

(Y/N) blinked, an odd sensation settling in his chest. The smile on Izuku’s face was so genuine, so filled with hope that for a moment, he found himself unsure of how to react. There was a tug in his heart, something unfamiliar. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before.

Izuku continued to cry, but now, it wasn’t out of sadness—it was a relief, a sense of something real, finally. And for the briefest of moments, (Y/N) almost felt the need to pat him on the back, to say something reassuring. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t good at that.

Instead, his gaze drifted upward, and he saw a cloud drifting lazily through the sky. It was a peaceful, slow-moving thing, white and fluffy. “Huh,” (Y/N) muttered, almost to himself, “I wonder what kind of cloud that is.”

Izuku, still sniffling, didn’t respond immediately, as he was lost in his own thoughts. (Y/N) looked at him for a moment longer, his eyes softening just a little, but he quickly turned his attention back to the sky. The cloud had already moved past, leaving nothing but a small memory of its presence.

“Maybe… maybe it’s a sign,” Izuku whispered, his voice still shaky but filled with a small flicker of hope.

(Y/N) didn’t reply. Instead, he just looked at the sky, his mind drifting along with the cloud, unsure of what the future held, but for once, his thoughts weren’t entirely clouded with indifference.

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 14

masterlist

The machine calculating (Y/N)’s throw began to whir and beep, its internal mechanisms straining as if it couldn’t process what had just happened. Then, with a loud sputter, it froze, the screen flashing a single word in bold, blinking letters: ERROR.

The class erupted.

“Holy crap, he broke the machine!” Kaminari shouted, eyes wide with awe. “That’s insane! What kind of Quirk does he even have?”

“That was so manly!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands on his hips as he beamed at (Y/N). “You gotta tell me your secret, dude! That’s next-level strength right there!”

“Manly?!” Bakugo snapped, his voice cutting through the excitement like a blade. He stomped toward (Y/N), fury blazing in his eyes. “That wasn’t manly! That was freakish! What the hell was that, huh?! You think you’re hot shit just ‘cause you broke a stupid machine?”

(Y/N), as calm as ever, ignored him completely. The faint traces of mist that lingered around his shoulders continued to dissipate as he walked back to his place beside Izuku, the stick still loosely balanced in his hand. As Bakugo’s tirade grew louder, (Y/N) cast him a sidelong glance and muttered, “Focus on yourself, brat.”

The low, steady tone carried enough weight to cut through Bakugo’s yelling, silencing him momentarily. His face twisted in anger, but he didn’t move, his hands trembling with frustration as (Y/N) continued walking without looking back.

“Dude…” Kaminari muttered again, still staring at the broken machine. “Is he even human?”

Momo stood silently, her gaze fixed on (Y/N). Unlike the others, her awe was tempered with thought, her mind racing as she replayed the moment of his throw. “That technique,” she whispered to herself, her brows furrowing in confusion. “That wasn’t a quirk… Was it?”

Her words went unheard amid the excited chatter of their classmates, but her thoughts continued to spiral. There was something eerily familiar about his movements—the precision, the fluidity, the power. She wasn’t certain, but her instincts told her that this wasn’t a result of some flashy, powerful quirk. This was something else entirely.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pondered the possibilities. Could he be… a descendant of the Mist Hashira? The thought felt absurd, yet it lingered, refusing to leave her mind. If that were the case, it explained the refined, almost ancient technique, but it also raised even more questions.

As the class buzzed with speculation, Momo stayed rooted in place, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze followed (Y/N), her admiration and confusion growing in equal measure. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was far more to him than what he let on.

Her eyes lingered on his retreating figure as a thought surfaced in her mind, clear and resolute :

Tokitō (Y/N)… you’re a mystery I can’t wait to solve.

• 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥 •

The teachers’ lounge was abuzz with discussion, the usual hum of casual banter replaced by something far more focused. Gathered around a large screen displaying the recorded footage from Aizawa’s training session, UA’s teaching staff sat in rapt attention, each of them visibly intrigued by what they had just witnessed.

On the screen, Tokitō (Y/N) stood poised, mist curling around his frame, the ball flying into the horizon with an otherworldly precision and power. The footage paused on that moment, the faint remnants of mist still visible, clinging to him like a cloak.

Principal Nezu, perched comfortably on a chair far too large for his small frame, clasped his paws together. His sharp, intelligent eyes swept over the room. “Thoughts?” he asked, his calm yet curious voice breaking the silence. “I think we can all agree that this was… unconventional.”

“It’s not a Quirk,” Midnight said confidently, leaning back in her chair with arms crossed. “At least not in any way I’ve seen before. The way he moved—it was like something out of a martial arts film.”

“Yeah, but did you see that ball fly?” Present Mic added, leaning forward with an exaggerated motion. “That wasn’t just skill; that was raw power. So what gives? Is he Quirkless, or are we missing something here?” He turned to Aizawa with a grin. “Well, what’s your take on the kid, Shota?”

Aizawa shot his best friend a tired look, his tone flat but edged with irritation. “Hizashi, use my last name at work.”

Present Mic raised his hands defensively, grinning sheepishly. “Right, right. My bad.”

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “From what I observed today, the kid doesn’t use a Quirk. His physical ability is well beyond that of a normal person, but I didn’t detect any trace of quirk, I admit I did use my quirk on him to test my own theory. He completed all the tests without showing any signs of external augmentation—no visible abilities, no mutations. I’m just as surprised as you all but the kids actually quirkless.”

”The way he moved though, it wasn’t that of a few months of training— the way he reacted to the tests, how he handled and overcame them with better scores than even All Might in his younger days here at UA, it was refined to a degree I’ve never seen in someone his age.”

Ectoplasm tilted his head thoughtfully. “If he doesn’t have a Quirk, how is he capable of something like that?”

“That’s the mystery,” Aizawa said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s deliberate, precise. He doesn’t waste movements or energy, and he doesn’t react to provocation like most students would. I wouldn’t say he’s unapproachable, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from everyone, even when they’re trying to connect with him. There’s a discipline about him I don’t see often.”

“Discipline like that comes from somewhere,” Snipe chimed in, his voice steady. “I’d bet money he’s had some kind of training long before he stepped foot in UA.”

“Not just any training,” Power Loader added, adjusting his helmet. “Whatever he’s learned, it’s leagues ahead of what most pros know. That technique with the mist—it wasn’t just a fluke. That was mastery.”

“Do you think it’s possible he’s holding back?” Cementoss asked, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “If he’s capable of that much, who’s to say we’ve seen his full potential?”

“I don’t think he’s holding back in the way you’re imagining,” Aizawa replied, crossing his arms. “He’s careful, methodical. If anything, I’d say he’s hiding something, but not out of malice. More like… necessity. He knows exactly what he’s capable of, and he chooses to act only when necessary.”

Nezu steepled his paws, his expression unreadable as he contemplated the reports and the footage. “It’s rare for someone Quirkless to achieve such a level of mastery, especially at such a young age. But it’s not impossible. Humanity’s potential often surprises me.”

“So, what do we do?” Sekijiro Kan asked, his arms crossed over his massive chest. “The kid’s clearly not ordinary, Quirk or no Quirk.”

“We keep an eye on him,” Nezu said decisively, his tone calm but firm. “There’s more to Tokitō (Y/N) than meets the eye. If he truly is Quirkless, then he’s a remarkable anomaly. If he’s not… well, we need to know. Either way, his presence here at UA warrants close observation.”

Midnight smirked, leaning forward. “And if he’s hiding something?”

“Then we’ll find out in due time,” Nezu replied with a faint smile. “But for now, let’s allow him the chance to show us who he is on his own terms. Patience, everyone. Patience.”

As the teachers nodded in agreement, Present Mic leaned closer to Aizawa, lowering his voice. “Man, Shota, you’ve got a real puzzle on your hands this year.”

Aizawa gave a faint, almost imperceptible shrug. “I’ve dealt with worse. Let’s just hope he doesn’t blow up half the school before the semester ends. Lord knows I don’t need any more problem children under my eye.”

The room chuckled lightly, but the intrigue surrounding (Y/N) remained palpable. As the discussion wrapped up, Nezu’s sharp gaze lingered on the frozen image of (Y/N) on the screen, his expression thoughtful.

“Tokitō (Y/N),” he murmured softly to himself. “A mystery worth unraveling.”

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.

🤭 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 🤷🏽‍♀️

its a question i can't find you in quotev 😔💔

Awesomesauce, so thank you for asking such question, I’ll be happy to answer— so this is my profile right here

Link wise seedofdoubt