Boku No Hero Academia One Shots [Book 2]

{Any Male!Character Insert}

[A/n]: Imagine them as a much older teacher.

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Mischief twinkled like a thousand stars in his cosmic, (e/c) eyes. Although his professional status was threatened by his blossoming feelings, they showed no signs of slowing down. They moulded the soft clay of his mind, mushing it and therefore obscuring his judgement. Once they developed into something that he could no longer safely contain, he would probably have to quit teaching. His reputation as the jovial, tender-hearted, awesome listener was under siege, but the fortifications around his heart weren't strong enough to keep you in exile forever. Students consulted him whenever they were in a squeeze, or just wanted someone to lend an ear - if word spread that he had affections unbefitting of a mentor, towards one of the many charming females in the school, he would be ruined. His love for teaching had manifested at an early stage in his life, back in Japan where he was born and raised, and now, in the United Kingdom, he was finally fulfilling that passion.

After a shaky breath and a brief chastisement, (C/n) straightened himself, correcting his tie and patting down his snow-white shirt. He had a job to do, whether you were on his mind or not, and the class wasn't about to wait for you. The door creaked gently as he opened it, exiting the bathroom and beginning to stride down to his classroom. Usually, you would be situated just along this very same corridor, reading a book or typing something up on your laptop. Despite the weight in his chest, and the cracking of his rib-cage as his heart tried to leap out, he always managed a smile and a wave - sometimes even a friendly greeting. Given his trimmed, greying locks and matching beard, he figured that you might simply have thought of him as the typical grandfather-type, someone to whom you feel a connection, but it is the furthest thing from romantic love. This disheartened the poor teacher, as he plodded onwards, but he refused to let that creep on to his face. In the workplace, he reminded himself, he needed to remain professional, at all times.

A relationship with a student, even at the legal age of seventeen, was still a crime, and he would pay handsomely. Low and behold, you were resting in the exact place he had visualised in his mind's eye, with one of your best friends. She giggled, placing one hand over her mouth as he passed. You simply waved, bestowing a polite greeting on to him while a bright smile veiled your face. Behind his wide-rimmed glasses, (C/n)'s eyes gleamed with joy. He lived for all your small interactions, all the words and grins exchanged. He didn't teach you personally, but he was well acquainted with (F/n). Still, he opted to hold your gaze the longest, gift you the most spirited smiles, and overall just talk to you more. He craved your attention, more than even the coffee that saw him through the day.

Once he had glided past, he didn't dare to look back - your voice alone was Heaven on Earth, a chorus of joyous angels praising the lord, dispelling the demons from the holy gates, singing hymns of amour. It could guide his immortal soul back to you, even when his glasses broke and his eyes failed. Although, he couldn't actually make out any words; everything was muddled, but he didn't care. Unbeknownst to him, your musings were quite akin to his - day-dreams about a perfect future and what mischief you could manage in an empty classroom. You even found yourself idly scouring out the blind-spots of the school cameras, and checking routers to see when nobody would be present in certain areas. You wondered how best to lure your prey. You started hitching up your skirts whenever he was near, wearing low-hanging tops and colourful lipstick, all in an effort to be noticed, and to arouse. (C/n) imagined you to be pure and innocent, in spite of your preferred clothing, so he would never expect you to cling on to the hope that you could get him alone, and do all manner of unsavoury things to his body.

You often flickered your gaze between those stunning (e/c) eyes and his lips, desperately wanting to attack them. You wanted him to talk to you, beg for you in that thick, erotic accent. It was almost unbelievable, how wet it made you. Every time he passed, you were forced to bite your tongue, to dig your nails into your legs so they wouldn't rush after him. You wanted to pounce. The love throbbed through your veins, heating up your cheeks and making you cross your legs.

A trip to the bathroom afterwards was always a good idea. 

[Word Count: 794]