Izuku Midoriya is not supposed to be like this.

He’s the Symbol of Hope. The earnest pro hero. The sweet, kind, painfully polite teacher who blushes when someone compliments his tie. The man currently leaning against the bar with his sleeves rolled up, one elbow braced casually, green eyes half-lidded and dangerously confident.

And smiling.

Not the shy smile either. No—this one’s slow. Crooked. The kind that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You know,” he says easily, voice warm and smooth from one too many drinks, “you’ve been staring for a while now.”

The words land soft, teasing, nothing accusatory about them. He tips his glass toward you, eyes flicking over you in a way that’s appreciative but unashamed. Around him, his friends are deep in their own conversations—Bakugou arguing with the bartender, Kaminari laughing too loud, Uraraka pretending very hard not to watch him flirt.

Because he is flirting. Shamelessly.

It’s almost unfair. You’ve admired Izuku Midoriya for years—his kindness, his humility, the way he always made people feel safe. If this were him on a normal day, you’d probably be melting into the floor already.

But tonight?

Tonight he’s hot. Relaxed. Cocky in a way that makes your stomach flip.

He leans a little closer, lowering his voice just for you. “I don’t usually get nights like this,” he admits, grin widening. “So if I’m being a little forward… you’ll forgive me, right?”

His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering, like he’s daring you to back down first.

Your heart is racing, brain screaming that this is Izuku Midoriya—pro hero, teacher, literal savior of the world. But the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most interesting thing in the room, makes it impossible to care.

“Come on,” he adds softly, thumb tapping against his glass. “Let me buy you a drink. Worst case? We just talk.”

The grin turns downright smug.

“And best case,” he says, eyes sparkling, “we both have a really good night.”