Iida - Blog Posts

Stop It I'm Going To Puke

BakuDeku, IidaOcha, IzuOcha!Friendship-centric

Midoriya is just an amazing person and Uraraka really appreciates Midoriya.

Uraraka was heavily pregnant. Iida did his best to be around throughout her pregnancy, but there were times he couldn’t. Whenever Iida wasn’t available, Midoriya made sure he would be. Uraraka needed constant support and a person to lean on.

Uraraka had morning sickness throughout her entire pregnancy. She and the baby were healthy, but oftentimes she couldn’t hold down a healthy meal. Even when she’d eat something she was craving, moments later would be repulsed by what she had just eaten and throw it all up.

Midoriya often shunned Iida for forcing her to follow a meal plan. Iida only had good intentions of making Uraraka a meal plan to make sure that she and the baby were getting the necessary nutrient requirements without having unhealthy foods. While it was a good idea, it backfired on Uraraka’s part. If she wasn’t holding anything down then what was the point of making her follow a meal plan?

Uraraka’s morning sickness didn’t stop once her second trimester came around, meaning she’d still have a rough relationship with food. Uraraka’s morning sickness was also unpredictable. Some days it would come out of nowhere and other days it was a long, lingering feeling. Midoriya was able to pick up cues and assist her accordingly. Midoriya got especially good at pulling up her hair and clipping up her bangs.

Midoriya would go shopping with Uraraka and they’d buy the most random foods that would appease her cravings. While morning sickness didn’t necessarily harm her or the baby, Uraraka’s constant puking was not a good thing.

Midoriya stepped up to get her what she needed and made sure to keep her away from the kitchen to help her from getting scent-sick. She was very sensitive to certain smells.

Midoriya helped get stuff for the nursery for Iida and would listen to Uraraka ramble about moving things around. Midoriya would help clean occasionally and help Uraraka with even self-care. He’d put on compression socks for when she’d walk on the treadmill or do pregnancy workouts. He'd rub her back if she got sick and would place a cold cloth around her neck. Midoriya would cook for her and get her whatever she needed.

Midoriya knew Uraraka was more than capable, but she was in a vulnerable state. Uraraka deserved to be treated like a queen and Midoriya would do anything for his best friend. They’d binge-watch movies and shows. Midoriya and Uraraka would gossip in the pool. They’d do extreme skincare routines. They’d never been closer.

Uraraka would console Midoriya when he’d come over right after a patrol. Midoriya and Iida had worked with the hero commission to schedule their patrols. Whenever Iida wasn’t working, Midoriya would work. Whenever Iida was working, Midoriya wouldn’t be working. Midoriya worked six days a week since he was the number one hero. Midoriya was given assigned patrols, but before Uraraka’s pregnancy, he was on-call.

Somedays were very difficult for Midoriya as the number one hero. There was such a giant pressure on him to be perfect. Of course, it all came crumbling down when he had a chance to breathe behind closed doors. Uraraka and Midoriya were always there for one another and that never changed as the years rolled by.

Midoriya was cuddling with Bakugo when he got the call. Looking at his phone, he noticed it was Iida. Seeing there was nothing to hide from Bakugo, Midoriya put the call on speaker. Bakugo perked up upon seeing Midoriya press the button. He couldn’t lie he had been wanting to hear what was up as well.

“Izuku,” greeted Iida.

“Hello Iida! What’s up?” asked Midoriya happily.

“Come to the hospital, Uraraka is in labor,” revealed Iida, sounding beyond excited and nervous.

Midoriya flew off the couch, gasping dramatically as his face lit up. “Oh my god— really! Hold on! I’m on my way!” Uraraka was only a week from her due date so Midoriya had been anticipating the call, but nothing prepared him for when the moment finally came.

Bakugo watched his boyfriend in amusement. A part of him believed Midoriya was even more excited than Iida. Midoriya loved Uraraka dearly. Uraraka was Midoriya’s first friend and she was his best friend. Bakugo recalled Mina teasing Midoriya and Uraraka because of how close they were. She mistook their unshakable bond for a puppy-love crush. Bakugo never worried about Uraraka though, Midoriya was always his.

Iida laughed at Midoriya’s outburst, well aware that his friend was beyond excited. “Don’t rush. We have no idea how long this will take.”

“Okay, well Kacchan and I will be heading out now,” puffed Midoriya, out of breath from his giant freakout.

“Great, see you two soon.”

“Bye!”

Bakugo grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone. Midoriya followed suit, grabbing his things before rushing after his boyfriend. Bakugo held open the door for Midoriya after they threw on their shoes. Midoriya slipped out their front door and rushed to the car. The entire drive there, Bakugo tightly gripped Midoriya’s hand, their fingers intertwined. Midoriya’s joy radiated through the car but was contained as Bakugo’s touch never failed to sedate him.

They arrived at the hospital and it seemed as if Uraraka had just finished giving birth. The clean-up was happening currently so they’d have to wait a bit before they’d be allowed in. The two took a seat in the waiting room, happily chatting about everything and anything.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, side-eyeing Midoriya. “I feel like you were more excited about this baby than four-eyes was.”

“Impossible. Uraraka is my best friend, but Iida’s her husband. He probably had a different way of showing it,” disagreed Midoriya with a smirk, slightly elbowing Bakugo in the arm.

“Iida called you all calm and collected and you were the one freaking out like it’s your baby,” teased Bakugo, happy to mess with his lover.

“Kacchan!” groaned Midoriya, being dramatic as usual.

Soon enough, the doctor came out asking for the two. Midoriya and Bakugo were escorted to the room where Uraraka would be staying. Upon entering, it took everything in his power to not squeal in delight. As Midoriya approached Uraraka who was holding the baby, Midoriya’s jaw dropped upon seeing the most beautiful infant.

The baby had light brown hair with blue undertones, chubby cheeks, and gorgeous red eyes. Swaddled in a light yellow blanket, Midoriya had never seen a more tiny and adorable sight.

Uraraka was laying in the hospital bed and when she saw Midoriya her smile grew. Midoriya rushed to her side, hugging her carefully. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“I’m sure you did Izuku,” chuckled Uraraka fondly. “Wanna see the little munchkin?”

Midoriya nodded so hard that the three in the room were worried it would snap off. Midoriya sat down on the edge of the bed with an excited smile. Iida helped take the baby from Uraraka’s arms, careful not to disturb the baby. Iida came over with the baby, extending it out to Midoriya.

Uraraka finally spoke up. “Meet Izuku Iida.”

Midoriya had his hands extended out and let out a soft laugh while quickly glancing to the side where Uraraka was. “What?”

Suddenly Midoriya’s eyes widened as he processed what was happening. A look of pure shock graced his features as a hand rose to rest against his chest. His eyes snapped from Uraraka to Iida. The two chuckled fondly at Midoriya’s reaction.

“No you did not,” whispered Midoriya, still not recovering from the shock.

Uraraka and Iida exchanged a glance before looking back at Izuku and laughing. “Yes.”

Midoriya’s lip trembled, the touched expression on his face tugging at the duo's heartstrings. His hand remained close to his chest as the tears started falling. Midoriya’s voice cracked as he tried to speak. “No, you did not.” Midoriya cried a bit, covering his mouth.

Bakugo watched the scene with wide eyes, not having been filled in on this happening. Watching his boyfriend get the honor of having his best friend's child named after him caught him off guard. He smiled at the sight, he enjoyed watching the emotions on Midoriya’s switch at a fast pace. It was mesmerizing.

Midoriya cried as he reached out to hold the baby that was named after him. Iida grinned as he passed him off to Midoriya. “His name’s Izuku.”

Midoriya held the baby so carefully, supporting the baby’s tiny head like it was the most valuable treasure in the world. Midoriya cried as he rested the baby on his lap, brushing the baby’s crazy hair back with his finger. Midoriya cried as he wore a smile, enamored with the baby.

“Why would you do this to me?” cried Midoriya, embarrassed at making a scene.

Bakugo stared at Midoriya handling the baby and felt his chest pound from his rapidly beating heart. He was proposing as soon as possible. While Bakugo was falling deeper in love, Uraraka and Iida were still touched by how much Midoriya’s reaction moved them.

Midoriya’s thumb caressed the baby’s cheek as he used his shoulder to wipe his tears. Izuku repeatedly thanked them about how honored he felt to have their child be named after him.

“Izuku, you are everything we aspire to be. We are deeply grateful for everything you have done for us. You’ve been a wonderful friend and this is the least we could do,” admitted Iida bashfully, his cheeks rosy.

Uraraka raised a brow with an amused smirk. “You held my hair back as I puked in a vase. You researched labor training workouts with me. You made me delicious food. You always showed up when I needed you. Even if you were having a bad day, you never once hesitated to show up and take care of me. I love you Izuku, and my baby deserves no other name than yours.”

Midoriya was still crying and tilted his head to the ceiling. “Stop it, I’m going to puke.”

Bakugo wasn’t aware of everything Midoriya had been doing. He assumed the two were just hanging out more since Uraraka was on work leave and would need some assistance. He hadn’t realized just how far Midoriya had gone for Uraraka. Besides, Bakugo didn’t really know what happens during pregnancy.

Bakugo came over and kissed Midoriya’s head tenderly before looking at the baby with Midoriya. “Brat definitely looks like you two,” grumbled Bakugo, showing his support.

Iida and Uraraka smiled, glad Bakugo wanted to see their child as well. Eventually, the news broke out and it became a whole story. The wonder duo was also declared as the godparents of Izuku Iida, which no one was surprised by.

Baby fever hit Izuku and Bakugo hard, but they did have to get married before even thinking about having a kid. Neither had been in a rush and were satisfied with just being in a relationship. Bakugo and Midoriya had a rocky relationship in the beginning. They may have grown up together, but they had a lot to learn.

Bakugo, Iida, and Midoriya were 25 while Uraraka was soon going to turn 25 in three months. It was clear life didn’t have one distinct path. Iida and Uraraka were already married and had a baby while Bakugo and Midoriya were still dating.

Bakugo had no desire to speed things up, but alas, Midoriya was always an exception. They had a whole honeymoon to enjoy. Fortunately, Bakugo did speed up the process and proposed to Izuku at a group outing two months later.

The End!

⋆˙⟡ Crushing. Tenya Iida x Flirty!Fem!Reader ⟡⋆˙

⋆.˚✮ Valentine’s Day story 6/14 ✮˚.⋆

Warnings; swearing

Masterlist

Enjoy my gorgeous people ✧˖°.

🌸

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Tenya didn’t know what was going on with himself. He was never one for being the best with girls. Sure! He was attractive, but he wasn’t particularly charismatic (at least he didn’t think so) so he didn’t understand why you seemed so interested in him.

The poor boy knew you flirted with others, like Kaminari, Uraraka, Izuku was one of your favorites to tease, and even Bakugou, so why was he so affected by you?

He knew you were just teasing, he knew it was just you being friendly and joking around, but each time you made a comment about his body, or his hair or called him by a pet name, his heart raced faster than he did with his quirk.

Iida had never been too interested in dating in the past, seeing as how it brought a lot of stress and anxiety and sometimes a lot of pain, however, there was something about you.

Maybe it was the smell of weed on your clothes when you came in from smoking with Sero and Kaminari, maybe it was the style of clothing you had, maybe it was your nail polish and the rings on your fingers- but Iida was hooked.

To be fair, you were extremely pretty, so it made sense that the boy would crush on you.

Iida walked into the dorm commons, holding a glass. It was getting late, around 9:30 on a warm Friday night. The class was sitting in a circle, while Kaminari balanced a collective 13 phones on his arms, legs, and even a few on his face, all of them charging.

There was laughter and cheers as another phone was placed on the blonde, going on his forehead, before he sneezed, and the phones went flying off of him.

“What are you doing?” Iida asked with a deadpan, crossing his arms and giving an unimpressed look to the class.

Mina looked up and grinned “oh~! Iida! We were just playing truth or dare! You should play with us!” She encouraged with a wide smile.

Iida knew that truth or dare with his class could get pretty wild, so he opened his mouth to protest “yeah! Cmon Iida, it’ll be fun”

His eyes snapped to where you were sitting, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks. You wanted him to play with your class..

..Damn it. How could he say no to that face?

“F-fine..I suppose I could join this game for a bit..” he mumbled reluctantly.

You and the rest of the class whooped in celebration as he sat in the circle with you all. He was regretting his decision the moment Mina smirked. “So! Y/n! I believe it was your turn! So. Truth or dare?”

You smirked, leaning forward and winking at Mina “dare, lay it on me, mommas”

Mina giggled and hummed before gasping and glancing to Iida with a mischievous glint in her eye, that look making a pit grow in his stomach.

“I dare you to kiss Iida!”

You grinned at the dare. For you, it was simple, for Iida, his world was about to collapse. Him? Kissing Tenya Iida? Himself? Yeah he was sure he was going to pass out. “I-I do not know if th-this is a good idea Y- mph!”

You placed your finger over his lips and laughed “relax. ‘M not gonna kiss you if you don’t want me to, but I think it’ll be fun, Iida” you caressed his cheek after pushing up his glasses for him.

Iida flushed brightly, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Why would you give him the decision?

“I-I…I do not mind I-if you kiss me” he managed to stutter out “it is just for a game after all” he let out a breath and adjusted his glasses.

You smiled gently, running your thumb over his cheek. “That’s what I thought.” You smirked “good boy”

He gasped and blushed, but didn’t get to say anything as you pressed your lips to his.

Iida’s eyes fluttered softly before closing. The kiss was amazing, your lips against his felt amazing.

He was dazed as you pulled back, his eyes slowly fluttering back open, and his cheek bright pink. You smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear “I like your chapstick. You should let me wear it more often”

Iida blushed and looked off to the side, trying to stay cool as you sat back in your spot.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew for sure now, he was crushing on you, and there was nothing he could do about it.

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I love Iida sm, he’s actually so pookie. Feeding the 3 other Iida simps 🙏🏻😩

hi cool person!!! i was wondering if you could do texting iida? like any context, but just make it iida as our bf or friends to lovers or something. thankss

manual override | t. iida

dating tenya iida is like loving a perfectly alphabetized fire drill—structured, intense, and somehow exactly what you needed.

love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now—plural—and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around—not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it—sincerely—if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine—annoying, but fine—if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes—and this is particularly evil—his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting—it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do—which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around—no one’s within earshot— and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then—like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension—your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really—not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself—again—that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy—clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look—the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you—awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs—really laughs—when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class—just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder—wildly, stupidly —what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then—“you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i—thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave —but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly—carefully—you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation—like he’s not ready to go yet—he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning—same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free.—you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs—quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid—a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class—and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice—not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk—the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then—quietly—he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates—then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once—finally—that feels like enough.

hii!! i love ur smaus i read the shinso and dabi fatherhood ones and they were amazing 🩷🩷

I wanted to request a fatherhood smau with either monoma or iida and ofc no pressure 🫶🏻

parenting.exe | t. iida

tenya iida is doing his best. you're doing... something. your child is doing whatever they want

Literally eating up every smau you pump out 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 could I rq an Iida one? One where he has a hung crush on his bestie of YEARSSS but they're dating a guy he literally cannot stand?

not mine, still yours | t. iida

tenya knew being your best friend meant loving you from the sidelines, even while you gave your heart to the wrong person.

pussy bitch mentality | t. iida

⇨ when rule-following iida gets partnered with chaos incarnate for a lab partner, he expects disaster—not a crush.

Long-distance relationships.

- And you 've started dating someone so crazy yet.

- That's right, that's right, and I don't regret anything.

CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY PEOPLE THINK TENYA IIDA HAS RED EYES??????????

PLEASEE

iida should have rollerblades

Iida: Twitters a mess and I’m afraid that all my classmates will start to use Tumblr, where I post out of context pieces of conversation. If they do, though, I think it will be funny to watch them try to figure out who runs my blog.

silly class 1a headcanons

(Yes, I like to think of class 1a doing silly teenage activities instead of being child soldiers)

-Whenever they have movie night and its Ojiro's turn, he chooses a different karate kid each time.

-Jirou is on aux all the time because she is THE playlist maker.

-Bakugou and Deku will be bickering all the time, and outisders will think they hate each other, but when you walk into the common room they are sharing a blanket and doing an All Might movie marathon.

-Denki loves learning new languages and learned JSL- he and Koda have full convos while nobody else understands.

-Iida definitely said "gotta blast" once and nobody will let it go.

-Tokoyami and Aoyama were dared to switch rooms for a day because they were complete opposites and they became friends after that.

-Everytime someone cooks/bakes Sero ironically wiggles his fingers around and says "dont mind if I do!" (Sato finds it funny and Bakugou hates it).

-Ochako and Mina do Kpop Random Dance Plays together. They're both girl group stans ofc

zuku stood in front of Gran Torino's dilapidated old “base” with his things pack and really to go. He was almost sad to leave. Gran Torino was a good teacher, maybe better than All Might was.

“Hey, old man, thanks for everything,” Izuku said sincerely. Gran Torino just looked confused.

“I had nothing to do with what happened to you, you know. I didn’t do that much” Gran Torino grumbled.

“I know, but if you hadn't said all that you did, and the sparring... I don’t think I would have lasted very long. It was because of you, that I was able to face the hero killer.” Izuku said truthfully. He couldn’t let himself lie to this man. he trusted the old coot, maybe a little too much, because Gran smacked his leg with his walking stick.

“Ow!”

🥣💙

Something for awhile back that I forgot to post lmao

WAAAA!!! My first gif!!!

and probably my last- it took forever to figure this out

anyways happy birthday to the sweetest cinnamon roll ever :)

Took things for granted.

Tenya Iida x GN!Reader

Summary: Sometimes, Tenya took things for granted and Y/N had enough.

★☽A/N: No words for today everyone :3

Contents: Platonic relationship - angst? - Tenya acting a bit spoiled - Y/N having terrible parents.

★ — — — ★

★ Sometimes, Tenya took things for granted.

★ There was this one time, Bakugou broke Tenya Iida’s glasses. Tenya just scolded him softly and put on brand new glasses!

★ Whenever Iida and Y/N went out and hung out. Y/N always complains how the things they see around shops were way too overpriced, but Iida always says that it wasn’t overpriced and it was “According to its quality.” The quality wasn’t even that great!

★ Y/N honestly had enough and decided to distance themself from hangouts with Iida involved. That includes some Deku Squad hangouts.

★ And Iida seems to notice that.

★ — ★

“C’mon N/N!! Just this once? You never hang out with us as often anymore!!” Uraraka pleaded, tugging onto Y/N’s sweater. “I’m really busy, Ochako-” “I won’t take that as an excuse!! You’re coming and that’s it!!” The brunette cut off the H/C’s words and dragged them to their dorm to change their pants, Uraraka stood guard outside so Y/N wouldn’t escape this hangout. (Reader was wearing pajama pants. Can’t blame them, pajama pants are amazing.

Once the H/C hair was done changing. The squad went out to the mall. It was bustling with people, looking to shop with various items. “I heard there’s a discount at Build-A-Bear! C’mon Deku!!” Uraraka grabbed Midoriya’s arm and dragged him towards the workshop. Tsuyu said she was gonna go ahead and buy some clothes since she gave away her old ones. Y/N nodded and decided to go on their own, but a blue haired boy wouldn’t let them.

“Wait! L/N!” The boy called out but they chose to ignore his calls. The boy ended up following Y/N’s fast pace who was trying to get away from him. “What is up with you?” He asked in an upset tone, finally catching up to Y/N. “Fucking leave me alone, Iida.” They spat, “Hey! Language!!” He scolded but the H/C just won’t hear it, putting their headphones/earphones on and played music and walked again, leaving Iida behind. ‘Oh, c’mon!!’ He said to himself furiously and sprinted towards Y/N.

★ — ★

After so many times of getting ditched by Y/N everytime the squad decided to go and hangout to shops and malls, he decided to put a stop to this “nonsense.”

He waited ‘till Y/N excused themself to his room and made his move.

“L/N!” He called out to Y/N who turned around to see the blue haired boy behind. “What is it?” L/N asked, already annoyed. “I should ask you that. You've been ignoring me every time we go out.” He said. “It’s none of your business.” The other student responded. “Well it is. As your friend-” “As your friend? I really don’t care.” Y/N said, cutting him off. Y/N sighed in frustration and went back to walking to their dorm room. "Don't you dare walk away! I'm still talking to you!!" But Y/N only responded with "Who are you? My dad?"

Iida continued to follow them back to their dorm where he finally got his answer.

"L/N, I had enough of your sickening attitude! You have been avoiding me and I need to know why!" Iida spilled all his worries. Y/N stayed silent with a shock face by his words. Iida just opened the door behind them and grabbed them inside.

Iida was stronger than L/N so he easily placed L/N onto their bed but they just stood right back up with a angered face. "What is up with you?!" They yelled at him, "I should ask the same thing! For months, you have been avoiding me! Did I do something wrong? Have have I done to make you so angry?" He asked, he kept in asking and asking and that surely ticked L/N off.

"You are fucking spoiled!" L/N finally spoke with a harsh voice. "How am I spoiled?" He asked, "Really? Do you really have to ask?!" They asked with an angered tone. "You always had expensive things and honestly practically show off!! Every time I'm with you and I complain about something that is way overpriced, you say "Oh! It's not that expensive!" And not to mention that you always obliviously show off how much MONEY you have!" They said, frustrated. "That's because my parents work hard! They always tried to-"

"That's easy for you to say for someone who had EVERYTHING they've ever wanted!! YOU never had to work hard for once in your life! Everything was given to you on a silver plate, YOU DON'T KNOW THE FEELING OF HAVING TO WORK JUST FOR RENT WHEN YOUR PARENTS WASTE AWAY!!"

Y/N took heavy breaths after letting all that out. Iida just stared at them in a state of shock. He didn't know they felt like that. "I- I didn't know that.." He muttered softly with his head down, "Of course you didn't know. Now, is that all?" They asked. "Yeah. I guess." Iida said before bowing and leaving the H/C's dorm.

After that day, Iida tried his best to fix his attitude and eventually stopped this habit of his.

★ — — — ★

Tenya lida Late night drives- Chapter 1

You feel the familiar weight of his hand on your thigh as you stare out the front windshield, into the dark night. the headlights illuminate the empty road. tick, tick, tick, tick. The blinker monotonously clicks, as the car turns onto the highway. His hand squeezes your thigh. as the car speeds up, you watch intently as the mph cranes up steadily. The blinding lights of the city flash in your peripheral. He glances over at you, a smile creeping onto his lips. You look stunning.

You, his first love.

You, the one he relaxes around, and drops his cool and stern facade.

You, his first kiss.

You, the one his parents and brother adore.

You, the lady with his engagement pretty ring siting next to him.

Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Tenya?" his name sounded so pretty coming out of your lips. very kissable lips, he may add. "Are we going anywhere?" he thinks for a moment "Not in particular. We both need a break." You giggle. "The news has been going all over us, 'H/N and Ingenium engaged'. 'Rumors true about H/N and Ingenium!'." He smiles slightly. "of course. Do you mind the publicity?" he gently squeezes your thigh, watching the road. You hum. "Not really. Just tiring" He smiles.

In nearly 3 months, you'll be walking down the aisle, so pretty. You'll make his heart race. He'll put a ring on your finger. Then he'll add a few more things to his ever-growing list.

You, his first -and only- wife. You, his first reason to get that riled up, You, his first time. His beloved wife, and pro hero,

Y/N H/N lida.

First drabble in a while! I'm slowly getting back into it.... though I have a lot of schoolwork and shit to do :( I'll post another drabble soon! Part 2??