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sugarverse · 22 days ago

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The Dating Clause

CHAPTER 2 | The Dating Clause

w.c 3.1K

tags. fem!reader, Tenya Iida x reader, bhna, Tenya Iida x you

a/n. writing this because he doesn't get enough love. I gave reader the surname Hiroyuki

links. series masterlist

The classroom was quiet after the final bell had rung.

Most of Class 1-A had filed out, their laughter and chatter fading down the hallways, leaving behind only the low hum of ceiling lights and the occasional creak of a chair shifting. Tenya lida stood at the front of the room, arms at his sides, posture perfect as always. Across from him, Eraserhead sat slouched at his desk, expression unreadable beneath the dark fall of his hair.

"Iida," Aizawa said without looking up. "Close the door." lida obeyed immediately, shutting it with a soft click before returning to his rigid stance. Aizawa sighed and finally lifted his gaze. "Relax. This isn't disciplinary."

"I'm relieved to hear that," lida said, though his shoulders remained tense, his voice still laced with the tone of a soldier awaiting orders. Aizawa studied him for a long moment. "You're excelling academically. You're one of the most disciplined students I've ever had. You're fast, reliable, and your moral compass is unshakable."

"Thank you, sir."

"But," Aizawa continued, "there's more to being a hero than perfection."

“Sir?" Iida felt his posture break in surprise but quickly regained momentum.

"You're respected by your peers," Aizawa said, "but you're not trusted by all of them. Not in the way you think. People follow your orders in the field, but they don't always confide in you. You're efficient, but not always relatable. And that's a problem for a hero."lida felt something in his chest tighten.

"You need to learn when to stop reciting rules and start listening to people. Not every problem has a clean solution, and not every teammate needs a lecture. Sometimes they just need to know you see them."

lida's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Have I... failed my duties as class representative?"

Aizawa shook his head slowly. "No. But you're treating your role like a checklist, not a connection. You're trying to be the thought of an ideal hero, And your classmates see that."

The words hit harder than lida expected. He tried to hold his composure. "Be vulnerable," Aizawa said. "Laugh. Fail. Let someone see you mess up. You're not a machine, lida. And if you act like one, the people you're trying to protect won't reach for your hand when they're falling." The silence stretched. lida's throat felt tight, but he nodded.

"Understood, sir."

Aizawa stood up, slinging his sleeping bag over his shoulder. "Think about it. You've got good instincts, kid. You just need to stop hiding behind protocol long enough to use them." And with that, he walked out, leaving lida alone in the classroom.

Tenya wasn’t much of a rule breaker, he knew that much. Once, when he was ten, he thought he’d actually stolen a candy bar from a kiosk. The guilt gnawed at him all night. The next morning, he returned to the vendor, ready to pay and apologize profusely–only to find out the candy had been part of a promotional giveaway.

Still, he insisted on donating exact change “to be fair.”

Rule breaking just . . . wasn’t in his programming. But this morning's chat with Aizawa was bugging him. He frowned, pulling off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. Maybe I should ask . . .

And he did.

Not with a clipboard or printed survey, though he’d seriously considered both. No, Tenya took the bold route: in-person interviews.

“May I ask you something?” he said that afternoon, corning Kaminari near the vending machines. “Uh–yeah?” Kaminari stiffened, suspicious of Tenya’s Interview posture. “Is this like the laundry schedule again?”

“No. This is about a personal question. I’m conducting a bit of informal research—about myself.” Tenya cleared his throat. “What is your general perception of me, socially speaking?”

Kaminari stared. “Like you want feedback?”

“Yes. Honest and unfiltered. Please.”

“Well, uh ..” Kaminari scratched the back of his head. “You’re . . super intense. Like a lot. Kind of like if a motivational poster came to life and started yelling about punctuality.”

Tenya nodded solemnly. “That’s…fair. Thank you.”

Next was Midoriya, who was seated on the couch with a notebook in his lap and a highlighter in his mouth.

“Oh.Um.” Midoriya scratched his cheek, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Well, you’re definitely dependable! Always on time. Focused. You’re like a metronome. Super consistent. And that’s not a bad thing! It’s just, um, sometimes I think people find you a little intimidating? Not in a scary way! Just in a "please don’t lecture me" kind of way.”

"I see," Tenya nodded, taking it in with a touch of internal wincing. "Thank you. That's valuable information."He moved on. Bakugou was in the kitchen, violently chopping green onions for ramen. Tenya considered backing out. But no-this was for growth.

"Bakugou."

"What."

"I'd like your opinion."

"No."

"It's about me."

"Die."

Tenya cleared his throat. "I'm seeking direct feedback from my peers. Midoriya mentioned I can come off a bit... robotic. Would you agree?"

Bakugou glanced over, scowled. “You’re stiff”

Tenya opened his mouth, paused, and then nodded stiffly. “Noted.”

“But,” Bakugou went on, voice lower now, less biting, “at least you’re not fake. You say what you mean. You follow through. People trust that.”

Tenya blinked. “I… appreciate that. Sincerely.” Still, the ache remained. He wanted to be reliable—but not unreadable. Strong—but not cold.

That was when he noticed Hana across the lounge, sitting beside y/n at the table, hunched over a half-crumpled worksheet. y/n was pointing something out in the margin, her tone patient, her expression calm. Hana laughed softly at something y/n said—relieved, even—and nodded, writing something down with renewed focus.

The moment stuck with him. He found himself walking over to Mina Ashido.

“May I ask one question?” he said.

Mina raised a brow, amused. “Back for round two?”

“It’s about y/n.”

Her face brightened immediately. “Oh, I love y/n. She’s seriously underrated. Like, you know she’s smart—but she’s also got this whole zen older-sister vibe? She makes you feel like whatever mess you’re in, it’s gonna be okay.”

“She helped Hana yesterday,” Tenya said quietly, almost to himself.

“Yup,” Mina nodded. “She does that. Just slips in when someone needs her. No spotlight. Just there.” Midoriya, still nearby, added, “She’s kind of amazing, honestly. She’s not the loudest or the flashiest, but she’s steady. She gets things done. And she’s kind.” Tenya stood still, absorbing it all. No one hesitated when asked about her. No nervous laughs. No softened truths. Just warmth. Admiration. Respect. It made his chest ache in a new way.

He looked over at her again—y/n, now alone, tidying up the loose papers Hana left behind. Calm. Composed. Present. She didn’t need to lead loudly to be noticed. She didn’t need to chase perfection. She just… was.

Later that evening, Tenya moved through his nightly routine with practiced precision. Homework, completed. Teeth, brushed. Everything is in order. And yet, even as he lay in his darkened room with the covers pulled neatly to his chest, his thoughts refused to quiet.

He didn’t usually keep his phone near him this late—screens disrupted sleep, after all—but tonight, the silence felt heavier than usual. His mind kept looping back to the day’s conversations. The questions he’d asked. The answers he got. He stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, hoping sleep would catch up. It didn’t.

With a reluctant sigh, Tenya reached for his phone from the nightstand, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt that came with breaking his own “no screens after 10 PM” rule. Just this once, he justified. For research purposes.

He opened his browser and, after a brief hesitation, typed: "How to be more approachable"

The results loaded quickly: articles with overly cheerful titles like “10 Easy Ways to Seem More Friendly!” and “Smile More! Listen Better!” Half of them included stock photos of people with blinding white teeth in suspiciously bright lighting. He clicked through a few, skimming, but none of them felt… real. Eventually, curiosity led him to Reddit.

Tenya hesitated for a moment—he didn’t frequent forums often, and Reddit had always felt a bit too chaotic for his organized sensibilities. But tonight, it felt like the right kind of chaos. He searched:

"Why do people think I'm unapproachable?"

He found a thread with hundreds of comments, people venting and laughing and earnestly trying to figure themselves out. One post caught his eye—a user with a frog avatar wrote:

“Tbh, I used to come off as super intense and stiff, especially at work. People would say I was intimidating without meaning to be. I didn’t really loosen up until I started dating someone who just… got me. It helped me relax, y’know? Like, suddenly I didn’t feel like I had to be ‘on’ all the time. I felt more human. And that made me easier to talk to, I think.”

Tenya squinted his eyes, rereading that part.

Dating… made them more approachable?

He sat up slightly in bed, the glow of the screen reflecting off his glasses. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about dating. Of course he had. He was a teenage boy, not a machine. He’d just always tucked those thoughts behind academics and responsibilities and his self-imposed pressure to be the perfect version of himself. But still that idea struck him.

Could being close to someone—someone who saw you—make it easier to be yourself around others, too?

And for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely just yet, his mind drifted back to y/n. The way people spoke about her. The way he had seen her—calm, steady, warm. Not trying to be perfect. He glanced back at the frog user's comment again, then locked his phone and set it gently back on the nightstand.

The next morning came with clearer skies but a messier mind.

Tenya moved through his morning routine like usual—folded sheets, pressed uniform, timed brushing session—but his thoughts kept circling back to that Reddit thread. That single comment.

Dating made me more approachable.

It wasn’t the kind of solution he’d ever imagined. Tenya had always believed that self-improvement came from discipline, repetition, and well-crafted plans. But maybe there were parts of growth that required something less structured. Something unpredictable.

Something like y/n. His pace faltered mid-step as her name passed through his thoughts again. He adjusted his glasses, heart picking up slightly.

y/n was approachable. People gravitated to her. When Hana needed help, she didn’t ask the top scorer in class. She asked y/n. When things got tense in the dorms, y/n was the one who could bring people back down to earth. Even Bakugou didn’t bark at her the way he did everyone else. If anyone could help him understand how to soften those edges everyone danced around, it was her. And just maybe—he could ask for her help.

Logically, he told himself, a temporary, structured simulation of dating would allow me to experience the social dynamics of a relationship without the long-term emotional entanglement. It’s simply an experiment. A field study in interpersonal warmth.

He paused, then winced at how terrible that sounded out loud.

No. That wouldn't do. If he was going to ask y/n—y/n, of all people—for something so ridiculous, it had to come from a place of honesty, not spreadsheets and surveys.Still it made sense, didn’t it? With her calm nature and his, well, intensity, they could balance each other out. She could help him learn how to connect better. How to loosen the grip on every part of his life. It wasn’t about feelings. It was about growth. Tenya sat down at his desk, fingers laced tightly, staring at the floor for a long moment.

Then, with a deep breath, he whispered aloud: “…I am going to ask y/n to fake date me.” And as soon as the words left his mouth, he stood up and immediately began pacing.

“What am I doing,” he muttered. “This is absurd. Who asks that? Who agrees to that?”He paused. Then straightened his posture like it might hold his doubts in place. “I’ll write a proposal. With bullet points. Respectful. Concise. Clear terms. No emotional pressure.” And he would ask her. Today.

Maybe.

Possibly.

If he didn’t faint halfway through the sentence.

Tenya Iida’s left leg bounced rapidly beneath the desk—an anomaly in itself. He was not the sort to fidget. Not the sort to be nervous. And yet here he was, in UA’s library study day room, adjusting his glasses every two minutes as if that would stabilize his thoughts. Across from him sat y/n Hiroyuki, leaning back in her chair with casual grace, her short hair pulled into a curly ponytail, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, pink nail polish slightly chipped from yesterday’s training.

She was scribbling something across a schematic sheet, half-focused, one brow raised. “You're bouncing your leg like you’re revving up your engines. You okay?”

“I am fine,” Iida said far too quickly, sitting upright. “Perfectly fine. I simply—” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, then tried again. This was not going according to plan. “y/n, may I speak candidly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He took a steady breath, folded his hands atop the table, and launched into what he had rehearsed the night before. “I’ve observed, over the course of this semester, that while I am respected by my classmates, I am not necessarily… approachable. My mannerisms are, as some have described, overly formal and lacking warmth.”

y/n tilted her head. “Someone actually said that,”

Iida flinched slightly. “That is beside the point. What I am proposing is a solution. One that involves you.”She raised both brows inquisitively.

He paused. “Well—yes. But more specifically… I would like to propose a fake relationship. Between us.”

y/n blinked. Then blinked again.

Tenya felt his heart thud like a misfiring engine. That wasn’t necessarily a bad reaction, right? She was just processing. That made sense. This was an unusual proposal, after all—unorthodox, perhaps, but not unreasonable. He had made his points clearly, outlined the purpose, set parameters. It was all very respectful.

She leaned forward, her brows knitting slightly. “Excuse me?”

Right. This was the moment where most rational people would backtrack. Laugh it off. Say "Just kidding!" and maybe dive out the nearest window. But Tenya Iida did not run from discomfort.

And then, she spoke.

“You cannot think of me this ignorant,” she snapped, already reaching for her bag. “I never took you for someone with such a twisted sense of humor.” Tenya shot up from his seat with such force the table wobbled.

“WAIT! Please—just hear me out!” It was dramatic. Theatrical, even. But desperate times called for desperate Iida-level measures. y/n paused, one brow raised, just enough hesitation to crack the door open. He took a breath. Go. Now.

“I realize how bizarre it sounds,” he began, trying to keep his tone steady. “But this is not a joke. I assure you, this is a genuine request. I have conducted informal surveys, read multiple psychology articles, and consulted peer-reviewed threads on Reddit—”

Her eyebrow climbed higher.

“—and the consensus seems to suggest that people who appear more emotionally accessible tend to inspire greater trust and approachability.”

She didn’t interrupt. Yet.

“Which led me to the conclusion that perhaps, with your assistance, I could explore… well, what that means. Practically. Socially.” He forced the final words out: “I am asking you to… temporarily engage in a fabricated romantic partnership. A fake relationship, to be clear. Strictly platonic. For experimental purposes.”

Then, she said it—slowly, carefully, like she was reading the label on a bottle of poison: “You want to fake date me,” she repeated, setting her pen down on her schematic sheet. “Because you think people will like you more if they think you’re… what, capable of affection?”

Tenya blinked rapidly, mortified. When she said it like that, it sounded absolutely unhinged. Still, he nodded solemnly, because—unhinged or not—it was the truth. And now all he could do was wait for her judgment, chest tight, hands clenched, hoping that somewhere in the chaos of his delivery, she might still say yes.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Later that evening Tenya Iida, however, sat alone in his dorm room, rigid in posture at his desk, yet not studying. The textbook lay open, but his eyes were unfocused, staring through the pages as if the words no longer held any meaning. His shoulders ached—not from training, but from the unbearable weight of expectation. Again. He had just made a pact with y/n Hiroyuki—something that, in his mind, felt almost wrong. He had agreed to fake date her, and now the reality of it was settling in.

His thoughts turned to his older brother, Tensei. The image of his brother’s disciplined, stoic expression flashed before his eyes. Tensei had been a paragon of virtue, a hero in every sense of the word. He was the kind of person who never made mistakes, the kind of person who always did the right thing. Tenya had always strived to be like him, to live up to the legacy his brother had left in their family.

But now, this pact with y/n… it didn’t feel like something Tensei would ever do. Would he be disappointed? Tenya wondered. The thought made his chest tighten. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an old photograph. It was slightly worn, edges curled from years of handling. Tense warmth filled his chest as he looked at the image: his brother, Tensei Iida, in his full hero costume as Ingenium, standing tall and proud with an arm around a much younger Tenya, both beaming.

The memories of their childhood were bittersweet. Tensei had always been the ideal older brother—strong, composed, and constantly in control. But what Tenya remembered most about him was the way he’d always believed in Tenya, even when he faltered. In those rare moments when Tenya wasn’t trying to be perfect, Tensei would offer a small, understanding smile. "You're doing great, little brother. Just keep pushing forward."

But now, Tenya was unsure of what to do. He had always prided himself on following the path of honor, just like Tensei had. But this whole fake dating arrangement felt like a compromise, a step away from the discipline and responsibility that had always defined him.

He stood up, pacing around his room as he thought about how his family might react. His parents had always expected great things from him. They were proud of him, of course, but there was always an unspoken pressure to be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect hero. If they found out about this fake relationship with y/n, they’d likely have questions. They’d wonder why he didn’t just focus on his studies, on becoming a better hero. They’d ask why he needed something like this, a distraction from his duty.

Tenya sighed into his hands. What had he’d gotten himself into?

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sugarverse · 22 days ago

Text

The Dating Clause

CHAPTER 1 | The Dating Clause

w.c 4.0K

tags. fem!reader, Tenya Iida x reader, bhna, Tenya Iida x you

a/n. writing this because he doesn't get enough love. I gave reader the surname Hiroyuki.

links. series masterlist

You had always seen yourself as hardworking, diligent, friendly—and above all smart. So why the hell was this class giving you such a hard time? It didn’t make any sense. This was so unlike you. You were the kind of girl who finished homework the day it was assigned and had all her chores wrapped up before Sunday reset. And yet, here you were, completely stumped by a support class of all things—a class that was supposed to be in your wheelhouse, not dragging you through hell.

You knew who you were from a very early age. And one thing you knew for certain? You weren't cut to be a hero. Ever since middle school, the spotlight never appealed to you. The fame, the fanfare, the constant pressure—it just wasn’t your thing. What you did care about though, was helping people, you’d always known the path would lead to U.A High School, specifically to the Health Support Department it felt right. It felt like you.

You could remember the day like it was yesterday. It had started like any other normal afternoon after school, following the grueling week of entrance exams from every school you applied to, hoping that at least one of them would at least glance at the application. Then came the night you’d made a pact with your best friend, Mei Hastume, to send in an application to U.A. “Just for fun,” Mei had said, but it didn’t feel like fun at all when a sealed envelope showed up in the mail weeks later.

“I’m scared,” you muttered, hovering over the light blue envelope that you could recognize with her eyes closed. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a joke. They’d sent their applications last minute, they weren’t supposed to send anything back. In truth, you had only done it because Mei’s unfiltered confidence had rubbed off on you. The envelope sat there on your hardwood desk in your room, and every time your thoughts drifted to the possibility of rejection, your stomach dropped to the mariana trench. The only comfort that held was that Mei had received one too.

“Oh, come on, shame isn’t real! It’s man–made, what can we possibly lose?” Mei’s voice ranged through y/n’s phone, but the words fell flat in the end, her own hidden anxieties leaking through. Mei’s voice came through the phone again, this time with a little more edge. “I’m doing it,” she declared, a sense of determination clear in her tone. you glanced down at the envelope, still sitting untouched. You could almost feel the weight of her friend’s excitement and dread all at once. Mei had always been the bold one between the two, the one who took risks and laughed in the face of consequences. But now, even she seemed to hesitate.

A few moments passed before Mei’s voice returned, quieter this time, “Okay, here goes.” you held your breath as the rustling of paper filled your ear. Mei had never been one to take her time with things, but she could tell this moment was different. A brief pause followed by the loud sound of Mei laughing. “YES! I’m in! I’m actually in, y/n!”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Your best friend was going to U.A. They had both joked about it, but now it was happening. Mei’s joy was contagious, even if it made your heart pound in your ears. “Wait, really?” you whispered, barely able to speak.

“Of course, really! You know I’m too good for anyone to reject me!” Mei chuckled, but there was a note of disbelief in her voice too. “This is actually happening!”

Now finally it was your turn. Your fingers shook as you finally reached for the envelope. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you tore it open, every part of her hoping for the best but bracing for the worst. The paper inside felt heavier than usual, It did hold the weight of her future. You pulled it out slowly, your eyes scanning the letter’s first line.

Then it hit. “I . . . I’m in too,” you whispered, barely believing it yourself. The rest of night followed with girly squeals and a call for an emergency sleepover to celebrate the upcoming school year. It was going to be so much fun, you thought. But as you lay there later, your mind wandered to what the school year would actually be like. Would you and Mei be in the same class? What kind of people would their classmates be? At that moment, the last thing on your mind was how the support class would be dropping your GPA if you didn’t pull it together.

You sighed into your hands for the hundredth time. No matter how many times you reread the text or searched online for better examples, nothing could untangle the knotted yarn ball in your brain to understand the topic. It wasn’t clicking and the more you tried, the more frustrated you became.

“Why is this so hard?” you muttered to herself, rubbing your temples. You had always prided yourself on figuring things out quickly—homework, tasks, even the trickier parts of life—but this? This was something else. You glanced at the clock on the wall, but your attention shifted by the sound of books being shuffled and footsteps that seemed to be drawing closer. You turned to see the culprit: Tenya Iida, Class 1-A representative. It looked like he’d come to the library to do the same thing she was: study. You watched as he set up his little study station, pulling two books from the shelf and flipped through what looked like meticulously organized notes.

Look at him, you thought, your mind slowly slipping into a spiral. I bet he doesn’t have to worry about his GPA slipping because of a support class. Everything probably comes easy to him. I want his brain. Before you could dive any deeper into your spiraling thoughts, a burst of pink hair appeared in your line of sight, blocking your view of Iida. Mei stood there, grinning mischievously.

“Stop eyeing his brain.Yours is completely functioning, and in my opinion, much prettier than his,” Mei said, pointing a finger in the air with a matter of fact tone. You blinked, surprised. “I wasn’t eyeing his brain. I was simply observing,”

“Uh huh,” Mei replied, crossing her arms, “You get that look on your face when you’re jealous.”

‘I’m not jealous!” you protested, though her words felt weak against the flush creeping up your neck. Mei looked at you with the most unconvinced smile ever, there was no pleading your case, you had already lost. ‘Riiight,”

“Support class is not your enemy, y/n,” Mei said, “You just need to find your rhythm. Besides, you’re way too hard on yourself. I mean, look at me–I’m still not over my D on the last exam, and yet here I am, shining like the star I am,”

You chuckled at Mei exaggerated confidence, “You’re impossible. But you’re right, I just need to stop comparing myself. It is the thief of joy,”

“Exactly,” Mei said, throwing an arm around you, “Now, Dr. Frankenstein, Let’s get out of here, a new boba shop opened near school!” you smiled at Mei, you couldn’t say no to food. As they walked out of the library, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Maybe a quick break with Mei was exactly what you needed to clear your head. After all, your brain wasn’t going to solve any problems if you kept running it into the ground.

The boba run had been exactly what you needed.

The cold drink in your hand, the sweetness of brown sugar pearls, and Mei’s chaotic energy had pulled you out of the slump, at least for a while. Both of you wandered through the city streets, laughing about everything and nothing, until the sky turned dusky blue and the first stars blinked into the sky. When they reached the dorm gates, Mei darted off toward the development lab–-something about “a very safe, definitely-not explosive upgrade”--while you slowly made your way back to your room.

You were halfway across campus when you slowed your pace, when someone called out your name.

“Hey, y/n—wait up!”

You turned to see Hana jogging to catch up, clutching a stack of textbooks and looking slightly frazzled. “Sorry,” Hana said breathlessly, brushing hair from her face. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your afternoon or anything, but do you have a minute? I kinda need your help.”

Without missing a beat you smiled, “Sure, what’s up,”

“Stats. I’m totally drowning in z-scores and confidence intervals and whatever the hell a chi-square test is. I just–ugh, I’m lost. You always seem like you know what you’re doing, and I thought maybe . . .,” Hana trailed off, suddenly shy. You never thought of yourself as a Mathematician but it felt really good when people always depended on you for things like this.

They walked side by side toward the dorms, Hana rambling about her latest Stats quiz disaster while you listened, sipping your drink. When Hana suggested stopping by the common area to spread out her notes, you nodded and followed her in. The space was lively, filled with warm light and the hum of conversation. A few girls from Class 1-A were scattered across the couches and beanbags, notebooks open and snacks in reach. Someone had music playing low, just enough to fill in the quiet moments.

“y/n!” Mina Ashido called, spotting you. “Please tell me that’s brown sugar boba. I need to live vicariously.” you laughed as she sat down, nudging Hana to start laying out her notes. Jirou offered a sarcastic comment about statistical suffering, and Yaoyorozu chimed in with some structured advice about study strategies. Before long, the conversation shifted between formulas, jokes and bits of random gossip.

“ . . . so then I completely blanked on how to calculate the margin of error, and my brain just shut down,” Hana groaned, dropping her head dramatically onto her textbook.

“You’re not alone,” Jirou said dryly. “The only margin I care about is one between me and a passing grade.” Everyone laughed, and you leaned back against the couch, feeling more relaxed than you had in days. Your boba cup was nearly empty, condensation slick on your feelings, but you didn’t mind. The moment was warm, light. Easy.

Then Mina’s voice cut through the conversation, deceptively casual. “Oh! Speaking of passing—y/n, guess who was asking about you,” you glanced her way expectantly.

“Tenya.” Mina wiggled her brows exaggeratedly. “As in Iida.” you choke slightly on the last bit of your drink. “What? Why?”

Mina shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. ‘I don’t know. He was just being all formal and awkward like he always is. Something like, "On a scale 1 to 5 how likely are you to ask y/n for help?” Super intense. Super Tenya.”

“That boy treats everything like a school board meeting,” Jirou muttered, smirking. “I swear, he probably schedules what underwear he wears for the day, labeled and all.” Laughter rippled through the group. Even Yaoyorozu stifled a polite giggle behind her hand.

“He is kind of a lot,” Hagakure added. Adjusting the edge of a blanket around her legs. “Like, really smart and really driven, but does he ever relax?”

“Exactly!,” Mina grinned. “He’s cute in that uptight, rule-following, please file that report in triplicate, kind of way. Honestly, he might actually short-circuit if someone flirted with him.”

“I think he’d apologize for looking at someone for too long,”Jirou added dryly. “I’m terribly sorry if my gaze caused discomfort, I assure you it was strictly accidental.” You couldn’t help but laugh along, though your cheeks were warming fast, “Come on,” you said, shaking your head. “He probably just needed help with homework or something,” But the sounds of your own words didn’t even sound convincing. Tenya Iida needs academic help, not in this world.

“I don’t know . . .” Mina said, in a sing-song tone. “Y’know, He’d probably be a very responsible boyfriend. He’d make you take vitamins and drive the speed limit.”

“He’d write you little lunchbox notes with historical quotes and motivational slogans,” Hagakure added.

“And make a Google calendar for your anniversaries,” Jirou smirked. “Color-coded, obviously.” y/n rolled her eyes, but the flutter in her chest was harder to ignore now. You didn’t dislike Tenya Iida. In fact, you kind of admired how driven he was, how much he cared. He was easy to tease, sure, but he was solid. The kind of person you could count on.

It must be nice, you thought. To just have someone like that. Someone who gets you, who wants to be around you. Who makes the world a little less lonely without even trying. It wasn’t like you never thought about dating. You did, just not out loud. And certainly not when it felt like everyone else around you had it all figured out—quirks, goals, love lives. But it felt far away for you. You had friends. You had Mei. But you didn’t have that. Not yet.

Not that I’d even know how to date someone, you mused bitterly. I couldn’t look my past crushes in the eye.

You chuckled softly to yourself, but the laugh didn’t reach your eyes. The real problem was you didn’t even know what you were looking for. Someone smart? Someone kind? Someone who could deal with your overthinking and bad habit of bottling everything up until it exploded in a spiral of academic stress and emotional chaos?

Yeah. Good luck finding that person, you thought, shaking your head. The girls had scattered to their respective rooms and your dorm finally came into view, the windows lit up with the warm glow of late-night studying and students settling in. But just as you reached the steps, the familiar weight settled back on your shoulders–the remainder of your academic stress that no boba drink could wash away.

Support Interjection Class, you groaned internally. I can’t do this alone. I need a tutor. Someone who can break it down in a way that actually makes sense. You’d ask Mei tomorrow. Or maybe peek around campus, feel things out, ask questions without sounding too desperate.

And as for love? Well. One crisis at a time.

The next morning came faster than you would’ve liked. You’d barely slept—your mind too busy juggling formulas from support class, potential tutor options, and for some reason, that conversation from yesterday. But as soon as the blaring whistle echoed across the U.A training field, all your sleepy thoughts were blasted into the background.

Today’s class was a joint training exercise between departments, something that sounded fun in thought but usually meant that the support students got shuffled around during prep work or observation. You didn’t mind—you liked watching how the hero students trained, like seeing how their minds worked under pressure.

Then your eyes landed on him—Tenya Iida, standing rigid and alert like someone had carved him out of granite and given him an engine for a spine. He looked ridiculously composed, visor down, hands behind his back like this was a military inspection. Then the conversation from yesterday started flooding your mind. What could he possibly want from you? You hadn’t realized you were zoning out until you heard the sound of your name being called.

“Midoriya, you’re with Yuka. Bakugo, you’re with Hoshino. Iida, you’re with y/n.”

Tenya turned to face you immediately, giving you crisp nod. “It's a pleasure to be working with you today, y/n. I look forward to seeing your support technique in action.”

The instructor blew the whistle, and the simulation began: a collapsed building scenario, complete with smoke machines and scattered debris. Hero students were tasked with navigating the terrain, rescuing dummies and neutralizing low-level threats. Support students were to assist with quirky utility, coordination, and problem-solving.

They moved into the mock zone. your palms were already sweating. “I’ll take points,” Tenya said, lifting his visor. “Can you monitor from behind?” Keep an eye out for any mechanical traps or heat signatures?”

You took a deep breath, then raised your hands. A soft shimmer rippled in the air as droplets began to condense out of the humidity around them, floating like tiny spheres of glass. Your water quirk wasn’t flashy. But it was precise.

You flicked your fingers, sending the water spheres ahead—scouting through cracks in debris, cooling overheated areas, even shorting out a few hostile traps rigged with sensors. Tenya glanced over his shoulder, surprised.

“You have remarkable control,” he said as they ducked under a broken beam. “It’s uncommon to see precision used so subtly,”

You grinned, never losing your focus, “Thank you.” This almost felt strange to you, your quirk, water manipulation was never something you considered a spectacle. You discovered your quirk when you were seven years old. For a long time, your family had quietly assumed you were a late bloomer or maybe just quirkless. But now, looking back, it all made sense: the way the lawn sprinkler would suddenly turn on you got upset, or the time you splashed Mei on the beach and the waves responded too well.

“You’re quite efficient. Most people rely on brute force or showmanship. You’re using your quirk like a tool. That’s admirable.” you stared at him for a second, then looked away, suddenly very aware of the heat rising to her face. “I mean, that’s kind of the point of the support course, right? We make things work.”

Tenya paused. “That’s a noble perspective. I think I may underestimate the importance of supporting students. But you clearly take it seriously.”

You laughed, “You haven’t seen my grades.” Tenya didn’t smile but something in his expression softened. “Grades don’t always reflect understanding. If you’re struggling with something, you should seek out help. That’s a sign of commitment, not weakness.” You looked at him, surprised. The engines on his calves whirred softly as he adjusted his stance.

“I was actually thinking about getting a tutor,” she said slowly. “Support class theory’s been kind of eating me alive.”

“If I can be of assistance, I’d be happy to help,” Tenya said without hesitation. “I’ve reviewed several sections of that curriculum for my older brother's research. I’m not a support course student obviously, but I have access to resources.”

You stared at him. “You’d tutor me?” He nodded. “If you’re serious about improving, then yes. I believe in helping my classmates—regardless of their department.” The whistle blew again. The exercise was over. As they walked off the field together, you couldn’t help but feel the tight ball of frustration in your chest had started to unravel, just a little.

“Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. You leaned forward slowly. “Excuse me?” y/n Hiroyuki had survived midterms, training sessions with Bakugou (which is typically a brush with death), and caffeine withdrawals during a two-day power outage in the dorms. But nothing could have prepared you for this particular curveball.

Tenya Iida, the class rep, the human embodiment of the word honor, the man who probably had backup gloves in alphabetical order tucked in his locker, had just asked you to date him. Fake date him.

You stared at him across the table, half-hoping it was some kind of elaborate prank. Maybe Kaminarai was behind a nearby bookshelf holding a camera. Maybe Aizawa had finally snapped and was assigning random students to play social roulette for class development. But no. Iida’s expression was sincere, and tragically serious. Still, you digressed.

“You cannot think of me this ignorant. I never took you for someone with such a twisted sense of humor,” you snapped, already rising to grab your things. But Tenya practically flings himself, the whole performance theoretical on his side. “WAIT! Please—just hear me out!” you raised your eyebrows at him, and quickly he took the opportunity to plead his case.

“You want to fake date me,” you repeated slowly, setting your pen down on your schematic sheet. “Because you think people will like you more if they think you’re… what, capable of affection?”

Tenya lifted a dignified finger to push his glasses back into place. “I believe that a shift in perception—if carefully constructed—may result in a more approachable reputation. And you, y/n Hiroyuki, are naturally sociable. People gravitate toward you. I hypothesized that aligning myself with that energy could be mutually beneficial.”

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, “So I’m your public relations stunt.”

“Respectfully, no. You are the catalyst for a reputational transformation.”

Your eyebrows hit your hairline. “That is the nerdiest way anyone has ever asked me to be their girlfriend.”

“It’s not real—I mean, not romantic—just performative. A casual arrangement.”

“And I say again: nerdiest.” you bit your lip in rumination. “You know I already agreed to let you tutor me for that support class interjection project, right? That was supposed to be your trade.”

He blinked. “Ah. That’s… correct.”

You tilted your head, watching the great Iida Tenya deflate just a little. His posture remained impeccable, of course, but you saw it—the subtle twitch of his fingers, the flick of his gaze to the side like he was recalculating.

He hadn’t thought this far ahead.“Well, now that I’ve got free tutoring and entertainment, what else are you putting on the table?” she asked, teasing, but not unkind.

“I—” He hesitated. “I may have overestimated my leverage.”

“No kidding.”

You leaned forward on your elbows, resting your chin in your hand. “Okay, real talk. Why me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers fidgeted with the cap of her highlighter, spinning it with perfect rhythm. When he did speak, it was quieter than usual.

“Because you’re comfortable in your own skin. You speak your mind, but you don’t push people away when they disagree. You’re confident. Funny. Human.” He met her eyes. “You make it look easy.”

You felt something shift in your chest, a beat out of sync. “…You do know I’m not as put-together as I look, right?”

“I do,” he said simply. “That’s what makes it real.”

Damn. He really hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t he?

Still, you tapped your pen against the desk, letting a beat of silence stretch before you said, “One condition.”

He sat up straighter—if that was even possible. “Name it.”

“If we do this, I don’t want the 'Tenya Iida: UA Class Rep Deluxe Edition.' No rehearsed speeches. No formal scripts. If I’m supposed to help you be more approachable, you’re taking me to the Hero Gala this year.”

His entire body jolted like he’d short-circuited.

“The Hero Gala? That’s a—y/n, that’s a formal, invite-only event for distinguished hero students and—”

“And you get invited every year because of your record and your brother’s legacy,” you cut in, casually sipping from her water bottle. “So don’t act like it’s impossible.”

“I—well, yes, but—” He was sputtering now, clearly not expecting that ask. “It’s not exactly a date-friendly environment. It’s dignified. Structured. High-level networking.”

“Exactly,” you said sweetly. “So bring your fake girlfriend.”

He stared at you, glasses slightly askew, floundering between panic and deliberation. “Would you even want to attend an event like that?”

“I want to see Endeavor in an overpriced suit,” you said flatly. “And steal canapés while gossiping with Pro Heroes. So yes, I would.” He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded, more to himself than to you, and then reached across the table to gently nudge her schematic back into view.

“I believe your voltage output is too high for a compact support unit,” he said, voice returning to its usual rhythm. “Try decreasing the capacitor tolerance.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop your grin. “Look at that. My fake boyfriend is already mansplaining my circuitry.”

He flushed. “That was not my intent!”

You laughed—warm, genuine—and turned back to her work. You hadn’t said yes. Not yet.

Thank you for reading <3

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