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thebunnednun · 2 months ago

Text

Still Human

★Pairing:Aged up!Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Tenya IIda x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and what better way to celebrate with your uptight boyfriend than driving him crazy and knocking the self control out of him?

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting/Fluff, suggestive themes, sexual nudity, touching and kissing, undressing together, preditor and prey, teasing Wc: long, No ageless blogs!

Make sure you read till the end! This is the 3rd installment of a Valentines day series. I also want to clarify that the pictures are to give inspo as to what your relationship looks like. They in no way shape or form are to indicate what you 'should' look like.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The air in your office was thick with unspoken words, the dim glow of the city skyline casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where you sat, legs crossed, fingers lightly tapping against the polished surface. Iida stood before you, arms rigid at his sides, his jaw tight, eyes scanning your every movement like a detective analyzing a suspect.

“This ends tonight,” he declared, voice laced with authority, but you only tilted your head, watching him with cool, unreadable amusement.

“Does it now?”

You leaned back in your chair, the silk of your blouse catching the light as you regarded him with the kind of detached confidence that made even the most seasoned officials wary.

“Because from where I’m sitting, you look a lot more rattled than you’d like to admit.”

His lips parted slightly, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself, rolling his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. Control that was slipping through his fingers like sand.

You’re always like this. Always two steps ahead, always so collected, always able to see through the cracks in his armor.

It’s infuriating.

"You think this is a game?" he asked, voice sharp.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. "Not at all, Turbo Hero Ingenium," you said smoothly, watching the way his brow twitched at the title. "I just find it fascinating how you always seem to end up here, in my office, at ungodly hours, demanding answers I have no obligation to provide.”

He inhaled sharply, hands balling into fists.

"You—"

But before he could finish, your mask cracked, the slightest quirk of your lips betraying you, and then—

He groaned. "You're doing it again."

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm, a slow, wicked grin stretching across your face.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Toying with me," he grumbled, finally stepping out of his stance, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You laughed, warm and full, the cold councilwoman persona dissolving into something far more teasing.

"I wasn't sure how long we were going to keep the act up, but you lasted a lot longer this time," you mused, pushing yourself up from your seat and stepping around the desk to meet him. He sighed, shaking his head as you smoothed down the lapels of his jacket with a little too much familiarity.

"This is the last time I let you talk me into roleplaying our first confrontation," he muttered, but you could hear the way his voice softened, the way he let you press close without a second thought.

"You say that, but I know you'll let me do it again."

"Only because I have no choice," he shot back, though the way his hands settled at your waist told a different story.

You smirked. "See? You're learning."

His jaw clenched, but it was less out of frustration now and more out of something else. Something that made you feel victorious every time you teased him past his limits.

"Are you going to be difficult all night, or will we actually pursue this date?"

You pretended to think. "Depends. How badly do you want to take me out?"

He exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting off a smile.

"You drive me insane."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, running your fingers up his tie, straightening it with practiced ease before stepping back. Tenya looks at you for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But if you so much as smirk at me at dinner—"

"You'll do what, exactly?"

He didn't have an answer. He never does when it comes to you.

And that was exactly how you liked it.~

Tenya, ever the gentleman, gathers your belongings with practiced efficiency, straightening the strap of your handbag and ensuring your coat is neatly draped over his arm before turning to you with that unwavering sincerity of his.

"Will you be taking your car, or shall I drive you this evening?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

You glance up at him, amused by the formality, before shaking your head. "I took the subway this morning." His eyes narrow ever so slightly, just enough for you to know he’s displeased.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"You should have called me," he says, voice tinged with mild frustration, but you can hear the concern beneath it. He shifts his weight, glancing at you like you’d personally offended his entire lineage.

"Tenya," you start, reaching to take your coat, but he keeps hold of it, waiting for a real answer.

You sigh, leaning against the desk. "I don’t feel like hard-launching our relationship just yet," you admit, watching the way his shoulders tense at your words. "The public’s opinion of us is fragile as it is. We are fragile in their eyes. If they found out I was dating you, I’d never hear the end of it. And if they found out about the other thing..." You trail off, leaving the weight of your past unspoken.

He exhales, adjusting his cuffs. "I understand," he says carefully, but you can tell he doesn’t like it.

"I only wish you’d allow me to make your life easier where I can."

"You already do," you assure him, reaching up to smooth the line of his tie, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath your fingertips.

Typically, the public eats the two of you up. The fights, the passionate arguments, the well-televised spats—it’s a miracle no one has figured out you’re dating yet. An even bigger miracle that no one has put together that you, the ‘quirkless’ city councilwoman who refuses to move up in politics because you love the public too much, are the very same Black Widow villain that keeps slipping through the cracks.

Nope.

To them, you’re just the sharp-witted politician who constantly butts heads with their beloved Ingenium, and he’s the perfect poster boy hero trying to put you in your place. If only they knew the truth—if only they knew that the hero commission had thought sending their most well-spoken hero against you would be their best bet at keeping you quiet.

They were wrong.

So very wrong.

Because from the moment you saw him—tall, broad, blue-eyed, built like an absolute dream—

You wanted to devour him.

Not in a metaphorical sense, not in a political sense, but in a very real, very inappropriate sense.

You wanted to knock those glasses off his face, mess up his neatly combed hair, tear his cute button up and sweater vest combo, and send him back out into the public looking like he had been utterly ruined by you.

And you will.

Eventually.

But for now, you settle for fixing his tie with an extra little tug, just to remind him that no matter how much he tries to maintain control, you will always be the one to throw him off balance. Tenya clears his throat.

"Then I’ll be taking you home to change," he says, finality in his tone, as if that somehow settles the matter. You smirk. "You’re awfully demanding for someone who just got roped into driving me around."

His fingers tighten slightly around your coat, jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. "You are insufferable."

"And yet again, here you are."

His glasses slip just slightly down his nose as he glares at you, and god, it takes everything in you not to reach up and finally bite him the way you so desperately wanting to all day.

"Come on, our reservation is at 8 sharp, and I am not rushing my bath again." You tug Iida toward the door, trying to keep him moving. "Getting sparked by electricity every time you sneeze because of wet hair is not as fun as your little Pokémon friend makes it seem."

He sighs, long-suffering, but still stops in his tracks to help you into your coat and scarf, pulling it up over your shoulders with practiced ease. His large hands smooth down the fabric of your shoulders, ever the gentleman, making sure you’re properly bundled up before gathering your things without a second thought. The small gestures don’t go unnoticed, even if you like to pretend they do.

With one last glance around your dimly lit office, you flick off the lights and lock the door, the sharp click echoing through the quiet hallway. The two of you take the back stairs down to the parking garage, heels tapping lightly against the concrete as the chill of the underground lot seeps in.

And then, with a sudden, mischievous glint in your eye, you tap his arm and bolt.

"Tag!"

You hear him exhale through his nose, fully expecting him to launch into a lecture about your ‘immature behavior’—but instead, there’s no sound of protest.

No scolding.

No stern reminder about the proper decorum of a public official and a hero.

You turn your head mid-step, only to see him already sprinting past you, heavy bags in hand, like the whole thing was effortless.

"Are you serious?" you yell, pushing your legs harder as you try to close the gap.

Iida, ever the show-off, doesn’t even break stride. "If you insist on playing, then you should at least know how to win!"

Oh, hell no.

You dig deep, pushing yourself forward, arms pumping, ignoring the way your heels weren’t exactly made for this. Just as Iida is about to reach his car, you lunge forward in one final burst of speed and—barely—make it to the door a fraction of a second before him.

"Ha!" you crow, slapping your hand against the side of the car as you catch your breath.

But victory isn’t enough. Oh no.

You want to rub it in.

So, before Iida can react, you quickly punch in his door's lock code—the one you’d memorized long ago despite his attempts to keep it from you—and hop straight into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and immediately locking it.

Tenya skids to a stop, rolling his eyes as he watches you settle into the seat like you belong there. Because you do, he has several photos of you adorning the sun blockers in his car. A handmade charm bracelet you made him is draped around his rearview mirror. His expression is unimpressed as he exhales, shaking his head. He makes a show of patting his pockets, expecting to find his keys—

Only for his eyes to suddenly widen.

Slowly, he looks up at you, and you’re already grinning, dangling his keys between two fingers as you wave them teasingly.

"Looking for these?"

"Open the door, lady!" Tenya exclaims, exasperation dripping from every word. You lean back into the seat, tossing the keys into the air and catching them effortlessly.

"Hmm... I dunno, Tenya. I could... but where’s the fun in that?"

His brows furrow, lips pressing into a tight line as he crosses his arms, his entire stance radiating judgment.

"This is childish."

"You love it," you counter smoothly.

Tenya inhales deeply, clearly trying to summon patience.

"I swear to all things holy, if you do not unlock this car right now—"

"What? You gonna spank me?" You smirk. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m in your car. With your keys."

His glasses slip slightly down his nose as his eye twitches. You know you’re pushing him—teetering right on that very fine line of his patience.

And you love every second of it.

Tenya doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t launch into a lecture about how this—of all things you do—is wildly inappropriate behavior for a woman of your stature.

No. Instead, he just… sits.

Right on the hood of his car.

And damn, if he doesn’t look good doing it.

The deep blue remodeled 1978 Cadillac Coupe DeVille gleams beneath the dim garage lighting, a beast of a car that suits him in an old-school, timeless way—elegant, powerful, built to last. And yet, despite how imposing the vehicle is, Iida perches himself on the hood with ease, crossing one ankle over the other, arms folded neatly across his broad chest.

Like he’s prepared to wait you out.

You narrow your eyes, huffing as you lean forward and honk the horn.

Nothing.

So, you push open the door, stepping out with dramatic flair before marching right up to him.

You poke his side. Then again. And when that earns you nothing but a quiet glance downward, you tilt your head with a pout.

"Tenyaa," you whine, dragging out his name like a spoiled child.

His brows twitch, lips pressing together to keep from smiling. But you see it—oh, you see the struggle in his eyes.

"You just want me to die so you can eat me," he accuses, voice laced with dry amusement.

"Well, yes," you say without hesitation,

"But not for a good long while!"

That earns you a deep, exasperated sigh. A small shake of his head.

Then, finally, finally, he moves—sitting up and properly turning to face you. You smile up at him, beaming, before pressing his keys into his palm.

"I promise to behave until we get home. How does that sound?"

Tenya exhales again, softer this time, before nodding.

"I trust your word."

It’s a simple statement.

Honest. Unwavering.

And damn if it doesn’t do something to you.

Before you can react, he’s already standing, already moving with that fluid grace of his, towering over you naturally as he escorts you toward the passenger side. He opens the door effortlessly, one hand resting protectively above the frame as you slide in.

"Careful," he murmurs, guiding you in like you’re made of something precious.

Oh, you really do want to eat him.

But not yet.

All in good time.

You’re a patient woman.

You can wait.

Tenya makes sure you’re settled, smoothing the coat over your lap, brushing his fingers over the hem with absentminded attentiveness before shutting the door gently behind you. You watch as he rounds the back, carefully placing your things into the back seat, his meticulous nature evident in every precise movement.

Finally, he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors, starting the engine, rolling his shoulders like he’s unwinding himself from the games you play.

Poor thing.

He really doesn’t stand a chance.

The low hum of the Cadillac’s engine fills the space between you, a comforting sound against the quiet lull of the city outside. The streets blur past in streaks of neon and dim streetlights, and for a moment, it’s just you and Iida—Tenya, the man who was supposed to be your greatest thorn but somehow became the safest place you’d ever known.

You stretch your legs out before tucking them up beneath you, slipping off your heels and wiggling your toes in relief before shifting to face him.

"So," you begin, eyes flickering to the road ahead. "This new villain incident—let’s hear your thoughts."

Tenya glances at you from the corner of his eye, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "The details are inconsistent. The patterns don’t match. Every crime scene is staged differently, but there’s a thread tying them together—an underlying familiarity in execution."

His large hand would look really pretty on your thigh right now.

You hum, resting your head back against the seat. "Sounds like multiple people under one directive. A smaller group, maybe three or four. Not a gang—too clean. No wasted movement, no unnecessary violence. They’re professionals, trying to look like amateurs."

His fingers flex against the leather of the steering wheel. "That’s what I suspect as well." A pause.

"It amazes me, you know. How respected you are in both worlds."

You smirk, stretching a hand over to rub slow, lazy circles along his beefy forearm. He works out and it really pays off. "Well, it helps that I never got caught," you tease, watching as the tips of his ears burn red. "And helping the hero commission out with your little robbery-slash-murder charge gave me some brownie points."

Tenya stiffens, lips parting in reflexive protest before shutting again with a quiet exhale through his nose. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to relax.

"Hey, it’s okay," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the length of his bicep. "I wouldn’t have believed that lie for a second."

A beat.

"Oh, really now?" he finally says, voice lighter but still carrying that edge—that stubborn little thread of indignation.

"Yeah," you nod, tilting your head.

"And why is that, my pearl?"

"I told you before," you reply, voice softening.

"You just aren’t that kind of guy. I can see it all in your eyes."

Tenya exhales through his nose, but there’s something softer in the way he holds himself now, in the slight curve of his lips. You grin, reaching up to comb your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Besides," you add,

"Who would be a cold-blooded killer with those eyebrows?"

Tenya lets out a breath that might have been a laugh if he wasn’t fighting so hard to keep his composure. But you see it, the way his eyes blink and his nose does that cute twitch thing when he’s trying not to laugh. His grip on the wheel tightens again—reflexive, instinctive—before he forcibly loosens his fingers.

"You are an impossible woman," he mutters, but he leans into your touch despite himself.

Your nails—long, sharp, painted the deepest red—drag gently against his scalp again, and he shivers before tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch. It’s a distraction, one he’s warned you about before.

But this time…

This time, he allows it.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat before muttering,

"I love how sharp your nails are."

You glance down at them, flexing your fingers slightly, watching how the streetlights catch the glossy crimson polish. They’re wholly inappropriate for your workplace, long and pointed, an elegant danger at your fingertips.

"You used to hate them," you remark, amused. "I did," he admits, voice quieter now.

"But now I can’t help but love everything about you that I once found to be a pet peeve."

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and without thinking, you shift, curling into his right side, cheek resting against the firm, warm muscle of his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his right arm, holding it hostage against your chest, and you peek up at him through your lashes.

Tenya exhales sharply through his nose, glancing down at you, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the car and the warmth of your body against his.

"Is that so?" you murmur, fingers lightly tracing circles over the fabric of his sleeve.

His jaw tightens for half a second before he nods.

"Yes," he says, voice steady, unwavering.

"Completely."

—

Your living room is a masterclass in careful arrangement, a space that doesn’t just exist—it flows.

Everything is connected, each piece guiding the eye seamlessly to the next, like an intricate web spun with intent.

Because it is.

At the very center of it all sits your couch—a deep, blood-merlot velvet piece with subtle curves that seem to invite rather than demand attention. It is the anchor, the heart of the room, and from it, everything extends outward in perfect balance. The coffee table, an oval of black glass, rests in front of it, its delicate golden legs branching out in twisted, spindly patterns. It holds scattered trinkets—an untouched glass of wine, a ring left abandoned beside it, a worn book edged in gold leaf with a spiderweb pressed into its cover.

From there, Tenya’s gaze is drawn to the shelves that frame the room, dark wood stretching upward in asymmetrical lines, bending around the space like the edges of a silken thread. The books stacked within them are placed with deliberate chaos, some upright, others lying flat, their spines a mix of deep, moody colors. Among them, small trinkets glint in the low light—brass figurines, a glass paperweight that holds a frozen crack of lightning inside, a single golden spider perched atop a candleholder.

The lighting is subtle, almost deceptive. A single, low-hanging chandelier with twisting, branching arms drapes from the ceiling, its glass teardrops refracting light like dewdrops caught in a web. The space is too fluid, too perfect in its asymmetry—it almost feels like an illusion. His eyes follow the lines, from the gold-threaded rug that sprawls beneath his feet to the marble side table that holds an unlit candle in a glass lantern.

Every element is positioned with intent, guiding the gaze in a way that makes it impossible to focus on just one thing for too long.

And yet, despite all of that, he only sees you.

You, standing in the very heart of it all, as if you had orchestrated this space to pull him in, to tangle him in your threads without him even noticing. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with literature spanning politics, law, and fiction that has no place among them but stays anyway. There are vinyl records stacked neatly beside a vintage turntable, the soft hum of jazz still crackling through the speakers from earlier, a song left unfinished.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, their heavy black curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the neon-drenched skyline, the glow casting shifting shadows across the polished wooden floors, bending as if they are alive. A few steps away, your dining area is visible, set with antique wine glasses that sparkle like starlight over the circular table. A bar cart stands nearby, stocked with top-shelf liquors, everything organized yet effortlessly casual, as if a party could start at any given moment.

And then, there’s him.

Standing near your couch, Tenya’s fingers flex subtly at his sides, the sharp inhale of his breath barely audible. He has always been well-mannered, always collected.

But tonight?

You are testing him.

His hands had just been looking for your zipper, his touch careful and precise, the slight drag of metal against fabric going to fill the silence between you. It was routine, something he had done before, yet when he stepped forward, intending to settle his palm at the small of your back—he found nothing.

Nothing but warm, bare skin.

His throat tightens.

You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the fur shawl draped around your arms, the soft white contrasting the deep, ink-black of your dress. Deceptive in every way—a turtleneck, long sleeves, stopping mid-thigh, paired with opaque tights that promise just a hint of what’s beneath.

But the back?

Completely open.

A sinful scoop that leaves the whole curve of your spine exposed, down to the very arch where his hands ache to settle.

Tenya adjusts his glasses, a habit, a tell. He knows you notice.

Your lips match your heels, deep red and glossy, perfectly painted, perfectly smug. Your nails are still sharp, tapping idly against the clasp of your purse as you watch him, knowing.

He should say something—anything—but he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes, lined with a perfectly sharp cat-eye, flicker up at him through the dimness. A soft shimmer dusts your cheekbones, catching the dim light just enough to make you glow.

He should be focusing on the night ahead, on the reservation, on the politics of your relationship that dictate restraint.

But all he can think about is how easy it would be to pull you back into him, to trace the length of that backless dress with his fingertips, to dip his head down and press his lips to the delicate expanse of your skin. To press his face into that small curve and become well acquainted with the natural scent there.

You are going to be the death of him.

And he cannot wait.

You smooth your hands down your dress, a subtle invitation, and catch the way his gaze follows the motion— the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself.

"Do you like it?" you ask, voice honey-sweet as you shift your weight onto one foot, the motion making your backless dress dip just enough to tease.

Tenya nods, but it isn’t enough for you.

With a playful smirk, you reach out, curling two fingers around the knot of his tie and tugging him down to your level. He barely stumbles, ever the perfect balance of poise and control, but the surprise in his eyes is unmistakable. You tip your head just slightly, brushing your lips featherlight against the corner of his mouth before murmuring,

"Don’t be shy… I only bite a little."

His breath catches—just for a second.

Then, before he can find his words, you cup his face between your palms, your thumbs dragging along his cheeks, nails just sharp enough to poke into the hidden dimples you know are there.

"You’re just too cute," you muse, and the warmth in your voice is almost too much for him. Tenya clears his throat, desperately grasping at control, but you can see it in his eyes—how dizzy you make him, how he’s barely holding back.

"Dinner," he states firmly, like an anchor, like something to ground himself. And you hum, tilting your head, letting your fingertips drift from his cheeks to trace along his jawline.

"Mmm, yes… I am very, very hungry," you admit, deliberately letting the words curl with meaning, just enough to make his breath hitch before you pull away. "I’m ready when you are."

You can tell he’s struggling to gather himself—his hands curling, relaxing, curling again at his sides—before he inhales deeply and squares his shoulders, standing tall. A true gentleman, even in the face of his undoing.

"You are stunning," he says, voice rich and smooth, every ounce of sincerity laced into his words.

"And you are handsome," you counter, stepping in close and pressing your ear against his chest, right over his racing heartbeat. Your lips curve as you listen, pressing your palm flat against him.

"I always did love the pretty little pattern your heart makes."

Tenya exhales sharply, and for a second—just a second—he imagines how easy it would be to hold you here forever. To fall back onto your couch with you in his arms, your face tucked beneath his chin, his hands tracing your form, not out of greed, but pure admiration.

You are unlike anyone he has ever known.

No one makes him feel the way you do. No one ever will.

So he’s going to hold on.

Very, very tight.

Even if you act like a bad girl. And maybe you are.

But he can handle it.

Before you can pull away completely, Tenya leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You blink, just slightly caught off guard, before he gently takes your hand and regains control of the moment, escorting you toward the door with quiet determination. He guides you down the steps, leading you toward his car.

Valentine’s Day is just beginning.

—

The click of glass against marble is the only sound in the kitchen as Tenya places two wine glasses on the counter, his movements slower than usual, almost calculated.

He’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and abandoned his shoes and coat at the door— a sight that makes your lips curl in quiet satisfaction.

Poor baby.

All night at dinner, you played your game masterfully.

You spoke to him in that slow, mature voice, low and warm like silk sliding over bare skin. You brushed your foot against his ankle, just enough to make him stiffen—especially whenever the waiter came by, forcing him to act natural while you hid a smirk behind your wine glass.

Then there was the French.

“Mon cœur,” you had purred at one point, your voice dropping into something thick and saccharine. You leaned in close, your fingers teasing at the stem of your glass, whispering words far filthier than the fine dining atmosphere deserved.

And then—as if you hadn’t just threatened his entire career—you smiled sweetly, sipped your wine, and carried on like nothing happened.

Tenya had barely survived the night.

And now, here you are, perched at the kitchen counter with an air of false innocence, watching him fumble for a bottle of wine like you didn’t just spend the last two hours tearing his restraint to shreds. His tie is crooked, his shoulders are tense, and his breath has been uneven since the car ride home.

And you?

Oh, you’re enjoying every second of it.

With deliberate slowness, you slip off your fur shawl, draping it over the chair before sliding off the counter. Your heels click softly against the floor as you move toward him, steps light and smooth, a predator approaching its prey.

By the time you reach him, he’s bracing himself against the counter, his head tipped down, fingers curled like he’s trying to keep himself from shaking. You gently press yourself against his back, arms slipping around his waist, careful—so careful—not to smudge your lipstick on his pristine wait coat.

He goes rigid.

And then, slowly, he turns to face you, his expression a battlefield of emotions. You blink up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Are you okay, baby?"

‘Baby?’

Oh, you’re testing him now.

No— he realizes,

You’ve been testing him since the moment he met you.

Tenya lets out a shaky, unsteady breath, his chest rising and falling under your touch. He’s trying—trying so hard—to regulate himself, to keep control, but the second you start rubbing soft, soothing circles into his chest, his composure nearly shatters.

Any other time, he would have melted into you.

But now?

Now?

His hand moves before he can think. Gently, but firmly, he takes your smaller, dangerous hands in his own. He lifts them, brushing a delicate, reverent kiss across your knuckles, but his breathing only grows heavier.

"I'm sorry, cara mia," he murmurs, his voice strained, frayed at the edges. "I feel… strange."

Your eyes sparkle with mischief, but your smile is nothing but honey. "Oh, that might be the special chocolate I gave you earlier."

…

"WHAT!?!"

Tenya jerks upright, his entire body snapping to attention, eyes wide and alert like you just told him the building is on fire. You blink at him innocently, then lift your hands in mock defense.

"You were sooo tense," you drawl, tilting your head. "I just wanted you to loosen your tie a bit."

Oh.

Oh, it all makes sense now.

The warmth flooding his veins, the sluggish yet hyper-aware feeling humming beneath his skin, the way he hasn’t quite felt like himself since dessert—it wasn’t just you. Tenya swallows hard, then drags a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just slightly.

Never take food offered by a spider woman.

His mind is whirring, piecing things together at full speed, but his eyes never leave you.

He stares at your sexy little, devious figure standing before him, taking in the curve of your lips, the sharpness of your nails, the glint of something dangerous yet intoxicating in your gaze.

And suddenly, he realizes—

He doesn’t want to run.

He wants to chase.

Your instincts fire off just a second too late.

The moment you take a small, cautious step backward, tilting your head just slightly, something in Tenya’s expression changes. You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

"Tenya…?"

Your voice is soft, questioning, but it doesn’t stop him.

Because he moves.

Fast.

You barely get a scream out before you’re bolting, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

He lunges, just missing you by a breath, and you take off so quickly that you nearly slip on the tile. Your heart is hammering, your laughter spilling into the air as you sprint into the dining room, dashing around the table like a panicked little rabbit.

But he’s right behind you.

You risk a glance back and regret it immediately.

Tenya isn’t surprised.

No, he’s grinning.

It’s not his usual measured, polite smile. This is something else. Something wilder.

Hungrier.

And you realize with a thrill of fear and excitement—

He likes this.

So you do the only thing you can—you run faster.

You dart out of the dining room, legs burning, nearly tripping as you tear through the hallway and up the stairs. Your chest is heaving, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but he’s right there.

Too close.

You shove through your bedroom door, throw yourself inside, but—

He’s already there.

Your breath catches in your throat as you spin, wide-eyed, watching as Tenya steps forward.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he knows he’s already won.

And you?

You’re stepping back, step after step, breath after breath, until—

Your calves hit the edge of your mattress, and you fall. The second your back meets the sheets, you realize—

You lost a heel back there.

And judging by the way Tenya is looking at you, taking in your breathless state, the way your hair has fallen out of your bun over your shoulders, your legs still half-twisted from trying to escape—

He doesn’t care one bit.

The soft click of the bedroom door shutting is the only warning you get before Tenya turns to you, watching, waiting.

His movements are calculated, gentle, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him—he’s holding back.

Still, he kneels, reaching for your ankle, careful, as he helps you slip out of your remaining heel. His fingers graze the curve of your foot, tracing lightly before setting it aside. He exhales through his nose, shifting to take your hand, his own swallowing yours in warmth.

Then, he lifts it.

A kiss.

Soft, reverent.

Then another, a slow trail along your wrist, your forearm, his lips brushing along the delicate fabric covering your inner elbow before pressing against the crook of it. He does the same to your other arm, his mouth mapping out devotion along the path of your veins, his breath hot against your skin.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, low, rough, almost strained, before tilting your chin upward, his fingertips pressing just enough to angle your face where he wants it. You feel the drag of fabric as he tugs at your collar, exposing the line of your throat.

And then—

Another kiss.

Soft at first, featherlight.

Then another, deeper, lingering.

Then another, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to flick over your pulse point, teasing. His teeth press against your skin, not quite biting, just enough for you to feel the gentle scrape. You sigh, a sound so pleased, so sweet that he shudders against you.

His large, warm hands splay over your stomach, the fabric of your dress smoothing beneath his palms as he bends you backward, laying you out like something delicate and divine. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, your room casting a soft, ambient glow over the space. The room is yours, but the moment?

The moment belongs to him.

Tenya kneels back, eyes raking over you with such intensity that you reach for him, fingers curling into his tie. You pull him closer, undoing the knot with slow, deliberate movements, but just as you reach for his glasses—

He stops you.

He shakes his head, readjusting them with a slight push along the bridge of his nose, breath unsteady.

"I want to see you," he admits, voice hushed.

You smile, thumb brushing against his jaw as you promise,

"I’ll be gentle with you."

His response? A sharp pinch to your hip. You yelp, laughing, breathless, utterly in love.

Your hands fist into the fabric of his dress shirt, fingers slipping beneath to press against the taut muscle of his waist. You pull him down, drawing him into your space, where he belongs. And he lets you.

For a moment, he hesitates.

But then his full weight shifts, pressing into you, enveloping you in warmth, security, want. A sigh escapes you, lashes dusting against your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut.

Tenya watches you, panting, unraveling, waiting.

You undo more of his buttons, fingers brushing over the heat of his skin.

But he pulls you closer, closer.

"May I touch you?"

His voice is hoarse, pleading, but his hands stay rooted where they are, waiting for your word.

"You have all my permission."

The groan he lets out is pure relief, a sound deep and rich, vibrating through his chest. His fingers tremble only slightly as they cup your cheek, his thumb dragging slow, soft, worshipful over the apple of it.

Then, finally, he kisses you.

Deeply.

Thoroughly.

Like a man who finally has what he's been chasing.

Tenya drinks you in, savoring the way your lips mold against his, the way you sigh into his mouth like you were meant to be here, with him, beneath him. His body is so warm, radiating heat through the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, the material still tucked neatly despite his tie being discarded somewhere behind you.

His hands are careful, reverent as they skim your jawline, one remaining at your cheek while the other finds the curve of your waist, splaying over the thin, form-fitting fabric of your dress. He’s breathing so hard, chest rising and falling with a rhythm you’ve never quite heard from him before, uneven, desperate.

He holds himself just above you, though his body is already pressing you into the plush bedding beneath you. He’s trying so hard to be respectful, to stay in control, but you feel the way his fingers flex, gripping the soft fabric of your dress just a little tighter like he's trying to ground himself.

You hum against his lips, one hand curling into his collar to bring him impossibly closer, the other brushing through his hair. His glasses are still in place, slightly crooked now from the way you’ve been touching him, and you reach up, fingertips lightly grazing the arm of the frame. He shudders, a quiet noise slipping from his throat, but he doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, he leans into your touch, eyes lidded, lips parted as he breathes you in.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel the full weight of him, his warmth pressing into every inch of you, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. You let your hands wander, trailing down the lines of his shoulders, over the broad planes of his back, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric again to feel the taut muscle beneath. His skin is hot to the touch, burning under your palms, and when you shift beneath him, he groans, barely holding himself together.

“You’re trembling baby,” you murmur, lips brushing against his as you speak, voice low and sweet, a whisper just for him. Tenya swallows, his grip at your waist tightening for a fleeting moment before relaxing.

“I…” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact moment. “I feel…” His words trail off, his brows knitting together as if he can’t quite find the right thing to say, but you know. You know because you feel it too.

Your fingers trace over the nape of his neck, nails just barely scraping over the short hairs there, and you feel the full-body shiver it sends through him. He exhales a ragged breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for just a moment before he shifts, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the line of your throat. His lips are unbearably gentle, moving slow, deliberate, as though he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“Tenya,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to give him more room, encouraging, inviting.

His hand slips lower, the pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, trailing so slowly it makes you dizzy. He’s not rushing, not pushing, just taking his time, like he wants to worship you with every careful touch.

“I can’t help myself,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper against your skin.

“You… you undo me.”

His confession sends warmth flooding through you, a soft ache blooming in your chest at how utterly wrecked he sounds, like he’s struggling to hold himself together, to remain the ever-composed, respectful man you know him to be. And yet, here he is, eyes dark and hungry, breath uneven, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lets his mouth explore every part of you he can reach.

Your hands slide back up, cupping his cheeks, tilting his face toward yours once more. He meets your gaze, his expression so full of something raw and unspoken that it steals the breath from your lungs. You brush your thumb over his bottom lip, watching the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch, the way his lips part slightly as if craving more.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whisper, pressing the words against his mouth in the barest ghost of a kiss.

“Not with me.”

Tenya lets out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling as he finally—finally—lets himself sink into you completely.

The heat between you is electric, palpable in the air as your hands glide over the girth Tenya’s body, his breath hitching with every touch. His waist coat is halfway undone now, hanging off his broad shoulders, and you take full advantage, slipping your nails over the fabric, your fingers scratching over the firm muscle that tenses under your touch. He’s so warm, so solid, and you relish the contrast between his gentlemanly restraint and the raw need you can feel simmering just beneath the surface.

Tenya watches you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

Your red lipstick is smudged now, streaked across your own mouth and staining his skin where you've kissed him. It's like modern art—messy, intimate, a declaration that you were here, touching him, marking him in a way that makes his head spin.

In a way that belongs to him only.

He’s always been fascinated by how you manage to keep your lipstick perfect, how even after a night of teasing and whispering sinful things in his ear, it remains flawless. But now, seeing it smeared, evidence of how much you’ve already taken from him, he wonders how much more of himself he’s willing to give.

Everything.

Tenya trembles as your fingers find his hair, tugging gently, messing it up the way you know he secretly loves but would never admit. He sighs into your touch, his body relaxing against you even as his grip on your waist tightens, his thumbs pressing into that spot on your hips that makes you gasp and arch into him, seeking more. His lips are hot against your throat, alternating between soft, reverent kisses and firm, lingering nips that send sparks down your spine.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, barely above a whisper.

"How could you love someone like me?"

You tilt your head, fingers still threading through his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

"A man?"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head.

"No. A hero."

That word. That title. The one that sets him apart from you, from your past, from everything you've ever known. He says it like it’s a curse, like he’s unworthy of the love you so freely give.

You hum, letting the word roll off your tongue like silk, letting it sink into his skin the way your touch does.

"My Hero."

Tenya gasps, his whole body shuddering at the way you say it, the way you wield your voice like a weapon designed to break him. His fingers dig into your hips, a groan slipping from his lips as you work his dress shirt off completely, letting it drop somewhere beside the bed. You finally get your hands on him, all of him, the broad chest and sculpted muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his pristine clothes, the ones he hones every day as a Pro Hero.

He’s a perfect balance of strength and discipline, and yet, here, with you, he’s unraveling at the seams.

"You're so cute," you murmur, sighing contentedly as your fingers trace the dips and curves of his torso.

You giggle as his hands disappear beneath your dress, his touch firm yet possessive as he grips your hips like he owns them, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his hands. His thumbs find that spot again, the one that sends white-hot pleasure pulsing through you, and you let your head fall back with a quiet moan, granting him full access to your neck.

He takes it, pressing his lips to your pulse point, then lower, dragging his teeth lightly over the delicate skin before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Well," you pant, breathless from his touch, from the way he’s holding you so tightly like he never wants to let go. You grab his jaw, making him meet your gaze, your nails grazing the sharp angles of his face.

"How could you fall in love with a villain?"

Tenya groans, a sound so deep and desperate that it makes your stomach tighten with heat. His fingers find yours, entwining them together, his grip firm as he brings your left hand to the headboard, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist before doing the same to your right. His glasses slip down his nose, and when he looks at you again, you’re met with those impossibly bright blue eyes, wide and trained solely on you, full of adoration and something deeper, something primal.

"You're not a villain anymore," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You smirk, tilting your chin up.

"Mm, old habits die hard, my love."

His expression shifts, darkening with something intense, something authoritative, and you shiver at the way he leans in so close, his breath fanning against your lips. His presence alone commands your attention, and heat pools in your belly as you watch him study you like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

"Then what am I?" you ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper as you slowly wrap one fine leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

Tenya’s gaze flickers down, taking in the way your leg hooks around him, the way your body curves into his as if you were molded for him. He exhales through his nose, then looks back up, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing.

"Once in a lifetime," he murmurs, his voice low and full of meaning.

Him and his mushy heart.

You whine, rolling your eyes playfully before clicking your tongue at him. Before he can react, you use your leg to yank him forward, making him fall onto you with a startled grunt. He props himself up on his forearms, his glasses slipping even further down his nose, and he gives you that scolding look—the one that drives you absolutely insane, the one that makes you want to irk him even more.

You smile wickedly, reaching up to push his glasses back into place.

"I didn’t put anything in the chocolate," you confess, voice full of amusement.

"But it’s always nice to play with you.~" You press your lips to his cheek, your lipstick leaving a harsh mark against his flushed skin.

"And I really do want you around for a long time."

Tenya stiffens, his whole body going rigid as the words sink in. His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly as he just stares at you, his face red, his expression utterly wrecked.

And then he kisses you, hard, like he’s trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. You melt into him, your hands roaming, helping him shed the rest of his clothes just as he helps you out of yours.

Soon, you’re bare beneath him, your breasts pressing into the mattress as he hovers above you. His lips trace along the expanse of your spine, his hands mapping every curve, every dip of your body as though committing you to memory. You steal his glasses, perching them on your own nose as you grin back at him, and he groans, utterly undone by the sight of you.

"You make me feel depraved," he murmurs, his voice hushed and strained as his fingers trail down your arms.

"Like the lowest possible form of human."

You roll onto your back, smiling slyly as you reach for him, your nails scratching down the length of his arms, making him shudder.

"You are still human, Tenya."

"Mon amour," he practically cries out before flipping you over again, pulling you into another desperate, searing kiss.

Neither of you notice the small ring box lying forgotten near the edge of the bed, the delicate script of your name etched onto its surface as it waits, watching, biding its time.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

For Valentines day, I hosted a poll about the fic's I have cooking in the oven from my mha 'Fuck it, I got you,' series and this was the 2nd winner. As promised, some info about the relationship between you and Iida:

As a former villain turned councilwoman, your past is something the public never gets to see. Despite working tirelessly to improve the city, you're constantly at odds with pro-hero Ingenium, who sees you as a nuisance at best and a dangerous liability at worst. The two of you have a habit of arguing in the media, and your sharp tongue has knocked Iida down to the rank of Japan’s 8th top hero. But when a string of high-profile robberies sweeps through the city—each crime marked by a spider-like calling card—both of you find yourselves tangled in something bigger than political squabbles.

During an award ceremony, Iida notices something strange—your ring, an elegant but subtle piece of jewelry, looks suspiciously familiar. Slipping it off your finger in a moment of clever misdirection, he later has it analyzed by Momo, and Jirou, only to confirm his suspicions: It’s a stolen artifact, linking you directly to the Black Widow thief. Before he can act, the entire hero awards ceremony erupts into chaos. The police and hero commission storm the event, proclaiming Iida as the true culprit in front of the press. His career is on the line, his private life exposed, and suddenly, he has no one to trust.

And with nowhere else to turn, he calls you.

This fic takes place after all that, where You and Tenya have been secretly dating for a while, and tonight, you were testing out a scenario before heading out for an actual date. You live to get under Tenya's skin, matching him in wit and intellect, always pushing his buttons in a way that leaves him flustered yet drawn to you. Despite all his efforts, you always seem to be one step ahead, and deep down, he loves it.

For a man who thrives on structure and order, you are chaos incarnate.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

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