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amyriadofleaves · 3 months

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outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter three

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader ⌗ warnings : not rly ⌗ word count: 4.4k

You arrive at the Palais a little shy before sunrise. Every step you take is light as your thoughts are consumed with the necessity of signing paperwork before your meeting with Clorinde, and your fatigue suddenly becomes the least of your worries. Your steps speed in a flurry of excitement of the events of today (you are so excited, even, that the whole marriage debacle flies over your head — but you are acutely aware of the uneasiness that brews at the very pit of your stomach).

Oh, you haven’t felt so happy since you were a meek, frail little excuse of a lawyer, excited for your first day at work. You even wave at everyone present in Palais Mermonia, and smile widely upon seeing Sedene, to which she regards with a questioning look. She scratches her head while she’s at it, almost calculating what she should, and should not say. She decides she will be in your good graces today.

“Why aren’t you early today!”

You sniff, wiping your eyes. “Well, it’s not like I could get any sleep, really — I was as awake as an owl the whole night!” Before Sedene can get a word out, you interject enthusiastically, before taking a sip of your coffee: “You know what they say: early bird catches the worm!”

The Melusine’s expression turns stoic, and almost playful. “Are you merely saying this to hide the reality that you're having trouble sleeping because of the marital arrangement?”

Gracelessly (like there was any graceful alternative), you spit out your drink. Ah, so that was what all the uneasiness was about. The events of last night were a blur, but you briefly recall the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue and a creeping headache blooming — but what was fun without its consequences? A few painkillers and your day would go on without a hitch. Instead of wallowing in self-pity for too long, you beg a question: “Erm, Sedene? Who told you this?”

To your dismay, her face lights up. “Oh. My. God. So it is true! You are to be my aunt! You are marrying the Chief Justice of Fontaine—” Before she is given the opportunity to say another word, you kneel down to muffle her words with the palm of your hand, hastily looking around to see if anyone had heard her.

“I repeat myself, who told you that?”

She replies in earnest, and you cannot help but feel your heart thawing again. Melusines are infuriatingly adorable, and in turn they are your weakness; You cannot, no matter how hard you try, feel even the slightest bit of resentment for their gullible behaviour. In response to your question, she points to the other Melusine, her head in a book, at the end of the hallway. “Kiara told me so — says that she and Liath were hiding behind the Chief Justice’s couch listening in to the ‘arrangement’.” Sedene brings both of her hands to her shoulders and air quotes the word ‘arrangement'. How cute.

So that accounted for the strange movement behind one of the couches. You crack a smile at the notion that Sedene wouldn't have heard the end of it for so readily spilling such a secret if this was some parallel universe where she and the others were simply humans instead.

Another one’s elation is another’s despair, however, and you lament ever choosing to stay in this hell of a place. “If you keep going on like this I’m going to have to find another post to work at before all my secrets get exposed, Sedene. Well — if you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.” You give her a pained smile, and ignore the crack of your knees as you begin to stand up. How unfit I am, you curse.

___

Letting your forehead thud against the desk, you bear the weight of boredom and exhaustion settling in the dull ache echoing through your office. You tell yourself that there is only an hour before you can leave to meet your soulmate from a land far, far, away. Clorinde, what a girl she is, so hard headed yet so sensitive all the same. Laughing at this sentiment, you shake your head before dipping your quill in the pot of ink before signing more papers.

“Pipe leakage… recent case solved…” you read to yourself, humming lightly in the chill of your office. You smirk at the lack of any papers regarding the marriage and wish deeply that what she said was just, purely in jest.

You eye the two stacks that sit on both sides of your desk with pride: the proportion of signed and to-be-signed papers were in your favour, and you flick through the unfinished stack and find your fingers coming empty handed faster than usual.

The dread you felt this morning settles in once again, and you scrunch your nose in distaste. You pray that Lady Furina has forgotten about the whole proposal, and instead has thought of a better, more rational method of addressing her defamation. Though you find her indisputably repulsive, you clasp your hands together in prayer that she would pity a mere mortal like you and save you the trouble. You omit Monsieur Neuvillette out of the equation since you doubt he quite fits into the bill of a ‘mere mortal’. People were of the general opinion that he was not quite human. After all, what kind of person is able to live that long? You set the thought aside, and realise your work here is done. Early weekend it is!

You stand from your seat and make your way to the door to leave — but your pace hiccups at the sound of distinct metal clad boots echoing through the Palais. Who it is is unmistakable. This, you know absolutely. Back to the door, you anticipate the dulling of his steps with great anxiety. You hold your satchel tightly to your chest like a lifeline, not daring to breathe.

It feels like centuries before the footsteps cease, and you take this as your call to leave before anyone can question your early departure. You gulp nervously gingerly twist the knob to your door.

The worst time your intuition can fail you is now, and it does, matter of factly, fail you.

There the Chief Justice stands, just right outside your office, fist hovering where it would’ve knocked on the door had you not opened it mere seconds before he decided to do so. It would be a lie to say you aren’t stunned, and you hope to god he doesn’t notice the surprise that comes to flicker over your face.

He brings his arm down to rest right by his hip, and gives you a tightlipped smile. “Here I was thinking you left already.”

You take in the neater braid he now wears as opposed to the hairdo he sported yesterday, and you do not know what to do but gesture to it lamely. “I presume the Melusines made short work of… whatever style you’re rocking today.” In an awkward attempt to make yourself loosen up, you lean stiffly on the doorframe. What is wrong with me? Who in the hell says ‘rocking’? Am I stupid or am I stupid?

“Why yes, I am very proud of the final product indeed. What ever shall I do without them?” He seems to think deeply at the possibility, and his expression sours a little, like that of a dejected puppy.

You titter slightly. How dense can this man be? “Surely, you’re aware that I'm joking?”

Neuvillette, in fact, is not aware of this. Quite frankly, he is confused at your change in mood, the what seemed to be a perpetual frown on your face turned upside down for once. “Yes, I am aware. Do not worry.” He is confused at himself, too. Since when was he one for white lies?

Clearing your throat, you look him in the eye. “So… what brings you to my office?”

“I presume it would be best to bring this matter inside, if that is alright with you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You notice that he is as tense as ever, and so you offer him a seat.

As he settles into the cosy confines of your office, he finds himself surprisingly at ease. Surveying the artwork adorning the walls and the cherished photographs adorning the shelves, he detects a distinctly human touch. One image, in particular, catches his eye: a photograph featuring you and your mother. He eyes it for a while, picking out the features that he finds similar between your mother and yourself. What a striking resemblance, he thinks.

Crossing your arms, you shake your head a little. “I am sorry monsieur, but my schedule is kind of tight today so I’m gonna need you to jump straight to the point.” You slightly wince at the sharpness of your tone, but the man sat in front of you does not seem to acknowledge this whatsoever.

“Ah, yes — I am sorry. And please, just call me Neuvillette. We are to be wed after all.”

If you still had any of the coffee you drank earlier in your mouth, you would have soiled the Chief Justice's robe! You thank yourself that it happened with Sedene instead of Neuvillette. Not that it was any better with Sedene, but...

You try your very best to hide your clammy hands underneath the desk. “And… where’s the confirmation? I haven’t heard from Lady Furina since…”

Neuvillette itches the back of his neck with a sort of expression you associate with the likes of something unpleasant. This is certainly a first. A flustered Neuvillette? “You see, that was what I was to discuss with you.”

You gulp as he hands you a stapled contract and ignore the flutter in your chest when your hands graze for a second. Despite his previous affirmation to your suspicions, you still persist to deny that this has nothing to do with the proposal.

You are terribly wrong. Lady Furina hasn’t forgotten. Before taking a look at the paper, you brace yourself for the inevitable.

Matrimonial Accord: This contract is entered into on this by [13/09/XX] and between [17/09/XX]:

Party A: [Chief Justice Neuvillette] and Party B: [(Name)]

Whereas, both parties agree to enter into a simulated matrimonial union for mutual benefit;

Now, therefore, in consideration of the covenants and promises contained herein, the parties agree as follows:

I will definitely find a way to rectify the mistakes of Poisson, so you sly woman — you know who you are — do not berate me so!

You quirk a brow. Peering closer at the paper, you notice that this sentence was penned in between the lines; you come to realise that there is a jarring difference in the handwriting, and realise that it is Furina’s doing.

Terms and Conditions:

Duration: The ‘marriage’ shall be in effect for a period of six months from the effective date unless terminated earlier by mutual agreement.

Public Appearances: Both parties shall make appearances as a newlywed couple at designated events, including but not limited to diplomatic receptions, state dinners, The Opera Epiclese, and similar functions.

Acts of Public Affection: The parties agree to engage in acts of public affection as deemed necessary and encouraged to maintain the appearance of a genuine marital relationship.

Proposal: A grand and dramatic proposal event shall be staged, adhering to agreed-upon guidelines.

Publicity: Parties acknowledge and accept that the faux marriage is intended for public perception, and both parties shall cooperate in presenting a united front to the public.

Termination:

Either party may terminate this agreement with written notice to the other party if there is a breach of any provision herein or for any reason mutually agreed upon.

Governing Law:

This Agreement shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of Fontaine.

In witness whereof, the two parties hereto have executed this Matrimonial Accord as of the Effective Date. Remember to not be surprised at the publicity; it is the whole point after all — my name shall be cleared!

SIGNED

[Chief Justice Neuvillette] [Date]

_________________________

[(Name)] [Date]

Abruptly, you look up at the Iudex and notice him staring at you with intent. You hold it unwaveringly, and note that it is as if he’s looking through you rather than at you. “She barely contributed to writing this, did she?”

Neuvillette straightens his frame, seemingly rehearsing what he ought to say, lest something were to come off wrongly and this whole contract be damned. He coughs into his fist. “The first and original copy was… something of no merit, demoiselle. This was the most I could do to mitigate the foolishness of her terms, forgive me if they are still not in your favour.”

You shut your eyes in denial, pinching your wrist to hang onto one sliver of hope, that maybe ─ just maybe — this was a dream.

You toss the contract curtly onto the desk that separates the two of you. “In my favour it is not, monsieur. I do not wish to sign this.” You flat out decline, dispelling any arguments you know are to be posed if you had elaborated any further.

Neuvillette’s look wavers, and he slightly wilts at your adamance to keep formalities — but he chooses to make no fuss of this just yet. “But you must. Please, this is for your sake.” He fully expected this, yes, but to be flat out rejected with no room for discussion shook him greatly.

You shoot a hand up in the air in exasperation. “Is this for my sake or Furina’s sake? Hm? I just — I can’t do it. I know, I know six months is not long. But to keep up an act — let alone pretend like I’m in love — it’s just too taxing and I know I won’t be able to do it.” You shoot a hand up in the air in exasperation.

The Iudex prepares himself to say what he never expected to in all the years he’s been alive. Do not fret, madame, for it is not your solitary responsibility. I must admit, it's a situation I hadn't anticipated, and I, too, am thrust into it. There's an undeniable obligation on my part, and, well, it's an unexpected predicament for both of us.

This does not do much to shake your resolve.

His eyes plead for you to listen, and you swear on your life that this is the most distressed you've ever seen him. “Lady Furina will surely see to it that you face some semblance of punishment. And madame, I clarify that I have, indeed, tried to convince her otherwise — but she has not relented —”

The steeling glare you shoot him is enough to cease his tangent — but defeated as he is, he still manages one last plea. “Please, kindly take it into consideration.”

Biting your lip, you weigh the infinite possibilities that lie in the palms of your hands. It is strictly only six months, the marriage isn’t even real, you advise yourself, ignoring the other gnawing voice that is screaming at you to say no. But there has to be a catch! another voice insists, and you are stuck in a limbo of yeses and noes for what seemed a little too long for comfort.

This is a pivotal moment for yourself and your career. It will undoubtedly either embarrass you or elevate your status in the eyes of those who are waiting with bated breath for any error to take advantage of. Not that this is anything new; you recall vividly the expressions of scepticism from those who sat before you at the Opera Epiclese, questioning the veracity of your judgement — your privileged, yet tainted background a harbinger for disaster.

Dragging the contract back to your end of the desk, you give it a brief once-over. This time, your eyes catch onto the lack of conditions set by Lady Furina. How incompetent, whether you are scolding her or yourself, you are unsure.

You draw in a long inhale, and level your eyes to his. “I’ll do it.”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’ve come to agree with the terms.” You are slightly irked at the breaking of his character, but nod your head nonetheless. You reach for your quill, and your hand hesitates before the ink soaks through the paper. Your heart is practically in your throat at how spontaneous all of this is.

You hand the contract to Neuvillette, but the paper is suspended in your grasp for a few moments. “However — I have a request to make.”

Neuvillette’s eyes glint in the blooming sunlight peeking through the blinds. “Anything.”

You retract your arm, and now are in full possession of the contract again. You present the first page, the page offered to Neuvillette, poised in your hands. “This contract mentions nothing of the lines we can, and cannot cross. And I’d just like to input my ideas before you return this to Lady Furina.”

“That is a reasonable request. Do continue.” Offering him a quill, he takes it gingerly along with the contract. He flips the page, writing something along the lines of ‘additions to…’ under the signatures. You fully expect him to be calm and collected, but a wrinkle forms between your brows when you notice that his fingers exhibit a subtle quiver, akin to the gentle tremor of a leaf in a soft breeze. A faint falter anyone could miss, yet you find it to be the most profound aspect of his character, peculiarly intimate in its nature.

“Are you alright? You’re a touch too pale.”

What? Were you really as ghastly as he said you were? You clear your throat, tearing your focus off his gloved hands. “I am quite alright. So… onto the terms. First and foremost, each party isn’t obliged to the whereabouts of the opposite party, unless consented to. Sounds good?”

He nods his head, not sparing a glance at you lest he loses focus.

You take the ceasing of him writing as a sign for you to continue. “Next, I’d like to request that any advancements behind closed doors are to be prohibited, alongside any insinuation of consummation — or having one’s way with the other. Might I add that —” you pause at the silence that came with the lack of the intent scribbling of a quill pen from the man in front of you. Were you talking too fast? He is all red in the face.

“I — uh, did I say something sensitive?”

He lets out a little cough, before he breaks out into a fit. You are clueless in what you must do. Is he choking? Is he sick? Should you offer him freshly acquired water from Chenyu Vale? Your panic only ensues when it dawns on you that you have no solutions for all the possibilities that echo through your head. A teacup is sat solitary on one of your books. Oh, right. You have a crazy collection of Fonta.

You reach for it, before reluctantly offering it to him. “Would you like some Fonta? Though, it might be a few days old, I’m afraid.” He frantically waves his free hand, and you think he means no. Gosh, does he not like Fonta? That is very unlike the Fontainian character. Retracting yourself back into your seat, you can only wait until he stops his fit. To your luck, he stops before he actually stops breathing.

“I,” he starts, “do not think the consummation part is at all —” he sputters again. “— necessary.”

You smile a little, and look away to save him the embarrassment. “I repeat that I did say ‘insinuation’: this pertains to all external parties involved; for example, Lady Furina.”

Oh. My apologies for the oversight. Just — spare me a moment. After clearing his throat into his forearm, he continues to scrawl on the paper.

Taking pity on him, you decide to help and extend your hand to finish the last conditions. The look on his face tells you he is rather bewildered at the action, and he waves a hand (calmly this time) to refuse your help. “It is quite alright.”

To keep yourself from disclosing the full extent of your reason, you make the decision to tell a lie. “Do not take this into offence — it’s not that you’re a slow writer, monsieur. I just have a meeting with Miss Clorinde in about half an hour and I think it’d be best if I write the conditions to quicken the pace a little.” While the ‘truth’ isn’t necessarily a lie, it is nonetheless effective, so why not utilise it?

He quietly relents, handing you the slightly crumpled piece of paper. You scan his words, and to your astonishment, his penmanship is still precise and tidy, a stark contrast to the fit he showed just seconds ago.

Except for the last few words he wrote, of course. You strike through the whole sentence and rewrite it properly.

Additional Terms to the Contract that all parties (including external ones) are expected to adhere to:

Romantic advancements behind closed doors are prohibited — and this includes:

Any insinuation of consummation.

Covert displays of affection beyond reasonable social boundaries.

Innuendos or suggestive remarks.

Excessive or prolonged physical contact behind closed doors.

Each party isn’t obliged to the whereabouts of the opposite party, unless consented to.

These guidelines are to be strictly followed for the duration of the agreed-upon contract.

Placing the contract onto the table, you push it slightly forwards. Your heart beats in a crescendo, and you almost berate yourself for selling your life away. Six months! it said; but the silence that hangs between the both of you is knowing. No one is going to forget. You are, for lack of a better word: imprisoned. Every solution is an illusion of sanctuary and this is the one that grants the most mercy.

You are parched. The words that come out of your mouth are awfully feeble, and you can only manage to croak out whatever dignity you have left.“Now, monsieur, if you’ll excuse me. I have something I need to attend to.”

He nods his head and stands from his seat. “But of course.”

You both exit your office in unpleasant silence.

Finally, after all that back and forth, Neuvillette finally accepts the contract, and bows before returning to his own office. In his absence, you swear you feel your eyes water a little. What exactly have you just gotten yourself into? This sends you reeling to when you were a child, thrown into fencing classes with people twice your age — except the intensity of it all is multiplied tenfold.

It is times like this where you want to reach for your mother. You miss her terribly, and you wish to do anything to feel her warm embrace and to hear her whisper words of reassurance to convince you that everything was alright.

“And of what of Father’s tenderness? Is that not proof that he loves you?”

“But my dearest, tenderness is the very proof you have been ruined.”

You blink, and the tear that had pooled falls and is caught by the apple of your cheek. You chew on your lip to prevent a quiver from it. Not here, you chastise yourself.

Hearing someone approach, you hasten your stride while wiping the tear with such aggression you feel your makeup smear and linger on the base of your wrist. The Gardes that stand by the doors regard you with indifference, and for the first time, you appreciate that they pay you no mind. One step outside and you curse under your breath at how today is awfully gloomy, a pitiful beam of light peeking through the clouds. A gust of wind curls through your hair, painting your cheeks with the cool droplets of imminent rain. Blasted Hydro Dragon.

You decide to steal a glance at whomever it is that is behind you and almost let out a whine. Why is it always him? Whether it is a figment of your imagination, he seems to slow when he sees you slightly turn to him. You, however, feign ignorance, turning your head away, yet a small part of you harbours a minute hope – the hope that he might choose to fall into step beside you. And indeed, he does.

His next move is abrupt, albeit a bit awkward. “Allow me to accompany you to your destination. My schedule for today is quite unoccupied, and, well, I was thinking it might be an opportune moment for us to engage in some conversation. If that is fine with you, of course.” The offer lingers in the air, awaiting your response.

His request blurs into the backdrop as you catch the glare of multiple cameras gleaming at the both of you outside the Palais. Foolish you are not, and you come to the grim understanding that they are waiting here for you. Of course, the Chief Justice is the primary priority; you are simply his paramour .

How convoluted could all of this be? You've seen a plethora of operas. This is not any more different. You take a glance at Neuvillette, but he is gazing ahead, his expression inscrutable.

A contemplative look floods through your eyes, and you are given an instant to make a spontaneous decision. The intricate dance of human emotions, the thirst for scandal, the insatiable appetite for drama — they claw at anything if it means it will quench their foolish desires. They're looking for bravado. Drama. With everything in them, they yearn for it. It is merely human hubris, an inexorable sin. Lady Furina wants an act? You’ll have her beg for more.

You whirl around to properly face him and smile. “Why, I’d be most delighted, mon chéri.” You relish in his widened eyes as your hands shakily reach for the hem of his collar, and you adjust it just enough to ruffle the fabric of his blouse. Looking at him with all the tenderness you can muster, you place a palm to his chest and another to your side, and still, he is nothing short of hopeless. So, you decide to help him a little; would it hurt to give them a little more of a show?

Guiding him further into the act, the heels of your feet are lifted off the ground, and you wrap your arms around his neck to gently press your lips to his ear. “Act,” is the single word you whisper to him; a command — a curse — before you pull away, grinning cruelly as the cameras flare.

a/n : TEEHEE I wanna kiss him sb its not funny anymroewse

taglist : @sek0ya

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin impact #neuvillette fanfic #enemies to lovers #marriage of convenience #neuvillette genshin #lolololofwl I WANt him

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idyllic-affections · 5 months

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MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

act i, chapter i "silence."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: it's quiet. it should not be quiet. why is it quiet?

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: mild depictions of blood, human experimentation, dottore is always his own warning 🙏 (he is there for. literally only 2 seconds LMFAO), use of painkillers in the form of pills, etc.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 2.8k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: it's hereee 🤭 thank you all sm for your ongoing support in the lengthy amount of time i took developing this series.... i don't remember what anon originally sent the request that inspired it (i believe it may have been 🐱 anon?), but nevertheless, i hope that anon is astonished in the best way possible seeing what their request has gradually evolved into! this chapter is largely worldbuilding, so dialogue and lore will improve starting chapter 2. also sorry to disappoint you guys. natalya isn't real i made her up for the plot 💔💔💔💔 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @lucid-lilium, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

"It's quiet today."

It was merely a murmured observation, perhaps nothing more than a thought that was accidentially spoken aloud, more or less directed at the only other… conscious and coherent individual in the room.

In their many years of employment, there was never anything that unsettled them quite like silence did. The lab was never completely quiet. There was always something to occupy the air—whether that be the absentminded flow of conversation between them and their Lord, the distant bickering of his Segments, or something far worse like the screams of the lab's more permanent residents. They supposed it wasn't entirely quiet; the periodic clicking of metal against metal was… present, but not enough, and the shuffling of the papers they were handling was hardly adequate. It was still too quiet. It was hardly ever this quiet. If it was, usually…

Usually it signalled unfavorable conditions.

"Hm. Does that disturb you?"

Some of which were tolerable—some unfavorable conditions could be dealt with, given the person dealing with them had enough skill and grace to do so, like the death of a promising test subject.

Some were less managable.

…But perhaps it had nothing to do with them today, given how little hositility Dottore held towards them. They couldn't quite place why it worried them so much, then.

"Somewhat," they admitted. "It's hardly ever so quiet, no?"

Their gaze flickered to the map of Teyvat haphazardly hung on the wall. Blue thumbtacks pinned in various spots on the map—some in the further reaches of Snezhnaya and others all the way in Sumeru or Inazuma—indicated mission distributions.

Ah… they supposed the silence could be attributed to that. Come to think of it, they hadn't seen any of Il Dottore's other segments that day in particular.

They were thankful, then, that at the very least, the looming silence was not due to some circumstance they needed to be concerned about.

The silence in its entirety returned. Dottore—this Dottore—was rarely much of a talker; that is, he hardly ever held a conversation with them. They could practically hear the seconds ticking by in the quiet.

One, two, three… five… seven…

It didn't last too long.

"[Surname]."

At least there were no unfavorable conditions to manage today. The death of a test subject, the failure of one of their coworkers…

"Yes, my lord?" Their gaze flickered from the desk they were busying themselves with organizing to the cold, metal examination table. The woman on it looked half-dead. Poor thing. "How may I be of service?"

Today, there was nothing they needed to fix. Good. They weren't sure if they were really in the mood to deal with one of their coworkers' failures. The death of a test subject would have at least given them time away, time to themselves, while they sought out an adequate replacement—the failure of a coworker, however… Archons, in that case, they'd have to deal with a pathetically snivelling agent begging through the tears for them to help repair whatever fatal error was made before the Second ever had a chance to find out about it.

"Clean her up, will you?"

No, they weren't really in the mood to deal with that; it was as taxing mentally as it was physically, given that the kinds of mistakes leading to their coworkers to break down sobbing tended to be… larger ones.

(For example, the time when Krupp accidentially wrecked beyond repair one of the Ruin Guards that the Segment he worked under was fixated on. They spent one of their free days seeking out a replacement and even then, the difference was still noticeable.

At least Krupp is still living, despite the fact that they threw him under the bus—so to speak—immediately upon being confronted about it. They're certain he's still sore over their alleged betrayal… but the last time they checked, they had absolutely no completely safe or trustworthy allies, so they're unsure of what "allyship" Krupp is always nagging about.)

Anything else, any other job or request, would be more favorable than having to fix something like that.

"Very well."

As they were finishing up with the mess on the desk in front of them, they noted that the click of heels gradually grew more distant. Then, a door opened and shut with a slight echo.

Just like that, the Harbinger was gone.

A deep sigh left through their nose. After being certain he was gone, they called out with a relatively light tone, "Hey, you alive over there? Don't die on my watch. You know that'll get me in trouble."

The unsettling silence returned, and for a brief moment, their heart sank into the endless pit of their stomach.

Was she actually gone?

Then, with a cough and a wet splatter that made them grimace slightly, the woman replied.

"Haha. Very funny, [Name]."

"Just making sure you know that your actions have consequences."

"My actions?" she huffed incredulously. Despite her tone, a tired smile played on her lips as the lab assistant approached her side.

They gingerly brought a hand up to her face, brushing the hair that was sticking to her forehead away with their calloused fingertips, causing her to flinch but she made no attempt to pull away. She was sweating. Worrying, but not unexpected. "Yeah. Your actions."

Again, that vile silence that they so despised returned.

"Are you cold at all? Having chills?" they inquired softly, leaning down to examine her face more closely—most importantly, the size of her pupils. It would indicate if she were suffering any brain injury. Thankfully, it didn't seem like she was. "Please describe to me your symptoms in detail."

"Right, yeah… um," she hesitated, clenching and unclenching her fingers in what seemed to be an attempt at pushing through the pulsating ache rhymically striking her whole body. They ran a hand up and down her upper arm soothingly, encouragingly. When she drew away from their touch with a pained sob, their chest squeezed, but they said nothing and obliged by her wordless request, withdrawing their hand from her arm. "It's cold," she managed, though her words were heavily strained.

They hummed.

The Pyro delusion secured on their hip emitted a pulsating red glow, and they slowly raised their open palm to her forehead. The steady flame produced by their delusion hovered just above her skin, where it could not burn her or harm her any further than she already had been. "Better?"

She nodded wordlessly. For a moment, she sat in the silence, simply basking in the warmth of their palm.

A point came, however, when the hushed whispers of the long-deceased deities—audible to their ears alone as the sole user of their delusion—used to craft the weapon at their hip grew utterly overwhelming. They swallowed thickly, fingers twitching with barely-restrained ill intent above her face. She did not seem to notice.

"Natalya… symptoms?" they reminded as gently as possible, lowering their hand—much to her dismay; Snezhnaya was cold and unforgiving, and the Doctor's lab was hardly any warmer than the outside was. Their delusion was the only warmth she had. For them, the whispers thankfully dissipated as quickly as they arrived. It was as if those voices had never been there in the first place. They tried not to focus on what they might have done to her if they hadn't withdrawn. "I need to know."

"Everywhere hurts, [Name], I can't… I can't think straight…"

"It's alright. Don't worry. I'll just put down the normal symptoms people have after… that. Do you need painkillers?" they whispered, as if afraid that, should their voice be any louder, it would shatter the fragile, shivering woman.

Of course, another concern was that someone may hear them offering something they shouldn't be.

"Do you have any?"

"I do"—they offered her a weak smile, standing up straight once again—"I always do. I don't have water available, though. Can you dry swallow them?"

"Yeah, hand them over, honey. Don't worry about it."

"Alright."

For a moment, they fished around in one of their pants' pockets. Then, they pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside were two small pills.

'I'm running out… I'll have to get more at some point.'

"Here," they murmured, gently opening the bag and handing her the two pills. They shoved the little empty bag back into their pocket. "Take them quickly, before someone walks in. I'll start stitching your incisions once you do."

"…You can't wait until they kick in?"

A wave of regret and guilt washed over their chest.

"I'm sorry. I have a meeting with Lord Beta's assistant soon… you know, the segment that runs Haeresys? I can't wait that long. The risk to my safety is far too great. Maybe if it were someone else's assistant, but… we all know what Lord Beta's track record looks like, and worse, I have to run basic maintenance on Lord Sixth later, since Lord Dottore isn't available for some god forsaken reason…" they sighed. "I'm really sorry. The things I have to do today are just… too important to risk delaying."

Her eyes, hazy and vacant, were filled with a sudden life as she came to and realized the situation she was in.

It wasn't over, she had realized.

She stared back at them shining with nothing but gut-wrenching terror. Her gaze was quick to flick away from them, however, so they couldn't linger on it for too long. It was probably for the better. Lingering on things like that was never particularly healthy.

"Right… okay. I understand," she reassured sincerely, before shifting slightly so that she was at least sitting up on her elbows. The strain on her abdomen made her wince. They were quick to support the majority of her weight, curling an arm under her back. Thankfully, the thin layer of cloth draped over her body provided some kind of reprieve for her overworked nerves, and their touch did not seem to affect her as terribly. It was then that she brought the pills to her lips and swallowed them without so much as a complaint. "Thank you for the medicine, [Name]."

"Of course." They reached for disposable gloves as she cautiously laid herself back down. "As usual, as a general rule, you are free to scream or cry or damn me to hell and back. I would not hold it against you. I know it hurts. Whatever helps you manage your pain, save from squirming—please try to be as still as possible—is permissible. You are not being disruptive. You are not being uncooperative. You are not being difficult. Scream if you must. It's okay. You are human and in unreasonable pain. It's okay. I promise."

Her eyes glittered with the sheen of unshed tears—they briefly wondered if it was because she was afraid of the prospect of more pain, or if she was afraid of them.

They sincerely hoped it was the former.

With as much gentle tenderness as they could muster in spite of the way she was looking at them, in spite of the utterly betrayed expression on her face, they gingerly cupped her face. "Okay?" they whispered. "You're okay. You'll be okay. I will take care of you, okay?"

Her hoarse voice came in a raspy whisper: "Okay. Do what you need to do."

They nodded, withdrawing their hand. "Remember: deep breaths. It will be okay."

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

There was never a time during which they could honestly and confidently assure victims that "it would be okay."

Nothing was certain. The concept of "being okay" was never certain. All they ever did within this aspect of their job was lie. It was… regrettably, part of what made them so skilled.

(A much younger Fatui agent in their unit once, with an awestruck expression, told them that they made their job look effortless—looking back on it, they're certain that she meant well, that she meant it as a compliment, if anything. They ended up shooting her a nasty glare, however, that ultimately contributed to her transferral to Tartaglia's unit, a work enviornment with much lower stakes. They sometimes felt bad when they looked back upon it.

…But perhaps it was for the best. If she could not navigate their complex social cues, only the Tsaritsa could possibly know what might happen to her if—when—she came into contact with Dottore or any of his Segments. Everyone in his unit did, does, and would at one point or another.

So, yes, perhaps it was better like this. Tartaglia was far more forgiving, after all.)

To lie to the test subjects and put them at ease… it was all they ever did. It was all they could ever do, because they knew that the majority of those people would not live long. Lying was an unfortunate but necessary skill in their career.

Subsequently, dissociation was also a hell of a skill to have in a career such as theirs.

They could not afford to let anything weigh on their conscience—not guilt, not regret, nothing. Nothing could weigh on their mind, for if something were to do so, they would end up putting themselves at risk. Performance, work related or otherwise, often dramatically falls when one is troubled.

In truth, they could get away with more than what others could. Small slip-ups, simple errors, accidents that didn't lead to any serious damage to any research—these things were often overlooked with a hypothetical slap on the wrist.

…Of course, that didn't mean they were ever going to voluntarily push their luck. They would much rather dissociate when their mind deemed it necessary than risk suffering severe punishment.

Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them sane. It didn't make their job any less horrible—it just made it managable enough so that they could keep it. In their position, at their rank… quitting or losing the job they had was not an option. Maybe if they worked under another Harbinger, it would be, but for them?

(They should have submitted a transfer request when they first joined the Fatui. It was far too late for that now, but they still lamented the fact that—against their better judgement, and against the warnings of older, more experienced agents who knew firsthand the horrors that went on in Dottore's unit—they did not at least try to switch divisions.)

Losing their job was a death sentence because the only reason they would ever lose it was if they did something punishable, and quitting may as well have meant the same, depending on the mood the Second was in at the time.

Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them alive.

Halfway through their cleaning and stitching of her open wounds—they briefly had wondered what could possibly be so urgent that Dottore could not have been bothered to finish what he had started, but it was not their place to ask or question—she had fainted, which was… better than her being awake, at least. She likely would not recall most of the process when she woke up again.

After checking for a pulse, just to be certain that nothing problematic had happened to her, they sighed.

As they pulled their disposable gloves off, they turned the latex inside out so that no blood got anywhere else… not that it would have mattered, they supposed. The lab was bloody and they would have to sterilize it all regardless, since the janitor had seemingly disappeared under mysterious conditions they did not want to think too deeply about. Still. Anything to make their job even slightly easier.

…The lab would surely fall apart without their guidance—or, at the very least, the deaths and "disappearances" of their coworkers would tragically skyrocket.

With quick and purposeful steps, they strode down a hallway branched off of the main lab towards a pair of heavily guarded doors. Four agents lingered there armed with delusions and guns. They all seemed to stand up a bit straighter as the lab assistant approached.

"Hey, listen, I'm going to need two of you to take Natalya back to her room," they instructed, absently fidgeting with their uniform as they rehearsed the rest of their day's schedule internally. "I've got places to be, otherwise I'd do it myself."

One of the agents rolled his shoulders—perhaps in preparation, though Natalya was not particularly heavy even in a state of complete unconsciousness—and nodded.

"Sure. No problem, [Surname], but what's her number?"

"Hell if I know"—they shrugged—"I call them by their names, not their numbers. Everyone knows that. Check the tattoo on her wrist. That's what it's there for, no? Look, I'm running short on time. Just… do what I've asked, okay?"

The agent threw his hands up defensively, and they rolled their eyes, crossing their arms and leaning most of their weight on the wall.

"Don't be dramatic," they scoffed. "I'm not going to gut you."

"I don't know. You might if you're in a bad mood," he accused. Well, they weren't going to before, but now they were considering it… "Anyway, no need to get short with us. Really, [Surname]. We'll handle it. What do you take us for?"

"I have a million reasons to be short with you all. Just get it done, please."

With that, they turned on their heel and left.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @lucid-lilium. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

#: [ moral injury! 🌸 ]#genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin platonic #platonic genshin #genshin series

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buffy-buffy · 1 year

Text

"You'll love me 'til it's all over, over

'Cause I'm the shoulder you cry on

The dose that you die on "

#music #müzik #painkiller #three days grace

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justmemethings · 2 years

Text

I can be your PAINKILLER You love me till it’s all over ‘Cause I’m the SHOULDER you cry on The dose that you die on

#rp musings #musings #lyric musings #band: three days grace #song: painkiller

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nutal · 2 months

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Almost the entirety of Three Days Grace’s discography is so Guitarspear coded it drives me INSANE.

Here are some specific recs that in my opinion totally match them:

- Painkiller

- Nothing’s Fair in Love and War

- On My Own

- Fallen Angel

- Time of Dying

Oh how i LOVE being cringe 😁

#guitarspear #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #guardrock

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tropical-kins · 17 days

Note

Hello!! Can i request a lycan-looking monster playlist with overall angsty theme and songs like Monster by Skillet and (surprise) Monster by Imagine Dragons?

Thank you so much!!

Songs

Monster - Skillet

Monster - Imagine Dragons

The Hand That Feeds - Nine Inch Nails

RUNRUNRUN - Dutch Melrose

Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace

I Hate Everything About You - Three Days Grace

Painkiller - Three Days Grace

Wait and Bleed - Slipknot

Flesh and Bones - Black Math

Paint It, Black - The Rolling Stones

Way down We Go - KALEO

Coming Undone - Korn

The River - Blues Saraceno

We Are Shadows - Kittie

Shout at the Devil - Motley Crue

Remember We Die - Gemini Syndrome

Playlist

[Lycan Monster]

#alterhuman #request #therian #otherkin #playlist #otherkin playlist #otherkin community #monster kin #monsterkin #canine kin #caninekin #otherkinity #nonhuman

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a-child-of-chaos906 · 4 months

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Guide on devotional playlists!

(Note: English is my second language, there could be mistakes. Please be understanding.)

Making devotional playlist and listening it is one of the simplest way to connect and honour your Deity, plus it is a popular devotional act. It is simple, so if you have little energy, disabled, don't have time, it is a good, easy and modern thing to do, that everyone can do. But sometimes it's hard to decide what to add to playlist, so today I made a guide, how to make devotional playlist. You can add your additions, if you have one, it will be great! This guide will work for every God, Deity, Spirit, not just Netjeru.

I will go through it with my Patron God Sutekh and my playlist to Him and examples from that playlist.

I need to say with a little reminder, that everyones music taste is different and two playlists for same God will never be same, so be kind to each other.

You can put songs of any language.

1.) Songs directly about God.

It is self-explanatory. If it is a song about God, if it sings Their myths, or is about God without Their name, but it's clearly Them, it falls under this category. It is one of the simplest. For me those are:

Derek Fietcher – Set;

Канцлер Ги – Полынь и Ковыль;

Khepri – The Desert od Set;

Altay Tuna POLAT – Mercy of Seth, and so on.

2.) Songs that have Their energy, that feel like Them or Their symbols.

That could be one of the biggest categories, because there could be a lot songs that can feel like Deity. It could be Their aspects, symbols, animals, domains and just energy in general. For example, song "God" by Jake Daniels have big Sutekh energy for me with the lyrics themselves. List can be replenished with:

Alcest – Sapphire;

Watt White – Eye of the Storm;

Blackmore's Night – Storm;

The Score – Revolution;

Casey Edwards – Bury the Light;

Hollywood Undead – Bloody Nose;

Fall out boy – The Phoenix;

Adrian Von Ziegler – Ancient Storm;

Once Monsters – My Name Is...;

Ария – Дух Войны;

Halestorm – I Am the Fire;

And so on. It could be one of the biggest categories and for everyone it will be different.

3.) Songs that you think They will like.

Basically, songs, that don't have to do with the Deity themselves, but you think your God might like them. It could be specific genre, that associated with Them, like rock or hip-hop, that just have something in it. My examples are:

Ghost – Mary on a Cross;

My Chemical Romance – Na Na Na;

Glass Animals – Toes;

Rammstein – Sonne;

Bryce Fox – Horns, and so on.

4.) UPG.

This is a part, that will appear through your time with Deity, it is something that will feel to everyone personally. Maybe, a symbol, an animal, maybe, you will have special relationship. It is individual from person to person. In songs it could be a specific genre, that you feel to Deity and songs connected to your UPG. As well, it could be song through which your God gave you some kind of lesson.

For me, Sutekh became my parental figure, He became very special to be, so my playlist has songs from parental love, like:

My Indigo – Safe and Sound;

Three Days Grace – Unbreakable Heart;

Peter Gundry – A father's lesson;

Three Days Grace – Painkiller.

Song through which He gave me reminder and lessons to continue fighting:

The Score – Born For This.

And so on. UPG can be very different, and so are the songs.

5.) Ambient and nature sounds.

This part can be not for every God. Mostly, it is good for Gods with nature elements, to listen them. Like, for Sutekh, I listen sounds of desert and sounds of storm and rain. But ambient is more universal. It can be, again, ambient of some kind of nature place and event, like, again, desert, water, forest, it could be ambient of some general feeling, like dark, calm, energetic. There is a lot of ambient in videos and others people playlists. It can also be UPG.

For general Netjeru, I can recommend Egyptian music. For Anpu it could be more dark ambient, for Wesir calm, for Heru it could be royal.

Under this category also falls music for meditation. Music with calm rhythm, without words. I have another playlist for Sutekh, that is sixteen and half hours long with music that feels like desert and sounds of storm.

That is all I got so far. You can write down additions for categories, if you have!

I hope everyone will have a great day!

#I am the devotion :: ⌞🍡📿❤️⌝#Kemetic polytheism #Norse polythism #Kemetic #Kemetic pagan #Helpol #Hellenic polytheism #Roman polytheism #Heathenry #Celtic polytheism #Polytheism #Pagan #Pagan polytheism

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fhear · 1 year

Video

youtube

Dany y Three Days Grace - “Painkiller” en London, Ontario 🇨🇦

#Dany y Three Days Grace - “Painkiller” en London Ontario 🇨🇦

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sleepyrouge · 2 years

Text

strange what desire will make foolish people do

word count: 12.8 k

pairing: aizawa shouta x reader

description: your dad dies suddenly and you've never gotten along with your mother. when she announces that she's marrying shouta aizawa, you come up with a plan to ruin their marriage and fall for him in the process.

content warnings: stepdad!aizawa, adult stepdaughter!reader, cheating/infidelity, age gap, jealousy, emotional manipulation, parental loss, grief, descriptions of anxiety attack, mentions of vomit/bile (non-sexual), unprotected sex, spit, oral sex (f!receiving), use of petnames (baby girl), alcohol consumption, recreational drug use, "pranks" that a health department definitely wouldn't approve of, nobody in this is a morally good person. dark content. 18+ mdni (and no blank blogs) or you will get blocked.

authors note: i ended up going balls to the wall and this was 30 pages in google docs :) anyways this is like a series of stepdad!aizawa and angst and it's not the best but it's my favorite thing that i've posted so far

title is from wicked game by chris isaak

songs important for the plot/vibes: wicked game by chris isaak, i don't wanna be an asshole anymore by the menzingers, derailed by the menzingers, karma police by radiohead, you've got to hide your love away by eddie vedder (this is a beatles anti account no i will not be engaging in discourse about it at this time)

You had never experienced a fall from grace. You had always been the pretty little girl-smart, sweet, happy-go-lucky, and the apple of her daddy’s eye. You were convinced you were an angel right here on earth. To your dear dad, there was nothing wrong that you could ever do. Any time you broke one of his loosely defined rules like “no staying out past nine” or “no bickering with your mother while I'm gone on this work trip,” all it took was batting your eyelashes and a noncommittal apology before you were back in his good graces. You were your daddy’s girl, through and through. It didn’t matter to either of you that you were spoiled rotten.

It was probably why your own mother never liked you much.

It started like any other growing pains-your mother and you would squabble over little things, like not wanting to hold her hand when she took you grocery shopping or preferring your dad giving you piggyback rides over her. Then, as you grew up, it morphed into crying in fitting rooms while your mom found new things about you to criticize which eventually led you to shutting her out as much as you could both physically and emotionally.

It was, and you entertained this thought quite frequently, why your darling father died. For three days straight, he complained of chest pains that wouldn’t let up and all your mother would offer to him was over-the-counter painkillers and only cursory words of comfort. She was too busy, or spiteful, to encourage him to go to the hospital. On the fourth morning of that fateful week, you woke up to your mother screaming and your dad not waking up no matter how you shook him. You barely remembered that day-it passed in a blur of paramedics and flowers and tears.

You could remember feeling anger. Anger that would probably last the rest of your life. Anger that would be known across the centuries. There was nothing else quite like it.

You losing your father so suddenly was the beginning of you having to learn how to fall from grace and clip your wings back. You had to learn how to be alone. You had done your research on the grieving process and no matter how long it had been, there came a point where you were bitter and angry and just stagnated there. In a moment of pure hopelessness, you rejected your offer of admission from the university your father had dreamed of you attending since you were a baby. Your mother blanched when you told her, no doubt angered by the fact that you’d be hanging around the house like a black cloud full time now instead of halfway across the country and out of her hair. So she gave you an ultimatum. Either attend classes at the local college or get a job. If you were going to stay at home, the least you could do was be productive. It was how she reasoned with you. You had half expected her to kick you out when she called you into the kitchen to talk but then you remembered-she had an image to uphold. How would it look to the other executives of her firm if she kicked her only daughter out onto the streets so soon after her father died?

Begrudgingly, you enrolled in classes at the local college. You only took just enough credit hours to be considered a full-time student and even then, you never put much effort into your work. It was a rarity if you ever turned any assignments in on time and even rarer still was your actually showing up to your classes. It was a joke to you when you would proudly display your essays with failing grades on the refrigerator. What was the point in trying anymore? Your hero-your real hero was dead and buried. There was no one around to appreciate your efforts anymore.

Halfway into your first semester of your laughable college career, your mother met Mr. Aizawa. Part-time teacher and hero. You didn’t really know how they had met and you didn’t care to know. You had scrunched up your nose in disgust when your mom waltzed into the living room on a Friday afternoon and announced that he would be coming over for dinner that same night. The thought of some man intruding in your father’s house and sitting where he had sat made your blood boil with rage but you kept a calm demeanor for the time being if only for your own sake.

It was a short time later that night that the doorbell rang and you resentfully went to answer it. For some reason, you expected the spitting image of your father to be standing there. Instead, you found a tall, slight man with black hair and a scar underneath his eye. From the way your mother described him, you expected someone more exceptional. You huffed and leaned against the front door, not moving to let him in. You both stood and appraised each other like two gunfighters getting ready for a duel. He broke first and shifted slightly and that was when you noticed the flowers in his hand.

“If you’re at the point where you’re coming over for dinner, you should know that my mom hates that type of flower.” You were nonchalant as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“They’re for you, actually.” Mr. Aizawa extended his arm out towards you and you regarded the small bouquet of daisies with disinterest. You didn’t want him to know that they were your favorite. Still, you took it. There was something strangely endearing about him already-but he didn’t have to know that.

“Wasting money on flowers for me isn’t gonna make me forget that you’re fucking my mom.” You were just trying to get a rise out of him. All you succeeded in making him do was quirk an eyebrow up at you and shove his hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. Mr. Aizawa was so…un-heroic. It almost made you laugh.

Your mother’s voice calling you from the kitchen interrupted your appraisal of the man before you. You opened the door wider and silently invited him in. You led him to the dining room where your mother was making up three plates for dinner. Something about seeing three plates at the table again made bile rise in your throat. You watched as your mother greeted Mr. Aizawa with a kiss on the cheek and a light hug. “Shouta,” she had called him warmly. The bile still swam in your throat.

You barely made it through dinner and the small talk without vomiting. You pushed your food around your plate without committing to eating a single bite. There was anxious energy in the air and you couldn’t quite put your finger on why until both your mother and Shouta stopped eating and kept glancing back and forth at each other. You tried to gauge what was going on from the corner of your eye, but it was your mother calling your name that finally pulled you into the fray.

“We have some news to share with you,” Your mother and Shouta were holding hands lightly across the table and you could tell that whatever was next to come out of your mother’s mouth would be far from good. “We’re getting married!”

The world fell out from underneath you. You had the edge of the chair that you sat on in a vice grip. Surely you hadn’t heard her correctly.

“What did you just say?” You couldn’t recognize your own voice and Shouta simply watched the scene unfold from his place at the table. He toyed with the handle of his fork.

“I said that we’re getting married! Isn’t that great news, angel?” Your mother was using the voice that she reserved for when strangers were around but she really wanted to scream at you. You grit your back molars together so hard that you could practically hear them squeaking.

“Don’t you ever, ever, call me that again. You know that dad was the only one that could use that name with me. Speaking of dad, couldn’t you wait until he was dead and buried for at least a few months longer before bringing another man into his house?” Shouta held his composure like a statue as you growled across the table at your mother. Something in you was satisfied that he wasn’t running to her aid. Still, static churned loudly in your ears as you waited for her response.

“Don’t I deserve to be happy?” She was embarrassed by the way you were acting.

“No.” The admission damned you.

You got up from where you sat and your mother followed suit. Shouta was the last to rise. You looked between the two of them and barked out a laugh to hide the sweltering tears that wanted to fall.

“You’re pathetic,” You whispered coolly into your mother’s ear as you pushed your way in between the couple on your way to the front door. You had to get out before the walls closed in on you, and they were closing in fast.

You were in such a rush to escape the scene that it wasn’t until you were outside stumbling down the sidewalk and sucking in air that you didn’t know you had been deprived of that you realized you weren’t wearing any shoes. You stopped and rubbed the bare skin of your feet against the cement and shivered at the way it tickled. At least it was something to focus on other than the betrayal. You weren’t really surprised that your mom pulled something like this, but it still stung. You didn’t buy into the whole “your dad would want your mom to be happy” sentiment that family friends poured into your ears in the weeks after your father’s death. What your father deserved was happiness. Not your mother and the stray cat she probably found at the train station. You chuckled out loud as you thought of Mr. Aizawa like that.

In all honesty, he didn’t look like he belonged anywhere and it was hard for you to believe that he split his time between being a teacher and a hero. Still, throughout dinner, there was something about his eyes that kept entrancing you. Maybe your mother was onto something with him.

“You’re gonna get a splinter in your foot if you keep it up.” The monotone voice came from behind you and you slowly turned to see your mother’s suitor situated against the darkness of the night. You glared at him.

“What do you care?” You had to remember that while Shouta wasn’t the enemy, he was still on the opposing team.

“I don’t care, but it seems kind of silly to go and get hurt just for the hell of it.” You lifted an eyebrow at his statement.

“That’s funny coming from a hero,” You stop to look him up and down. “Especially one with as many scars as you have.”

“With my work, at least there’s usually some kind of outcome at the end.” He steps over to perch on a bench underneath a short tree. You cross your arms over your chest and try not to shiver in the cool night air.

“Who’s to say I wasn’t headed towards my own outcome?” Shouta just stares at you. You can tell he’s willing to let you talk yourself in circles and you take the bait. “What outcome do you think you’re gonna have with my mother?”

“I think I’m gonna marry your mom and get a stepdaughter with a horrible attitude problem out of the deal.” Shouta smirks over at you after a second and it’s the first time in a while that you feel yourself crack a genuine smile.

“You think you’re funny.” You say, trying to fight the edges of your lips back down into a frown.

“Not funny, just observant.” His smile is wider now and it’s almost enough to make the weight on your heart not so heavy.

“Why did you ask my mom to marry you in the first place?”

“I didn’t ask her.” His eyes shift down to the ground and then back up to you.

“What do you mean?”

“She asked me on one of our dates. I thought it was respectable. I think your mother would be good to settle down with before I get too old.” You snort at his answer.

“You think it’s respectable to marry a widow whose husband has been dead less than a year with a maladjusted daughter thrown in the mix?”

“I could do without the maladjusted daughter.” There’s that mischievous grin again and you can feel something inside of you start to crack that you hadn’t felt at all since your father died. It makes you woozy.

“I could do without her too.”

The wedding is planned relatively quickly. It’s a small enough affair to be held in a backyard garden and the day is sunny despite the turmoil you feel raging inside of you. You had been awake since the early hours of the morning, switching between fuming that your mother was actually going through with getting married to someone you both hardly knew and twirling around in front of your bathroom mirror in the dress that you had picked out for the ceremony.

With your hair and makeup done for the first time in an eternity, you felt quite stunning. It was your vanity that led you to being more cruel than usual to your mom.

It wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it, but even the words slipping off of your tongue felt like they sliced right through the muscle. Your mother called your name harshly as you held her gaze in the big mirror in her bathroom but still, Shouta failed to truly come to her defense. You were satisfied with that. You thought momentarily that maybe he might have agreed with your statement that, “Oh mom, you look beautiful. It’s just a shame that you’re a cunt on the inside.”

You left your mother’s room to the sound of Shouta offering warm words of consolation, could have sworn you heard him offer, “It makes sense that she’s still angry.” You bit your tongue to hide your grin when you heard him fail to refute what you had said.

You made your way out into the garden covered in lavender and honeysuckle to mingle among the few guests who had shown up. You kept a crystal champagne glass in your hand as you greeted your cousins and extended family. You relished in introducing yourself as “Shouta’s stepdaughter” to the few of his work colleagues that were in attendance. The fleeting appreciative glances that they gave weren’t lost on you and slowly, the cogs of your mind started to mingle with the champagne you drank and as the ceremony started, you started to formulate a plan to ruin your mother’s new marriage. Set it on fire and watch it burn to ash. All it would take was breaking Shouta down and stealing him from her and if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was how to get your way.

After the ceremony came the reception and chairs were cleared away and tables were moved around to allow guests to dance and mingle with each other. You sat by yourself with a sour feeling hanging over your heart. Your mother had actually been cruel enough to get remarried. Their vows and the kiss they shared played over and over again as you sipped on your champagne. The anger was exhausting. Nothing would have been better in that moment than being able to run into the arms of your father and cry to him about everything that was going wrong.

There came a light tap on your shoulder. Slowly, you angled your head to see who was intruding on your bubble of misery. Shouta. He was well put-together, all slicked back hair and an uncharacteristic happy grin. You remembered your own vow from earlier and painted a matching toothy grin on your face. Your eyes flicked down to the hand that he held out towards you.

“Would you like to dance?” You looked at him in confusion.

“What, you know how to dance?”

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me.” Oh, you hoped there were. Still, he smiled pleasantly at you.

“Okay, one dance and you can list off all the things I don’t know about you. For vetting purposes.” Being sweet to him was all part of the plan.

“I think it’s a little too late for vetting now.” He replied as you placed your hand in his and stood up. His hand was large and warm compared to your own. You toyed with the urge to fully lace your fingers through his as he led you to the impromptu dance floor. The song playing was nice and mid-tempo and the lyrics were saying something schmaltzy about love. Shouta held you at a respectable arms distance as the two of you swayed to the music. You could hear little coos of adoration from the couples dancing around the two of you. It fuelled you as you looked up, wide-eyed, at Shouta. He opened his mouth for a second too long before closing it quickly and you cocked your head to the side before running a hand up his bicep. His forehead creased almost imperceptibly.

“What were you gonna say?” You used your most innocent voice, the one that always worked on your dad.

“I know you don’t like when it gets brought up, but uh, I feel really fortunate that your mom came into my life and I’m gonna try my best to be a good role model for you.” The soft smile on your face stuttered as you thought of him trying to replace your father. You managed to stay strong and fight through the feeling. You weren’t mad at Shouta, not really. Just cautious. You needed him on your side to get back at your mom. However, there was something saccharine and sugary and enthralling about the man that stood in front of you. He seemed like someone who could take all of your troubles away if you would let him. As Shouta spun you around to hide his own bashfulness, you decided that he was something you had to have regardless of the ruination of your mother’s relationship.

It was okay if you had a little crush on him as you went about your plan.

You had seven days to yourself; one hundred and sixty-eight hours to be exact. Time seemed to eke by as you split your time between decaying on the couch and finding inconsequential things around the house to make your mom’s life just a bit harder when she returned from her honeymoon. Hair removal cream found its way into her shampoo. Gently used mouthwash found its way back into the bottle. Files in her home office subtly found their way to new homes. All of your pranks were plausibly deniable, of course, and something told you that Shouta would come to your defense.

You were angry after all and you planned to play into that as much as you could with him. He wouldn’t want to rock the boat and get on your bad side so soon after getting married, would he? He didn’t seem like the type of person to want to stick his nose somewhere that it didn’t belong.

As you milled about the empty house on your vacation from your mother, you did more research on your new stepfather. Eraserhead. There wasn’t much to be found on him aside from some news clips with him in the background, long hair floating wildly around his head. At first, you couldn’t believe that the same man holding off hordes of villains was the same man who asked you to dance and vowed to be a good man only days prior. He didn’t seem all that remarkable in his everyday life, but perhaps that was how he wanted it. You kept thinking back to the way he bashfully smiled at you and even though you were alone, you felt blood rush to your cheeks.

Last night as you laid in bed, your mind drifted to what it might be like if he laid on top of you, in between your legs-taking care of you in a different way than what he had meant when you danced together. Your mind had raced as you imagined what his kisses must be like, what it might be like for him to hold you down and make you squirm. It was enough for you to get off, lips parted in a delicious whine as your own fingers pushed in and out of you. You didn’t feel any kind of shame. Shouta deserved better than your mother and even if he might not ever fully grasp that, the least that you could do was sow the seeds of discontent in his mind.

Your musings were interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking and suitcases scraping past the threshold. You finished gathering a spoonful of peanut butter from the jar and turned to lean against the counter. So, your time alone has finally come to a close. Your mother would ascertain that there would be no more walking around half-naked in front of her new husband, but there was time for one last performance at least.

You brushed one edge of your oversized sweater off of your shoulder, leaving you clad in only your underwear and the cardigan that hung from your frame. You patiently listened to the scuffle of luggage being moved around as you popped the spoon of peanut butter into your mouth. Shouta appeared around the corner and threw his jacket over one of the dining room chairs. He took notice of you immediately.

“We made it back safely!” His words sounded incredibly lame and he never broke his gaze from your eyes. You batted your eyelashes prettily at him as you pulled the spoon from your mouth.

“I can see that.” You were amused at him attempting to make small talk as you deadpanned back at him.

“Our trip was actually really neat. I think your mom took some pictures if you wanna look at them sometime.” Shouta had barely gotten the sentence out of his mouth before your mother was entering the kitchen and her eyes had gone just about the size of Pluto. Your full name sprung from her lips in a shriek.

“You know better than that! Go put some clothes on!” Her words echoed in the now abject silence of the kitchen before you broke out in spiteful laughter and put your dirty spoon in the sink. As you went to leave, still laughing ruefully, you could see an embarrassed blush rising up Shouta’s neck and that had made it all worth it. Your laughter wound down to breathless chuckles as you made it to the hallway and as you paused for a minute to catch your breath, you listened as Shouta once again came to your defense to the tune of, “Honey, it’s okay. She just has to get used to a man being in the house again.”

It’s a relatively easy decision for you to start working out to have more in common with Shouta, even though you’re not very good at it. It made sense that he’d work out. He was a hero and surely the job would be made all the harder if he didn’t have the physique to back it up. At the very least, Shouta seemed like he worked out just enough to be strong for the job.

His morning schedule is still a mystery to you, so you start to wake up early religiously each morning to work out in the living room within full view of the kitchen. It just so happens that you’re there on your little yoga mat in your sports bra and athletic shorts struggling your way through your second set of squats, when you hear someone moving around in the kitchen. You move your head to the side just enough to see Aizawa appraising you from the counter. You keep up with your routine and try to fight the smirk on your face. You really give an earnest effort to your workout now but you stop when you hear his gruff morning voice.

“Your form is wrong.” You look over to where he stands, shirtless, pouring a cup of coffee. You’re out of breath and the sight doesn’t help. You stand up to your full height and face him.

“How is it wrong?” You try to hide your breathlessness and the way your tongue wants to stick to the roof of your mouth. He sets his mug on the edge of the counter and crosses over to you. His fingertips airily trace over your spine first. You almost jolt forward at the unexpected touch.

“Your back is too curved. Keep your shoulders back like this,” He tugs your shoulders back until you can feel your spine straighten out. “and your feet are too far apart.” He nudges your feet closer together by a few inches. You let him move you around like a ragdoll for a few moments more. Finally, he steps in front of you and considers your new form.

“Try it now and see how it feels.” He instructs and you feel incredibly goofy as you go through the motions, his measured gaze never leaving you. You have to admit, the squats feel better now and less like you’re fighting your own body. When you rise to your full height again, you stand with your legs together and cross your arms across your chest.

“That was better.” You confirm, trying to catch your breath. Shouta smiles gently at you and you want to scratch at your skin for the way it makes you feel.

“I’m going on a run in a little bit, you should come with me.” He invites and all you want to do is glug down a gallon of water and collapse onto the floor, but then you remember your solemn vow to yourself and you accept his invitation. It’s all in the name of ruining your mother’s happiness after all.

There wasn’t a lot you knew about heroes. When you were younger, you had a passionate interest in All Might, but so did every other kid in the country. There wasn’t anything special about that.

You were content enough to leave the life-saving to the specially trained heroes. You knew you didn’t have the resolve or compassion to make it as a hero yourself. Still, it was an occupation that you respected from afar. Now, it was something that you got to observe up close every time Shouta came wandering home. Most of his shifts were at night, after everyone was in bed. It was when the real villains could play. Regardless of everything, you admired his ability to train a new generation of heroes during the day and still go out to patrol the streets and rooftops most nights.

You wouldn’t admit it cognizantly to yourself, but you found yourself adapting to wake up whenever you would hear the front door click shut in the small hours of the morning. You would peel yourself out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders as you crept to the end of your hallway to watch Shouta. His goggles would always be pushed up around his forehead. His stubble would always be more prominent than usual. The dim light from the stove in the kitchen always made his eyes look more exhausted than they probably were. From your hiding spot, you would watch him pour a glass of water and sip on it at the kitchen table until his head got too heavy for him to hold up. You would wait until you could hear his gentle snores wafting over to your ears and then you would tiptoe over like you were in church and wrap your blanket around his shoulders. You would work his goggles off of the crown of his head and sit them gently on the table next to him before running your fingers through his silky hair. Your stomach always tingled. You always wanted to duck your head down and place warm kisses on his hairline.

You never noticed his eyes, very much awake, on you as you retreated back to your room.

The thing with time is that it was supposed to heal wounds. Except for you it didn’t. You kept hoping every day that you would wake up and find that you would care a little bit less about the loss of your dad. Maybe even be able to compartmentalize it and get on with your life, get your grades up and transfer schools and move out on your own. Still, you woke up every morning with a deep seated hole in your chest. It was assuaged in little pieces by the family portraits hung around the house. A family picture of your first birthday here. A picture of you and your dad at an awards ceremony there. The little remnants of your dad around the house helped to serve as a reminder that you were still human, as hard as it was some days.

Until one day the pictures weren’t there anymore.

You tore into a blind rage, your mom and Shouta watching from the kitchen as you threw the television remote at the wall. A novel was flung all the way against the refrigerator in the kitchen. You screamed like your head was being torn off. It went on and on until you tired yourself out and sat on the couch to sob embarrassedly, face hidden in your hands.

You tuned into the whispers emanating from the kitchen. You caught onto your mother telling Shouta that it was time for you to move on, that you were an adult and needed to stop relying on your emotions to guide you. Your hands balled into fists. What did she know? Your head cleared only by a fraction when you heard Shouta answer that maybe taking down the pictures wasn’t the right way to go about things.

You sat on the couch crying for so long that you didn’t realize when the two of them left. You stood, as if on autopilot, and gathered your materials for the classes that you had that day and departed, not caring how you looked, but just needing to get out of the house.

When you returned that afternoon, the pictures of you and your dad sat in brand new frames on your bed.

It was no secret that you had more friends in high school. You were near the top of your class and always managed to stay on top of gossip and the happenings around school. You missed hanging out with your girlfriends when you were happy, before they all went off to the schools they had been dreaming of for years. You were jealous of them and felt spiteful anytime they would post pictures of the great times they were having on their social media. It didn’t matter that you self-imposed your own exile to wallow in your bitterness. You were envious that your friends were able to fool around with frat boys when all you seemed to attract were the bottom-of-the-barrell burnouts from your college. Not that you were much better than them these days.

You spent too many weekends holed up in the apartments of your new friends, smoking weed and watching them play video games just for something interesting to do. It almost made you want to turn your life back around and get back on track. Almost, but not quite.

So when you heard of a party happening one weekend, you jumped at the chance to go and rallied your friend group to go with you so you wouldn’t look like so much of a loser.

When you are ready to leave, Shouta and your mother are having an intimate date night in the dimly lit kitchen, sharing wine and giggling at each other over things you can’t make sense of. You wonder what they have in common. Your mother makes you sick to your stomach but a green claw of unbridled jealousy seizes at your chest when you hear the subtle bedroom lilt to Shouta’s voice and when you see how his hand reaches up to push a lock of hair off your mother’s shoulder. You shake off the feeling and enter the kitchen in earnest, dressed in a skimpy outfit that makes your mother’s eyes pop out of her head. You can tell without even looking at her from years of professionally annoying her. You completely ignore Shouta-don’t even give him a spare glance as you walk by the two on your way to the front door.

“Where are you going?” You hear your mother call as you reach for the door handle.

“Out with my friends,” Is all you offer up before you’re gone.

And the party isn’t bad, the music is loud and there’s enough alcohol to placate you for the evening. Even your friends seem like they’re having a good time as they mill about in the crowd. There are just enough people that you don’t know there for you to get comfortably drunk. It’s a good way for you to finally unwind, you think, as you step unsteadily into the messy kitchen. You’re trying to pour yourself another drink when a spindly hand comes out of nowhere and takes your cup from you and finishes preparing your drink.

“I was doing just fine pouring my own drink.” You pout at your friend that you arrived with from the opposite side of the counter and he circles around to stand next to you, too close for what you were comfortable with.

“Nice girls shouldn’t be pouring their own drinks.” He drawls and it was smooth, but you clench your teeth and take the cup from his hand.

“‘m not a nice girl.”

“Sure you are. You just spend a lot of time pretending that you aren’t.” His cool breath is ghosting next to your ear and you’re just the perfect amount out of your right mind to let your eyes close and let your head lean into the feeling. Your mind is a television screen and it’s flickering through what it would feel like to have Aizawa in the same position, doing the exact same thing.

“If I was such a nice girl, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you, huh?” You lower your voice just enough for only him to hear and then he’s laughing in your ear and his slight torso is pressing against your back and it’s all too easy for you to envision Shouta in his place. Your heart is thumping in your chest, probably so heavily that he can feel it clear through to his chest. Then his nose is pressing against the smooth skin of your neck and his lips are ghosting against you and you can’t help but grip the edge of the counter with your hand that isn’t holding your drink. “Fuck, do that again,” you whisper and press more into his hold, grinding back against the man as his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, hand cradling the opposite side of your head to give him more room. His teeth bite against your skin roughly and you can’t stop the sound that escapes your mouth. It only serves to egg him on, encouraging him to bite and suck at your neck more fervently. Your eyes are shut tight with images of Shouta absolutely ruining you running through your head. It’s not fair to your friend, not in the least, but you warned him that you weren’t a nice girl in the first place. You can feel him hard against your back and that’s enough to startle you out of your reverie. You push him off of you and you can’t turn to look him in the eye.

“I gotta go…find something else to do,” You parse out and walk on unsteady legs out of the kitchen and back into the music-filled living room. The dancing and drinking is still going heavy but your mood is somber now. You want to be home and you don’t care what it takes to get there as you finish your final drink in only a few sips and set it on the porch steps as you leave the house.

You weren’t very far from home and despite your level of intoxication, you knew you could get home without forgetting the way. You pulled off the heels that you wore and dangled them from your fingers as you trekked home in the dark. It was hard to keep your mind from your stepfather-the gentle way he cradled your mother’s face in his large palm while he smiled at her and the way he poured more wine for her without her having to ask. You clenched your jaw. That should have been you. Your mother didn’t deserve such a good thing-such a handsome thing. If you had any say in the matter, and by heaven, you would weasel your way in any way you could, Aizawa would be yours and her heart would be broken. It was only fair, he seemed to be the only thing capable of mending the shattered and torn pieces of your angry little heart. You were so fucked.

You were so fucked and lovesick thinking about him as you walked back into your house that you didn’t even register all the noise you were making as you bumped from wall to wall trying to get back to your bedroom. Maybe you were more drunk than you originally thought. You heard Shouta’s voice calling your name from just outside of your cracked bedroom door what felt like seconds after you entered. All you could do was stand there and sway as he watched you from the doorway.

He was clad in flannel pajama pants and nothing else and his hair was messier than usual and you frowned at the sight. It was obvious. He was too relaxed. He had fucked your mother at some point after you left and that made dread settle into your stomach. You wanted to vomit. Shouta was your territory, didn’t she know? Still, you grinned at him like a child trying to get out of trouble. He appraised you, looking you up and down, and you wanted there to be more to his gaze than there was.

“You’re drunk.” It was a statement of fact and it rolled off his tongue weightlessly. You weren’t in trouble.

“I don’t think I am,” You licked your lips and over pronounced every syllable. Your tongue was liquid in your mouth. He barked out an amiable laugh and stepped into your room proper. You were glued to the spot as your heart started to race not for the first time that night.

“Sit down, I’ll get your pajamas.” Aizawa’s warm hand was on your upper arm and guided you to sit down on the edge of your bed. Your skin prickled in his grasp as you let him guide you. Your entire body felt like you were a past-done spaghetti noodle.

“They’re in the top drawer,” You offered up as he looked, a little lost, around your room. You bit the tip of your tongue in between your front teeth to stop from grinning too hard. You liked him taking care of you.

You watched as he dug through your dresser and grabbed a big t-shirt and pair of shorts. He folded the articles neatly in his hands and crossed the room back to your bedside where he placed the pajamas in your lap. You were about to open your mouth to thank him when he took your chin into two of his fingers and pulled your head to the side gently. Your skin buzzed underneath his touch as he ran the tip of his rough pointer finger over the bruise on your neck that you had pretended Shouta had left there in the first place.

“You’ve been lettin’ boys kiss on you?” He questions teasingly and your stomach clenches so hard you almost can’t reply.

“Uh, not here,” you swipe your thumb across your bottom lip, “just there.” The reply made sense in your head. You nod your head against the finger on your neck.

“Well, at least you’re having fun.” Aizawa laughs in earnest, if a little awkwardly, and then his touch is gone from your skin.

“Not really,” You admit and start to take note of how the room is spinning but you take pains to keep from slurring your words. Shouta raises up an eyebrow at you.

“Would rather be kissing boys properly, y’know?” There’s a nervous titter between the two of you.

“Okay,” he chuckles out, hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Just don’t let your mom see.” You feel compelled by some force of nature to keep talking despite the voice in the back of your head screaming at you to just shut up and go to sleep.

“Would you kiss me?” The words slither out of your mouth as if they were lava and the room isn’t spinning anymore, but upending itself over and over again in the corner of your vision as you watch a stricken look cross over Aizawa’s face.

“I’m your stepdad and I think you need to remember that, baby girl.” He instructs and you hate the way that he sounds like he’s talking to a wounded animal that’s been stuck in a trap.

“But if you weren’t? What if I was just…somebody that you knew?”

“I think you need to put on your pajamas and go to sleep before you talk yourself into hurting your own feelings.” Your eyes felt watery and weak. You felt bile rising in your throat and started to panic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna throw up, aren’t you?” Aizawa registered the seasick look on your face and was hoisting you up by your arms and hauling you into the bathroom before you could even nod your head in confirmation. It was a good thing, at least, that he was in his right mind, because you unleashed the contents of your stomach into the toilet not even a second after your knees connected sharply with the tile of the floor. For once, you were thankful for throwing up, because then you could blame the tears welling out of the corners of your eyes on that.

The shit-faced debacle passed blessedly without much mention. You and Shouta went about your daily lives without bringing up how he held your hair back for you and sat next to you while you cried about missing your dad into the toilet seat. Somehow, even through you blubbering mindlessly about how much your dead dad meant to you, you didn’t let anything slip about your plan to ruin your mother’s marriage or your stupid infatuation with the man himself.

For the past week, you had regarded each other cordially from opposite sides of whatever room you were in together. You would nod in acknowledgement of each other when you poured coffee at the same time in the morning or when you were coming back from studying and he was headed out on some hero’s errand that you really didn’t care about enough to understand. But now, it was the weekend and you were holed up in your room with a joint and a half-done essay to prevent a repeat of last Friday night.

Loud music and smoke filled your room as you sat on the floor with your laptop and tried to make sense of the argument you were making on paper. For the first time in your college career, you were trying to apply yourself. Secretly, you enjoyed the warm smile that Shouta had given you earlier in the week when you had hung a paper with a passing grade scribbled at the top on the refrigerator. You wanted a repeat performance.

The steady clacking of your nails against laptop keys was interrupted by a knock at your door. You turned your music down slightly and tapped the ash off of your joint as you called for whoever was knocking to come in. Your door swung open quickly and Shouta propped himself against the door frame. You turned your music down lower.

“What are you doing at home on a Saturday night listening to “Karma Police” all by yourself?” He questioned and you rubbed your dry eyes.

“I have a dead dad. I’m entitled to my sadness.” You deadpanned and laughed after a second. The melodrama hadn’t started to get old yet.

“I mean…that’ll do it.” You raised your eyebrows up at him, wondering why he had come to your room in the first place. Shouta cleared his throat and stepped into your room before sitting down on the floor like you were. “You sure you don’t wanna go out and hang out with people your own age?” He crosses his legs as you take one last pull off of your joint before squishing it out on the ashtray next to your knee.

“I was trying to finish this paper, actually.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it on?” You half expected Shouta to say something about the smoke.

“Heroes and ethics or something like that.”

“And you didn’t want my opinion?”

“I like doing things on my own.”

“So you don’t wanna watch a movie with me, then?” There’s that mischievous smile on his face again that makes your heart feel like a galloping horse.

“You could ask my mom.”

“She’s out at a dinner.” You type up one last sentence and hum in acknowledgement of his statement.

“What kind of old man movie do you want me to watch with you?”

“Terminator.”

“Properly retro.” You affirm, closing the lid of your laptop and standing up. “Let’s go, then.” You hold out your hand to Shouta and help him up from the floor. You half expect to hear his knees pop in their sockets as he stands. You lead the way into the living room and sit down on the couch while he pulls up the movie with the television remote. He settles on the couch opposite from you. You’re startled by the overwhelming want to lean your head against his t-shirt clad chest.

“Have you ever thought about getting a cat?” He asks casually as the opening credits roll, remote clinking down onto the coffee table.

“Mom’s not a big cat person.” There’s a quick pause. “I used to have one a long time ago. Dad and I found it behind a trash can. I named it All Might.” Shouta snorted a laugh at your admission.

“Why’d you name that poor cat All Might?” He pulled a throw blanket down from the back of the couch and fluffed it over his legs. You stared at the simple action. Shouta clocks you from the corner of his eye but you don’t realize.

“I had a crush on All Might when I was little.” You were very serious.

“That’s horrific.”

“Hey, there are lots of things you don’t know about me.” You recalled the conversation the two of you had while you danced at the wedding.

“I know a little bit more about you after peeling you off the bathroom floor last weekend.” Your gaze breaks from his in embarrassment. “You know you can talk to me about missing your dad, right? I can try my best to understand even though I’m not really too good at this whole bonding thing.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you in an attempt to lighten the mood back up. “I want to be a good person for you.” You give him an appreciative glance but can’t figure out how to reply due to the raw emotion seizing your chest. “One good thing did come out of the whole ordeal though.” Shouta continued on and you focused on the deep timbre of his voice to ground yourself.

“What’s that?” It came out in a whisper.

“I don’t have to worry about you getting kidnapped because when you don’t want to move, you don’t. I had the worst time trying to get you into bed.” As you felt your face heat up, you wondered if he caught onto the double meaning as well.

“I’m sorry about all of that.”

“It’s okay, baby girl. It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He lifted up the corner of the throw blanket that was closest to you and motioned you over with a tilt of his head. Surely, he just saw you shivering. He had no ulterior motives. You were the only one with those.

You scooted over apprehensively against the material of the couch until your side rested gently against Shouta’s and he let the blanket float down over the two of you. “It’s cold in here, isn’t it?” You could only nod your head in agreement as the right side of your body felt like it was being engulfed in blue flames.

Your favorite times lately were spent getting to know Shouta better. Getting to know the person he was away from the house, when he was Aizawa-sensei or Eraserhead. You were realizing that he had many different faces, but at the heart of it all, Shouta was really just a person who tried hard to do the right thing. If you were a person that tried to do the right thing like he did, you wouldn’t still be trying to ruin your mother’s marriage. If you were smart, you would have realized that your plan would hurt Shouta as well.

But you weren’t really a common sense girl. Or a nice girl. You just wanted revenge for your devastated heart.

And certainly, Shouta falling in love with you the way you were starting to fall for him wouldn’t hurt either.

He offered to take you to dinner and show you some of his patrol routes since you had been peppering your interest about his job into conversation more fervently lately. He called it important bonding. Your mother was out on work business again and you thought Shouta might have just been lonely.

You had a fantastic time walking through the brightly lit streets with him. He was still dressed in all black and his back was hunched forward like he was unimpressed, but something told you Shouta was having a good time. Every now and then, he would point out an alleyway or a building where he apprehended a villain. It filled you with a weird sort of pride to know that he did his job so well. He seemed so fucking…morally upstanding that it made you want to scream.

“You gettin’ hungry?” His measured tone broke you out of your thoughts. You nodded up at him and hoped that the smile you gave him was pretty enough, better than your mother’s at least. “I’ll show you this cool place I eat at sometimes.” Shouta grins. You dig your fingernails into your palm.

You follow him to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It’s run by an older couple that seem to know him well. You end up ordering the same thing he does and you watch as Shouta plays with his wedding ring absent-mindedly while he takes in his surroundings. You can’t figure out how to start a conversation. You tap the bottoms of your shoes against the linoleum floor and he looks at you like he’s about to say something but is interrupted by the little old lady bringing over your food.

“Is this your new wife, Eraser?” The lady asks as she places his plate in front of him. Her question is innocent but you choke on your spit and watch as vermillion creeps up Shouta’s neck.

“This is my stepdaughter,” he corrects, recovering easily enough and you smile politely at the lady. She smiles back warmly, ducking her head a little bit in consolation for her mistake.

“Forgive me. She’s absolutely beautiful though.”

“Thank you, I know.” It’s your turn for blood to rush to your head. You have to tell yourself over and over again not to read anything into it as the old lady walks away. There’s a charged silence over the table as the two of you focus too hard on your food. You’re the first to break the awkward air.

“I’m thinking about moving out.” It’s abrupt and you don’t realize at first what you’ve really said. Shouta’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean?” He takes a bite of his food.

“I mean, if I keep my grades up, I can still transfer into the university I was originally supposed to go to. I’m planning on summer classes too.” You watch him chew his food as you move your own around the plate.

“I think that’s a great goal to have if you can keep your grades up. I can help you study for your exams if you’d like.” He smiles warmly at you and you feel okay again.

“I’d really like that, Shouta.” You feel the urge to stuff your mouth with food so you aren’t encumbered by the emotions that you’re feeling. Silence settles again over the table. You’re taking a sip of water as you notice his mouth open and close a few times, like he can’t figure out what it is that he wants to say.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…adult stuff.” He fiddles with his wedding ring again.

“I’m an adult.”

“I know but I…I shouldn’t talk to you about it.” Shouta looks down at his plate. You nudge his foot with your own underneath the table.

“Come on…we’re bonding, right?” You’re being too sweet, too calculated, but you really do want to know what’s bothering him.

“Your mom is just really difficult sometimes.” He blurts out and you almost laugh out loud but keep up your supportive front for his sake.

“She can definitely be a handful. I was just lucky to have my dad around to help soften the edges for a while.” Your food stands all but forgotten now. You watch as Shouta’s fingers drum on the table just centimeters away from your own. Gently, you slide your hand closer so that your fingertips are touching but you play it off like you don’t notice.

“I think maybe I’m just not used to relationships like this one. Or maybe I just need to finish adjusting. I don’t know.”

“Do you still love my mom?” Your senses are heightened as you speak, but you’re interrupted by the old woman bringing over the bill. Shouta hands over his card and pretends like he never heard your question. He puts his card back in his wallet and slides out of the booth. You still look at him expectantly but he maintains his innocence.

“C’mon, there’s an old record store on this side of town that I want to show you.” He smiles, tight-lipped, and you scoot out of the booth. You wonder why he ignores the question. You want a solid answer why he always runs to your defense (aside from the answer you’ve deluded yourself into thinking is the truth) but you don’t think you’ll be privy to that information tonight. You follow him out onto the sidewalk. You like how you and Shouta are absorbed into the nighttime crowd like any other couple. You don’t talk to each other for fear that your conversation will be lost among the bustle of the people.

Shouta walks with purpose, but never so quickly that you can’t keep up with him. In any case, it would be hard for you to lose him due to his stature. Sometimes you forget how tall he is with the way he hunches over and the way he carries himself. You like the way the neon of the street signs illuminates the sharp edge of his nose. You find yourself staring at the wisps of long, inky hair that frame his face. He was so, so beautiful in a meek way and it’s extremely easy for you to get lost in it. It’s what leads you to almost bumping into his shoulder as he comes to a stop. A giggle, a real giggle bubbles out of his mouth and you feel the final nail being driven into your coffin. You needed him. Like air, like water. He was more necessary to you than he was to your mother. All it would take was a single move. A single move. You could persuade him easily enough that you were a better answer to his question.

“You ready to check it out?” He nods toward the door and starts to push inside without truly waiting for your answer. You try to shake off the millions of emotions that are running through your body.

Inside the record store is warm and smells like old books. You break away from Shouta for the moment and start to paw through the racks of records by yourself. You pick up some of the titles and flip them around to the back, trying to read the writing on the back. It’s hard to concentrate. Your mind keeps stagnating on Shouta’s words and his proximity to you. He’s flipping through the old records the same as you are and you wonder if he can feel your eyes flicking over to him every so often.

He holds one record in his hand but you can’t quite make out what it is. You watch as he looks through one more rack of records before going to the cashier and making his purchase. It gets slid into a brown paper bag with the name of the store stamped on the front. You make your way over to Shouta.

“I’m ready if you are,” He smiles warmly at you and you nod your head, in so very deep. You follow him back out onto the street. He turns to face you quickly. “Here. It’s something to keep you entitled to your sadness.” There’s a barely concealed twinkle in his eye. You take what he holds out with a grin. You pull the record out of the bag.

“You’re so corny.” You laugh, but are touched that he remembered that you listen to Radiohead as he places OK Computer in your hands.

“It comes with the territory.” He speaks easily but nothing gets said on the walk back home.

Your heart is in danger of pounding out of your chest by the time that you reach the front door. You want to kiss him, to make a move so badly that it’s the only thing that you can think about. Everything that he’s done has to mean something, right? Desperately, you hoped that it did as your fingers fiddled anxiously in front of you. You follow Shouta inside and he walks you to your room like a gentleman.

“Don’t forget this.” Shouta places the record he bought for you into your hands as you moved to open the door to your bedroom. There’s harsh electricity running through your veins that’s bordering on catastrophic. You smile at him as gratefully as you can, nodding your head in thanks as you turn back towards your door. This time, you’re able to get the door completely open and take a few steps before you hear him call your name and apologize in a stage whisper. You fight the desperate feeling in your chest as you feel him tug on your arm roughly and pull you into his hard chest. OK Computer clatters to the floor. It doesn’t matter.

Calloused hands are on the side of your face and then his lips are melting against yours needily. Shouta pulls back just as quickly as he leaned forward but his palms are still on your cheeks. He’s looking at you levelly, letting you make the next decision like it’s a game of chess. Your head feels like it’s full of helium. You watch your hands move from outside of your body as they come to tangle around his neck. You make your play and kiss him back on your tiptoes. The surprise he feels is tangible. The new kiss holds the same probing energy but then expands into something wetter and needier-yet still remains sickeningly sweet. You suck his lower lip into your mouth and sigh in the back of your throat when his hands wander down the curves of your torso to your hips. Shouta breaks the kiss, a string of saliva briefly connecting you for a moment longer and he exhales hard as he lays his forehead against yours. You can’t help but get lost in his permanently bloodshot eyes.

“I-i crossed a line. I’m going to cross a line.” Despite his words, he tugs you closer to him until your bodies are flush with each other. Shame clouds his features and you can’t stand that. Not when you created the perfect storm for this to happen. You play with the shorter hairs at the base of his neck.

“You’re not alone, okay? We’ll cross the line together.” You whisper so reverently that at first you think Shouta might not have heard you, but then you hear a strangled groan come out of his mouth and he’s pushing you backwards until you’re sitting on your bed, surrounded by soft blankets and engulfed in the scent of his mellow cologne. He starts to lean over you and you crane your neck to look over his shoulder dubiously at the door that’s standing almost wide open. It’s the only thing stopping your room from being a sanctuary. He follows your line of sight and turns back around with fiery eyes as if to say, “just be quiet.” You swallow thickly and lean back on your elbows. Shouta crawls up your body, blanketing you nimbly, and then he’s kissing you breathlessly again. You do your best to keep up with him but there isn’t a sense of yours that he isn’t absolutely steamrolling right over. His overwhelmingly hot hands travel up between your soft thighs and push your skirt up around your hips. You can’t stop the pleased sound that escapes from your mouth.

“Fuck, you sound even prettier than I imagined.” He starts kissing down your jaw and sucking at your neck. You hold his head against you and bite on your tongue to stop the salacious moans that are fighting hard to make their way into the heavy air.

“You imagined me?” You whispered, shocked, into his ear. He grins up at you devilishly.

“What the hell did you think I was gonna do, baby girl?” He’s quiet, oh so quiet, but you want to scream so loud that it breaks glass. He kisses you again and you rub your thighs together. His kisses feel better than anything you’ve ever had before. You’re drunk on it. Shouta’s long index finger pulls your bottom lip down. You follow his lead and your mouth hangs open. You watch through hazy eyes as his face hovers over yours and his lips purse. A thick glob of spit falls from between his lips and lands on yours. You feel slick gathering between your legs. His spit is licked off of your lips slowly and you open your mouth again. More. You’ve never seen his eyes so dark as he repeats the action and grinds his rock-hard cock against you.

Your legs wrap around his waist and with your free hand, you guide one of his hands down between your legs. His fingers run over the cotton that covers your slit and you can feel it starting to stick to you uncomfortably. At this point, you don’t care that this is something that neither of you should be encouraging. You’ve already got the feeling that you’ve won, you’re finally getting the vengeance you seek against your mother.

Shouta starts to pull your panties down and doesn’t stop until you’re completely free of them. He kneels on the floor and pulls you closer to his face by your thighs. His fingers knead into the skin there and you can feel his breath against your wet core. An obscene moan gets lost in the air and Shouta shoots a stern glance at you. Sorry, you mouth from where you watch perched on your elbows but you don’t really mean it.

He rubs two of his fingers against your core and you keen against the touch, not expecting it to feel as good as it did. Your mouth lolls open and you try not to squirm underneath the intensity of Shouta’s gaze. He focuses against your clit, slowly rubbing circles around it. You grind your hips down into the feeling and he bites gently into the soft skin of your thighs as you fall apart too quickly on his fingers. Your arms turn to jelly and you slide down until your back is against the comforter. Eyes flutter shut as you get lost in ecstasy.

You jolt back up again when you feel Shouta’s fingers get replaced with his mouth. He laps at your wet cunt like he’s not good for anything else and you feel him pull away just long enough to let another glob of spit fall onto your already soaked entrance. Heat rises through your body when you feel him push a finger inside of you with ease because of how worked up he has you. He curls his finger and watches with a silent chuckle how you have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep your sounds inside.

“Cute,” he mumbles against your thigh and then you’re tugging at the roots of his hair, beckoning him on top of you again. You’re so blindsided by pleasure that you don’t care how you look as you paw his shirt off and rake your fingers through the dark hair on his chest. You babble mindlessly against his ear. It makes no matter to you how you sound.

You start trying to undo the button of his pants.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, huh? My needy girl.” He whispers hotly against the side of your neck and all you can do is nod your head at him and kiss him timidly. The tip of his cock rubbed through your folds and there really was no chance of ever going back.

“Please,” the request rolls off of your tongue and knocks against Shouta’s lips. He covers your lips with his own again and slowly presses into you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the uncomfortable feeling to begin with. He’s so big and all-encompassing that it’s almost hard to breathe. Shouta pants into the saliva-soaked kiss and bites at your bottom lip as his hips rock slowly against yours. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders at the sensation and you tighten your legs around his waist.

He grinds his hips against yours until he’s fully seated inside of you. He breaks away from the kiss momentarily to look at you, the tiny little tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming emotion. He runs his thumb through the tears and you bury your nose into the crook of his neck.

“Please,” you mutter again, embarrassed, into the fine sheen of sweat that coats his neck. Shouta rocks into you again and again slowly and deeply and you swear you can see galaxies forming in your field of vision. The heavy feeling of his cock inside of you is enough to have you arching your back into his chest and he fucks your harder and rougher until your grip on him is just at the point of leaving marks. You feel the muscles in your stomach turn to jelly and Shouta focuses his thrusts upward, right into your tummy. You whine against his neck. Your pussy clenches hard around him. He pulls your head away from his neck and you flop back against the mattress.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He whispers lowly and through hazy eyes, you see a look in his eyes that you’ve seen mirrored in your own. It tips you closer to the edge. You nod your head. “Look at me, baby girl.” He requests and then he’s slapping his hand quickly over your mouth to stop you from being too loud as you reach ecstasy. You don’t know how many more times he rocks his hips into yours before he’s spilling inside of you and you can’t stop your eyes from rolling back into your head. His forehead slumps against your own and there’s a drunken grin on both of your faces as he pulls his softening cock out of you.

He maneuvers the both of you around until you’re both laying on your sides, his chest pressed against your back. You drift off to sleep with Shouta’s fingers running through your hair and feeling like you have just won a long battle.

It had been two weeks since you slept with Shouta. The next morning, in the wee hours, you had woken up in your bed alone but snuck around to give him a quick kiss before he left. He had held you by the waist and cradled your head against his when you kissed him by the front door. He had smiled at you and kissed your forehead, too.

It had been a full week since when he pushed you away in the kitchen and had hissed about how what the two of you had done was wrong. Your mother came in the kitchen while you were speechless and attempting to wipe the stricken look off of your face. You glared at Shouta from across the room while she announced a long work trip that she would be taking at the end of the week.

The night before her trip came and your mother organized an elaborate “family” dinner. You invited the boy that had left hickies on your neck over and after dinner, fucked him loud enough in your bedroom for Shouta and your mother to hear on their end of the house. Being a nuisance and vengeance were what you were good at.

The morning after, your mother left wordlessly on her week-and-a-half work trip. When you did leave your room, you and Shouta avoided each other like two black clouds caught up in a windstorm. You couldn’t focus on anything. Not homework, not shows, not the music coming through your headphones. Silently, you had resolved to curl up in a ball on your bed and let tears run from your eyes freely over the predicament you were in. At this point, even if your dad were still alive, you weren’t sure if he would have good enough advice to help you through this.

It hurt.

It hurt listening through the thin walls to Shouta cluttering around the house like nothing was wrong. It hurt how he only looked at you in passing as he put the leftovers from dinner away as you walked your hookup to the door the previous night. Didn’t he know that he was the reason you were tearing yourself apart? No, that wasn’t exactly fair.

A violent sob leapt out of your throat and you slapped your hand over your mouth to cover up your residual noises. You were the reason things had gotten so out of hand. You were almost completely blinded by your need to ruin your mother’s relationship that you hadn’t realized that you were sliding down a slippery slope for Shouta. Maybe you were as bad as your mother thought you were.

Your head was clogging up with the frequency of your tears now and it was hard for you to breathe. You couldn’t slow your mind down enough to regulate your breathing and your breaths kept coming out in ragged little pants. You sat up in a frenzy, unable to catch your breath. The disappointed look on Shouta’s face the previous night kept flashing though your head. You were lightheaded as you stood and stumbled on wobbly knees through your bedroom door and out into the living room. Tears coated your eyelashes together but through the blurriness, you could see Shouta sitting on the couch. He sat up slowly, on guard, unsure of where the line was anymore.

“What’s wrong?” His tone was neutral and that was enough to send you into a fresh wave of sobs and panic as your nose was so stuffy now that you couldn’t get a proper breath. You wanted to yell but it came out strangled. You wiped brashly at your face with the sleeve of your shirt and started to wring your hands together anxiously.

“C’mon, what’s wrong?” Shouta had stood and was standing a polite distance away from you now. There was no arm held out to you in consolation but his voice had taken on a tone that was more suited for talking to a dying animal. You felt like one just then.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” You managed to get out through hiccups. Pitifully, you watched the way that Shouta’s shoulders slumped. Still, you sobbed as he stayed quiet. Your knees wobbled perilously and before you could unceremoniously fall to the ground, you lowered yourself to the hardwood in a heap of limbs with your face buried in your hands. For a fleeting second, you wondered if you could die from crying too hard.

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Shouta’s hand. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“You’re gonna make yourself throw up if you keep crying this hard.” It was nothing but the obvious. His hand squeezed down soothingly on your skin.

“Don’t care,” You muttered stuffily against your palms and curled tighter against yourself. “‘I think I’m gonna die.” Shouta’s fingers worked their way under your chin and yanked your head up more roughly than he had intended and through your puffy eyes, you saw the face of a man wracking his brain to try and remember if there was ever a time in his thirty-odd years where he had successfully used his Erasure to stop a panic-induced crying fit.

“You’re not gonna die.” There’s an annoyed edge to his voice. It makes you cry harder. He heaves out a world-weary sigh and pulls you into his chest. You don’t want his scent to be comforting but it’s exactly what you need at that moment.

“‘m sorry. ‘m just so sorry, Shouta. I didn’t wan-wanna fuck him. Just wanted to make you mad.” Getting the words out feels like running a marathon.

“I know, baby girl. I know.” There’s a pause before he speaks and he warms a little, melting into the sad jumble of your body. You close your eyes and try to focus on that, as if there was any way to repair this.

“Do you know how miserable it is being in love with you?” You look at him with puffy eyes. If your words affect him, he gives nothing away. But your words are the truth. There was only one thing in your life that hurt more than his rejection. His arms around you tighten and then fall away. You wipe your eyes again but it still does no good.

“It doesn’t make sense for you to be in love with me.” He picks at his nails.

“I don’t care. I am.”

“I treated you badly.”

“If everyone stopped loving the people that mistreated them, then the world would be an awfully loveless place.” It’s almost comical how your voice sounds with your nose stopped up.

“That’s not a logical…that’s a childish way of looking at things.”

“Tell me you don’t love me back.” Your fingers drum on the floor and Shouta’s eyes narrow at you.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why can’t you do that?”

“Because you know I fell for the wrong woman. You know I married the wrong one.” Your heart stops.

“I don’t know that,” there’s a pause. “You’re saying that you love me too.”

“I’m saying that I married your mom and fell for you and it’s the most illogical thing I’ve ever done.”

“Tell me that you love me and that I’m better than her and I’ll be okay.” You know you’re pushing him and you should just be grateful that he’s speaking to you again. He sighs deeply, guiltily.

“I love you too. More than your mother. I’ll have a talk with her when she gets back from her trip.”

You grin pitifully at him. You always, always, got what you wanted.

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