It had been three years since Shouta married your mother and it had made life easier. Simpler. Your mother was happier, you were happier. The house felt warmer, full of new beginnings and happy memories.

Shouta became the dad you never had. He was there for your first true heartbreak, he held you as you cried. He taught you how to use your quirk to its limits. Taught you all the rights and wrongs in body fitness. Took you out for one-on-one time.

Life was getting good. Better. Eventually, they announced their pregnancy, you cried happy tears. You finally were getting the family you always dreamed of. Your mother included you in everything about the baby; the ultrasounds, the nursery decorations, the pregnancy reveal, the baby shower, so on and so forth.

But, happy endings are never really true, are they?

Everything began to crumble as your biological father heard of your mother’s happy and blossoming marriage, the unborn baby. To say he was absolutely livid is an understatement. The man was pissed. He still had visitation rights with you. He never used them before, but he began to call your mother, ask if he could take you with him and his family to places. Waterparks, restaurants, theme parks, shows, movies.

Whenever your biological father would have you, he would murmur offhanded comments about “couples focusing on their true kid while the step-kids gets tossed aside”. Small seeds of doubt began to grow into infections. He masterfully painted innocent actions as Shouta and your mother already favoring the unborn child.

They would go to parenting classes? “That’s weird, your mother didn’t go to parenting classes for you.” They fell short of an already planned event because your mother became friends with the toilet due to morning sickness? “It’s all an act. Your mother didn’t have morning sickness with you. It’s an excuse.”

Shouta had to watch as you began to pull away from him, from your mother, from the baby. From the aspect of being an older sibling. He tried to smooth out whatever your father had spun, tried to remove the doubts, the worries and the fear your father had planted. But, it was too late.

The kid that wasn’t his, but was his began to pull away. You stopped sharing things with Shouta, stopped playing around and joking with him. And it broke something in him. All of that work, the building of your trust in him. The bond you both had created while your mother was at work late. The secrets, the jokes. Everything, flushed down the toilet.

Until, one particular evening.

Your mother had went to your grandparents’ house for the weekend, to prepare for the gender reveal and to spend time with her own parents. Your father had dropped you off at home after taking you to a restaurant and movie theater with his family. But, unbeknownst to your father, you had overheard him with his wife. His open confessions that he had been telling you things to drive a wedge between you, Shouta and your mother. He admitted that everything he said was only a lie, empty words meant to hurt and break the foundation Shouta and your mother worked so hard to make.

When you entered your home, the one with your family, something ached within your chest. You quietly walked through the house, already knowing Shouta was in the living room. You stood outside the threshold, watching as Aizawa graded papers. Tears began to form as you watched him, studied him.

“Dad.”

Shouta paused, his eyes growing comically wide at the shaking word that left your mouth. He turned and looked at you. “Woah! Woah, woah. What’s wrong, kid? What happened?” He asked, throwing the papers onto the coffee table in favor of rushing to you. You stared at him, barely holding back sobs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shouta cooed, hands cupping up to cup your cheeks. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything right this second. C’mere,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re home. You’re safe.” He pressed a soft kiss to your hair. “I love you, kid.”