“It’s not my fault!”
(Y/n) shot up, her body coated in a cold sweat. Her face pale as though she'd just seen a ghost. Though, she pretty much had. Memories she had long rid herself of were resurfacing. Or maybe she hadn’t gotten rid of them. Perhaps they were just stuffed into the corner of her brain covered in happier memories. Compartmentalizing was always a skill of hers- one she taught herself at a young age.
She glanced at the man next to her, he lay there, a peaceful look on his features. His black hair strewn across the pillow a small trail of drool inching out of the corner of his mouth. Shouta Aizawa was not a heavy sleeper by any means, but he had a particularly rough day with his students. They weren’t being bad per say, but training had been a little on the hectic side. (Y/n) understood what happened because it was her job. A counselor helps people sort out their feelings.
“I must be a shitty counselor if I can’t even sort out my own feelings.” She thought bitterly.
(Y/n) pulled herself out of bed as quiet as possible. She was on a mission for a nice glass of ice water. The floor boards creaked as she entered the living room. It would probably be awhile before she went back to sleep, so some ice cream and TV marathon didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
The cool liquid soothed her dry throat in an instant. As quietly as possible, (Y/n) grabbed the (favorite flavor) ice cream and a spoon. She plopped her ass on the couch and turned on (favorite show).
“(Y/n)? What are you doing?” Shouta stood before her disheveled and bleary eyed. His scraggly hair had been haphazardly thrown into a bun.
The woman jumped at the sound of her name. She was only twenty minutes into the show, but had gotten rather sucked in to the events. “Oh, Shouta. Did I wake you?”
“No. I got up to get some water and you weren’t there. What are you doing up?”
(Y/n) put her ice cream down, “Couldn’t sleep. That’s all.” She gave a weak smile.
Shouta gave her a look and made his way to the couch. He had seen right through her facade. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing! Honest!” She attempted to give him a convincing look, but it faltered. It seemed she bottled too much and was on the brim of exploding. Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped at them furiously.
“(Y/n)? What’s going on? Talk to me honey.” Shouta’s voice was laden with concern. He rested a soothing hand on her back. Much to his surprise, she shrugged it of.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Please, just don’t touch me.” Her voice cracked. The tears (Y/n) had attempted to stop now fell down her cheeks wildly.
“Why are you crying? Stop crying you fucking baby.” Another harsh slap sent the small (h/c) haired girl to the floor. (Y/n) was only seven, but that didn’t stop her mother’s abuse. It had been like this the second her father left. Without her father to abuse, (Y/n) was her mother’s next target. (Y/n) had never forgiven her father for not taking her with him.
Her mother grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the broken vase. “This is what you fucking did, you useless little brat. Now pick it up.” Her mother tossed her towards the pile of shattered glass. “And no using your quirk either! If I see it, there will be hell to pay.”
“Yes, mother.” The child sobbed.
“AND QUIT FUCKING CRYING!” Her mother roared.
Stop crying (Y/n).
“Quit fucking crying…” (Y/n) whimpered. Memories of her childhood began to resurface. The physical and mental abuse. Soon it wasn’t just those memories. The details of Shoto Todoroki’s childhood, the bullying Izuku Midoriya had suffered, the hundreds of stories she had heard over the years, and the guilt of not being there for the people she loved and cared about. The USJ and Training camp were the most prominent.
Shouta’s eyes widened. He knew what that quote meant. He had learned it on a night where the two of you had one two many. It was almost ironic that a certified counselor chanted those words like a mantra. He had only heard bits and pieces of your childhood, even though you two had been together for several years.
“(Y/n), look at me.” He pleaded with his wife. “I won’t touch you, but I need you to look at me. I’m here and you can talk to me. You can cry as much as you want, but just talk to me.”
She turned to him with uncertainty. Looking him up and down cautiously. “I can?”
“Of course you can. It’s okay to cry, to let everything out.” He comforted. She hesitated slightly, before slowly approaching him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in the crook of his neck. Her grasp on his shirt was tight, like she was afraid to let go, or that he'd disappear. Every emotion (Y/n) had ever felt in her life was spilled that night. She cried and cried until her sobs devolved into whimpers. Shouta just held her and listened, interjecting every once in awhile. It had been the early hours of the morning when (Y/n) had finally let everything go. Her (e/c) eyes were blood shot and puffy. (Y/n) sniffled as Shouta tilted her head up, and wiped away the streaks of tears on her cheeks, looking her in the eyes. She was expecting pity, not the warm loving look in his eyes. (Y/n) pulled away and looked down in shame.
"I'm sorry. You didn't need to see that." She fiddled with her fingers.
"(Y/n), don't. There's no need to be sorry," Her head snapped up toward him, "I am not your mother. I'm your husband and I love you more than anything in this world. I don't wan't you to ever feel like you can't come to me." His face was stern.
It took a minute for her to process his words, but eventually, they clicked. (Y/n) threw her arms around his shoulders once more, "Thank you. Thanks for being with me, for being here for me, for just being here."
“I'll always be here for you."