Aizawa Oneshots and More

Blood Upon the Snow

HI GUYS!! It feels good to be back -- my computer had to go through some repairs, so I was without it for a while! I figured I would try to get a chapter out to you guys for my lack of uploads, but I am just not thinking of good ideas! So this here is a scenario chapter, where it focuses solely on one scenario out of something that could be bigger. 

Meaning, it's going to be really short. I think you guys call this a "drabble", but I could be wrong :D

Leave your requests in the comments, I desperately need something to write <3

Thanks, and happy reading!

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Drip. Drip. Drop.

How did it come to this?

You press a trembling hand to your side, your fingers slick with blood that seeps through torn fabric. Each step feels heavier than the last as you trudge through the snow, leaving a red trail in your wake. The cold gnaws at your skin, the world around you fading to nothing but white and silence. But through the haze of pain, a single thought anchors you.

Just a little further.

Your vision blurs, the night sky swirling with stars above, but you focus on the dim light at the end of the street – Aizawa's home. It's quiet, tucked away, just as solitary as he is. He won't expect you here. He won't expect you anywhere near him, especially not like this. And yet, you stumble closer, part of you clings to the hope that he would understand, even if you can't say it outright.

You reach his doorstep and, with what little strength you have left, lift your hand to knock. It takes more effort than you expected, your knuckles rapping only once before they slip down, leaving a faint smear of red across the door.

It opens within seconds, revealing Aizawa, his figure framed by the warm light of his home. His eyes narrow, registering the shape of you in the doorway, then widen in recognition. The air between you and Aizawa crackles with tension as he takes a step back, instinctively reaching for his capture weapon. His eyes narrow once more, a flash of guarded wariness crossing his face, ready to strike – until he notices the blood staining the snow at your feet, and the faint red smear left on his door from your trembling hand.

He pauses, gaze flicking from the wound in your side to the familiar features he had memorised from countless reports and encounters. You're the villain he has chased for months, a ghost slipping through his grasp each time, until now.

Before he can demand an explanation, your hand slips from the doorframe, your knees buckling. You manage to steady yourself with a hand against the doorframe, your breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes soften slightly, for just a second, but he remains silent.

Your voice is barely a murmur as you speak, each word laboured, heavy with exhaustion. "I... wasn't planning on this... but I had nowhere else to go. Got into something with... someone from the other side. A rival."

Aizawa's jaw clenches, tension rippling through him. "So you came here?"

You meet his eyes, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I know... it sounds absurd." A weak, half-choked laugh escapes you, followed by a grimace. "I shouldn't have. But after tonight... I don't think I'll get another chance."

There's something else in your expression now, something raw and unguarded that surprises even you as you stand before him, the hero you've studied, admired, and feared. You swallow, feeling the sharp ache of words you've kept buried.

"I wanted to tell you – before... Well, before it's too late." The edges of your vision blurs, but you hold his gaze forcefully. "I know I'm not... good. Not like you." You chuckle again, bitterly. "But I've watched you. Admired you, even against my better judgement."

His face softens, eyes searching yours as if trying to discern the truth. This isn't the fierce, calculating villain he knew; this is someone else – someone vulnerable. Someone wounded, standing at his door under the falling snow, confessing things that should've stayed buried.

"I just needed... you to know," you whisper, your vision dimming, though you cling to his gaze, finding comfort in his presence.

Your knees finally give way, and he moves on instinct, catching you before you hit the ground. His hold is steady and secure, the warmth of his arms grounding you.

"Wait, don–"

"Just shut up." You whisper softly, your voice losing what edge it had. "I'm sorry. I just... I needed to come to you one final time."

And with that, you feel yourself succumbing to the darkness, your hand falling away from your wounded side limply. You faintly feel him shaking you, until there's nothing left to feel.

Would a hero even love a villain like me?