Aizawa Oneshots and More

Raw Skin

HI GUYS!!!! This chapter here has been requested by BrOoKlYnNBoYdEncolBr!

I'm so sorry I haven't been writing lately, I have so much shit going on, but I'm trying to come back!

Please remember that requests are open! I am open to writing anything <3

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF SELF HARM, CUTS, AND SCARS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. REMEMBER, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU'RE WORTH IT AND SO MUCH MORE. 

My door is open if any of you need to talk, and please remember this is not a description of what depression is like, or what self-harm is like. It goes so much deeper than what I portrayed here in this fic. Everyone is different, but one thing remains the same: every single one of you is worth fighting for. 

Thank you for being here, thank you for being you. 

---

The morning had started like any other, or at least, that is what you wanted everyone to believe. The classroom buzzes with the usual energy of class 1-A, but you remain quiet, keeping your head down as Aizawa drones through roll call. Your sleeves are pulled lower than usual, fingers gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment.

Aizawa's sharp eyes flick over to you more than once. It isn't unusual for him to be observant – he's your teacher, after all – but today, his gaze lingers longer than normal. You aren't acting out of character exactly, but you're more withdrawn, barely responding when spoken to. When Ashido cracks a joke and the class erupts into laughter, you barely offer a twitch of your lips. That's unlike you, Aizawa notices.

During training exercises later that day, you lag behind, hesitating when given orders. You have always pushed yourself before, eager to prove your strength. Today, you flinch when Aizawa calls your name, nodding absentmindedly when he asks if you're alright. That's when he knows something is wrong.

"(L/N), stay behind after class," he murmurs as you're all packing up. You freeze, gripping the straps of your bag tightly, before giving a stiff nod.

When the last of your classmates trickle out of the room, leaving only you and Aizawa in the quiet space, he leans against his desk, arms crossed. "You're not yourself today."

You swallow, shifting your weight. "I'm just tired."

Aizawa isn't convinced. He studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "If something's wrong, you know my door is always open."

You nod quickly, eager to escape. "Yeah, I know... Thank you, Mr. Aizawa."

He doesn't stop you as you leave, but he watches, concern darkening his gaze.

—

The class is gathered in the common room, chatting and laughing about the latest training mission. You sit at the edge of the couch, your arms crossed tightly, the long sleeves of your shirt bunching around your wrists as you tug at them anxiously. Every time someone gets too close, you recoil instinctively, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Midoriya passes by, his hand brushing your shoulder, and you flinch, a sharp, involuntary movement that doesn't go unnoticed by Aizawa, who's sitting across the room. His eyes narrow slightly, studying you closely, but you don't meet his gaze. You keep your head down, fiddling with your sleeves, trying to distract yourself from the uncomfortable feeling building in your chest.

Aizawa's brow furrows in concern. You've been acting differently lately.

—

The gym is bustling with activity as everyone prepares for the training session. Aizawa calls out orders, but his attention is drawn to you as you adjust your hero costume. The usually short sleeves of your uniform have lengthened, covering your arms now, as if hiding something beneath. You glance around to make sure no one's paying attention, but Aizawa notices the way you hurriedly pull your sleeves over your hands as if to shield something from view.