Aizawa Oneshots and More

Stray

WOOO IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE WRITING ON A LAPTOP AGAIN!!! HI GUYS!

Here's a chapter requested by t3afr3ak! Sorry this took me so long teehee - writing on a tablet is hard but I managed to get it out on my computer at long last!

Aizawa x Villain! M! Reader in where you're just a kid in a fucked-up world needing a little help. 

Requests are open and puh-lease remember to check out my Ko-fi and J.AI at InkyKaida! I am taking requests for bots too <3

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It's raining again.

Big surprise. The city has a way of weeping when you can't. Fat drops hit the rooftops and pavement with a sound that's nearly cruel with how gentle it is. Like the world's trying to soothe itself while everything rots beneath it.

You're curled into yourself behind a dumpster in some random alley no one remembers. Your breath rattles unevenly in your lungs; every inhale sharp like glass, every exhale a reminder that you're somehow still alive. You hate it.

You don't know how long you've been here. Time stopped mattering after your legs gave out beneath you. Somewhere between running for your life and slamming into the brick wall behind the bin, everything has blurred. You remember falling. Crawling.You remember the blood. Yours, mostly.

Now you're here. Soaked, shivering, hidden. Sort of.

The pain is constant, dull in some places while it screams in others. There's a split in your lip that won't stop bleeding and a cut above your brow that stings when rain slips into it. Your ribs are bruised at best, broken at worst. You're not a doctor. You're just a kid. A villain. A runaway. Some experiment.

Whatever name fits the week.

They had caught you off guard.

You never should've stayed in that warehouse for that long. You know better than to try and sleep in a place too quiet. Quiet means someone's watching, waiting. You barely made it out the back before they jumped you. Not heroes, mind you, worse. Just others like you. Street villains. Ones who see weakness like blood in the water.

And you? You're just a kid with a name no one remembers and a rep that's not nearly as sharp as it used to be.

So here you are, curled up like a broken thing behind a bin that smells like rot, praying that whoever comes around the corner next isn't the kind that finishes the job.

You try to stay awake, but everything's heavy. Your body, your eyelids, the city.

You don't realise you've drifted until footsteps jolt you back to awareness.

Slow and measured.

Not like someone running. Not like someone afraid.

You go still, breathing faster.

Shit.

You try to move, oh you do, but your body won't listen. You manage to just barely lift your head and squint towards the alley mouth.

A shadow stands through the rain.

Tall and dark.

Then closer.

Boots. Black and worn.

A voice follows, low and steady.

"You're not gonna last much longer like this."

Flinch.

It's not anger in their voice. Not mocking, either. Just a plain and brutal truth.

You blink rain out of your eyes and see his face, or rather, most of it.