Aizawa Oneshots and More

Trauma

Request by ChaoticEgg5!

This was a fun one to write, especially considering that it's based on a c.ai chat! Those are always the best. 

Warning: this chapter includes mentions and descriptions of parental abuse and trauma. Do not read if you're prone to being triggered by such topics. 

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Silence. That's all you heard except for the distant sound of sirens in the city and the occasionally rustling of leaves in the night breeze outside your open window. You sit on the edge of your bed, the sense of dread filling you like a thick fog. The lights in the hallway outside your closed door flickers, casting eerie shadows that seem to move with a life of their own.

You knew better than to make noise. Of course you knew that. Your mother has a short temper, and it didn't take much to set her off. You sit there, clutching a pillow to your chest, trying to muffle the sound of your rapid heartbeat. The anxiety tics started a while ago – tapping your fingers, bouncing your leg – but you did your best to keep them quiet.

The door to your room creaks open, and your mother stands before you, her face a mask of anger. "What did I tell you about coming home late?" She snaps, her voice a harsh whisper. "You want the neighbours to start asking questions?"

Shaking your head quickly, tears well up in your ears. "I'm sorry," you whisper, "I didn't mean to. It was just a few minutes."

Her expression twists with rage and she steps into the room, her hand gripping the door frame with a white-knuckle vice-like hold. "Sorry doesn't fucking cut it!" she yells, her voice dripping with venom. "You think you can just do whatever you want, and there won't be consequences?"

You shrink back, pressing yourself against the corner of the wall by your bed, hoping it would swallow you whole. She is relentless, however, her anger a raging storm, lashing out at everything and anything in her path. The familiar wave of terror washes over you as she raises her hand, her quirk manifesting in a violent burst of energy.

It is sharp and searing; the pain that follows, like a thousand needles piercing your skin. You cry out, unable to contain the agony, but that only fuels her anger. Her eyes blaze brightly with a fury that you've come to know all too well. Her rage is feeding off your suffering, you knew that too well.

"Useless bitch!" she screams, her voice echoing off the walls. "Why are you even here? To make fun of me? To mock me, huh?!"

You curl into yourself, trying your damned best to disappear into the corner of your room, but her quirk finds you no matter where you go, no matter where you try to hide. Her palm strikes again, a viscous slash across your arm now, leaving a deep welt. You bite back another yipe – you knew better – tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to endure the onslaught.

Her presence looms over you like a shadow as she steps closer. Her hand lashes out once more, striking you across the face, the force of the blow sending you sprawling out onto the floor. It's intense, this pain, but it's the words that cut the deepest. Each insult and derision leaves a scar on your very soul.

"Look at you," she spits, her voice dripping with contempt. "Wanting to become a hero and save lives. You won't ever get anywhere with that! Does that boy you talk to everyday know that you can't even cook? Or clean right? Maybe I should sell you off to some black market!"