🙁🙁🙁 Chaatttt I Love Dadzawa.

🙁🙁🙁 chaatttt i love dadzawa.

First post kinda nervous

Summary:

A reckless mistake. A sharp argument. “Stop acting like you’re my father!”—“I’m not your father.” But the words cut deep, and regret lingers.

At 3 AM, you slip an apology under Aizawa’s door, only to find him waiting. An invitation, a conversation, a long-buried fear laid bare. And when exhaustion takes over, you find yourself asleep in the arms of the one person who never left.

A Flower in the Dark

Before Aizawa, before U.A., before anything even close to a home, there was only survival.

You learned quickly that in this world, there were two kinds of people: those who had someone to catch them when they fell, and those who didn’t. You belonged to the second category.

Your parents were a hazy memory, faces blurred by time and neglect. Maybe they had cared once—maybe. But in the end, they had left, and that was all that mattered. The streets became your home. Hunger became your companion. And when a villain group took you in, offered you shelter, food, purpose—you took it without question.

Because what else was there?

They taught you how to fight, how to steal, how to survive. They shaped you into something sharp, something useful. And for a long time, you believed that was all you were meant to be. Until Aizawa caught you.

Until he saved you.

He pulled you from that life, dragging you kicking and screaming into U.A., into discipline, into care. But even now, even with a bed of your own, even with a future dangling just within reach, the past never truly left.

And tonight was proof of that. You messed up. Again.

It had started as something small—just slipping out of the dorms, just a quick little excursion, just testing the limits because you could. Because you hated the feeling of being caged.

Then things spiraled. A confrontation. A fight. A sharp piece of metal you hadn’t noticed until it was too late, leaving a gash across your arm. Blood, not much, but enough to make your head light.

And then—Aizawa.

He caught you, dragged you back, and now here you were, sitting on the edge of a desk in his office, watching his hands as they worked to clean your wound. His fingers were steady, careful, but his jaw was clenched.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer.

Aizawa let out a slow breath through his nose, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“But I didn’t.”

He shot you a sharp look. “That’s not the point.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, wincing slightly at the sting in your injured one. “I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t.” His voice was clipped, frayed at the edges. “You act like you’re invincible, like no one else matters. Like you don’t matter.”

You scoffed. “Since when do I matter?”

Aizawa’s hands stilled.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He put down the bandages and met your eyes, his gaze unreadable. “Since the moment I took you in.”

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to breathe.

“You’re my student,” he continued, voice firm. “And whether you like it or not, I care about what happens to you.”

Your fists clenched. It was too much. Too close. The past whispered in your ears, ghosts of all the times someone pretended to care before disappearing.

“Stop acting like you’re my father!” The words ripped from your throat before you could stop them.

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not your father.”

“I know!” Your voice cracked, something raw bleeding through. “But do you know that?”

Aizawa didn’t say anything. And that silence—that unbearable, suffocating silence—was enough to make you bolt. You rushed out of the room.

You cried. Not loud, not dramatically, just silent, shuddering breaths curled up in your dorm room.

You didn’t know why it hurt so much. You knew Aizawa wasn’t your father. You knew that letting people in was dangerous. That caring meant giving them the power to leave.

But despite everything, despite every wall you built, you had started to care about him. And now, you had thrown that in his face. You wiped your eyes with the back of your sleeve, sniffing hard. This wasn’t enough. Just sitting here, wallowing, wasn’t enough.

You hesitated before grabbing your sketchbook. Your hands shook as you sketched, the lines uneven, a single flower blooming from the page. Beneath it, you scrawled the only words you could manage.

I’m sorry.

It was past 3 AM when you crept through the halls. The school was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that made your own footsteps sound too loud. The teachers’ dorms were further back, tucked away from the student housing. Aizawa’s door stood at the end of the hall, the nameplate barely visible in the dim light.

Your pulse was in your throat as you crouched, sliding the paper under the door. You turned to leave.

“(Y/N).”

You stopped dead.

Slowly, you turned back. The door was open, and Aizawa stood there, watching you with those tired, unreadable eyes.

“You’re awake?” Your voice was hoarse.

“I figured you’d come.”

You swallowed hard, throat thick. You weren’t sure what to say.

Aizawa stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t fight it.

You sat stiffly on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself. Aizawa sat across from you, silent as always, waiting.

You stared at the floor. “I don’t know why I said that.” Aizawa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. You inhaled shakily. “I just… I don’t want to need anyone.”

“That’s not how it works.”

You clenched your jaw. “It has to be.”

“Why?”

Your nails dug into your arms. “Because people leave.” Aizawa was quiet for a long time. Then, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m still here.”

Your throat tightened. “For now.”, "No, for as long as you let me be." His voice was softer this time.

You blinked hard, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to figure it out alone.” The room was so quiet you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Slowly, cautiously, Aizawa reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. And for once, you didn’t pull away. Something in your chest cracked open, a slow, aching thing. And when exhaustion finally won over, your head dipped against his arm. Aizawa let you stay there, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder. He was still awake long after you fell asleep.

And for the first time in years, you weren’t alone.

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