Hey!! I was wondering if you are taking requests.
If you are, then. Couln you please write and Father Aizawa x daughter in which she is like really really depressed and he is sick worried for her?
Thankss 🤍🤍
Hello! thx for requesting! I'm not sure if you wanted a little story like a drabble or headcanons so I'm just going to default to do a mix of both. I also wrote it with clinical depression in mind I hope that's okay.
TW; clinical depression, angsty shit, I wrote about the symptoms of depression here: if you have multiple of these symptoms please consider getting diagnosed by a doctor. Aizawa had depression, fem reader.
Aizawa never was good with emotions, he was never the one to express his feelings because he never exactly needed to. Aizawa wouldn't exactly talk to her at first, instead opting to see it as her having an off day.
however, the weeks flew by and he saw less and less of her around the dorms, her friends who once talked to forever never seemed to see her anymore, and her smile. her smile had now been replaced with dead eyes and a soul corrupt.
another week, when disrupted she would bite back. her usual reply to the question "how are you today?" was once "wonderfully really!" about now it was either a comment overflowing with sarcasm or a harsh "leave me alone."
she then start to bounce her leg a lot more, scratch her arms, and doom-scroll on her phone like a life line rather than train to be a hero like she would during her previous years at UA or read her favorite book genres.
and the dead look in her eyes told him everything.
he too had that look in his eyes in his life too.
he had the tattoo of a semicolon with a heart to show for it.
it was the dead of night when he finally approached her, the sun had set and the stars that night felt as dull as her mind. the blinding white lights of the kitchen remain on as she wept amongst her sorrows. sleep deprived eyes turned redder than they already are from the sting of her never ending tears.
she did not deserve this.
the air was cold in that room, clammy hands shaking didn't help much either.
Aizawa said nothing when he saw the slight before him,
he had done the same at one point too.
this situation was delicate glass, for the person before him was not the strong girl he "knew". this was the soft, misshapen, confused, and scared blob that no longer had the hard and heavy armor to protect her.
he wanted nothing more to hug her when she looked at him with scared eyes and a tear stained cheeks.
"Aizawa Sensei I-" she started, the voice cracks made it all the more pitiful.
"I came to get water." his voice unwavering, there was only room for one mentally unstable person in that tiny kitchen and he loved her too much to take the position of being the one crying.
he felt bad, he knew that feeling of either being empty or being overridden with that burden in your heart you don't know the name of. a constant reminder of doom that has your heart in a choke hold.
but this was still as fragile as anything.
he poured himself a glass of water,
the tension was thick and odd.
he sat down,
he could practically feel the labored breaths she took, the shaking, the empty feeling in her chest. like she was dying and from the inside out. the crying must have taken a toll on her too for her cheeks were red from the tears.
he sat next to her, sitting in front of her may make her feel like he was going to scold her.
"would you like to talk about it?"
"...please... no... I don't think I can..." it was hard to believe this was the voice of the girl he remembered so fondly as his favorite student.
I suppose even the moon has a dark side.
"okay, you need to though." voice steady like a rock you trust never to crumble.
"what?" her voice quivering.
"It know it's hard,
I know it's going to take a while,
but you can succeed,
just please let me help you."
the room went silent for a moment, he passed you the glass of water.
"drink, tomorrow, you are spending your day with Hound Dog, you don't have to talk with him about this specifically, just talk with him until we can understand what is actually happening. you need someone to talk to. you can bail at anytime."
"what is happening to me though? I- I don't know anymore."
he knew that feeling so well.
"I'm not entirely sure," those words came from his heart. "but I'm willing to help you through it. we can take you to a psychiatrist to know for sure."
"...okay."
Aizawa got up, pushing the glass towards you again, excessive crying often leads to dehydration. and he started doing what his mother would do, he started prepping fruits, in this case it was oranges. he lined them all up on a plate, smiling a little at the thought of waking up from a nightmare as a child and defaulting to devouring blueberries.
he put them in front of you, started speaking as a usual person would, about stupid criminals he had recently put behind bars and crazy super fans that created elaborate photo shopped photos of him and them for social media.
for the first time in a while
the phrase
"are you okay?"
wasn't even mentioned.
for the first time in a while
she felt human.
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the first time it happened, he’s rendered speechless.
big man, known for his indisputable strength, and yet there he is – bundled in the softest blanket you own, tucked in the sofa while you warmed up some soup that frankly got his stomach grumbling.
he is still overwhelmed, slow blinks and quiet rasps of breath replacing his usually sharp focus. the clamour on the coffee table would have usually yanked him out of the fog, and yet there he remains, drowsy as he turns his attention to you.
he tips his head up just enough to watch you place a bowl of soup in front of him, your furrowed eyes shifting towards him in to check if he is still awake, and he doesn’t know what it was that you saw to have the worry fizzle into something tender. replaced with something so soft it almost made him ache.
a pretty smile graces your lips, and his lungs burn. he tries swallowing the lump lodged in his throat as he ducks his head down to avoid your eyes, unusual shyness thrumming underneath his skin, because this can’t be real.
you can’t be real.
“c’mere, baby,” you whisper, falling beside him with a tiny hum, shorter arms reaching towards his bulk to pull him towards you.
his eyes flutter close at the first brush of your fingers through his hair; the tips of your nails – pink acrylics, he catalogues – scratching his scalp just as gently.
he ignores the way his lips wobbled when he feels you press a kiss on the side of his temple. it was a quick brush, just another reminder of your softness, but it was enough for his senses to pick up on your scent. he doesn’t know what it is exactly but it is something so familiar. something that feels like home.
“y’r okay,” you tell him. he breathes in deeply, holding it, before exhaling with a tremor. your arms tighten around him. “y’r okay,” you repeat.
he remembers the tiny box hidden in his drawer, stuffed underneath his clothes, and promises, soon.
— simon (ghost) riley, toji fushiguro, aizawa shouta
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