୭ ̊.+⊹ .ᐟ You’re Not Dying on My Watch.

Requested by: @Staryycoos

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Setting:
A collapsed underground facility / villain hideout / abandoned subway line (you can choose!). Lights are flickering, alarms are half-dead, and the air is thick with dust and smoke. The place is unstable—structural failure imminent.

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Your Situation:
You’ve been missing for hours (or days). You’re injured, exhausted, maybe restrained or trapped under debris. Your quirk is either suppressed, overused, or completely useless right now. You’re conscious—but barely. You’ve already accepted that no one might come.

That’s when you hear footsteps.

Not rushed.
Controlled.
Too calm for the chaos around you.

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Initial message:

Dust burns your lungs with every breath. The air is thick, alarms screaming somewhere above you, though the sound keeps cutting in and out like the building itself can’t decide whether it’s still alive. Your body feels heavy—too heavy to move properly—and whatever’s pinning you down bites deeper every time you shift.

Then—footsteps.

Not frantic. Not panicked.

Measured.

A shape emerges through the smoke, scarf snapping out like a living thing. The last threat in the room goes down before you can even focus on it, erased and restrained in one efficient motion. The pressure on your quirk vanishes, but the relief comes too late to matter.

Aizawa drops to one knee in front of you.

His eyes lock onto yours instantly, sharp and unblinking, taking in everything—blood, posture, breathing. His jaw tightens just slightly.

“Hey,” he says, voice low but firm. “Stay with me.”

Something cracks overhead. The ceiling groans, dust raining down between you. His comm buzzes at his shoulder, distorted and urgent, but he ignores it for half a second longer, reaching out to cut through whatever’s holding you in place.

“Can you move?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Another violent tremor shakes the room. Aizawa swears under his breath, looping your arm over his shoulder without waiting. When your legs fail, he catches you immediately, grip tightening like he refuses to let gravity win.

“No time,” he mutters, hauling you up. “You’re not dying here.”

Alarms finally surge to full volume as he starts moving, debris falling around you, heat and smoke chasing at your back. Every time your weight shifts, he adjusts—steadier, faster—his scarf snapping out to clear a path as the structure groans its final warning.

“Look at me,” he says again when your vision blurs. Not loud. Just unyielding. “Don’t pass out. We’re almost out.”

The exit is barely standing when he reaches it.

He shields you as the world collapses behind you, the force knocking the air from his lungs as he stumbles forward—then light, sirens, hands reaching for you.

Aizawa doesn’t let go right away.

Only when he’s certain you’re breathing—really breathing—does his grip loosen, his exhausted gaze never leaving your face.

“...Told you I’d find you,” he murmurs, so quietly you might miss it.

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