Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach. (OC/Reader x Aizawa)

Sushi, Soba and Sandbags

Y/N L/N was letting out some pent-up rage, directing it to the punching bag swinging from the ceiling. Her hands donned some fingerless gloves with not-quite enough padding. The rest of the apartment was simple- or at least the parts that didn't have clothes strewn about.

If an outsider were to enter Y/N's house for the first time, and see the dirty dishes, clothes, and dusty surfaces, they would reach one of three conclusions:

1.       Y/N was very lazy.

2.       Y/N was far too busy for such mundane things as cleaning.

3.       Y/N was depressed.

Of course, the latter was correct- as much as she wanted to deny it. She had spent a year holed away in her apartment, only leaving for necessities. Only getting up to use the bathroom, shower (far too infrequently), or doom-scroll on her phone at a different setting than her bed. Never speaking to anyone, ignoring messages from old colleagues at the agency who wanted to know how she was doing. She ran purely on autopilot, a ghost of herself.

But now, she had a purpose to get up; the kids she needed to teach.

She had a purpose to get strong again; the asshole she wanted to beat up.

Okay, fine, it was for the students again. Of course she had to get strong again! How could she be the heroics teacher at the top hero school if she was easily bested by some asshole hero who nobody recognises?!

'Thump', her fist slammed against the punching bag, letting out rage from more than just her colleague.

"Oh what, so when it gets tough you just pack up and leave?! Put that fucking suitcase back!"

'Thump', the punching bag swings harder than before.

"No, Y/N! It's just, when we started dating you were this confident pro-hero, now you're a shut in, and- and now you're-"

'THUMP', the force increases with every punch.

"Quirkless. Right? That's your issue with me."

'THUMP'

"No- you- Christ, you're so bitter Y/N."

'CRACK'. The punching bag formed a tear through the fabric, with sand slowly cascading down in turn.

She moved her eyes to the burning pain in her knuckles. Slowly, she removed the gloves she was wearing- which were soaked in blood. She stared at the gashes on her knuckles, revelling in the way that the pain reminded her she was alive- made her feel like she was alive. Her eyes travel down to her thighs, exposed by the small gym shorts she was wearing. The sides of her thighs were adorned with small, but long, white, almost silver scars- all horizontally painting her legs. All intentional, all with their own reasons for existing. Some of them, reminding her that she was damaged goods. She didn't feel anything in particular when looking at them. Then again, she hadn't felt much of anything as of late. Until today- rage.

Whilst she hated the man of course, she could not lie to herself and deny that he had given her the burn of something new- not any kind of positive feeling, but rage. It wasn't pleasant by any means, but the warmth of something other than apathy unlocked a part of her she had forgotten.

The blood on her knuckles had dried to a deep maroon. How long had she been lost in thought? With a huff, she moved to the bathroom and pulled out the first-aid kit whilst rinsing her knuckles.

•

"Woah! Get into a nasty fight, L/N?" Hizashi calls from the cubicle next to Y/N in the staff office, decked out with equipment and a cubicle for each employee.