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noisyboy · 17 days

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Like Wildfire, it Starts in my Chest

Hitoshi Shinsou x AFAB!reader, no pronouns, smut, angst, hurt | wc - 2k

Where Hitoshi questions everything and you answer nothing

Despite your best efforts, the blood stains just won’t come out. They’re woven into his clothes, imbedded deep into the fibres, no matter how long you scrub and no matter what you use they barely budge - only seeming to smudge further, to spread wider.

He’s quiet. More so than he usually is, to the point where you watch him from afar, stealing quick glances each time you pass into and back out of the room, feigning the need to retrieve something.

This isn’t uncommon, in of itself, but it’s rarely this bad; you suppose it’s because this wasn’t expected, he’d been on his way home from work when a tussle had bled out into the street from a dingy bar not too far from his agency building. He’s faced worse, maybe that’s why he thought little of it, maybe that’s why he asked the question - the last question.

“What are you fighting for?”

He asked himself the same question over and over again in his head while sitting in the passenger seat of your car, blankly staring at the passing streets as you drove silently. You couldn’t think of what to say, you opened your mouth to speak, to simply ask if he was okay, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. How redundant, it’s because it’s habit; to watch him stumble through the door with more cuts and bruises then he’d left with that morning, nursing a headache or fighting nausea that creeps up his throat like spiders up a drainpipe - the age old question you force yourself to ask, “are you okay?” With wet lashes and a clipped smile, it’s all you can manage.

He gifts the same sort of smile back and folds his hands around your waist and kisses your temple, “it’ll all be fine” he says, more to himself than to you, but you’ll take it nether the less.

Grief settles in your chest as you watch him from the kitchen, from the angle you can’t see the entirety of him, but the parts of him you can see are rigid. His hands are balled up into fists against the top of his thighs and his shoulders are bunched together, blades practically touching, you’re desperate to smooth it all away.

It’s a thought that catches in your mind a lot, grieving someone that’s still here, feeling such heartbreak for a man you can still see and touch, he’s tangible enough that you can run your fingers through his hair and kiss him from his throat to his lips. Yet, he’s not really there, you’re too observant for your own good, noting the way his eyes wander to some place else when you touch him, he removes himself from you all together and it burns in your chest like wildfire.

Your nails hurt where they bite into the countertop as you brace against it, the anger and grief and sorrow swirling in your chest is enough to smother you, it’s stifling. You feel as your lungs squeeze and your throat tightens, everything rises up on your tongue, and there’s only so much time before you’re too far gone to bite it all back. It’s hard to focus on your breathing, you try to steady it, only enough so that you can get to the bedroom or the bathroom - somewhere you can drown this without any suspicions.

Before you can move, there’s heat against your spine and wetness at your throat, then there’s something glaringly familiar prodding at the curve of your ass. You’re caught off guard and the sound that escapes your lungs reflects that. “Hitoshi” you gasp, reaching an arm around to cup the side of his face as he sucks bruises into your throat, soothing them with his tongue when he’s satisfied. He rolls his hips against you and you can’t help but moan, the points of your hips pushing into the sharp edge of the countertop makes you hiss and Hitoshi eats it right up. You feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheek, he’s crying, but his voice doesn’t carry it, “need you” it’s whispered against your skin - you’ve never heard him sound so broken.

There’s no space to think straight, that capacity is robbed right from under you when you feel your shorts getting pulled down over your thighs until they pool at your feet, reeling when Hitoshi pushes your shirt up and flattens a palm to your spine, kissing softly at the skin in the spaces between his splayed fingers. There’s so much you want to say, no, need to say - but it melts on your tongue as you wrap it around the syllables of his name.

Hitoshi is profound at many things; it’s simply one of the vast array of traits that led you to follow him into this lifestyle, between his aspirations and goals, you fit somewhere in the middle, folded neatly like a love note in his breast pocket. For safe keeping’s. Confessions of love happened quickly, perhaps too quickly, school sweethearts turned front page gossip. You hadn’t been able to ignore it, remembering the day you waved him off from the General Studies Department, watching him sprint toward his goal of becoming a hero, a dream you’d both shared early on. He didn’t want to leave you behind, but at the end of the day, you couldn’t really blame him. As much as it stung you tried to understand, you tried to tell yourself that you would have done the same given the circumstances.

After he’d graduated and turned Pro you happened to reconnect, he sought you out, wanting to pick things up where they’d left off. Despite your resentment that had built up over the years and despite your better judgement, you threw yourself at him, any chance to validate all of those long burning feelings. Any chance to soothe the desire to be wanted and the need to be loved.

Years later, little has changed, not for better or for worse. It’s simply unexpected, it wasn’t where you’d pictured you’d be, feeling as if you’re walking on eggshells, not wanting to say the wrong things. Fearful he’ll spook, too scared incase Hitoshi snaps back to reality and tells you all of this had been a mistake. You love him, you love him so much you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet for him, but you can’t help but feel that despite the fact he would do the same - it wouldn’t be because it was you.

He’s a hero, he’d throw himself in front of a bullet for anyone, and that’s what hurts.

The fact that everyday he walks out of that front door, he might not come home, the fact he is willing to lose you through the act of losing his own life.

It’s silly and it’s selfish and you know that; but they’re your feelings, and you’re so tired of pushing them down and telling yourself that it’s silly and that it’s selfish.

At the same time, you knew who he was - what he was. So it’s only yourself to blame, he had told you outright that his need to save and protect went further than just you, and you told him that you were more than fine with that. Now you’re not. Now you want to be selfish and you want to stop him going out of that front door, you want to stop the split lips and broken bones and bloodied knuckles at the doorstep.

Somewhere between these thoughts you drift in his arms, you’re kissing his lips, the taste of copper on his tongue that’s become the new normal. Your shorts are kicked across the kitchen and your legs are wrapped around his waist, your teeth sink into his bottom lip and he moans against your lips, panting against you like the effort hurts. Because it does, physically and mentally, everything hurts. Hitoshi guides his cock between the wet slip of your folds and he hisses through his teeth when you moan in his ear, he doesn’t notice the tears - but he ignores them if he does.

He fucks you like he misses you, every time, without fail. Because despite the fact he sees you everyday, he’s not always present, the light in his eyes is often dull if not absent all together. He rocks against you like this is the last time, because it could be, every kiss goodbye when he gets out of bed in a morning and every fleeting glance could very well be the last. Again, it’s selfish, because that’s the case with everyone and everything, it’s a dense way to think, instead of enjoying the moments you focus storing them away in the archives of your mind incase the next time you see him is at the morgue.

You arch your hips into him and he drives his cock even deeper into of you, it’s electric, you touch him like he’s made of glass, like he could shatter any second. Yet, he’s a strong pillar of a man, a national hero, he isn’t some feeble thing that you’ve rescued from the gutter. He’s too nice to tell you such, to tell you to stop fussing over him, to let you know he is in fact okay and that you don’t need to ask him fifty times a day. Hitoshi brushes it off, he tells himself it’s because you genuinely care, lets him know his judgement of you had been right all along and you’re not here for fame and money like many of his friends “girlfriends” are.

You’ve been here since day dot, he can never forget, that first training exercise all those years ago against class 1-A and 1-B, you had helped him prepare and cheered him on the whole way. He’d lost count of how many times you had willingly gone under the control of his quirk, as dismissive as he was about the proposal Aizawa had been the one to twist his arm. “You won’t get many people offering that kind of trust to you” his mentor had told him, a knowing nod to his head as he spoke, Hitoshi hadn’t questioned your offers of help from that day forward.

Now, is that was this is?, he’s inside of you instead of inside your head, two means to the same end. You’d always offered everything up to him, without question, and he’d taken and taken and taken until there was nothing more to take.

He holds you close, one hand around waist while the other cups your throat, his fingers pressing into your chin as he tilts your face to catch your lips again. You cling onto him, nails biting into his shirt where they’re draped over his shoulders, pulling him close until your chests touch, feeling as his heart beats against yours. You don’t know where the lines blur, or when it happens, but he melts into you and you do nothing to stop it.

All you know as that he’s close, he’s panting into your mouth and you breathe him in, savouring every last bit. He chases his orgasm as he thrusts you towards yours, dipping a hand between your bodies as he quickens his pace, pressing his fingers to your clit and finding that spot that he knows gets you every time.

It’s a burst of colours behind your eyes and then you feel his teeth sink into your neck as he cums, his hips slowing as he pulls you into a vice like grip, so close that there’s no room for either of you to breathe.

It’s a short reprieve from the nagging in your mind and the bad feeling in your gut, but even so, you can’t escape from it.

You sob against his shoulder and he stiffens, not knowing what to do, all he can do is hug you tighter, smoothing his hand through your hair as he shushes you - growing soft inside of you.

Through broken cries and the pain in your ribs, you manage a hiccuped slurry of words, “I can’t do this anymore”.

Hitoshi doesn’t say anything at first, he digests the words, tasting them in his mouth as he strokes your hair and rubs comforting circles against your spine.

“I know”

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