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solac1um · 4 years ago

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Brief Respite

I’ve also posted this on AO3! Written for the this fanfic collab.

Basically my first actual attempt at sexy writing. I tried to blend my default style into it, got a bit carried away, tried to shoehorn a piece of dialogue in, etc. Hopefully it came out at least miiiildly readable? Lmao. Anyway this was super self-indulgent, the Nakahechi route is, indeed, very special to me, although I’ve only ever been there once. If I lived in Japan, though, it would definitely be somewhere I visit yearly. A person can dream, I guess.

Izuku x GN!Reader

———

One of those nights again. He'd returned home, to lay his weary body on the couch next to you with a sigh, staring empty-eyed at a blank phone screen in one hand, the other seeking yours gingerly - too gingerly.

You'd put your book down, curled into his side and turned his face to yours. He'd looked so tired it broke your heart. As if in response to that thought, he'd attempted a smile. "I'm okay, don’t worry about m-"

"- don't give me that. Right now, I'm not a colleague who needs to be reassured." Your fingers brushed soft locks from his face as you'd peered into his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to bring work home with you, baby? You don't have to be a hero within these four walls." You'd brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. "If Izuku is tired, or worried, or scared, let him. You need to take care of this, too." And you'd tapped your fingers on his chest over his heart, watched the perfect veneer crumble, let him cry in your arms.

Later, stroking his shower-damp hair as he slept, you'd decided you both needed a good, week-long vacation.

Besides, it was that time of the year. You made a pilgrimage to the mountains of Kii Hantou every year, since it captured your heart the first time, walking the same route. This trail has seen you through your progress as a rescue hero. From worrying about being able to pass your first fitness test, to attempting harder and harder stretches of the trail every time you returned. The Nakahechi route witnessing you in all your seasons. For you, it was less religious, more a place that felt like home, that surrounded and held you, that kept safe your fears and dreams. And this time, you got to bring her the person you'd been telling her about for so long.

"For the next week," you'd told Izuku firmly, pressed against his side on the bus rumbling through the quiet countryside. "You're not a hero, you're not on duty, and neither am I, and no one is going to put us on call for anything. The only thing I'm fixing is food for lunch every day. And if someone has the gall to interrupt the first real vacation you've had in the 8 years you've been a pro hero, it better be because the world is literally crumbling." You stare into his eyes, still so guileless after so long. "Mmkay? Promise me."

His eyes are always so gentle when they behold you. "I'll try, puppy," he'd said, kissing your forehead. "But no promises."

It would have to do. You know how much his work means to him. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. "Good enough for me."

You watch as Izuku navigates the undulating paths with more ease than you could ever hope to muster. You lead the way, but only because he keeps pace with you. Your excitement is his excitement. You watch as he gapes at the landscape, his boyish excitement not lost to age - "you come here every year? I bet you don't ever get sick of it!" (You don't.) You laugh with him as he giggles at the "not Kumano Kodo" signs along the way. Signs you were in stitches to see the first time you walked this route. You watch him absolutely demolish the home-cooked meals every family-owned establishment feeds you both, lean into the soft comfort of quiet conversation before bedtime, his hands wandering languidly, affectionately over your skin.

Time and the mountains swallow your five days. Early mornings, sun dappled lunches sitting on logs. Walking rain drenched, through the gates of the hongu grand shrine, the water from the basin so cold your hands numb. The damp rough of the rope in your hands, the melodious rattle of the bell. Walking the grounds, cold and tired, picking out omamori for the both of you. (You always returned them at the new year, knowing you'd be back to get another one) Stopping before the gate to kiss Izuku in the rain, sweet and full of intent.

You’d booked a hotel with a hot spring for your last night there. It isn’t the biggest - that was expensive and always booked out a year in advance - but it is fancy enough, and has private bath rooms. You were a frequent visitor on your travels. Besides, you’d like some time to stare at your man in the nude, thank you very much.

The temperature of the hot bath is delicious after a cold late-autumn day in the rain. Your hands and feet are numb. You’d barely registered your shower, hurriedly rinsing suds from your skin and hair, nearly flinging yourself into the hot bath. You sigh as the shock of the heat fades into a warmth that wraps around you. An eye on the clock, you watch Izuku as he showers. He is so familiar, and no less beautiful for it; cut in marble, almost, your Adonis. How long had it been since you’d had the time to-

“Puppy?” You’re drawn back out of your head to concerned eyes on you. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed. Maybe you should go have a rinse so you don’t overheat…”

You blink at him. “I, ah. No. I’m okay, I’ve only been in here for uh” - a glance at the clock - “Five minutes.” You flash him a smile. “Come join me, the water’s great.” And he obliges.

You want to enjoy the bath, you really do, but you seem to have miscalculated just how fatally distracting it would be to have him next to you, so tantalisingly undressed. You sigh and lean your head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the tendrils of desire you feel rising deep in your core. He hums and deposits a kiss on your head, and warmth blooms in your rib cage.

Had it really already been seven years? Eight, since you first met in the debris of a fallen building, the aftermath of some villain’s harebrained scheme. Dirt-streaked and exhausted. You, working your first year as a rescue hero, and he, almost fresh out of UA. You’d both unwound over a cup of shitty coffee in the break room of the hospital afterward, a conversation cut short, that’d led to another. And another, and another. And here you both are.

“You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes again.” Izuku nuzzles you. “You’re so pensive today. Is everything alright?”

You giggle, lean in for a kiss that you draw out. “Couldn’t be better. After all, I get to spend aaall this time with the love of my life.” His eyes hold yours, a little hazy as you pull away. Entranced. You watch, with some pride, the blush dust his freckled cheek. It’s flattering that you can still do that, after all this time.

“Did you miss me that much,” he mumbles, and your barely-audible “too much” and the resounding yes in your mind brims over. His face is in your hands, your lips are on his again, sweet and insistent and ravenous. And the water burns on your skin, or is it the heat in your skin, the way your breath is stolen from your lips, the way your head is spinning?

His breathing is ragged when you pull back, a fire in his eyes that finds its echo somewhere in your belly.

You find your words first. “Let’s get out of here,” you say, taking him by the wrist. “Before we both get a heat stroke.”

The walk back feels like eternity. Bodies pressed into each other, huddling for warmth, for contact. The door clicks shut behind you, your hands are on him, tangled in his hair, breathless against his lips. Kissing him, his body against the mattress, your body against his, imprinting the length, the shape of his desire into your contours. His hands on your hips. You gasp into his lips, drawing a groan. The whisper of fabric as the sash of his yukata comes undone in your hands. Your fingers on his skin, trailing down his body, his breath hitching in his throat.

"You are so beautiful," you murmur against his skin. "These shoulders shouldn't always have to carry the weight of the world."

He sighs. You let your fingers trail down his form, studying every dip and curve and freckle and scar. “Let me spoil you today, baby. You work too hard.” You've long memorised the constellations in his skin, the way muscle under skin flutters beneath your hands, the way it does now as your touch wanders, fingertips and lips, down to the waistband.

He shivers, bites back a moan. Straining. You run a hand along his length, through the fabric, fingers finding the elastic, and you tug, achingly slow.

Lips brush the weeping tip, catching his precum on your tongue. You take him slowly, sucking the swollen skin, tearing a groan from his throat. A hand in your hair - gentle pressure, but enough to feel the tension humming in his veins. He breathes, a drawn out, shuddering breath.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly.

You moan, a sound that starts in your throat and reverberates into the cavern of your mouth, and he feels it. “F-fuck–” his breath hitches, and you hum. You take him deeper, your hands wandering the planes of his stomach, his thighs.

Deft lips, and a practiced tongue, you devour him. His tip hits the back of your throat and you groan. His taste is so familiar, your blood thundering in your ears and you are so full of him, and all you know is him. And you hold the moment, as he squirms, for what would have been a breath, or two, or three -

- and you pull back, only to push down again, feel him twitch and swell between your lips as you move. Hungry for his passion, his unravelling, faster and faster.

Izuku’s hand is in your hair, grip almost demanding. The taste and heat of him on your tongue, egging you on, fuelled by the sound of his voice, caught between a groan and a whimper, the way he shifts and trembles, back arching away from the mattress. His body a line of perfect tension as you guide him to his climax.

His own hand stops you. “Puppy, baby, wait, I–”

“Mmm?” You hum, earning yourself another soft gasp.

“I- I need to be inside you.”

You pull back, lips gliding over his length, leave him aching. You’ll make him wait a little, you’ve waited for this for so long. You look up at him, through your eyelashes, faux bashful. “Yeah?”

You grind against his cock slowly, teasing, and he draws a shuddering breath. “Are you going to ask?” You breathe the words into the air between your lips and his, close enough to feel him whimper as you move against him again.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please, baby. I need you. I need this.”

You swallow the moan rising in your throat, lean in. “Good. Because,” you breathe, “I do too.” Your words meeting his parted lips before your own steal the choked moan that escapes - yours, or his - as you guide him into your velvet heat.

You’ve waited for this for so long.

You move slowly, savour every inch of him, the way his eyes hold yours, unfocused, the way he bites his lip and gasps at every thrust, not enough to silence his moans.

“Fuck, puppy, yes–” His voice catches on the edges of his pleasure. “Oh god, you feel amazing, puppy.”

You chuckle breathlessly. “Yeah, baby? Did you miss this? Just having time... to ourselves like this?” The heat rises in your core, the closeness and friction and fullness of his cock tearing a rawness from you. “You did, didn’t you?” you move faster, chasing intensity. “Tell - tell me.”

His hips twitch against you. "You– did I miss this," he gasps in the midst of a pleasure that threatens to steal his words, “Puppy, you have no idea, I - ah - all that… that wishing… for, for uneventful days so I can come home early, only for it to - ah - never happen, being too tired to do anything all these nights - oh fuck - h-having all that time on patrol, to all but dream of you and how I fucking ache for you. I-I’ve wanted you so much I can't breathe. Fuck, baby, I don't think you have a single inkling-”

And then they’re gone, shipwrecked in the storm of his pleasure as he takes you by the hips and thrusts up into you, the change in angle bringing you closer. And the desperation of his words and his touch make you want to lose the measure, fuck him into oblivion, sate a hunger you cannot name.

And so you do, bracing against the mattress, hips snapping against his, feeling your walls tighten around him. You drop your forehead to his, kiss him deeply. He groans into your lips, low and desperate. “Puppy, I’m- I’m going to cum-”

The need in his voice pushes you over the edge. You ride him through your orgasm, his name tearing ragged from your lips over and over as you convulse around him. Your hips don’t stop until his body echoes your climax, shuddering against you, twitching inside you.

You hold him until he stops trembling, until you stop trembling, until his breathing slows. Green eyes gaze at you, still hazy and so, so soft. You kiss him slowly, pull away to brush the hair from his sweat-damp brow, and he wraps his arms around you. “I love you, puppy,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss to his forehead. “And I love you, dearest.”

He hums and buries his face in your shoulder. “I really needed that.”

You run your hands through his curls, gently. “I know, baby. So did I.”

“Maybe we should... Do this more often,” he mumbles, drawing a soft laugh from you.

“Oh, definitely. Anything to get your workaholic butt to take a break every now and then, and spend time with me.” You touch a kiss to the side of his head. “Would you come with me again next year, if you can?”

He looks surprised and gratified. “You really want me to? I’d love to.”

You bump your nose against his. “Don’t look so surprised. If the last seven years is anything to go by, there isn’t a part of my life I want separate from you.”

He responds with a tight hug. “Me neither. Thank you, puppy.”

You let your fingertips wander, tracing idle patterns in the sweat cooling on his skin. “You know, since we’re going to have to go take another shower, let’s go enjoy that private hot spring without getting distracted.”

Izuku laughs. “What are the chances?” You flick him lightly on the shoulder. “What?” He looks at you innocently, all big guileless eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so distracting.”

You roll your eyes, tugging him up. “Oh you sweet talker, you. C’mon, before it gets late.”

#bnha #my hero academia #deku x reader #izuku x reader #mha #boku no hero academia #yatoverse #pls don’t eat me i’m just a noob

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prep4goth · 5 years ago

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I wrote a little thing about Alex "Trash Goblin" Torini based off a prompt I saw online. It's finished, though the ending is rushed and I'm bad at grammar so. I wasn't creative enough to come up with a title lmao

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Fandom: They're Watching (2016)

Characters: Alex Torini

Content Warning: swearing, light depictions of violence/gore, mentions of trauma

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Alex began the day similarly to how he’d start each and everyday for the past several months; heart thumping wildly and a cry dying in his throat. The details of the nightmare were unclear. As his heart rate declined, the fucked up imagery would fade into obscured whisps. He can’t remember the last time he woke up in the comfort of his bed. Every morning without fail, Alex came to face down on his couch. Fortunately, it was the largest piece of furniture he owned. He could easily stretch out without even bumping the other end. Sometimes having short legs wasn’t a complete curse.

Alex, convinced that his bones were made up of 40% calcium and 60% lead, fought the urge to remain in his current position. He felt like a boulder sinking into his sofa. Rolling onto his back, something that should be elementary, required a tremendous amount of effort. His eyes focused on the ugly popcorn ceiling. There was a crack- water damage from his pissbags neighbors above him- that ran from the furthest corner to the fan. The longer he concentrated, the wider the crack appeared. While he envisioned the crack splitting open and dumping gallons of water on his head, the rational part of Alex’s brain demanded that his body move.

With an Earth shattering sigh, he dragged himself into a sitting position. Alex rubbed his sore eyes. He couldn’t massage away the dry heaviness that seemed to permanently settle behind his eyelids. What time did he pass out last night? A glance at his still opened laptop and half empty coffee mug told him it had been an unplanned slumber. He’d probably intended to only rest his tired eyes for a moment and slipped into unconsciousness. Just as he had done the previous night. And the night before that. And so on and so forth. His couch had transformed into his office/bedroom/dining area.

Alex’s left arm was stiff from being tucked under his skull; a makeshift pillow. The tips of his fingers buzzed. Though, whether or not it was from holding that particular position or the dog bite, Alex had no clue. He curled his fingers into a fist. He watched the muscles in his forearm tense. With a slight grimace, he noted the rippling of the angry, pink marks embedded into his skin. Alex dimly recalled the searing pain of canines sinking into his flesh. He remembered the clink of teeth against bone and the ungodly amount of blood. Alex flinched as if the memory had physically burned him. But no matter how violently he jerked his head, the gruesome images were still imprinted in his mind’s eye. Hand cramping, Alex slowly unfurled his fist. With his fingers fanning out, he shook his hand until the cramping dissipated. It made no difference what he did. Numbness spread from the pads of fingers to his wrist, but feeling would eventually creep back. It always did.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alex mentally prepared himself for another day of pacing his cramped apartment, slowly deteriorating his vision via computer screen, and consuming unhealthy amounts of coffee. That last one, however, was only achievable by getting his ass off the couch. As sizable as the couch was, it was destroying his back. Alex braced his hands against his lower back as he hefted himself onto his feet. He twisted side to side, spine popping obscenely loud in the quiet apartment.

Alex scooped up his phone from the coffee table, thumb pressing the home button. Though, the screen remained black. Well, fuck me. I forgot to charge this bitch. He realized with a weak chuckle. Not that he really cared that his phone died in the middle of the night. He hardly used it aside from emailing clients and mindless mobile games. Alex reflected on how he unintentionally severed ties with most if not all his friends while he plugged his phone in to charge. Occasionally, a film buddy would reach out, but responding to pointless texts was rather taxing. His friends had eventually gotten the memo. They figured he was pretty much useless.

Once, Alex was convinced the flame of desire he had for creating would never flicker out. He was determined to make a name for himself in the film industry. Being a sound guy for some home improvement show made for middle aged and hobbieless parents was not the end goal, but a starting point. Fresh out of highschool and hardly scraping by, Alex thought it was an incredible gig to dip his feet in. The plan was to save up enough money to move out of his parent’s place and gain some behind-the-scenes experience. He’d graduate to bigger and better things; directing. Plans change and aspirations are grated into something more realistic. Alex had not minded flying from country to country, slinging a boom mike over his shoulder. The fact that his boss wasn’t pleasant, to say the least, or that he could only afford a shitty apartment with cracks in the foundation hardly phased him because at least he had Greg. That bastard was the only thing keeping Alex from jumping ship and enrolling in law school like Alex’s dad begged him to. Then they visited fucking Moldova.

Moldova was a pair of bloodshot eyes that tracked his every move and reeked of smoke. Alex could feel its glare sorching his back every time the memories began to fade. The smoke burnt his lungs, choking him with shame if he ever attempted to forget it. Meeting the accusing eyes meant addressing the unbridled guilt eating away at his stomach whenever he so much as breathed. The weight of its scrutinous gaze left Alex wondering why he was the one left to poorly recite the witch’s tale. According to the witch possessing Becky, Alex was destined to capture the chaos that unfolded that night. Why him, out of every other person, she failed to clarify.

The witch’s carnage was the last thing Alex filmed. Everytime he picked up a camera, his stomach churned. He feared he’d lift the camera to his face and see Becky’s warped grin on the other side. Wallace, unfortunately the only other person alive, had kindly kicked Alex to the curb. The footage would never see the light of day. People didn’t seem to question the show’s new host, or even Kate’s whereabouts. Greg and Sarah, nameless crew behind the cameras, hardly hurt Wallace’s pockets to replace with other nameless crew. That soulless, corporate prick didn’t even blink upon hearing that his own niece had met the business end of an axe.

There was no hazard’s pay, not even after a 300 hundred pound man nearly strangled Alex to death. Alex needed to find another source of income to keep his lights on. So, he started editing other people’s work. The majority of his clientele were grown men screaming at video games and indie artists. Humorously enough, Alex favored editing the least. He was equipped with basics, but found it skull- splittingly tedious. It required sitting in one place for too long and extreme focus- something Alex had to shut his mouth for more than five minutes to accomplish. After watching his closest friends die horribly, however, Alex found it was much easier to be silent. A chatter box to a complete mute in months. Now, Alex slipped into the monotonous mechanics without complaint. The simple repetitiveness of splicing clips and adjusting audio levels allowed him to drift through the week without thought. It was slightly pathetic. He willingly chose to rot his brain on a day to day basis for the convenience of not having to think.

Clearing his throat, Alex realized he’d been standing next to his charging phone for several minutes. He frequently caught himself falling down a rabbit hole of damaging thoughts. His forehead creased, fingers twitching against his phone. He ignored the throbbing pulse where the scar from the dog bite was. Powering his phone on, Alex didn’t expect anything exciting. Maybe an email asking for an update or a notification from one of his various games. He was unpleasantly caught off guard by the blinking ‘missed call’ icon. Upon further inspection, it was a missed call from Bernadette- an old friend Greg introduced Alex to.

Apparently, Greg had played gigs at some dive bar frequently enough to earn some “street cred”as he often bragged about. Bernadette, when she wasn’t lugging camera equipment around archaic buildings, was bussing tables at that very same dive bar. With similar senses of humor, which consisted of constantly taunting poor, outnumbered Greg, Alex and Bernadette were instant pals. They were too eerily similar for Alex to develop any feelings beyond platonic, despite Greg’s occasional teasing. Bernadette was the only person left in Alex’s life that was too damn stubborn to let go. Desperate for some form of human reaction, Alex craved reaching out. He tried almost daily. Alex had typed out several messages to Bernadette but erased every single one. Of all people, Bernadette deserved to know what happened; she was practically a sister to them. Except Alex had no clue how to tell her. Whether it was guilt or fear of her not believing him, his basic vocab always disintegrated. There were literally no words to express the dread and sorrow that hollowed out his chest. Better to not have a conversation period.

Tucked away in the dusty corner of Alex’s brain, was a locked chest of traumatic souvenirs. It was splitting at the seams, yet Alex continuously stapled the cracks closed. He ignored the splintering wood. Any day, the chest would finally collapse under the weight and Alex would be flooded with blood tinged memories. He concluded a conference with Bernadette over the phone would be the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Or, in this case, the very thing that protected Alex from the shitshow that was himself. Alex had spent months building that damn chest. He’d lost friends and proper vitamin D, but was still clinging onto a microscopic amount of sanity. He was alive at least. Breathing stuffy apartment air and with the diet of a broke college student, granted. But that was more than Greg and Sarah could say.

His phone screen dimmed as he internally battled himself. He needed to talk to Bernadette, yes, but he was terrified. There was no danger in listening to his voicemail. Alex inhaled sharply as if he were about to be held under water as he tapped the message icon. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“What’s up, assclown! “ Bernadette’s recorded voice shouted into the receiver. Alex winced at her sharp volume, but chuckled regardless.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me since you got back from where-ever-the-fuck, but that ends today. No more hiding out in that closet you call an apartment- time to get rolling, babbbby!” Alex shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Hearing her voice was a breath of fresh air. That feeling of lonely claustrophobia pressing on his chest faded slightly. Though, he was nervous for where this was heading. He pressed his lips into an anxious line.

“I don’t know what all went down over there, but it’s been months, man. You can’t keep this agoraphobe act up forever. That goes for that sonova bitch, Greg too.” Her laugh was soft, but still audible. Alex felt that familiar pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. God, she thought Greg was alive and avoiding her. Throat tightening around a baseball sized lump, Alex pressed his knuckles against his mouth. His knuckles were flushed hard enough that his teeth dug into his lower lip.

“Did you guys decide you’re bigshots now? Cause, newsflash- that’s utter bullshit.” Bernadette must have meant for her tone to sound teasing, but the hurt was evident in her voice

“I’ve left Greg a fuckton of messages, but he hasn’t even opened my texts. If I didn’t know better, I’d be worried. But regardless, I know you’re back from Europe, so no excuses. Remember that show I do, the fuckin, uh, ghost hunting crap? Well, we’re down a camera and I thought you’d might be interested. Last time we spoke- which was, like, a century ago- , you said you needed a job, so… Here ya go, bud. It’s better pay than whatever you’re probably doing right now. Even if you don’t need a job, the least you could do is call me and tell me yourself. Just so I at least know you’re still breathing.” There was a beat where Bernadette paused to inhale quietly. She was right, though. Their last conversation was brief and impersonal. He offered the simplest explationations; the shoot was canceled due to creative differences and Alex was out of a job. As for what he yarn he spun for Greg, Alex didn’t recall. Probably some bullshit timeline where Greg was backpacking through Europe.

Bernadette wrapped up her message with a final jab at Alex’s lack of communication skills. In a poor attempt to center his roaring thoughts, Alex rested his phone against his forehead. The guilt that was slowly swirling in his gut developed into a full on Tsunami. For a moment, he wondered if it was possible to drown in it. Alex no longer had the option. Bernadette deserved the truth, no matter how painful.

More than that, Alex needed to get the fuck out of this place. His apartment had lost its safe haven appeal and felt more like a cage closing in on him. Whether or not he was prepared to handle a camera again was a different story. He didn’t resent the aspect of working with people again either. At one point, Alex very nearly achieved his dreams. It was still camera work, but he was more than likely rusty from his months-long hiatus anyway. He would have stood in his living room all day if he tried to debate why he should or shouldn’t take the job. This meant, on the other hand, calling Bernadette back. And eventually, he’d have to tell her that Greg was dead. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? Alex had survived an encounter with an actual blood-hungry witch, but his heart shuddered at the thought of Bernadette labeling Alex a lying ass and cutting him off completely.

Finally, Alex worked up the nerve to press the ‘call back’ option. His eyes stung with unshed tears as his heart nearly beat out of his ribcage. Alex tightly squeezed his eyes shut. The third ring droned obnoxiously loud and Alex silently hoped she wouldn’t pick up. But when did Alex ever get what he wanted? There was a soft click, followed by Bernadette exclaiming that Alex was a fucker.

“Good to hear your voice too, Bernie.” He shot for humor, but the tremble in his voice betrayed his bravado. Bernadette either failed to notice or was feeling generous.

Before she had the chance to strike up small talk, Alex launched into action. “Is that job offer still on the table?”

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#they're watching #alex torini #Maddy's drabbles

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