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strangemagicc · 6 months

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Muse | Part One

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pairings: modern!artist!Eddie x fem!Reader, classmates to lovers

summary: you laid there exposed, nipples perked and goose flesh blossoming on your skin. their eyes were watching you, studying the curve of your hips and the length of your legs but no gaze was as intense as his.

author’s note: this kinda got away from me but there’s just something about Eddie calling reader a good girl 🫠 I did my best to edit it so if there’s mistakes I apologize! Comments/reblogs are always so appreciated 🖤

w/c: 5.5k

warnings: smutty smut smut, p in v, oral (reader and Eddie receiving), creampie, slight dom!Eddie, uhh praise kink if you squint

The room was cold, the walls white, a little medicinal. Light cascaded through the windows, hues of tangerine and gold creating a warmth against the expanse of your exposed flesh. Your head rested against your shoulder, arms pressed into the wooden stage below you, legs posed to the side elongating your body. You could feel their eyes on you, pensive and concentrated but you focused your gaze on the wall behind them. Studied the cracks in the plaster and the splatters of paint from classes before. The minutes ticked by, slow and tedious. You shifted your gaze to the left, eyes meeting intense chestnut. He smiled at you, small and polite before looking back at his canvas. Lines formed on his forehead, eyebrows raised high as he captured the curve of your waist and the flare of your hips. He was handsome, conspicuously so. Curly auburn hair tied into a low bun, black t-shirt clinging to the muscle of his tattooed arms. A walking canvas, perfect lines and shadows. Heat rose to your chest, blossomed in your cheeks and your breathing became more shallow. Your eyes darted away from him, back to the wall behind him and you remained focused refusing to linger a moment longer on the curve of his jaw or the cluster of freckles on his nose. Worried that he’d noticed you noticing him. Because you had noticed him plenty of times. On campus and in class. Sitting in the back of your art history sketching in his journal as the professor droned on and the minutes ticked by slowly. Sometimes he’d catch you staring, give you a smirk or a small wave to let you know that weren’t as inconspicuous as you thought. Each time heat would rise to your cheeks, eyes darting away. And you would be embarrassed if you hadn’t caught him just as fixated, just as hypnotized.

A timer began to beep alerting the class that you were due for a break, that your pose would change once you returned. You pushed off your hands, stretched your shoulders, and rolled your wrists before grabbing for your robe. The plush fabric was a welcomed comfort, cotton soft against your skin. Students talked amongst themselves, reviewing each other’s work, their creations of you but no one spoke directly to you. Over the last few months, you began modeling for the figure art class to make a few extra bucks, to make your way through college, and to get your own art degree. At first, it was awkward, you were unsure of yourself and how to place your body. Uncomfortable having everyone’s eyes on you for an hour, studying the flesh of your stomach and the stretch marks on the curve of your ass. But it became easier, almost second nature to be bare in front of mostly strangers.

You continued stretching your neck as you walked towards your bag for a snack hidden in the depths of your purse. You needed something, your hunger nearly loud enough for those around you to notice. The granola bar was sweet against your lips, apple and cinnamon. A little stale from sitting in your cabinet too long. Still, you hummed as you devoured it, eyes closed and savoring each bite.

“That should be your next pose,” a deep voice stated from above you. You opened your eyes, chocolate brown looking back at you with a smirk. A whisper of a dimple on his cheek.

“What would you call it? Glutton?” You joked back, taking another bite to cover the way your breath hitched when you got a whiff of his cologne.

“Hmm, I was thinking ecstasy. Something about how your eyes roll whenever you take a bite seems fitting.” You chuckled at his words, heat blossoming in your chest at his sentiment. Ecstasy. He popped a grape into his mouth from the bag he was holding, thumb lingering on his lips as he eyed you. A mischievous glint in his eye.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he wiped his hand before reaching it out to shake yours, your eyebrows meeting with a crease at the gesture. Seemed a little formal after he’d already seen you naked. But still, you slipped your small hand into his much larger one, felt the calluses on his fingers and the ones against his palm as you introduced yourself. He smiled and repeated your name with a nod, your hand lingering in his as the two of you stared at each other in silence. You shook your head, a little dazed as though he had put a spell on you.

“Aren’t you in my art history class?” Eddie pushed a hand into his pocket and leaned back on his heels as he made small conversation.

“With Professor Blake?” You tilted your head watching as his eyes wandered down your frame and back again.

“Yeah, that guy. Always has a coffee stain somewhere.” You nodded along with his description, watched as he talked with his hands making gestures as he spoke mimicking Professor Blake’s mannerisms and the dribble of coffee he always had.

“That would be him,” you giggled again, wadding up the wrapper to your granola bar.

“How are you liking the class?”

“Something about art history makes me want to stab myself in the eye but otherwise it’s fine. Blubbering Blake makes it pretty entertaining, classmates are pretty cute,” he mused and kept his eyes trained on you. Your gaze fluttered, an abashed smile found a home on your lips. You cleared your throat as you tried to formulate a response.

“I think it would be more fun if we spent more time looking at the art while we listened to them drabble on. More than just slides y’know? I like to be immersed in it.” As though that weren’t obvious by your lack of clothes moments ago. Your nerves were ignited making you antsy, a little bit of a rambling mess.

“I feel the same way,” he gave you a thoughtful nod, “You can only see or understand so much from a lecture and it’s usually all from a PowerPoint anyways,” he shrugged, gaze lingering on yours. He was unabashed with his staring, the way his gaze wandered over the length of you.

“You know what I’m really excited to see?” He nodded for you to continue, crossing his arms as he listened. Your enthusiasm was evident, wide eyes and a huge smile.

“Yayoi Kusama, her exhibit is going to be in Philly.” His gaze changed, excitement building at your words.

“Seriously? Holy shit, I have to see that. I’ve been following her work for a while,”

“Well if you’re interested, I have an extra ticket for tomorrow. My friend bailed on me.” Your date had bailed but he didn’t need to know that. You shrugged your shoulder nonchalantly as if he wasn’t a stranger. As if this wasn’t your first conversation and you weren’t asking him to go out. As if you weren’t dying to end the night with him in your bed.

“Fuck yeah, I’m interested,” he nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Great,” you beamed, “it starts at eight if you want to meet there?” Eddie shook his head.

“Absolutely not, I’m picking you up. We can get dinner after.”

“This is sounding a little like a date, Eddie.” You teased him to hide the nervous butterflies that were unraveling at your center.

“I hope so,” he smiled at you fully, one you couldn’t help but return. The alarm went off letting you know that your break was over, that it was time for your final pose.

“Dinner sounds great,” you whispered over your shoulder as you walked back towards the makeshift stage and dropped your robe. Eddie shot you a wink, dimpled grin on full display as his gave traveled over you.

You clawed through your closet for the better part of an hour, your bedroom littered with rejects as you examined your reflection in the mirror. The black fabric of the short corduroy dress you’d decided on hugged you, accentuating the curve of your hips and ass. Your cleavage pressed into the fabric, the top button hanging on for dear life. You paired it with sheer black tights, a leather blazer, mary jane pumps, and a daring red lip. A little pop of color. You shook out your hair, teasing it with your hands for a little volume before sliding on your gold necklace and matching hoops. You felt cute, a little hot even, and winked at yourself in the mirror laughing at your own cringe before checking your texts to see one from Eddie that said he was on his way. Excitement filled you, a motley crew of butterflies swarming your abdomen as you anticipated his arrival and thought over your conversation, exchanging numbers after the class had ended. You’d thought about it since the day before, going about your routine with a little hum, a small smile and now the moment was here.

Eddie knocked at the door softly and straightened out his appearance as he waited for you. You smoothed out the lines of your dress, fixed your cleavage, and looked at your reflection in the hall mirror one last time before answering. His eyes widened, jaw slack as he looked at you. You were equally off guard, admiring his simple black button-down paired with black jeans that accentuated the curve of his thighs. He wore rings on either hand, big and intimidating. His hair hung at his shoulders instead of the bun you saw him in yesterday, a small chain tucked into his shirt. Eddie smelled like bergamot and sage, a hint of cinnamon from the gum he had been chewing.

“Y-you look stunning,” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he finally looked into your eyes. You melted under his gaze, flattered was too small of a word to describe how you felt under the intensity of his regard.

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you complimented, slightly entranced by the smell of his cologne.

“Flattery will get you anything, sweetheart,” he chuckled, hiding the redness of his cheeks as the two of you walked out of your apartment building. His hand stayed at the small of your back, guiding you through the maze of hallways, down the elevator, and out the front door.

The fall night was chilly, a gentle breeze biting at your skin and you tucked yourself further into your blazer.

“Are you okay taking my motorcycle? If not I can get us a Lyft. I didn’t realize until I was on my way that I hadn’t mentioned it when I insisted on picking you up.” He grimaced.

“Let’s take your bike,” you assured him with a smile as the two of you walked in step. His bike was parked near your building, matte black and sleek. You let out a low whistle and walked ahead to get a good look at it.

“It’s so fucking nice,” you enthused, secretly always wanting a bike but knowing you could barely walk on two feet let alone ride on just two wheels.

“Thanks, got her this summer. Took her to the coast and some beaches. Was a pretty kick-ass time.” Eddie grabbed his helmet, adjusted the strap, and turned to you offering it.

“I don’t have an extra, don’t usually ride with a passenger,” he shrugged, “hopefully this will fit you.” He handed you the black helmet, matte to match his bike.

“Are you trying to say that I have a big head?” You scoffed playfully. His eyebrows shot up, devious. Like he didn’t want to be the one to tell you the truth that you were carrying a globe on your neck. You swatted at his shoulders playfully, a small giggle escaping.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he pretended to wince, rubbing his shoulder like it still stung all the while smiling broadly back at you.

“It was so implied in those eyebrows,” you pointed at them, drawing a little circle in the air in case he forgot where they were.

“They have a mind of their own,” he raised his hands as if he didn’t have an explanation and watched as you tugged the helmet on. It was tight against you, cheeks squeezed on the sides like your uncle used to.

“You might actually be right,” you grimaced, thinking of how unflattering the whole thing looked.

“I promise that’s how it’s supposed to fit,” he chuckled reaching over and adjusting the chin strap. Eddie tapped your head slightly, shot you another wink that went straight between your thighs. He was suave, annoyingly confident but it had you hungry. Wanting. He slipped his legs over the bike, the fabric of his jeans bunching around his thighs and you eyed the swell of his ass. Eddie chuckled at the directon of your gaze as he held his hand out for you, helping you onto the bike and instructing you to use his shoulders to get situated. The muscle flexed under your touch, solid. You wanted to glide your fingers along them, skim the hard muscle of his arms into his back.

“How you feeling back there?” He peeked over his shoulder at you.

“G-good,” you stammered placing your hands gently at his sides.

“You might want to hold on a little tighter.” He pulled your hands around his waist, and patted them gently after you interlocked your fingers.

“Better?” He asked.

“Better,” you nodded even though he was no longer looking. He took off, motorcycle vibrating beneath you. You pressed your face into his back, arms tight around his stomach as the wind whipped against you.

Eddie walked you to your door, palm on the small of your back, your body buzzing with the two margaritas you had over dinner and the warmth radiating from his touch. You weren’t drunk, just a little less wound tight. Nerves melted into oblivion. Inhibitions near nonexistent. The date was good, great even. You had thought of this moment all night, how to invite him in and if you were being too forward. If you’d read into how his hand dipped from the small of your back to the swell of your ass. If you imagined the hunger in his gaze that was mirrored in yours.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you beamed, back pressed into the wood of your door as you looked up at him. A little flirty, eyes batting. His brown eyes searched your face, settled on your bottom lip and he swallowed hard.

“I had a lot of fun too, thanks for inviting me.” He leaned a little closer, bergamot and cinnamon filling the small space between the two of you. His eyes darted back and forth between your gaze and the pout of your lips. Debating. You leaned closer, back leaving the surface of the door, the swell of your breasts brushing against his chest as you did. He crowded your space, pushing you gently back against the wood, one hand resting above your head and the other playing with the hem of your dress. You tried to seem unphased but the way you swallowed had you giving away how his touch affected you. Eddie dipped his fingers under the hem of your dress tracing the line of your upper thigh to the cheek of your ass. Teasing. Eyes darkening when he noticed you weren’t wearing any underwear. Your hand moved up his chest, lightly scratching the exposed flesh until they were twined behind his neck, the sweet smell of your perfume making him hum. He wedged a leg between the two of yours, the sound of his boot heavy against the hallway floor, nose brushing yours as he leaned in watching your eyes flutter close. Eddie cupped your jaw, calloused thumb rubbing gently against your cheekbone, tracing a line to your bottom lip and pulling against it. A shiver ran up your spine as you felt his other hand move further up your skirt, fingers digging into the doughy flesh. His breath was warm against your lips, a whisper above yours as he continued to tease you. You whined impatiently pulling him closer until his lips were pressed into yours. They were softer than you expected, plump against your own and you knotted your fingers into his curls. Pulling softly and eliciting a groan. He sucked your bottom lip, tongue sliding across asking for permission until you opened for him. Your tongues met in the middle, soft as they explored each other. Eddie’s hand cupped your jaw as the kiss deepened, his knee pressed between your thighs and you began to grind against him. Your clit rubbed against the rough material of his jeans making you shiver with the contact. You felt him twitch against your thigh, the evidence of his arousal pressed into you making you moan into his mouth. He pulled away from you, pupils blown, cheeks blushed crimson. He eyed your swollen lips, a question on the tip of his tongue but you beat him to it.

“We should go inside,” you stated between breathy sighs. Eddie nodded rapidly, swallowing roughly as he eyed your cleavage before you turned around and began digging for your keys, shuffling around your wallet and tubes of cherry lipgloss. He pressed kisses to the curve of your neck, tongue darting over the nipped flesh. Length hard against you, rutting into your ass. You were unable to concentrate, head tilting back as his palms created a path until they were cupping your breasts. Your hands stilled as he explored the heavy flesh.

“You better keep looking,” he instructed, teeth grazing your thrumming pulse. You nodded, chest heaving as you dug through your purse again, finally finding the keys. You pushed the door open with shaky hands, Eddie trailing behind you. You closed the heavy wood in a rush, breaths short as you kicked off your mary jane pumps. Your apartment was only illuminated by the light in your hallway, creating a shadow over Eddie’s strong jaw. You grazed a fingertip over the bone and he shuddered, eyes dark as he pushed you lightly against the door pressing rough kisses to your sternum. You reached for the buttons of Eddie’s shirt, fingernails grazing against the tattooed flesh as the material of the black button-up dangled open. He tilted your head back to get better access, kissing down your neck, your chest, and to the top of your breasts. Your skin was warm against his lips, flushed with the heat building between the two of you. He nipped at your cleavage, fingers starting to undo the buttons that lined the front of your dress, fumbling through them quickly until the material dropped open.

“Fuck,” he breathed a groan as he eyed you, fingers gliding over the flesh of your stomach and up your chest, pushing at the straps of your dress until it fell to the floor with a soft thud. You were nearly bare, standing in just your tights and your black lace bra. Goosebumps sprouted, a shuddered breath escaped your lips and he was on you. Rough kisses, all teeth and tongue. Hungry. Desperate. He groaned as he felt your perked nipples through your bra against his muscled chest, big hands finding purchase on the curve of your hips. He squeezed you firmly, flipping you around until your chest was pressed into the door. Eddie rubbed his hands over your ass, warmth radiating through the thin layer separating him from your bare skin.

“How attached to these tights are you?” He asked, voice gruff. He began sucking a sensitive spot behind your ear as he waited for your answer.

“N-not really,” you stammered, distracted. Needy. Eddie’s right hand cupped your breast wandering under the material of your bra. He squeezed at the nipple as his other hand left a blazing trail down your back and between your thighs. You were soaked, slick arousal making your tights stick to your folds. Eddie traced the outline of them with his finger, breath catching as he felt how wet you were.

“All of this because of me?” His voice was low, warm breath fanning your ear as he pressed into you. His cock twitched against your ass and you nodded at him, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as you began grinding against him, hips wiggling against his hard length. He stilled your hips, fingernails digging into your skin creating crescent moons.

“You’re a needy girl, aren’t you?” You nodded again, trying to press harder against him. To feel him against your clit. The friction you so desperately needed. Eddie smacked your ass, your moan grew louder. Needier. Enjoying the sting as his hand rubbed the covered flesh.

“You like that, baby?” Both his hands rubbed over the dough over your ass, against the seam of your tights, fingers digging until you heard a rip from the nylon and felt the air against the slick between your legs. Eddie gently pushed against your feet spreading your legs further apart, fabric ripped in half until the tights were two separate halves. He grabbed the fat of your ass spreading you apart bending on his knees behind you.

“Jesus fuck,” he moaned, swiping against your folds.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he hummed, finger dipping close to your cunt. “Is this all for me?” You nodded but he couldn’t see, gaze trained on how you glistened in front of him.

“I need to hear you, sweetheart,” his hand stilled and you whimpered.

“Yes, it’s all for you.”

“Do you want me to touch you? Make you cum with my tongue?” You nodded again, this time earning another slap against your ass. Your nipples pebbled at the contact, cunt gripping around nothing as your moan filled the space.

“I need you to tell me, pretty girl,” Eddie instructed, spreading you apart again.

“Please, please make me cum Eddie.” Your nails scrapped against the wood door, clawing at nothing as he teased your cunt with his thick finger. Thumb playing with your bundle of nerves. You felt his warm breath against your wet arousal and shivered, forehead pressing into the door as you bit your lip in anticipation. You were a second away from begging when you felt his tongue swipe against your folds. He groaned at your taste, lapping up your dripping arousal like a man starved. Your toes curled as he pressed further into you, head twisted so he could work your clit, thick fingers teasing your entrance. You wiggled your ass against his face, a silent plead and Eddie slipped a finger inside stretching you until he was knuckle deep. His fingers curled inside, hitting a spot you had trouble reaching on your own. Your moans grew louder, reverberating off the walls of your apartment as you got closer to coming undone.

“Fuck, Eddie, oh my god,” your chest heaved, eyes squeezing tight as the rubber band inside you constricted. He added a second finger, tongue lapping at your juices as you began to constrict around him. You reached behind, fingers wrapping into his curls and holding his head to you. Your moans matching his pace. He sucked at your clit, your vision going white as the rubber band snapped and you came undone. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, his name falling from your lips in breathy moans. Body shaking as the orgasm took over. His groans vibrated against your clit making you shudder and he savored every last drop, never slowing. Lapping at your juices. He slapped your ass again, your legs shaky as he left a trail of kisses up your spine and turned you around. You melted into his arms, looked at him with hooded eyes and saw the evidence of your climax coating his mouth. You stood on your tiptoes, kissing him deep and tasting your sweetness on his swollen lips.

“You taste so good baby, so sweet,” you bit at his bottom lip. Less shy, already hungry for more. To feel the delicious stretch of the hard length that had been pressing against you. You placed your hands on his chest, his muscles flexing under your touch. You pushed back gently, a silent command.

“It’s time for me to take care of you,” you guided him further into the apartment, gaze trained on his as you undid his belt and let it fall to the floor. Your hands worked the button of his jeans, nails brushing the hair that trailed into his pants and teasing the sensitive skin there. He looked at you with hooded eyes, stopping at the foot of your bed when you got down in front of him. Knees digging into the carpeted floor. You looked at him over your lashes, teeth biting into your lower lip as you took it slow. You pushed his jeans down his hips and he kicked them to the side watching as you grazed the ends of your nails against his legs, up the swell of his muscled thighs. Smiling when he shivered at the touch. You kissed his clothed length, hand massaging his balls, trailing kisses until you reached the tip. A patch on his boxers wet from pre-cum. You stroked him through the thin fabric, hand wrapping around his girthy cock as you dragged your palm from the base to his tip. He was big, bigger than you’d ever had, and you ached at the thought of stretching around him. You stood, hand still wrapped his length, and pushed him onto the bed. He spread his stance wide, brown eyes watching as you situated yourself between his legs, his chest rising and falling in short spurts. You palmed his thighs, finger grazing the spandex of his boxers and pulled them down watching as his cock sprang free. You bit your bottom lip as you eyed his length. He was thick, an angry vein lined the underside, pink head leaking with precum. You grabbed the base of him, tongue flat as you licked a line to his tip swirling over the top to collect the pearly liquid. You moaned at the taste of him, Eddie watching you with a hooded gaze and a shallow breath. You gathered spit, dribbling it down his tip until his head was slick and grazed your flat tongue against it.

“Oh fucking Christ,” his voice was ragged, fingers gripping your sheets as he felt you bob against his length, sucking his sensitive head with a loud pop as you eyed him. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding your head down his length, cock twitching as you attempted to take every inch. Mouth wide, saliva dripping on either side of your gaped mouth. Eddie tensed as he felt your throat constricting around him, swallowing. Taking him deep until you were gagging. He almost doubled over, veins in his hands at attention as he gripped your hair to try to maintain self-control.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not going to last long like this,” he admitted, head thrown back. A goner. You licked the underside of his cock one last time, giving his tip a little peck and crawled over his frame, nails scratching lightly across his chest. He looked at you with a heavy gaze, thumb wiping the saliva that dripped on your chin and back to your lips. You wrapped your plump lips around his thumb, tongue darting across it. A tease. His cock twitched underneath you as you wiggled on his lap. Needy. He removed his thumb, jaw agape as he watched. He leaned in, mouth connecting with yours and kissed you until neither of you could breathe. His tongue flicked over the seam of your lips, the kiss deepening as he swallowed your shaky gasps. Rubbing your arousal against his hard length. Sensitive clit throbbing with each swipe. You pulled away panting, eyes heavy with lust. Dazed.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped as he clung to you, his hands reaching up to unclasp your bra. Your breasts bounced out and he kneaded the ample flesh, eyes fixated on your perked nipples.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed as he took one into his mouth, sucking. Nibbling. Watching as you keened at his touch. You reached beneath you and gripped him firmly, lining him up with your entrance and slowly began to sink down. He eased in easier but was still a stretch. You circled your hips pulling more of him in until your cunt was wrapped tightly around every inch of him. There was a dull ache where you were connected, stretching over his girth. Eddie wrapped his arms around your middle, eyebrows scrunched at the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around his cock.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, fingers digging into your sides and likely to leave evidence of his touch. You adjusted to his length, breathless and stuffed full. Eddie pressed his nose to your neck as he held you, hissing as you lifted your hips off his lap. His cheeks were flushed pink, sweat beading on his chest. He moved his hands below your ass, kneading it and spreading you apart. You clenched around him as he spread you, both of you gasping at the sensation. Eddie helped ease you up, bringing you back down over his length. The sound of your flesh slapping together filling the room. His lips were back on yours and he swallowed your moans as you picked up the pace, hips creating circles whenever you reached his tip in a tease. He slapped your ass at every taunt of your hips, and you clenched with each contact of his hand against your butt cheek. He held you firmly against him, arms wrapped around your waist and began rutting into you. Balls slapping against you with each thrust.

“Oh fuck, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you screamed his name, rubber band threatening to snap inside you as he continued.

“Yeah, baby? Going to be a good girl and cum for me again?” You clenched at the nickname.

“Oh you like being called a good girl, don’t you sweetheart?” You nodded, unable to form a sentence or find the words. Only able to pant his name as he continued to stretch you.

“Make sure you ask me before you do,” he instructed, his hand reached between the two of you. His thumb found your clit and Eddie began rubbing it in mean circles. You jolted at the contact, your thighs a mess from your building release. Your nails dug into Eddie’s shoulder, scratching at the muscle as the pressure built.

“Please, Eddie, please let me cum?” You asked between heavy breaths, vision turning white as the climax built.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart, cum all over my cock like a good girl,” he hummed watching as your head tilted and your eyes rolled, pussy fluttering around his length as the rubber band snapped. You could feel the climax throughout your body, goosebumps forming on the skin of your arms as Eddie continued to pump into you. Overstimulated, tears brimming your eyes as your sensitive cunt was stretched.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m going to cum,” his hips sputtered as he bucked into you with one final thrust. His nails digging into the fat of your ass, his cock twitching as he came. He pumped you full, walls painted with his release. Eddie held you, hands less firm and rubbing soft circles where he dug into your skin. He pecked your bare chest, lips sliding over your breasts, up your sternum and to your neck. Softer. Sweeter. He found your lips and kissed you with a saccharine grin. Curly bangs sticking to his forehead. You looked at him closely, his face smeared with the red of your lipstick and you giggled at the mess. He raised a curious brow as you began to wipe it away.

“I’m sorry I made such a mess out of you,” you teased.

“I think I’m the one who should be apologizing,” and you could feel the mix of yours and his release running down your thighs. Your hearts were beating rapidly, your hands splayed on the muscle of his chest and something about his gaze made you suddenly shy. You hid in his chest, planting sweet kisses along his pecs. Eddie tilted your chin.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he lifted you gently, placing you beside him on the bed. He gave you a quick kiss before venturing down the hall to find the restroom. You listened as he grabbed a washcloth, the sound of the water running, and the soft pads of his feet as he returned. He was gentle as he ran the cloth over your sensitive cunt, cock twitching at your gasps. He tossed the damp cloth into the hamper and watched you, admired the outline of your frame.

“I want to draw you just like this,” he remarked, eyes tracing over your frame. Breathing beginning to return to normal, hitching every time you met his gaze. You covered your mouth as you giggled.

“Like one of your French girls, Jack?”

“If you’ll let me, Rose,” he leaned over, teeth grazing your lower lip and you gasped. Returning the affection with a dart of your tongue, sucking on his bottom lip. He groaned, the length of his cock hardening with each pass of your lips against his.

“Maybe another time,” you suggested between kisses, and he nodded already pushing you further up the bed.

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izvmimi · 3 months

Text

Satoru looks somewhere between mischievous and pensive when you finally show up to the coffee shop, the door chimes heralding your arrival in a way that is far more grand in his head than it would be to the nearest patron or passerby.

But in his head, there might as well be a spotlight shining upon you at all times, or rather a halo above your head. He smiles as you look around, the quick, bashful turns of your head far too cute for him to handle without his affection for you tugging at the corners of his lips.

Yes, a halo is correct, he thinks.

You find him eventually, by position hidden in the back corner of the shop, but realistically with his striking and hauntingly beautiful appearance, he’s always too noticeable. You sigh, pretending to look somewhat annoyed with him, just enough that he falls off his high horse a little, but not enough to bruise his ego. After all, you like him.

... You love him.

“Hopefully it’s something important if it was enough to have you text me so many times during the work day.”

Gojo practically beams, leaning forward, his face propped up by fists pressed into his cheeks. It's an inanely cute action for a man with such a grand presence, with such a silly amount of power and authority.

“Seeing you is important regardless of the reason, duh.” With that, he gently boops your nose and you’re embarrassed, looking around quickly to see who saw, and more ashamed still when you’re unable to stop the warming of your features.

“Can you act normal for a minute?” you find yourself compelled to ask, to which Gojo simply replies, “No.”

You sigh, but Gojo is asking you for your coffee order, and you oblige, grumpily. The morning’s been busy and a coffee break is just what you need, and you have to admit that banter with Satoru is something you live for. He keeps your cup full in a variety of ways after all, and this is just one of them.

He returns quickly, setting down a steaming cup before you. He waits for you to take a sip, blue eyes carefully posed on the way your lips settle around the cup, in a way that makes you feel a little too watched, a little too wanted, but you’re in public and you behave as such.

Once you’re done and you’re raising an eyebrow at him, he’s pulling out a book and placing it at the center of the table. It looks old, worn, akin to a well-loved teddy bear.

“Open it,” he asks.

The first image is a drawing of a girl, sat with a book in hand and back pressed against a cherry blossom tree, the petals of which swirl around her hair, and in seconds you realize it’s you.

You blink, then turn to look at him, then look back at the drawing. It’s from afar in its vantage point and your body is so small against the backdrop, but you remember where it was, when it was, and can practically read the complex emotions off of your once teenage self’s face.

He drew it off of memory.

“Satoru…”

You look at the beautifully rendered image, fingers tracing gently at the placement of granite lines, the careful shading.

“It’s one of the first times I ever really tried to draw you. I found it this morning, and I wanted you to see it.”

Your chest swells with something warm and you can feel it bubble to your lash line.

“You remember that day still, don’t you?” you ask, your voice too soft, too serious, in this very public place. He still hears you loud and clear regardless.

“That and every other day I’ve spent with you.”

@strawberrystepmom

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #daydreams: jjk #mimi's notes #mimi writes: sudden love confessions

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hastyprovocateur · 1 year

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Girlfriend Ellie Headcanons

Cw- mature content, sexual themes

• Ellie's diffident, quiet ways lead many to think she's pensive or moody but honestly, she just needs to know you won't get weirded out when she finally gets comfortable and immediately begins goobing out over the neotibicen linnei life cycle and types of acrylic glazes. One smile does it for her. Suddenly, she's scooted close to you on the couch, knees grazing yours as she ignores the rest of the room.

• She'll let you touch her tattoo, describing the idea behind it, how little it hurt, how it healed, lost in conversation with you. It goes from pyramids to chapstick, nothing's off the table with Ellie Williams and her favourite person. She'll share earphones with you, listening to her favourites Bon Jovi, The Police, Smiths and Aerosmith under a starry sky.

Watch out, she belts Fiona Apple and Kate Bush.

• It's something in your eyes that lets her know not to hold back and hold back, she won't. She has to hover around you now. A big mistake was thinking Ellie has game which she does if having game meant something entirely else. She will act a fool to get noticed by you, cracking lame jokes, mock imitating you, fiddling with your straps and buttons and butting into your sentences just to draw your ire slash attention.

• Will bring you a pair of scissors, requesting that you cut her hair for her but really she just needs to feel your hands in her hair, stroking through the knots, brushing them, fluffing them up before soaking them, holding each lock taut before you run the scissors across their ends. She'll let the length and style be upto you. As long as it's not a fuss to take care of. Will gauge your reaction after you're done.

Do the layers make you want to ride me like a slut?

• Ellie establishes affection through touch. Patting your hip while taking a group photo, grazing your back while helping you pick a box of supplies up, leaving her hand on your ankle a little too long after tying your laces, mindlessly coiling your loose strands, holding your wrist to catch her breath from a fit of laughs, or even scratching off paint from your chest which she accidentally flicked on you.

• Yes, she paints, doodles, sketches around you. Even better, she draws stuff for you to colour in whenever you get bored and demands you pose for her or act as a live figure sample, angling your face and drooping your hand and arranging your fingers to let her sketch it out.

• One night, you tempt her enough to paint you topless, her finger quivering ever so slightly and her breath hitching as she switched her eyes between your blushing breasts and her aged paper. She was clinging onto your initial excuse for dear life:-

Well, we're both girls...

• She will do everything to the point of teaching you how to kiss BUT ask you out and dare to act confused when you take her by the collars, pinning her back on her bed, begging her to quit stalling and ask you out already. She, of course, acts like she knew all along. Joking about how you broke first, earning her first Ellie-being-annoying chuck under the chin from you.

• Will be incredibly smug about scoring you as a girlfriend because come on, total babe like you, the boys were practically shooting daggers at her. Ellie would pull you closer by the waist if you speak too animatedly with another comrade, kiss you on a whim, play with your bottom lip and hold your neck like she had you on a leash in public.

• She got off getting reprimanded by you, pinching your waist or slipping a hand into your back pocket or serenading you mid-task, dipping your head far back, giving you a juicy kiss before pulling you back up and walking off like nothing happened.

• Is a soft, gentle drunk. She'll want you by her side, guitar in hand as she sings a sweet song. Her eyes would be heavy, words slurring ever so lightly and she'd enunciate each word, dipping her head and looking up at you with a heartfelt smile whenever she felt like dedicating a line to you.

Shying away... I'll be coming for your love, okay?

• She will insist you wear her best flannels, that way you get to smell her and her shirts come back smelling like fresh detergent. It's a fair deal, Ellie protested mid smack but grew sombre, hugging and sniffing you with her eyes closed. No matter if it's been a long, sweaty, grimy day, Ellie would want to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, kiss, lick and sniff you till she's had her fill. She's keen enough to have figured out you smell different throughout the month, after a shower, falling asleep or waking up, she can tell the time of the day by your sweet, earthy scent.

• Her greatest turn-on was seeing you lounging in her sheets sporting just her shirt and nothing else. Ellie would hike the hem up your thigh, your belly, giving herself a first chair to your blossoming folds, watching them swell and soak with your charged back and forth. She'd eventually shut your smart quips up with a deft thumb pressing directly onto your rosebud.

• She figured out you went commando on one such outing and suddenly, she's a dog that found a bone in a bush once and is obligated to check in the same place everyday. No matter if it's inside, on patrols or communal gatherings, she'll pull you to the side and demand you unbuckle your pants and show her if you're wearing panties or not. She'll grow clingier and more touchy if she finds out you aren't.

Can't believe I've been replaced by a fucking seam...

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou2 smut #ellie tlou2 #ellie tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou2 headcanon #tlou2 smut #tlou drabble

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heartslobbf · 9 months

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[ID: fifteen shots from 'revolutionary girl utena' with black text on a white background edited over them. the first is of utena sitting in the planetarium, which is subsumed in darkness. behind her is the coffin she hid in as a child. text reads: 'time is so central that i forget about it.'

the second is of miki handing kozue the letter from their mother. text reads: 'i like postcards because they move through time and space.'

the third is of nanami sitting pensively in front of a cello and music stand. text reads: 'music, film, and writing move in time, beat by beat.'

the fourth is of utena and anthy standing beneath the projector, posing for a photo. text reads: 'photographs, sculptures, and architecture happen all at once,'

the fifth is of a dining table in front of nemuro memorial hall. the white tablecloth endlessly extends off the right side of the frame. text reads: 'though we experience them through time, revisiting them, moving arund and through them.'

the sixth is a close-up of the fourth shot. text reads: 'we document to share with the future.'

the seventh is of akio's dining table standing empty, whilst a red rose spins in the top right corner. text reads: 'we benefit from all the previous documents.'

the eighth is of utena prying open anthy's coffin, crying out to her. text reads: 'we say, "i was in this room once.'

the ninth is of baby utena curled up on a bed of roses, her eyes barely open and expression somber. text reads: 'it is a difficult room.'

the tenth is of utena's bloody hand reaching desperately out to anthy. text reads: 'i left this on the table for you. i hope it helps."'

the eleventh is of anthy staring up at utena, weeping freely. text reads: 'it's so obvious it's terrifying.'

the twelfth is a row of girls' shadows, changing behind a curtain. text reads: 'whoever you are, reading this interview, it would have been nice to meet you'

the thirteenth is of anthy standing in her pink outfit at the gates of ohtori, looking back at the tower. text reads: 'but i couldn't wait,'

the fourteenth is of a framed picture of utena and anthy. akio has been cropped out. there is a pink rose frame around the shot. text reads: 'i had to move on,'

the fifteenth is a close-up of the same photo with the same pink rose frame. utena and anthy are tentatively holding hands. text reads: 'i am already so far away.' /end ID]

richard siken, excerpt from the need for making / revolutionary girl utena (1997)

#been in the drafts for a couple of weeks but im sikenposting baby!!!!! go read cover story stat!!!!!!!#this quote is one of my all time faves from an interview about an all time fave book #like girl. i was in this room once it is a difficult room i left this on the table for you i hope it helps #it would have been nice to meet you but i couldnt wait i had to move on i am already so far away. IF YOU EVEN CARE!!!!!!!#honestly just go read that whole interview it does things to me. think about it always always always #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #web weaving #shut up daisy

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moirtre · 11 months

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* 10 : 09 PM . POSTURE: jan. 13, 2016.

CHARACTERS: melanie bae & yoon yeeun. WORDS: 739. WARNINGS: swearing.

Easily attached. Those were the words noted by Yeo Joo-eun in Heri’s file after her 6-month trainee evaluation. Always a half-step behind, Joo-eun pitied the fourteen-year-old whose bold features never seemed to match her muted nature. Uninteresting, at most. Those were the words remarked by Jeong Ka-rin to her creative director when Heri broke down in the practice room at sixteen, heartbroken for reasons other trainees would’ve been overjoyed.

Disappointment always seemed to hang over Heri’s head. Following her like a shadow, reminding anyone who glanced at her of the muteness that defined her personage. That muteness, somehow, never attacked her talent. Everyone knew Heri was talented— quite so. She was known for her voice, effortlessly high with a natural airiness. For her ear, musicality is embedded in her every thought. And for her kindness, like snow with its beautification of everything it covered. If it were not for the permanent sadness stitched into the creases of her eyes, Heri could have had her every wish. But self-sabotage never allowed for many wishes.

Within the group, Melanie was regarded as Heri’s direct opposite. Where Heri seemed to dampen with melancholic disappointment, Melanie blossomed with poise— the same elegant poise that escaped Heri the moment she debuted. Jae-jin, the girls’ manager from the beginning, liked to joke the two were yin and yang. Melanie, known to scoff at any comparison between herself and Heri, liked to make the point that yin and yang were direct opposites, equal opposites. And Heri was never Melanie's equal.

No one quite knows when ‘Heri and Melanie’ became ‘Heri’s obsession with Melanie’. but sometime between their debut and Melanie's first solo project, Heri's eyes gained vitality. The muteness that dominated her bold features grew lost in a glaze of enchantment. For the first time, “possibly in her life” (Naira was known to scoff at any mention of Heri), Heri allowed herself to be. Casting a wish as blissfully as the white snow cataloged on gorgeous winter days.

“It's like she puts you on a pedestal,” Juniper mutters half-heartedly. Melanie's eyebrows raise, making eye contact with the group's leader through the mirror.

“And you don’t?” She speaks with a laugh, drawing an unimpressed stare from Juniper.

“Personally, I think it’s cute. like-” she pauses. “When was the last time she looked like- I don’t know… like she didn’t dread her existence?” Juniper giggles at this, deep dimples appearing in her pale, apple cheeks.

“Can't remember.”

Melanie hums in affirmation of her point. A brief silence enveloped the two girls before Melanie spoke up once more. “Apparently she’s pretty good at making songs. like, producing them.”

It is Juniper's eyebrows that rise this time, surprised brown eyes watching Melanie and anticipating her next words.

“Jae-jin told me they’re giving her a chance. She might end up producing something with Carter for some kids’ show.”

“So they're like… testing her.” Melanie nods, “Yeah, Carter gets to evaluate her, see how good she really is—”

“Potentially make her cry.”

Juniper interrupts, adding in the thought with a brief chuckle released from Melanie.

“He's excited about it for some reason. Don’t know why, really.”

“Mels,” Juniper begins, sending the golden-haired singer a deadpan look. “Because he can be an asshole to her and get paid for it.”

She nods, slowly, pensive in her agreement. “He's mean for free, getting paid for it? That’s like- the perfect scenario for him.” Juniper mutters, shifting in her position perched on her closest friend's bed sheets.

“How do you think it’s gonna go for her?” Juniper speaks up quietly, almost as if she was afraid of posing the question. Her gentle fear is validated through Melanie’s casual scoff accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

“Honestly? I don’t give a fuck.”

Juniper's eyebrows shoot up in surprise once again. Despite her increasing awareness of how much Melanie resented the group’s second-youngest, the depth of her disdain for Heri never ceased to catch Juniper off guard.

“I want her gone. If Carter can’t manage to do that, I’ll go to Trenton— shit, even Ka-rin if I have to."

Juniper breathes deeply, fear creeping into her eyes as she takes in the words of the woman she’s looked up to since she first entered the company. In that moment Juniper understood the depths of Heri’s reverence for the group’s most popular member.

And Juniper knew better than anyone else that when Melanie Bae wanted something, she would get it.

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fanfought · 2 months

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" what exactly do you suppose the guys think we'll be doing while they're gone ? " though posed as a question , her tone indicates that she has an idea already ; the boys have ventured away from their camp under the guise of ' guys time ' and seemed to infer that the girls could do whatever they like . the undertone seemed to imply that they would do girl things while the boys went off to do guy things . with an amused huff , she comes up to stand next to toph , arms crossed pensively as she observes the retreat of one half of the group . " i swear , it's like they've never met girls before . "

@earthfeel liked !

#earthfeel #girls night! *destroys a nearby village*

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killalluchihas · 11 months

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good vibes/bad juju - 57

While on a mission overseas, Gojo gets K-O'd by an unknown person. Within a week, every sorcerer in Japan has heard about it. (A JJK OC story - Rated M, Graphic Violence)

[Chapter One] [Ao3 link] [Previous] [Next]

–/–/–/–

chapter fifty-seven: easy it'll be easy

“What if you’re wrong?” Satoru can’t help but ask it, even if there’s no reason for Tengen to make a such a serious claim without any evidence. “You’ve never even met her.”

“If it is proof you require, I will give you the means to find it.”

The scroll they unroll is old and musty. The ink used on it is deep brown, like dried blood. It depicts a snarled, swirling pattern of sutras, a combination of languages that Satoru only partially recognizes. The written words morph and twist together into larger shapes, ultimately forming a large diamond of dark ink on the parchment.

Satoru has never seen a seal like it before.

“This is a vessel seal designed by the Kusumoto clan many years ago,” Tengen says. “It mutates the body it is bestowed upon.”

He looks up at Tengen, recognizing the implications.

“This sorcerer would have been a potential new body for me, like the Star Plasma vessel,” Tengen confirms. “If not for the fact that she was born to a talisman sorcerer. The sealwork has altered her form to be the dominant conscience, and she’s using the Inverted Seal to hide her true cursed energy signature. If she absorbs my powers, there will be no stopping her.”

Satoru looks at the scroll again, working to unclench his jaw enough to speak. “She’s very young, y’know,” he tells Tengen nonchalantly. “I think she would have been nine or ten years old at the time you were looking for a new body. Don’t you think it’s kind of funny, Tengen-sama? That both of the bodies you wanted were from little girls?”

“This is not a vessel I would have chosen,” Tengen replies evenly, unaffected by his blatant taunt. “Nor do I wish to now. Their cursed energy is disruptive in nature. They would constantly cause damage to themselves and the barriers around them if not for the Inverted Seal. That is why she is a danger to us. She would overpower my technique.”

He frowns. “What do you mean, her energy is disruptive?” The seal on Yoshi’s foot is capable of disrupting cursed energy when she uses it, but Tengen makes it sound like—

“The Inverted Seal of Heaven is masking this power. But when it is deactivated, her cursed energy output returns to its natural state.”

What Tengen says doesn’t quite match up with what Satoru knows of Yoshi, and it takes a moment for him to sort through why that is.

Yoshi told him that the seal on her foot nullifies cursed energy. She also told him that it’s imperfect, and faulty, because she got it when she was only ten years old.

Satoru had filled in the gaps with his own assumptions: that the seal only activates when she wills it to, or when she’s in danger. But if the opposite is true, it’s been active this whole time, and only falters when Yoshi releases it voluntarily or loses control of it. Yet Satoru can’t see that, because the output appears normal to him while it’s working, and negates his sight when it’s off.

Tengen’s concern is beginning to make sense.

“Without the Inverted Seal, she would damage herself,” Satoru says pensively. He remembers Yoshi’s answer, when he asked what would happen if he cut her off her foot.

Tengen points to the scroll again, and describes the sutras needed to safely immobilize the vessel seal. He’s being asked to restrain the talisman sorcerer so she can be safely brought before the council for a trial. Once the council is made aware of the threat she poses, they’ll move to eliminate her.

There’s just only problem with this scenario, and Satoru makes sure to address it.

“This vessel seal,” he says, taking the scroll from Tengen, “I’ve never seen it before. What if Yoshi doesn’t actually have it on her?”

“Then she may not be the threat I suspect, but something that even I cannot explain,” Tengen says simply. “But do you know this for certain?”

“No,” Satoru admits. “But I can find out.”

—/—/—/—

He stops by her apartment that same day. Yoshi’s left the campus, off on a shopping trip with the students. If she knows that the council will see her as a threat, if she knows that Satoru could be sent after her, Yoshi wouldn’t leave herself vulnerable. She’s smarter than that.

Talismans are excellent for contingency plans. So he’ll look for evidence of them.

Satoru stops at her front door. Chalk markings cover the wood in steady, sure strokes. It’s meant to reinforce the broken doorframe, and set off a spark of energy upon its undoing. Like ringing a doorbell, it would tell alert Yoshi to the next entry. She can’t stop him from breaking in, but she doesn’t need to. Knowing he’s been here might be enough to tip her off.

He leaves without entering, and without any answers.

—/—/—/—

“Do whatever you must to restrain this sorcerer,” Tengen advises him. “But you must not let her escape.”

“If she escapes, she can’t absorb your powers,” Satoru points out. Yoshi doesn’t even want to be here, he had to convince her to stay on campus and go behind her back to register her as a sorcerer.

“What do you think she’s been doing all this time, while hiding from the jujutsu world? She is amassing cursed energy.”

—/—/—/—

“They use analog records,” Ijichi explains, looking exhausted beyond his years. “They faxed all this to me.”

The first time Satoru ever stepped foot in New York City was two weeks ago, and it had baffled him.

New York isn’t free from curses, but he couldn’t make sense of the energy movements at all. Curses would still form, but only in weak pockets dispersed evenly throughout the city, regardless of the negative energy pouring out of civilians. Something had changed the pattern of cursed energy, and Yoshi was likely the culprit.

He tasked Ijichi with tallying up the numbers, to find out how much curse activity they dealt with in New York. It took a while for the Americans to provide the data.

Satoru flips through the spreadsheet, trying to make sense of it. “And they didn’t give any explanation for the low activity?”

“None. The activity levels drop significantly in 1996, and gradually increase again, but never return to the original numbers despite the population growth.” Ijichi fumbles with his glasses for a moment, wiping the lens clean. “But they refer to a consultant throughout these reports, do you see that? Starting in 1996, they regularly bring in an unnamed person to handle larger cases. In our terminology, that would mean a curse-user. Here, though… I think they mean Ariyoshi. Though she’d be too young for the first decade, so I’m not sure—”

“Her mother has the same abilities,” Satoru says quietly. “And she has a binding vow with the American council.” Yoshi alluded to it, once. Whatever she does in New York, the American sorcerers allow it for some reason.

“What did she do?” Ijichi wonders. “A city that big is full of negative energy, it has to go somewhere.”

Satoru puts down the packet of mission records. He pats Ijichi on the back and says, “Keep this between us.”

—/—/—/—

By the time evening rolls around, Satoru hasn’t gotten anywhere with the case. He can’t prove that Yoshi isn’t a threat. She’s too powerful, and too secretive. But Tengen’s allegations hinge on the fact that they can sense something that Satoru cannot. So there’s no proof of wrongdoing either, but with the way the council already mistrusts talisman sorcery…

There’s no way around it. Satoru needs to know if she has that vessel seal. He can’t tip her off by asking about it, no matter how much simpler it’d be. If she runs, Satoru will be expected to use lethal force.

If she does have it, Yoshi has to show it to him voluntarily.

And then he has to trap her.

What a lame mission.

—/—/—/—

He hates alcohol.

He can still taste it in his drink, but the sweet lemon flavor helps a lot. Eventually Satoru takes enough sips to feel looser, even with the doubts rolling in his mind.

But it’s easy enough to tease Yoshi. He shifts closer and puts a hand on her leg when Kusakabe asks about their altercation in Germany. He half expects her to break his wrist for it. A part of him hopes that she does.

Instead she just gets a little flustered. Yoshi doesn’t blush prettily or gasp in embarrassment, but she mixes up her words and looks to him for help.

What he didn’t expect was for it to feel so gratifying. The alcohol makes him feel lighter, but Yoshi leaves him buzzing. He forgets, for a moment, why he felt so restless before. He is undeniably comfortable around Yoshi. Content, even. But it feels even better to rile her up.

If they weren’t in a group right now, he’d keep going. Satoru’s mind wanders towards thoughts of her soft inner thighs and her dark eyes fixed only on him. That little huff of breath when she’s annoyed but not really.

He retracts his hand leisurely. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it?

—/—/—/—

I can’t do this, Satoru thinks to himself clearly. He wants to put off this mission until after the goodwill event is over, but he can’t. The longer he waits, the more likely it is that Tengen will alert the council preemptively.

He doubles back to the bar and orders a shot.

—/—/—/—

CRRAAACK!

Satoru grimaces as the wood hits his back. By the time he’s pushed himself off the ground, his back throbbing in pain, the haze over his mind has cleared enough for him to acknowledge what a terrible idea all of this was. Yoshi collapses on the ground, grumbling in Spanish.

She must be so annoyed with him. He could’ve killed them both with that stunt. Satoru can’t help it when he begins to laugh.

—/—/—/—

Yoshi lets him hold her. Lets him rest his cheek against the crown of her head. She leans into him and Satoru relishes in it as much as he dreads it, because it’s still so easy.

“Why do you always check the time?” he asks, noticing when Yoshi looks at the watch he gave her. “I know I’m not boring you, I’m a fascinating man.” He breathes in slowly, trying to place the notes of her perfume. It’s fruity, likely Shoko’s, but unmarred by cigarette smoke.

Yoshi tells him that she looks at her watch when she’s thinking of home. That she misses her family.

Satoru doesn’t think that Mariko raised this girl to hurt people. He doesn’t think her power is a bad thing. All he needs to do is prove it to everyone else, and she’ll be okay.

He turns his face, pressing his lips against her hair. She allows this too.

—/—/—/—

“Yoshi,” he says softly. She looks up, seeming a bit lost in her own head. “You can come inside.”

Satoru has spent plenty of time in Yoshi’s little residence, mostly just to pester her and see how much of him she’ll tolerate. But this is a different kind of invitation and she knows it.

She knows it, and she considers it, and Satoru—

Panic strikes him as he decides that doesn’t want to know her answer, not like this. He changes the question, musters up another smile, “I’m just offering you a tour since I’ve already seen your place. Don’t worry, you can beat me up if I make you mad!”

She laughs, and goes to him willingly.

—/—/—/—

The surprise on her face is so open and innocent. He drinks in her expression, the look of her in this moment, just in case it never happens again. “You mean that you always have Infinity on?”

“It’s usually active even when I sleep.” Satoru isn’t sure what he’s doing anymore.

“You can’t control Infinity right now,” she realizes.

It should alarm him, revealing the gap in his defenses, but all Satoru can think about is what else he can do to keep her attention. The mission is the farthest thing from his mind right now, he’s just telling her this because she’s asking. Because it’s Yoshi.

She draws closer, and Satoru pulls her in because he’s wanted to do it all night. “Nope. What’re you gonna do about it?”

She feels so soft against him. He squeezes at her waist tenderly.

He waits, and Yoshi comes to him.

Kissing her is the easiest thing in the world. She lays a hand on his cheek, delicately cradling his face, and Satoru wants to lose himself in her.

But then her lips leave his, and when he tries to chase her mouth Yoshi leans away.

He opens his eyes, blinking at her. She still has a hand on his cheek, but her brow is furrowed in thought. “What is it?”

Yoshi lifts the glasses off his face, meeting his eyes properly. “Did you have Infinity off when you hit the torii gate?”

The question is so random that it takes Satoru a few seconds to process it. In that time, one of her hands slides down his chest and onto his back. He straightens up a little when she pushes against his spine.

“I’m okay,” Satoru insists quickly. Yoshi keeps looking at him until he admits, “It turned off at some point during all that.” He could heal the damage on his back, but that manipulation of reverse cursed energy requires some effort that Satoru doesn’t care to put in right now.

“You’re ridiculous,” she sighs.

The next thing he knows, she’s dragging him into his own kitchen and shoving a glass of water in his face.

“You’re still worrying about me,” he notes, taking the glass without protest. The bruise on his back is nothing compared to the ache in his chest, but he fiercely ignores it.

“Yes.” Her lips are pursed, like she’s annoyed. “I’m supposed to,” Yoshi informs him, folding her arms.

Satoru just cocks one eyebrow, sipping at the water.

“We have to watch out for each other,” she reasons. “We’re friends.”

It feels like a physical wound now, the twisting in his chest.

“We’re friends,” he repeats pensively, but what really strikes him is the rest of it. Yoshi’s trying to watch out for him. “Is that what this is?”

She doesn’t waver. “We’re definitely friends. The rest, we should talk about tomorrow.”

Satoru drains the whole glass of water and roughly sets it on the countertop. He thinks he hears it crack. “Yeah,” he utters his agreement at last. “We’re friends.”

I’m supposed to watch out for her.

I have a mission to complete.

“Gojo,” Yoshi says flatly, “Go to bed. You look terrible.”

He’s never felt such fondness for someone before.

Satoru opens his mouth to argue with her, but instead he says, completely without meaning to, “Did you infiltrate the school to absorb Master Tengen’s powers and destroy the barriers in Japan?”

The silence only lasts a moment. There isn’t enough time for Satoru to feel the tension before it snaps.

Yoshi blinks. “…It’s complicated.”

There’s no hostility, no sudden attacks. She just stands there.

Satoru barks out a laugh, and it edges on hysteria. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at his scalp. “I’ve been trying to figure it out all day!” he laments.

She looks bewildered. “You have?”

“No,” he pauses. “Yes. Sort of.” He wasn’t supposed to just ask her outright. But Satoru isn’t a fucking detective. He’s not known for his subtlety. He can’t just seduce a woman to examine her body and lure her into a trap. What an awful plan. He’s glad he’s botched it.

“Can you just tell me what’s going on?” Satoru whines.

Yoshi raises her eyebrows. “Are you gonna try to kill me over it?”

He clicks his tongue. “Does it matter? You’ve been here long enough to have found a way around me.” If Yoshi hasn’t put some kind of talisman safeguard in place already, he’ll eat his blindfold.

She doesn’t deny it. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then just tell me we’re on the same side,” he says, and if it sounds like he’s begging, no it doesn’t.

There should still be tension in the air, pressing down on them and choking the words from Satoru’s throat. Maybe there is, but he doesn’t feel it. All he feels is impatient, and a little sleepy. He can’t be bothered to take this seriously anymore, it would give him an ulcer.

Yoshi considers his request, brow furrowed in thought. “You want to hear my side of it,” she says slowly. “Even though you’ve already been warned.”

It might be stupid of him to try this. Satoru knows that Yoshi hasn’t been telling him everything, she’s been cagey from the start. But there’s an understanding between them too, and that’s what Satoru clings to now. She’s a teacher. She’s strong. She values the students’ lives as much as he does. She is ultimately, at her core, a good and compassionate person.

He knows it.

“We’re friends,” Satoru repeats steadily, willing her to believe it. “And I like you a lot, Yoshi. So tell me what you’re doing, and we’ll figure this out.”

Whatever she’s caught up in, they’ll deal with it together.

Easy.

—/—/—/—

[Previous][Next]

A/N: Here’s your damn kiss, you filthy animals! Originally in this part of the story, Gojo was supposed to be at his wit’s end, absolutely desperate to not have things fall apart, drink until he’s blackout drunk and tell Yoshi they should unionize (or marry, he’s not picky) to protect her against the higher ups. That was a little too dramatic to actually write, but I thought it would be funny so I’m just letting you know. I also considered pushing the intimacy further, but that would lead to a lot of angst, which I HATE. They’re gonna sort this out first because I say so. Communication is key, remember? Anyways. In the next chapter we need to check in with Wendy, she’s meeting some interesting people. The baseball game is still on, it’s just happening waaay later than I thought whoops

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo x oc #gojo satoru #good vibes/bad juju #jjk gojo #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen oc #jjk oc #jjk x oc

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drinkthemlock · 10 months

Text

NIGHT AT THE TAVERN

IV - GENNARO

The Return of the King, haha. But seriously, I’m sorry for taking so long with these translations. Here is Gennaro’s chapter. Unlike his peers, he doesn’t commit any actual atrocities, but be aware of murder, adultery, descriptions of corpses and just general scary goth stuff. He’s Italian like Solfieri, but since Álvares had an obsession with southern Italy (Sorrento and Naples in particular) I’m guessing he’s a southerner, while Solfieri lived in Rome.

Text by Álvares de Azevedo, translation my own.

GENNARO

Meurs ou tue…

CORNEILLE[1]

“Gennaro, do you sleep, or are you soaking on the last sip of your wine, on the last puff of your cigar?”

“No: while you were telling your story, I remembered one leaf of life, dried and red like those of autumn that the wind sweeped.”

“A story?”

“Yes: it is one of my stories. You know, Bertram, I am a painter… It's a sad memory that which I am about to reveal, because it is the story of an old man and two women, beautiful like visions of light.”

"Godofredo Walsh was one of those sublime old men, on whose heads the white strands resembled the silver diadem of geniuses. Old as he was, married a second time to a beauty of twenty years. Godofredo was a painter: some said that the marriage was an artistic love to that Roman beauty, like if made in the image of ancient beauties; others painted him as being compassionate for that poor girl that lived off posing as a model. The fact was that he loved her as a daughter, like Laura, the only daughter of his first marriage, Laura… Blushed as a rose and blonde as an angel.

I was young at the time: was a painting apprentice in Godofredo’s house. I was pretty then; thirty years have passed since, then still my hair and my face hadn’t faded like in these long fourty two years of life! I was that type of young man still pure and transpiring childhood, pensive and melancholic like Rafael portrayed himself, in the portrait in the Barberini gallery. I was almost as old as the master’s wife. Nauza was twenty and I was eighteen.

I loved her; but my love was as pure as my dreams of eighteen years. Nauza loved me as well: it was such a pure feeling! It was a lonely and fragrant emotion like the Spring, full of flowers and breezes that cradled the skies of Italy.

Like I said: the master had a daughter named Laura. She was a pale girl, with brown hair and blueish eyes; her brow was white; only sometimes, when bashfulness flushed her, two roses reddened her face and stood out against the marble background. Laura seemed to love me like a brother. Her laughter, her kisses of a child of fifteen were just for me. At night, when I went to retire, when walking through the dark hallway with my lamp, a shadow would put out the light and a kiss would land on my face, in the dark.

Many nights were like that.

One morning – I slept still – the master had left and Nauza had gone to church, when Laura entered my room and shut the door; laid beside me. I woke up in her arms.

The fire of my eighteen years, the virginal spring of beauty still innocent, the half-naked chest of a damsel beating over mine, all that… after waking me from the light dreams of the night, made me go mad…

Every morning Laura would come to my room…

Three months passed like this. One day she entered my room and said:

'Gennaro, I’m dishonored forever. At first I tried to fool myself, now I can no more, I’m with child.'

A thunder strike by my feet wouldn’t have scared me so.

'You must marry me, must ask my father, do you hear, Gennaro?'

I was silent.

'Do you not love me then?'

I was silent still.

'Oh! Gennaro! Gennaro!'

And she fell onto my shoulders, coming undone with sobs. I carried her like this, cold and out of her mind, to her room.

Never again did she speak of marriage to me.

What did I have to do? Tell everything to her father, and ask to marry her? It was madness… He would kill her and me; or at least he’d throw me out of his house… And Nauza? Every day I loved her more. It was a terrible fight that was waged between duty and love, and between duty and remorse.

Laura spoke with me no more. Her smile was cold; every day she turned more pale, but the pregnancy didn’t grow, and no other signs showed themselves…

The old man spent the nights wandering in the dark. He painted no more. Seeing his daughter that died to the secret sounds of a harmony of death, that grew more and more pale, the miserable man ripped out his white hairs.

I had not forgotten Nauza, nor had she forgotten me. My love was always the same: always nights of hopes and the thirst that bathed my pillow in tears. Only sometimes the shadow of remorse passed through me, but the image of her dissipated all these hazes…

One night… it was terrible… someone came to fetch me: Laura was dying. In her fever she mumbled words no one could retain, so hurried and confused they sounded.

I entered her room: the sick girl recognized me. She rose, pale, with her face damp with abundant sweat, and called me. I sat down beside her bed. She squeezed my hand in her cold hands and whispered in my ears:

'Gennaro, I forgive you, I forgive you of it all… you were a rascal… I’ll die… I was mad… I’ll die because of you… your child… mine… I’ll see him still… but in heaven… my child whom I killed… before he was born.'

She yelped, extended her arms convulsively as if to repeal an idea, ran her hand over her lips as if to dry the last drops of a liquid, twisted in the bed, livid, cold, bathed in icy sweat, and gasped… It was her last breath.

An entire year passed in this manner to me. The old man seemed maddened. Every night he closed himself off in the room where Laura had died: he spent the entire night there in solitude. Did he sleep? Not so! For long hours I listened to him pant with disgust, and other times drown in sobs. Afterwards it all went silent: the silence lasted hours; the bedroom was dark; and later the heavy steps of the master were heard around the room, but faltering like a drunk that stumbles.

One night I told Nauza I loved her: kneeled close to her, kissed her hands, showered her lap in tears. She turned her face: I thought it was disdain, so I rose.

'So, Nauza, you do not love me,' I said.

She remained with her face turned.

'Adieu, then; forgive me if I offended you[2]; my love is an insanity, my life a hopelessness– what is left for me? Adieu, I’ll go far, far away from here… perhaps then I could cry without remorse…'

I took her hand and kissed it.

She kept her hand pressed against my lips.

When I raised my head, I saw her: she was broken down in tears.

'Nauza! Nauza! A word, do you love me?'

Everything else was a dream: the moonlight ran through the glass panels of the open window, hit her; never had I seen her so pure and divine!

And the nights the master spent weeping over his daughter’s empty bed, I spent in his bed, in Nauza’s arms.

One night something haunting happened.

The master came to Nauza’s bed. He moaned and cried in that cavernous and raspy voice; took me by the arm with great strength, woke me up and dragged me to Laura’s bedroom…

He threw me to the ground; closed the door. A lamp was lit in the room facing a painting. He pulled the sheet that covered it. It was dead Laura! And I, gaunt like her, trembled like a condemned man. The girl whispered in my ear with her pale lips…

I trembled seeing my likeness so livid in the canvas and remembered that in that day while leaving the dead girl’s room, in her mirror, that was still hung by the window, I was horrified at seeing myself like a corpse…[3]

A tremor, a shiver took hold of me. I kneeled and cried burning tears. I confessed everything: it seemed to me it was her that commanded it, that it was Laura that rose from the sheets of her bed and set me ablaze in remorse and in remorse tore at my chest.

By God! It was agony!

The next day the master spoke to me coldly. Lamented the loss of his daughter, but without any tears. About the past night, not a word.

Every night was the same torture, every day the same coldness.

The master was somnambulant…

And so I didn’t think myself lost…

Although, I remembered that one night, as I left Laura’s room with the master, in the dark I saw a white dress pass me by, was brushed by a few loose locks and in the slabs of the corridor cracked a few timid steps of bare feet… It was Nauza that had seen and heard everything, that had woken up and felt my absence in bed, that had heard these sobs and whimpers and ran to see…

One night, after supper, master Walsh took his cape and a lantern and called me to accompany him. He had to leave town and didn’t want to go alone. We left together; the night was dark and cold. Autumn had bared the trees and the first blows of winter roared in the dried leaves in the ground. We walked together for a long time; each time we went further into the mountains, each time the path became more lonely. The old man stopped. It was at the edge of a mountain. At the right the rocks split into a trail: at the left the stones loosened by our feet at each step fell and rolled down the hill and, instants later, one heard a sound like when something heavy hits water…

The night was very dark. Only the lantern lit the tortuous path that we followed. The old man set his eyes on the abyss of darkness and laughed.

'Wait for me there,' he said, 'I’ll come soon.'

Godofredo took the lantern and carried on to the summit of the mountain; I sat down on the path and waited for him; saw that light at times be lost, at times reappear amidst the trees and zigzags of the trail. At last I saw it stop. The old man knocked at the door of a cabin: the door opened. He walked in. What happened there I do not know; when the door opened again a livid and disheveled woman appeared with a torch in hand.

The door closed. A few minutes later the master was with me.

The old man put down the lantern on a rock, removed his cloak and told me:

'Gennaro, I want to tell you a story. It is a crime, I want you to be its judge. An old man was married to a beautiful woman. From another marriage he had a daughter, beautiful as well. An apprentice– a wretch he raised from dust, like the wind sometimes raises a leaf, but he could reduce to dust whenever he wanted…'

I shuddered, the old man’s glares seemed to wound me.

'Have you never heard this story, my good Gennaro?'

'Never,' I said with difficulty and trembling.

'Very well, this scoundrel dishonored the poor old man, betrayed him like Judas betrayed Christ.'

'Master, mercy!'

'Mercy? And did this rascal have mercy on the old man’s heart?'

'Have pity!'

'Did he pity the virgin, the dishonored, the infanticide?'

'Ah!,' I screamed.

'What’s with you? Do you know this criminal?'

His voice of mockery suppressed me.

'You see, then, Gennaro,' he said while changing his tone, 'if there were a fate worse than death, I’d give it to him. Look at this precipice! It is frightening! If you saw it during the day, your eyes would be blinded and you’d roll down it maybe out of dizziness! It is a safe grave; and it will keep the secret, like the chest keeps a dagger. And so, if you still have in your damned heart an ounce of remorse, pray your last prayer, but let it be quick. The executioner waits for the victim, the hyena is hungry for a corpse…'

I hung there alongside death. I could only choose between suicide and being murdered. Killing the old man was impossible. A fight between him and me would be madness. He was robust, his stature high, his muscular arms would break me like the wind snaps a dried twig. Furthermore, he was armed. I… I was a frail child: at my first step he would push me off that rock on which’s edge I was perched… All that was left for me was dying with him, dragging him down while I fell. But what for?

I looked down the abyss: all was dark, the wind there howled along the bare branches, in the heathers, in the withered briers, and the river in the distance crashed against the rocks.

I was scared.

Prayers, threats, all would be in vain.

'I’m ready,' I said.

The old man laughed: infernal was that laugh from his lips cracked with fever. I could only see that laughter… After that it was a blur… the air that suffocated, the weight that dragged me, like in those nightmares where you fall from a tower and are left holding on with your hands, but hands get tired, falter, sweat, get cold… It was horrible: branch by branch, leaf by leaf the shrubs snapped in my hands, the dried roots that shot out of the cliff cracked under my weight and my chest bled against the thorns. The fall was very fast… suddenly I felt nothing… When I woke up I was close to the cabin of peasants that had found me next to the river, stuck in the branches of a giant holm oak that shadowed it.

It was after a day and a night of delirium that I woke up. As soon as I was healed, an idea came to me: going to speak with the master. At seeing me survive such a horrible death, it was possible he took pity on me, that he might forgive me, and then I’d be his slave, his dog, everything there is of more degrading in a man that humiliates himself– everything! – as long as he forgave me. Living with that remorse seemed impossible. I left then: on the way I came across a dagger. I lifted it: it was the master’s. Came to me then an idea of revenge and presumption. He’d wanted to kill me, he had laughed at my agony, and I was going to cry at his feet so he could push me away again, spit on my face and search for a safer form of revenge tomorrow? I, humiliate myself when he had wounded me! The hairs on my head stood up, and the cold sweat rolled down my face.

When I arrived at the master’s house, I found it closed. I knocked… no one opened. The garden of the house faced the street; I jumped over the wall: all was desert and the doors that faced it were also locked. One of them was weak: with little effort I broke in. At the bang of the door that fell, only the echoe answered through the rooms. All the windows were closed; there was not even a single lit lamp. I felt my way to the painter’s studio. I got there, opened the windows and the daylight poured into the empty room. I got to Nauza’s room then, opened the door and a sickening stench came out. A ray of sunlight hit a table. With it there was the shape of a woman with her face down against the table and her hair loose; thrown over an armchair, a figure covered by an overcoat. Between them there was a cup where a powdery residue had settled. At their feet an empty vial. Later I found out– the old woman from the cabin sold poison and it was her that certainly had sold it, since that’s what the white powder from the cup seemed to be.

I brushed off the woman’s hair, lifted her head… –it was Nauza, but dead Nauza, faded by decay. It wasn’t that most fair statue from before, with a soft face and snowy bosom… it was a yellowed corpse… I lifted the edge of the other’s cape: the body on its belly with its head down; sounded on the floor the crack of its skull… –it was the old man! Dead too, purple and rotten! I saw him: –a greenish foam ran down his mouth."

[1] “Be killed or kill”. This quote, like most of the quotes in foreign languages that begin these chapters, is likely misspelled. I couldn’t find the original passage the author wanted.

[2]Gennaro uses the formal second person plural here (vós).

[3] This passage is confusing even in the original; Gennaro is dragged into Laura’s room by the painter where he reveals to him a painting of Gennaro with his dead daughter.

I hope you enjoyed! Next up is Claudius Hermann.

#álvares de azevedo #literature #gothic literature #noite na taverna translation #<- gonna use this tag solely on the finished translations so people don’t have to scroll through my other nnt posts to reach them #noite na taverna #<- general nnt tag #there will inevitably be one or two spelling mistakes that I’ll only notice weeks later and beat myself up for #as long as they’re not too frequent…#gennaro is my favorite of the libertines

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