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fairyysoup · 3 months

Text

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore.

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?”

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with.

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.”

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?”

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.”

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind.

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open.

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it.

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter.

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.”

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look.

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens.

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies.

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again.

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible.

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.”

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?”

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit.

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.”

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat.

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors.

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror.

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it.

Cocky bastard.

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places.

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation.

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for.

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time.

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back.

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?”

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?”

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?”

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right.

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander.

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all.

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.”

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.”

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?”

“Yeah, not too flashy.”

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up.

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you.

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven.

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck.

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh.

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?”

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you.

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat.

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more.

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather.

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already.

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

“Good girl.”

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume.

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling.

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.”

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours.

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.”

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger.

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes.

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down.

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.”

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it.

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #roses*#eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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cameronspecial · 1 month

Text

Let Me See You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Talking about joining the Mile High Club

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Y/N has never been to first class and the privacy the seats offer is something new to her, but it is nothing new to Rafe and the only person he wants to see is his angel.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Instead of taking his private jet home from Spring break, Rafe opts to give Y/N her first first-class experience. Rafe normally doesn’t get to the airport at the recommended three hours before his flight; however, with Y/N’s need for planning, he does not object to waiting in the first-class lounge for four hours if it eases her anxiety. The early time means her head rests against his shoulders, her eyes fluttered shut in need of some rest. The reclining chair of the lounge makes it comfortable for both of them to rest. Rafe can’t sleep though. His focus is on making sure they catch their flight and when the clock on the wall warns him it is thirty minutes until their plane is meant to leave, he wakes his angel up and leads her to their gate. He grins at the sleepy gaze over her eyes because of how adorable she looks. “I can’t wait to be home. I miss your bed,” she informs, snuggling into his side as they take a step forward in the line. His heart flutters at her referral that his bed is her home, “Me too. I love getting alone time with you, but I miss us being in the personal space of our room.” His lips press against her temple and he hands the flight attendant their boarding pass.

They get onto the plane and he puts their bags in the overhead bins. Y/N’s eyes widen as she sees the miniature space that is dedicated just for her. It may be small, but it gives the promise of a personal space that isn’t typical for a plane ride. As she and Rafe both sit down, the divider between their seats blocks her view of him. It isn’t the end of the world that she won’t be able to see him throughout the flight even though she would’ve liked to. Her desires are answered by a tiny mechanical sound and the lowering of the thin wall. He enjoys the amazement that crosses her eyes. “Woah,” she states, finding the switch he used to do this. She is excited when she presses it and it goes back up. Rafe reverses her action. However, like a child who recently discovered how a car window works, she raises the partition again.

This back and forward goes on for a while and ends when Rafe lets out a frustrated sigh. “Let me see you, Angel,” he pleads, done with the game she is playing. She giggles at the tone of his voice, hearing the pout in his tone. She gives in to his need and presses the button one final time. Her stomach flips at the massive grin that crosses his face when he sees her. The adoration behind his stare always reminds her how lucky she is to have found a man completely dedicated to her. “Being able to see you is always the best part of my day,” he informs, reaching out to take her hand. She squeezes his hand, “It’s my favourite part too.” Another switch reminds him why he picked this particular flight in the first place. “Wait, there is one more thing I want to show you.” He pushes the button and the half wall that was keeping them apart has now disappeared into the floor. Her mouth drops to the floor. He smiles, “The chairs can be put together and laid flat so it can be one big bed.” She giggles at the waggle of his eyebrows and gives him a little shove. “We may have doors but there is no roof, so you are out of luck,” she points out. He shrugs and kisses her cheek, “I guess we’ll have to join the mile-high club the next time we take my jet.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

Text

Sloppy-Style

MY WOLFWOOD/READER FIC IS HEEEERE!!! I may have had a bit too much fun writing this, but i think it’s a masterpiece so it’s more than worth it. I haven’t had anyone proofread this so if you see any typos no you didnt. <(￣︶￣)>

Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Reader, NSFW, 4,200+ words, PLANT!Reader, alien biology, aphrodisiac, fingering, AFAB-ish Reader but no pronouns used, Vaginal sex, sweaty, sticky, messy, and affectionate, the four best things for a smut fic to be!~

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

In Wolfwood's eyes, you were a remarkably easy person to read.

Maybe it was a PLANT thing, you and Vash both seemed to wear your emotions right on your sleeve wherever you went, whoever you met. And though Nicholas wasn't a fan of that particular brand of vulnerability on himself, on you he found it to be at least somewhat refreshing. That must have been why it threw him so off-kilter when you seemed to be hiding something.

You'd been quieter than usual the past few days, and if Wolfwood were a less observant man there was a chance he wouldn't even have noticed. Sure you laughed along to Vash's antics and joined the dinnertime chatter like usual, but the spaces in between that would normally be filled with your thoughts and queries were starting to come up uncomfortably silent. You were jumpier too, that was impossible to ignore. Not just around strangers, but bumping into Meryl, Vash, Milly, even himself seemed to have you jolting away like you were going to bolt right out of your own skin.

And when your group finally arrived in the next town and you'd quietly tugged Meryl aside, asking to have your own room for the night since you weren't feeling well? He couldn't help but be a little bit curious.

So when Vash and the girls were discussing where they wanted to eat for dinner, Wolfwood waved them off, insisting that he'd meet up with them at the bar that evening. As soon as the trio were out of eye and earshot, he let himself quietly up to the door of your room.

"Ey, birdie." He gave your door a few rough taps with the backs of his knuckles. "Seriously, what's eatin' you? You've been weird all day."

"Whu-Wolfwood?"

You sounded… almost out of breath? Jiggling the brass handle a bit, he found the door to be locked too.

"Nonononono, don't come in! I'm fine, I'm fine!"

Your feet pattered unsteadily across the floor as you rushed to keep the door shut. Your shoulder thumped against the wood, and he could hear your shaky, uneven breathing beyond it. Wolfwood's frown deepened, brow furrowing at… at whatever you think you're up to right now.

"If you're sick or something I'm gonna be real pissed off!" He rattled the doorknob again and you squeaked, hands coming down to clasp it. "You may have everyone else fooled, but you're actin' weird lately. And don't think I won't blow this door down to get to the bottom of it."

Why did he care so much? This wasn't a part of his mission, his plan. All he was supposed to do was keep needle-noggin from getting his head blown off by wayward mercenaries, now here he was trying to play Mr. Fix-It for some other Independent he wasn't even aware existed until recently. He's about ready to give up and shoot the lock of your door in when he hears a strangled whimper from your side of the wood partition.

"...You alright?" He asks, the irritated edge dropping quickly off of his tone.

"...No."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You whine again, something about the tone zinging heat through Wolfwood's mind. Before he can try and question you a third time the door unlatches with a soft click, and you peer at him through the gap between it and the doorframe.

Your forehead is beaded with sweat, and you're all but panting as you clutch the front of your oversized white linen nightshirt. There's a scent in the air that hits him as soon as you open the door, nearly bowling him over. It's thick, heady- a deep earthy scent but there's almost a touch of something… sweet, to it. It's intoxicating.

"You really need to leave." You tried to insist, but your voice sounds like that's the last thing you want Wolfwood to be doing.

"The hell's going on with you?" He pressed on, and when you try to push the door shut again his hand clutches the edge and forces it, gently but insistently, back open. You stumble back a few steps as he lets himself into the room and shuts the door. There's feathers strewn all about, like you'd exploded a down pillow, and that scent is damn near strong enough to bring him to his knees.

"It's- It's complicated."

"Try me. I'm smarter than you think."

You wring the fabric of your nightshirt, twisting it in your hands as you shift idly back and forth. Though you struggle to make eye contact with him Wolfwood can feel your gaze raking up and down his body. For once in his life he feels distinctly not like the predator he's been made to be, but the prey beneath your steely eyes.

"I'm… blooming."

Wolfwood's lack of response is too awkward for you to just sit in, so your words stumble forward unabated.

"I thought it was just something they'd induce in the lab. Chemical injections to encourage reproduction. I didn't know it could happen outside of the tanks."

Induce in the lab.

Chemical injections.

Encourage reproduction.

Oh.

"So you're like, uh-" He was prepared for any possible outcome except, it seems, this one. "Horny?"

You groan, burying your face in both hands. When the group had discovered you, everyone had uncomfortably ignored the little green check mark in your digital files next to the line 'Approved for Breeding.' Frankly Wolfwood hadn't wanted to think about the implications, much less consider that they'd come up again in a different context. But now he's forced to accept the uncomfortable reality of the situation, though he doubted it could be more uncomfortable for himself than it must be for you.

But damn, you looked good though. Smelled good too. Was that a weird PLANT thing? Like hell if he knew, but he couldn't help from eating you up with his eyes the same way you were doing to him.

…Did you just say something to him?

"Sorry, uh, what was that?"

You huff, drawing your lower lip under your teeth and wringing the fabric ever tighter in your hands. Your incessant tugging was stretching the neckline out, exposing more and more of your sweaty, jutting collarbone and- focus, Wolfwood, focus. "So you should probably leave before things get any worse. I'll be fine in a couple days."

"A co- Sorry, a couple days? Damn, birdie." He wasn't above laying low for a couple days in a small town like this, and he was sure everyone else would enjoy the break from the chaos too. But a week straight for you? Locked in your room, whimpering, writhing, desperate…? Okay maybe it wasn't such a bad image after all. But Wolfwood hardly wanted you to torture yourself like that. "Anything you can do about it?"

"Not by myself, no." His eyebrows fly up, and only then do you realize how that sentence actually sounded. "That wasn't-! I didn't mean-!"

"Whoa whoa, hey, take it easy. Don't freak yourself out over nothin'." He means for it to be a soothing gesture when he cups your cheek, but your knees buckle like they're going to give out completely and you shudder into his touch. "...Y'know, I'm not opposed either. If you're lookin', I mean."

You don't flinch away at his words, nor do you stutter or stammer or gasp. But your cheek flushes hot under his touch and when you blink your bleary eyes open your pupils are blown so wide they eclipse the color of your iris almost completely. "Why's that?" You rumble, hands relaxing ever so slightly where they bunch the thin linen of your shirt.

"Maybe I don't like seeing a sweet little thing like you in pain, ever think of that?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek and you breathe out a shuddering sigh. But there's still a hint of trepidation behind your gaze, something still a touch unsure.

"It's… it's a little different, down there. Not quite the same as a human."

He cracks a smarmy grin. "You got a hole?" You thump him on the chest with a flat palm and he chuckles, tapering off softly when you give him a tiny nod in response. "Then I'll figure it out. I'm pretty creative."

"You're a real perv for a holy man." You let out a small, breathless giggle, and holy man or not Wolfwood is ready to fall to his knees for you right then and there. "...Only if you can promise this won't make things weird."

"Pinkie promise."

Whatever bit of sanity you’ve been desperately clinging to in order to maintain this conversation seems to slip through your fingertips at his gentle insistence. You slump into his arms, clinging to the front of his suit jacket like a lifeline as you press your cheek into the bare valley of his chest. He leans back against the door to slot a knee between your thighs and you seat yourself like it’s second nature, hips rocking as you moan into his bare skin.

“That’s it, baby.” His hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading in your messy hair. “God, you’re aching for it, aren’t you?”

“W’lfwood,” You slur, mushed and messy, and he shudders as you lathe your tongue up the inner curve of his pectoral. “Kiss, kiss.”

“Alright, alright. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Sliding down the back of your head, his hand cups the base of your neck as you strain to kiss him, meeting in a wet, desperate fervor. Your tongue traces the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open himself up to you as your mouths meet. You're so soft, so much softer than he deserves. His hip is bumping against the door handle every time you roll your crotch against the meat of his thigh, the sharp insistent rattling joining the wet and breathy sounds of your mouth meeting his. You whimper and groan into each kiss like it pains you to part, even for a moment, and Wolfwood can already feel the knee of his slacks soaking through with your insistent arousal.

You might just devour him whole if he lets you go on like this. He doesn't think he'd even mind it.

But he's starting to get a crick in his neck, and if he keeps rattling the doorknob like this eventually someone's gonna come a-knocking. So carefully, while disentangling himself from you as little as possible, he starts to lead you backwards towards your unmade bed. When your knees hit the edge of the mattress you take him with you, the unexpected show of force surprising but definitely not unappreciated as you drag him down onto the bed on top of you. Feathers fly as your bodies whump into the mattress, springs squeaking as he wrestles you into place beneath himself. Your mouths pull apart with a wet pop, and you whimper and lean towards him to reconnect them again even as he sits back on his knees.

"Shh, shh, don't worry, birdie." He purrs. One broad hand strokes down the curve of your belly, following the fabric of your nightshirt down to your mid thigh so he can hook two fingers underneath the hem. "I said I'd take care of you, didn't I? Well you gotta let me see what I'm working with first."

You chirp, honest to God chirp in response, chime-like and eager. Between the noises and the feathers, he's starting to think that 'birdie' nickname he chose for you was less of a fun coincidence and more some sort of divine intervention, a peek into his inevitable future. But frankly he's much more interested in the way you spread your legs for him ever further, tension pulling the hem of your nightshirt further up as you coo for his touch. He pushes it up the rest of the way for you and the fabric crumples and folds where it's bunched upon your stomach. You aren't wearing anything beneath it, and that's damn near enough to knock the wind out of him alone. But there's a thick, translucent glimmer all the way down your inner thighs, dripping from your core, and in a breathless headrush Wolfwood realizes in your arousal and desperation you'd slicked yourself all the way down to the inside of your knees.

He finds his gaze and his hands raking up towards the apex of your thighs. You were telling the truth, it isn't exactly like a human's. But it's not too dissimilar either. Soft, pink petals fold outwards from your core like a blooming flower. They quiver as he drags his knuckles along the curve of your inner thigh, another glob of sweet-smelling fluid dripping from your hole as your breath hitches. At the top of the bloom he finds a swollen bud, standing to attention like it can't wait to receive his touch. Your clit, maybe? Or whatever the equivalent is. Either way, it's the perfect size for him to smooth under the calloused pad of his thumb, and when he does you let out a punched-out sob, stomach tensing as you curl towards his exploratory hand.

"Fuck… Aren't you a pretty sight? Trust me baby, you've got nothing to worry about." It's not nearly enough, but Wolfwood's never been good with words. He knows that you aren't human but right now? Right now you're ethereal. Hair encircling your head in a soft halo, surrounded by little drifting feathers, glistening with sweat and slick? And your eyes? God, your eyes…

"Wolfwood!" You're reaching for his lapels again, tugging weakly at the fabric to urge him to do something, anything. "Nicholas!"

"Deep breaths, I'm not goin' anywhere." He slid two fingers up through your folds, skirting around the edges of your hole. The mewl you let out crawls down the length of his spine and curls hot and needy in his gut; He's going to need to take his own deep breaths if he wants to not bust the second he gets inside you. "Here, just like this, birdie. That's it." He shuffles himself between your legs, pulling until you wrap them both around his hips and you're spread impossibly further open for him. "Fingers first, okay?"

"Nick.~" You're practically sobbing, but you nod in agreement despite yourself. A thick middle finger prods at your entrance, petals fluttering and shivering as your body opens up to him, sucking him in up to the second knuckle with hardly more than a slow, insistent press. The intrusion does little to quell the flame roaring in your lower stomach, only further stoking your desire as your pussy twitches and drools around the intruding digit. He gives it a slow, patient thrust, crooking it upwards towards your belly as he does and causing more warm slick to dribble out into his palm.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Leaking all over my hand and I haven't even gotten a second finger in yet." He can't help but tease you, even though he thinks you may already be too far gone to register it. Your body opens up to him so easily, hips rabbiting as he pinches your clit between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, pulling back to press a second finger into you alongside the first. There's a little more resistance, but with how wet you are for him it isn't long before he's working them into you in a rhythmic pulse, slick squelching and spattering into his hand with each thrust. "You gotta cum for me first, alright? Then I'll fuck you just like you need it. You wanna cum for me, sweet thing?"

"Yes, yes!" Your hands scrabble wildly for the front of his shirt, nails raking down his bare chest as you tug him to meet you. You mash your mouth against his own, slick with spit and moaning into his as your teeth click harshly against each other's. "Mmfh, Wolfwood, Nick. Wanna cum, wanna cum please!"

"I'm not stopping you, birdie.~" He fights a smirk, crooking his fingers to grind the calloused tips against your soft, spongy walls. “Let go for me.”

But as much as he wants to watch your expressions as you tip over the edge for him, he's caught off-guard by a rough shredding noise as your back goes concave, wings bursting straight through the fabric of your nightshirt beneath you as you gasp and pulse around his fingers. Feathers explode into the still air as you writhe and gush and sob for him.

"Nick, Nick!" Scrabbling hands grip at his wrist but he keeps his fingers moving, massaging your shivering walls until the tension finally seems to melt from your body and you slump pathetically back onto the mattress with a final gush of slick warmth. "Nick, Nico…" You're so far gone for him, and it's too damn cute.

"So that's where all the feathers came from. Fancy that."

"Mmmrh… Ruined my shirt…" You grumble, whining again when he slowly pulls his fingers from your blooming core.

"Want me to buy you a new one? Just don't pick anything too pricey, we're still on a budget here." He pats the inside of your inner thigh in a manner that's supposed to be playfully patronizing, but the gentle jerk of your hips toward his touch just pulls another wry grin to his face. "Whoa there, darlin'."

You swat weakly at his hand, but there's no real malice behind it, not really. "Wha' am I, a Tomas?"

"Based on how hard you were riding my fingers, maybe I'm the Tomas- hey!" He's laughing as you swat at him again, leaning in to kiss the smile off your face. "Little brat.~ Maybe you don't need my help after all?"

"Nononono, don't go! Nico, please?" It's not like he's planning on going anywhere, not with your heels snug in the small of his back and your hands rumpling his unbuttoned shirt, but he lets you tug him back in as you nuzzle at his sweat-sticky collarbone with your nose. "Nick, you said you'd help…" Your wings strain to curl around him as well, cradling his body and yours with the massive feathery appendages as you pepper kisses down his neck. The shredded remains of your shirt slip from your chest as you arch towards him, and he quickly bundles it into a single fist and tosses it aside.

"Then maybe you better be good for me, hm? If you want me to take care of you."

"I do, 'm sorry. Please take care of me, Nick."

You sound so genuine, even more so than usual, and despite it just being some playful teasing he almost feels the slightest bit guilty. A warm kiss brushes your temple as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt, shucking it and the jacket off in one smooth motion to crumple somewhere onto the floor.

"Don't worry birdie, you've got me. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

You chirp for him again, arms encircling his neck as your fingers tangle in his shaggy black hair. Wolfwood’s hands fumble blindly with the button of his slacks, lips trailing the curve of your neck as he wrestles the waistband down, taking his boxers with it. Unrestrained, his cock springs free, dark and flushed and beading pre-cum at the tip. There’s a soft, wet slap as he taps it against your sticky cunt, grinding your clit down beneath his swollen head until you’re practically shivering with need, fingers twisting hard into his hair as you struggle to breathe steadily. He lets it slide once, twice over your dripping hole before you choke out another sob of his name and he finally relents, pressing until the head pops slickly into your waiting core.

“Nick…” Your content little coo and the full body shiver you give him in response is like an adrenaline shot directly to his ego. He feels like his head is full of cotton, thick and fuzzy and warm and it’s taking every little bit of clarity he’s able to grasp onto to not bust with just the tip of his cock inside your impossible heat. You’re certainly not helping, hips jumping to desperately take in more of him, fingernails just barely prickling at the base of his neck. He breathes out slowly through his nose, shaky, steadying, before pressing on. Inch by careful inch he slides into you, murmuring mindless soft nothings all the while (for both your sake and his sanity’s) until he can feel his hips bump gently against your own. Only then does he risk letting himself slip the slightest bit, grinding hard into you as his head massages a soft, spongy spot deep within your core. Fuck, he feels like he can feel your heartbeat in your pussy…

You murmur something again, it’s most likely his name, or another plea, but Nicholas is starting to lose his own carefully-cradled sanity himself. He draws back slowly, so slowly, your vice-like heat begging him not to leave, before snapping his hips forward in a sharp, punishing roll. The reaction is all he could have possibly wanted and more; You wail, your wings shiver, trails of fire rake down the expanse of his back where your fingernails dig in.

He’s already dreading his own quick healing process, as any marks from you he’d gladly wear forever.

It doesn’t take him long to find a rhythm, one that trickles molten heat down the length of his spine and leaves you all but screaming his name. One of his hands cradles your hip as the other grasps blindly at the edge of the headboard, wood thunking heavily against plastered wood as it slams against the hotel room wall with each thrust. His lips, his teeth, his tongue, they find the curve of your jawbone in an equally messy display, scraping along soft skin and kissing away the sweat that beads there as the two of you sink together deeper into euphoria. The air smells of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke and fresh flora, and though Wolfwood knows at this point he’ll never get into heaven, never step one foot past those fabled pearly gates, this has to be the closest damn thing to it he’ll ever see in his lifetime.

“Touch yourself for me.” He growls, breath hot against your neck. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, sweet thing.”

You sob again, sweaty hand wriggling between your pressed-together bodies to fondle your oversensitive clit. It’s hardly more than a barely-there brush before you’re cumming again, slick gushing around the point where your bodies meet as you somehow squeeze so impossibly tighter around him. He means to last longer, wants to last longer, but your body and your voice and the oh so gentle kiss you place upon his scruffy cheek as your wings come up to enfold him like he’s something to be revered, something to be cherished…

“Fuck.”

He chokes out a curse as he spills into you, a slurry of hot cum and slick pooling low in your gut as his hips stutter, his breath goes ragged. Each unsteady jolt of his hips shoots off fireworks behind your eyelids, his thumb digging into the jut of your hip bone as he pants into the crook of your neck. You meet in another kiss, languid and open-mouthed and messy as his movements finally slow to a stop. When he pulls away again there’s a shimmering trail of saliva still connecting your mouth to his, and he tongues it off of his lower lip with an all-too-pleased smirk.

“Feelin’ better yet, birdie?”

You nod and let out a soft, approving hum. Though something deep inside you still yearns as he carefully pulls out, soft cock slipping free to release a deluge of slick fluid between your legs. Luckily Nicholas doesn’t seem inclined to go much further than that, settling his chin into the valley of your chest with a content huff as your fingers find his hair once more. There’s less tugging this time though, and far more petting.

“Mmmh, you could put a guy to sleep like that if you aren’t careful. I still gotta clean you up, don’t I?”

“What a gentleman.~” You tease, drawing an amused snort from Nick’s lips.

“What can I say? I live to serve.” For once he truly lets himself relax, melting into your gentle touch and your warm, soft body beneath his own. “Fuck, I’m not even craving a smoke right now. You’re really something, you know that?”

“Want me to help you kick the habit?”

“You really want me to bend you over and fuck you sloppy-style every time I’m craving a hit?”

“Nick!” The snort you’d drawn from him earlier blossoms into full-chested laughter at your scandalized tone. You thump him on the shoulder with an open palm, a scolding little slap.

“Ahh, you’re no fun!” He chuckles, playful fingers pinching the fat of your outer thigh. “Alright then, let’s split a shower and hit the hay instead. I’m beat. How long’s this ‘blooming’ thing supposed to last when you’ve got someone to roll around with, anyway?”

“Not too long, another day at most. But don’t be mad if I wake you up in the middle of the night looking for some attention. You signed up for this, after all.”

“Darlin’, you can have my attention whenever you want.~”

#nicholas d wolfwood #nicholas wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #trigun #trigun stampede #trigun imagines #trigun x reader #trigun smut #my writing #long post

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pompadourpink · 1 year

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Les pronoms personnels

Subject pronouns

They replace the subject

Sophie aime le fromage > Elle aime le fromage - She likes cheese

Je + consonant, J' + vowel/maybe h - I: J'aime le fromage

Tu - singular You: Tu aimes le pain* (can turn into t' before a vowel - informal)

Il, Elle, Iel, On - He, She, singular They (rare), We/everyone/They*: Il aime le vin

Nous - We: Nous aimons les pommes de terre

Vous - plural or polite You: Vous aimez le chocolat

Ils, Elles, Iels - plural They, neutral They (rare): Elles aiment la viande

*casual We: On aime les pommes de terre (common, especially orally, conjugated in the singular but past participles or adjectives will be pluralised); everyone: On ne joue pas avec sa nourriture ! One doesn't play with their food!; undefined They: On m'a dit que tu aimais le pain - I've been told you liked bread, On m'a volé mon déjeuner - Someone stole my lunch

N.B. When it comes to addressing people, Tu is used for friends, close family, children and teenagers, coworkers and supervisors, friends' friends, strangers met in an informal context (festival, bar, tattoo parlour) and Vous for professionals, strangers, older people, people you don't know well or see often (friends' parents, HR people, neighbours). If you're unsure, keep your sentences neutral (Comment ça va? instead of Comment tu vas?) or dropping pronouns (Prête? instead of Tu es prête?) until they make a decision and copy it. The question "On se tutoie?" will come if the person doesn't want the exchange to be cold or if you two are friendly.

Direct pronouns

They replace the object when there is no preposition after the verb

J'aime ø Maxime > Je l'aime - I love him

Me + consonant, M' + vowel/mute h: Tu m'aimes - You love me

Te + consonant, T' + vowel/mute h: Je t'aime - I love you

Le + consonant (masculine word), La + consonant (feminine word), L' + vowel/mute h: Tu l'aimes - You love him/her

Nous: Vous nous aimez - You love us

Vous: Nous vous aimons - We love you

Les: Il les aime - He love them

Indirect pronouns

They replace the object when there is a preposition after the verb

Je donne le livre à Claire > Je lui donne le livre - I give the book to her

Me + consonant, M' + vowel: Tu me donnes un livre - You give me a book

Te + consonant, T' + vowel: Je te donne un livre - I give you a book

Lui: Je lui donne un livre - I give him a book

Nous: Vous nous donnez un livre - You give us a book

Vous: Nous vous donnez un livre - We give you a book

Leur: Il leur donne un livre - He gives them a book

N.B. I give it to you - Je te le donne

Tonic pronouns

They emphasize the sentiment shared, complete certain locutions and can be used to build the imperative tense

Moi, j'aime le vin. Elle préfère la bière, elle. Donne-le-moi ! Nous parlions de toi.

Moi: Elle est à côté de moi - She is next to me

Toi: Fais attention à toi - Take good care of yourself

Lui, Elle: Je m'occupe de lui - I'm taking care of him

Nous: Nous, on préfère partir tôt - We prefer leaving early

Vous: Vous êtes toujours en retard, vous - You guys are always late

Eux, Elles: Elles, elles me font trop rire - Those girls are too funny

Adverbial personal pronouns

They replace different types of objects or adverbial phrases

From there - it replaces an adverbial phrase of place introduced by the preposition de and answers the question from where: Je reviens de chez lui > J'en reviens - I'm coming back from there

Some - it replaces a direct object introduced by a partitive article*: Je veux du fromage > J'en veux - I want some

One/Some - if replaces an indirect object introduced by an indefinite determiner**: J'ai un chat > J'en ai un - I have one (of them)

*Partitive article: Du (De + le), De la, Des (portion)

**Indefinite determiners: Un, Une, Des (unknown subject)

There - it replaces a location introduced by a preposition (à, chez, en dans...) and answers the question where: Je vais à Paris > J'y vais - I'm going there

It/Them - if replaces an indirect object and answers the question about what: Je pense à mon anniversaire > J'y pense - I'm thinking about it (my birthday)

Movie: The Artist - Michel Hazanavicus, 2011

#pronoms #basique #grammaire

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onomatopagu-et-cie · 11 months

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Again some other personal notes on D. Gray-Man (Link, part. 1)

First impressions after re-reading DGM Some theories and observations

And here's the part 2: Notes on Link, part 2!

A thought led to another, then another and then questions brought no answers and more questions… So here I am again, writing kilometers of notes hahaha!

I wrote A LOT so I tried regrouping some notes thematically, this post will be Link-centric along with another one!

Note: I’m sorry for the awkward lengthy english and name localizations!!

Have a nice week!

(SPOILERS UP TO CH247!!!!)

▶ Link, Mana & Cross

MANA AND LINK I’ll quote what I wrote in the previous post.

« Funny how Link and Mana can be associated in the manga: -> ch137, « Orphan and Clown », introduces Link to Allen when he’s still trying to figure out why the Ark’s partition uses the signs Mana taught him and is questioned by Link about it. It is later revealed in the manga Link was an orphan before joining the Crow. -> in ch183, Allen inadvertently voices his memories of Mana to Link. -> in ch212, « Searching for A.W.: Calling You », as Allen loses consciousness, fighting Neah’s awakening, he calls out to Link but instead is greeted by a vision of a young Mana, calling out to Neah. This chapter also introduces the importance of Allen’s name to save him from Neah’s dreams. The original version for ‘Calling You’ is ‘’君を呼ぶ ‘ (kimi wo yobu). ‘Kimi’ is the pronoun both Mana and Link use in the manga ; past!Allen also seemed to use it with Neah. Johnny and Kanda both use omae for Allen. EDIT: Allen also uses ‘kimi’ so the chapter’s title works both ways (in French, the title was translated as « Écoute ma voix » which is « Listen to my voice », I like the way the calling works interchangeably!)! -> in ch213, Link faces a mirror shirtless like Mana does later in volume 25.

-> in ch220, « Searching for A.W.: He Closes His Eyes Tighter in a Vortex », Neah recalls the Earl he’s Mana but remains in denial and Link admits being conflicted over Allen and Neah. »

I also missed this when I was looking at this beautiful illustration of Mana and Red in Lost Fragment of Snow:

CROSS AND LINK The original title for ch234 (« Observer »), in which we learn more on Cross’s protection and monitoring of Mana, is 監視者 (‘kanshisha’). Link is introduced by Luberrier as Allen’s observer in volume 14 when he’s being investigated, and ‘kanshi’ is also used.

His role of an observer is reaffirmed by Luberrier in ch220. He also uses ‘kanshisha’, but gives a whole new meaning to this observation: Link is meant to protect the Fourteenth from everyone because he's the key to end this war. This strongly parallels Cross’s part of the promise to Neah: when Neah died, he was to protect Mana, observing him to that end so that Neah would return to Mana’s side one day. The verb ‘守る’ (mamoru, to protect) is used in both cases.

Their observing behavior was ridiculed in the same manner by Kanda and Red (my handwriting is terrible i’m sorry):

Link and Cross both have a morally ambiguous role they had no choice but to accept (in the CharaGray! fanbook, Hoshino said Cross got involved with Neah "unwillingly") but despite it all, Allen still cares for them:

*in the bottom right panel it would be more « Perhaps that’s how it should be [Allen merging with Apocryphos to get rid of Neah] but [Apocryphos] destroyed what was dear to me. »

When Allen leaves the Order and thinks in anguish of what he’s about to lose, Cross and Link are grouped in the same panel.

When Allen learnt Cross and Link’s ‘death’ (and the two of them are revealed alive chapters later), a similar framing is used, focusing on his blank expression and his eyes especially, highlighted in the shadow:

Just as Link’s profile is separated from the Central Administration from volume 25, I didn’t notice Cross’s is too in the same volume:

This could be explained by the fact both characters are shown conflicted over the path they’ve taken and still root for Allen in volume 25.

Their character designs (with the rosary and all the equipments and straps on their legs, hidden by their robe/coat) share similar aspects:

(Also bonus point, Timcampy is shown caring about them a lot and both are owners of out of ordinary golems)

▶ Future developments for Link

Apocryphos got from Kanda’s memories that Link was still alive… ? Hope he won’t escape the Noah and ambush Johnny, Allen and Link at the mansion (especially since the Saying Farewell to A.W. Arc has been going on for 21 chapters)!

Allen was able to remember, with a long delay, Johnny calling his name when it was Neah that was dreaming about Mana and Katerina and awakened: will he somehow catch fragments of Neah’s meeting with Link?

Will he find out about Cross and Luberrier’s secret agreement and Atuuda this way? He knows Atuuda heals with the life force since Zuu used it on him once, but he doesn't know 1) Zuu gave Link Atuuda & 2) it irremediably is fatal to the user's life. Kanda is hiding from Allen and Johnny that he’s becoming a Fallen One (not to burden them further, as he hid the fact that Link was alive until now), so it’s not that unlikely that Link also hides the toll Atuuda is taking on his life.

Why would Luberrier be hell-bent on needing Link, and nobody else, to ‘save’ (read: use lol) Neah?

Ever since Luberrier met Cross in secret after the Level 4 attack, he did everything to isolate Allen from the Order:

1) Around the same time, he pushed the 3rd generation project in secret for it to be conveniently blown away by the Noah, resulting in Allen also conveniently being confined for rebellion. This leaves him even more alone to fight against the Fourteenth’s memory, which falls right into his plan.

2) He made Allen’s identity as the Fourteenth’s host public to the exorcists, HQ executives and the Central, to officially ‘antagonize’ him. By leaving his exorcist title intact, this clears him from any suspicion of the real plan he carries on behind the scenes.

3) He reorganized the scientists sections and transferred a lot of Central scientists to the HQ to supposedly gain more control. I guess that’s how Reever and others were not granted permission to examine Allen’s state ever since the attack on the North-American branch.

Not to mention the story Cross told Allen was incomplete or even false (eg. Neah and Mana being biological brothers while he knew about the truth): he never told Allen the extent of Neah’s powers and role, that Luberrier, on the other hand, is aware of. I guess it was more to give the Order an official story without going into the real details: he must have reserved the truth to Luberrier.

And in volume 22, Luberrier asks Zuu to save Link because he seems indispensable to his plan.

How special is Link in Luberrier’s pov?

1) His infallible devotion to him: he is aware of it and exploits it, ch213 shows it fairly enough.

2) He would lay down his life for the sake of his mission/Luberrier without questioning it (eg. he was determined to use Apocryphos’ arm to pierce through his chest if it meant leaving a clue to identify the culprit). This could come from the extreme training to become a Crow and how he became Luberrier's 'personal Crow'.

3) His skills: based on Allen’s memories, Neah remembers he’s one of the most powerful of the Crows elite (eg. he’s strong enough to immobilize the Earl, face a Noah alone and hold his own against Level 4) even though he doesn’t have an Innocence

4) His mission to keep watch over Allen ; we don’t really know if he’s aware that Link wants Allen to overcome his fate as the host

« With Malcolm’s plans I thought I saw a ray of light for humanity’s dark future. The light of victory. But (…) I made you the Fourteenth’s— » This suggests that Link was vital for Luberrier’s plan to work: its success was made possible at the cost of Link’s involvement in it. In the original version, Zuu uses the adverb まんまと (manmato), ‘successfully, completely, thoroughly, nicely, fairly, artfully’ (‘I’ve successfully made you the Fourteenth’s—‘).

And the only thing we know he has done to Link was to leave him Atuuda: entrusting Atuuda to Link made him special enough to the Fourteenth somehow, other than simply aiding him. And this suggests that Zuu was himself aware of what was required to qualify as this special role at least.

Luberrier swiftly cut him off before he could finish his sentence, so in addition to the fatal burden of Atuuda, there must be something even crueler in line for him in how he and Atuuda could work with Neah.

Becoming the final host for Neah would be logical: Allen synchronizing with an Innocence, which was something neither Cross nor Neah expected (and they never wanted it), is an obstacle to Neah. When Apocryphos attacked, only Luberrier was aware that he was targeting Allen at that time and seemed to be pretty much aware of his nature. So of course « saving Neah » could mean securing him, his memory, in somebody else.

And if Luberrier knew Link’s conflict, I can totally picture him using that to his advantage eg. persuading Link to become the new host because 1) it’s Luberrier’s order and it’s helping him and 2) Allen would be free. (Could the Phantom Thief G arc possessed!Link vs. Allen and Kanda be a silly little foreshadowing for what’s to come?? haha)

He must’ve had at least an inkling, especially if he’s known to obey every single order without batting an eye:

(I expect this moment to be paralleled later in the manga, since trust and devotion is one of Link’s main themes, it’d be interesting!)

Before learning anything from Jerry, Luberrier was probably unaware that Link asked for a meal that Allen would finally eat and brought it to him.

▶ The rosary and Atuuda

I find it interesting that Luberrier’s rosary overlaps the scar left on Link’s torso after Atuuda was passed on to him. The scar is also cross-shaped.

While Luberrier loathes ‘God’/the Innocence, he deeply believes in Neah’s powers: he could bring an end to this war and Luberrier is determined to make it happen, no matter the atrocities.

It is strongly motivated by his desire to regain agency over his fate, controlled all this time by 'greater' entities: Innocence, God, the Pope, the Earl, Noah, as his confrontation with Hevlaska and the Destruction of the Black Order imply.

Interestingly, in ch221, Link is genuflecting on his right knee in front of Allen/Neah:

Genuflection on the right knee is strongly associated to God, signifying worship (eg. before the Blessed Sacrament as you pass a tabernacle), while genuflection on the left knee used to be to honor political authorities, kings, emperors.

He trusts Link with this crucial mission and reiterates Link’s devotion to him.

Putting on Link his own rosary, what you usually can say prayers with, he entrusts his ‘faith’ and set of beliefs to him. He places in words and act his trust in Link, sealed with the rosary.

It’s also a display of the power he holds over him: when Luberrier says Neah is now isolated (meaning it’s now time to help him), the reader’s eye path is also directed at the rosary he’s just given to Link.

The screentones highlight like a halo the rosary handled by Luberrier: he ardently wishes to have Neah’s power that he covets literally as ‘his’, and in doing so, the fate of the world in the palm of his hand, claiming it is for the sake of humanity.

(If it wasn’t already a projection of his own hidden desire for power since he seemed to keep close tabs on the subject without even Cross knowing in volume 14, this was at least a foreshadowing of Luberrier’s future plan!)

And just like Allen before regrouping with Johnny and Kanda, Link is completely alone: he’s lost his official position as a Crow as he’s been publically declared dead. Now more than ever, Luberrier stands as his sole figure of authority and devotion.

The rosary falls over the scar Link got from his fight against Apocryphos. It would’ve been fatal if he wasn’t given Atuuda at that time: if cross shapes can be associated to salvation, it’s a poisoned gift here that eats away at his life, defining his new special role he has no choice but to accept.

His soul, body and life are all sacrificed to Luberrier and by extension to Neah, Luberrier's personal ‘God’:

(If anyone has the answer, I wonder if there’s a tradition for members of the church to gift their rosary to another member, I’m really curious!)

Also in this panel in ch213 Kanda uses ご主人様 (goshujinsama) for Luberrier:

In French it was translated as « husband »: you can use ご主人様 as ‘husband’ if you talk about sb else’s husband and in polite situations. (I did a double take when I first read the French version haha)

Kanda is far from being polite here so this could be read with biting sarcasm, since he specifically calls him out on his obsessive devotion (that even Apocryphos picks on after damn). The ambivalence of this word was probably a very deliberate choice haha

#dgm spoilers #dgm meta #d gray man #link howard #mana walker #cross marian #neah campbell #allen walker

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to-yngewai · 1 year

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Learning finnish noun cases 2

1. Nominative: Has no additional ending or change to the base noun. The plural is a “t” at the end. “Talo” house. “Talot” houses. “Kissa” cat. “Kissat” cats. Adjectives agree with the casing. So ‘iso talo’ becomes ‘isot talot.’

The total predicate noun/adjective encompasses the entire aspect of the concept. The whole of the person, place, or thing. That is the nominative noun case.

Using the nominative to say something like “slices of bread” is wrong.

2. Accusative: The noun ends with “n” or has no ending. Plural is “t”. “Talon”. “Talot”. The accusative case is used when the concept describes the object or target of an action, and the action addresses the entire object. In nouns, singular accusative case looks usually exactly like the genitive case, while the plural accusative case looks usually exactly like the nominative case. Example: “Maalaan talon. Auta maalaamaan talo.“ “I will paint the house. Help me paint the house.” Don’t confuse this with the partitive, which is used when it applies to part of the object. Accusative is the entire object. In terms of Japanese, “ を “ marks the accusative case. So I can probably think it’s like that.

Hooray for cross-language knowledge?

3. Genitive: The noun singular ends with “n”. The noun plural is formed by adding to the stem of one of the following endings:

-en (-in) after a short -i or after -j which is preceded by a short vowel. As in äiti to äiten, (the mother’s thing) or äitein (of the mothers.)

And... some others, I’ll come back to that.

isä = father

isän veitsi = father’s knife.

isän veitsit = father’s knives.

So, it‘s where a noun modifies another noun. Google tells me: relating to or denoting a case of nouns and pronouns (and words in grammatical agreement with them) indicating possession or close association.

Wow, that’s both possessive, AND vague! It could be like “my boat” or “dress is blue”? Am I getting it right?

This is amazing.

#learning finnish #finnish #finland

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reedreadsgreek · 10 months

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John 8:45–47

45 ἐγὼ δὲ ὅτι τὴν ἀλήθειαν λέγω, οὐ πιστεύετέ μοι. 46 τίς ἐξ ὑμῶν ἐλέγχει με περὶ ἁμαρτίας; εἰ ἀλήθειαν λέγω, διὰ τί ὑμεῖς οὐ πιστεύετέ μοι; 47 ὁ ὢν ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ τὰ ῥήματα τοῦ θεοῦ ἀκούει· διὰ τοῦτο ὑμεῖς οὐκ ἀκούετε, ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ οὐκ ἐστέ.

My translation:

45 But because I myself speak the truth, you believe me not. Who of you exposes me concerning sin? If I speak truth, on what account do you not believe me? 47 The one being of God listens to the words of God; on account of this you listen not, for you are not of God.

Notes:

8:45

δὲ is adversative (“but”, “yet”).

ἐγὼ is in the ‘emphatic proleptic position’ (Robertson), attracted by emphasis out of the ὅτι in which it functions. ὅτι is causal (“because I speak the truth”). τὴν ἀλήθειαν is the direct object of λέγω.

μοι is the dative direct object of the negated present οὐ πιστεύετέ (from πιστεύω).

8:46

The interrogative pronoun τίς, modified by the partitive prepositional phrase ἐξ ὑμῶν, is the subject of the present ἐλέγχει (from ἐλέγχω “I bring to light, expose”; see note on 3:20). Here the verb denotes not only exposing sin but ‘to bring a person to the point of recognizing wrongdoing’: “I convict, convince” (BDAG). με is the direct object of the verb. The verb is modified by the prepositional phrase περὶ ἁμαρτίας (“about sin”; most translations: “of sin”).

εἰ introduces the protasis of a first-class conditional statement. ἀλήθειαν is the direct object of the present λέγω.

διὰ τί is, “Why?” ὑμεῖς is the emphatic subject of the negated present οὐ πιστεύετέ (from πιστεύω) and μοι is the dative direct object.

8:47

The articular present participle ὁ ὢν (from εἰμί) is substantival and the subject of the present ἀκούει (from ἀκούω, here “listen to, heed”). The prepositional phrase ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ modifies the participle; ἐκ denotes characteristics or belonging (see note on v. 23). τὰ ῥήματα is the direct object of ἀκούω; τοῦ θεοῦ is a subjective genitive

The near-demonstrative pronoun τοῦτο is cataphoric to the below ὅτι clause. The causal prepositional phrase διὰ τοῦτο (“on account of this”; HCSB: “This is why”) modifies the negated present οὐκ ἀκούετε (from ἀκούω) whose emphatic subject is ὑμεῖς.

ὅτι is causal, explanatory of διὰ τοῦτο above. The prepositional phrase ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ modifies the negated present οὐκ ἐστέ (from εἰμί): “you don’t belong to God” (NET).

#John #John 8 #Jesus #God

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droningmachinations · 10 months

Text

But Secrets Never Stay Hidden: A Droning Machinations Episode

Written By Joseph M.

Special thanks to Yvarg for inspiring the last name of the character of Michael Spear.

My name is Michael Spear, and I was called to North Texas.

I walked past graffiti, a garble of words and letters spray painted onto the side of a building. These were incohesive to others, but not to me. Not to my friends.

Joseph Swaney and Dylan Steirn are only some my best friends. They walked with me through the back alleys also, following me into my house.

It was cluttered in my house; I hadn't cleaned it in days because I was busy preparing for today. There was a whole turkey on the table from a week ago that was probably rotten by now; there was a bottle of honey spilled over, which the ant colony in my home was salivating on the moment it hit the floor, and the honey inside of which had turned a strange green; there was a chicken pot pie that a rat in my home was devouring.

Dylan and Joseph followed me into the basement, where I kept a supply of armaments. Dylan stuffed an assault rifle into his jacket, while Joseph opted for dual pistols; they both also selected baseball bats as a viable option. I personally grabbed a shotgun and a bamboo spear with a sharpened tip.

We didn't have time to eat a whole meal, so me and my friends slurped out of one-minute noodles. It felt like a full-enough meal anyway, and I enjoyed the savory taste of the slippery noodles in my tongue, the spicy tang of the hot sauce that came with the carton. We sat together at one table and ate, sipped the broth, then set our chopsticks and spoons down, splashes of remaining soup getting all over the rosewood table.

I, followed by only two of my closest friends, walked out and confronted a leader of the LEVIATHAN terrorist and weapons-trading organization. He was a scruffy man with nothing to show for himself but immoral deeds and an unfortunate criminality.

He had a spit when he talked, a gargle in his voice. His name was Potent De La Kill, and he was out for one person's blood, specifically the blood of my friend Joseph Swaney. Potent walked Joseph's way, but I stepped in front of him. "What are you trying to do?" he growled.

"You ain't doing this," I said, staring into his soul, which somehow didn't deflect his eyes away from my face. "You ain't touching Dylan, and you ain't touching Joseph."

Dylan inched closer with his assault rifle, pushing Potent away.

Suddenly, something went off, reds and oranges blasting through the alleyway, multiple spheres of light and warmth sending all of us back. I watched Joseph, and they (Joseph's pronouns are they/them) landed in an olive dumpster bin while Dylan and I ducked behind a trash bin, safe from the explosions.

I leapt out and attacked Potent with my spear, savagely thrusting the blade into the air. Bullets sprayed, foes dropped as Dylan shot at Potent's cronies with his assault rifle, and Joseph ran out into the open with two pistols.

Potent, meanwhile, began to fight back against me. He blocked a strike and shattered the spear's handle into bamboo fragments, then holistically and belligerently tried to hand-hammer me with his fist. All of his blows, I dodged with precision that could only be obtained by feeding on the immense power within the Nexus Of Concatenating Matrixes, and honing a concentration over my entire life.

As we were being backed into a corner, a golden sliver of light shone into Potent's face, sending him staggering backwards and into a trash can.

There was a garbage bag in that trash can. He enjoyed that trash can very much.

Joseph, Dylan and I stood with our backs against each other, guns roaring, thuds awakening the populace around the dimly-lit backstreet.

Thunder and lightning filled the skies, before a partitioning happened and a blurry whim of fur filled my vision. I felt wings slap against my face, before the entire mess of fur revealed itself.

She was beautiful, an anthropomorphic woman with fur as white as snow, a black patch of fur on her stomach and around her eyes; and she wore an emerald amulet, one that gleamed even in the dimmest nights and cloudiest mornings. She had a determined squint in her eyes, one far more focused than even mine; she had an energetic personality and an abrasive but poised fighting style, leaving claw marks in all of the terrorists and her fellows in just as much awe as we were. Golden flashes of lightning formed golden halos around her and the other similarly woolly men behind her.

She and the other creatures in colorful coats had a long, well-kept tail, softly brushed wings and plushy ears, and a fierce personality that challenged the darkness in their world and ours, and I knew upon seeing the furry angels that they arrived here through the Nexus Of Concatenating Matrixes.

When I saw her, I knew that she was Destiny.

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senzacaponecoda · 11 months

Text

I sketched out a PIE clang out of boredom earlier and I kind of liked where it was going but I didn't feel like making a vocab list. Have it

Not Satem

PIE -> Clang

Nucleic sonorants get /a/

*bh -> f

*dh -> z initially, dd elsewhere

*gh -> mostly g initially, gg elsewhere

*kw, gw, ghw -> k, b, bb

*p, t, k, b, d -> mostly same

*s -> always smobile, z between vowels, VsC -> VhC -> VC^2 so like *hest -> ett but *stati -> stat. *sk -> š tho

*r,*l -> metathesize to usually post-vocalic but avoiding m, n, y, w and themselves. *l mostly turns to w after w->v, after vowels and before back vowels. *r tries to turn into *l. *gr and *ghr stop that and just turn into r via an intermediate uvular; h2 was uvular x imo so it also does that (h2r -> r, not l)

*g before e, i merges with y, but not gh

w -> v, y -> ž initially, /j/ otherwise

h1 -> ø, h2 -> h initially, long after a vowel, a-colors. h3-> h initially, w otherwise, a-colors but rounds so basically o-colors

nasals preserved initially, nasalize vowels otherwise

long, nasal vowels raise *oo, *on -> u, *ee, en -> i. Nasal a fronts to e, long a backs to o.

Final short vowel becomes schwa, schwa also inserted after word final geminates

Vowel length transfers to consonant (coda) length if it can.

late a epenthesis before initial clusters

generally clusters simplify as best as possible

Verbs derive from the eventive endings, usually as if they were perfective. Athematic verbs usually like they had -e- before the person endings, thematic verbs usually like they had -a- before the endings, most new verbs are -a- types. Infinitive reflects PIE, the gerund/imperfective participle reflects -nd-, and the original perfect stem was regularized to the reduplicating pattern and used for a new participle with an irregular syllabic n from old -nt-.

*bherati -> feratë

egu fere, tu fera, o ferat, nu feremë, yu ferattë, i ferettë

egu fifere, tu fifera, o fiferat, nu fiferemë, yu fiferattë, i fiferettë

stat fereddë

ettë fiferan

*leynkweti -> likketë

egu likke, tu likke, o likket, nu likkimë, yu likkettë, i likkittë

egu lilekkë, tu lilekke, o lilikket, nu lilekkimë, yu lilekkettë, i lilekkittë

stat likkeddë, ettë lilekkan

Noun outcomes would look like their accusative plurals, basically coming out to thematic u stems from the o declension, thematic e stems from the a declension, athematic stems would essentially be consonant stems. A new plural would develop out of the old genitive via a partitive construction and generalize so it's just: u/i, e/i, ø/i, with some irregular things here and there.

*nokwts -> nottë, notti

*dngweh2s -> debbe, debbi

*nisdos -> niddu, niddi

*wergom -> vergu, verži

pronouns are like

nom/obl/pos

egu/mi/miyu

tu/ti/tuyu

o/o/oyu

a/a/ayu

vi/emmí/emmu

yu/vu/yuyu

i/i/iyu

-u -> -e with feminines, -i with plurals (!iyi is eyi)

speakers can say ege if female, or te if speaking to a female, ye females, but this is considered overanalysis and generally done either to sound cute or mildly insult. T-V formality exists; I guess I'm imagining this spoken on some mediterranean island having had contact with Rome.

the oykos stem ends up the counting one but the oynos stem ends up an article. the k demonstrative ends up the definite articles.

ik bi ti kepori pikki seši setti hotti nonni dekki, akiti = 100

post positions and SOV

Hávë 'në, žu o ddë hónnë nérrë váret, éki didérket.

sheep a, REL he to wool not was, horses saw

Ík báru vóggu 'në vivégget;

one heavy wagon a drew

ík méžu fóru 'në;

one big load a

ík nér in hókohóko fiférat.

one man a quickly carried.

Hávë ku éki ki ddë vuvóket:

Sheep the horses the to said:

"Aggímu në aspeki, éki-dë hážetë,

human a see, horses-and draw.INF

kíddë mi aggútari".

heart my pain.PASS

Éki ki o ddë vuvókit:

Horses him to said:

"Kuddí, hávë!

Listen, sheep!

Tó aspékimë,

it we.see

kíddi emmí aggútarit:

hearts our pain.PASS

aggímu në, pótë ku, honnë af hávë bémmu véttru vivépet,

human a, master the, wool of sheep warm clothing made

hávë-dë ku ddë honnë nérrë váret".

sheep-and the to wool not was.

Tó-dë kukúddet, hávë ku hággu ku nnë fufúget.

it-and heard, sheep the field the in fled

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jclr · 1 year

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The Third Person Pronoun and Demonstrative Resolution in Mandarin Chinese and Discourse Prominence

Introduction: The third person pronoun and demonstrative resolution are influenced by multiple factors in Mandarin Chinese. Therefore, factors influencing reference choice and the relations between discourse prominence and pronoun resolution from the perspective of discourse prominence are discussed in the current study. Methodology: A total of 20 native Mandarin Chinese speakers participated in this study. A picture-sequence-based narrative elicitation method was used to collect data. A formal operational scheme with conditional inference recursive partitioning tree and random forest analysis analyzing discourse data collected from was employed for the analysis of choice of adnominal demonstratives and the third person pronouns. Results: The results confirmed the idea that the discourse prominence-lending cues, including thematic role, animacy, grammatic role, topic, referential distance, and mentioned number influence pronoun resolution in Mandarin Chinese. Animacy and reference distance might be involved in the important variances, and reference distance relates to topic maintenance, discourse dynamicity and structural attracting. Conclusion: The findings demonstrated that the discourse prominence-lending cues influence pronoun resolution in Mandarin Chinese. The third person pronouns often signal topic maintenance and high discourse prominence, while demonstratives often signal topic shift and low discourse prominence. Moreover, demonstratives often signal focus reinforcement. Therefore, topic and focus are also considered as the two crucial elements affecting pronoun resolution in Mandarin Chinese.

DOI: 10.58803/JCLR.2023.386107.1008

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arcadianconlang · 2 years

Text

Arcadian Lesson #1.2

Let’s start with pronouns. Here’s a few explanations to what might be unclear from the table alone:

Alignment in Arcadian

Without going to deep into the details; Arcadian uses a pure Tripartite Alignment system. (More on that in the future). The subject of a sentence may appear in the Intransitive Case or the Ergative case, depending on the kind of verb it operates with.

Partitive vs Accusative

Arcadian does not distinguish direct vs indirect object, but it has a different distinction that is similar, but not exactly like the one in Finnish. To keep it brief for now; the Partitive is used when an action is not complete or it does not change the object in any tangible way. The Accusative is used when the action is complete or changes the object into something else. The two forms are usually very similar, and for Singular Pronouns they even merged. So no need to worry about the differences just yet.

Possessive

If the possessor of a thing is only indicated by a pronoun (and said pronoun is a person or animal), it is not marked via the Genitive, but a Possessive suffix to said word. Inanimate possessors have a completely different process of marking possession that will be explained at a later date.

3rd Person Pronouns

Like English, Arcadian has a three way distinction between genders. (le - leios -leia ~ they - he - she). However, in Arcadian the gendered pronounce leios and leia are only rarely used and when needed specify. Only in the possessive are those forms used regularly.

Furthermore, inanimate objects use the pronoun “lo”. Similar to how “it” works in English.

#conlang #conlanging #constructed language

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

for want of a bento box

– It’s plain and simple, you see, someone is stealing your bento boxes and you will find your lunch thief! Or, in which Todoroki Shouto keeps taking your bento box and you declare war.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, cursing, shouto is a bad chef, I believe I made reader pretty gender neutral but I whipped this out in two hours and I can no longer remember if I used any fem!pronouns but im pretty sure I didn’t

word count: 3,060

a/n: this is for the wonder coworker bnharem collab! I had intended on writing a completely different theme and storyline but was very overwhelmed by how much time it actually needed to be written compared to the amount of time I actually had. that version will be out another time! but for now, enjoy some pure flufffffff!!!!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Having a normal, functioning, well-paying job was probably the most desirable thing to you. It wasn’t to say that you were slacking or that you were homeless, broke, and never to be seen again because you were that in debt. But it was nice having a job!

When you entered the prestigious Toshinori Company, you joined not as an entry-level job employee but as a senior representative. You thought it was crazy.

It had to be crazy.

You had no prior experience, and now you were going to be in charge and the lead in certain areas?!

“And that was the entire layout of the office!” Mina chirped happily, throwing herself onto the desk chair across from yours with a big smile. “Any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter, brows creased as you look around the room again.

The office space was ample, sleek, open. Each desk has its own grand computer that you currently could not afford with your own money, comfortable chairs, and beautiful wood desks. It was elegant, far superiorly fancy, and yet, you didn’t feel out of place. Strange.

“Oh!” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach below your desk to bring up your packed lunch. “Where was the break room again? I need to refrigerate my food!”

“Omg, of course, come this way!” Mina grins, standing up and motioning you to follow her. You smile gratefully and do.

The entire way to the office, Mina takes the time to point at the many different people on the floor and give them names. Everyone so far had sort of acknowledged you earlier as Mina was giving you the official tour. Some were much more open and friendly, and some had sneers or blank stares that left you dumbstruck.

Definitely a personable group.

“Hm, well, I guess Todoroki-kun isn’t here today?” Mina mutters as you enter the break room that has couches and comfortable-looking chairs. “Such a shame! You would have loved to see the office hottie!”

You snort at that, lips curled into a granulous smile as you place your plastic container with food into the fridge. “I’m sure I’ll live,” you brush off the fact that there was an absent person on your floor today.

“That’s the thing, though,” Mina points a finger at you, a lone eyebrow raised and a confident smirk on her face. “You won’t be thinking that again the moment you see him!”

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Mina joins your laughter. Eventually, she motions for the both of you to leave, and you nod in understanding. And with a weird sense of comfort and belonging, you realized that this job was going to be good.

Eventually, you had been working at Toshinori Company for two months.

Sixty-two days to be precise, and in all that time, you had only met Todoroki Shouto once. Even then, you had only seen the man walking through the office with a blank face, fingers in his pockets as two other men were walking in front of him, bickering lightly.

Had Mina not quite literally thrown herself across the table and gripped the collar of your shirt and twisted your head to look at him, you would have never caught a glimpse at the man with red and white hair. The three of them walked into the break room and came back out with their own lunches before leaving.

And that was it.

You had learned that the three of them (Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku, and Bakugou Katsuki) were within your department but worked very closely with the very high up members within the company. Many rumors pointed at one of the three taking over the company when the current CEO stepped down. They were, however, on the roster for your floor; they just never appeared except to pick up their lunches. Something they seemed to come to grab whenever you were a) way too fucking busy or b) not in the room.

You weren’t too bothered, though.

It wasn’t like you were trying to date one of them! You had only wanted to say hi.

Now, at ninety days, you had your first and probably most crucial evaluation.

Toshinori Yagi, the man who founded and currently ran this company, sat before you, looking at papers within a folder with tired but kind blue eyes. He nodded, impressed (hopefully), making small comments about the work you had been able to accomplish, a smile becoming a warming grin as he looked up.

“I’m impressed by the performance you’ve managed to attend to despite the short while you’ve been here, y/l/n-shojo,” Toshinori spoke, his fingers threading together and placing them onto the table. “I knew it was an excellent decision to put you in that position, and you exceeded my entire expectation!”

You flushed at that, lips twitching as you attempted to suppress that smile of yours.

“Thank you, Toshinori-san,” you practically wheeze as he waves off your thanks.

“No need to thank me, you’ve done all this work!” he laughs, tired eyes closing with a glorious supply of crow's feet blooming at the corner of his eyes. “Typically, at these evaluations, I ask a bunch of questions because there isn’t too much anyone can do in their first ninety days, I must admit.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, but because I am curious, is there anything that has been happening as of late that you feel needs to be addressed with me?”

You felt yourself stiffen but knew your one and only complaint was not something to bring up in this setting.

“No, nothing,” you shrug, and Toshinori beams.

“I’m glad!”

Now, the problem.

The big, fat, stinky, hooligan, wanting to throttle someone problem.

For the past sixty of your ninety days, someone has been stealing your lunch.

Yes, you heard that correctly; someone was stealing your damn lunch! Every morning you woke up and prepared a delicious bento box for yourself. Some days you went as far as cutting shapes into your fruits and veggies just to make yourself grin. You weren’t the best chef in the world, but your bento boxes were pretty enough to make up for it, in your opinion. But the thing is, every day when you went into the communal fridge, you noticed two things.

One, your bento box was no longer in the same place, and two, the bento box was not yours at all.

The food was disastrously organized. Rice and lettuce spilling out in every partition in the box. The fruit and veggies often packed in this box had multiple cuts in them, implying that whoever did this was less than ideal with a knife. The meat was often oversalted, the sushi never sitting together, and everything was just… not it.

The first time you had sighed and eaten it, grumbling about how your precious lunch was stolen. But you had quickly figured out that it was inedible, and Mina, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu thank god, offered to share their meals.

Seeing that you were distressed about how someone stole your egg and octopus sausages one day, Mina declared that they would watch the break room for whoever was stealing your light blue bento box. The first day you staked out, you had done it with Mina. But ten minutes into waiting around, you needed to pee. So you stood up and left in a hurry, leaving Mina alone.

But when you returned, Mina was gone, instead standing by Kirishima’s desk with a bright grin and a stance that screamed that she heard something she liked (gossip, possible in-office romance, a love confession?). Her jaw dropped as she noticed you and Kirishima had turned and waved in your direction as you raced into the break room to open the fridge, and sure enough, your bento was gone.

The next time, you staked out with Uraraka. Your arms were folded, your bladder cleared, and your lips twisted into a pout as you glared and stared down every single member who entered the room. Uraraka whispered to you her guesses about just who might be the thief, every other person rating an 8/10 likelihood of stealing your lunch.

But as the both of you sat there, your eyes narrowed at each passerby, no one came to collect your bento today.

“Deku-kun, no packed lunch today?” Uraraka asked as the green, curly-haired man you had only met once previously raced into the break room, grabbing the extra chopsticks meticulously hidden in the third bottom draw.

“Ah, Uraraka-san, y/l/n-san! Uh, no,” Midoriya greeted you both, who apparently responds to the nickname Deku, laughs off as he grabs a handful of napkins. “Todoroki-kun left all our lunches in his car by accident, and well… they spoiled… Kacchan’s pissed, so I ran off to get lunch for us today!”

Uraraka laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to Todoroki-kun to act that way.”

Midoriya laughed, bright and clearly in agreement, “You should have seen his face when Kacchan asked for his lunch! I swear–”

“HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB FUCKING CHOPSTICKS, SHIT-KU! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” a voice roared from nowhere near the entrance of the break room. You did, however, jump a bit, eyes turning toward the break room entrance to see the blond man (Bakugou? Kacchan? You had no idea which was correct) near the entrance of the floor.

“It’s only been a minute, Kacchan, relax!” Midoriya laughs, completely unaffected by the startling shout as he waves goodbye to both you and Uraraka before leaving, joining Bakugou as the both of them seem to talk comfortably… well, maybe more like bickering.

“Why are they–”

“Childhood friends, apparently,” Uraraka sighed, but the smile on her face betrays her exasperation.

No one stole your bento that day.

Yaoyorozu took up the third stake out, the two of you idly chatting about tea. You honestly had no idea what to talk about with Yaomomo; she was often just so elegant and mature despite being your age. When you learned that her family was in charge of the Yaoyorozu Corp, it had been strangely easy to accept that.

It made sense.

So as the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, boiling water for tea Yaomomo swore would be the best matchup for your packed nigiri, the both of you missed the man who walked into the room, opened the fridge, and took your lunch.

“I… I am so sorry,” Yaomomo apologized, head bowed dangerously low as the both of you looked at the sloppily cut salmon in your not actual bento. “Please eat my food in reparation.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sigh, chewing on the somehow still warm salmon. “I deserved this loss.”

Luck was just on this man's side, it seemed. No matter what you did, you could never catch the man in action, and you were ready to give up.

But this was the last attempt you said to yourself as you returned to your office floor, the evaluation done, and the rest of your life coming to light. You could do this. No! You WOULD do this!

“Why don’t you just put your name on your bento box?” Bakugou asked, a lone eyebrow raised in what you could only assume was judgment and pity. The explosive man was standing in the doorway of the breakroom, watching as you and Mina were trying to climb up the counters of the breakroom to grab the camera you had previously planted. “Obviously, it doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Um,” you squeak, having been obviously caught by someone who intimidated you just the slightest bit. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Bakugou-san.”

“Tch, whatever, just clean up the damn counters, fucking nasty standing up on there. Some people prepare their food there.”

“We would never forget to do that!” you argue, desperate to not leave a bad impression on this man.

“I don’t know much about you, but I know raccoon eyes over there would.”

“MY NAME IS MINA!”

“Like I care.”

He left without so much as a wave but did seem to nod with his departure. You sighed as you hopped off the counter, Mina grabbing the cleaning supplies as she cursed out the long-gone man under her breath.

But you were looking at the fridge with your missing bento box.

“I can’t believe I never put my name on it.”

“It’s okay! Not even Yaomomo thought of it, so I say we are still smart!”

It was the next day, you were at your desk, anxious as hell as you did your work, trying not to focus on the fact that it was lunchtime and you were actively avoiding the break room. You wondered if they wouldn’t come and collect it today. If somehow they were an asshole and wouldn’t care if your name was on it! What would happen then? What if it was someone like Bakugou who was taking your lunch? What then? You were sure you would cave in slight fear and major intimidation if he said that your lunch was his now.

“Want a cutie while we wait, cutie?” Mina asked, waving the small tangerine in her fingers as she grins.

“Please,” you say in gratitude for the food because you were starving. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you lost track of what was happening, becoming all too invested in the conversation that Mina was telling you about that involved Kaminari, Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, twenty-seven Red Bulls, fifteen Monsters, and five shots of sake. It seemed that the former two were quite big instigators when they wanted to be, and the latter two were unable to back away from challenges, especially when the other was involved.

“Y/l/n?” an unfamiliar voice called from behind you, and you turned partially in your chair as you looked behind you.

Standing behind you was a tall man with red and white hair, and from this distance, you noticed immediately that his eyes were a deep grey and brilliant blue.

Todoroki Shouto.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you greet him back, voice unable to keep from trembling as your nerves shot up. What was going on? You two had never interacted before! He was always gone, never present, and whenever he was in the office, it seemed that you weren’t there.

He cleared his throat and raised up two identical bento boxes.

“It seems… I have apparently been stealing your bento boxes,” he concludes, pressing the blue bento box with your name written on it into your hands.

Your jaw drops as your fingers curve around the cool plastic, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to abstain from laughing high pitched and ugly like.

“It was you?!”

A pink color blooms onto his cheeks as he averts his eye contact with you and nods slowly, “I am so sorry.”

“I just… how?!” you exclaim, exasperated, this man obviously being a bit dense if he had no idea he was taking your bento box!

“I prepare my bento boxes the night before, and I don’t really remember what I put into them….” Todoroki explains slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his tongue clicking the roof of his tongue. “I just thought that my cooking was improving and that I was somehow doing an amazing job.”

The grin that overcomes your face is one of subtle, strange fondness and soft warmth. “I can tell you that you probably haven’t improved much,” you tease, opening your bento box to see your prepared meal for the day.

Cucumber salad, bulgogi beef, rice, and some fruit.

It was packed exactly how you remembered.

“I can’t believe I finally get to eat a meal I prepared,” you continue to tease, your eyes moving up to meet Todoroki, who was also looking at your bento previously. “Thank you for returning my meals and apologizing.”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki waved off with a single hand before opening up his own disastrously assembled bento box. It looked worse than usual today. Everything was just thrown in, it seemed. You saw egg and rice, but everything else in there was indescribable. He smiles at you before sighing at his bento. “This looks more like my stuff.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You want to share my bento box? I’m sure you probably don’t want to return to that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Todoroki gently declined, although he looked at your bento with great want. He cleared his throat, gaze moving to lock on yours, and you swore his cheeks were still pink but no longer from embarrassment. “I just wanted to come and apologize for stealing your lunch for so long and to thank you for the meals; they were all delicious. Especially the soba you had made.”

“It’s all good; it’s in the past now,” you say gently, somehow finding yourself falling for a man you’ve barely just begun to talk with. The both of you stare at each other, and your skin feels warm. You chuckle, gaze averting for a moment before returning as you tease him. “Although, if you steal from me again, I’m not so sure if I’ll be so lenient.”

“It won’t happen again, promise,” Todoroki smiles, and you feel your spine melt. “But I would love to make it up to you somehow. I can make you dinner one night or something?”

You laugh, head shaking, “No, absolutely not; I don’t trust your cooking skills just yet. But you can definitely take me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Todoroki agrees, and the both of you fall silent as the shy stares continue. “Does, um… is Friday at seven okay with you?”

“That works,” you say, and Todoroki smiles.

“Good, I’ll uh, see you then?”

“See you,” you agree with a sweet smile before turning around, your fingers raised in a small wave.

You turn to see Mina, Uraraka, and Yaomomo staring at you, eyes comically wide and so very intrigued.

“Oh… my… GOD!” Mina shrieked as Todoroki walks away, and you shriek as she jumps across the table and shakes you, screaming about office romances and meet-cutes being entirely too underrated. “PROMISE ME I’LL BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING!!!!”

“MINA!”

It would take about three years of dating, several months of teaching Shouto how to cook, which resulted in a few bellyaches. Still, eventually yes, Mina would be invited to your wedding.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha

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