EDDIE MUNSON’S ♡ LOVE GUIDE ♡

eddie munson can't cook...

this is a popular headcanon and while i do agree,,,,

as a delusional loser, i'm going to say:

eddie munson can't cook and has never been able to cook until he found his mother's recipe book

while decluttering the trailer for spring cleaning, wayne finds an old box filled with random documents, knick knacks and something left for eddie from his mother

wayne smiles sadly as he holds the old book. it's worn on the corners and the spine is creaky and frail. a few of the pages are weak from water droplets and rips

he calls eddie over and hands him the book

the air leaves eddie's body as he looks at the forgotten thing. small flashes of memories flow through his mind -- thanksgivings, sunday mornings, his 6th birthday. just a handful of the times he saw his mother drag her finger along the pages and occasionally scribble and scratch with her chewed on pen

he blinks slowly as his eyes scan each page, his mother's handwriting sharp and curly but somehow he can read it just fine

when he lies in bed that night he reads the book over and over and over;

potato casserole ...

deviled eggs ...

choclate chip brownies ...

eddie's favorite birthday cake ...

all of those times his mother asked him to close his eyes or leave the room so her secret ingredients wouldn't be revealed echo in his ears. all those " needs extra something"s printed on these pages forever

he decides to not let his mother's cooking die with her

over the course of a month, he saves all of his money up, waiting for the right day to hit the grocery store and stock up

when he gets back from the store, he drops all the bags on the counter. he flicks on the tv to some horror movie and cracks open a beer -- it's not his mother's glass of cheap red wine and soap operas but close enough

he stays in the kitchen all day, sweating from the heat of the stove and oven and from his anxiety shooting through the roof. the most he's ever done before is scrambled eggs and even then, wayne's had to step in before

but he reads his mother's words carefully, slowly. he lets her guide his hands as he stirs and whisks and chops

it's nightfall when he's done. despite snacking on the ingredients and a bag of chips, he's still hungry, excited to chow down

wayne comes in surprised at what his boy's done. eddie sheepishly asks wayne if he wants to try everything. wayne chuckles and sits down at the table

as they go through each dish, eddie's heart twists and thumps. if you could eat a memory, a vision, he was doing just that

while he's proud of himself, he can't help but feel a little disappointed and unsatisfied. everything was a little off. small bits were burnt or a little under cooked, a little too much salt here, too many onions there

wayne tells him to go easy on himself, there's still more time to keep cooking

so eddie keeps cooking.

he starts incorporating it into his daily life. he "buys" other books and cuts recipes out of magazines; if he can do this recipe than he'll have no issue doing this other one

but of course, the best part of cooking is sharing

so he makes snacks for hellfire. bakes his friends' favorite dessert on their birthdays. invites them over some nights just to try whatever new creation he's found or thought up

holidays may not be fruitful with presents but a delicious hot meal is always guaranteed now. when he eats at restaurants or other people's homes he's able to dissect what's in the food and appreciate the time and energy it takes to get made

soon, his mother's recipe book is stuffed with sticky notes of comments or thoughts eddie has; "half the butter for wayne's cholesterol", "exclude the hazelnuts for gareth", "add lemon zest", "sprinkle parmesan on top - fresh"

eddie munson can't cook and has never been able to cook, until he found his mother's recipe book. now, he's the scary, evil metalhead dungeon master who knows how to properly whip meringue and cook a holiday dinner

You, Me, and Forever

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson has never been careful. He loves big, loud, and without hesitation.

The ring wasn’t anything fancy.

No diamond, no fancy box.

Just a simple silver band, a little worn but still beautiful.

Eddie turned it over in his fingers, his leg bouncing slightly like he was nervous.

Because he was. Very.

“I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t plan a big thing, didn’t ask your dad or get some expensive ring.” He took a breath, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world.

Because to him, you were.

“But I swear, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

You sat next to him on the floor of his trailer, your backs against the couch, an open pizza box beside you.

The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you paid attention to it anymore.

“You’re serious?” you asked, staring at the ring.

Eddie let out a nervous laugh. “Dead serious.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up his curls even more. “I know we’re young, and maybe it’s crazy, but I don’t care. I just know I want you. Forever.”

Your heart pounded in your chest so hard it almost hurt. So loud, you were sure he could hear it.

Forever.

Eddie had always been wild. You often found him throwing himself into things without fear, never holding back. And now, he was doing the same with you.

And you loved him so much for it.

Your throat felt tight, your hands shaking just a little.

Eddie swallowed hard, suddenly realising that it might have been too much for you. “Shit, you don’t have to say yes, I just-”

“Yes,” you whispered.

His eyes widened. “What?”

You reached for his hand, guiding him as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was a little big, but it didn’t matter.

“Ask me again,” you said.

Eddie’s forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm. “Marry me.”

You smiled and confidently spoke up once more. “Yes.”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft, not careful, after all, Eddie didn’t do anything halfway.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you close, kissing you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Eddie loved with all of his being.

And you’d never wanted anything more.

---

Eddie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk.

“You’re gonna kill me, Sweetheart.”

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He pushed off the counter, closing the space between you. “Yeah. Every single day.”

Your back pressed against the counter as his hands rested on your hips.

“You’re silly,” you whispered, fingers running into his curls.

“And you’re beautiful, and funny. And way too good for a guy like me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Eddie-”

“I’m serious.” He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t know how I got this lucky, but I’m never letting go.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “You’re really bad at shutting up, you know that?”

He grinned. “Then make me.”

So you kissed him.

Eddie loved loud. He loved you.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

You climb into bed, Sukuna’s large body sinking into the space next to you.

You curl into his broad chest, making yourself comfortable. His four arms hold you tight against him, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth.

“Good night, Kuna~” you coo, snuggling closer into his embrace.

“Good night, brat.” he mumbles, nuzzling his face into your hair. He waits expectantly, growing slightly irritated at your silence.

“Hey...” he frowns, squeezing you tight—your soft snores making him more frustrated.

How did he get stuck with such a disrespectful human?

He shook you gently.

“Wake. Up.” His voice low and commanding, with a hint of impatience.

Your eyes flutter open from the rocking motion, you look up at your boyfriend confused.

“What happened?” You question, eliciting an eye roll and dramatic huff from the larger man.

“You did not give me a proper good night.” He mumbles, gaze not meeting yours. Your eyebrow quirks up in confusion.

“I said good night… oh!” You reach up to peck his cheek, he grunts in response. “Sorry—“

“No.” He sneers, tightening his grip on you. “You are forgetting something else.”

“Say good night… correctly.” You can almost make out a pout forming on his lips. Your eyes widen in realization, a grin spreading across your face.

“The hell’s wrong with your face—“

“Good night Kuna.. I Love You.”

He grunts, the tension in his body easing slightly, loosening his grip on you as he takes a deep breath.

“Do not forget again.”

Flirting with you

Hey my lovelies, back with another Headcanon. My requests are currently open and my request guidlines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

❀Eddie is a shameless flirt. if he likes you then he's not going to be subtle about it. Although it can come across as shy and coy.

❀Eddie flirts both physically and verbally. He wants you to know his words are followed by action. He wants you to be able to distinguish his flirting and the friendship you've built.

❀Eddie boosts you up. He's pilling on the compliments, encouraging you, telling you he likes your outfit. Making blatantly flirtatious remarks. He's attempting to get you to engage in some flirtatious banter.

❀Using pet names, such as Sweetheart, Princess, Angel etc. They are nicknames that are reserved solely for you.

❀Eddie being a perfect gentleman, he's going to start holding out doors for you. He's going to carry you bag for you. He's going to help you into histruck if you need assstance etc.

❀Eddie is also going to begin to be more physically affectionate towards you. He's going to hug you frequently, going to press a kiss onto your temple etc.

❀Eddie wants to be in close contact with you. He wants to sit next to you whenever you're hanging out with friends. Sitting next to you at lunch etc.

Geto Suguru with different hair styles

-Young Dad!Eddie who has lost his high-school sweetheart to childbirth, and is now left all alone with his newborn baby girl.

-Young Dad!Eddie who's trying so desperately to ignore his grief that he barely even lets himself sleep for the first several weeks of his daughter's life.

-Young Dad!Eddie who struggles to accept help from Wayne or Robin and  Steve...anyone really...because he's trying so hard to do right by the love he's lost.

-Young Dad!Eddie that's determined to prove to himself that he's going to be able to take care of this angel that he's been left with.

-Young Dad!Eddie that owes everything to Wayne, who takes care of his little love all day long so that Eddie can work double, or even triple shifts to make ends meet.

-Young Dad!Eddie that lives to hold his baby girl. Who sits in bed alone with his newborn and giggles to himself as she clumsily tries to nurse the tip of his nose or the apple of his cheek.

-Young Dad!Eddie who carries a snapshot of his daughter's sweet, drooly, toothless grin in his wallet...right along side a well-loved, dog-earred one of her mom.

-Young Dad!Eddie that's so lonely, but can't stomach the idea of trying to meet someone new, despite his loved ones' encouragement

-Young Dad!Eddie who has a deeply buried streak of separation anxiety.

-Young Dad!Eddie who sometimes talks to the photo of his daughter's mother that sits on his beside table...mumbling to her about their baby girl as he drifts off at night.

-Young!Dad Eddie that feels his loneliness so deep in his stomach...like a painful knot.

-Young Dad!Eddie who can feel his body physically relax when he's finally able to scoop up his girl and kiss her chubby little cheeks at the end of his day. 

-Young Dad!Eddie that sings little songs and blows raspberries against his baby's bare tummy to hear her squeal and giggle so loudly.

-Young Dad!Eddie that holds his daughter's tiny foot up to his ear. Hello? Oh, it's for you, ma'am.

-Young Dad!Eddie who lets his angel yank his curls to her little heart's content

-Young Dad!Eddie who will often fall asleep with his daughter resting against his bare chest (even though he's technically not supposed to) because he needs her with him.

***********

I want to make this a fic so bad. What do you guys think?

MARKS ! a. miya x fem!reader

"Atsumu Miya," You gasp out, looking at your neck in the mirror.

"Yes'm?" He replies lazily, laying in the bed scrolling through his Instagram feed, without a care in the world.

It takes a moment for you to get your words out because, what the actual hell...? There are multiple, dark, marks on your neck.

"Holy fuck, do you want people to think you're abusing me or something?" That catches his attention immediately, but once he sees what you're referring to, he lies back down with a smirk.

"M'sorry that I love my wife and I want everyone to know." Oh, they'll know alright, and then you'll be on the receiving end of the teasing.

"I know, but, this is just downright ridiculous. It looks like you tried to fucking eat me." Atsumu laughs at that, and decides to get out of the bed to come take a look for himself.

The warmth of his bare chest seers through the tank top you have on and you can feel his steady heart beat. He, not so subtly, inhales the scent of your conditioner in your hair. "Mm, yeah. I did a number on ya, huh?"

You meet his beautiful brown eyes through the mirror and he looks heaven sent. His hair is all over the place, he's got a few marks from you, on his neck and chest, and that stupid smile that you fell in love with. How could you possible stay mad at him?

"You sure as hell did, and I have work in a little." He hums in thought as he snakes his arms around you waist.

"Why don'tcha just cover it with some makeup?" Oh if you could you would... you don't even think the best concealer could hide these marks.

"If it was just a singular hickey I would, but I don't think this can be covered without being super noticeable." Atsumu tries and fails to stifle a chuckle.

"Looks like ya gotta stay home today, huh?"

"Not happening, I have a super important presentation today." The both of you examine your neck together trying to figure out the best way to tackle it.

"Turtleneck?" Atsumu suggests, rubbing his hands up and down your sides in a comforting way.

"That would work it if it wasn't so hot out."

"But yer gonna be inside, giving a presentation..." He reasons.

"Ugh, turtleneck it is, I guess." The blond presses a kiss to your cheek, and you swat his face away. You're not mad anymore, but it's still his fault you'll have to wear a turtleneck in 80 degree weather.

prev⟺next

Being Sukuna’s girlfriend is not always easy. He’s the type to show his love rarely, but when he does, it’s aggressive, to say the least.

You’ll often wake up with his large hand wrapped around your neck, his warm fingers just long enough to reach around your entire throat. At first, it was startling—a demon man you just started dating who shows basically no affection is choking you in your sleep? Was he trying to kill you and just got tired half way through??

All of your questions cease although, the moment you find out why he does this. You decided to pretend to be asleep one night as you were lying in his royal chambers, covered in love bites from moments before when he decided to suckle and nip at your skin—another strange way he shows his love for you. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as you hear him walk out of the bathroom, knowing he’s just finished brushing his teeth and is now ready for bed.

The mattress dips when he lies down next to you, inches away at first, but when you feel his large frame hover over your face to make sure you’re asleep, he moves right up against your back. You’re surprised to feel one of his muscular arms wrap tightly around your waist, the other reaching under your head so that you’re essentially using him as a pillow. His chest rumbles lowly when his hand moves below your chin, fingers carefully wrapping around your throat as usual.

You’re waiting for a squeeze, the tip of one of his nails jutting into your skin, or even a few harsh words in your ear. But all you feel next is his fingers tightening slowly, the tip of his index hovering just above your pulse point, before pressing into your soft, pliant skin. You feel your heart race against the pad of his finger, then another rumble from his chest against your back.

“Mine,” he whispers gently, before running his thumb over the soft edge of your jawline. He then presses one last kiss to the top of your head before lying his head down and closing his eyes.

Let’s just say, you never question his weird, sometimes animalistic, possession over you; because in reality, he’s just a big guy who doesn’t know how to express his unyielding love for you.

It’s givinggggggg tiger!sukuna. Should I…explore the waters of that concept more? I probably will despite the reaction to this💪🏻🫡

SITTING ALONE IN EDDIE’S ROOM is not unusual for you as you wait for your boyfriend to return from one of his dnd meetings with the younger boys.

It is quite comforting to sit in his messy and unorganized room if you were being honest—the smell of him gives you a kind of comfort that nothing else could, which is why you love spending time here. Obviously it would be even better with him here but being alone for a while also doesn’t bother you all that much as you know how to spend your time in order to not get bored.

That’s how you ended up sitting on the floor inbetween dirty laundry and soft pillows that you placed there, nail polish safely sitting on the floor and the applicator brush in your slightly shaky right hand, painting your left finger nails black. The right ones have already been finished and now there are only three nails left for you to paint and you are extremely focused in order not to get nail polish on your skin. In you state you haven’t noticed eddie who has come home and is now standing in the doorway of his room, watching his lover fondly. “What are you getting all pretty for?”

Slightly startled at his voice, you turn to face him and finally smiling at the boy after fully registering his presence, “just for fun”.

Eddie walks towards you, sits down with his chest to your back and takes your already finished hand in his own, admiring your work. He lays his head on your shoulder, wraps his arm around your middle and lets you continue with your work while watching everything while plastering small kisses on your neck every once in a while. Once finished, you let yourself melt into his touch sinking even further into him and just being held. You take his hands into your own and admire them—“you should paint yours too, then we’d match!”, excitedly you turn to face him, awaiting his reaction with a smile. He smiles, he couldn’t contain it, every time he looks at you a big surge of happiness just floods through his entire body. He looks at both of your hands that are being held out in front of you, slighty flexing his fingers, “you think it would look good?”

You nod and before anything else could be said you are already reaching for the discarded black nail polish and laying his hand flat on your leg, starting to paint his nails. He can’t help but adore you like that—The way your brows furrow slightly in concentration. They way you are being so soft with him and taking utmost care. He loves this. He loves you.

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

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