Masterlist

i miss him...

Tangled Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie gets a comb stuck in his hair. Evil Woman untangles it, and a little bit of his tragic backstory comes out with it. Contains: A minor tantrum, a sad Eddie, a little hair lore, and our boy being loved and taken care of. Words: 1.2k Note: This takes place during their first winter together.

"FUCK!"

A loud clatter follows the yell from behind the closed bathroom door, making you jump from your position on the Munson's couch.

You're sitting there in borrowed sweats, watching a Mork & Mindy rerun while you wait for Eddie. You'd spent most of the day playing in the snow with the neighborhood kids, and had both required about a gallon of hot chocolate and a warm shower to recover. The girls had won the final snowball fight, which meant you earned the first shower. (He probably would've let you go first even the boys had won, but you're counting it as a victory shower anyway.)

When you don't hear anything else, you rise and slowly approach the bathroom door. Silence. You knock lightly. "Eddie? You okay?"

The door slowly creaks open, revealing a pair of worn burgundy sweats, a faded Hellfire Club shirt, half of a black comb stuck in a tangle of matted hair, and the most pathetic puppy eyes you've ever seen.

"You okay?" you ask again.

"Comb got stuck," he says miserably.

"Want me to get it out?"

Eddie squirms, looking like he wants to wash himself down the drain. He turns toward the mirror and gives another feeble attempt at getting the comb out. You lean against the doorframe, waiting for him to ask for help, and your eyes drift to the bathtub. All of the bottles that usually sit on the ledge are scattered across the bottom of the tub. He must've thrown something and knocked them all down. Maybe you should take him bowling sometime.

Eddie sighs, releases the comb, and hangs his head in defeat. Looking at the floor, he turns to you and nods his head slowly.

"I promise I'll be gentle," you assure him, as quietly as you can. "C'mon." You tilt your head toward the living room and start walking, hoping he'll follow.

You slide the coffee table to the side, drop a pillow on the floor for him to sit on, and take your seat on the couch. You gesture for him to sit between your legs. He does, reluctantly. You want so badly to know what's actually wrong, you feel like you may burst… but you know better than to ask.

You reach for the comb embedded in his wet hair without a word, and he flinches. You rest your hands on your knees instead.

You play with his hair all the time. When you watch movies, his head often ends up on your lap, and your hands gravitate to it. He gets the cutest little smile on his face when you tuck his hair behind his ear. You know for a fact that rubbing light circles on That One Spot on his scalp will put him right to sleep. Why is this different?

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"You know I'm gonna try my very best not to hurt you, right?"

"Yeah." His voice is hollow. Emotionless.

You carefully reach for the mass of tangles and the buried comb again. He tenses, but doesn't flinch. You begin working it out, piece by piece, taking your time and focusing all your energy on keeping it painless while the laugh track on TV keeps the room from falling into awkward silence.

When you finally get the comb out, you set it aside and reach for your own brush. Starting at the ends, you gently work out all the rest of Eddie's tangles. The whole process takes nearly an hour, and he doesn't move a muscle the whole time.

"Alright, you're done," you finally declare, setting your brush aside. He heaves a sigh of relief, and you lean down to kiss the top of his head.

He turns sideways and rests his chin on your knee. You cup the side of his face, rubbing your thumb across his flushed cheek, and he closes his eyes. Just when you think he's fallen asleep, he heaves another sigh and starts talking.

"My mom used to brush my hair when I was little. Her brush had those hard, scratchy bristles that felt like wire." He swallows, but still doesn't open his eyes. "My hair wasn't this long, but I used to play outside all day. To get away from them, mostly. But when I came home at dark, she'd make me stand in front of her in the kitchen so she could brush it. She'd yank and pull at it and brush my neck and my ears and my forehead. I think it actually drew blood once or twice. If I moved or complained, she'd put me over her knee and use the other side."

You didn't realize your hand had stopped stroking his cheek until he stopped talking. You move it to his shoulder, still a little damp from his hair, and give him a light squeeze.

"One day, after she died, I went in the bathroom with scissors I stole from school and cut it all off. Well, I tried. They were dull and kid-sized. Dad laughed at me when he saw it. Made me go to school like that. The nurse finally took pity on me and evened it out after a few days."

He crawls onto the couch and lays his head on your lap, facing the TV. Normally in this position, your hands would be in his hair immediately, but today… you hesitate. Although he can't see you do it, he must sense it. He puts his hand on your knee, palm up. You take it, and place your other hand on his arm in a gesture you hope is comforting.

"When I came to live with Wayne, he'd give us both a buzz cut on the first of every month. The noise from the clippers scared the shit out of me at first, but after watching him do his own a few times, I finally let him do mine. I didn't start growing it out again 'til the summer I graduated from middle school. That's when I decided nobody was gonna fuck with it. And nobody was gonna fuck with me."

He lets go of your hand and flips onto his back, staring up at you.

"Kay, that's the whole traumatic hair story you didn't ask for."

You smile and reach for his hand again.

"It doesn't bother you when I play with it?"

"Not gonna lie… scared the hell out of me the first time," he chuckles. "Usually, when a girl goes for the hair, it's to pull it or stick something in it. One time, a girl dragged me across the playground with it. But you? Just started twirling it and playing with it and putting me to sleep. Didn't ever want you to stop. Couldn't fucking believe it."

You feel your heart warm at his confession, and finally let your hand return to that beautiful head of hair. Your fingers lightly work at his scalp, and he smiles sleepily up at you.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?" You know he knows, but you need him to hear it. "Unless it's like… in a kinky way that you specifically request."

"I'll keep that in mind," he smirks.

bokuto koutaro wasn’t your boyfriend. no, he was your baby. your six foot one baby who somehow found his way into your arms right after winning their game, securing their spot in the upcoming summer regional semifinals.

“kou, you’re all sweaty!” you whine, genuinely trying your hardest to push him away. but alas, your efforts die in vain as he squeezes himself into you tighter.

“mhh, don’t know who you’re talking to. my name is baby.” he mutters against your neck, nuzzling further as if trying to get lost in your skin.

you sigh in defeat, reluctantly complying as you speak. “okay, fine. i’m sorry, baby. can you please get off me now?”

bokuto mirrors you, sighing in return as he pulls away with a pout. he looks at you, big, upturned eyes almost pleading. he opens his mouth to speak, but is immediately silenced when a towel meets his face.

your soft hands wipe at his face, then up to his hairline. he leans into your touch like a lonely kitten, and you giggle at the sight.

“baby, i want—” he’s interrupted once again when you tilt his face upwards, drying off his neck as you pat him dry. “i want a new set of legos.”

“we just got lego last week, baby. don’t you want anything else?” you ask, turning him around and drying his back, your hands dancing underneath his jersey.

you feel all tenseness leave bokuto’s body as he groans against you, his posture softening a little. “hot wheels?” he asks, looking back with those golden eyes you so deeply adored.

“hot wheels it is, then, my love.”

and you can only imagine his response to the new pet name.

atsumu post-match &&& ushijima post-match

thinking about Eddie being so eager to kiss you all the time and he just gets a little too excited sometimes a little too rough and you bump into something and he cradles you while you giggle cause he can't stop smiling into his kisses

And sure maybe it's a little awkward and teeth knock against each other and he catches your lip in his teeth a little too hard but it's okay cause you're deliriously happy

And it's not about getting to the sex (not all the time anyways) but he's just so happy to have found a safe place to land and he's enthusiastic that he found someone who wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you

And this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big and he doesn't need to tone it down cause you're his person and he's yours

Okay bye ily

mouse. mouse get the fuck back here. MOUSE DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

he's just so happy to have a safe place to land and this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big were daggers straight to my heart you come back here right now before i actually bleed out from needing this man so badly.

no but thats exactly it. eddie has spent so long jumping and toeing that line of either trying to cram himself into this bite-sized shape for the ones around him, and just exploding and pretending he doesn't give a fuck that he will never fit into anyone's cup of tea so he'll just make himself even larger, that when you enter his life he just doesnt know what to do about it.

because he starts with his regular tricks of being so over the top, so unbearable, and all you're doing is laughing and entertaining his antics. even playing along at times. and so he retracts a little, turning back into a quiet boy who will shrivel up until he's invisible or easy to love (whichever comes first). but then that doesn't work - and to be truthful, he doesn't even know what his mind's end goal is here because why is he trying to push you away so desperately? - and he's just at a loss. you want him on the thundering days, where he makes his grey clouds everyone's problem and all his lightning is blinding and sporadic. you want him on the quiet days, where the downpour is no longer a roar but a soft drizzle, a bit more silent and a bit more bearable but still there. and he can't tell if it's a joke - he can't decipher if your kisses amidst his rambles are sincere, if you're actually smiling at his jokes because you like him or you're too polite to break his heart. he can't see through those gentle hands you use to caress back his wild hair to be sure that the softest of touches are really just you, or some strange gloves of care that you're only simply wearing for now.

and then one morning, he wakes up, and you're still there, awake before he is and just watching him with so much love. feather-light fingers taking their time tracing over his tattoo on his chest and arms, not noticing he's awake yet as you smile so serenely at him. you're looking at him in a way that he's never really gotten to experience so vulnerably before - like he isn't a nuisance, isn't a mistake. like the universe has so intentionally dropped him into your palms, and you're so aware of how delicate he can be below the surface. and he just breaks.

"i love you"

he'd blurt it out, the first time he's ever said those words to you. it almost feels like the first time he's said those words, period.

he's said them to wayne, in their own way, both a bit stiff in expressing affection and skirting around those words whenever they can for a simply ruffle of hair or unexpected side hugs. he'd said them to his mom, a young boy with shining eyes despite it all, looking at her like she was the world because she was his world.

and... well. that's it. he can count the number of times he's said those words on one hand, and now he's said them to you, and all he can hope is you handle them with as much care as you've handled him.

he hopes you can feel the weight of his heart pressing down on them.

and he thinks you do, when you startle a little, looking up to his lips where those rough words had just fallen from in a cracking tone, and you take your time in awarding him with a smile that could save lives. cure cancer, cure sadness, cure the end of the world even. every cliche possible.

"yeah?" you'd whisper back, and his heart skips a beat, terrified that the next words you say won't be what he needs to hear so desperately. but they are. because of course they are. you wouldn't have been watching him sleep in that way if they hadn't been on the tip of your tongue, "i love you."

not a crash landing, but a soft-padded decent. a slow fall with a cushion to prevent broken bones and more invisible scars.

he kisses you then the way he was going to kiss you every day going forward: pushing forward recklessly, teeth and noses bumping a little, smiles making it nearly impossible. he kisses you like he's coming home after a long day, because he is.

he's home. no boxes in sight to fit into, no cups that'll overflow from all the fizzling feelings pouring out of his chest. you've got him, and he's got you.

Grouch

Summary | You’re not the most pleasant person to wake up, so Eddie decides to stick it out in Gareth’s basement.

Contains | Fem!Reader, Friends-to-Lovers (eventually), Cursing…

Pairing | BestFriend!Eddie x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count | 1.3k

An | I haven’t written in a while, I’ve had no motivation, so I’m so sorry this sucks😭 Hopefully I’ll be able to get something better out soon!!

“So… Who’s gonna wake her up?” Jeff asks.

All the boys stare at you from your spot on the couch. Face smooshed against the small pillow you used to cushion your head. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep but whatever movie Gareth had chosen for that night had you passed out 30 minutes in.

“I mean, obviously Eddie, right?” Grant says, brow raised as he looks over at him, smirking as Eddie looked back at him with squinted eyes.

Yes. Eddie knew that was probably his responsibility right now, he had driven you over and he was supposed to drive you back to your trailer.

“Well, me and Jeff gotta go, so… have fun waking up, the princess…” He teases as he pats Eddie’s shoulder and he and Jeff make their way to Gareths front door.

Eddie actually preferred nights when the movie hangouts were held over at anyone else’s house. The other boys enjoyed them more at his trailer, no adults to interrupt and basically free rein. Which is why Eddie dreaded having them at his place, it’s not that he didn’t like his friends he just didn’t like having a hoard of teenage boys loose around his safe space.

You were a completely different story though. Movies night with you at his trailer were probably his favorite, but he’s not about to admit that to you.

And when you would conk out at his place he’d just let you sleep. It has come very apparent to everyone in the group that waking you up was not for the weak.

You were definitely snippy to say the least, you weren’t too fond of the way you acted after being woken up either. Probably something you should work on, but that’s beside the point.

Eddie and Gareth are left with you, and Gareth chuckles lightly at the small dribble of drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. He won’t lie, he thinks you're cute, but he has to keep his staring to a minimum cause the few times Eddie had caught him staring at you the look he shot him was nothing short of scary.

“Well, Go ahead.” Gareth says with an all too cocky smirk.

“Can we just crash here? I mean, she looks kinda peaceful… we wouldn’t want to disturb that…”

“Pussy.” Gareth says with a chuckle but immediately shut up as he sees the look in Eddie’s eyes.

Jeez. There it is again. Gareth will never know how he can hold so much power with just one look. But it has him muttering a quiet ‘sorry’.

“Yeah, you can crash here, I’ll bring some pillows and blankets down…” And he’s already quick on his feet to head upstairs. Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs as he takes in seat on the floor next to where you legs are set. He leans his head back on the couch and looks up at you.

He immediately clocks the dampened spot on the pillow, right by where your mouth laid. He chuckles slightly at the sight.

Of course you’re a drooler. And of course this is the one time he doesn’t find it disgusting. He rolls his eyes again, and looks forward. Letting out a sigh feeling slightly annoyed with himself. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though, thankfully, cause Gareth is coming back down stairs with pillows and blankets.

He stands to help, grabbing some of the pile off of him, dropping a pillow and blankets down to the floor for himself and then taking the rest.

“Are you actually scared to wake her?” Gareth asks, his tone is still slightly playful. Eddie does find himself impressed sometimes by how persistently annoying Gareth can be without giving up, but not right now.

Eddie stares at Gareth blankly for a second before letting out a sigh, “Only like a tiny bit.” He tries to defend but Gareth still chuckles lightly.

“Well, you know where everything is so… I’ll leave you to it. Night.” He says as he begins making his way back up the stairs to his room.

Turning his gaze back to you, Eddie moves himself closer to you, and as carefully as he can he lifts your legs from the floor onto the couch. You grumble quietly but never fully wake up. He grabs one of the blankets for you and lazily throws it on to you. He watches how it lands imperfectly.

And for what feels like the umpteenth time that night he rolls his eyes before what seems to be an attempt to tuck you in. He doesn’t understand how you have the powers to pull him to do such things but you do.

Once you’re more efficiently covered he plops himself down to the floor, adjust his pillow and throws the blanket over himself. He feels exhausted for some reason. Mostly likely from Gareth's shitty movie choice, and it has him ready to pass out.

And fortunately it doesn’t take him long.

But not too long after you find yourself waking up, eyes heavy as they let themselves slightly open. The rooms dark as you take it in and it clicks that this is not your room.

You sit up in a panic. Shit did Eddie really leave you here?!

“Fuck!” You whispered panicked as you swing your legs over the edge of the couch and your feet crush down onto something soft. You fall back down to the couch as whatever you just stepped on lets out a loud groan and your eyes widen.

“Shit! Fuck! I’m sorry, I uh- I thought you left…” You look down at him guiltily, “I’m sorry…”

Eddie lets out an exhausted sigh as he runs his hands down his face and sleepily says, “I wouldn’t just leave you here, Y/n.” His tone is slightly annoyed and you can’t blame him, waking up to a foot in the gut is not the best, and somehow he’s still being nicer than you would have been. 10x times nicer.

“No?” You ask quietly as you lay yourself back down onto your pillow, continuing to stare at him from over the edge.

Looks over to you and grumbles out “No…” And he lets his eyes close again, but they quickly snap open at the feeling of your hand on his stomach, right where you stepped.

You give it a small rub before saying, “Again, I’m really sorry…” You pull your hand away but he can still feel a sort of tingling in his stomach where you laid your hand on him, overpowering the painful foot to the gut feeling present before.

“It’s fine…” he whispers.

“Can we- can we go home? I really, really don’t want to sit and eat breakfast with Gareth's dad again…” He chuckles tired at that. Every time they’ve all spent the night there, they had to deal with whatever bullshit Gareth’s dad was talking about way too fucking early, so he’s all for leaving.

“Yeah, c’mon…” grunts slightly as he rises from his spot on the floor. He throws his pillow and blanket onto the couch by yours and you both quietly slip out of the house and make your way to his van.

The drive back to the trailer park was quiet, you both were too tired for conversation, but once you arrived home and he parked in front of your trailer you hopped out and walked to his side of the van. He quickly rolled the window down as you walked closer.

“You don’t need to be scared to wake me up, Eddie…” you smirk at him, and he’s narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not scared.” He groans out.

“Right…” You’re smiling as you pat his shoulder and begin walking up the stairs to your door, you turn and say, “I promise I’ll try and be less of a pain in the ass about it…” And then you walk inside. He smiles and puts the van into drive and he makes his way over to the trailer across from yours.

He passes out the second his head hits his pillow. But he’s definitely gonna hold you to that promise.

Jealousy: Kyotani (Mad Dog)

The bar was crowded—not uncomfortably, but just enough that the air pulsed with low music and the warm scent of whiskey and fryer oil. The lights were low, warm and golden, casting soft shadows over tables cluttered with drinks and peeling coaster edges. Glass clinked softly in the background, a lazy rhythm to the Friday night energy building in waves.

You were leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks, while Kyōtani had ducked away to use the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, eyes on the bartender shaking cocktails two seats down.

Which was, in hindsight, the exact moment the universe decided to test your patience.

“Hey there,” came a voice to your left—slurred, low, and too close. You caught the sour tang of beer on his breath before you saw his face.

You didn’t turn immediately. You’d felt it coming—like a storm you could smell in the air.

“I been watchin’ you from across the bar,” the man said, a lazy, drunken confidence in his voice. “You look like you could use some company.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m good, thanks.”

He chuckled. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink, sweetheart.”

You turned your head, offering a cool, unimpressed stare. His eyes were glassy, cheeks blotched red from too much alcohol, and his grin was the kind of smarmy that made your skin crawl.

“You don’t wanna do that,” you said flatly.

The guy blinked. “What? Buy a pretty girl a drink?”

“No.” You shifted your weight, voice firm. “Hit on someone who’s taken.”

He raised a brow, like he thought you were bluffing. “Taken? Don’t see anyone here. You ditched him already?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You need to back off.”

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Men like that never did.

Instead, he laughed—loudly, like he’d just heard the best joke of the night. “Relax, baby. You’re hot. I’m just tryin’ to show some appreciation.”

You turned back toward the bar, trying to signal the bartender, but the guy didn’t take the hint. You felt him step closer, invading your space. Then his hand brushed your arm—too familiar, too bold.

That was when you felt it.

The air shifted. Like the pressure dropped.

A presence behind you—heavy, hot, and unmistakable.

Kyōtani.

A shadow passed over the drunk guy’s face, but he didn’t turn fast enough.

Kyōtani didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He didn’t warn.

He just swung.

A blur of movement exploded at your side—a crack, loud and sharp, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. The guy lay sprawled across the scuffed floorboards, groaning, his hand cupping his jaw as shocked silence rippled through the nearby tables.

Kyōtani stood over him, jaw clenched, one hand still curled into a tight fist, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared down at the guy like he was debating whether to throw another punch for good measure.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

You just looked down at the groaning man and said, with a shrug and a sip of your half-warm drink, “Told you so.”

Kyōtani turned to you, golden eyes burning with residual fury, scanning your face and arms like he needed confirmation you were untouched. “He touch you?”

“Barely,” you muttered. “He tried.”

Kyōtani grunted low in his throat, gaze snapping back to the guy on the ground. “You’re lucky I stopped at one.”

The bartender said nothing. No one did.

You grabbed your second drink off the bar, rolling your eyes. “Guess I need a new gin and tonic now.”

Kyōtani huffed, throwing a protective arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the scene. “Let’s go. I hate this place anyway.”

“You hate every place.”

“Not true,” he muttered, hand tightening at your waist. “I like the ones where people don’t talk to you.”

You laughed under your breath as the two of you disappeared into the cooler night air, Kyōtani’s hand never leaving you for a second.

And as you walked, he leaned in, voice low and unrepentant.

“Next guy that touches you,” he growled, “I’m breakin’ his ribs.”

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I know.”

“Come on, we’re getting wet.”

He halfheartedly tugs your hand to pull you the last few feet to the shelter under the awning, snorting as he watches you tip your head back and stick your tongue out.

“What are you doing?” He laughs shaking your hands, making no moves to actually get out of the rain despite the downpour.

“What’s it look like, Eds?”

You can’t see as he shakes his head to himself, his dark curls now limp as they stick to his bare shoulders, the smile never leaving his face.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He mutters to himself as you stand in place, catching raindrops on your tongue.

Before he can join you, your voice cuts through as one eye peeks over at him, “have you ever been kissed in the rain?”

He hums in thought, dramatically tapping a finger to his chin with a smile lighting up his whole face.

“Can’t say I ha—,” before he can finish that sentence you yank him into you, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Careful, sweetheart. I’m fragile.” He chuckles as a blush takes over his face, his ears tinged with flames as you pinch a lobe holding a dangly earring.

“I’ll take good care of you, Eds.”

You kiss him stupid in the pouring rain, your sweet boy.

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

Eddie falling asleep during kisses

Eddie is sweet, soft, cuddly and warm. You’re both bundled up together in bed, nothing but the sound of the tv droning in the background, and the steady rain outside the window as you makeout.

Eddie just wants to cuddle and love on you, and in return also be doted on (of course you’re more than happy to oblige him) after a long day.

You notice after just a few minutes, his kisses getting softer and lighter, he still hums every now and again, until you notice him gradually slow down his movements altogether.

“Tired, Eds?” You rake your fingers gently through his curls, nails grazing his sensitive scalp.

“Yeah, just wanna be here with you.” He whispers.

He dives in for another kiss, and you giggle at his sudden little burst of energy.

It doesn’t last long, however, when you notice him slow down again, and you cradle his face before gently pulling away to tell your sweet man, “baby, you’re sleepy, let yourself get some rest.”

His big doe eyes briefly flick from your lips to your kind eyes, and back down again.

“Mm, no. Want you,” and in he goes again, stealing sweet soft kisses that make the both of you giggle and swoon.

Eddie tries his very best to keep up and stay awake, to revel in the love and attention of his sweet girl. But before he can stop himself, his lips once again begin to slow their movement, and eventually come to a halt. You lie there, tilting your head just enough to look at your handsome man.

His mouth is slightly parted, eyes completely shut. You notice the soft dusting of stubble across his jaw that had tickled your cheeks only moments ago. You would ask if he’s still awake, but with his slow, even breaths you already know the answer to that.

Carefully, you tuck your shared blanket into his side, making sure he’s completely covered up before placing one more kiss of the night to his forehead as he sleeps, “goodnight Eds, I love you so much.”

THINGS THEY DO THAT MAKE YOU SECOUND-GUESS YOUR 'FRIENDSHIP'

→ pairings: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

→ a/n: finally had the time to write something!! school has been keeping me busy!! implied female reader for toji’s part.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.