Getting Home From Work Late One Night To A Quiet House. The Lights Are On In The Living Room, Leading

an; uh …… shhhhh look away please. or don’t. i don’t mind. i just wanted to do something a tad bit angsty & sweet. i also cannot stop thinking about him at the moment. or joseph in general. so enjoy. w; lower case intended! also just went ham on this one — no grammar check or anything. just straight to the point.

11:35pm.

it’s late and the food on the table that you’d placed in a specific order is cold, stale more than likely. the wine is bitter going down, warm.

it was something special for johnny — something you wanted to surprise him with. a homemade dinner, with candles, and a relaxing night.

yet, he still wasn’t home like he said he would be.

scratching at your forehead, you take another sip of wine, hoping it would taste different this time. it didn’t. it makes you wince slightly at the taste as you stand from the table.

flipping on the lights, you blow out the candles before grabbing the plates, putting johnny’s back into the cabinet, but scraping any left overs into the trash from your own before placing it into the sink.

you don’t pause the cleaning you’re doing when you hear the front door open and the sound of keys dropping into the bowl next to the door.

“hey, sweetheart. how was—” his words slowly trail off when he notices the table. a new table runner and lace cloth covered the oak, nice crystal glasses sat out, the food that was now being placed into tupperware. “what’s all this?”

you shrug, snapping the lid on a bowl filled with some grilled chicken. “leftovers.” your answer is short, voice even as you turn and place it to the side before moving onto the green beans.

he frowns a bit, eyes darting back and forth between the table, counter, and you. you look pretty even if you’re wearing one of his button-ups, face bare, yet the strawberry chapstick he knows you have on glosses your lips.

stepping into the kitchen a bit more, he notices the smoke that drifts into the air from the burnt wick of the candle. the frown he already has deepens as his eyes finally dart back to you.

“what was all of this for?”

for someone so smart, he was stupid.

“well, since you told me you were going to be home early tonight — for the first time in a while — i thought i’d surprise you with something nice,” you hum softly, letting out a small laugh as you shake your head. “turns out, it would’ve been better for me to go on to bed.”

you’re not truly mad at johnny — well, only a bit — you’re mad that you haven’t spent time with him in a couple of weeks.

that’s all you wanted. time.

johnny is quick to step closer, grabbing your hands that reach for the dirty plates. “no, i’ll get that,” he shakes his head. opening your mouth, he’s quick to peck the corner of your mouth. “go lie down. i’ll clean up the rest.”

“johnny, you just—”

“what’s a little more gonna do to me, huh?” a small, playful smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “go lie down. i’ll be there in a minute.”

glancing over at the dirty plates again, a small part of you feels guilty for allowing him to do it, even if he’s offering to put them away.

he pats your side softly, turning and grabbing the dishes himself. you watch quietly before hesitantly stepping off towards your shared bedroom. the streetlight from outside guides your way to the bed.

the sheets had been changed earlier today, a fresh, sweet smell making you inhale deeply and your eyes to slowly close.

you don’t even move under the covers, sleepiness already pulling you under the darkness, the fading car horns from outside the window, surprisingly, lulling you to sleep.

you stir when you feel the bed dip on johnny’s side, eyes slowly opening as you watch him slip you both under the covers.

his arm is gentle as it slides under your head, wrapping around your shoulder. you move closer, your arm draping lazily over his side. your fingers begin to move on their own accord, trailing over his heated side slightly.

“sorry for snapping.” your voice is soft, still laced with sleep. johnny’s eyes glance down, his hand twisting slightly, pushing at the hair that covers your face.

he smiles when he watches your tired eyes lift to look up at him. “it’s alright. don’t apologize.”

“i just miss you.”

he hums, his thumb trailing a small, soothing trail up the side of your neck. “and i miss you,” he whispers. “i’ll take tomorrow off. we’ll sleep in, then make a day to ourselves. how does that sound?”

you nod against his chest, eyes already closing as your mouth pulls into a lazy smile. “that sounds…perfect, actually.”

he snorts quietly to himself, watching as your shoulders drop slowly, sleep overtaking you again. he pulls the cover over your shoulder, pulling you closer with his free hand, slowly dragging it up and down your arm.

closing his own eyes, he lets his lips press against your forehead, the scent of your shampoo carrying him into a comforting sleep.

I imagine Nanami being the type to have his eyes set on someone and fully devote himself to that person. Nanami Kento doesn’t mess around, no funny business, and he’s straight to the point. So if he likes you, he likes every part of you, every inch of your body, every thought that roams in your mind.

Nanami is proper and respectful, he’s attentive to both your and his needs in whatever it is. You need a glass of water, he’s on it. You need help cleaning up the mess from dinner, he’s there cleaning alongside you. You want a kiss, he’d give it to you so long as you ask. A soft, delicate peck placed on your lips, cheek, or forehead.

Nanami keeps the hot, heavy kisses for moments when you two are alone and when the timing is right. When it does happen, it’s when he initiates the action and he’s very respectful about it. Hands-only grazing places he knows you’re comfortable with, although he knows you enjoy his touch in every place, Nanami keeps his composure and continues to act formal till he’s certain you both are ready to go further.

I imagine Nanami not being clingy in public but he’s still very attentive to you and the hand that grips his. He grocery shops with you and buys you jewelry that you pass when window shopping. Nanami is only cuddly in private, but when you pull yourself closer to him while out on a date he is sure to enjoy the sight that is you. A small hue of pink on his cheeks is sure to show and maybe for a second, he considers pulling away out of embarrassment but only for a split second before he melts into your touch. A kiss on the cheek will for sure make him turn the other way as he regains his composure.

“We’re in public.” He’d think to himself as you chuckle at the sight of Nanami shying away from you.

Nanami is a proper, professional man. He always presents himself with confidence in front of you. He tries exceptionally hard to express his emotions to you in ways you can understand without using many words. Nanami always says the right things to have you smiling and happy with admiration for him. With all the words Nanami Kento can tell you, one thing is for certain and it’s as clear as day for you.

“I love you with every part of my being, darling.”

this is for the non curse bf!sukuna

when you first start going out he wouldn’t know what flowers to get you. he could ask you but- who tf asks their gf ‘hey what flowers do you like?’ he thinks that’s lame. so guy brings 5-6 diff flowers just for you.

can you imagine, him all tattooed and brooding buying you flowers in a pretty flower shop😭😭i’m crying :((((((

OKAY BUT IF HE DOES IT TO LIKE, ASK YOU TO BE HIS GF???

Like originally he was just going to take you out on a few dates, enjoy the company and yuuji and his Ma off his back, but that plan crumbled when he started to be the one to text you first. When he started to initiate dates. When he started to feel butterflies in his chest when you laughed.

Yuuji so graciously told him he had feelings and should cuff you before you get tired of him, and the idea swirls for a bit in Sukuna’s head before one night at four am, he storms into yuuji’s room and in a pure panic asks “how do I ask her out?”

Yuuji grumbles and throws a pillow at his brother, “flowers and candy, go back to bed.”

But Ryomen does anything but. Because there’s so many flowers and so many candies, how will he know which is your favorite? And as much as he’d love to ask you, it would ruin the surprise of being so excited at being his girlfriend that you’d have to say yes- a little manipulative, perhaps, but he’s not perfect despite what he says.

So he kinda goes… crazy.

He buys you all sorts of candy, everything from sour to chocolate, to even some cotton candy grapes and gummy bear watermelon and more candy flavored candy, all to put in a small bag that dangles from his thick wrist.

Next is the flower shop, and that’s even more stressful because how is he supposed to pick between roses and peonies and assorted and god knows what other breeds of flowers there are- one time, as a kid, he saw yuuji give a little boy a fistful of yellow dandelions, can’t he just do that?

According to the swipe of his credit card after picking out seven bouquets…. No. Apparently not.

He lugs everything out to his car with grunts of efforts, texting you telling you to be home because the smell of flowers is making him nauseous and the candy is probably melting in the warmth of the sun.

SENT please tell me you’re home?

Schnookums (god he needs to change that, why’d you ever put yourself as something so feral in his phone?) why, you coming over??

SENT no I’m making conversation

Tf

Of course that question means I’m coming over

Schnookums yayyyy okay 🥺💙

He scoffs before making a floor to your house, nerves making him speed a little too fast and almost run a few too many red lights, and he’s grateful that the cops he passed have mercy on him and let him get to your house without a ticket or handcuffs.

He gathers his bundle back in his arms and blindly makes his way up your driveway, using the sheer grace of the gods watching over him to not trip and crush everything under him. He sneezes god knows how many times, and once he’s finally at your door, he doesn’t know how long it takes him to knock successfully, but after 5 tries, he finally nails it.

And after a few short seconds, you open the door with a gasp of excitement. “What did you do!”

“I wasn’t- fuck!” The flowers start to slip as he tries to peer over them to look at you. You’re quick to make a move to help him catch them. “Fuck. God damn it. Ugh.” He clears his throat, “I wasn’t sure what flowers to get, so… I bought them all.”

“Whats in the bag?”

“An absolutely feral amount of sweets.”

You’re beaming at him, so excited between the gesture and seeing him that you immediately toss your arms around him, the crinkling of the bouquets being what snaps you back to life.

“Ah shit.”

“Sorry! Sorry!! I just… this is so sweet,” you say, smiling.

“Well, I uhh…. I wanted… you and I’ve been kinda… going out for a while….”

“Yeah?” You ask, and with the way your eyes widen and jaw slacks slightly, you know what he’s going to ask.

And he knows you’re going to make him do it.

“And I really… really have enjoyed it.” He takes a deep breath, “not sure why, but-“

“Shut up,” you snicker.

“But I kinda… want to do it. More. And… not let you do it with other people.”

“Okay,” you giggle.

“And I’m told the only way to do that is to make you my girlfr-“

“YES!” You scream, wrapping your arms around him again, and when he makes a noise of protest, you grab the flowers to put them on the ground, hugging him again tightly.

Tightly enough his organs hurt and his breath can’t get into his body, but this feels so right, so good and so comforting that he’d let you do it forever. He kisses your head and cradles it, letting the bag rest against your back.

“I can’t believe you went through all this trouble for me,” you murmur against him.

He chuckles, “don’t thank me too much yet. We still need to find vases for all of these because I’ll be damned if I let my kind gesture die within twelve hours.”

“I don’t even know if I own a vase.”

He stiffens, and you snicker in his grip.

“Well then I hope your don’t like your kitchen sink too much.”

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Eternally yours

Summary: Eddie grapples with the realization that he exists solely in your imagination, while you cling to the fleeting moments you have.

Warning: I found this fic in my drafts from the end of last year. I completely forgot about it and reading it today made me incredibly sad. Why do I write things that hurt? Read at your own risk.

Word count: 744

Eddie stares at your hand resting beside his on the dock. He wonders how his hand can feel so real when it looks and moves just like yours. He can feel the wood beneath his fingertips. He can hear the water brush against the dock. He can see the moon casting a light on your face. It’s all so real, but he’s not. Suddenly, he is acutely aware of his body and the self-awareness causes him to feel uneasy.

Breaking free from his thoughts, you ask Eddie what he does when you’re not around. His voice trails off as he searches for an answer, realizing that his memories revolve solely around you. He musters the words, “I don't know…maybe I only exist when you’re around.”

The weight of your gaze intensifies the ache in his chest, as he grapples with the paradox of your presence while feeling his own absence. You exist and he doesn’t. How can he make sense of that when you're staring right at him, making him feel so alive?

“Do you think of me when we're not together?” He asks softly, feeling cracked open by his vulnerability. If he were to ask you what his lungs looked like, he'd swear you could simply peer down and tell him.

“All the time.”

That eases the ache and he smiles. The cool night breeze envelops both of you as Eddie tentatively lifts his hand, feeling the air flow through his fingers. However, a tremor runs through him, and you reach out to steady his hand with a gentle touch.

“Don’t get lost in it. Just stay with me.” You say.

Eddie tightens his grip on your hand, but his chest rises and falls quickly. He does not meet your eyes, because he is getting lost in it. The panic starts to set in. But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his hand. He hears his name on your lips, and it's as if you pulled him out of the hole he was falling into.

With his brown doe eyes fixed on yours, Eddie’s hand rises to touch your cheek. His fingers trace your face delicately, committing every curve and line to memory. He hesitates before asking, “Is this okay?”

You affirm with a single word, “Yes.”

Noticing a change in your expression and your attempt to control your breathing, Eddie’s thumb caresses your cheek as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

A small smile appears on your face before you admit, “I think about this all the time. You have no idea.”

Curious, Eddie asks, “Think about what?”

“You. And how your touch would feel…” Your voice trails off, cheeks flushing.

Eddie gently tilts your chin up. “How does it feel?”

Your eyes meet and he waits for your response, captivated by each of your breaths. But then, a tear falls from your eyes.

“Better than I could imagine, which is silly because this is all in my imagination,” you confess, your voice breaking as you look away.

Eddie wipes away your tears, his face filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Suddenly, you envelop Eddie in a tight hug, surprising him but easing his tension. He reciprocates, pulling you closer. Holding you tight.

“I miss you,” You whisper.

The words fall from your lips. Eddie is filled with confusion because he doesn’t know the pain you’ve endured because of his story. He doesn’t know how his fate ended, because this version of him lives on only within your mind—suspended in time. You met him in the middle, where his story was still happy and he was filled with promise of it being his year.

He lets his unanswered question dissolve, softly assuring you, “I’m right here.”

And he is, yet he isn’t. Time has passed, and the world has moved on from him, unbeknownst to Eddie. So, you securely hold him in your heart and mind, ensuring his existence continues.

“You know,” he starts, stroking your hair, “If I exist only because of you, then that’s a life worth living.”

The lake stills, the wind ceases, and just before Eddie can comprehend you're gone, he smiles. The world darkens, freezing him in an eternal moment.

Eddie Munson ceases to exist, residing only in the mind of a shifter, between the pages of the writer, the pen strokes of an artist and through the words of those who read him back to life in every possible scenario.

For every moment you experience in reality, he waits—until you meet again.

Masterlist

If you would ever sleep with Suguru Geto, he would be the first to wake up the day after. He would enjoy the view of your sleepy body and he would close his eyes for a moment, only for hearing your breath. Probably he would wrap you tighter against his chest, because he loves the feeling of your warmth on him. He would put his head on your shoulder he'd give some soft kisses on your neck.

He likes giving you kisses while you're sleeping. After breaking away from your neck, he would look at your face before starting to kiss your forehead. He would pass from your forehead to the tip of your nose and finally your lips. He would continue with those action until you wake up, caressing your cheeks too. He likes the way you slightly open your eyes and the way you look at him a bit sleepy, anf most of all he loves when you smile and start passing your hand through his hair.

Geto is just too affectionate to you. He would whisper to your ear «I love you» everytime he would have the opportunity, just to remember you his love for you. Because you are everything for him, the person who still keeps him sane.

Mr. Scarletella Doodles with no context

And my sona, yeeeahhh... i really fall for him 🙏💀 So, funny heh

shoutout to all the ppl who keep me fed on here. I eat well every day 🙏

Atsumu stands in the convenience store with pursed lips. Osamu had refused to cook for him so here he is, deciding on what he’s supposed to snack on. He scratches his head in thought.

“That damn jerk.” He mumbles under his breath.

He hears the faint chime of the doors, as they open and close. Then he’s back to concentrating. That is until a girl wraps their arms around his neck. His eyes going wide, as he stumbles a bit.

“What the hell-”

“Baby there you are!” You say a little loud, a waver in your voice.

“Please help me.” You whisper and his ears perk up.

He’s a little weirded out but he can sense the tension in your body. As if on cue a rather sketchy man turns the corner of the isle, staring you down.

His eyes narrow at the man, his arm now circling around your waist. He keeps you tight against him. The man inches a little closer, as if he’s glancing at the products. Atsumu clicks his tongue.

“Ya got a problem?” He calls out to the man.

The man glances up at him. Atsumu towers over him with ease. His unwavering glare and cold demeanor making the man step back. He gently guides you behind him.

“I suggest ya get yer sorry ass outta here. Before I make ya.” He smiles but the man knows better than to believe Atsumu is fucking around.

So with a scoff the man is leaving without another word or glance. You sigh loudly, a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in.

“I’m so sorry!” You shriek, bowing immediately. Atsumu is surprised, quickly trying to get you stop.

“S’fine really.” Atsumu hovers over you, wavering his hands like a mad man.

“Maybe next time be more careful. Don’t go trustin’ people like that.” He lightly scolds and you nod.

“Yer lucky ya got stuck with me though.” He laughs and you feel at ease.

“Please, let me treat you.” You say with a timid smile on your face.

He’s grins at your face. Only then does he really take you in. You’re beautiful and you smelt good too.

“Nah. S’alright.” He smiles, but you’re persistent.

“Please?”

Atsumu blinks and well damn it he can’t say no when you have a pretty face and sweet voice like that. Yet at the last second he pays for the things as you were reaching for your wallet.

You both walk out with different expressions. You’re wearing a pout and he’s staring down at you with a grin. You both stand outside awkwardly for a bit until you ask him a question.

“Sorry but do you know where the station is?”

He blinks.

“Want me to walk ya there?”

“N-No! You’ve already helped me so much.” You laugh nervously and he shakes his head.

“Nuh uh I’m walking ya.” He begins to walk.

“H-Hey!” You yell, falling into step with him. He smiles down at you as you pout.

“Do ya always pout like that?”

“No.” You grumble and he laughs.

You guys make small talk as he walks you to the station, making sure you’re close to him but on the inside of the sidewalk. He introduces himself and you introduce yourself as well.

“Pretty name.” He comments and you flush.

“Thanks.” You mess with your hands and he smiles.

When the station comes into view, he pouts. He didn’t think he’d be this let down at you having to go.

But just letting you go…felt so wrong to him. His heart panged in his chest.

“Well this is my stop.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Right.” He mumbles.

“Thank you Atsumu, you’re very kind.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He waves his hand.

It’s funny.

Two complete strangers, bidding goodbye as if you’d see eachother the next day and the day after that.

A red thread wraps itself around the both of your hearts. And as you both are a distance away.

It tugs.

Causing you both to lock eyes, for what seems to be the last time.

You send him a warming smile and his eyes soften.

With that you’re gone.

Atsumu is left standing there, the bag in hand. He feels rather empty. He walks the rest of the way home with a complete frown on his face.

The next day he’s walking with Osamu through the halls, on there way to volleyball practice. As Atsumu rambles about his sets, his words get caught up in his throat.

And there’s that tug again.

He stops in his tracks.

His eyes scanning everywhere in the hallway. When he looks behind him he finds you there, as if time has stopped.

You both mirror eachother, but Atsumu is quicker.

His eyes sparkle, his smile growing.

And that red thread finally ties its knot.

boyfriend!kirishima who makes you his whole personality — it's honestly sickening how obsessed he is with you, and he doesn't even try to hide it. every conversation circles back to you somehow.

boyfriend!kirishima who never misses a chance to call you beautiful, no matter where you are or what you're doing. you could be in pajamas with messy hair, brushing your teeth, or covered in food — and he's still looking at you like you're the most radiant thing he's ever seen.

boyfriend!kirishima who gets ridiculously excited when he finds something that reminds him of you. he’ll send you twenty-five blurry photos of a weird-shaped rock because “it kinda looks like your cat” and he’s already named it. it's now living on his shelf. it's part of the family.

boyfriend!kirishima who insists on carrying your bags, opening every door for you, holding your hand when you cross the street — even if it's just a parking lot. proving chivalry isn't dead.

boyfriend!kirishima who sends you gym selfies, but not just any selfies — specifically of his biceps, flexing hard, with a cheeky caption like “thinking of you 💪❤️” because he knows you love it (and he lives to impress you).

boyfriend!kirishima who, when ordering for you or talking about you in public, casually refers to you as his wife. “yeah, my wife would love the fries” or “oh, my wife showed me that!” and he doesn’t care if people correct him — you’re his forever in his heart, so why wait?

boyfriend!kirishima who’s never afraid to try anything you suggest. even if he’s deathly afraid of heights, if you say you want to skydive, he’s already booking it with trembling hands and saying “as long as i’m with you.”

boyfriend!kirishima who checks in regularly throughout the day. little texts like, “don’t forget to drink water, okay?” and “you’ve got this. i’m so proud of you.” he sends affirmations like they’re love notes, because he wants to be the voice in your head that reminds you you’re doing amazing.

boyfriend!kirishima who lets you talk his ear off about anything and everything. even when you think he’s distracted, he’s soaking up every word, remembering little details to bring up later just to see your face light up.

boyfriend!kirishima who always talks about the future like it’s already decided — you and him, together. “once we’re living together, we can get a dog?” “maybe we can paint our bedroom that color.” he never lets you forget that he sees you in every part of his life.

boyfriend!kirishima who makes you the sweetest, most thoughtful diy gifts. a jar full of reasons he loves you, all handwritten. matching bracelets he stayed up all night making because he wanted them to be perfect. things that take time, effort, and love — because that’s how he loves you: completely.

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