Latest Posts by anonymouskiwi - Page 4

ushijima loves when you trace your fingers across his back. after a long and exhausting day of strenuous training, he’ll be lying down on his stomach, face buried into a pillow. as you sit on the edge of the bed next to him and begin running your fingers across his bare back, he’ll turn his head slightly to open one eye and look at you with an appreciative but tired smile. your fingers run mindlessly across every groove and muscle, outlining the years of hard work he’s built up in his figure. your hands run in between his shoulder blades and on his sides in a calming featherlight touch. when you massage the right spot, he lets out a barely audible sigh of contentment, feeling completely at ease under the gentle path of your fingers. as you continue your movement across every crevice of his body, you see him gradually shift into a visible state of relaxation. his shoulders slowly drop from their tense state, and his muscles go from tight and sore to relaxed and softened. the feeling of intimacy this small act of yours brings to him wraps him up in a blanket of warmth that, for just a short while, makes him forget about anything but the love radiating in the small cocoon you two call home.

people thinking that sakusa’s being maltreated because of the bruises on his forearm, but the truth is . .

Sakusa is known to always wear his compression sleeves on and off the court for post-game press conferences. It completed his signature look. His overall flair.

Everything seemed normal at first, but it wasn’t long before murmurs surfaced through the room. Reporters exchanged glances, some scrolling through their phones, others whispering among themselves.

The reason? For the first time in a long while, Sakusa wasn’t wearing his compression sleeves.

His toned forearms were exposed for everyone to see, and to the media’s surprise, they weren’t completely unblemished. Faint bruises and clusters of reddish dots speckled his skin—nothing severe, but noticeable enough to raise eyebrows. Some looked older, fading into his skin, while others were more recent.

The questions were bound to come.

“Sakusa-san, many fans have noticed that you’re not wearing your usual sleeves today. And, well…” she hesitated, gesturing vaguely at his arms.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about the marks on your skin. Is everything alright?”

Sakusa blinked once, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his arms, clearly catching onto what she meant. A moment of silence passed before he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

He knew this would happen eventually.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, into the mic, he deadpanned, “I’m fine.”

The room remained unconvinced.

Sakusa could already imagine what the internet was saying. Rumors were probably spreading like wildfire—was he getting into fights? Had he been injured in training? Worse, was something happening at home?

“If I may, are those from mosquitos? With the recent outbreak of mosquitos due to the warm weather, could it be from those?”

“No.”

“Allergies, perhaps?”

“None.”

A few more reporters shuffled in their seats, hesitant but clearly eager to dig deeper.

Then, another one asked, “Just to clarify, you’re saying these marks aren’t from… any sort of external conflict?”

Sakusa’s brow twitched. He leaned forward slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask as he adjusted the mic, and let out another small sigh. “I’m not being abused, if that’s what people are implying.”

The room went silent. His fellow players exchanged approving nods, letting their teammate handle the situation.

“My wife is in medical school,” Sakusa continued, his voice even, matter-of-fact. “She’s refreshing her phlebotomy skills, and I often volunteer to be her patient whenever she needs someone for a demo or assignment.”

The silence stretched for a moment before a few quiet chuckles broke through, some from relief, others from sheer amusement at the unexpected explanation. Well, it wasn’t often Sakusa talked about you.

“So… you’re saying these marks are from blood extractions?”

“Yes,” he answered, tilting his head slightly as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “She wants to practice, and I’d rather help her than have her struggle to find volunteers.”

Hinata whispered something to Bokuto, but even with the low volume of the mic, Sakusa still caught it.

“That’s kinda romantic.”

He turned his head slightly to glare at them, but Bokuto was already grinning. “No, but really! That’s, like, peak husband material. You’re not even fond of monthly checkups.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Meian chuckled. “You’re literally letting someone practice on you repeatedly. That’s dedication.”

Reporters were already typing away, some clearly rewriting their headlines. What had started as a potentially scandalous story had turned into something else entirely.

The media had long known Sakusa to be a private person, almost aggressively so. He rarely spoke about his personal life, and to this day, many fans still couldn’t believe he was married. Out of all the MSBY Black Jackals players, Sakusa and your marriage are by far the most private.

It wouldn’t even have been known if it weren’t for Hinata’s post with the newly wedded couple a year ago!

And yet, here he was, casually revealing that he lets you practice medical procedures on him just to support your studies.

“Is she any good?” another reporter asked, grinning now. “At phlebotomy?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “Her undergraduate course is medical laboratory science—so yes, she’s been doing this for years.”

“And you’ve never complained?”

He shrugged. That was the stupidest question he’s heard today.

“Why would I? She supports me in my career. The least I can do is support her in hers.”

The room was quiet for a second before a wave of approving murmurs spread across the lobby area. The tension had completely shifted.

Bokuto grinned. “Man, you’re really down bad for your wife, huh?”

Sakusa sighed, clearly regretting every life decision that led him to sitting next to Bokuto in this moment. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to volleyball.”

Hinata laughed. “It’s not, but it’s fun to watch you get all flustered as you tell them more about [Last Name], Omi!”

“I’m not flustered,” Sakusa muttered, tugging at his jersey sleeve slightly as if contemplating whether he should just start wearing them all the time again to avoid situations like this.

“Like hell ye aren’t,” Atsumu snorted.

By the time the conference ended, social media had already latched onto the revelation.

#SakusaBestHusband started trending almost immediately, with fans gushing over how unexpectedly sweet he was. Some joked that they wanted a “Sakusa-level” of support in their relationships.

-

You had been watching the press conference from your laptop at home, your face buried in your hands as your notifications blew up.

A few minutes later, Sakusa messaged you.

Kiyoomi: I hate the internet.

You: And they love you, actually.

Kiyoomi: They won’t shut up about me letting you stab me with needles.

You: You do let me stab you with needles.

Kiyoomi: It’s more than that. Ugh, people don’t educate themselves enough about your profession

Kiyoomi: And it sounds worse when you say it like that.

You laughed, shaking your head.

You: Well, you are the best husband in the whole world ever. You kind of brought this on yourself.

He didn’t reply right away, and you assumed he was on his way back home. But when your phone buzzed again, your heart warmed at the short but sincere message.

Kiyoomi: You’re worth it. Be home in 20 minutes

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

food for thought | o.miya

-> pairings: miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: none | genre: fluff | wc: 619 | mlist

-> synopsis: your boyfriend has odd eating habits, but it’s only because he loves you so much.

“You eat like you’ve been starved.”

“Hm?” Osamu remarks, shoveling onigiri into his mouth at a speed that makes you wonder how he hasn’t choked yet. The whir of the fridge rings faintly in your ear while you watch in amusement as he barely breathes between bites. It had become almost a ritual between you and your boyfriend to order in on cozy nights like these when neither you or him had the energy to cook.

It had also become routine for Osamu to scarf his food down in seconds while you pick at yours aimlessly.

“I said you eat like you‘ve just suffered through a famine,” you laugh, heart swelling with a soft affection. “Why?”

His chewing slows as he furrows his brow in contemplation. Swallowing, he slouches back in his seat and shrugs. “Force of habit, I guess. ‘Tsumu always stole my food if I wasn’t fast enough.”

“That makes sense,” you nod, though a nagging curiosity creeps into your head, accompanied by the urge to let it spill through your mouth. You wait for a beat before giving in to the feeling. Pressing your arms against the table, you lean forward.

“I have another question.”

Snorting, he fiddles with the little food that’s left on his plate. “Can I ask what compelled ya to analyze my eatin’ habits?”

Your eyes narrow, “‘Samu…”

“My bad,” he concedes, popping the last piece of onigiri into his mouth. “What’s the question?”

You pause, gesturing to the now-empty dish in front of him, “Have you noticed that you never rush through the food I cook for you?” Tilting your head, you add, “It’s only when we go out, or when you make stuff for yourself that you eat like this.”

Osamu doesn’t answer right away. He goes quiet for a moment, but he fills the silence by tapping his chopsticks against the table. Shifting languidly, he meets your expectant gaze and sighs, breaking the still. “I guess… it’s ‘cause I want the moment to last longer.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Y’know what I mean,” he replies, voice softening.

“I don’t.”

Groaning, he sets the utensils down to fork fingers through his hair. “Usually I’m the one that cooks, so when you do it—it’s special,” he explains, his lips parting slightly like he’s trying to find the right words to articulate an intricate thought. His eyes flicker down to his plate and back up to you. “I chew slower to show my appreciation. Sorta like how yer supposed to look at paintings in museums for a long time.”

Your chest pangs with surprise at his answer, and you raise your hand to inspect your now warm cheek. Gaping at him, slack-mouthed, his words echo through your head as silence stretches between the two of you once more. Despite being together for so long, Osamu’s words still could make you feel like you were floating.

When you finally speak, you can’t help but smile. “Are you comparing my cooking to a masterpiece?”

“No,” he quips, eyes twinkling with mirth, “That’d be offensive to artists.”

You gasp, “Rude!” But there’s no real feeling behind it. Giggling, you act on impulse and shove your half-finished plate of gyoza across the table towards him.

He hums, lips twisting upwards slightly. “What’re ya givin’ me this for?” His voice holds a fondness that makes you want to swoon.

“You’re cute. That’s why.”

Cocking his head at you, he smiles in appreciation. His nose is tinted pink from the steam that remains of your leftovers, and you find it unbelievably adorable. Chopsticks reaching to finish the food you had presented to him, he pauses to look up at you, catching your gaze once more.

“I think yer cuter.”

—a/n: picture me writing this and wailing in agony bcuz that’s exactly how it happened

requested to be tagged: @sahrii @mayyhaps (who also proofread this so shoutout may) @kameyyy

20191009 I LIKE HER | timeskip!tsukkishima as your boyfriend

♫ – currently playing… mac demarco

warnings – tsukishima is kind of mean, periods, food, mentions of drinking, throwing up/vomiting, jokes of being stabbed in the stomach, profanities

pairing – tsukishima x fem!reader ☆

a/n – hi guys… hope u enjoy !!

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

They’re loud in the living room.

Hinata, curled happily with a bag of chips on the floor, adjacent to Bokuto and Atsumu sat sprawled out on the couch, while Kiyoomi was as collected as could be on the free cushion, hands folded in his lap with his elbows on his knees as his dark eyes followed the plays on screen. You watch as they cheer and hoot at the saves and spikes, groaning when one team scores and cheering when theirs does.

It’s a scene that you’d love to see over and over again.

It’s also a scene you love to mess the serenity of.

“Sakusa,” you call from your perch in the doorway, and immediately, all heads whip to you. Kiyoomi tenses up, Atsumu sits up straight and Bokuto blinks owlishly, and from the floor, Hinata’s head cocks to the side in interest. “Can you come here for a sec?”

Childishly, the other three men offer him a collective “oooo,” to which your boyfriend scowls at. He quickly gets onto his feet and makes his way into the kitchen with you, panic on his features.

“Is everything okay?” He asks.

You nod, “yes. Can you reach that bowl up there?”

Immediately, Kiyoomi reaches up and grabs the bowl on the high shelf, bringing it down before cradling it to his chest, “I put this bowl here; is that why you’re mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you say simply.

“You called me Sakusa,” he pouts in fear. “You don’t call me sakusa. They do.”

“But that’s your name?”

“Not to you,” he says. “No, no- you call me the utmost feral things you can call someone, yet now you want to be formal, I don’t like that. What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, just give me the bowl,” you say, finding slight amusement at this charade. He winces and slowly passes you the bowl, but when you open your mouth to thank him, he immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a kiss, the bowl pressing between you. You merely giggle as he pulls back to sponge kisses on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he says between kisses. “Tell me what I did wrong.” He follows with another kiss. “I never want to make you mad.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you I love you I love you-“

“Okay!” You giggle. “I know you do!”

“Say it back,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes and cup his cheeks, making him look at you while you press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you. I promise I’m not mad.”

“You’re not? You’re sure?”

“I was messing with you, my love,” you snort. Then, you nod towards the door, “you guys can’t be the only ones having fun tonight. I have to keep you on your toes.” You gently poke his stomach, grinning as he yelps and moves away. When your eyes flick to the doorway, there’s three curious heads watching the scene unfold. Two of them watch happily- the blonde one looks more than mischievous as he absorbs this new level of blackmail.

You smile and kiss his cheek, “go, watch your game with the boys. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” he sighs, voice much lighter than moments before. You watch as all three heads dash from the doorway to go back to the couch, swift to avoid Kiyoomi’s wrath. “I love you.” He takes a step back, “love you. I love you!” He makes his way to the threshold, “I love you!”

“I love you too,” you chuckle back.

“I love you twice as much!”

“GOD, YOU HAVE GUESTS OVER!” Atsumu gags.

“You’re just bitter because you can’t get a text back,” Kiyoomi hisses, and you can’t help but laugh at the switch from baby voice to stern, firm voice. He flashes you a wink before making his way back to the couch, and when you peek out at the furniture again, he’s in a headlock by Bokuto, his hair being ruffled in a way you know he’s going to complain about later.

Half heartedly, of course.

"So, do you promise to love and respect your wife in joy and in sadness, in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty, for all the days of your life, until death do you apart?"

"Yes", he says, but his mind instantly disagrees.

"No", he thinks. Because this life is too short. It doesn't last forever, but his love for you is unconditional and everlasting. Your days are counted, and you'll both die, that's unavoidable. Your lives will end. That's why he doesn't want to make your love dependent on life.

That's also why, even though he says "Yes" to the priest in front of everyone so that the ceremony can continue , in his mind, he promises "No. I'll never stop loving you, even when I'm 70, wrinkly and ugly, and even when I die, be it today, tomorrow or in 50 years. My love for you is too strong to die with me. It won't die, as long as you live. And when you die, we'll see eachother on the other side, so I can be with you and love you again".

And when he looks at you at the altar after the priest told him to "kiss the bride", with your mascara smudged from crying and that stupid smile he loves so much, he whispers to you, making sure you're the only one who hears it:

"And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every timeline"

He then holds you by the waist and kisses you, sealing his promise.

REO MIKAGE, RIN ITOSHI, Alexis Ness, MICHAEL KAISER, Karasu Tabito, Bachira Meguru, AKAASHI KEIJI, Sugawara Koshi, ATSUMU MIYA, Bokuto Koutaro, KEIGO TAKAMI (Hawks), SATORU GOJO, Itadori Yuji, Megumi Fushiguro

~ A/N: The idea for this fic randomly apperared in my mind after I read a Instagram comment. I almost cried after reading it 😭

Masterlist

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.

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

When you started dating Tobio, you quickly took notice on his meticulousness and diligence when it came to his sport. This included taking a jog every morning without fail, filing his nails, writing in his volleyball journal, and eating the right meal. But this… this takes the cake.

“Tobio… what do you need all these shoes for?” you ask dumbfounded while standing in front of his wall filled with shelves of identical volleyball shoes.

He blinks at you before he grabs a pair and fiddles with it, “I couldn’t throw them away.”

“Yes? But why do you need this many? And identical ones at that? Did you not think to purchase a different design?”

“The mid-sole gets worn out quickly if you play every day,” he explains, “and a different design might feel different…”

You nod and take one, noticing a tag inside that has numbers on it, “but why keep them?”

“It has some sentimental value,” he says blushing, “actually this one,” he takes the shoe from you, “I was using during the time I met you.”

You beam at this, “That’s cute, Tobio! I didn’t know you were the sentimental type.”

…..

A month later during one of your dates you gifted him a new pair of shoes.

“Don’t worry about the design! It’s the same model and brand, just a different colorway.”

He nods, his eyes sparkling as he inspects it.

“Do you like it?”

He looks at you and smiles, “I love it.”

He didn’t use the shoes during the regular season and the VNL games, claiming it was too precious to wear. So imagine your surprise to see your boyfriend on television during the Olympics wearing the shoes you bought him months ago.

Rintaro has no idea what’s coming to him.

So far, there’s been three videos about couples breaking up on your for-you-page, full of tears and heartbreak and anger as you scroll. You try not to linger on these videos for too long, lest they mess up your perfected algorithm, but for some reason, they always find their way back to you.

You don’t know how, or why he would… but you blame Rintaro.

With a huff, you throw your phone back onto the couch and stomp your way into the kitchen, where Rintaro doesn’t even spare you a glance. He merely takes a bite of his sandwich and continues to scroll on TikTok.

“Hey baby,” he says, mouth full of food. “What’s up-“

He’s cut off by you gripping his collar sharply, pulling it taught and pulling him with it. He whimpers and his eyes bug out of his skull, but he doesn’t say anything as you lean down to be face to face with him.

“Listen to me,” you snap, trying not to laugh at the way his puffed cheeks turn up to look at you. “We’re not breaking up.”

“…okay?” He whines a small laugh.

“Listen.” You pull his collar tighter, and he starts to giggle nervously, his cheeks growing bigger as he tries to swallow the bite of food in his mouth around your choking. “If you’re sick of me, take some medicine. If you’re bored of me, go play a video game. If you’re tired of me, take a nap. We’re not breaking up. Not now, not ever, do you understand me?”

He nods around his laughter, trying so hard to weasel free from your gripping of his collar. His hands paw at his plate for a chip to give you, in an attempt to satisfy you, but all you do is click your tongue.

“Do you love me?”

He can’t respond around his laughter.

“I said: DO YOU LOVE ME?!”

Finally, he’s able to nod and choke out a ‘yes,’ bringing the chip to your lips. “Okay,” you whisper menacingly, slowly releasing his collar and taking the chip from his fingers. “I love you too.”

“My throat hurts now,” he pouts.

“I’ll baby you once I’m done fixing my for-you-page,” you promise, kissing his head and leaving the kitchen, leaving him to process what just happened.

-

hehehehehehehe

is your girlfriend single?

characters: ushijima, iwaizumi, sakusa

warnings: timeskip! also not beta-ed

note/s: i do not feel like writing a new piece rn so here's a lil repost from my old account (2)

(suna, atsumu, bokuto)

ushijima:

ushijima tried his hardest not to look as if he wasn't bored in the ongoing interview. well, he wasn't. but he has been told by their manager that his resting face looks very unapproachable.

he was fiddling with his fingers as the rest of his team members were answering fan questions. letting out a small smile whenever he finds some questions funny and the way that kourai reacts overdramatically. 

"ah, here's a question for big boy, wakatoshi!" kourai announced as he squinted his eyes on the influx of questions.

"yes?" ushijima responded, sitting up a bit more upright. 

"is your girlfriend single?" kourai bit his lip as he tried not to laugh at the question. 

the spiker furrowed his eyebrows in thought. 

"i do not have a girlfriend." was all he said.

the atmosphere was silent as the rest of his team looked at him in shock and mostly worry.

ushijima noticed and looked around the room to see the camera staff and team looking at him. 

"what?" 

"you just said..." kageyama trailed off, hesitant to continue. 

"you broke it off with (y/n)?!" kourai interrupted. 

ushijima frowned, as if that was the most absurd thing he heard.

"(y/n) and i are happily engaged. she is my fiancé." ushijima said plainly, as if he didn't just cause the live chat box to spam with shocked and congratulatory messages.

"and you didn't tell us?!" if anyone was the most offended, it would be kourai.

"i thought the ring was obvious. kageyama has told me it looked nice." the team's heads whipped to kageyama who spluttered on how he didn't know it was an engagement ring. 

ushijima hummed. "it seems like i have not announced this." 

"you think?" he hears kourai's retort but pretended not to.

"me and (y/n) are engaged, therefore, she is now my fiance and not my girlfriend." ushijima said to the camera. "i hope this clarifies my answer." a few more questions were answered, mostly questions in regards to you and ushijima’s engagement before the staff announced that the livestream was over.

“that was a terrible way of announcing that you are engaged.” he hears his captain mutter. ushijima nodded in acknowledgement before heading home to you who was waiting to scold him after watching the livestream. 

iwaizumi: 

the trainer didn’t know how he was roped into answering WIRED questions when he wasn’t the one in court. he was already halfway when the staff gave him a new board but he was shocked to see that it was filled with questions not about him, but about you.

“your fans wanted to know about your relationship with (y/n).” hoots from outside the camera’s view were heard, iwaizumi internally sighed, knowing that this would be fuel for the team to tease their trainer.

“let’s get this over with.” the trainer says before ripping the first tape from the board. “is iwaizumi’s girlfriend… staged?” he gave a deadpan expression to the camera. 

“(y/n) has been with me since we were third years, waited for me to return to japan after leaving for california and is currently living with me in our apartment. yes, our relationship is staged.” iwaizumi said sarcastically as he held the second tape by his fingertips. 

“is iwaizumi’s girlfriend… oikawa’s ex. what?” he didn’t know whether the staff is being serious as he gave another unimpressed look.

“no, i’m her first boyfriend and the last.” he smirked at his promise, the staff already knew that that alone will become a trending snippet. 

he answered a few more questions in haste, don’t get him wrong. he loves you but he would rather keep details about your relationship private. 

“aight, last one.” iwaizumi ripped the last piece of tape off the board. 

“is iwaizumi’s girlfriend… single?” he raised a brow at that question. 

“where the hell are you getting these questions?” iwaizumi asked rhetorically. “these are the most searched questions about your girlfriend.” one of the staff answered him. 

iwaizumi shook his head in disbelief. “wow… you’d think people actually unironically search for this.” he cleared his throat before looking straight at the camera. 

“i’m going to say this for the last time. my girlfriend isn’t single and won’t be for the longest time before i make her my wife.” iwaizumi stated, voice clear as if he was determined. 

the staff were clearly having a field day, knowing how much this episode will trend because of how whipped and dedicated the sought out trainer was for you. 

the interview ended shortly.  iwaizumi thanked the staff for having him only to be bombarded with a lot of comments filled with adoration towards your relationship. the trainer smiled before finishing up and heading home. 

“you look happy.” you greet him by the door, iwaizumi scoffed playfully before pulling you by your waist and placing a soft kiss on your lips. 

“of course i am, i come home to you.” iwaizumi thought of the comments from the staff, ‘marry her.’ was the comment that stuck to his mind. 

he already had the ring in the bottom drawer, tucked away by his socks. 

sakusa:

sakusa supposes that being an athlete involved having to deal with interviews. well, interviews that came with the sport, not whatever their team was currently doing. 

sakusa, atsumu, hinata, and bokuto were sat down on chairs, a small metal bucket in the middle of them filled with numerous pieces of papers, printed tweets, to be exact. 

“ooh, this is a good one! were bokuto and hinata close before msby?” bokuto read aloud before beaming at the camera and recollecting the memories from when they were in highschool. 

“fun fact! we all knew each other in some way, waaaay back in high school.” bokuto said before atsumu and sakusa nodded in confirmation. 

sakusa looked at the bucket as his teammates plucked random pieces of papers and answering them with ease. “why are sakusa’s wrists so flexible? please he could like… slap me and i would feel it twice in one motion. great, now all i’m thinking about it sakusa slapping me.” atsumu read aloud, voice turning a mocking pitch at the last sentence. 

“it’s called hypermobility-”  he paused as he saw bokuto and hinata look at him curiously. “otherwise known as being double-jointed. and no, i will not slap you. next tweet, please.”

“how boring, omi.” atsumu teased, sakusa rolled his eyes at the setter. “next. tweet.” 

“okay, okay. calm down.” atsumu surrendered, bokuto plucked another piece of paper before reading it out loud. 

“is sakusa’s girlfriend single? because i saw her in msby’s game against raijins and damn. if sakusa doesn’t wife her up immediately then i would gladly do the honors.” the whole room went silent after bokuto read the paper. the spiker’s eyes widened as he looked towards sakusa. 

“i was only reading the tweet!” 

“no. she isn’t, next question.” was only sakusa’s answer. his voice left no room for argument as atsumu hastily grabbed another piece of paper, moving on from the previous tweet. 

the team believed that due to sakusa’s reaction, that segment would be removed. but to the surprise of everyone, it was part of the final cut and managed to blow up. the fans swooned on how territorial sakusa had been and there were a few feedbacks that sakusa’s eyes softened at the mention of your name in the video. 

sakusa knew that, but he would never admit to it. 

“so.” you start as you lie down next to your boyfriend as the both of you watch the interview. “territorial, huh.” 

“you’re mine and you know it.” sakusa grumbled as he cuddled closer to your chest, watching the remaining few minutes. 

“of course i am, ‘yoomi.” you reply, kissing the crown of his head and watching the interview once more.

is your girlfriend single?

characters: atsumu, suna, bokuto

warnings: mentions of sex in suna's, timeskip!

note/s: i do not feel like writing a new piece rn so here's a lil repost from my old account

(ushijima, iwaizumi, sakusa)

atsumu: 

the setter was doing a livestream, he was bored and you were doing a grocery run, so he decided to tweet the hashtag #AskTsumu five minutes before going on live. 

once he started filming, he first greeted his viewers and thanked them for their support towards the previous games against the adlers. 

“right. let’s get started on the questions.” he says, placing the phone down and clasping his hands together. 

“‘is it true that you have a twin?’ no, i don’t. next question.” atsumu smirked as he scrolled past the comments only to see his twin’s angry spamming on how he should’ve eaten the blonde in the womb. 

“just kidding, yes. unfortunately, i have a twin brother, he’s currently opening up a restaurant in tokyo so go visit if you can.” atsumu endorsed. “‘wow, thanks. you’re actually useful for once.’ i take it back! don’t visit his restaurant, his food is shit. worst food ever, -10/10.” he joked, knowing that his fans and viewers would realize that it was sarcastic. 

“alright, time to check twitter for your questions.” he said as he took his laptop and pressed on the hashtag. 

“wow, okay. there’s a lot, i’ll try to answer as much as possible.” atsumu began answering the questions, it was mostly about his training routine, his hobbies and his relationship with his team. 

“how long have you and your girlfriend been together?” he smirked at the question before tilting his head to the side and shortly reminisced about your relationship. 

“we’ve been dating for.. four years now and i couldn’t be any luckier.” as if on cue, the door to your apartment opened and you trudged in with groceries. “wait a minute.” he said to the camera before running to where you were and helping you carry the groceries then dragging you to the camera’s view. 

“‘tsumu, i look terrible!” you say, trying to get away from the view but atsumu held your waist as he perched you to his lap. “nah, you don’t. ‘yer the prettiest.” he said before leaning forward, chin on top of your shoulder as he read more questions. 

“‘is that (y/n)?! she’s so pretty!’ ‘course she is. glad you seem to think so as well.” atsumu smirked. 

his live suddenly became a couple q&a. not that either of you were complaining. 

“atsumu, is your girlfriend single?” he reads before he could comprehend the message. he only realizes once you stifled your laugh. 

atsumu huffed before his big hand cupped your cheek to face him and he placed his lips onto yours for a few seconds. just enough to get the point through. 

“no, next question.” he winked, you slid off his lap as he laughed at the comment section which was now in an uproar. you knew you had to apologize to the team’s publicist as soon as possible.

suna:

suna was lounging on the couch as atsumu and komori interacted with their fans in their livestream. 

he was in the background, scrolling away on his phone as the setter and the libero chatted animatedly in front of the screen. 

“oi, suna! you should go and join us.” atsumu called out, looking behind him, the middle blocker gave a passive wave of the hand, eyes still on the phone. 

“‘ya guys see how mean he is? he doesn’t care about anyone unless they’re (y/n).” atsumu says before his eyes widen. “i should not have said that, huh?” the glare suna sent atsumu’s way made the setter cower in his seat. 

“always knew your loud mouth will get me into trouble.” suna sighed and left it at that.

“show us a pic...” motoya read out loud, suna’s head snapped up and before he could stop the two, atsumu has already pulled out his phone and began going through photos of you and the team. 

“this is suna’s girlfriend, sorry ladies and gents, mr. suna rintarou is off the market.” motoya laughed as he pointed to the picture on the phone screen. “anyway, this is (y/n). she’s really pretty and she has the entire volleyball team to go after you if you dare send her hate.” 

suna smirked and continued to scroll down his phone. 

“is suna’s girlfriend single?” motoya read outloud, atsumu stood up with the phone and placed it in front of suna’s face, effectively placing him in a hotseat. 

“so, sunarin.” atsumu starts. “is your girlfriend single?”

suna looked at atsumu with an unimpressed expression before facing the camera, looking straight at it.

“no, we had sex last night.” atsumu almost let go of the phone at how nonchalantly suna answered. 

“can you get the camera out of my face now?” suna asked, both of his teammates nodded. atsumu grumbled about how he was making the live as pg as possible but the middle blocker had to ruin it. 

once atsumu sat down, he made sure that the camera does not catch sight of the smug middle blocker before he states to the camera.

“we’re not entertaining any more questions about suna and (y/n).”

bokuto:

most of the fans knew that bokuto was a volleyball idiot. his actions and reflexes are quick yet when it comes to anything that wasn’t related to volleyball, he’d rather pass on the question. 

“ah, yeah. i’ve tried the hybrid on our spikers yet no one managed to receive it! bokkun was pouty the whole practice we had to call (y/n) to get him out of his slump.” atsumu recalled, earning a roll of eyes from sakusa and a lot of praise from hinata. 

“i was caught off guard!” bokuto tried to defend himself, earning a passive wave of the hand with a matching smirk from the setter. “sure, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, bokkun.” 

the live audience cooed at the team’s banter, finding it both endearing and entertaining. 

“i see. any more questions from the audience?” the host asked, the mic that was vacant was occupied by a fan who then asked what their drive for volleyball was.

it was the segment for general questions. then it would be time for personal questions per team member. 

the owl-spiker was excited but a bit nervous, he didn’t know what to expect but the smile on his face didn’t show any bit of unease. 

after a few minutes, the host turned to bokuto and gestured for him to sit in front, replacing hinata who had just finished answering his fans’ questions. 

“ah, bokuto-san! are you ready to answer?” the host asked for formalities, everyone knew that bokuto didn’t really have a choice. bokuto nods twice, a beaming smile on his face as he faced the audience. 

“alright! first question.” the host gestured for the first fan to occupy the microphone. 

“are your emo modes unintentional...” the questions went on, the spiker answered the next questions with ease, the past feeling of anxiousness dissipating as he noticed the line getting shorter. 

“hi, big fan! so my question for you is… is your girlfriend single?” the fan asked, causing a few gasps from the crowd. bokuto couldn’t see it, but the team was silently giggling at the question, anticipating whether bokuto would comprehend the question before he would answer. 

“what?” bokuto asked, wanting to hear the question again. he awkwardly laughed before he spoke once more. “of course she’s not! she’s my baby.” 

bokuto pouts before speaking again. “she’s my other half, my soulmate, my baby, my honeybear, my-” “alright, bokkun. we get it!” atsumu said, exasperated. 

“(y/n) is the love of my life and my girlfriend and it will stay that way until we see each other at the altar.” bokuto finalized, unknowingly smiling at the thought. 

the host cleared their throat, taking the stage away and wrapping the interview up. 

you were waiting backstage, watching with a warm face as bokuto talked about you. the backstage staff who was with you gave you knowing glances as the interview ended and bokuto was walking straight towards you. 

your boyfriend wrapped his arms tightly around you in greeting. “you know, that question could’ve been answered with a yes or no, kou.” you say as you pull away from the hug. 

“i needed to let them know that you’re mine!” bokuto stated childishly before pecking your forehead. 

yeah, you were his and didn’t plan on being anyone else’s. 

when you start dating kiyoomi, he tells you at your first sleepover that he doesn’t like to be touched when waking up. it’s nothing personal; he just tells you he needs to get his bearings in the morning, so he prefers not to be cuddled while he sleeps. it sucks when you’re tired and just want to latch on to him and curl into his warmth, but everyone has their boundaries, and you respect them.

it’s only after the first few months of sleepovers that the apologies when you find yourself cuddled up against him as you blink awake are returned with dismissive hmphs as he curls his muscled arm back around your waist and pulls you close again.

and it’s only a couple months after that when you start waking up to a weight against your hot skin, because kiyoomi has sought out your touch as soon as he regains conscience in the mornings. and the rare times you wake up before him, he comes shuffling into the living room, blanket around his broad shoulders, and pout on his sleepy face as he curls up into you, waiting for your fingers to curl into his locks and lull him back to sleep.

miya atsumu is down bad. catastrophically. embarrassingly. so much so that even osamu—his own flesh and blood, who should be on his side—has started calling him pathetic.

“yer makin’ it so obvious,” osamu mutters as they watch you from across the gym. you’re laughing at something suna said, and atsumu feels a pang of jealousy so deep he nearly keels over.

“am not,” atsumu grumbles, but his eyes are still locked on you, hands on his hips like a lovesick fool.

“yer starin’ at her like she’s the last bowl of ramen on earth,” osamu deadpans.

she might as well be, atsumu thinks. you’re the team’s manager, but to him, you’re his manager. you bring him extra water when he’s been pushing himself too hard, you tell him to rest when he’s being stubborn, and you always—always—greet him with that bright smile that makes his heart do backflips.

“atsumu,” you call, jogging over. his name sounds so sweet when you say it, and he straightens up immediately. “want some water?”

atsumu nearly malfunctions. “yes,” he says, a little too enthusiastically. he takes the bottle from you, fingers brushing, and if he were a weaker man, he’d be on the floor.

you tilt your head, smiling. “you okay?”

“perfect,” he breathes, and osamu groans.

suna walks by, muttering, “get a grip, miya.”

but atsumu doesn’t care. because when you turn away, you glance back—just for a second—and grin.

and miya atsumu is done for.

sry i simply cannot stop thinking about adlers!kageyama seeking you out for a kiss after every game like is a post-game ritual of his. bc like. he's a touchy person by nature and whether it was a good game or a bad game, all he wants is to feel u against him, all he wants is to press in close, to be able to press his fingers into your skin, kiss you till ur both a bit dizzy, either it's to commiserate and seek comfort after losing or to celebrate and ride out his own high of winning, it's the thing he looks forward to the most.

during an post-match interview, he's visibly distracted, glancing off-screen, barely answering the interviewer's questions; she laughs and asks if he's looking for his gf cause it's pretty well known by now that he's a simp of a bf despite what he looks like, and he jerks around, nodding like "yeah, have u seen her? i need my uh --" he cuts off, blushing, but the interviewer presses on like "oh, is there a post-match ritual with your gf?"

kageyama just shrugs, "yeah. something like that."

and later, during another player's interview, you can clearly see kageyama and you in the back, you going up on your tip toes and him bending down to kiss you before someone blocks the view but there's def grainy zooms of it on insta and tiktok within MINUTES of the interview going live.

the next time the interviewer asks, kageyama doesn't even try to hide it anymore and just says, "yeah, need my post-match kiss," before bowing out to go find you.

Eddie is the opposite of a nonchalant boyfriend

Masterlist

Context: Nonchalant boyfriend was an internet phenomenon where girls were talking about their, you guessed it, nonchalant boyfriends avoidant attachment style lowkey saying things like, "when he's nonchalant and u never know if he actually likes you or if he doesn't even care abt ur existence" and, "pov: dating a nonchalant guy who never compliments you when you're a words of affirmation girl"

Asks are open, please for the love of god talk to me about Eddie.

Warnings: mentions of a period, a pinch of spiciness, that's it.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Have this thought that turned long while I continue writing my magnum opus, it is an Eddie x Popular!Reader enemies to situationship to lovers based on the song imgonnagetyouback by Taylor Swift. It's currently at 14k words and I haven't even hit the real drama yet lmao. If anybody applies the slightest bit of pressure on me I will fold like a wet noodle and give you guys an excerpt. I've been planning it out and drafting it this whole week so it should be a well-structured story unlike my other long one.

Eddie declares war on all nonchalant boyfriends. 

He’s never been nonchalant about anything in his entire life, and he’s not gonna start now, not with you. 

No longer will you wonder if your boyfriend thinks you look pretty or if he thought about you that day. 

With Eddie, he thinks about so many things during the day, you included, that he has to write the ones about you down so he can tell you later when you both get home from work. 

He runs down the paper like it’s his grocery list, “Okay, first of all Joe was playing the radio in the shop today and Queen came on and it made me think of you.” 

Your heart flutters at the sentiment, “Aw, what song was it?” You’re curious to know what it was so you can go listen to it, even though you’ve more than likely heard it a million times. You just want to listen to it from his perspective, imagining what lines made him think of you. 

You giddily wonder if it was Killer Queen, you do have an insatiable appetite for him. Or maybe it was Somebody To Love, you swoon at the thought of Eddie hearing the choir-like chanting, ‘Find me somebody to love,’ knowing he’s coming home to you. His somebody. 

Your rose-colored thoughts are dashed when he quips his answer. 

“Fat Bottomed Girls,” he’s got a proud grin stretched across his face before he looks at his lengthy list once more, quickly moving on. 

Your eyes deaden, lips pressed into a thin line, “Okay.” A tone of defeat saturating the word, you should’ve known better. That’s about right for Eddie, your perpetually horny boyfriend. 

He continues as if he’s presenting on a time limit, too much to say, please hold all questions ‘til the end. 

“Okay, up next, I stopped at Bradley’s Big Buy on the way home and bought you a new bag of tootsie rolls.” He reaches into the paper bag on the chair beside him and plops the huge bag of the sugary treat on the counter. “I checked the pantry this morning and saw we’re running low. Plus, your period is supposed to come this week and I can’t be without my greatest allies.” He finishes by patting the crinkling bag. 

You furrow your brow, jerk your head back, eyes flutter-blinking in a questioning manner, how did he know you’re supposed to get your period this week?

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” he waves off your confusion as if it’s preposterous, “I keep up with my girl, and my girl’s girl.” He gestures vaguely to your lower half, it makes you snort. 

“Did you just refer to my vagina as sentient?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes alight with mirth. 

He shrugs, “You know me.” He’s so blasé with it, as if those three words explain everything. 

What you don’t know is he keeps a little pocket calendar that he uses to mark your menstrual cycle. He wants to know when his girl isn’t feeling very good, but he also wants to know when his girl is feeling extra good. 

“Moving forward,” he shouts with a finger up in the air, turning his nose up as if frustrated by your incessant interruptions. Such a drama queen, you think. 

“Gareth asked me if we want to go on a double date with him and Jenna this Friday, I told him I’d ask the old Ball & Chain.” He’s grinning when he says it, preparing for your inevitable smack. 

And you do smack him, right on his shoulder. “Hey! I’m not a Ball & Chain until you lock it down,” is your only response, you can’t help but smile at the glee in his eyes when you mention being his forever. 

“You’re so right, my dearest, how very silly of me.” He says it in a stilted overly-formal voice like he’s a 1940s business man puffing on a cigar. “But mark my words, you will be my Ball & Chain,” he says in a playful threat, “When you least expect it, that’s when I’ll strike.”

You shake your head, smiling at his stupidity. He’s smug at the fact that you don’t know he’s been wearing the engagement ring he bought you around his neck, beneath his clothes, for the past four months just waiting for the perfect moment.

“Yes, let’s do dinner, what’s next,” you question, craning your neck forward to get a glimpse at his chicken scratch writing. 

He jerks the paper away from your view, it’s then that you realize he’s written all of this on the back of a purchasing request from the shop. You see the logo for ‘Joe’s Cars’ at the top of the page, god, you hope they didn’t need this document for their files. 

He holds the paper to his chest, reprimanding you like you’re a nosy kid, “No peeking!” 

You laugh as you settle back into your stance in front of him, waiting for what he has to say next. 

“On my way home I saw a banner on the mall advertising a sale at the Gap and I figured we could go get you that dress you saw in the catalog the other day. Maybe you can wear that to dinner with Gareth and Jenna,” he suggests. 

It’s so straightforward the way he says it. He’s waiting for your response, but you’re nearly choking back tears at the way he loves you. The way he sees you.

You had shown him the dress last week while he was building you a shelf for your joint bedroom. The shelf would be a place for you to put your romance novels, a lot of Jilly Cooper and Jackie Collins, something your ex would’ve never done. He always made you feel bad for reading those types of books, but not Eddie. Eddie built you a place to display them proudly in your room, no longer having to dig under the bed to reread them. 

When you showed him the dress, you didn’t think he actually remembered the interaction. He gave you his attention when you talked about how pretty it was and how much you liked the pleated skirt, but you just thought it went in one ear and out the other. You thought that he was probably nodding, ‘oo’-ing and ‘ah’-ing until you’d go away, leaving him to work. 

But here he was a week later, having remembered the exact dress and the exact store, offering to buy it for a silly little dinner. 

You smile at him with watery eyes, nodding, “Yeah, I’d like that very much,” you move to kiss him, but he holds up his hand to stop you. A pinch of worry squeezes your heart before he says, “Hold on I’m not done yet!” 

His hand still held in the air, he dutifully looks at his list as if he’s reading something lengthy, preparing to recite the next thought he had at work that he needed to share with you. 

He takes a big breath in before turning to you to share the last thing, “And- I love you.” He says it with the sweetest smile on his face, just happy to talk to you, happy to come home to you. 

It takes you a minute to grasp what he said. That was it. That was the last thing he thought at work that he needed to tell you. Wrote it down and everything. 

He stopped your incoming kiss and affection to tell you that, he gave you pause thinking you rudely cut him off again. But he just wanted to tell you he thought about how he loves you while at work.

He’s so stupid, you think fondly. He’s your stupid, silly, dramatic, lover boy. 

Your close-mouthed smile is so big it makes your eyes squint shut, nose scrunching as you shake your head at his antics. A huffing laugh leaves your nose as you reach for him, his arm pulls you in for the sweetest kiss, the one you get to have every day with him. 

“I love you too, stupid face.” 

You love your non-nonchalant boyfriend. 

Bonus: 

On Friday, you’re getting ready for the double-date in the bathroom, touching up your makeup in preparation to show Eddie. 

“Teddie!” You call out the fond nickname, he loves when you call him that, it liquifies his insides. You always make him melt. 

You can hear his soft thudding steps into the bedroom, a slight squeak of the bed as he sits down. 

“You ready to see?” Your voice echoes from behind the door, he can hear the smile in your voice and it makes him smile. 

“So ready,” he grins, “Gimme my prize, baby. Show me what’s behind door number one!” His imitation of a game show host is weirdly good, he blames it on Wayne’s addiction to old reruns of Let’s Make A Deal.

You open the door, stepping out, nervously brushing the nonexistent wrinkles out of the skirt with your hands. You look up at his face, asking a hesitant, “How do I look?”

He’s frozen in his spot, his eyes are wide as they take in the angel in front of him. He finds you sexy any way you come, but he does love when a gift is covered in pretty wrapping. 

Your confidence grows at his speechlessness, you know him well enough to know it's good speechless. 

He stands up abruptly, “Excuse me- I gotta-hold on-,” and he’s out the front door. You have no idea where he’s going, but knowing him, this is for dramatic effect. So you sit down on the bed and wait, crossing one healed leg over the other, leaning back on your arms, bobbing your foot idly. 

When he comes back in thirty seconds later his black suit is disheveled, his hair no longer neat in a ponytail. The shorter curls are windswept as they frame his face, he’s unbuttoned his dress shirt to his sternum, he’s breathing hard and ragged. You stand at his entrance, hands on your hips, an amused glint in your eyes. 

His cheeks are pink with exertion and sweat beads at his hairline, “Sorry, you’re so hot I literally had to take a lap, I’m back now, we’re good to go. You look amazing, by the way.” He leans in to hold you in a kiss, but you put your hands up to stop his body from touching yours. 

You're giggling at his antics, ‘Ew, you’re all sweaty now,” you whine. 

He grins mischievously, “Oh good, then it won’t matter if I get even more sweaty.” Next thing you know he’s clumsily grabbing the sides of your head, pulling you in for a comically sloppy kiss, and pressing his body to yours desperately. You can feel his leg hitch onto your body like he’s about to climb you like a damn tree. 

You break the silly kiss with a loud laugh, tossing your head back, “Eddieeeeuhhh!” 

A/N: please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed it. Comments encourage me to write more, they're like a shot of espresso to my heart.

the car was quiet except for the occasional murmur from yuuji, still high on the anesthesia. you sat in the backseat next to him, your shoulder pressed gently against his head as he leaned into you, his weight relaxed but heavy in a way that made you chuckle softly. nanami, driving in front, glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes soft but amused as yuuji’s words slurred out.

“hey, mom… dad…” yuuji muttered, his voice low and drawn out. his eyelids fluttered open, gaze unfocused, but the grin on his face was pure, contented warmth.

you looked at him, unsure whether to laugh or just smile quietly. “yuuji, we’re not your parents,” you said, brushing a strand of his messy hair from his forehead. “but… we do look after you.”

“yeah,” he mumbled, blinking up at you in a sleepy daze. “you’re like… my mom and dad. i’m safe with you.”

you could feel your heart tighten at his words. even half-conscious, yuuji’s sincerity was clear, and it struck something deep in you. you glanced at nanami, who didn’t meet your eyes but gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his hands steady on the wheel. he’d heard it too.

“you’re always there, like they are,” yuuji continued, his words trailing off as he shifted, settling more into the curve of your shoulder. his breathing evened out, and for a moment, there was only the sound of the car and the steady rhythm of his pulse against your arm.

you reached down, gently brushing your hand through his hair. “we’ll always be here, yuuji,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. “whenever you need us. like family.”

his eyes fluttered closed again, a peaceful expression settling on his face. “thanks… mom… dad…” he murmured again, his voice drifting off into sleep.

you glanced at nanami, who was looking at the road but his jaw was tight, a quiet emotion lingering there. it was subtle, but there, and something in you softened further.

as the car rumbled through the streets, you sat there with yuuji nestled close, the weight of his trust, his unspoken affection, making your chest tighten with a feeling you couldn’t quite put into words. it was small moments like this, these quiet, tender ones, that made the world feel a little more right.

*ೃ༄ Console me!

synopsis: comforting the jjk men from their insecurities!

features: gojo, megumi, yuji, nanami, choso, takuma

all your stuffed animals love you. they're not sad if they're in a box, or on the floor, or not held/played with as much. they understand. they know that you might need another stuffie more, or that you don't have enough space. they're just happy to be with you, and if you ever give them away, they'll be happy there too. stuffies are for comfort. they understand. they love you too. it's okay.

Gojo's wife is calm, collected and well all around mature, much like Nanami. So when someone was taken by surprise that your last name was Gojo and not Nanami, that was the first time Satoru Gojo felt true heart break, his throat closed up and he thought he was about to blast this person into the sun. Is this what seeing red is like?

Buut of course his very sweet and understanding wife, simply placed herself into his side, hand pressing against his chest running it up and down as you say gently.

'Nope, this tall handsome fella is my husband.'

With the proudest smile on your face Satoru couldn't stay upset for long especially when you looked up at him with those soft eyes, he hooks his arm around your waist before standing up straighter a smile spreading across his lips, a cheeky smile some would say, as he responded with.

'That's right.'

(divider made by @adornedwithlight )

Okay hear me out, Eddie nervous on your first valentines day together wanting to make it special and only knowing how to valentines from what he's seen at school and he panics and is very eddie about the whole thing 👀

please my heart almost couldn't take this. i swore nothing over 1k but nervous and panicking eddie being all cute?? yeah i couldn't help myself. this isn't edited, sorry in advance. no warnings, just fluff.

wc: 2.2k

He feels stupid.

It's the only thought ringing through his head as he sits at the Munson's dining table, scraps of construction paper strewn over the worn wood, glue stick drying out to the side and scissors digging into his knuckles. 

It had started as a prophetic vision after a few hits from his blunt; it was quickly souring into the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done. 

The high had worn off, Eddie had glued his fingers together thrice now (seriously, how was this glue stick approved for children?), and the end product…. Well, he hated it. 

The card was tacky. The flowers were uneven. He didn’t even have the willpower nor time to make a full bouquet as he had originally wanted to while under the influence. Pink glitter was now overtaking the trailer, and he’s never seen his uncle look so damn entertained. 

“Boy, what on God’s green Earth are you going?” 

Normally, the twang of Wayne’s accent would be comforting. But right now, all Eddie could hear was held back laughter choking up his old man’s throat, and a glint in his eye that felt a lot like a taunt, and he felt the farthest from comforted in a very long time. 

“Mind your business, old man,” Eddie grumbles, tongue sticking out as he tries to reglue a corner of a paper heart he had cut out, needing it to stick down properly. He probably should have purchased glue, in hindsight. 

“Where did you get all this paper?”

“I said mind your business.”

“Is that pink glitter?” 

“Don’t you have work?” Eddie huffs, grabbing at the Valentine card he was attempting to salvage, cheeks blushing more vibrant than any of the arts and crafts supplies spread about. 

He didn’t want to admit how embarrassed he was. He didn’t want to give anyone else the satisfaction. It was his own damn fault, really – he had offered for your nightly diner dates to be on him one too many times this last month, and entirely forgotten to put away any extra cash to get you a proper Valentine. And this was his last resort. 

He’d tried to convince the local florist to discount the flowers missing one too many petals for him, he’d tried to scope out the cheapest cards available at Melvald’s. He’d begged and bartered with every option in town to simply get you something for the day of love, and in the end, he’d simply fallen short.

So now, all he had was a palm full of gritty glitter and homemade items that looked worse for wear. 

One of the kinder ladies that lived two trailers down had been happy to offer Eddie some of her scrapbooking papers, throwing in the glitter for good measure, and he still had an old glue stick from when he’d built one of his custom tabletop maps for a D&D campaign. With five hours and a dream, he was now the not-so-proud creator of three handmade paper roses, and a card hardly large enough to fit in his palm. 

When he took a step back to look at it all, Wayne was right to be snickering on the couch over it all. 

“They’re going to hate it,” Eddie laments, glaring down at his creations, “They’re going to hate it, and I’m going to get dumped on our first Valentine’s day together.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, son,” Wayne tries to genuinely comfort Eddie now, leaning forward to get a better look at his last five hours of work, “I’m sure they’re gon’ be happy that you just thought of the-”

“My life is over,” Eddie interrupts, walking over to the couch to collapse dramatically.

Wayne stops him, however, throwing up a hand, “Nope. You’re not gettin’ that damn pink glitter all over my couch. Go mope in your room.”

After a brief stare-off, a whole ten seconds wasted when Eddie could be wallowing in his self-pity, Eddie does exactly that.

He hopes Wayne is right, for all their sakes. There’ll be bigger things to worry about than just glitter if you really do hate Eddie’s attempt at a sincere Valentine. 

—

It takes nearly a full minute of knocking on the Munson’s trailer’s front door before Eddie opens it for you – that’s your first sign that something is terribly wrong. 

Your next sign is when Eddie hardly adds any enthusiasm into your welcome kiss, so reserved, as though he might be in a constant state of cringing; a constant state of preparing for the worst. 

“Is something the matter?” you ask innocently enough, toeing off your shoes and shifting your bag in hand. You’d picked up a few movies for the night, a variety of cheesy rom-coms Eddie expressed a slightest bit of interest in along with a few more up his alley. A horror film that neither of you had seen that looked to have a budget of $10 and a dream, and Labyrinth. 

The latter, you’d both already seen. Neither of you would pass up seeing David Bowie in his full glory, though. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie huffs out, still refusing to meet your gaze, “Want me to put on some popcorn?” 

You can’t help but light up as you follow him in his rush to the kitchen, “God – yes, please. I also got some sour patch kids, your favorite, and-”

You cut off when you catch sight of the dining room table. 

Eddie doesn’t glance back as he reaches up to the cabinet holding the stash of popcorn he keeps around for your movie nights, “And?” 

“Eddie…” you slowly draw out in a questioning tone, looking at the mess before you, “What, uh, happened here?” 

It’s an explosion of quintessential Valentine’s day. Pink paper hearts, strips of deep reds discarded messily. A shimmering glitter covers the table, and you can’t recall any DIY projects of Eddie’s for Hellfire that might involve that. 

“What?” He’s quick to turn around at that, and you watch as all the blood drains from his face, “Oh, fuck, I-” he launches himself back around the kitchen counter frantically, grabbing at any piece of paper he can find, “Shit, I meant to clean this up earlier, I’m sorr-”

“What were you making?” 

Eddie pauses all movement, glancing up at you in fear. 

You’re not even sure what he’s afraid of. All you can do is furrow your brows, twist your lips, scrunch your nose. 

Was it meant to be a surprise of some sort?

He swallows hard, standing up straight as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet, “I….”

When no words follow, you raise a brow, trying to silently encourage him to continue on. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And oh, he’s such a bad liar. A pretty one, but a terrible one. 

There’s no sign of the stellar poker face you’ve seen him wear during Hellfire sessions, no impeccable cockiness to cover up the obvious. His wringing hands draw your attention to his knuckles, all the drying glue and glitter peeling off bit by bit.  

“You sure about that?” you press, grin slow spreading as you take a step closer to him, eyeing the mess he tries to shift in front of to block from your sights.

“Positive.”

“Has anyone told you you’re an awful liar, Munson?”

“I’m not ly-” 

You scooch around him effortless, dropping your bag in the process and making him yelp out as he tries to catch you. His arms are quick to wrap around your waist as you try to get a clearer view of what he had been so desperate to conceal, but even his best efforts can’t stop you. 

It’s all a bit childish from the outside. Reckless giggles, flailing limbs – even Eddie is smiling in his panic. 

“Let go of me!” 

“Then leave it alone!”

“I wanna see what you made!” 

Each screech between the two of you is overcome with laughter as he pulls you flush to his chest, caging you in and yet failing to cover your eyes. 

You spot what he was trying to hide, and all attempts to escape his hold cease. 

“Are those…” you start, a little breathless as you stare in awe. You swear, you could burn up from the warmth blooming in your chest. When his arms go the slightest bit limp, you have your answer before finishing the question, “Are those for me?” 

A small jar, one that had once held some of Eddie’s pick collection, now holds three handmade paper roses. Mingling petals of two different shades of red, with tightly rolled pieces of green paper servings at their stems. Two even have leaves, cut jagged and true to nature. 

Leaning against the small paper flower display is a card.

It’s a messier ordeal than the flowers, but you’re still prying Eddie’s forearms from your stomach in a rush to grab it. 

“Hold on,” he rushes out, no longer laughing as you get a hold of the card, “Wait, listen, I can explain. I just- I spent most of my money when we went to Benny’s for shakes last week, and I forgot I wouldn’t get any more cash before today, and I just-” he’s stumbling over his words, a mess of flying hands and wide eyes as you turn to face him, “I… I’m sorry, okay? I swear, they’re just placeholders until I get you a real gift for Valentine’s Day.” 

You’re hardly listening to him as you look down at the small paper, folded over fairly impressively to mimic one of the fancy cards from Melvard’s. It’s thinner, sure, but you’re mesmerized as you trace over the heart cut out of the center. It’s filled with pink glitter that clings to your fingertip as it passes, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh. 

And then you open the card. 

The outside was plain white save for the heart, but the inside is gorgeous. Hand drawn vines and flowers fill the empty space inside. Roses, mums, lillies – every flower you can think of is amongst the bunch. All etched out in ink, an ink you recognize from Eddie’s favorite pen, and every gentle line sketched out to make the larger picture sends your heart racing a few beats faster.

Underneath the glitter heart is a large bee, made with a speech bubble. 

“Placeholder?” you laugh breathlessly, biting your lip to stop from smiling like a fool. “You call all this a placeholder?” 

Bee mine? 

It’s so cheesy, it aches. 

Written in makeshift cursive, not quite as neat as it could have been, but clearly a valiant effort from the shy man standing before you. You can’t fathom how he’s embarrassed about this when you look up at him with fluttering lashes and a chest full of fizzling love. 

“I thought you were going to hate them,” he hoarsely whispers as he reaches a hand to the nape of his neck. 

“Hate them?” you repeat in disbelief, turning your attention back to the handmade flowers. “In what fuckin’ world would I hate these?”

You lift one of the roses from the mini jar, and sniff it on instinct. It should only smell like paper and glue, but it doesn’t – Eddie’s obviously spritzed his cologne onto the flowers.

The miniscule detail has your heart bursting. 

He’s still petrified as he stares at you, shrugging hopelessly, “I just know it’s our first Valentine’s together, and people usually go all out-”

“This is going all out, Eddie.”

You can’t imagine being capable of any more love for the boy in front of you. Genuinely – you don’t believe your bones could handle the weight of it, that your heart could take it. You’re filled to the brim with it, buzzing like summertime cicadas beneath your skin from all the vibrant emotions you have for him. For every blemish across his skin and every kink in his curls, for those big brown eyes simply staring at you now. Those knuckles covered in glue and glitter. Those lips that you can’t handle another second not kissing. 

And so you don’t. Not another second is wasted as you fling yourself forward, nearly dropping the paper flower in hand as you grab each side of his face, bringing him to you in a hard kiss. 

You hope he feels all that love. You hope the weight of it presses down on his shoulders, even if just a little, so he gets it. 

“I fucking love it, Eds,” you laugh into the kiss, pressing your forehead, “I- Honestly? I think this is the nicest Valentine I’ve ever gotten.” 

“Really?” his eyes pop open, pulling back from you slightly until you simply won’t allow it. You want him close – you need him pressed against you. “Well, shit. I thought you were going to hate them and break up with me.” 

“Me, breaking up with you? After this?” you parrot back in disbelief, shaking your head, tip of your nose rubbing against his through the action, “God, you’re an idiot, Eddie Munson. My idiot, but still.” 

He finally cracks a smile, and you lose yourself in the dimples that appear as he asks, “Does this mean you’ll be my Valentine?”

“Absolutely.”

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.

say it

ぺ  word count ⋰ 774

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ mentions of drugs

✐  masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

You stormed through the halls of Hawkins High, headed straight for the Hellfire Club. They hadn’t started their meeting yet, but you knew Eddie would be there, setting up.

Pissed off couldn’t begin to describe how you felt. Your chest was filled with anger and sadness, and confusion swirled around in your heart and it made you want to punch something.

You knew Eddie wasn’t good at using words to express his feelings. You’d known that since you met him. In fact, it took him three months to ask you out when he’d wanted to do it since the first week you knew each other.

So when he got higher than you’d ever seen him last night and told you he loved you, you knew it was a big step for him, intoxicated or not.

But when he woke up this morning and you told him you loved him too, he didn’t say anything. You were hoping he’d tell you he loved you again now that he was sober, but he was silent. Silent from that moment and all throughout the drive to school, and he didn’t kiss you bye at your locker like he did most mornings.

You knew he must’ve just panicked, but it still made you angry. He hadn’t said a single word to you since that, and it made you worry that he didn’t actually mean it.

Keep reading

joe confirming he's going to grow the curls out

bf!todoaoi

he’s soooooooo clingy, like this mf cannot do anything without you in his sight, in his arms, or on his mind.

asks you to sit on his back while he does pushups because he wants you to be a part of his workout. He gets offended when you ask if you’re too heavy and he’ll be like “You really think I’m that weak I can’t handle a lil thing like you?”

When he’s extra clingy he’ll tell you to lay flat on the ground and do pushups while hovering over you just so he can kiss you every time he lowers himself. He’ll even “fall” on top of you just to annoy you more but he holds back cuz he knows he’s way bigger than you and will definitely crush you if he didn’t.

Speaking of his size, this man is quite literally humongous. His large hands easily grip your thighs and you often find yourself being pulled in by your thighs just so he can lay in between them claiming that it’s his “therapy”.

You often find him moving his hands towards your ass and cupping his hands around it while his face is buried in your thighs. You tried slapping his hand away once but he ignored it and you've just learned to accept your fate.

Todo knows he’s fine, but it doesn’t help when he catches you ogling him every hour of the day. Whether it be you staring at his hands/forearms as he does a task, staring up and down his torso and admiring his firm and defined 8 pack and large pecs, or even burning holes through him as you stare at his wide muscular back while he makes you both breakfast.

He loves to workout just because he knows he has a little freak at home that admires everything about his body, a little too much sometimes.

One time you walked up to him and squeezed his large pecs,

“You have such mommy mikers,”

he laughed and grabbed your hands pulling you close up against his chest.

“you’re so odd baby,” he teased and gave you a peck on the lips knowing damn well he enjoyed how much you praised his body.

He is DEEPLY infatuated with you and he makes it very clear.

He’s always telling people about his “amazing girlfriend” or bringing you up in a conversation when someone says something that reminds him of you or something you did.

He isn’t afraid to show you off, he’s so proud of himself for landing someone like you.

When you two first got together, he told Yuji all about you, he described you as "an angel sent from heaven" and wouldn't' shut up about you. He would talk you up so much that Yuji didn't believe you even existed until Todo showed a pic of you sleeping soundly on his chest. Yuji praised Todo even more after that.

Todo doesn’t care what you wear out, because he knows that he’s with you and he knows no sane man will ever approach you while his large hands constantly roam around your body.

dress is too short? No problem his hands will be on your ass all night anyways.

this drabble had been in the drafts for too long so I js uploaded it :3not proofread btw so if its messy oh well:pLikes comments and reblogs appreciated!!

-k

gn//f//m reader, fluff, established rl

sukuna who quietly takes up a hobby of pottery and slowly leaves his trinkets around his house :(

it starts small. a tiny figurine, barely the size of your thumb, placed on your nightstand without a word. it's your cat, belly perfectly round, little paws tucked in, an expression so accurately grumpy that you almost think it’s store-bought. but no, the slightly uneven texture and the faint grooves of fingers along its back give it away—this was handmade.

then come the plates. at first, just quarter plates for the both of you. then bigger ones. serving bowls. one day, a dish so enormous appears on the dining table that you stare at it in horror.

"who are we feeding, the entire neighborhood?"

"your fatass cat," sukuna grumbles, arms crossed, but the corners of his lips twitch. "he won’t eat out of anything else now." and sure enough, your cat is sitting beside it, looking absolutely smug, tail flicking as if to say, "finally, a bowl befitting my stature."

the jewelry tray appears next, a shallow ceramic dish with a slight tilt because, as he explains, he’s still "figuring out how to make the damn things symmetrical." you paint it gold and pink, his least favorite colors, just to be annoying. he doesn’t complain. "not bad," he mutters, picking it up to inspect. "at least it ain't neon green."

but it’s the ashtray that really gets you. shaped into a heart, of all things. you stare at it for a good minute before looking at him, one brow raised. "shut up," he says before you can even speak.

"i didn’t say anything."

"you were thinking it."

you paint the heart ashtray a gaudy red and put tiny, illegible gold lettering across the rim that just barely resembles the words kiss the chef. when he notices, he lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "you're real lucky i like you," he mutters, flicking ash into it without hesitation.

the funniest thing is how he never makes a fuss when you accidentally break one of his pieces. you nearly cry when you chip one of the quarter plates, apologizing profusely, but he only shrugs.

"eh, i’ll just make another one."

"but it took you weeks—"

"yeah, yeah, and i’ll do it again." he nudges your forehead with a clay-stained knuckle. "quit looking so guilty, brat. it just means i get to see you smile over a new one."

you do. every time. <3

Apologizing for being wrong after an argument

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

my smau masterlists one and two

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

i miss him...

Mr. Scarletella Doodles with no context

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

another short bit featuring the boy. been very much in the feelings lately.

I feel so overwhelmed.

“We can stop.”

“No, I don’t…”

Tears fill your eyes as you stare up at him, the dim lighting hitting his back, casting a glow around him, much like an angel.

His curls loose and wild around his head, acting as a curtain around you with how close he was hovering over you.

Bare chest on display, showing off the scars from a lifetime ago amongst what remains of some of his first tattoos as well as some new ones.

You bite your lip as the tears spill over, racing down your cheeks, never taking your eyes off him.

“Sometimes I look at you and I just.”

You stop, biting back a sob, reaching a hand out to play with a strand of his dark hair, twirling it around a few times before sinking your fingers in.

His hand finds yours, holding it in place as his head leans into your palm.

“I just adore you so much.”

You look at each other with tears in your eyes, blinking slow with stuttered breaths.

“I’m sorry I didn’t me-“

He melts into you with lips meeting yours and fingers lacing together above your head.

It’s a hurried kiss fueled by emotion, tears blending together, fighting to pour everything into one another through this one connection.

You stay pressed together everywhere else as you break apart for air, his forehead pressing into your cheek as his hands tighten their hold on yours.

More whispered words of love carry you into the night, lying in bed in a tangle of limbs under warm blankets.