Eddie Is The Type Of Person Who Greets You At The Door Everyday After Work Like An Excited Puppy, Watching

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

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.

Spencer Reid kisses you like he’s been holding his breath under water and you’re oxygen. Like he’s dehydrated and you’re a cold glass of water. He grabs your face, the back of your neck, your waist, whatever he can hold onto and devours your lips. It’s a whole body thing- to be kissed by Spencer. His lips suck on yours, his tongue prodding into your mouth, teeth clashing a little. His nose brushes against yours and he can’t let you go. He can’t get enough of you and he intends to give you that headrush feeling he always does when you kiss. When you pull away, he chases your lips and you have to push at his chest a little- Spencer smiles devilishly, proud to know just how much you love his kisses. Your chest is heaving and your lips are even more plump and red. What Spencer loves most about how you look post make out is how dazed you look- how your eyes track every one of his movements and how you reach back out to him. “We have to go, sweetheart.” Still, he indulges you with one last kiss that cements your being late for the annual FBI conference slash party.

Random dumps

I just need to pump out all of my Mr Crawling brainrot, thanks

Anyways implied r18 at the next drawing!!! Just implied but still, beware.

“As I’ve already stated,” Nanami pauses to sip at the coffee in his hand, “I’ve no interest in speaking to her.” 

Annoyed, Gojo leans back in his seat, casting a glance to the Instagram post that he had shown Nanami — the girl in it was attractive, but somehow it still wasn’t the blonde’s type. 

“Hmm, maybe you’re just not into brunettes,” Gojo says dismissively, scrolling through the woman’s Instagram before stowing his phone away into his pocket. 

Nanami bites back the chuckle in his throat, masking it by taking another sip of his now lukewarm coffee. A shame that Gojo kept interrupting him just as he wanted to enjoy his break.  

“I’m not into anyone,” Nanami finally says, setting down his cup — though he is quite frustrated considering that the coffee had been purchased by someone else for him.  

“Oh? What, have some secret girlfriend I don’t know about?” Gojo teases, already laughing at his own joke. Nanami shoots him a pointed glare, subconsciously running a finger over the smooth metal band adorning his left ring finger.  

“I don’t see how—“ 

Nanami’s phone buzzes on the table, its screen displaying your image. It’s one of Nanami’s favorite photos of you, one that he had taken himself during one of your monthly date nights.  

Gojo’s eyes flicker down to the flashing screen, his eyebrows raising and his eyes widening in absolute shock. “Who—?” 

Nanami is quick to answer the call, pressing the phone against his ear and doing very little to hide the smile that curls his lips upward. “Hi love.” 

Gojo’s jaw goes completely slack. It’s an expression that would make anyone laugh — Nanami is honestly shocked at how well he was able to keep his straightforward façade.  

“Yes, I should be home soon. I did not forget,” Nanami’s tone is reassuring, one that Gojo had never heard in the stoic man’s voice before. It’s heartwarming, not that he would ever admit it out loud.  

“I love you too, bye now.” 

The minute that Nanami hangs up, Gojo is practically screaming. Heads turn, and in a fit of both frustration and embarrassment, Nanami attempts to diffuse the situation. 

“You have a girlfriend?!” 

“Wife, actually.” 

“Are you—?!” 

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

11:35pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what was all of this for?”

for someone so smart, he was stupid.

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

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

that’s all you wanted. time.

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

“johnny, you just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i just miss you.”

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

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

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

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

❦ TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF PT. 2

ft. sakusa, kageyama, atsumu

PART 1 | PART 3

—sakusa

when people ask you what your skin care routine is, you shrug. how are you supposed to know if you’re not the one that does it? your boyfriend does. you’re his little doll that sits pretty for him as he places the products in his hands to warm them up before patting them on your soft skin (patting, not rubbing, he’s very insistent on that). it’s a multiple step routine everyday and sometimes he’s very annoying about it, but he rewards you with a soft kiss on your lips every single time without fail.

—kageyama

takes you two on a monthly date to get your nails done. the both of you are sitting side by side as your cuticles are getting cut and his nails are getting shaped. he’s helping you pick out a new colour and he’s telling the nail techs all the new shit that’s going on with his team. even though he doesn’t get any polish (doesn’t want anything on his fingers) he still blows on them like he sees you do. then he’s paying and, depending on the weather, taking you to get a drink so you can show everyone at the cafe your new nails.

—atsumu

sometimes washing your hair is a hassle. you get into a rut where you can’t bring yourself to shower despite feeling like shit. that’s where your boyfriend comes in, with his wide smile and gentle teasing, he sits you down in the tub and lets the hot water run down your body. he’s mixing together random shampoos, acting like they’re different ingredients for a salad that is your hair. his fingers are massaging your scalp as he pretends to ‘toss’ the ‘ingredients’ together. it’s sweet and funny and even if it doesn’t bring you out of your slump, it makes you feel clean and loved.

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

Eddie Headcannon-

Eddie love to watch his Sweetheart get ready in the morning/get ready for bed.

Eddie stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist as you lean closer to the mirror to apply your makeup. He watches as you prep your skin , apply moisturizer, use different brushes and blenders on your face, his tongue either poking out in concentration or lips pursed together even though he is only a spectator during this process.

You take out your mascara and sweep your lashes with the brush ." Careful Princess."

You laugh." Afraid I'm going to poke myself in the eye?"

"Fucking terrified."

If you take out the eyelash curler he cringes." What the fuck kind of torture device is that?"

You giggle." It curls your lashes Baby. Want me to try it on you?" You curl your lash and he gasps dramatically.

" I think the fuck not. Have you ever pinched your eye lid in there?"

"Once-"

"Fuck Princess." He shivers.

You run liner along your upper and lower lids and he holds his breath. Again you smile." Breathe Baby, I promise it's going to be ok."

" Why do you wear makeup Darlin?"

"It makes me feel more confident in myself."

"You do realize that you are absolutely, positively the most beautiful human being in the world without all that right?"

You smile at the most beautiful human being in the world standing behind you." You are so fucking sweet Edward Munson. "

" It's true. " He leans in and kisses your neck." With or without your fucking perfect "

At the end of the night he watches as you wash the makeup off your face, he will sometimes take the cloth from your hand and carefully wipe around your eyes, biting his lip as he does so. He watches you cleanse, and moisturize again, breathing in the light soft scent of your lotion. He is happy, happy to be a part of this process and happy to have his beautiful fresh faced girl back❤️

Summary: To Eddie, his birthday had never been something out of the ordinary. Until the big 4-0, when a little heart-related incident lands him in the hospital, where he receives an unlikely birthday gift in the form of his high school crush being his nurse. / This is my entry to @corrodedcoffinfest's pop-up birthday boy event! Prompts: Age 40; “Seriously? Age is just a number.” | Word Count: 3k | Rating: General audiences | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie Munson x reader/female!reader | CW: Eddie is hospitalized but there’s nothing tragic or graphic going on, it’s described that he has a heart condition, 40 year old!Eddie, nurse!reader, she/her pronouns used to describe the reader, reader is in her late thirties, friends to lovers, mutual pining, sorta meet-cute, meeting again after high school, mentions of Eddie drinking and doing drugs, mentions of his childhood. / HUGE HUGE shoutout to @eddiemunson-reader-shame for beta-reading, an actual lifesaver!!!

“Age?” 

Eddie is barely lucid. His sight is still a white, blurry blob that makes his eyes sting. Lighting in hospitals has always been dreadful to him; way too fucking bright if you ask him – making him feel like he’s in that one scene from Jacob’s Ladder. Now that was a good movie, he thinks. Good one to watch when you’re high; sorta like how he’s feeling at the moment. The doctors must have hooked him up real good. 

This train of thought makes him realize he’s slowly returning to earth, little by little, though he has to squint and loll his head to the side trying to follow the distant sound of a nurse with a pretty voice trying to poke him for info. 

That soft, melodic murmur is soothing the erratic beating of his heart. Earlier the pain felt as if he’d had an iron fist twisting up his heart again and again until he couldn’t breathe. Although the paramedics in the ambulance assured him that his vitals were fine upon their arrival, he swears that if they had taken a second longer, he might have been walking up those steps that Led Zeppelin was talking about. If he was lucky, that is – ‘cause, boy, he’d be pretty bummed if he was sent over to AC/DC’s highway. 

It no longer feels as though his heart has turned to stone, but it still aches when his chest rises and falls with every strained breath; his voice is barely above a whisper as he rasps, “Come again?” 

“Your age, Eddie…” 

The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“The big 4-0, baby,” he croaks; the irony of the situation makes him shake his head with amusement. 

“Turned 40 today and my body decided to give me a little surprise…” 

It was just another day. It was supposed to be just another day. 

Ever since Eddie was a boy, he had never felt like his birthday was something out of the ordinary – never thought it to be special at all. His father certainly never cared, and his childhood is so cloudy from the early years of abuse that he barely remembers how his mother celebrated with him. There was always a homemade cake that was never really as sweet as he would’ve liked. No presents. Only a photograph survives, faded with time, of his mother embracing him from behind while he blows on his three birthday candles; a crooked, iridescent party hat sitting amongst wild curls, with the tip of it poking his mother’s eye and making her laugh.  

Birthdays with Wayne were infinitely better, but he still didn’t think much of the date until Wayne reminded him either during breakfast or on those special occasions when he’d pick him up from school. He’d ask Eddie about what he wanted, and Eddie always replied in the same way: I don’t care for my birthday, I just wanna spend some time with you. Wayne delivered each time. Although he made an effort to have presents despite Eddie’s insistence  – just one – each more meaningful than the last, every year. He knew Wayne slaved away at work for months in advance to be able to afford them, but truly, Eddie was just grateful for his uncle to be there. The cake was still homemade, straight from a box, but a little bit sweeter. Or maybe it just tasted better accompanied by a beer. 

Perhaps it was those little indulgences that started far too early in his teens that brought him here – the drinks and drugs passing his body the bill after all these years. 

“You oughta be careful, son. Your body is keeping up the score,” Wayne would say. 

And it’s not that Eddie was an alcoholic or an addict, not in the least. He swore to himself that he would never ever be like his deadbeat dad, even when he saw more traces of Al Munson each time he looked in the mirror as he got older. Especially now that his curls only grew above his shoulders, sprinkled in with those few pesky little silver hairs.

But he never abused like his dad did. If he had an extra beer bottle on nights he worked late at The Hideout, it was just to numb his aching muscles. If he finished a whole pack of cigarettes by noon it was to ease his anxiety whenever he was contacted for drugs, hoping it wasn’t a set-up by a cop. If he stole some samples from Rick’s stash, it was just to try out the goods, to be a good salesman, know what kind of product he was working with… Sometimes it was just a little hit to drown out the echoes of his mother’s cries that still haunted him from time to time. 

Those habits eased when he was finally able to get out of Hawkins, shoot toward the other end of the country, and land himself a job as a radio host at Rock 105.3 in San Diego. The joyous laughter of his co-workers was a far better dose against those haunting cries swirling through his memories. He could say he was happy now, but his birthday remained just another day.  

Except for his big forty, it seems. He can’t help but chuckle weakly to himself. Wayne was right about the body-keeping-score thing and all that. 

He was going over the set for tomorrow’s Sunday program when, out of nowhere, he started to feel dizzy and short of breath. The cd’s in his hands fell with a loud clank that got the attention of his co-workers rushing just in time to catch him doubled over his desk, face contorted in pain as he gasped for air while desperately pointing to his heart. 

The paramedics quickly stabilized him; he was doing better in the ambulance, and the episode didn’t last as long as he had thought, but it had been terrifying. Spending his fortieth birthday at the hospital was not on his bingo card this year. 

“...Seriously?” the mellow voice of the nurse pulls him away from his reveries. They really must be giving him the good stuff through that goddamn IV. 

“Thought you were supposed to be eternally eighteen.” 

His eyesight is still a bit fucked up but he can hear the smile on his nurse’s voice, which makes his chest feel a little bit fuzzy – and not in the annoying way it had felt earlier before his incident. He blinks a few times to be able to properly look at the nurse with the pretty voice. 

“Well they say age is just a number don’t they?” 

“That, they do…” 

He smirks, feeling some of his charm coming back to him when he notices how pretty his nurse is. So, so pretty it makes him feel a little mesmerized – it’s either that or the haze from the meds. 

“– Wait, what d’ya mean by that? Eternally eighteen?” 

“You don’t recognize me?” 

He frowns and blinks even faster to will his eyesight to goddamn work – he shouldn’t keep putting off that overdue visit to the ophthalmologist, resisting the fact that he needs glasses now. 

“I was a senior at Hawkins High in ‘86.” 

Eddie tilts his head; his grin widens when he spots an Iron Maiden pin on her pale pink scrubs, and when his pretty nurse smiles coyly, that’s when the lightbulb goes off in his brain.

“Wait, wait, wait…I do remember!” he snaps his fingers excitedly. 

Visions of a mysterious girl– sitting all alone on the other side of the cafeteria– flood through his memories all at once. Always alone, with a chunky pair of headphones tuning out the world. Either reading the latest issue of Fangoria magazine or drawing. A strange, alluring halo always seemed to surround her, or so Eddie always thought when he gazed at her shape, bathed by the sunlight filtering in from the cafeteria windows.

One of his biggest regrets is that he never got the balls to approach her. He has never, ever been all that smooth, but he didn’t think himself shy when approaching someone he was interested in. She was the exception. It could have been so easy though, his opening was right there, in the form of the band pins and patches that adorned her backpack, similar to the ones on his battle vest. 

She was intimidating. Yeah, she was a solitary figure, but she seemed to have it all going on: good grades, hanging out with Nancy Wheeler, writing the art columns for the school newspaper… It was probably the only bit of it that Eddie ever read. Her articles were always so eloquently written and intriguing – they’re the reason he searched high and low for a copy of Eraserhead to watch. It makes him more than a little giddy for their paths to cross after all this time, but he’s sorta sad to see her here. 

“Weren’t you all geared up for like – a fancy art school or somethin’?” 

“Being a nurse isn’t fancy?” She giggles softly but tries to downplay her smile by looking down at Eddie’s incomplete file. 

“M’not saying that, it’s just…” He licks his chapped lips, aching for some hydration. Maybe he could play up his illness to get her to give him a sip of water like some bratty king. His heart bailing on him today might just have worked in his favor – a birthday gift in disguise. 

He clears his throat and shakes those mischievous thoughts away, gaze locked on hers.

“I do remember you. My brain had all the lost sheepies in Hawkins mapped out as potential recruits. But you struck me as too fancy to be playing DnD with us nerds,” he chuckles. “You were a Nancy Wheeler-type a nerd.” 

“Well…art school was my goal, yeah…” She uses Eddie’s file as a lifeboat again, but this time, a flash of melancholy passes through her bright eyes. She might be quite schooled in shielding herself, as Eddie recalls from his high school days of pining for her from a distance, but if there’s one thing he’s always been good at is his x-ray vision when it comes to invisible shields. He had enough experience building his own. 

 “But then I guess life just happened,” she shrugs, quickly changing the subject to avoid revealing more. 

She takes a moment, accidentally creating a little dog ear in the corner of Eddie’s file while fiddling with the paper, before smiling.

“But hey! You’re doing well, huh? –  generally, I mean, not, you know…” She laughs and rolls her eyes at herself, gesturing over at Eddie lying down on the hospital bed, to which he snorts and lets out a hearty laugh. He rests his palm atop his chest because it aches a bit, but he doesn’t mind. 

“I listen to the show every morning when I’m getting ready for work.” 

“Yeah? You like it?” He sits up, grinning from ear to ear. The constant beeping of the monitor charts his heartbeat, accelerating just the tiniest bit because of his eagerness. 

“I love it! It’s the highlight of my mornings!” Whatever she was going to say gets abruptly interrupted by the doctor stepping in. She steps to the side, quickly going back to finishing Eddie’s file. 

“ – Edward Munson?” 

Eddie groans at the use of his full name – one of the many reminders that he’s an old man now, even if he maintains that age is just a number. He might have more pronounced crow’s feet on the corners of his eyes and his tattoos need an urgent refresh to keep them from disappearing into his skin, but, his pretty nurse might have been onto something. He still feels eighteen years old. 

Maybe not literally though. So his doctor says, from the few bits and pieces that catch his attention. He’s mostly tuning out the man’s voice, far too distracted with the sight of his long-lost crush handling tools and equipment in the corner of the room before stepping out into the hallway. 

To his relief, Eddie’s condition is not dire; he was instructed to follow-up with a cardiologist, but he’ll be fine as long as he rests and drinks plenty of fluids. They’re just keeping him in for a little while longer as a precaution, but if the heart rate monitor doesn’t present any more irregularities, he’ll be good to go. 

The doctor had already turned off the light and disappeared before Eddie could even protest it. It was his birthday, damnit. Sure, he didn’t care for it, but he didn’t want to spend it stuck in this hell-hole either.

If there was one thing he loathed more than the blinding white hospital light, it was being left there to rest in the sullen, darkened room. 

Among the shadows, his mind could easily whirl around thoughts that were rather left untouched, like the empty memories of his mother’s embrace on his third birthday. Flashes of his father in and out of his life. The scent of cigarette smoke, clinging to the worn cotton of his uncle Wayne’s uniform, filing his nose each time he hugged him with gratitude for taking the time to be with him each year; how he misses his uncle now that he’s playing at being an adult here in California. Sometimes he thinks that deep inside, he’ll always be that three year old with a crooked birthday hat. Yearning to be cared for, to feel special, if only for one day. 

Thankfully his thoughts halt when his pretty nurse comes into the room, holding a plate with a tiny dome of Jell-O and a lit birthday candle atop it. 

“So, you can’t have any cake right now, doctor’s orders. But I thought this would do.” 

“Awww, you didn’t have to!” He’s got a huge ass grin on his face as he scoots a little to the side so she can sit on the edge of his bed. “I’m not that big on birthdays.” 

“Well, I am. I love birthdays. Make a wish!” 

Eddie leans in when she holds the Jell-O close to his face, grinning so hard that he can’t even properly blow on his candles, only managing after a couple of tries. 

“I wished for a date with a hot nurse I just met,” he wiggles his eyebrows playfully. Not his smoothest line, but what the hell. What’s he got left to lose? Besides, it seemed to work wonders when she laughed and tenderly squeezed his hand. 

“You’re not supposed to say it aloud!” 

“What? The wish? Or the hot nurse bit? Cause it’s true!” 

“You know which bit.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head; her hand nearly slips away from Eddie’s but he quickly squeezes it more snuggly, keeping her hand in his grip. “I’m so sorry but your wish won’t come true now.” 

“Who says? I might have just turned forty, but a little birdie told me I still maintain my boyish charm.” 

His nurse laughs and looks at their joint hands in a bashful manner, not letting go either.

Eddie’s mentally kicking himself for having let the opportunity to talk to her escape him when they were in high school, now that he realizes that it’s so easy. It feels as though they’d always been friends, and he can’t help but ponder over the whole ‘past lives’ shit he’s read about in some novels. 

“I like your pin…I’ve been waiting like twenty years to say that.” He murmurs, his eyes focusing on her age-worn pin with Iron Maiden’s mascot all wrapped up as a mummy – the one from the Powerslave album. 

“You have?” 

“Yeah…” He leans his head, seeking out her coy, downward gaze. “I always wanted to talk to you in high school, but never had the balls to do so.” 

“Better late than never, huh? What were the odds of us meeting again like this?” 

Eddie nods with a little snort, cause it’s like she read his mind for real. Like past lives, he’s telling ya. 

“Whattaya say, when I get out of here, d’ya wanna maybe go out for a drink or something? I wanna know all about how life got in the way of your fancy art dreams.” 

“Patients with arrhythmia aren’t supposed to be drinking alcohol.” She’s beaming with a little impish twinkle in her eye that reveals more than what she lets on. 

“Coffee, maybe?” 

“Much less caffeine!” she emphasizes with another tender squeeze of his palm. “But I can come by and make you some tea? It’s nothing extraordinary, but…” 

“I’ve never wanted extraordinary for a birthday. To be honest, I’ve only ever wanted good company.” 

“Well, I think it’s been pretty extraordinary to me…” Her gaze is unwavering now, as if she wants to reassure him that he’s special, someone worth celebrating. “I reunited with my high school crush on it, after all.”  

She’s gonna make his heart go haywire again, holy shit. 

"If you do that again, they're gonna keep me here forever..."

The heart monitor starts to beep a little more rapidly again, making the both of them laugh and smile so hard that Eddie’s cheeks hurt most delightfully.

And at the end of the day, his pretty nurse might have been right after all – this turned out to be pretty goddamn extraordinary. Especially when she leans in to give him a tender kiss on his forehead to calm down his heartbeat, only for it to have the opposite effect. 

For the first time in forty years, and from there on out, his birthday was never just another regular day for him.

dividers by the lovely @strangergraphics