Hi! Could I Request An Eddie X Reader? Maybe Something Where He Is Playing With Readers Hair For The

Kisses.💓

Such overprotective boy.

LEFTOVERS — MIYA ATSUMU

content: established relationship, fluff. word count: 0,6k.

It started on your third date.

You were at a cozy little ramen shop tucked between two buildings downtown, the kind with foggy windows and handwritten menus. Atsumu was already halfway through his bowl, slurping loudly, while you picked daintily at yours, your pace slower, more thoughtful.

When you finally set your chopsticks down with a soft sigh, Atsumu’s head popped up like a meerkat. He glanced at your half-finished bowl, then at you.

“You done?”

“I think so…”

He didn’t hesitate—he dragged your bowl toward him, already fishing out the last noodles with the kind of joy that belonged to someone who had definitely grown up fighting for the last slice of pizza. You raised an eyebrow.

“You’re just gonna eat my leftovers like that?”

“Mhm.” He mumbled, mouth full. “Waste not, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched into a smile.

From then on, it became a quiet ritual.

At every meal—whether it was takeout sushi on the couch, late-night snacks, or lazy weekend breakfasts—Atsumu somehow knew when you were done. You never said anything. You’d just push your plate a few inches away, and seconds later, his arm would reach out, like a sleepy cat stretching toward a sunbeam.

He never asked. He just did, like it was the most natural thing in the world to finish what you couldn’t. And honestly? You loved it. It was kind of warm. Kind of comfortable. A little unspoken love language all your own.

Sometimes, you liked to leave things on purpose—half a fry, a bit of omelet, the last bite of a sandwich. Not because you couldn’t finish, but because it made you smile when he took them without hesitation. Like there was this tiny thread between you, this unspoken connection built from a thousand small, silly habits.

And now, months later, that thread had only grown stronger.

Tonight, you were curled up on the couch together, a blanket tossed over both of you, the flicker of a movie playing quietly in the background. You handed him the last bite of your ice cream cone without looking—just a silent offer passed between you two.

He took it, of course, with a soft “thanks” leaving his lips.

After he finished, he turned to you and tapped your nose gently with his finger. “Y’know, if you ever actually finish your food one day, I think I’d be heartbroken.“

You snorted, leaning into his side. “Maybe I’m just trying to slowly make you gain weight. Long-term plan.”

He gave you a flat look. “So this is a trap.”

“Obviously.”

Atsumu shook his head with a small laugh, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “Well… too late now. It’s already my favorite part of the meal.”

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 2 Prompt: Chocolates 🍫 ~ 2,000 words Eddie's grumpy until he sees a familiar face in the candy aisle.

“This is a fake holiday,” mumbles Eddie as he pushes the cart past the pink and red aisle of Bradley’s Big Buy. 

His uncle chuckles. “When you have someone to spend it with, you’ll feel differently.”

“Wayne,” Eddie deadpans, “this is just some bullshit that Hallmark made up so they could take more of our money.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to go all commercial,” Wayne clarifies. “I just mean that when there’s someone special in your life, boy, you might be in a better mood during this month.”

Eddie’s mouth sets bitterly. He’d rather not get the ‘you’ll find someone someday’ talk right now — the last thing he needs is another reminder of how lonely he is.

Wayne senses his nephew’s reluctance to discuss the matter, and so bites his tongue. Instead, he points at a row of cans on the shelf beside them. “Do you need more tomato soup, or are you set for a while?”

~

Back at home, Eddie lays on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, okay, maybe Wayne had a point. Maybe he’d hate all this stupid cutesy shit less if he didn’t have to watch everyone around him enjoy it while he spent yet another Valentine’s Day alone in his uncle’s trailer, with no one to keep him company, save for a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The worst part of it is — and Eddie would rather die than admit this — that deep down, he thinks he really could be…romantic. 

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He tends to be prickly, wary of others’ intentions, but it’s necessary in order for him to survive in Hawkins. The Munson name was already notorious, and his reputation preceded him; the incident with poor Chrissy Cunningham three years prior, despite his innocence, had sealed his fate as the town pariah.

But if someone could just give him a chance, a real chance, he thinks that he could make that person really happy.

He’d help around the house. Cleaning, laundry, anything you — whoever you are — needed a hand with. He’d learn to cook better so he could keep you eatin’ good. He’d plan fun dates. He’d play your favorite songs on guitar, maybe write you new ones, if he was feeling inspired…anytime you needed him, he’d be there. He’d be the most reliable, affectionate, loving — 

“Ed?” There’s a light knock on his door. 

“Come in,” he calls back.

Wayne pokes his head into the room. “I’ve got to head to the plant in a few,” he says. “While I’m gone, can you do me a favor?”

Eddie sits halfway up, propped on his elbows. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wayne fidgets, looking apologetic. “I know we were just there, but d’you mind going back to the Big Buy to pick up some candy? It’s Mrs. Johnson’s first Valentine’s Day since her husband passed, and I meant to get her something sweet, but I forgot.”

Eddie hauls himself up off the floor. “No problem. Want anything specific?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Don’t need nothin’ fancy, just get whatever’s cheapest that still looks nice.”

“That’s the Munson way,” Eddie muses, smiling in spite of himself. 

~

Eddie reluctantly makes a turn down the seasonal aisle he had so pointedly avoided earlier, feeling depressed. Cherubs and teddy bears seem to mock him from where they sit, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. 

His eyes roam the line of cards, plush toys, endless boxes of chocolates and candies, when they finally land on you, also perusing the rows of heart-shaped packages.

Recognition flickers instantly. Eddie suddenly finds that his heart is beating very quickly in his chest.

You.

You had still been a year behind him when he finally graduated, and though he didn’t really know you-know you, he was friends with people who did. You weren’t bullied like he and the guys were, but you weren’t exactly popular, either — and so more often than not, you ran in similar circles. Gareth and Harry used to swear up and down that you were the nicest girl in Hawkins.

Because of them, he had spent brief moments with you from time to time. He thought you had been very pretty, in your own unique way, but you were also rather shy. Your exchanges were always polite and charming, even if they never broke deeper than surface-level; overall, he’d found you incredibly endearing.

He never kept in touch, but as the years went by, he had often wondered about you.

Back then, it was hard to see past his own preoccupations: he was so focused on not failing his classes, Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, his dealing gig with Rick. But in retrospect, it always seemed to him like he had missed out on something special in not taking the time to properly befriend you.

Now, against all odds, you’re right here in front of him. And he had found you attractive back then, but now? Holy shit. You’re striking to look at.

As he studies your side profile, he thinks, it’s not that your appearance has really changed much, but rather the way you seem to be holding yourself.

You used to walk quickly through the hallways with your shoulders hunched and your head down, like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. But now your posture is relaxed, your stance casual; your head is held high and a slight smile turns up the corners of your lips. And your clothes seem different too, like maybe you’d finally found your personal style, and were dressing in the way that you truly liked.

Is this what they call kismet? Fate, destiny, whatever, maybe Eddie’s fantasy-oriented brain was jumping to conclusions, but he thinks of the floor-misery he’d been wallowing in not even an hour ago — had his internal bitching been an unintentional prayer, which was now being answered?

He takes a few cautious steps forward, trying to act natural.

You glance at him when he comes nearer and offer him a quick smile before turning back to the sweet assortment before you. 

Eddie stands next to you awkwardly, pretending to browse, hoping to see you make some gesture of familiarity, any confirmation that you might remember him as well as he remembers you. 

But nothing. The seconds tick by.

You reach for a box of chocolates and Eddie’s overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He starts sweating. Any second now, you would pluck a shiny, ribbon-adorned package and twirl away from him, vanishing into thin air, and the moment would be gone. His opportunity would be over, and he’d never, ever see you again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. His face turns crimson, but he blunders on anyway. “I don’t wanna bother you, but did you graduate from Hawkins High in ‘87?”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, one arm still outstretched. A breathy laugh escapes you. “Yeah, I did.” You give him the tiniest wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

He could almost cry in relief. You do remember him.

“Hi.” He returns your wave, dopey grin unfurling on his face. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you just now. I didn’t think you would remember me,” you explain apologetically.

Forget you? Absurd. “Of course I remember you. How’ve you been?”

Your voice is bright, cheerful. “I’ve been good! Busy with school.”

College, of course. You had definitely been an honor roll kid. “If you’re in school, then you don’t still live in town, do you?”

“Nah, my university’s too far. I got a place near campus, but I come home every now and then.” You smile, and motion towards yourself. “Obviously.”

“Oh. Nice.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs nervously. “Are your classes going good?”

“For the most part. They’re stressful sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you’re super smart. I’m sure you’re killin’ it up there.”

“I’m trying my best,” you reply with a modest shrug. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” You look at him with genuine interest, like you’re truly eager to hear about how he’s doing.

Oh, what to say. He opts for simplicity. “Bartending. At the moment I’m between The Hideout and The Attic. Although, I’m thinkin’ about trying to get a job at the garage instead.”

“You should!” Your voice is sincere, full of warmth. “I bet you’d be great there — I know you did a lot of work on your van.”

A bolt of pleasure runs through him. You didn’t just remember his name and face, but you recalled some minor details about him as well. He stands a little taller. “Thank you. We’ll see if it works out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief pause. Eddie moistens his chapped lips with his tongue. “Listen…”

Do it, you coward. If she says no, she says no, and you’ll get over it. Eventually.

“Um, if you’re ever home for the weekend, would you maybe wanna hang out? Grab a coffee or something?”

You look taken aback, but not displeased. Eddie counts that as a win. 

“Sure. That would be really fun.”

He flashes you a grin. “Sick.” Then it occurs to him: you came home for Valentine’s Day weekend. Surely you’re in Hawkins because you have a date lined up with some former classmate who swooped in and asked you out after he had gone, and that’s who you were buying candy for and —

“I’m assuming you’re busy this weekend, though?” You point at the treats in front of you. “‘Cause I see you’re here to pick up the goods,” you tease him cheerfully.

“Oh, n-not really,” he stammers. “Wayne asked me to pick up something for our neighbor. I’m just an errand boy.” He swallows. “Do you have any big plans?”

“Nope,” you reply casually, lips popping the p-sound. You pull the candy you’d be aiming for before he interrupted, a pack of Hershey’s cream-filled chocolate hearts. You nod at him sagely. “I am my own Valentine this year.”

You don’t need to be. I’ll volunteer. 

Eddie musters up all his courage, rocking slightly on his feet. “Actually, if you don’t have plans…like, if you’re not seeing anybody…would you wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Nerves get the better of him and he starts pouring out word-vomit, totally oblivious to the way your expression is getting softer and softer the longer he rambles. “I get that it’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t know if you think that’s really…weird for a first date, or…if you even wanna go on a date with me at all, which if you don’t, that’s totally fine and I understand —”

“I don’t think that would be weird at all,” you cut in, giving him a smile that could melt an iceberg. “Eddie, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He feels like he’s having a fever dream. This can’t be real. Is this what manifesting is? 

From now on, when he wants something, he’s gonna go cry on his bedroom floor about it. 

Painfully aware of how clumsy his proposition came out, Eddie tries to put at least one suave move on you. “Well, if we really have a date tomorrow,” he says, swiping the Hershey’s from you, “then there’s no reason for you to be buyin’ your own chocolates. Allow me.”

Ten minutes later, both of you armed with candies and a phone number apiece, Eddie escorts you across the icy parking lot to your car. You grip his arm tightly crossing over a slippery patch of asphalt, and his stomach flutters in a way it hasn’t in years.

Okay, okay. 

Maybe there is something to be said for this stupid, fake holiday.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

eddie is the type of guy who takes any opportunity to kiss you. you’re helping him clean up after hellfire and as he passes by he leans down and places a kiss at the base of your neck before he resumes cleaning up. he peppers your face with soft morning kisses and slow reverent ones at night. forehead kisses after sex. he’s laying on your stomach while you read in bed and he’ll occasionally place a kiss onto your skin. kisses on your hand at a red light. he’ll make a show of grabbing your hand as you hop out of his van and kiss the back of your hand. when he walks by you at school he’ll quickly stoop down to kiss your cheek and keep walking as you turn and watch him walk away. kisses to your ankle as he takes off your shoes after you’ve had a long day. him wrapping his arms around you from behind when you least expect it and kissing the edge of your shoulder. kisses to your temple as you both sit together watching tv. him leaning over you from behind while your sitting to place a kiss on your forehead, his hair falling down temporarily blocking your view. whenever you’re hugging, he loves to kiss the top of your head. when you’re holding hands he likes to bring the back of your hand to his lips. whenever you’re caressing his face he tilts his head to kiss the inside of your wrist and the inside of your palm. when you’re sleeping he places a quick kiss on your hipbone as he climbs into bed with you. he’d definitely do the hand to shoulder kisses like gomez addams.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends that suddenly remembers you exist and roams the house seeking you out. No real rhyme or reason to it he just wants to see you, peeks into wherever you are and reminds himself you’re still around.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who randomly grabs you and shakes you around, I fear you’re going to be a victim of cuteness aggression for the rest of your life.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who grabs at your ass when he’s bored, like it’s his own personal stress ball. Same thing with your tits.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who blows raspberries into your stomach while he’s laying down on you, even if you hate it. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who knows how to have a laugh when you’re having sex. He brought a glow in the dark condom once and you said his dick looks like a neon green Kermit and he laughed so hard he almost forgot where he was. Almost.

Johnny’s one of those boyfriends who actively gets upset if you try to crawl away from him while you’re cuddling, like ACTUALLY upset, it’s not even funny, don’t try it.

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

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.”

There are few things in life that make Tobio Kageyama's pupils dilate.

The first one, of course, was volleyball.

The high of setting a perfect ball, making a great dump, and getting an ace. The squeak of new shoes and the smell of the court. The cheering in the stands and the feeling of your teammates' hands slapping his back. All of it made his heart beat faster, his hands get sweaty and mind focused.

Volleyball was his first love, without a shadow of a doubt.

But it was not his only love.

He met you after a game he won (3-0, may I add, which he claims only happened because you were in the stands that day), when you stopped him when he was exiting the gym and decided to shoot your shot.

He was still a silly third year highschooler, fresh out of an insane win, so he, of course, said something really smart along the lines of "Huh...uhm... you sure?"

Anyways, he was glad you were not freaked out by his reaction and just giggled at him (even though nowadays you laugh loudly when remembering this situation), claiming you really did want his number. Because if you didn't, he wouldn't meet his second (and dearest) love: you, the second thing that can make his pupil dilate.

The high of kissing you, grabbing your hand or going on dates with you. The sound of your laugh and the smell of your perfume. The anxiety he felt moments prior kneeling down on one knee. The cheering of his teammates congratulating him for this new chapter of his life. The sight of you in white.

It all makes him feel like throwing up (in a good way), his brain feel like mud and those stupid butterflies start flying around his stomach.

He thought that was it. He had you and volleyball. He didn't need anything more.

Oh, how utterly wrong he was.

His third and final love is his daughter.

His 17 year old self would never be able to imagine that such a tiny being would bring him so much joy and pride. A mini version of you mixed with some of his characteristics made his heart swell with happiness.

The feeling of his chest - almost physically - inflating during your daughter's ballet presentations, the sound of her sweet "Daddy!" when he comes back home from practice, the image of you and her watching on him from the stands.

So, yeah. These are the things that make his eyes shine brighter and joy take over his entire being. He doesn't need anything else in his life, only the three most important things for him.

....or does he?

Well, your growing belly will surely put this theory to test.

And, once again, you'll probably prove him wrong.

Uhm... haikyuu debut fic??? I've never written for Kags b4, so sorry if this ooc ☹️😔

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk? 

someone asked gege what is female gaze and as an answer he created geto suguru