#me??? writing something under 2k??? who'd have thought
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you kissed me just to kiss me
because we all need some soft eddie fluff in our days <3
requested by anonymous
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: the reader has never been kissed. eddie volunteers to be the first (no plot just sap and smoochin’)
word count: 1.5k
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Nothing about Eddie matches the bedroom, yet he seems effortlessly at ease among posters he doesn’t recognize, lounging on the end of a bed that isn’t his, a worn novel he found on the bedside spread across his lap like he’s the one who dogeared all the pages.
He doesn’t quite fit with the image, but somehow, he enhances it. Turns a boring room into a shining landscape.
“Oh, come on,” Eddie says, setting the long-abandoned book aside. He rolls onto his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his hands on his chin like a little kid. He waggles his brows. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Not happening.”
Eddie pouts. “Hey. I showed you mine, you show me yours.”
Your cheeks flame, but you manage to lift your brows and say, “You volunteered that information. And I’m pretty sure you just wanted to brag, because we all know Annabelle Jones looks like a supermodel, now.”
“Tomato, tomato.” He waves a hand. “Come on. Your first couldn’t have been that bad. I swear, I won’t judge.” He makes the sign of the cross, but you’re fairly sure he does it backwards. It almost makes you smile.
Almost. But the line of questioning is edging too close to a cliff that you spend most of your time far away from.
“Do I know ‘em?”
You frown. “No.”
“Ah, out of towner. Or a whirlwind vacation romance?” Eddie waggles his brows.
You chew on the inside of your cheek for a long moment before you say, “I haven’t.”
Eddie frowns. “Haven’t…?”
“Haven’t kissed anyone,” you say, and want to dissolve into the beanbag you’re sitting on.
Eddie’s lips part, and he stares at you for a long moment, like his brain has short-circuited.
You push off the beanbag and cross to your window, folding your arms and looking back at him.
“You said you wouldn’t judge,” you say.
Eddie shakes his head, quickly pushing up to a sitting position. “No, I wasn’t—it’s not that.” A line forms between his brows. “I’m just surprised, I guess.” He clears his throat. You can tell he’s about to ask the question, the one you ask yourself, the why, the how, and before he can, you answer.
“I always felt like I was… behind. It seemed like everyone and their mother was making out with someone under the bleachers. And by the time I graduated, I’d convinced myself it just wasn’t meant for me. That maybe there was just something wrong with me. I think part of me knew that wasn’t and that it’d happen eventually, but…” You let your gaze drift out the window, onto the bright afternoon street. “But it didn’t. And that part of me that believed in it got smaller. And now, here I am.”
The mattress squeaks in protest as Eddie climbs off it, and you hear him come to stand beside you, but you don’t look at him.
“There is nothing wrong with you,” he says. “You hear me? Nothing.”
You shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, I’m still… behind.” A bitter smile twists on your lips. “How do you even tell someone that? Hey, so, before you kiss me, you should know, I’ve never even held a boy’s hand?”
“You’re not behind,” Eddie says. “So, what, you didn’t make out with some brace-face twelve year old, or get stuck in a closet with some asshole for seven minutes in heaven. That doesn’t mean shit. It sure as hell doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”
“It does mean I have no clue what I’m doing. Even if—” You stop, trailing off before the words someone wanted to kiss me come out, because they still sound ridiculous. Fake. A beautiful fantasy.
Eddie is quiet for a moment. When he finally does speak, he says the last thing you expect.
“I could show you,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you suddenly aware of how small the windowsill you’re both tucked into is.
“What?” you ask, heart kickstarting, nerves racing up and down your skin like electricity down a wire.
“Your first kiss, that’s a story you’re gonna tell for the rest of your life,” Eddie says. “You deserve a better story than some drunk hookup at a party with a stranger.” Eddie is seldom serious, but this, his hesitation and his soft tone, is different.
You risk a glance his way and find him already watching you. He’s closer than he was a second ago, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating, and you’re fighting every urge to run for the door.
“The first person who kisses you,” he says, “should be someone who actually gives a shit about you.” He licks his lips. You’ve spent your fair share of time staring at those lips—more than you should. And then he grins, like can read your mind, and normally, it’d irritate you, but right now, it’s like sparking a match.
“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper. Your heart beats like a kick drum, so loud you’re surprised Eddie can’t hear.
His grin softens, and he shifts back, just a bit. For a split second, you think he’s decided against his own proposition, but then he says, “There’s no pressure. It’s just an offer, love.”
Eddie Munson has called you a dozen things besides your own name, but never that, and never like this.
“It’s no big deal if you don’t want to,” he presses. “But if you change your mind—”
“No,” you say. “I want to.” Heat rises up your neck, across your cheeks, all the way to your ears.
Eddie’s brows twitch. “You’re sure?”
You nod. But still, Eddie goes on, “Don’t just say it because you think you have to. You don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want—”
“Eddie.” He pauses, and you gather up whatever courage you have to say, “Kiss me.”
For a moment, he looks at you like he’s never seen you before, and part of you feels the same. You’ve met a dozen versions of Eddie in the three months you’ve been friends, but not this one.
He lifts a hand to your face, thumb tracing gently down the corner of your mouth, to your chin, and back up. You will yourself still as he moves closer, closer, until his warm breath tickles your skin.
Eddie nudges your chin up, and your eyes fall shut. A beat later, Eddie brushes his lips against yours, ever so softly. It’s the ghost of a kiss, so soft and small you could have imagined it.
You shift back, struggling to think beyond the flames in your cheeks and the racing of your heart.
Eddie’s eyes snap open as you drag your tongue along your bottom lip, and his gaze darts down, and up again. His lips part, as if to speak, but you don’t give him the chance, leaning forward to kiss him once more.
And this time, you feel it. Slow, careful, his mouth against yours. Lemon shampoo and that spicy, earthy scent that cling to him always, and curls tickling your cheeks, and his hands, slipping to your waist and drawing you closer.
You may not have any shred of experience, but you’ve read enough books and seen enough movies to have a few ideas about how this works. So, when Eddie’s mouth parts, you sweep your tongue across his bottom lip. A shudder rolls through him, and though you didn’t think it was possible, Eddie pulls you closer, so close you can feel his heart thrumming against his chest.
At some point in the last few seconds, you started to back up, and when the backs of your knees collide with the tall seat of the windowsill, Eddie breaks from your lips just long enough to murmur, “Jump,” before he’s kissing you again. You do, and he guides you up, onto the sill, pushing between your knees.
And all you can think is, I can’t believe I waited this long. But not just to kiss someone. To kiss him.
Or maybe, that was the whole point. That all this time, you’d been waiting for him to stumble along.
Only when your lips are swollen and your lungs are screaming for air do you pull back, and even then, Eddie holds your face between his hands, his thumbs trailing up and down your cheeks.
“You have no idea,” he says, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.” And it’s like Eddie can sense you’re about to protest, or doubt it, because he adds, “Since the day I met you. You handed me that stupid, stupid work shirt—” You smile, and he’s smiling, too. He leans closer, bumps his nose with yours once. “—and I just knew. This girl is going to royally fuck up my life. And I couldn’t wait.”
“So, you’re saying we could have been doing this for three months?” you ask.
Eddie laughs, and you wish you could crystallize that sound, carry it on a keychain with you forever.
“Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time, then,” he says.
And even though it’s a little difficult to kiss with all the smiling, you manage to make it work.
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taglist: @milkiane @robiin-buckley
#me??? writing something under 2k??? who'd have thought#brooke writes fic#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson imagine#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things imagine#x reader
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CRUSH?!
Choi beomgyu x m!reader
Summary: m/n experienceing what a confession feels like to his crush
Or
M/n being the luckiest bitch alive.
Tw: none just fluff
Word count: 2k+
M/n was so obvious. The way that he'd stare beomgyu during the classes and the way he'd immediately turn around whenever their eyes would meet.
He was so obvious the way he became a stuttering mess when they were partnered up for the history project. Beomgyu enjoyed this. A bit too much.
M/n who would sit at the back of the class so the teacher couldn't catch him staring at the living beauty, the m/n who'd leave silly little love letters in beomgyu's locker under the name 'anonymous'.
The m/n, who had liked beomgyu since the seventh grade was in the room of his crush. Poor lil m/n was so nervous when beomgyu's hand would slightly brush against his or whenever beomgyu would sit a bit too close to him, he thought he'd go blank.
And cunning beomgyu, who wasn't new to m/n's reactions, loved this atmosphere that he created. Perhaps he loved teasing m/n with the way how m/n was practically on the floor with beomgyu on top! a knowing smile on his face while looking at m/n.
M/n wondered if this was real or not, whether he liked this or not on one hand he was happy on the other he was fucked out. 'Why was beomgyu doing this'? Somewhere along the line, don't know when but beomgyu started looking out for the latter. Looking forward to meet him.
To read his anonymous love letters. Beomgyu knew m/n was the one behind these but played along when his friends would ask him about the love letter's author saying he didn't have a clue about it.
"You like me" beomgyu said, looking at the guy underneath him. M/n was embarrassed, his ears burned. He doesn't know why, maybe because his crush just outed him or maybe his crush already knew about those 'cringy' love letters.
"I know it was you who wrote love letters to me" beomgyu uttered softly as if m/n would break if he spoke any louder. He touched m/n's burning face, "don't be shy, confess,,i like you too" beomgyu looked kind too kind just as an angel- no something more than that!
M/n's heart raced at his words, still too astonished to even reply beomgyu. Beomgyu leaned in slowly, pulling m/n with him. Eyes closing along the way. Beomgyu's lips were soft, soft like a cotton filled cushion. Beomgyu's lips touched m/n's for just a mere second.
Beomgyu pulled back and looked at m/n before diving in and kissing him once again. This time a bit more. A bit harder. Beomgyu led the kiss not even waiting for m/n to respond. Beomgyu's hands reached m/n hair where he tugged them slowly.
Pulling m/n's hair back just to see if he rebels and pushes forward to continue the kiss. Beomgyu was out of breath, he backed out not wanting to though. Beomgyu who was now sitting on m/n's lap saw m/n immediately looking down after their kiss, maybe he was embarrassed.
M/n who was too shy to look at beomgyu, leaned forward and hid his face in his crush's chest. "i like you, beomgyu" he said in such a voice only beomgyu could hear. "I know, dummy" beomgyu laughed endearingly.
If ya want me to write for other members send me a scenario cus i can't think for shit
#txt beomgyu#txt yeonjun#beomgyu x male reader#choi beomgyu x reader#choi beomgyu x male reader#txt x male reader#txt x reader#txt post#txt#tomorrow by together#txt hyuka#tyun#soobin
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Ice Cold Part 1
Words 2k
This is an AU crime story about obsession, forbidden love and revenge so there's dark themes throughout. I started writing this a few years back and have 50 parts to upload so it might take me a while but hopefully by then I'll have even more to post 💙
Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist
I didn't choose this life. It chose me. That's what I always told myself. As I grew into adulthood it soon became apparent that I wasn't going to be satisfied with just any 9-5 desk job. I craved something more. And later, whilst my friends were all settling down and going gooey-eyed over wedding dresses and the prospect of having babies, I was training hard, learning how to handle a gun, mastering the art of tracking some of the country's deadliest killers.
The handful of relationships I'd had were short-lived. It wasn't easy to commit when I could be called away at any moment, catching a flight to some distant city. And it wasn't just being away. The job consumed me. It was more than just a career.
I rolled over in bed, blinking awake, temporarily confused as to my surroundings. Then it all came flooding back. The tip-off that my latest target had been spotted in London. The exhilaration that had flooded me as I'd boarded the train and my arrival in the capital. And then... I cursed under my breath, glancing over at the sleeping figure beside me. This was becoming an all too familiar pattern. I was getting sloppy, distracted from the case. I'd settled down for a meal and a drink at the hotel bar last night, intending to get an early night and a good head-start the following morning, but I'd been approached by a handsome guy who'd offered me a drink. One drink had turned into two, and then three... the next thing he was in my hotel room, pinning me up against the wall and fucking me hard and rough just like I'd asked him to.
I watched as he shifted in bed, letting out a snore, grimacing slightly at the recollection of all the depraved stuff I'd begged him to do to me whilst fuelled by the wine I'd consumed last night. It had been just what I'd needed at the time but now he was just another faceless conquest, an inconvenience that I needed to get rid of, and quick. I leaned over and purposefully nudged him in the ribs.
"Wha... huh...?" He grumbled sleepily, then rolled on to his side, seeing me and smiling. "Oh hey sexy... last night was..."
"Last night was last night!" I cut him off. "Now I need you to go."
"But Lyla..."
"I mean it. Get your clothes and fuck off!" I spat at him.
I didn't even remember his name. Matt? Mark? Max? It didn't matter. He'd served his purpose and now I needed him gone. I had more important things to worry about. I waited until he'd got dressed and slunk out of my hotel room, then reached for my phone, scrolling through for details of my latest assignment, a shiver of excitement shooting through me as I opened the file. A photo filled my phone screen. There he was. Van McCann. A deadly assassin currently topping the most-wanted list in several countries. I'd been tracking him for months now and it was safe to say that it had become more of an obsession than a work assignment. He moved like a shadow from place to place, leaving a string of deaths behind him, a cold-hearted killing machine capable of unspeakable things. I studied the photo that I'd been sent. It was a shot of Van slipping into the back of a taxi, furtively glancing around, fleeing the scene of yet another grisly murder. It was unusual that someone had got close enough to manage to capture the image. My team were closing in on him though. I just had to wait for him to make a slip-up and then I'd pounce. He'd be mine.
I pictured stealthily sneaking up on him, placing the barrel of my gun against his temple, our eyes meeting as he finally met his match in me. This was a scene I played in my head often and I felt the familiar warm spark ignite down low in my body at the thought of coming face to face with my nemesis and the triumph I'd feel. But the problem was my thoughts always took an unexpected turn. As my fantasies often had a way of leading me down dark paths, my mind was soon full of imagining the feeling of Van's hands gripping my throat whilst he forced me down on to my knees...
Five minutes later I was grasping the bed sheets with one hand whilst the other worked on my clit, images running through my head of Van's ice cold stare burning into me whilst he held me down and took what he wanted from me.
"Fuck..." I groaned as I reached my climax, instantly filled with a sickly kind of disgust for letting my mind stray into this twisted dream yet again.
I needed to get my head straight. No more fantasising about this guy who'd probably end my life with no more regret than swatting a fly. No more messy hook-ups in hotel bars trying to fill this aching void in my life. I knew what I needed to do. Find Van and bring him to justice.
Come on Lyla... you can do it. You've just got to focus...
“Heavy night last night Lyla?" My colleague Jason smirked at me as I chugged the black coffee in one go despite it scorching my mouth.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes as if that would somehow clear the grogginess in my head. "Just had a few drinks that's all..."
"Hmm... more than a few by the looks of things!" Jason chuckled and I just scowled at him.
The worst part of my job was these indescribably boring stake-outs. It wasn't all international travel and detective work. Of course, like any job there were downsides. Like sharing a car for hours on end with one of my insufferable colleagues. Van was rumoured to be staying at one of a number of swanky hotels in the city, and I'd definitely drawn the short straw being paired with Jason to watch this particular one on Park Lane. My colleagues had argued that it was highly unlikely than Van would be staying here, bold as brass in one of the most expensive hotels in the city, but I wasn't so sure. It would be just like him to taunt the team like that, living it up in the lap of luxury whilst we all scrabbled round, looking for clues as to his next move. A blatant two fingers up at the system that so far was, in reality, no nearer to bringing him down even though it felt like we were closing in on him more and more each day. To be honest I was convinced that he was orchestrating that too, making these tiny mistakes on purpose, leaving the proverbial trail of breadcrumbs just so he could lure one of us in.
And then what?
I shuddered as I flicked through the latest crime scene photos from a few days previously. A prominent politician who'd been rumoured to be colluding with a nefarious group of gangsters had been found slumped over his office desk, gutted like a fish with his entrails in his lap. I quickly slipped the photos back into the folder, bile threatening to rise in my throat.
"You didn't pick up some poor unsuspecting bloke last night again did you?" Jason's mocking tone cut into my thoughts.
"Get fucked!" I retorted, looking out the window so he couldn't see the flush that had risen to my cheeks.
"You did, didn't you!" He really didn't know when to let up.
"Since when has my sex-life been any of your fucking business Jason?" I growled.
"Well," he replied, adopting a smug tone. "It might not be any of my business but certain senior people are starting to talk... they reckon you're losing your touch, getting distracted."
That comment really hit me where it hurt. Of course I knew deep down that it was true. I'd always been so focussed but since I'd been tracking Van it was like I was losing myself. There was an ache inside me that couldn't be soothed. If I wasn't thinking about him I was looking for a substitute to quell my desire, but nothing could come close. What the fuck was wrong with me?
"I think you'll find I'm still the best there is in my field," I snapped. "And whoever I sleep with has absolutely nothing to do with my work."
Jason huffed, bringing the binoculars up to his eyes and squinting through them. I snatched them from him, adjusting the focus, scanning the alley that ran from the back of the hotel. Nothing.
That's when I felt the hand on my thigh. I lowered the binoculars, looking at Jason in disbelief. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
He had a lascivious smile on his lips as he spoke. "You know if you're just looking for no-strings attached sex then I'm your guy..."
The slap I delivered to Jason's face landed with a satisfying cracking noise and his head whipped back against the passenger window.
"And if you're looking for someone to remove your cock and shove it up your arse then I'm your girl!" I snarled, outraged.
Jason whimpered, holding his hands up. "Okay... okay... I'm sorry. It was just a joke..."
"Fucks sake..." I grumbled, again bringing the binoculars up to my eyes, catching a glimpse of a tall figure clad all in black striding towards the alley.
"It's him!" I shouted, reaching for the door handle, shooting out on to the street before Jason even had time to react. Within a second I was at the entrance to the alley, just in time to see the figure rounding the corner.
My heart pumping the adrenaline around my body, I took off in pursuit, trying to move as stealthily as I could so as not to alert my target. In contrast I could hear Jason's heavy steps slapping on the pavement behind me.
"Be quiet!" I hissed as I came to a stop at a junction where the alley forked off in different directions.
I motioned for Jason to take the right-hand path, drawing my gun and pressing my back up to the wall. Jason crept away, his gun out in front of him, advancing down the alleyway slowly. I watched him until he was out of sight, cold tendrils of uneasiness squirming in my gut, causing my hesitance.
Come on Lyla... pull yourself together! He'll get away!
I chanted the words of encouragement to myself in my head, slowly sliding my back against the brickwork, gun held upright close to my body, my ears pricked to pick up the slightest sound.
That's when I heard it, so quiet it was almost imperceptible. Quiet breathing, long, drawn out inhales and exhales. I sucked in my own breath, holding it, my whole body tensed and coiled for action. I was at the edge of a wall, the alleyway lying beyond. In my mind's eye I pictured the scene on the other side of the wall. Van mirroring my stance, back flush against the wall, gun cocked like mine. Or maybe a knife... I swallowed hard, trying to clear the crime scene photos from my head, focussing on my next move. I slowly peeled myself away from the wall, placing my feet carefully so as not to make a sound, wincing at the sound my gun made as I released the safety catch.
Move Lyla... fucking move! My mind blared at me.
And I did. I stepped out purposefully, swinging my body round, arms outstretched and locked, gun in front.
Straight into the path of a cold-hearted killer...
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