#linecook!Eddie x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkrelish · 2 years ago

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

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deathbecomesthem · 15 days ago

Note

may we yearn after the handsome linecook some more ♥️ I haven’t stopped thinking about him making Mickey Mouse pancakes for the little kids

For you, my sweet Tom. Sorry it takes me 50,000 years to write these days. I'm hoping to have more of these two sometime soon, a direct continuation from the end of this "chapter." I think we're due for something with these two.

Kiss The Cook 6

Where Eddie is trying to train a very stubborn server how to work on the grill.

~2K - Linecook!Eddie x Server!Reader

---

You can feel the icy wind sneak through the back door of the diner, even while the heat of the grill radiates off of the skin of your forearms. It’s hard to focus when you can feel the sweat trickle from your scalp down to your eyebrows. You make a mental note to wear a bandana around your forehead the next time you have grill duty. If there is a next time. God, you hope there isn’t a next time.

The only upside to grill duty, the kitchen manager, sidles up next to you, peering over your right shoulder to see how table 5’s breakfast is coming along. You can feel his light exhale prickle against your sweaty neck, a dissatisfied hiss of air that sends a shock wave down your spine.

“Where’s the butter?” The question isn’t out before he spots the squirt bottle to your left. His chest pushes against your side as he reaches for it, you can smell his cologne - Eternity for Men, you’d wager.

You step back and hand him the flat metal spatula you’ve been gripping tightly for the last hour. Eddie grabs your forearm and pulls you back next to him. Side by side, no room for the Holy Spirit between you. He puts the plastic bottle in your hand and points to the pile of hashbrowns sitting on the grill in front of you.

“More,” Eddie says after you squirt a healthy amount at the center of the pile. You give another squirt and look out of the corner of your eye to see him not in approval. “Now. We wait.”

“Eddie,” you’re surprised at the edge to your voice, but soldier on to make your point, “I’ve been waiting over this fucking grill for 20 minutes. How long are hashbrowns supposed to take?” You use the spatula to scrape the potatoes off the grill and move them around. This is one of your last tables for the day, and your patience has worn thin. You have yet to successfully make a single plate of hashbrowns as crispy as Eddie does on a regular basis.

“Well, Sweetheart,” this time he takes the spatula out of your hand and flattens the potatoes, “if you’re making crispy hashbrowns, you need to learn to wait. Patience. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Them.”

You’re not surprised to hear the edge to Eddie’s voice. His patience with training you is nearly non-existent. He doesn’t want you back here and only agreed to train you on the grill as a “just in case” measure after the last 3 cooks quit after less than a month of being at the diner. Eddie’s been working 7 days a week since last month, and his next day off isn’t until Charlie gets back from his vacation in Tucson. You know better than to poke the bear, and yet -

“Well, ok. I’ll just go out there and tell Mary and Mark at table 5 it’ll be another 45 minutes for their hashbrowns and eggs and that they need to learn patience.”

You’re not looking at Eddie, but you can feel his eyes on the side of your face. You’re cracking eggs into the small metal bowl you use for scrambling. The next ticket, and likely last for the day, is french toast and eggs. Easy.

Eddie moves behind you, chest flush with your back. He takes the bowl out of your hand, sets it down, and puts the spatula back in your hand. He breathes against your neck, “I said, you need patience, because you do. I see the way you flit around this place every day, and that’s all well and good when you’re waiting tables. Back here, you need to learn when to stand and wait. Now,” Eddie grasps your wrist to guide you back to the hashbrowns, “do not touch them until you see some brown on the edges. Hold that spatula there. Wait.”

Eddie doesn’t move, and neither do you. You are acutely aware of his presence behind you, his hand on your wrist. You watch the potatoes, buttery margarine bubbling around the edges, until you see it. The flat plane of hashbrowns is starting to become golden on the edges.

“Hashbrowns require patience, especially if you want them to be crispy. You can’t rush something like that. You gotta spread them as thin as you can with plenty of oil, and then just watch. Good things come to those who wait.”

You wonder if Eddie realizes how close his lips are to the back of your neck. You can feel the heat of his skin and breath while he instructs you. You try very hard to not think about how patient he is with the potatoes - how patient he would be as a lover. Slow and deliberate movements to create these dishes all day, every day. You try very hard not to consider how much stamina is required to do this job.

Eddie’s grip tightens on your wrist, he’s twisting it and guides the spatula closer to the potatoes, “Now you can flip.”

So you do, and you’re not surprised to find a golden brown layer of perfectly cooked hashbrowns in front of you. You can’t hide your annoyance. You drop the spatula and turn to face Eddie.

“I don’t like this. I hate being on the grill. I smell like bacon, I’m drenched in sweat, and my back hurts. Plus,” you bring your forearm up close to Eddie’s face so he can get a good look at the scattering of burn blisters there, “look at this. Fry oil splatter. That shit is painful.”

Eddie frowns and takes two steps to the first aid kit next to the office door. He rummages around while you turn back to the grill and finish plating the food for table 5 - perfectly crispy hashbrowns included - before ringing the bell for the server to come pick it up.

“Did you even put any cream on it?” Eddie’s back at your side, grabbing your arm and applying burn cream across your blistered skin. “You need to be careful with burns. Plus, it numbs the pain.”

Eddie turns his head to the side and calls, “Jim, get over here and take over the grill for a few minutes. It’s almost close, and we just need some french toast for table 2.” He pulls you into the office while Jim the dishwasher takes over the grill for you and Eddie.

He leads you into the tiny office adjacent to the grill and oven and sits on the desk while motioning for you to sit in the chair in front of him. His long arm reaches behind you easily to swing the door shut. It’s not the first time you and he have been in this tiny space together, but every time you’re reminded of that one dream you had about you and Eddie on the very desk where he’s currently seated.

He pulls a joint from the front pocket of his apron and lights it, takes a hit, and hands it over to you. With Charlie gone, you and Eddie have been “sneaking” in the office to get a mild buzz when things get too tense. The dishwasher knows, but he’s a 17 year old kid that wouldn’t think about getting his older and cooler co-workers in trouble. It’s been too cold to sneak out behind the dumpster like the two of you have been doing for the last few months - since the ice cream “date” that wasn’t a date, but maybe it was. There was no kiss at your front door, but his foot rubbed against yours under the booth you shared at the Dairy Queen.

“I’m not kidding, Eddie,” you tell him, pinching the end of the joint to hand back to him, the smoke warming you from the inside out, “I will light this place on fire if I end up working the grill on a regular basis.”

Eddie laughs, lowers his head, and takes a hit from the joint in your outstretched hand. It’s a silly move that hints at an intimacy that the two of you almost have with one another. From this angle, you can see that the tips of his ears are pink, either from the heat, the smoke, or the close proximity to you.

“Can’t have that. My favorite server in prison for arson? Plus, me out of a job? Nah. I think I’ll just tell Charlie you’re the worst cook I’ve ever tried to train and get Jim set up on grill. We can find a new dishwasher easier than a cook, and he ain’t bad.”

Eddie’s still leaned down, close to your face. His eyes flick from yours to your lips and back again. A subconscious indication of his desire to kiss you. You think for a moment he’s actually going to do it, that he’s going to close the distance between the two of you finally. And then he leans back and you slap his knee without missing a beat. The wall is back up again in an instant.

“There’s no way I’m the worst. No way,” you look at the clock behind Eddie’s back and see that it’s now a quarter to 2, almost time to shut the diner down for the day. “I remember Lucky. Pretty sure he gave me food poisoning.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, Sweetheart. No, you’re right, not the worst. Possibly the most subordinate.” You push his shoulder and start to stand, ready to get to work on closing. “Definitely the cutest.”

You sigh and shake your head. You don’t turn around for him to see the grin on your face. “That’s a pretty low bar, Ed, considering the competition.”

His hand reaches around you to open the door before you can. You didn’t even hear him stand up, but again you feel the heat of him at your back. You’re suddenly sure that if you turned around, he’d have you pinned against the door with a kiss. You don’t move, don’t breathe. And then he turns the knob and says,

“Hood guys coming tomorrow, Charlie said I can shut this place down for the day,” the door opens slowly, pushing you back against Eddie’s chest while he continues, “was thinking it would be fun to watch a movie or something.”

“Yeah?” You’re stepping through the door, taking the residual weed smoke with you back into the kitchen. Jim’s already back at the sink, the tickets are all fulfilled, and he’s running a rack of silverware for the server, Katy, to wrap before she leaves for the day. You’re trying to decide what to say to Eddie. You’re wishing he would just say what he wants. You’re tired of the game, and you’re not even really sure it’s one that he’s playing with you at this point.

“Yeah. Eraserhead. Ever see it?”

“No, never saw it. What’s it about?” You ask as you start scraping the grill, getting all the pieces of leftover food down into the grease trap.

“Hmmm, well. That’s complicated. How about you come over and watch it with me,” Eddie’s getting wiping down the inside of the microwave, looking at you through the cloudy door, a dopey smile on his lips.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #linecook!eddie munson #server!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction

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bvtbxtch · 1 year ago

Text

On The Line | Eddie Munson

Day Seven of Kinktober

Summary: Pumpkin Pie is back on the menu at Hank's Diner. What happens when the new waitress needs to stay with the Jaded line cook to prepare for fall festivities?

wc: ~4.3k

Pairings: Linecook!Eddie Munson x Waitress!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! This is porn with a plot. Thigh riding, public sex, sloppy sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), fingering, dry humping, overstimulation if you squint, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap the willy), sex in a kitchen (if you work at a food establishment please don't do this ever), this is taking place in an AU where the events of ST4 didn't happen

In collaboration with the lovely @darknesseddiem! Please keep an eye out for their prompts starting Oct 16!

A/N: my apologies this is a day late. I had to work all day and then had a wedding to go to! So you'll have two posts to look forward to today!!

You wish that you had a different life. You had lived in the quiet town of Salem, Indiana. You wanted to move to the big city but the closest you could get was sleepy Hawkins, Indiana, a mere 60 minutes out of the Indianapolis city limits, but the exact same font as your southern Indiana town. The only job you could manage to get was at the highway diner leaving town. You had friends, sure, but you had dreams and aspirations bigger than Hawkins; maybe that’s why you had such animosity towards your job. You always had the overnight shifts, as others that worked there had kids or other commitments. The only respite to these “Red Eye” shifts ( as your boss Murray had called them) was the cook you often found yourself working with. He didn’t talk to you much, and the most he had offered was a tight lipped smile and a “hi” to your nightly greetings or a "you're welcome when you thank him for putting your orders up as soon as he could . You had heard of Eddie Munson before, but from what you could tell, most things you heard weren’t true. You had worked with him on and off for almost a year and never thought he was an alcoholic satanist who may or may not have murdered someone. He was effortlessly handsome: his curly brown hair was always tied back in a low bun. His pale skin was highlighted with a soft sheen of sweat and a rosy blush. You often saw his lower arms adorned with black blotches of ink and he rarely went to work in his cook whites - opting for a pair of relaxed black jeans, a band tee and a white apron. You were intrigued, getting to know Eddie Munson was going to be the excitement you needed.

The blazing sun of September had cooled off and the crisp breeze of October was a warm welcome. You put your sheer black tights on underneath your pale yellow dress. You straightened your skirt out and patted some rose pink lipstick on your lips. You were ready for another slow shift at the diner, but you weren’t complaining. You had made some progress with your growing infatuation with Eddie Munson. He had put your order up under the heat lamps and you thanked him by name last week. You saw his cheeks grow redder than normal and he nodded at you shyly. A couple days later, Eddie had taken your order for your own dinner: pancakes with some syrup and whipped cream. He had put it under the heat lamp and backed away to his flat top. To your surprise, you picked up your plate to see strawberries and whipped cream fastened into a smiley face on your stack of flapjacks. You felt your heart drop to your stomach in appreciation. You leaned over the heatlamp to yell a thank you to the boy, he had retorted with a “you’re most welcome, Y/N.” He knew your name! Between then and now, there had been fleeting looks, some lingering touches at the window and a really great conversation about the town’s record shop when the two of you took your smoke break. You were excited and hopeful for your interactions tonight. The diner had been slowing down and there had been more and more opportunities to chat. For your sake, you wanted there to be no customers at all.

You swung the diner doors open and the smile faded from your lips when you saw Murray sitting at the front counter, no one else in the restaurant.

“Good news, doll!” Murray sang to you. “You’re off the clock tonight. Diner’s closing because we gotta revamp the new fall menu. Pumpkin pie for everyone!” Murray declared as he spun himself off the stool and past you to the door. Eddie pushed through the swinging doors and behind the bar.

“Yeah, smarty pants over here ordered 20 boxes of pie shell mix for this week, not 2… So I have 60 pies to make before this shit goes bad.” Eddie grumbled.

“So Eddie is taking the lead and you get the night off.” You were wracked with disappointment. You hated to admit the hold that the metalhead had on you - especially to him and your boss. But a night alone at the diner with him might be what you need to get him on your good side.

“I’ll stay and help!” You offered. Eddie’s glowing brown eyes met yours and both of you instantly looked at the floor. “My grandma and I used to make pies all the time. Plus if I’m in the way, I can get other prep or cleaning done.” Eddie ran his hands through his hair, a soft smile appeared on his face.

“I mean…. Usually when I offer a day off it's taken with a ‘thank you, Murray’ but whatever… if you wanna work, it’s your funeral.” With that, Murray had strutted out of the diner and to his convertible in the parking lot. You locked the door behind him and turned to Eddie with a shy smile.

“It’s crazy that he still drives a convertible in this weather.” You offered. Eddie responded with a small chuckle.

“Have you ever been in the back before?” Eddie asked as he turned to retreat back into the kitchen, encouraging you cautiously to follow him. You pushed through the stark white swinging doors after him.

“Ah, no actually. Only stuff I’ve seen is through the bay window and the heat lamp.” You admitted. Eddie spun around to look at you. It was the first time you were in his space and you felt vulnerable. His chocolate brown eyes studied your face. His stare was intense, you couldn’t help but look down to the floor. Little did you know, his stare was full of wonder and admiration at his beautiful invader of his space. Eddie cleared his throat and turned away from you again, leading you further into the stainless steel kitchen.

“So… I have all the boxes of the dough mix in the walk-in” Eddie gestures to the small oven sitting under the flat top. “And this… is what we’re working with tonight. So, it’ll take a while for all of our shit to bake.” Your eyes widened at the tiny apparatus before you. It really was going to be a long night of work. You were excited to be in close contact with the man before you. The back kitchen was like an alley, long but skinny. You now understood why they only had one cook on the line at a time.

“Do you want me to help you get everything mixed up?” your confidence was dwindling quicker than you would have liked to admit. “Or I can just restock stuff and do other prep-”

“No! No- ahem. A hand would be really great. Then I can help you out while the pies bake.” Help you out, you wish he would. Your heart was in your butt as you nodded at him.

You spent the next hour helping Eddie unload and divide the dough mix into servings, he insisted that he lift the boxes to you because they were heavy. You didn’t mind though, getting to sneak peeks at his lightly toned biceps flex under the weight of the boxes. You felt the room getting warmer and warmer each time you secretly raked your eyes over the book. You worked mostly in silence, until Eddie worked up the bravery to ask you a question while he brought in the last box.

“So… you’re obviously not from around here.” He said.

“Obviously? What makes it so obvious?” You giggled.

“Well the fact that I didn’t see you in school at all… and the fact that there’s just something different about you.” You looked up from the bowl you were currently sifting the last bit of mix into. Eddie’s cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in his eyes. You didn’t miss how his eyes flitted to your lips briefly. He smiled back at you and turned to the fridge to grab eggs and butter.

“What about you? You've been in Hawkins for a while? I don’t see you at any parties or anything” You implored. You knew that answer already. Your neighbor across the hall warned you about one Eddie Munson when you told her about your new job. "The Freak of Hawkins High” had followed him, even after 3 years of being graduated. You prodded her for more information. She had been a year ahead of him, but told you about how he had a reputation for sleeping with girls who couldn’t get off with their boyfriends. One party Chirssy Cunningam’s boyfriend had walked in on her fucking Eddie in the bathroom and Jason made Eddie’s life a living hell after that. After graduation he flipped his principal the bird and told the rest of the kids in his class to fuck themselves. No one really saw him out after that, keeping his life in recluse. After Eddie had been shut out, apparently girls would flock to his house to have their escapades and brag about how weird and dangerous he was. You had heard your fair share of rumors in your own small town, but you were smarter than you were then. You knew not to trust anything flying around until you could make your own opinions.

“Ummm.. yeah. Unfortunately I have.” The mop of curls let out a dry laugh. “Hawkins hasn’t been too nice to me, I just don’t have the funds to get out of here, you know? That’s why I work almost every day of the week, haha. I have nothing else to do with my time.” You can sense that Eddie was retreating into his own world, feeling comfortable enough to share secrets and sighs with you, things that he hasn’t told anyone. He caught himself though. He looked up at you like a deer caught in headlights, expecting you to turn your nose up at him, but you looked at him with genuine sympathy and understanding.

“I get it. This was as close as I could get to the big city. It took me forever to leave Painted Hills.” Eddie probed you for a reaction. Your eyes clouded over as the lifetime of sour memories flashed in front of your eyes. You and Eddie both knew that you were treading into dangerous territory.

“Alright, enough serious talk, this is supposed to be fun” he winked at you. You both traded stories of your childhood and interviewed the other about favorite music and foods and books. Eddie didn’t necessarily look it, but he was intelligent, and a natural conversationalist. You peered up at the clock after what seemed like 10 minutes of talking. The clock read 10:46pm. You looked down and realized that the two of you had almost completely finished kneading the dough and filling it into trays.

“Holy hell, it’s already been 4 hours?!” You chuckled.

“Seems like time flies when you’re having fun.” You stared in bewilderment at the boy’s blooming confidence. Earlier he wouldn’t say anything but two words to you. You and Eddie mixed and filled the pies and began putting your first rounds in the oven.

Eddie had nudged your arm with his elbow as he grabbed two more pies to bake, he walked back to the oven, his eyes not leaving yours. You looked down at the floor with a smitten smile. When you looked back up at the boy on the other side of the kitchen from you, his smile was replaced with a nervous frown. You held your breath in anticipation. Did you do something wrong? Eddie took a few steps towards you, close enough to touch him, but he was sure not to invade your space. What a gentleman.

“You… umm.. You have some dough on your face…” Eddie gestured softly to your cheek that had been smeared with a small swipe of pie dough. You gasped with a small ‘oh’ and swiped the back of your hand over your cheek. Eddie let out a short laugh.

“You made it worse.” You giggled at him with a small ‘oops’. Your smile was contagious to Eddie. He saw your bright eyes crinkle as you smile and he couldn’t help but copy you. He bit down on his lip to stop him from laughing.

“Can… can I get it for you?” Eddie’s smile faded quickly. He took one more step towards you. You could smell the faint remnants of his musky cologne he had put on before work. You nodded your head slowly. Eddie studied your face, desperate to remember every detail of your face in case he never got the chance to be this close to you again. He sheepishly raised his hand to your cheek and swiped the residue away with his thumb. You felt your skin erupt in goosebumps at his touch. You felt electric shocks where Eddie’s skin connected with yours. Eddie’s eyes glued themselves to your lips as he moved himself closer. His breath fanned over your face and you thought you could faint.

“I’ve heard what they’ve said about you,” you whispered. Eddie froze. His eyes met his, they were full of panic. He began to back away from you but you placed your hands on the sides of his neck and pulled him back to you.

“What-”

“And I don’t care. I don’t give a shit what anyone says about you.” You ghosted your lips over his, giving him an opportunity to push you away. He snaked his hand to your cheek and pulled his lips to yours. You quickly moved together and the kiss sent molten heat to your core. Eddie was beautiful, sure, but he seemed unobtainable. Now that he let you in, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back. Luckily for you, Eddie was in the same predicament.

Eddie’s hands quickly found purchase at your hips, pulling you into him like he was attempting to intertwine your bodies into one. You moaned into Eddie’s mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Your tongues danced together seamlessly, both of your chests heaving for breath. You pulled away to look at the boy in front of you. His eyes had turned from a golden brown to almost black, clouded with need and lust. Eddie pinned you up against the wall kissing you until you felt silly. He lifted your leg around his waist, giving him better access to feel you on him. You were a moaning mess from the friction Eddie’s jeans were giving your clothed pussy.

“Eddie” you hissed. The sensation left your body begging for more. More. More.

“That feel good?” Eddie cooed. You looked like a piece of art against him - a mewling masterpiece. God, he wanted to hold you like this forever. All of his invisible pining for you, the longing looks, the sleepless nights longing for you; everything had bubbled up in this moment and Eddie needed to restrain himself from devouring you whole. He had hoped he would have you literally anywhere but his kitchen, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Eddie” you gasped. You needed more of him - all of him. You bucked your hips against his, pushing moans out of both of your mouths. Eddie trailed his kisses down your cheeks to your neck. You moaned bashfully as Eddie bit down on your pulse point. He pulled away from you and looked into your eyes with a smirk.

“Don’t be quiet for me, doll. It’s just us. I wanna hear how good you feel.” Eddie’s purrs sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He pulled himself onto the counter, pushing himself up to sit on it, while he pulled you into him, slotting his thigh against your needy core.

“Come on, babe. Show me how good you feel. Make yourself feel good.”

You tentatively ground your hips down on the lanky boy’s thigh. The friction you felt was delicious, addictive. You couldn’t help but grind down harder on him, your melodic sighs and moans were music to Eddie’s ears. He felt like he could cum in his jeans if he didn’t focus on holding himself back. His hands migrated to your hips, guiding you harder and faster onto him. He could feel your warmth through his jeans. He was so ready to hear you come undone for him. Your noises got louder and higher pitched.

“E-eddie” you whined. God, his name sounded like a prayer falling out of your mouth, his new favorite song.

“What is it, honey, you gonna cum for me?” Eddie teased you. You violently shook your head. Eddie’s grip became bruising as he stopped your movements. You cried out in desperation, you could feel the beginning waves of your orgasm on the peak of arrival. You looked at Eddie with a confused huff. Before you could register what was happening, Eddie had switched your spots. His strong arms wrapped around you and your uniform’s skirt now hiked up around your waist. Eddie slid down the counter to his knees. His eyes were dark and pleading.

“I need to taste you. Please” His hands hovered over your thighs, desperately waiting for your response.

“Please, Eds. Please.” You squirmed in your seat. If you weren’t so fucked out already, you might be embarassed for your desperation. But you felt so good, you were so entangled in the moment you didn’t care. All you could think of was Eddie.

Eddie’s hands trailed up the tops of your thighs and trailed over your core. He hastily dug his fingers into your fishnets and tore, making a remark about your ‘fucking tights’. His strength only sent more waves of heat to your pussy, more than ready to meet Eddie’s embrace. Eddie could see how excited you were through your purple lacy panties that were stained with a deep wet patch.

“Fuck… so wet, this all f’me?” Eddie smirked up at you. You bit your lip and tried to close your legs with no avail. Eddie kept his large hands on your inner thighs, preventing you from closing me out. He let out a small tsk. Eddie hooked his fingers into the offending garment and pushed them to the side, putting your pussy on display for him. Eddie let out an animalistic moan; it was getting harder for him to control himself. He took a long lick up your slit, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands flew to Eddie’s hair to ground yourself. Eddie flicked expertly at your clit sending you hurling close to orgasm yet again. Eddie thought you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He explored every part of you, moaning into you, making your thighs shake. He could tell you were close. He stuck his middle finger into your weeping hole and curled. Your eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, your orgasm was threatening to boil over and the only thing you could manage to do was scream out Eddie’s name. Eddie found your G-spot with ease and rubbed against it, throwing you over the edge. You saw stars as waves of hot pleasure took over your body. You had no control over the tremors that rushed through your limbs. Eddie moaned into you as he worked you through your high. You had to pull Eddie by his hair to get him off of you, the overstimulation pushing past the boundary of pain from pleasure. Eddie rose to his feet and took you in: you had a light sheen of sweat beading on your forehead, your mascara had smudged slightly under your eyes, your lips were swollen from his kisses and your neck was a constellation of hickeys. He needed you fully. He had no idea what he would do if the two of you walked away from your shift tonight and never saw each other again.

“Y/N I…. I need you.” Eddie’s voice softened. His eyes clouded with lust still, but longing and desire glared back at you.

“Take me, Eddie.”

Eddie’s mouth was back on yours, the tang of your essence still on his tongue. It made you moan into Eddie's mouth. The metalhead fiddled with his belt, never leaving his mouth from yours. It was your turn to turn primal. You gnawed at Eddie’s bottom lip and mashed your tongue with his. You both felt like you might pass out from lack of oxygen, but thought it would be much worse to not be on each other. Eddie shoved his jeans past his hips and free’d his achingly hard cock with a sigh. He grabbed your hip with one hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He rubbed his tip through your sensitive folds, eliciting moans from both of you.

“Fuck, babe….” Eddie clenched his jaw, determined to ride out this high for as long as he could. He slid himself into you slowly. He was large, larger than you had ever been with and the stretch made you feel so unbelievably full.

Eddie pushed gently until he was fully sheathed. He could feel himself growing overwhelmingly hot. His cheeks had turned from his usual shade of light pink to red. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He had been white knuckling your hip and the counter.

“Move Eddie, please, god move.” You encouraged. You wanted - needed Eddie’s cool to break. You wanted him to ruin you. Eddie slowly pulled himself all the way out and pushed himself back into your needy hole. You cried out in pleasure; his pace was slow, but ruthless. Every thrust hit your cervix encouraging your second orgasm of the night. Eddie was biting his lips so hard that it looked like it was going to split and start bleeding. His eyes were transfixed on where the two of you met. You cupped Eddie’s face to bring his gaze back to yours. You felt so good, and didn’t know how well you could take him, but you could tell he was still holding back. You pulled your lips to his ears and whispered gently to him:

“Give me everything, Eddie. I want you to give it to me.” You heard Eddie’s breath hitch and get caught in his throat. He pulled back and studied your face. There was zero hesitation in your stare, only devotion and encouragement. Eddie’s brain short circuited. Eddie grabbed your neck and squeezed as his brutal pace picked up. You felt light headed - the only thing you could see was Eddie’s determined visage and the only thing you could hear was the pornographic sounds of Eddie’s balls hitting your ass. You closed your eyes in pleasure, but Eddie shook you back to him.

“Look at me. Eyes on me.” He growled. His face twisted in animalistic pleasure. You let the small rasps of your breath escape around Eddie’s vice. Eddie pulled out of you completely, making you whine at the loss of contact. Eddie pulled you off the counter by the neck and turned you around so your back was against his toned chest. Eddie pushed your head down so you were bent over the cool counter. Eddie’s large hands slapped down on the curves of your ass before filling you back up. You couldn’t help but yell an ‘oh my god’ as Eddie began pounding into you.

“Not god, doll, just me.” he huffed with a laugh. Your body was on display for Eddie and the more he watched himself disappear and reappear into you, the closer his own release got. He could feel you clenching down on him; you must be close.

“Can you give me another one, sweet? I want you to cum with me okay?” Eddie could barely get the words out of his mouth without the knot in his abdomen snapping.

“Eddie… I-I can’t” You were so fucked out and overstimulated you had no idea if your body could handle any more sensation. To your surprise, Eddie’s arm snaked under your hips to meet your sore clit. He rubbed soft circles into you in rhythm with his intense thrusts. You grabbed onto the edge of the counter and began to hyperventilate. You thought you were going to combust.

“Come on, babe. You can do it. Cum for me,” Eddie wanted his commands to sound encouraging, but he was desperate. However, with his permission your second orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train. You couldn’t feel your legs. You screamed out, unable to feel the difference between pain and indulgence - but you didn’t want it to stop. Your pussy had Eddie in capture, squeezing down on him unthinkably hard. His hips stuttered but he kept on his assault, desperate to cum just as hard as he made you. Like you, Eddie’s orgasm hit him with little lead up. He grabbed your chest to pull you up to him. Eddie whimpered into your ear as you milked him for everything that was in him.

In a flurry of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, you and Eddie stood in silence, basking within each other’s embrace. Begrudgingly, Eddie pulled out of you and pulled his pants back around his slender hips. You straightened yourself out and tucked your underwear back into their normal spot, preventing the remnants of Eddie’s orgasm from leaking down your leg. You guess you still have some work to do. You turn around and look at Eddie as he finishes buckling his belt. He met your glowing complexion with a lovesick grin. You felt like you could stay like this forever, basking in his glow; and he felt the same for you.

The smell of smoke and burnt pumpkin snapped the two of you out of your trances.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie yelps. You both rush to the other side of the kitchen to the small oven now leaking gray smoke. Eddie threw open the oven door and was greeted by a billow of smoke. You grabbed at some rags to wave the smoldering cloud away. Eddie the remnants of two very charred pumpkin pies. He looked at you with a bellowing laugh.

“Guess we’ll be down a couple of pies.”

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pitifulbaby · 1 year ago

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Linecook!Eddie??? @upsidedownwithsteve has created a masterpiece with Simmer and so I did try my darnedest with an edit of him,, if you haven’t read it, you really should go read it like right now

#eddie munson #eddie munson edit #eddie munson manips #eddie munson manip #eddie munson edits #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things edit #eddie munson x reader #linecook!eddie #simmer!eddie #stranger things imagines #eddie munson fanart

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reysdriver · 1 year ago

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smut mention below; 18+, minors DNI

thinking about line cook eddie x waitress/hostess reader...

like him messing with the food of rude customers you serve, even coming out to tell them off if they're really bad

or cooking for/with him and internally he's cringing at your technique but other than that he's hyping you tf up and saying it's so good that you should move to work in the kitchen with him

ofc him making you the best breakfasts ever before work when one of you stays the night

and can't forget about rewarding him after someone tells you they give their compliments to the chef and you say "I'll pass it on" with such a polite smile and nod

#xena's thots #eddie munson #eddie munson thoughts #linecook!eddie munson #linecook!eddie munson x waitress!reader #stranger things

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bewilderedbunny · 2 years ago

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Preview for The Pancake King below 🥞💖 (linecook!Eddie x waitress!reader (warnings: cursing and a bad joke)

With his arms folded, every vein, inked spot of skin and muscle draws your attention in. He cocks his head to the side while examining your shared masterpiece. Beads of sweat run down his neck, past a few flecks of green paint that blend in with his freckles. He looks your way and you quickly turn to face the wall. "I think it's missing something." You mutter.

"I told Dot we need a beast in there."

"A beast?"

"Yeah, like a cryptid. Nothing too crazy." He rubs his chin in thought, not realizing he's getting more paint on his face. It's disgustingly endearing.

"Maybe a little big foot right there." He says, pointing toward a dark section of the woodland.

"Little bigfoot? Wouldn't that be a medium-foot?" You can barely finish the joke before you start laughing at it. He shakes his head and groans,

"Jesus fucking christ."

It's gross, really. How cute you find each other.

#sorry this is short!#i thought posting a snippet might help keep motivation/inspiration up #pancake posting #linecook!eddie #eddie munson x reader

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year ago

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I have once again thought up another au and I hope to god I can translate it into writing

#like a kinda biker!linecook!eddie #and desert vibes #ooo it’ll be so yummy if I can get it out of my brain and write it #eddie munson x reader

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reysdriver · 2 years ago

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this deserves all the attention

plus I need some more line cook!eddie omggg

Forget What You've Heard E.M.

Line cook!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader

Sorry it took so long between posts! I've been working all day every day so it's busy over here. I hope you enjoy!

I do not give permission for my work to be copied / posted as original work on any platform.

Your favorite co-worker's flirty nature is your favorite part of the workday, but is it genuine? Someone is feeding you lies just as your patrons are being fed mozzarella sticks and Eddie is determined to convince you he's not just playing games with your heart.

Misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, fluff, cursing, an asshole named Dylan (We all know one), use of Y/N

Wordcount 4.7k

You smile to yourself as you count up the tips you've made so far. Bartending has done wonders for your wallet, and it's totally worth it if you can look over the long hours on your feet, creeps trying to get into your pants, and going home smelling like sour mix and sweat. You just moved to Hawkins 6 months ago and since living on your own is expensive, you serve beers and shake cocktails at the karaoke bar downtown to make a living. It's easy work and you're good at it, but there's just one issue; your favorite co-worker is a huge distraction. Eddie is the cutest damn line cook you've ever seen with his curly hair always tied into a low bun and his smile that you're sure could cure a number of diseases, but those things don't make it easy to do your job efficiently. It's nearly impossible to grab a platter of nachos from the window without him throwing out a wink and calling you sweetheart, telling you you're doing a good job, or even sliding a basket of fries to you with a finger to his lips as a way of saying "Don't tell on me, honey."

Tonight is no different. Eddie has been a total menace all night, flashing you that flirty smile, keeping you from your work with his corny pick-up lines that he insists will get him a date with you one day, making conversation, and giving you extra sides of ranch without making you ring them in first like the kitchen manager does. The second you walked into the back to set your bag down after arriving, he told you your hair looked absolutely ravishing even though it's just thrown into a clip like always, making you blush like crazy. It took nearly 20 minutes to get the scarlet red tint to leave your cheeks, and though you tried your hardest to hide it, Eddie sure as hell noticed, leaving a smile on his face throughout the busy evening.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got those wings for the bar top ready for you." You hear from behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You smile to yourself at the nickname and put the glass you've just finished washing upside down on the drying mat.

You turn around to an always grinning Eddie leaning his elbows on the stainless steel of the mini counter under the window to the back of house and holding the ticket in between his index and middle digits. You take the slip of paper out of his hand slowly, letting your fingers touch for a moment before stabbing it through the small metal spike to your right. Every once in a while, you like to indulge in his flirtatiousness, though it makes you nervous. Eddie's fun, he's nice, and dishing back what he gives to you every day isn't hurting anyone. "Thank you, Eddie."

"Any time, sugar." He replies, winking and turning to grab a new ticket and drop an order of potato skins in the fryer. You shake your head, smiling from ear to ear, turning to serve the hot plate to one of your regulars.

The rest of the shift goes great. Your tips are higher than you had planned, nobody had to be thrown out for fighting, and you got to hear a wonderful rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" sang by a very intoxicated older gentleman during the karaoke session. As you clean up the bar for the night, as always, you can't stop thinking about Eddie. You think tonight might actually be the night you ask him to hang out with you outside of work, though he's invited you to go get some late night pizza before, playfully pouting when you have to decline, telling him that you're exhausted and have to go back to the bar to open the next day. You've wanted to say yes, but Eddie makes you nervous. You're feeling bold tonight though, and you're optimistic.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is in the kitchen cleaning the fryers, taking out the trash, and scrubbing the floors absentmindedly, almost like he's in auto-pilot because he can't get you out of his head. He wants so badly to ask you out, but he's tried that and you don't seem interested. He realizes you probably just flirt with him for fun, a harmless workplace friendship with some winks and pet names sprinkled in, but over the past four months, he's developed a serious crush on you.

There's just something about you that makes you so different from everyone he's ever dated or been interested in. He doesn't feel like he has to change who he is for you. There's nothing better for Eddie's ego than how easy it is to make you smile, and goddammit what a beautiful smile it is. Every time you look at him through your lashes, blushing at something stupid he's said, Eddie feels like he could lift the entire building up with one hand and not even break a sweat. He fears he's in too deep at this point, the innocent flirting leading to him finding himself thinking about you even once he's gone home for the night.

"Hey Eddie boy, I think you missed a spot." Eddie rolls his eyes at the irritating voice coming at him from his left. Dylan is one of the most insufferable people he's ever met and of course, he has the honor of working beside him at least 3 nights out of the week.

Eddie doesn't turn his attention to Dylan, just continues wiping down the steel counter top. "Bite me, jackass."

"Wow, someone's sassy today, huh? What, you didn't get enough attention from your little bartender tonight?" He smarmily replies, a disgustingly annoying grin on his face. Dylan, to Eddie's dismay, has picked up on the little "situation" between you two, making a joke of it every chance he can in an attempt to piss him off.

Eddie laughs humorlessly, throwing his rag down and turning to the bane of his existence, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude shut the fuck up."

"Hey look man, I get it! I'm just saying it's embarrassing watching you stare at her like a fucking creep all day. She does look pretty smokin' in those jeans though, so I don't blame you. Hey maybe I'll ask her out tonight, see if I can get some tail. Think she'll give up the goods?" He's smirking while Eddie's blood is raising in temperature. He can practically feel smoke coming out of his ears hearing this sorry excuse for a man speaking about you like you're just a piece of ass and not the sweet, funny, beautiful person you are.

"I swear to God, I'll bust your teeth in." Eddie seethes, trying to keep his cool, at least while you're in the building. You're blissfully unaware of their hatred for one another and the last thing he needs is for you to see him throwing his fist into Dylan's face for talking about you. That wouldn't be very "innocent flirtationship" of him.

"Guys! Come on, finish cleaning and knock it off. I don't have the energy for your cat fights tonight." The kitchen manager huffs, stepping between the two of them with a severely annoyed look on his face. Wordlessly, Eddie takes one more look at Dylan, picks his rag back up, and continues his task of degreasing all of the surfaces. He wants to get it over with and be able to clock in time to catch you before you leave and walk you to your car.

Dylan, the vindictive man he is, takes the opportunity to make his way through the swinging kitchen door and into the main bar area while Eddie isn't paying attention. You look up, expecting to find Eddie standing there, but confused when it's the guy you barely speak to heading in your direction.

"Hey Y/N, you do good tonight?" He asks, leaning against the bar. You smile politely, still wrist deep in soapy water from washing the bar glasses and beer mugs.

"Yeah, better than I expected actually. Did you need something?" You ask, not rudely, but assuming he came for something specific seeing as he's never made small talk with you before.

Dylan takes a breath and rests his elbows on the hard wood of the bar top, shaking his head like he's trying to think of how to tell you what he sauntered up to you for. You begin to dry your hands, getting a little nervous thinking that maybe the manager had sent him up here to tell you something you've done wrong. You're still relatively new and you've never gotten in trouble here before, but you can't think of anything else he would need to say to you. "Look, I know you and Munson are friends, and I see the way you look at him. You like him, and before you deny it, just listen to me."

Your heart starts to race. Did he tell Eddie? Did Eddie say something to him? How are you going to face him when apparently other people are picking up on this? Are you this obvious? You can't take it anymore so you nod, waiting for more information as you toy with your hands.

"You seem sweet, okay and I don't want to see someone like you hurt by someone like him. Eddie and I are cool, but this is what he does. he flirts with the new ones, takes them home, and never speaks to them again. When another newbie comes in, he starts it all over again. I just thought you should know since I'm sure you're a genuinely nice person and I'm certain Eddie is taking advantage of that." Your heart drops at his words. You feared you were being played with, but you didn't want to believe it. You fell for Eddie's charms, and now it's time to face the harsh reality that you had completely misunderstood this whole situation and made yourself look like an idiot in front of everyone.

"Um, wow. Well thanks for telling me, I appreciate it. I'm gonna finish up here and head out. Have a good rest of your night." You say, rushing through so you don't tear up mid-sentence. Dylan nods, not saying another word but offering a sympathetic smile before turning on his heel and going back through the door he came. You pull the plug to the dish sink, gather your signed receipts to shove into the drawer, and give the glazed wood one last wipe down. You hear Eddie say your name through the window but you act like you can't hear him.

This whole thing could have been avoided if you wouldn't have fallen for the good looks and quirks of the fuzzy-headed, wild-eyed line cook. You never should have caught feelings in the workplace; that's like rule number 001 in the service industry. Never, under any circumstances, canoodle with your co-workers. You thought maybe this was an exception but now here you are, proven wrong.

Heading through the swinging door to the kitchen, you avoid eye contact with everyone, especially Eddie, as you walk straight to the back to gather your things. You feel humiliated and giving Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you upset is out of the question so the sooner you can get out of the building, the better. You give quiet goodbyes to the managers and make a quick escape, or you at least try to before a hand reaches out to hold your forearm.

"Hey, wait for me. I'll walk you to your car." Eddie says softly, giving you a soft smile. You can't bear to look him in the eyes, so you gently pull away, shaking your head.

"It's fine Eddie, thanks though." You reply, turning to finally leave. Eddie watches as you throw your bag strap onto your shoulder and hurriedly make your way to the exit. Hurt washes over him and he's more confused than when he learned what a tampon is in middle school. He furrows his brow and slumps his shoulders, going back to his final task before he can leave for the night. He doubts you're still going to be in the parking lot by the time he can get out there, but his heart is racing like he might have a shot at catching you before you leave.

Did he say something? Did his flirting finally make you uncomfortable tonight? He racks his brain trying to come up with some sort of reason why you would be upset with him. Normally, he would suggest that maybe you're just tired but even when you're on the verge of falling asleep where you stand, you can still manage to give him a sleepy smile and a breathy laugh at another one of his terrible jokes. Maybe he took it too far. Maybe he weirded you out or gave you the wrong idea. It wouldn't be the first time he's scared someone off.

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You continue to go to work as normal, doing your best to not entertain anything Eddie had to say. The more distance you can create between the two of you, the less likely you'll get hurt. The time for stepping away from him to protect your feelings ended long ago but now it's time to do some damage control before you get worse. You get attached to people, and unfortunately that includes the bad people too.

You thought long and hard about whether or not you actually believed Dylan. I mean it's his first time actually talking to you and he breaks the news to you that Eddie just wanted to get into your pants? Why would he care? After going back and forth with yourself over it for your entire day off, you don't know what to think but what you do know is that if they really are friends and if Dylan actually does care, then the safe bet is to just stay away. If he's telling the truth and you ignore that to continue growing your feelings for Eddie, you're in for a world of hurt and that's just not something you can deal with right now.

You're not mean to Eddie when you work now; you just treat him like everyone else. You say "please" and "thank you", you ring in your extra sauces when you need them, you greet him just like you greet every other cook, and you don't flirt or bat your lashes at him anymore. Eventually, he is going to ask why but until he does, you can't bring yourself to ask him about it. It's humiliating and if he does have bad intentions, he's not going to be honest about it anyway so what's the point in starting that conversation?

Eddie is trying everything. These past few days have been hell for him and he's grasping at straws. He offers to make you fries, you tell him, "Thank you, but I'm not hungry." He tries to ask you about your day, you apologize and say you're busy. He tries to catch you before you leave at night, but you practically sprint for the door the second you're finished with your side work.

He watches through the window as you smile at your last patron of the night, desperately wishing that smile was for him. You haven't paid him any mind in 3 days and it's driving him crazy. It might be a little better if he actually knew what he did, but he's completely clueless. The awkward interactions are eating away at Eddie, and he knows if he doesn't say something soon, he'll explode. He starts his cleaning and breaking down the line as quickly as possible in an attempt to finish before you do so you don't run away from him again like you have been. If he doesn't get this straightened out, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Your last tab is cashed out and you begin your cleaning, causing Eddie to pick up his pace. He knows it'll take you 20 minutes max now that you and him aren't chatting throughout to slow you down. As long as nobody gets in his way, he's determined to finally be able to talk to you tonight. Not playful banter, no pick up lines, just a real conversation. The sooner he gets back into your good graces, the better.

"Trouble in paradise?" Eddie turns to see Dylan smirking with his arms across his chest. So much for nobody getting in his way.

Eddie laughs humorlessly and goes back to his work. "Fuck off, dude."

"Look man I'm just saying it seems like there's a little riff between the lovebirds lately. I wonder what happened, hm?" Dylan replies, his tone condescending as ever, doing his best to get a rise out of Eddie. To his dismay, it's working.

"You don't know shit." Eddie mumbles, wringing out a sanitizer rag, his fingers already becoming little prunes extended from his hands from the extensive cleaning.

"I don't know about that one, Ed. We had a really riveting conversation, seriously it was interesting, and I'm sure I know a little more than you think." This stops Eddie in his tracks. He breathes hard through his nose and turns on his heel, grabbing Dylan by his shirt and shoving him against the wall.

"What the fuck did you say to her? Huh? Are you the reason she won't fucking talk to me? What the hell is wrong with you, you jealous son of a bitch?!" Eddie shouts. The manager on duty is already trying to break the two of them up and you hear the commotion from the front, peering your head into the window to see what the hell is going on.

"Ooh Munson is mad! I just told her exactly what you're up to, that's all." Dylan says, calm as ever, a disgusting smile on his face. "Punching me won't undo it, so go ahead."

"Enough! I swear to god, I will kick you both out." Eddie reluctantly loosens his grip on the boy's clothing, only pulling away completely when he's certain the risk of getting fired isn't worth hitting Dylan, even though the want to is overwhelming.

Eddie looks to you, his heart breaking at the disappointed look on your face. He decides this ends now. He has no idea what filth and lies have been planted in your head, but he needs to fix it and fast. He gives one last scowl to the man he was just threatening, and backs up, walking out of the kitchen door.

He approaches the bar and you freeze. You don't know what you're supposed to say or do, so you do and say nothing. He has a soft look on his face, one very different than the one he was wearing in the kitchen just a minute prior. It's almost as if his rock hard persona turns to cotton candy when he's in your presence, and if you ask Eddie, that's exactly how that works.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk to me and I'm still not entirely sure why, but please wait for me. Please talk to me, let me figure out what the hell happened, and let me fix it." He pleads. You think it over quickly, trying to figure out of this is something you even want to get into right now. You question his motives, still confused as ever. Helpless, you nod and see the relief wash over his entire body, giving you the same feeling as when you're in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm, and in an instant, the sun comes out of the dark clouds. Whether this conversation leaves you feeling like a sunny summer day or it leads to another crack of thunder, you're unsure but you have half an hour before you find out.

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You sit there at the bar having finished your closing work, waiting for Eddie to finish his. Against your better judgement, you're happy to talk to him again but nothing can stop the knot in your stomach from growing tighter. All you wanted to do today was make some money, go home, cook dinner, take a bath, and watch a movie in bed but now, you're sitting here, anxiety building up in your body like a tower of mix-matched Lego pieces.

You're taken out of your thoughts when Eddie exits the kitchen and walks toward you, not looking any less nervous than he did earlier in the evening. "Hey, sorry I took so long."

"It's okay." You say quietly, standing up from the bar stool and pulling the strap of your backpack up onto your shoulder. "Do you want to talk outside?"

Eddie nods, giving you a tight smile. He leads you out of the front door and around to the side of the building to the employee parking lot, not saying a word just yet. the silence is broken by the flick of your lighter, illuminating the tip of a cigarette freshly placed in your mouth, inhaling the smoke and feeling the tiniest amount of tension wash away.

You lean against your car waiting for him to speak, still not really sure what you're supposed to say. He's the one that needed to defend himself, he's the one who wanted this conversation to happen.

"Look, I don't know what Dylan told you but I can assure you it was a lie." He starts. He's fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding eye contact. He's lost every ounce of confidence he once had when he's on the other side of the wall passing you a basket of chicken tenders.

"If you don't know what he said, then how would you know that?" You reply, taking another drag of your cigarette. You're hoping he's being genuine and not just defensive right off the bat, but if someone is lying about you, you'd feel defensive too. Everything is still fuzzy and figuring out this mess is like putting the pieces of a clear puzzle together.

"Because he fucking hates me. He does shit just to piss me off." Eddie shakes his head, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one between his lush lips.

"Why would he hate you, Eddie? What did you do?" You don't mean to point blame at him but he had to have done something to make someone hate him to the point of making up a lie to make you ignore him for days.

"When I first started, he thought I was flirting with this girl he had a thing for, and she got a crush on me. She didn't want to hang out with him anymore and he thought I just swooped in and stole her. I didn't even like her like that but since then, he's made it his job to make my life a living hell when he's here. That includes fucking this-" Eddie gestures his hand between the both of you, "-up for me."

"He told me you're fucking with me." You say, suddenly fixing your eyes on your sneakers. You almost shudder thinking back at the way your heart dropped to your stomach when Dylan first spoke to you. "Said you flirt with the new ones to get into their pants and then move on to the next one."

Eddie's eyes widen, looking like he's a child being told Santa isn't real. The genuine look of shock is very convincing, and you're close to dropping every allegation from that expression alone. "Jesus Christ. Y/N, I promise that's not what's going on here."

"How can I know that for sure? I felt like an idiot after he told me that. I was humiliated thinking I fell for some sleazy game you were playing." You're trying not to tear up. You can feel the thickness in your throat as you speak, hoping Eddie doesn't pick up on it. Six months of growing feelings for someone isn't something to fuck around about, and you might have taken this more seriously than it was intended, but when you're in that close of proximity with someone for that long, itching for the other to make a move, it's hard to not be heartbroken when something happens to it.

"Sweetheart, I flirt with you because I like you. At first, it was just fun and I thought you were cute, but now I have a big, fat, stupid crush on you and I think about you all the time. I don't ask you to hang out with me after work so I can take you to my van and get your clothes off. I ask you to hang out with me because I like the way you make me feel." Eddie responds, making eye contact with you finally, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt. He wants you to know how serious he is. This isn't just a fling for him, much like it never was for you. You had a feeling this could turn into something special, though it goes against everything people tell you about workplace relationships.

"And what would that feeling be?" You inquire, not breaking the contact between his chocolate pools and your own, finding a boldness in yourself that you didn't know existed.

"You make me feel like I'm the coolest guy in the world. You laugh at my stupid jokes, you compliment me, you're interested in what I have to say.." He trails off with a fond smile on his face. There's a softness about him that balances out the roughness of his edges, endearing you even further. He reaches out to grab your soft hand with his rough one. "I really fucking like you."

"I really like you too. I was going to ask you out the night Dylan dropped a bomb on me." You admit, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his hand.

"That motherfucker." Eddie shakes his head, getting angry all over again at the fact that he finally had his chance and it got ruined for him in an instant. "I'm going to kick his ass."

You pull your hand out of his and smack him lightly on the chest. "No, you can't get fired! Who will I talk to all day?"

"You've been doing just fine not talking to anyone." Eddie jokes, raising his eyebrows and bringing his cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke that seems to make this whole thing easier. After having a sick stomach for hours, he skipped his smoke breaks, partially leading to his angry outburst.

"Yeah and it was miserable! Do you know how much I hated having to go through my shift without hearing you call me sweetheart?" You laugh, a sound Eddie missed, even for just three days.

He smiles down at you, dazzling as always. You missing him as much as he missed you is actively washing away his worries one by one like a salty body of water washing away a structurally questionable sandcastle. "I won't deprive you anymore."

"I appreciate that." You grin, taking his hand back into yours.

"Does that mean you believe me? You can ask anyone, I'm serious. I talk about you all the time. The guys make fun of me for my "heart eyes" the entire time you're here. Ask Adam, Levi, Grant, Brandon-"

"Okay, okay." You cut off his adorable rambling. "Yes, I believe you."

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. You can see his shoulders relax, his jaw loosen, and his posture seems straighter. "Good because I mean it. I'm sorry this was such a mess for you. Hopefully I can make up for it?"

"And how do you plan to do that, Munson?" You tease, giving him the flirty look he had been wishing to see from you again. He can't take his eyes off of the way you look at him through your thick lashes.

He moves closer to you subtly, moving slowly so he can relish in the moment. "Can I start with that date?"

"You sure can." You say just above a whisper. You're lost in his eyes once again, but this time, it's not just playful. There's a brand new feeling getting introduced here and it blows your mind that it was first kindled in a greasy kitchen.

As long as Eddie is here, things are easy. You have your flirty boy back and being at work is a little easier again. With Eddie right behind you serving up winks and pet names just as often as he serves up appetizers, going home smelling like beer and deep fried cheese is worth it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #linecook!eddie munson #stranger things #ansgt with a happy ending

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

honey, I’m home

linecook!Eddie Munson x Reader

foreword: so many delish linecook!Eddie ideas out there I’m throwing my hat into the ring. holiday edition. i wrote this while hiding in my room from relatives lol. my first time w/longer-form on tumblr like this send help I’m scared!!!!

cw: soft dom Eddie, smut, oral (f receiving), reader has fem anatomy, gratuitous use of the nickname ‘princess’, Christmas fluff

wc: 2.5k

___

Linecook!Eddie working a long shift at the diner ‘cuz he picked up shitty Christmas Eve hours to be with you all day Christmas, which he swore was worth it despite your earlier protests.

You’ve got some of the Gang over at the trailer helping you wrap presents; everyone’s hands are busy with mugs of cocoa and Scotch tape and too-long ribbons.

Robin and Steve are squabbling over a prized tube of wrapping paper on the couch, Max and El are stretched out on the floor stringing popcorn garlands, and you’re overseeing Dustin’s attempts at bow-tying on the coffee table when Eddie walks in.

And he’s scuffing his boots on the mat, shaking snow from his hair, sidling up to you when you stand to greet him and pressing his face into your neck. You squeak at his cold nose and you can feel him smile against your skin as he hugs you tighter.

“Are you gonna keep making out with your girlfriend or are you gonna help us?” Dustin grouses, irritable from all the energy he’s expended on the bows that just don’t look quite right.

You move to pull away, feeling a lil chastised (by a teenager, no less) but Eddie slips his strong arm around your waist, locking you in place, not bothering to break eye contact with you as he says resolutely, “I’m gonna keep making out with my girlfriend.”

He plants one on you right in front of everyone and although your first instinct is to feel embarrassed it’s quickly drowned out by the desire to keep kissing him, because my god can that boy kiss. And he does. With gusto. Ringed hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks.

There are girlish giggles coming from the pair on the floor; Dustin’s grumbling about needing bleach for his eyes, Steve calls out something about you and Eddie getting a room.

Without missing a beat or taking his lips from yours, Eddie lifts a hand from your face to flip the boy on the couch off. When he finally does pull back, it’s just enough to ask, quietly, as if you’re the only people in the room- “You have dinner yet, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, his one hand still resting on your cheek, a little out of breath- “No, uh, nope. We were waitin’ for you, thought we’d order pizza, or…”

You trail off. He looks downright fucking beautiful, in the soft, glowy Christmas lighting, white work tanktop peeking out from his black and blue flannel, glint of silver chains at his neck. You haven’t seen him since early this morning, when he’d pressed a kiss to your half-awake head and left for work. Now he was here, smelling like woodsmoke and maple syrup and looking at you with those doey eyes and all you want to do is press kisses against his adam’s apple until he melts under you and why oh why had you invited people over again…?

“I’m going to make my beautiful girlfriend here something to eat. Would any of you miscreants care for some grub?” Eddie finally turns his attention to your group of friends, who all claim hunger in equal measure, and you follow him into the kitchen.

You watch as he starts assembling a variety of mixing bowls and utensils on the counter, whistling as he goes; you hug your arms against yourself, dragging a sock foot against the tile.

“I can help,” you offer as Eddie kneels beside you to produce a waffle iron from the cabinet by your legs. “I can stir things, or make sides, o-or…”

Eddie’s warm palm is sliding up the back of your calf, causing you to stutter. He nuzzles his nose against your plaid pajama-covered thigh, briefly, like he can’t help it, before standing back up.

“With these hands?” He teases gently, setting the waffle maker down and pulling your hand to his lips. “Nah. Gotta keep my girl soft.”

You let him kiss the back of your hand and you rotate it in his grasp, palm-up now, his lips pressing against the center there, and you try again to get him to let you help, because he just worked a 12-hour shift and you know he must be bone-tired by now.

With your voice barely above a whisper- “I could… get the plates out…”

One final kiss to your palm, and then he’s looking at you with such fondness, calloused thumb tapping where his lips just were. “Does breakfast for dinner strike your fancy, good lady?”

When you nod, he says with affectionate sternness, “Good. Now go sit pretty in the living room and get out of my kitchen.”

So you obey, cozying up to Robin on the couch to help her with the last few presents amid the bickering still taking place between her and Steve. Nat King Cole serenades from the tinny radio speakers above the clattering in the kitchen, and Dustin’s mood improves drastically once El offers to show him the ropes of popcorn stringing, half-tied bows abandoned at the coffee table.

You look up periodically from your tape sticking to check on Eddie- at some point, he’d put his hair in a low bun and tied his flannel around his hips, the heat of the kitchen causing his bangs to go limp. He’s in good spirits despite the sleepiness you know he’s fighting, humming along to the radio while he coaxes perfectly golden waffles from the iron and onto the Charlie Brown-themed plates you two had bought at the thrift store for fifty cents apiece last summer.

He sweeps into the living room with plates of steaming food balanced on his forearms, his stability impeccable and arms deceptively strong from years of hefting shit around in the kitchen. Obviously, you’re the first to get your plate, dropped off with a little kiss to the crown of your head, but no one’s complaining this time around because they’re too busy chewing.

Eddie’s personalized each order, of course- extra syrup to satiate El’s sweet tooth, blueberries baked into Steve’s stack, a side of peanut butter for Robin paired with a thick handled-butterknife.

Eleven looks up from where she sits cross-legged beside Max and says in a voice that leaves no room for disagreement, “You are the best cook in Hawkins.”

Eddie beams at her around a mouthful of waffle, knocking his shoulder into yours lightly- “You hear that, honey? Supergirl-approved chef at your service.”

Sticky plates get scraped clean and pushed aside, a rosy fullness lulling everyone into easy conversation about various holiday plans happening tomorrow. Eddie’s settled into your side on the couch, sliding his hand back and forth absently across your thigh, and you can tell by the vacant stare he’s giving the far wall that he’s running on fumes (though he’d never admit it in front of anyone but you, all too happy to give and give until there’s nothing left).

So you make the call for the both of you, giving a dramatic stretch and yawn- “All right, gang, I’m beat. Let’s call it for tonight and pick back up on Christmas?”

There’s a bustle of activity for the next few minutes; you and Steve hunt down everyone’s winter gear, getting the kids back into their gloves and warm hats while Robin helps Eddie with the dishes. In a flurry of see-you-tomorrows and calls for safe driving, Eddie pulls the front door shut and snicks the top lock closed.

“Finally,” he groans, and you can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles from you with the speed at which he has you caged against the wall, trailing a line of kisses down your throat, his sleepy state seemingly abandoned for a much hornier one.

“Somethin’ funny?” he muses, before sucking at the spot where your shoulder and neck join, your laugh catching and rolling into a gasp instead.

“Didn’t think so,” Eddie chuckles, darkly, against the hollow of your throat, adding a scrape of teeth over the bruise that’s sure to bloom. “You gonna be a good girl and let me have dessert?”

Your brain is already going fuzzy as he bullies his hands underneath your shirt, cold rings sending shivers across your body as they slide against your lower back, the plush curve of your hip, dipping down down down.

“Don’t you wanna-” your voice comes out shaking, interrupted by another gasp as Eddie’s hands find the bare meat of your ass and he squeezes, bordering that fine line between too harsh and too good that he knows you love- “-shower, or clean up a bit? I can run you a bath-”

Eddie slips his denim-clad thigh between yours, and fuck the presure is just right as he helps your core roll over his knee with his solid grip.

“I think…” he purrs low against the shell of your ear, grinning when your breath gets all shallow and quick, “you should come on my fingers like I’ve been dreamin’ about all day. And then we’ll talk about cleaning up.”

He makes a compelling argument. Resigned, you let your head thunk back against the wall as he sinks to his knees, pulling your pants down your legs as he goes.

You’ve soaked through your underwear at this point, which might’ve been embarrassing except for the fact that Eddie’s told you before how much it gets him going, evident now by the outline of his hard cock straining against his jeans.

“All for me, princess?” he murmurs, face so close to your clothed core that you can feel his breath.

He gets like this sometimes, downright reverent, and you know any attempt you make to hide from him will just wind him up more, so you fight that instinct to balk as he parts your thighs with tender, worshipful hands, and instead whisper “Yeah, Eds. All for you.”

He hums in approval, nosing at the front of your panties, hooking his long, deft fingers into the sides of them before tugging them down your thighs and tossing them aside.

“There she is,” he croons, as if it’s just him and your pussy now. “Don’t cry for me, baby, I’m here now, gonna take care of you…”

You jolt forward into his grasp as he slides his middle finger against your sticky folds, your hands seeking purchase and ending up in the soft curls at the top of his head that didn’t make it to the bun at the nape of his neck.

“All day, I work over a hot griddle,” Eddie mutters as he hooks your knee over his shoulder. “I make shit wages and shittier tips,” he continues, monologuing, the smug son of a bitch, his breath fanning over your now-exposed core, one hand coming up to rest on the softness of your stomach, pinning you in place right where he wants you- “And you know what makes it all worth it, baby?”

He pauses just before his mouth makes contact with your pussy, flicking his gaze up to you to assess the damage he’s done so far, his pupils blown wide with lust, nearly eclipsing the soft brown of his irises. You’re panting now, in little fits and gasps, doing your best to be gentle with the weaved grasp you have on his hair.

“You,” he says, before closing the gap and sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, back arching off the wall, seizing at his hair and unconsciously tugging his mouth tighter against you.

Eddie hums again, the vibrations sparking more pleasure against your throbbing clit. You could probably come from this stimulation alone but Eddie isn’t wasting any time, hungry for you to fall apart for him as he works one of his dextrous fingers into your dripping core.

You cry out wordlessly as he finds that spot with the pad of his finger, stroking against it, purling his tongue around your clit in tandem with the thrust of his hands, adding another finger as you clench around him.

He’s only been at it for a few minutes but you’re already dangerously close to the edge, lust burning and twisting in your stomach, your body shuddering in his hold.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he’s saying into the juncture of your thigh, pleading- with you or your cunt, hard to say- as his hand on your stomach slips down, using the thumb of that hand to press your clit against your pubic bone, a filthy slick grind that has you whimpering expletives.

“Fuck, Eddie, fu-uck…”

One of your legs is still over his shoulder, thighs spasming with your impending orgasm, and from your higher vantage point you watch as Eddie’s hand that isn’t busy between your legs drops from the outside of your thigh to his own lap.

He grinds shamelessly into the heel of his hand, rutting his clothed cock into his palm, chasing his own high as he adds another finger into your clenching core, setting a brutal pace that matches the speed at which he’s moving against himself.

It’s this picture- Eddie, on his knees, mouth on your clit, touching himself- that is your undoing. Your orgasm is blinding, crashing through you like a wave, curling the top half of your body around Eddie’s head as you cradle his skull against your core.

By the sound of it, Eddie’s coming, too, moans buried into your cunt as he wrings out the last of your orgasm, the squelch of your walls cinched taut around his fingers.

You have to physically push his head away with the tips of your fingers to get him to ease up- you know he could easily go another two, three rounds before being satisfied but your limbs are going weak and trembly and you want him close, that rush of endorphins leaving you hazy.

And Eddie knows, instantly, ‘cuz he always does, so good at reading you. He lets your leg slip from his shoulder and stands to kiss you, the tangy taste of you on his lips.

“You’re so hot,” he says, thunking his foreheard against yours, holding you close. “I meant what I said, y’know- think about you all day. Gotta take trips to the walk-in freezer just to stop the boners.”

He looks overly pleased when you laugh, giddily, and soothes his hands up and down your bare arms.

“You gonna shower with me? Didn’t even getta see the girls,” he laments, dropping his gaze to the front of your shirt, rucked-up from his wandering hands but still very much on.

“Anything for you, chef,” you indulge, giggling again as Eddie gives a kiss each to the tops of your breasts.

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson smut #stranger things smut #linecook!eddie Munson #linecook!eddie

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