#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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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 · 11 months 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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pedgito · 2 years ago

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line cook!eddie?! i need you to elaborate on that because it's so specific

i watched too much of the bear and it has been sitting in my brain for a few months because like...it just fits eddie so fucking well.

he had the chance to leave hawkins and somehow gathered up enough money to attend culinary school and his luck landed him a really nice job on the other side of the country at a place that was well beyond his means and getting him a lot of money. wayne always owned a shop back home, it didn't get a lot of business at first and was there only means of living for a while, even if it wasn't that great. it's why eddie leaned toward cooking initially, he just managed to get the hell up out of there.

until things kinda fuck him over and wayne ends up not being able to manage anymore, gets sick, and eddie's forced to swoop in and save the day because it's basically the only thing wayne has ever asked him to do and of course he says yes, even if it isn't smart.

he's unprepared and a mess half the time and really intense when it comes to managing the staff and the business but that man knows what the fuck he's doing. he's even got his own apartment, he buys one as soon as he moves back to hawkins, digging into the stash he had saved up that quickly dwindles trying to get themselves out of a rut with debt, ect.

reader obviously fits in here somewhere but i just imagine he has so much charm and wit and can just as easily teach you how to make a consommé or béarnaise sauce from pure memory but can't manage himself through a normal conversation to save his life. his apartment is probably also a mess but his kitchen is fucking spotless, always filled with latest and best cutlery and ingredients that there was to offer.

can you tell i've thought about this a lot? because i have.

#like i could write a full series #it's been sitting with me for weeks #anon #answered #linecook!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson

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deceptive-daydreams · 10 months 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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munsonology · 2 years ago

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Since we’re all horny for the eddie munson foodverse and linecook!eddie I’m thinking he works at waffle house with Janice 😭

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x female reader #fem reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x black female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/female reader #linecook!eddie #Eddie Munson foodverse

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

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honey, I’m home

🍯 honey flavour: Xmas fluff and smut drabble

🐝 the beebees: linecook!Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k

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

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!!!!

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.

_____________________

if you’re reading this PLEASE know my anons/requests are open I am in desperate need of more ST mutuals!!!

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

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