#wrote this for myself because i make four diff pies for thanksgiving each year and would give anything to have an eddie help me out lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strangersmunsons · 6 months

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Eddie's making a pie for Thanksgiving. he's trying his best. eddie munson x gn!reader, ~1000 words

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Eddie…”

“Yes! You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart.”

Even he knows he doesn’t sound very convincing. He scans the array of ingredients laid out on the kitchen table — flour, sugars, assorted fruits, butter, et cetera — and winces.

You make a funny noise, something between a sigh and a chuckle. “I told you I can do it when I get home. Really, I don’t mind.”

Luck would have it that Eddie gets the day before Thanksgiving off instead of you.

You’ve always been responsible for bringing dessert to the big holiday feast; you’re a pretty skilled baker and like to make a few different pies so everyone can have their favorite kind. But working until 5 o’clock in the evening the day before leaves you with a pretty limited window to finish them all, especially since you’ll be dog-tired from the long shift.

Which is why your sweet, woefully-inept boyfriend volunteered to start the process for you.

“I got it,” he tells you firmly. “Let me do at least one for you, okay? The fruit one. You said that one takes the longest, so I’ll get it out of the way.”

He can practically feel your hesitation. But after a long pause, you cede.

“Alright. And remember I bought you pie crust so you won’t have to make one, okay? That’s half the battle, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“You don’t trust me to make pie crust from scratch?”

“Frankly, I don’t. I do love you, though.”

He smiles.

“I love you too.”

The kitchen looks a mess. The recipe emblazoned Triple Berry Pie is stained and wrinkled, and Eddie keeps squinting at one particular line of direction:

“Gently stir mixture until thickened, 2-5 minutes.”

It’s bordering on twenty minutes at this point and Eddie is still stirring a very watery, fruity soup on the stove.

“Two to five minutes my ass,” he mutters, growing more annoyed by the second.

What is he doing wrong? He did what the recipe said to do. And he can’t lie, it smells pretty damn good, if he does say so himself. Warm sugar and a spritz of lemon juice coat the simmering berries and the scent has his mouth watering as he makes the would-be pie filling.

Would-be, if the cornstarch would do its damn job.

He stirs faster, face scrunching in frustration as he whips the mixture around.

A splash of liquid sloshes over the side, instantly sizzling as it makes contact with the hot burner.

“Shit!”

He lets out a loud groan, and throws his head back dramatically.

He glances at the phone hanging on the wall, wondering how bad of a boyfriend he’d be if he called you at work for help.

It’s tempting.

“It’s fine,” he says aloud to no one in particular, and grabs the box of cornstarch, shaking more of the powder into the saucepan without bothering to measure anything. He adjusts the heat and continues to stir for a few more minutes, all the while trying to resist the urge to lob the whole thing across the room.

When it finally starts to thicken to a more jam-like consistency, Eddie almost cries in relief.

He immediately pours the filling into the ready-made Pillsbury shell — the “Allow filling to cool for 15 minutes” direction going completely over his head — and dumps a fistful of crumble topping over it.

He feels like the proudest man on Earth when he finally snaps the oven door shut.

He feels less proud when he takes it out some forty-odd minutes later, and sees the final product.

“Nooooo,” he whines, ovenmitt hands flying up in distress.

He’s not too sure what happened, exactly, but it doesn’t look good — filling has leaked out all over the sides of the pie tin, blobs of congealed fruit completely obscuring the once-neatly crimped edges of the crust. He cringes when he sees that it’s dripped all the way to the bottom of the oven, leaving blackened puddles that are definitely gonna be a bitch to clean. And the ‘crumble’ on top? A pile of dust. Ashy. Unappetizing.

He heaves a shuddery sigh, brow furrowed in anguish.

You’re gonna be so disappointed.

He thinks of Thanksgivings past where, if anything you made had even the tiniest flaw, you moaned in dismay, wanting your family and friends to have the very best you could give them. How gutted would you be when you came home and saw this abomination?

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, apparently — he can hear the front door opening as his mind clouds with panic.

“Eddie?”

You pad into the kitchen, greeted by the sweet aroma of baked goods and the sight of your flustered boyfriend clutching an over-full pie between two flowery ovenmitts. He looks so distraught that you immediately become concerned, and close the distance separating you.

“What’s wrong?” You stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

“I fucked it up,” he replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey, it looks fine.”

Maybe it's not the exact product you would have come out with, but it's not nearly as bad as he seems to think it is. You know he gave it his best shot, and you love him for it.

You give him a squeeze. “There’s just too much filling, that’s all. When that happens and the oven’s really hot, then it can bubble over. It’ll still be delicious.”

“It looks like someone got cremated on top,” he complains.

He’s not totally wrong. Even you’re not sure how he managed that.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “We’ll just…spread it around or, um, scoop some off. Sprinkle some sugar on it. Then it’ll be perfect.”

He sulks. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

There’s a pang in your heart. “Eddie. I know you’ve never baked in your life, so for you to do this for me was a huge help.” You press a kiss to the middle of his back. “I love you. It’s great.”

He softens a little. You teasingly pull on one of his curly tendrils. “Will you at least keep me company in the kitchen while I make the others? Or are you too traumatized to be in there?”

“No, of course I will. And I’ll help you.” He considers. “Although, I think you should probably take the lead,” he says sheepishly.

“Sounds like a plan.”

happy thanksgiving to anyone who celebrates! and if u don't have a wonderful regular thursday anyway <3 i do make this pie every year, with this crumble, if anyone is interested :^)

#wrote this for myself because i make four diff pies for thanksgiving each year and would give anything to have an eddie help me out lol #also i just finished this up while drinking margs and i'm mildly buzzed. so if there's any misakes. oopsies!#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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