Eddie Munson’s gf

Swallowing thickly, you push the sheets off you, letting your bare feet rest on the carpeted floor. You pick up a random shirt from the ground —  his, you think, and wear it shamelessly. You pat off the dust it collected, watching as specks fall to the ground. But despite the hushed actions, Joseph senses your conscious presence. He turns his head around, chin almost on his shoulder to look at you.

Startled, you look up at him, fingers fiddling with the ends of his shirt, before he softly says, “hey, love”

You walk over to him, your arms and legs aching, shivering when your feet touch the cold cement of his balcony. And you mimic his position, only without the cigarette as you stare across the endless edifices. You feel him look at you, imperceptible in his glazed stare. He blinks when you clear your throat, urging yourself to look at him.

And fuck, even in the early morning with the sun beginning to rise behind the city, he’s unfathomably pretty. Brown eyes that rectify his emotions, so wide with knowledge; perusal in his requisite to know the truth, especially when it comes to you. The way his pupils dilate when he sees you is fooling, a trick you refuse to partake in. 

“Hey,” you murmur. The indigo sky mixes with the blithe colors of orange and yellow, a gaussian blur in your vision as your sight focuses on him and him only. Joseph’s eyes trail across the shirt you’re wearing, trying to hide the smile that threatens to come out, so he hides it behind his cigarette that he plucks back in his mouth. “You’re up early,”

He lets the smoke exit his mouth in a quick whiff. “Could say the same for you,” he rasps, ducking his face as a curl falls to his forehead. “You went out like a light last night. Thought you wouldn’t be up ‘till twelve,” Joseph chuckles. “Did…did I wake you?”

You shake your head, a sudden feeling of shyness has your eyes tracing the golden curve of his thin chain, brazen against his collarbones and opalescent skin. You remember the way it felt between your fingers — how he’d dotingly stared at you as before he pushed himself in. “No. Just woke up by myself.”

“Ah,” he looks down on his fingers. You wonder where all the confidence had gone. Perhaps alcohol was the only thing that unveils such ribald gallantry. Which explains the way he held you like something he’s lost, talked to you in Rabelaisian ways, touched you the way a lover would in the dark. Kissed you like he’s loved you forever.

Joseph looks embarrassed, ashamed of what he’s done. And you feel a sudden pit in your stomach as you think that maybe he’d regretted it. Regretted those words. 

“So, um,” your index picks on the skin beside your thumbnail. “I guess now’s the right time to talk about it.”

There’s a huge intake of breath, as if he’s been preparing for this moment to come even in the earliest of mornings. Joseph takes another hit, before he forces himself to look at you once more. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Listen, Jo. I- I was drunk. And so were you. And—” you want to tell him. That the words you said last night weren’t true. But they were; in every consonant and every vowel of the drunken words, they were true in its yearning revelation. But you’re a coward to rejection. “And I-...”

A flash of hurt strikes through his glassy eyes. “You didn’t mean it?”

“No!” your eyebrows furrow, hand raised into a debate to hold his arm or cross it around yours. You chose the latter. 

“All these years. I’ve looked and looked for people to love and it turns out, that person was right in front of me this whole time.”

“Then what?” he turns his body to face you, a streak of withering patience across the lines above his eyebrows as he furrows them. “You were just drunk?”

“Well, I was,” you try to humor. “But I want you to know that…”

In that ephemeral cowardice, your heart decides to divulge in the treacherous escapade of truth; you’re tired of lying, sick of hurting yourself, especially now that you’ve both done something stupid and you’ve got the opportunity to make things better or worse. Because you long to melt into his touch. His arms that are so comforting in dark times where you’ve lost all light, his love that he gives and gives when you feel forsaken. 

“I meant everything I said,” you whisper, watching the way his chest raises for more than a second like you’d caught him off guard — which you did. Joseph’s cigarette hangs loosely between his fingers, almost falling onto the ground as he stares at you in dubiety. “I meant it all, Jo.”

He whispers your name, and it feels like everything just stopped. The smoke frozen in the air, the rushing cars stopping in a motion blur, time stuck between the fast minute hand. And the only thing that moves are your heartbeats; entwined and synchronized. 

“Yeah?” you nod. Joseph huffs through his nose, and with fingers never letting go of his cigarette, the other comes up to shakily cup your face. His calloused skin against your soft cheeks, an odd combination that has you sink into his doting touch. “I love you,”

You blink, the bottom of his palm grazing your lips slightly. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “I’ve always loved you. Since you beat up that kid for breaking my glasses when I was ten. I love you for believing in me whenever I doubted myself. I love you even when you cry on cheesy movies. Or when you give me your mushrooms because you hate them.

“I’ve always been afraid to tell you because you were my best friend,” Joseph’s thumb rubs the skin adjacent to your eye. “I didn't want to lose the most important person in my life. Everytime I try to imagine even a day without you, it’s daunting. And I thought — I’d rather you only be my friend and stay than lose you. And to hear that you meant it—”

“I’m kind of upset that I said it while I was drunk,” you chuckle. “I mean, if I’d been sober, I would have been embarrassed. Or I would have cried.”

Him being him, he makes a bawdy joke. “You still cried last night.” 

Your fingers scratching his back, head thrown back with tears down your temple as he spreads kisses—sobered kisses—across your neck and shoulder. And he keeps whispering i love you like a mantra, like a promise, as he goes deeper. 

“Oh! Jo! Don’t stop! Keep going,” he moans in a jest, eyes closing, head dipped back slightly as a hand comes up to clasp his chest. “Fuck!”

You had a nightmare. A repetitive nightmare. That you told him you loved him once and you ended up in some void all alone and loveless, watching as he walked through a door, shooting you a menacing glare before he walked away with the pieces of your heart puncturing his hand. But now you’re laughing with him, from his mockery and his absurdity, and he’d been the one to tell you he loves you. 

So maybe in that unfinished nightmare, he opens the door back to that void with your heart glued to pieces, his own love being its glue as he gives it back to you; all fixed and built, made back into its form so he’s got something to love.

“Shut up, you whore,” you slap his chest, laughing. “My legs hurt. What’d you do? bend it around like I’m some gymnast? Are you Vecna, or something?”

“Nah, darling,” his thumb comes across your bottom lip, urging your mouth to part. And as Joseph takes a drag, cheeks sucking in before he removes it. He leans close, lips pursed and hovering over yours but never meeting as he blows it into your mouth — the white smoke evading your mouth like the chain to your hearts. “‘m just a lover.”

Tobacco on your tongue, you chuckle breathlessly, breath fanning his morning glow. “That’s such a gross line.” 

"What, honey, it's true," he defends, taking another hit, cheekbones deep as he sucks.

You shake your head with a small laugh. "I hate to admit it, because I don't like that you smoke, but it's like...really hot," you murmur.

And again, for his love of a good show, he leans close to pour out all the silk smoke into your titillating mouth. And despite your demurral, you gladly accept his unhealthy offer. Joseph's face reddens at your compliment, gives a quick kiss to your nose before he closes the distance.

Letting his lips fall upon yours as he takes it with an open mouth, you moan quietly against him, head ducking up to rest your hands on his chest. His flesh is hot, the blood pumping through his veins lets his skin burn with vehemence. Joseph’s arms wrap around your waist, pressing his lips deeper that there’s minimal breathing space for the two of you. 

Your hands touch his chain, to the slope between his shoulder and neck, to the mop of tangled curls on his head that you card through with your fingers. Joseph breaks away, nudging his nose with yours in an altruistic kiss. 

“I love you,” you whisper to him, the apocalyptic world long forgotten now that he’s got his arms around you as some sort of yearned comfort. And when he says it back, right when the sun has risen up above to add a golden glow to his eyes, you know nothing’s better than feeling his lips on yours — his smoke eluding your mouth — even as the world falls apart.

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You disappear into your bedroom, returning with a couple ceramic dishes and a stack of different sized boxes. Eddie raises an eyebrow as you set them up on his dresser, handing him a few of the boxes and directing him to choose some of the contents. He opens the topmost one, labeled "fairy dust", and removes one of the clay-coated sticks inside.

"Incense?" he realizes. He holds the stick up to his face, the scent so sweet it burns his nostrils. "Is this why your room always smells so good?"

You nod, shuffling through a few of the smaller boxes.

"It covers up the smell of weed," you explain. "I started using it like a week after we moved in together."

Eddie smirks, looking through the other scents you've brought over. Some of them are simple and self-explanatory, like basil and lily, but others are more vague, like "mystique" and "decadence". He pauses when he comes across a box marked with the words "love spell", grinning at you in that impish, borderline perverse way you know too well.

"You trying to seduce me?" he jests, waggling his eyebrows.

"I'd have to do way less than this to seduce you," you laugh. You shriek when his pillow smacks you in the back of the head.

"I'm not desperate," he defends himself. "I've been dry for over a year, y'know."

"We share a wall," you remind him. "I can hear you masturbate. Twice a day. It's like you don't even try to keep quiet."

He scoffs, attempting to play off the fierce blush that burns across his cheeks. You giggle at him; he's way too cute.

"What's weirder is that I never hear you masturbate," he deflects. "I'm starting to worry."

"I masturbate," you state matter-of-factly. "I'm just considerate enough to shut the fuck up about it."

Eddie tries to ignore the way the image of you pleasuring yourself, just feet away from him, makes his cock twitch. He clears his throat as he hands you one of the boxes, choosing at random.

"Here."

You examine it, grinning up at him.

"You picked the one called 'wizard'?" you tease. "Not surprised."

He chuckles, settling himself on the end of his mattress as he watches you place an incense stick upright in your burner and set it alight with the Zippo he keeps next to his stash. The flame flares, searing a thick, smoky path down the tip of the stick before you blow it out, leaving nothing but glowing embers and heavy, fragrant smoke curling into the air. He fixates on the purse of your lips, barely staving off the lewd thoughts that float through his mind.

As the smell of sugar and sandalwood perfumes the confined space, you pop open one of the smaller boxes and remove an incense cone from it, setting it strategically at the top of the second dish. This one is shaped like a pond, beveled with stones, complete with sculpted lily pads and painted koi. When you light the tip of the cone, sweet sage drifts upward on the wisps of smoke, waves of it cascading down the ceramic stones and into the waiting pool below.

Eddie's eyes grow wide, watching the display as if you're performing magic. You smile, curling up on his mattress so you can comfortably enjoy the view.

"That's so fucking cool," he gasps. He lays back beside you, his body fitting nicely next to yours. There isn't much room on his full bed, so you're pressed together, your head falling onto his stomach to compensate for the lack of space.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like it," you muse. "I was gonna get you one for your birthday."

You lay like that for a while, until the incense stick burns out, the silence and shared warmth far too easy between you. Eddie's arm migrates around your shoulders, hugging you close, your leg somehow finding its way between his as you fold yourself more and more into him. The scent of weed still lingers after the incense is gone, so you stand and light another, Eddie whining at the loss of your touch.

Rose petals and musk fill the air as you return to the bed, this time straddling your roommate's lap as he sits leaned against his pillows and the wall. He quirks a brow at you but doesn't protest, his hands falling without hesitation around your waist, keeping you there.

"... Maybe I am trying to seduce you. A little bit," you admit.

He smirks, eyes still glassy from his high.

"You're joking," he replies. There's no way that you - beautiful, intelligent, fiery you - want to have sex with him.

But you shake your head, arms draping over his shoulders as your chest presses to his.

"I think you're hotter than sin, Eddie Munson. And you're my best friend. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be in bed with."

Maybe it's the pot. Maybe it's how pretty you look with your hair up, greasy and messy, a day past needing a wash. Maybe it's the feel of your unconfined breasts pushed against him under your sweater. Maybe it's simply how he loves you, but can't find the words to admit it. Whatever the reason, Eddie closes the space between you with a tender, tentative kiss, his thumb grazing the naked skin just under your shirt. You smile softly against his lips, opening your mouth so they can slot together with yours, tongues finding each other with the gentlest little push.

"You taste good," he murmurs. You peck his lips as he pulls away to speak, gazing dreamily into his honey brown eyes.

"You taste like smoke," you tell him. He chuckles, returning your tiny smooch.

You take your time, savoring each other's kisses and touches in a heated round of sucking face. Eddie's movements are slow and deliberate, his tongue and his lips moving in sync with yours while his large, calloused palms rub loving circles into the skin under your sweater. When you pull away to breathe, he licks teasingly at your lips, grinning as you giggle softly. He presses lazy kisses along your jaw, your eyes falling blissfully closed as he works his way down your neck, nipping and sucking at your flesh. He's hard under his sweatpants, but he's in no rush - he loves having you close, loves having the time to worship your body the way you deserve. You knot your fingers in his hair and he lets out a breathy little moan, the sound so melodic you could listen to it on repeat for hours.

"What do you think about when you masturbate?" he wonders aloud. He thoughtfully licks his lips as he levels his face once again, brushing his nose against yours. His eyes are heavily lidded.

"It used to be Jeff Goldblum, before he gets all gross in The Fly," you divulge. "But since living with you, it's just you. The sounds you make... it's like having my own private porno."

You smirk as Eddie blushes, his hand squeezing gently at your love handle. You've masturbated... to him masturbating? All while he was none the wiser? That can't be right. He must be hearing things, mustering his own fantasies into being.

"You're so pretty..." he whispers, losing track of his thoughts.

You giggle, playfully licking at his lips the way he did yours.

"What do you think about?" you ask in return.

"You," he answers without a beat. "How you look when you walk around in just a big t-shirt. I like to imagine you riding me like that. Or when you're in the shower, I... I sometimes masturbate thinking of you in there."

Your tongue grazes over your bottom lip, teeth sinking into it as the muscle disappears into your mouth and you smile. He's shocked that you're not totally disgusted.

"I want you to bend me over," you confess.

He blinks. This can't be for real.

"What, no missionary first?" he asks.

You laugh, pressing an affectionate kiss against his lips. He returns it reflexively, grinning into you, adoring the sound of your laugh.

"Just fuck me," you whisper. "It's about time we got naked together."

Eddie obliges without further convincing. He lifts your sweater over your head, drinking in the sight of your bare tits without shame. You kiss him again as your hands run under his sweatshirt, groping at his bare skin as he guides the offending fabric up and away, tossing it somewhere to be forgotten. He takes your face in his hands and presses his chest against yours, sighing into your mouth at the feel of your bodies so close, without anything between them. He's warm, his chest broad and firm, his arms forming a protective brace around you. Something so salacious as preparing for sex with your roommate has no right feeling as loving as this does.

"Stand up," Eddie instructs.

You climb off the mattress, giggling as he takes you by the hips and positions you between his legs. He kisses the space between your breasts, his breath fanning delicately over your skin as he eases your sweatpants down your legs, fingers teasing your exposed thighs. Your first instinct is to be embarrassed - you haven't shaved in well over two weeks, and you're afraid he'll be put off by it. But he's unfazed, too enamored with you to really care. His eyes graze over your body with lovelorn grace, still very much under the influence of the drugs, but clear enough to remain totally tuned in to you.

"Undress me."

He stands so he's towering over you, snaring you in another kiss before you make your way downward, trailing your lips languidly over his torso until you're kneeling before him; you pause on your way to kitten lick his nipple, and the sharp intake of his breath at the tease thrills you.

You don't bother taking your time with his sweats, unraveling the drawstring with expert precision and letting them fall, immediately grasping at the base of his cock. It's a pretty thing, long and perfectly thick, the tip poking out handsomely from the hood of his uncut foreskin. You stroke at him gently, grinning up at him with your lip between your teeth.

"You're as perverted as I am, aren't you, sweet little thing?" Eddie chuckles. You don't miss the way he twitches in your palm.

"I learned from the best," you reply with a wink.

His grin doesn't disappear as you run your tongue up the underside of his head, tasting the salt of precum as you gently suckle at the tip. He breathes an airy moan, his hand falling to the nape of your neck.

"Just let me fuck you, baby," he pleads. "I'll use your mouth another time."

You raise yourself up, unable to stop yourself from taking him in for another kiss. He's addicting, the feel of his lips twined with yours almost, if not as good as the sex you've been aching to have with him.

Eddie's hands don't leave your waist as you crawl back on to his mattress, bending down on your elbows and knees and arching your back in a display of catlike sensuality. He's quick to fall behind you, smoothing his palm down the curve of your back before bringing it with a sharp smack down on your ass cheek. You yelp, already dripping through the petals of your pussy in anticipation of his cock.

He runs two fingers through your slick, feeling you out; in the floor length mirror beside his window, you watch him raise those fingers to his lips and suck them clean.

"So sweet," he drawls. "I can't wait to make you cum with my tongue."

"I've never been eaten out before," you mention, catching his eyes in the mirror. They've got a mischievous gleam, not leaving yours as he runs the head of his cock up and down the length of your opening.

"You'll never want anyone else between your thighs once I'm done with you," he promises.

He dips himself inside you, causing you to gasp at the sudden rush of pain that always comes with the first breach of your walls. Your face scrunches, fingers gripping at his sheets as he takes hold of your hips, gently and carefully easing you onto him.

"It hurt?" he questions. The concern in his voice is obvious, and it makes you want for him even more.

"Only for a moment," you assure him. He gives a little nod, pulling out slightly before slipping back in, his cock stroking against you and relaxing your muscles. You breathe out a sigh, the pain fading into delicious fullness.

"Fuck, Eddie," you gasp. "Why didn't you mention you have the dick of a porn star?"

He chuckles, giving you another playful spank as he bottoms out, his head just kissing your cervix.

"Same reason you never mentioned your pussy was so perfectly deep and tight, I guess."

He grips you by the waist and starts to fuck, moaning as he sets a steady pace so you can both savor the feeling of each other. You stretch your torso out on his mattress, curling your body so he's hitting you right at your deepest point, an angle that has him groaning and mewling the way you're all too familiar with.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you look so good for me," he praises. "Taking my cock into that sweet little pussy..."

He brings his hand down once again, causing you to moan with the pleasurable sting of his palm against your skin. He continues to spank, thrusting in time with each hit until your cheeks are rosy and tender with the imprint of his palm. Your tongue rolls out of your mouth as he picks up his pace, eyes closing as you smile with bliss.

"Oh, that's my good girl," he growls. "Loving the way daddy uses her as his little fuck toy."

One of his hands raises to curl around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he starts to pound ruthlessly into you, your legs shaking as the sensation of him filling you reaches high into your stomach.

"You're so good baby... so good... mmmm, fuck, shit, heck, you feel incredible on my cock... Fuuuuuuuck, baby... Fuck...!"

You giggle at his intonations, mewling sweetly as his hips snap against yours, the sound of your thighs slapping together echoing off the walls. You can hear your sticky wetness clinging to his shaft, a harmony to back the loud groans he releases every time he thrusts.

"Right there, Eddie..." you coax. "Fuck, babe, right there... Make me cum..."

He guides your body forward, laying you flush against the blankets as he positions his body prone above yours, his arm wrapping around your neck to steady you. He doesn't stop railing into you, panting heavily in your ear, the thin plastic of the ever-present guitar pick around his neck bobbing against your back. You roll your hips into his, meeting his thrusts, and he lets out sound so sweet you think he might actually be crying.

"Oh, god, sugar, yes..." he snarls. "Keep fucking yourself on my cock... fuck, fuck, yeah, just like that... oh, love, you feel so fucking good..."

His relentless pace has built up a knot in your abdomen, one that releases with an explosion throughout your entire body. You cry out in ecstasy, your limbs fizzling with the shock of your orgasm, your toes curling as you ride the wave of indescribable pleasure out for its impossible length. As soon as Eddie feels you tighten around him, he clenches the base of his cock, staving away his own release as he fucks you through to the end. Once you relax, he gingerly unsheathes himself; you roll so you're facing him, repositioning yourself with bended knees so you can curl your fingers around the handsome appendage and stroke him, savoring his enamored cries as he cums onto your stomach and breasts. His breathing is ragged as the thick, pearly strings of semen cease to erupt from his slit. He collapses onto the mattress beside you with a satisfied huff.

For a few minutes, all you do is lay beside each other, filling each other's space while your breathing regains its normal rhythm and your bodies come back to themselves. Eventually, Eddie gets up and disappears, returning with the pack of baby wipes you keep in your room. He cleans you off, removing every trace of the depravity you've shared and kissing your stomach once you're pure again. He wipes himself off as well, pitching both the used cloths and the ash left in your burner into the little trash can beside his nightstand. The incense has long since burnt out.

Eddie crawls back into bed with you, lifting the blankets over you both and slipping between them, placing a kiss on your shoulder as he presses his chest to your back. You're laying with your heads on the foot of his bed, but that hardly matters; he's actually holding you, close and tight and with his face buried in your hair. It's such a small thing, but you've never been treated with this much tenderness before.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He can read you like a book and it makes you want to cry.

"... You're just being really good to me," you whisper. "You're not... You're not done with me."

"Of course not," he murmurs. He brushes a few stray wisps away from your face, clearing a space for his lips to press a light kiss into your temple. "If I just wanted you for sex I'd have made a move a long time ago. I... I kind of feel things for you. Like... a lot of things."

You turn to face him, hugging him close and hiding your face in his chest. He kisses the top of your head, his fingers making a delicate trail down the length of your spine.

"Thank you for putting up with me," you say. "And for driving me to the hospital that time my contact high gave me a panic attack."

Eddie chuckles, giving your love handle an affectionate squeeze.

"Any time, pumpkin. That's still the best date I've ever had."

You smile, letting out a breathy laugh into his skin.

Over the next couple weeks, Eddie slowly migrates his things into your room, making a habit of sharing a bed even when you're not having sex. His old room becomes a studio, and the other members of Corroded Coffin are excited when he tells them they finally have their own recording space. They're sprawled out on the floor, sharing a joint in celebration when the new setup finally dawns on Jeff.

"Did your roommate move out?" he inquires.

"Not really," Eddie responds with a shrug. "More like I moved in."

Jeff and Gareth share a skeptical look. As if on cue, you appear in the doorway, wearing a pair of Eddie's boxers and tossing him a pack of basil-scented incense, which he catches without so much as a flinch.

"Put it out, please," you request. "I'm starting to get jitters."

"Yes, dear. Our apologies."

He flashes you a giddy, awestruck smile as he reaches for the ashtray. He then blows you an exaggerated kiss, to which you just roll your eyes and grin.

"You're a fucking dork," you tell him.

"Love you too, angel babe."